Honing The Talent
B Pascal
Chapter 26
My attention was pulled back to Amy when she put a hand on my arm. Her eyes were open now, looking at me with curiosity. “That was a new one on me, Carter. No one’s ever done that to me before, and it was surprising how hard I came. I liked that.”
“Yeah, I could tell. You did squirt, you know?”
“Did I? My attention was elsewhere at the moment, but I’ll take your word for it. So, are you going to use that condom, or do you just carry it around like a teddy bear, for the comfort value?”
“If you’re ready, I’m ready. Gimme a sec.”
I found the condom, and had it on my dick in moments.
“You have a preference?” I asked.
“Not really. How about if I get on top to start, let me find a rhythm that works?”
There wasn’t much room to move around, it was a single bed, but we got it figured out and I lay back. While she rearranged herself, I linkcast the Glow image to her. That’s the one that makes her pussy feel tight, like it was being stretched out by a thick dick. She’d feel filled up and her pussy would feel pleasure radiating outwards. Hey, I’m not that big, I use whatever tricks I can.
She swung a leg over me and worked her way up until she was positioned over my dick. She grabbed hold, raised her hips, then guided it into her pussy. She lowered herself onto it and I could see her face change.
“Oh, fuck, why does that feel so stretched? It’s like my pussy has shrunk, really tight, but damn! that feels good.”
She started a slow up-and-down and I could almost watch the bursts of pleasure as they hit her.
Her eyes were closed and her lips were quivering. I still had the ejaculation filter in place, so I was good for as long as she was able to fuck.
Across the room, in the corner, Frank and Jack were standing in front of Fran and she would alternately suck one’s dick while she stroked the other, then switch. On the bed, Candace had moved Andy onto his back and was riding his dick.
Amy, above me, looked completely at peace, enjoying the feelings. I loved watching women’s faces when they were having sex, they were so expressive. On a whim, I linkcast her Summer Breeze, and she said, “Oh!", surprised, and then laughed. “That was nice. Can I order a few more of those?”
“Umm... I’ll have to see if there any more in the back.” She giggled at that.
Her pussy felt really good, and now it was doing that odd thing, like there were independent muscles that were stroking my dick in directions other than up-and-down. I made a mental note to see if I could find an anatomy book in the library that might offer some explanation for that. But later.
I started pushing into her slightly, because I loved the feeling when the base of my dick found her pubic bone and bumped. That always gave me a little rush. Without the ejaculation filter it would probably make me cum. But for now it just felt good.
Apparently to her, too, because she started pushing back, grinding into me. Her face had taken on a determined look, a woman on a mission. I sent her another Summer Breeze.
“Oh, fuck, yeah, there it is! Keep doing that, Carter.”
So I did. I reached up and tweaked a nipple, twisting it. She grunted and pushed into me harder.
I did the other one, and she told me, “Do that, make it hurt a little, it gets me close.”
I did it again, and wondered while I did it whether this had anything to do with her fear of confessing her secret turn-on in the dare she declined. I decided that now’s not the time to look deeper, with other people in the room. Let her have her secrets.
But it did seem that she liked a little pain, it got her engine racing, so I reached back and gave a slap to that firm little ass. Her eyes shot open and she looked like she was about to say something when I slapped the other butt cheek. She just said, “Fuck.”
Her eyelids were flickering now, intent on finding that next orgasm. Maybe the pain got her close, I don’t know. I could have spent some time combing through her epicenter, looking for the thing that would get her off, but I was tired now and took the easy way out. I prepped the now well-used image of a wave breaking on a beach and linkcast it to her, far offshore, but approaching fast.
I could see the urgency on her face as she felt it approach, fucking faster, making sounds in her throat. When it hit, she did an amazing circular grind on my dick and called out, “Oh, YES, yesyes, baby, don’t stop!” She kept moving for another fifteen or twenty seconds, then slowed to nothing and laid herself flat on my chest.
On the bunk bed opposite, Andy, still on his back, was pounding his dick into Candace, who was whipping her head back and forth, making her hair do a dance. I hadn’t noticed it happening, but in the corner Frank was sitting in a chair while Fran stood before him, bent at the waist, legs spread, her head bobbing up and down in his lap, while behind her Jack, his hands on her hips, was fucking her steadily from behind.
It was like the porn channel on cable TV, without the overdubbed dialog. I was part of it, of course. While I lay there, I wondered idly whether people would pay money to watch amateurs fucking. Maybe you could broadcast it on that Internet thing, give people a password so they could access the camera. Pretty far-fetched, but an amusing thought.
Amy was stirring. She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked at me. “I liked that one, Carter. Really good. You got any more in you?”
“Damn, you’re insatiable, Amy. You’re going to use me up and throw me away.”
“Guys are always complaining. But I’ll give you credit, you’ve gotten me off lots more than I usually do. Can you handle one more?”
I sighed dramatically and she pinched my nipple. It just hurt, it didn’t feel erotic, I don’t know why it turned her on.
“Okay, one more, but only because you asked politely. Why don’t you flip over onto your back and pull your knees up?”
Again, we awkwardly switched positions. She got comfortable and pulled her knees back almost to her shoulders. I walked in on my knees and positioned my cock against her pussy. She was waiting for it to slide in, anticipating it, but instead I slid it up her slit and over her clit. She sucked her breath in through her teeth. I took my dick and slapped it against her clit. “Oh, fuck, Carter, it’s so sensitive. Careful.”
I looked her straight in the eye and kept doing it until she bit her lip, then I moved it down and pushed slowly into her cunt. I noticed that her pussy seemed to be grabbing me when I pulled out, like it didn’t want to let go.
So in and out, in and out, until her eyes closed and her mouth opened halfway. I linkcast another Summer Breeze and she exhaled a long “Ooooohhhh.”
Across the room, in the corner, Frank and Jack had switched positions, Frank was fucking Fran hard from behind, while Jack was getting his dick sucked. On the bed, it looked like Andy and Candace were coming toward the finish line, judging from the sounds.
I suddenly realized how tired I was, physically and emotionally. This had been something to do to try to push Gail out of my head for awhile, and now it was catching up with me. I think I needed to sleep. But I needed to finish this first.
I extended my forearms so I could lean forward. Now I could fuck her pussy almost straight down. She sensed that something had changed as I started pumping into her cunt, and was urging me quietly on, talking to me. “That’s it, baby, fuck my pussy, fuck it hard. I want to feel it, feel your dick all the way inside me. Do it!”
I really didn’t need the advice, ’cause I was already fucking her as hard as I could. I think she wanted me to make it hurt more, slapping her or choking her, but that wasn’t my thing and I couldn’t. So I fucked, like a piston, in and out.
A noise from across the room brought my attention there, and I saw Frank and Jack scrambling to their feet, madly jacking their dicks, while Fran went down to her knees in front of them. She leaned her head back, opened her mouth and closed her eyes. Frank got off first, and shot his load onto her face, and she sucked the last bit from his dick.
Then Jack grunted and blew an impressive wad that mostly hit her chin and mouth. She blew a bubble from the cum collected in her mouth, then scooped the cum on her chin onto her fingers and swallowed it. On the bed, Candace had collapsed onto Andy, both of them apparently finished.
That left us.
Amy’s eyes were still closed, concentrating on finding just one more orgasm. It’d be faster if I helped, so I arbitrarily decided on Avalanche for her, and Aftershock for me. I know, same old, same old, I’ve gotta come up with some new tricks.
But it’s like donuts. There are great donuts, and good donuts. Have you ever had a bad donut? Nope. Maybe if they’re really dried out and hard, or have been left out too long and spoiled. But even okay donuts are still pretty good donuts. I wouldn’t complain about an okay donut.
So even if these images are overused and a bit stale, nobody’s gonna complain about getting one. So I tied hers to the onset of mine, and released the ejaculation filter.
It wouldn’t be long, I could already feel it starting up, so I found some hidden energy and in a choked voice told her, “Really close now, Amy, help me get there, baby.”
I’ll hand it to her, she was repaying me for all the orgasms she’d had. Her pussy started squeezing my dick, and in no time I could feel it forming in my balls, starting its way up.
And that was the trigger for Amy’s release. I could watch it happen on her face, that feeling that she was falling, no longer in control, as gravity overtook her and she was swept down the mountain by the euphoria. In a tight voice she said, “Ohmigod, oh, Jesus, I’m cumming again, yesyesyes!”
Her pussy was doing amazing things. I was lost in my orgasm but, even while it consumed me, I had to marvel at what the female anatomy was capable of. She milked me until there was nothing left except the sensation of her cunt squeezing my dick. And even that became too much and I had to pull out.
I rolled on my side, back against the cold cinder-block wall, trying to catch my breath. Amy was motionless, only her chest rising and falling. Across the room, Frank had sunk into a chair, and Jack leaned against a wall, trying to recover. Fran was still on her knees, carefully trying to work a dab of cum out of the corner of her eye. It covered her cheek and ran down her nose. She looked around for a towel or a tissue.
I couldn’t move. I was exhausted, spent, and only the fact that I was supported my the wall and in a state of equilibrium kept me upright. I closed my eyes, just for a moment.
A noise woke me. On the bed across from me, Candace and Andy were lying face to face, talking quietly. In the corner, Fran had found a towel and was wiping the last of the cum from her face. Frank was already making elliptic suggestions about a second round to Fran.
I felt a hand drop onto my thigh. “You’re still awake, Carter? I’ve gotta say, that was much better than I had any right to expect. Way better. You feel okay?”
“Okay is not the word you’re searching for, Amy. I am bushed, done in, depleted. I feel great, but any task that requires more than a little energy is going to be beyond me for several hours.”
“I hear ya. Fortunately, I don’t have far to go. In fact, I’m already there.” She giggled at her joke. “Stay as long as you need to, but I think I’m going to be incommunicado for the next twelve hours. I’d have the maid see you out, but this is her day off.” She chuckled again.
“I think I’m going to go find my own bed. Any moment now. Almost ready.”
She squeezed my thigh. “Carter? That thing about the dare? Thanks for not judging me, and for reminding me that it was just a game. Regardless of how this came about, I’m glad we hooked up. Just so’s you know, I got off way more times than I normally do. A girl could get used to that.”
“Glad I could help. I’m going to see if my clothes are still here. Otherwise I’ll have to walk naked back to my dorm.”
She didn’t reply and looked like she was already asleep. I wormed my way off the end of the bed and found where I’d kicked my clothes and my shoes. With some effort I got dressed. Near the door I found my coat. Fran was sitting in a chair, still wiping her face.
“You going, too, Carter?”
“I have to go before I collapse. Just for the record, you folks throw a hell of a party.”
She smirked at me as I closed the door behind me.
It had gotten colder outside, with a wind that blew little flurries of snow off the ground. I stuck my hands in my pocket and trudged back to my dorm.
I looked at my watch as I climbed the stairs. It was a little after one, and it felt like five in the morning, I was so tired. Larry had not yet returned from his party du jour, and I was glad that I didn’t have to answer questions about where I’d been and what I’d done. I stripped to my skivvies, got under the blanket, and was asleep before I knew it.
When I woke, I was confused by the memories of dreams, and it took me a moment to remember where I was and what day it was. The events of the previous evening came back to me in a rush and threatened to overwhelm me. My first orgy. I wondered if there was a greeting card already made for that.
I suppose, if I wanted to be a stickler about it, it wasn’t really an orgy, perhaps more like group sex. An orgy would imply a less structured environment, fewer rules. Whatever, I wasn’t ready to nitpick the definition. It was... interesting. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about having sex in a group. Good to have the experience of it, but I’d have to see how I felt about another session.
I stretched and finally pushed my way out of bed. Still no Larry. Perhaps he’d connected with Marina again and was with her. I took a shower and brushed my teeth, then went off in search of breakfast.
I felt better after food and coffee, and went back to the room. I was feeling some guilt hovering above me at having done nothing schoolwork-related in almost a day, especially because if I didn’t get back on top of it, I was going to start thinking about Gail again. I forced my thoughts elsewhere.
Opening the door, I found Larry reclining on his bed and, wonder of wonders, reading a book.
Perhaps he was telling the truth about trying to work harder this semester.
“Hey, Carter, what’s up? You do anything interesting last night?”
“Nah, not much,” I lied.
“I went out with Marina last night. Man, can she dance! She wore me out. Then we went back to her place and she wore me out again.”
I knew he’d been waiting to drop that line on me, had probably practiced it so he’d get it right.
“You gotta pace yourself, Larry. You’d hate to get run down this early in the semester.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“How could I be jealous of a man who wears Hawaiian shirts as a fashion statement?”
He stuck out his tongue at me, and returned to his book.
I thought about what was on my plate, what needed to get done. Maybe I should start sketching an outline for the history research paper that was due in a couple of weeks. I booted my PC, and while it powered up I took off my damp shoes to let them dry out.
I sat down in the chair and was about to open the word processing app when I saw the email icon, which was flashing to indicate there was something waiting in the inbox. That could only mean Karen. I had not yet acquired another email correspondent.
I opened the app and found that she had emailed last night, sometime after I went out for dinner. I opened it eagerly.
I woke up this morning thinking, Tom’s going to be proud of me. About what, you ask? About following up on your suggestion. I got to thinking about your idea for searching out research opportunities. I think I mentioned it in my last email. Anyway, I started asking around, in the CS and math departments, even over in physics.
Turns out most of the unpaid research posts are given to the higher level undergrads or even the grad students. There’s not much left for us peons. But. But one of the CS profs, she’s new, an assistant professor, said she might have something for me if I didn’t mind doing scut work. It’d involve collating and doing some preliminary analysis of research results, kinda tedious, but I don’t mind. No pay, but this is more about the experience anyway.
So she’ll let me know when there’s some work to do. I like her. It’s nice to have someone like her around. I hate to use the term because it makes me cringe, but she’s a good ’role model’. No nonsense, doesn’t take any BS from some of the crusty old guys who’d prefer that things stay the same as they always were.
Everybody, including me, has brushed off the depression from finals results, and we’re deep into the second semester. I find that I’m liking—or at least I don’t hate—my classes. They’re a challenge, I told you that, but it’s kind of a rush to figure things out.
I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I can’t be a lone wolf anymore, not here, so now I’ve got a couple of study groups I’m part of, and they do help. I feel better knowing that there are other smart people who are struggling with this as well. We help each other.
I told you about Martina, didn’t I? One of my roommates, California girl, family involved in the entertainment industry? So she’s nudging me to come stay with her during the break next month. It’s not that far away from here, and maybe I’ll get to see how the other half lives, serving maids, chauffeured limousines, drinking tea with extended pinkies, that sort of thing. I’m joking, of course, but I think that there is some family money there. Like with your roommate. What’s his name? Larry, was it?
So I might do that for a week or so. My mom wrote and told me she and my dad are going to take a vacation too! They’re going to Florida, just to escape from the snow and the cold. I can’t recall the last time my dad took time off for a vacation. I’m glad for them.
Oh, and before I forget, I did write to Carlie and asked if she’d print a couple of wallet-size pictures from the negative of the large one she made for us. I like that picture. And after you mentioned it I realized that I wanted one to carry with me, too. So thanks. I gave her your address. She’ll send it when it’s ready.
I noticed that a few people I’d gotten used to seeing around aren’t here anymore. Perhaps they just took some time off, or maybe they found that they couldn’t cut it. Anyway, it feels a little weird. I know that they told us this would happen, but I empathize with them, and sometimes I think maybe I wasn’t that far from having that happen to me.
I don’t know what it’s like at —————————, but even here, with all the pressure and work that’s thrown at us, there’s a serious party contingent. Maybe it’s their way of coping with stress, to party hard all weekend. I don’t think I could do it. But it doesn’t slow them down. There’s a few girls in this dorm like that. I know I sound like a mother hen, but I’m concerned for them. I raised the subject tentatively to one of them, and she laughed me off, said she knew how to study and more importantly how to party.
I can see blowing off steam, maybe once a week, but with her and some others it’s like a commitment, Friday through Sunday. I don’t know when they do their work. I feel like I’m telling tales out of school, but this past weekend she invited a couple of guys over on Friday, and they didn’t leave till Sunday morning. I know that because we could hear them partying every time we walked past her door. When I say party, you know what I mean.
Anyway, maybe she’ll be one of the ones who won’t be returning in the fall. Do you have a party contingent in your dorm? It’s pretty annoying sometimes, noisy, even late. The RA’s here seem to feel like we should be able to govern ourselves, so they don’t get involved unless there’s about to be a brawl, or someone’s threatening to commit suicide. Maybe the party contingent will weed themselves out.
I miss you, Carter. I loved being able to spend time with you over Christmas, even as little of it as there was. Another few months and we’ll be able to see each other over the summer.
Unless I get a summer research position, of course.
Just joking.
XXX—K
I know I told her how much her emails meant to me, but I don’t think she grasped the depth of it. I really did miss her and sometimes toyed with the idea of transferring to a school in California.
What was it that Con Doherty had said, when he glimpsed the picture on my desk that I was staring at now? Something like, If I had a girl that looked like that I’d quit school and go wherever she went. Except that I really liked it here, I thought I fit in, and wasn’t sure that I would in California.
I shrugged and resolved to answer her later. I had to focus if I was going to keep the self-pity at bay, so I opened the word processing app and started sketching an outline for the paper.
And so the weekend went, with a voice in the back of my head shouting, ’Pay attention! Get back to work!’ For once, I didn’t fight it. Larry started nagging me on Saturday to come out and party with him, and Con Doherty whispered in my ear conspiratorially in the hall that there was ’an epic party’ in the works for Saturday night. I passed on both of them, citing a headache.
So I came into the start of the week well ahead of my work plan and feeling a bit smug about it. I don’t know why, but Karen’s comment about study groups kept echoing in my head. I remembered suggesting it to Greta Lindgren and Nancy Remsen, two students at a local college when I’d still been in high school, and they were struggling with a summer calculus class. The study group had worked out well for them. Why was it that I resisted doing it myself? It would probably help.
Yet another thing to think about. I forced it out of my mind for the moment, and concentrated on my classes. Another research paper had been announced for English Lit, which I added to the to-do list, and there was one for Psych coming up, too. So much for free time.
But I’d kind of gotten into a rhythm, finding ways to balance all the demands on my time. If I was careful, if I didn’t goof off for a day or two, I could keep up with everything, with only a little sweat. I was continuing to experiment with how much information I was able to absorb in one sitting from a lecturer.
I had figured out that subjects like history, containing many dates, names, cultural and political influences, and so on, required smaller ’chunks’ because the information was denser, for want of a better word. With things like chemistry and math, which involved larger concepts and a relatively small number of laws, theorems, procedures and techniques, I could bite off larger ’chunks’.
I suspected that there were some hidden clues in these facts that might suggest how memory was parceled, stored and transferred. It would require some further thought, and I’d probably have to learn something about the chemical basis of memory first. But in the meantime I would continue with the practical, trial-and-error approach.
The weeks rolled on. Those of you who have attended college know that it has periods of painfully dull routine, classes, papers, homework assignments, classes, papers... It’s one of the reasons that students go so nuts on the weekends, to relieve the monotony.
But that monotony, the accumulation of information, the struggle to evolve our faculties of logic and reason, is part of why it’s done that way. The repetition teaches—well, is supposed to teach—us to balance facts against one another and learn to use deductive and inductive reasoning to come up with a reasonable answer.
I understand that. I even support it. But, damn! it can get boring. Larry felt it, too. His fallback had always been wild parties accompanied by liberal applications of alcohol. Different strokes for different folks. However, even he felt the need for a change by the time mid-winter break rolled around.
One Sunday, recovering from last night’s hangover, he turned to me and said, “We need to change the routine, Carter. We’ve got about ten days off coming up soon. I need to get out of here.
I think you do, too. Why don’t you come visit at my place? You can meet my folks, and we can use it as a base for finding the parties.”
He’d mentioned the possibility before, in passing, but we hadn’t made definite plans. Since he’d brought it up, it didn’t sound completely off the wall. It’d be nice to have a break, get off campus for awhile, so I agreed.
“Awesome! I’m still hooked in to the party scene back in ——————, and I’m pretty sure there’ll be something doing most nights, and if there isn’t a party, there are lots of clubs.”
“You know that I’m not that big into competitive drinking, right? Most clubs are built around that type of clientele.”
“Well, Carter, you have a point. But let me just say, without revealing too much, that there are the clubs that the average Joe goes to, and there are other, more exclusive, clubs that cater to more refined interests.”
I raised an eyebrow, but Larry just smiled and returned to his book.
We continued the grind, classes and homework assignments, I finished my papers and handed them in, feeling pretty good about them.
I confess that I cheated a bit, in the sense that I peeked into the instructors’ epicenters while they were discussing the upcoming research papers, and in each case I got a good sense of the approaches that they were looking for. I wrote the papers with those approaches in mind. I hoped it would work.
Early the next week, when I checked my campus mailbox, there was a letter with unfamiliar handwriting on the envelope. I turned it over and looked at the return address on the flap. Oh.
Carla Fletcher.
That was Carly, the erstwhile photographer. Sure enough, when I opened the envelope there was a short note and wrapped in the folds was a wallet-sized photo of the snapshot she’d taken of Karen and me on New Year’s. It made me smile. I found a place for it in my wallet where I’d see it every time I opened it.
One day, mid-week, I needed socks. My last pair had developed a hole in one heel, so I’d gone downtown to use the gift certificate I’d gotten from my parents for Christmas. Coming out of the store, I looked across the street and saw Gail walking arm in arm with a guy. The look on her face was of a person completely smitten and happy. When he glanced down at her and smiled, he looked like a guy who couldn’t believe his good fortune.
It punched a hole in my heart. I stepped back into the store so they wouldn’t see me. I wondered again if there had been something more in my feelings for her than I wanted to admit. But I also knew that unless young Bryce turned out to be a complete creep, Gail and I were done forever.
And then I felt guilty because I was in love with Karen and this reminded me I’d been cheating on her. Love is weird.
On the Friday before the break I finished my English Lit class with a sense of relief. Karen had emailed me yesterday reminding me that she was going to be incommunicado for a week while she visited with her roommate’s family. She told me how much she was looking forward to the break from school.
So was I. I hadn’t realized how intellectually worn down I’d become. Larry had classes till early afternoon, so I packed and read something completely unrelated to schoolwork.
I jumped when Larry banged open the door, tossed his books on the bed, and started stuffing things into a duffel bag. It looked like clean and dirty clothes alike were being tossed in. I supposed there would be support staff on the other end of the trip who would sort things out for him.
“Are you ready, Carter? If I have to stay here one second longer than necessary, I’ll scream.
Really.”
“Everything’s packed. I’m ready when you are.”
It took him another ten minutes, most of that time with him checking to see that he’d packed the thing that had just occurred to him. Finally, he said, “Okay. If I’ve really forgotten anything, I’ll just have to buy another one. Let’s go.
The two of us dragged our respective luggage down to his car. He had more than I did, mostly because I think he was bringing laundry to be done at home. I had enough clothes for about a week, provided we didn’t go anyplace fancy. We tucked the bags in the trunk of his car and got ourselves settled.
“Road trip,” he shouted, a little giddy. “We’ll stop and get some coffee and food later. Now I wanna hit the road.” He put it into Drive and sped out of the parking lot with a chirp of tires. He drove fast, a little faster than I was comfortable with, but he was a surprisingly good driver. While we drove, he chatted about some of the people we might meet, folks he’d gone to school with, or had grown up near.
He wasn’t sure about his father’s plans, as he was often on business trips overseeing the far-flung electronics empire, but his mother was sure to be there.
We stopped once at a thruway rest area for fast food and coffee, and a pee break, then got back on the road. The trip took us about two and a half hours. Once off the highway, we wound through some small towns and off into the back country. It was dark now, and hard to tell, but it looked like horse country, open pastures surrounded by white wooden fences, with the occasional large house well back from the road.
He slowed around a curve, then turned into a side road. Oops, my mistake, not a side road, a long—a very long—driveway. There was a metal gate and a call box blocking our passage. He opened the window and punched a long code into the keypad. The gate swung open.
He rolled up his window and moved on. In the side-view mirror I could see the gate closing behind us. He saw my look and said, “Yeah, my folks really hate door-to-door salesmen.” I suspected there was more to it than that.
It was hard to tell, but the driveway was perhaps a quarter mile long, winding through woods.
I didn’t think it was an entirely natural formation of trees, and that there was probably a landscape architect, a forester and an arborist involved. We came around a curve and if the intent had been to impress visitors, it was a success.
The house was not visible from the road, in fact you couldn’t even see it from within the trees.
It was only visible when you passed that last curve. It was lit up like the White House, and while not as large, it was impressive, elegant. I thought of my Aunt Betsy, who would probably have heart palpitations at being this close to something so big and shiny.
Larry pulled to a stop in front of the main door, beneath a portico to protect arriving guests from inclement weather. We grabbed our bags and Larry said, “C’mon in, meet the crew.”
The door opened as we climbed the steps. Yep, an honest-to-God maid, who said, “Welcome home, Master Lawrence.” Larry winced, I saw him.
“Hello, Martha. This is my college roommate, Tom Carter, who’ll be staying with us while we’re on break.” She curtsied, and said, “How do you do, Mister Carter?”
“Leave your bags here, Carter, someone will bring them up to your room in a while. Martha, who’s here? Father?”
“No, sir, he’s still in Chicago, but should be back tomorrow. Your mother is upstairs.”
“No, she isn’t, she’s right here,” said a woman entering the room. “Lawrence, I’m so glad you’re home! How are you?” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Larry looked really uncomfortable.
“Mother, this is my roommate, Tom Carter, who I mentioned to you over Christmas.”
She extended her hand with a slightly limp wrist, as if she expected me to bow and kiss it.
Instead, I just took it gently and told her, “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Krugman, and thank you for inviting me.”
“You’re most welcome, and we’re happy to have you. Have you eaten, Lawrence? I can have Mrs. Mahoney put something together with no trouble.”
“That’d be great. We only had a burger on the road.”
“Martha,” she said over her shoulder to the maid, “would you ask Mrs. Mahoney to prepare a couple of dinner plates for the two of them, and I’ll have a cup of tea. And ask Ames if he’d bring their bags upstairs.”
Martha curtsied and hurried off. “So!” said Mrs. Krugman. “Why don’t you two come into the parlor and tell me all the exciting things you’ve been up to at —————————.”
We followed her into an anteroom where she sat in a chair facing a couch and waited for us to find our seats. Larry had apparently been through this interrogation before and knew how to say the things she wanted to hear. She threw a few questions my way, what was I studying, where was I from, my interests, and so on. The kind of conversation you might have with a person you’d met at a dinner party, nothing invasive, nothing controversial.
In a few minutes we were interrupted by Martha, the maid, who waited in the doorway until she was recognized by the queen. She informed us that dinner was on the table.
We followed Mrs. Krugman down the hall into a large dining room. The table was really too large for the three of us, but there were plates on the table, and covered serving dishes.
For a moment I thought it was a practical joke, or perhaps Mrs. Mahoney was a witch who waved a wand and produced a feast out of thin air. I didn’t know how she’d done it, but the other two seemed to take no notice.
There was a bowl for soup, which turned out to be curried carrot soup and delicious. There was sliced roast beef, still warm, string beans with what appeared to be almonds, and what I thought were twice-baked potatoes with chives and sour cream. There was a salad in a separate bowl, but I didn’t think I’d have room for it.
While we ate, she kept up a polite but thorough examination of Larry’s studies and extracurricular activities. Larry, I noticed, carefully filtered what she was told. I began to understand a little more about Larry’s upbringing and why he was the way he was.
When we’d eaten as much as we could fit in, she said, “Well, it’s lovely to have you home for awhile, Lawrence. Any plans while you’re here?”
“Not really,” he said carefully. “We might see who’s home from school for the break, perhaps meet up with them to catch up. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
“That’s nice. I think your father’s going to be home tomorrow. Or is it the next day? Anyway, sometime soon. Tom, we’re happy to have you. Please treat this as your house while you’re here.”
I thanked her, and said I hoped I wouldn’t be too much in the way. She waved her hand in dismissal, and bid us goodnight.
“You get enough to eat?” he asked.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Just checking. It’s probably too late to go looking for something to amuse us tonight, but I’ll get on the phone tomorrow. I’m pretty sure you’ll have a good time.”
He led me up the front stairs to the second floor. The staircase reminded me of the famous staircase at Tara in Gone With The Wind, which Scarlett O’Hara descends to greet her admirers.
Perhaps the architect was a fan of the movie.
The guest room where Larry led me had my bag already laid out on a luggage stand. There was a small attached bathroom and shower, and I noticed that my toothbrush and shaving supplies had already been placed there. What must it have been like growing up like this, with a staff that did everything for you?
“I think I’m gonna conk out, Carter. I’m tired. Get up whenever you want. Mahoney will make you breakfast whenever you show up downstairs. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sleep didn’t sound like such a bad plan. Because it had been a very long time—like never—since I’d had a shower available that I didn’t have to share with others, I took a shower. The towels felt like they were brand new, thick and fluffy, and I felt quite decadent. I climbed into bed in my skivvies and was asleep before I knew it.
I was disoriented for a few moments when I awoke, then I remembered. Hotel Krugman. I brushed my teeth, got dressed, and wandered downstairs, encountering only the maid, Martha, who said good morning.
I looked into the dining room where we’d had supper last night, and a door opened and a woman’s head poked out, not Mrs. Krugman.
“Ah. You must be Mr. Carter. I’m Mahoney. Some breakfast? What would you like?”
“Umm, I’m not sure. What’s available?”
“Almost anything, if your tastes aren’t too esoteric. Eggs. Waffles. Pancakes. Various cereals.
Just ask.”
I finally settled on eggs and sausages, with some toast and coffee. She asked if I wanted juice, and I told her a small orange juice.
She went off to fetch her magic wand, and I looked out the window to the back yard. The word
’yard’ implies that it had a boundary. Rather, it was a space that didn’t seem to have an end, a series of grassy plateaus that swept slowly downward to eventually meet a river. I had no idea how much land I was looking at.
Karen had joked about how the ’other half’ lived, and what she was expecting to find when she visited her roommate’s family. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be this impressive.
A noise behind me made me turn around. The maid was pushing a serving cart into the room.
She moved covered dishes onto the table and asked me if I would like coffee. I thought my desperate glance at the coffeepot should have been clue enough, but I said yes anyway.
She pointed to a button at the head of the table, saying, “Just press that if you’d like anything else.”
I was a bit overwhelmed at this largess, but hunger took priority, so I seated myself and soon had a plateful of food. And, if you’re taking notes, it was much better than any restaurant I’ve ever eaten at.
I was on my second cup of coffee, and just putting some marmalade on the last piece of toast when Larry came into the room.
“Hey. Sleep okay?”
“Great. Very comfortable. And breakfast was fabulous. As was dinner last night, if I haven’t mentioned it.”
“Yeah, Mahoney is a gem. The neighbors keep trying to hire her away. My parents have always made a better counter-offer.”
He walked over to push the button at the end of the table, and in a few moments, Martha came in.
He ordered his breakfast without having to think about it, and Martha went off to tell Mahoney.
Larry found an extra cup somewhere and poured himself coffee.
“So anything you want to do while we’re here?”
“Larry, I don’t even know where ’here’ is, or what’s near ’here’, so I wouldn’t have any idea what there is to do.”
“Yeah, I guess we never talked about that much, now that I think about it. ’Here’ is Pennsylvania west of Philly. The name of the town wouldn’t mean anything, because it’s a hamlet that’s part of a township which is tucked into a borough, and the folks around here like to keep it vague.
“There’s a lot of money living within a couple of miles in any direction, and money tends to draw trouble if you flaunt it too much, so let’s call it quiet money. They don’t advertise their wealth. If you were to ask around trying to find out where certain people lived, the people you asked would tend to be confused or say they didn’t know.”
I nodded, and wondered about having grown up in that kind of environment. I couldn’t see another house in any direction, so I expect he wouldn’t have been able to go hang out at another kid’s house on a whim. It would have to be arranged, appointments made, travel provided.
“Anyway, I’ll make some calls after breakfast, see who’s around, if there are any parties going on. In a pinch we could always go to one of those clubs I mentioned. Not the average Joe clubs, the other kind.”
I still didn’t know what he was referring to but, as Martha had just entered with Larry’s breakfast, thought it might not be the time to ask.
Larry tucked into his food, and we talked about nothing until he patted his stomach and said,
“Much better. Okay, I’m going to go make some calls. There’s an entertainment room downstairs, if you want to watch TV—we’ve got cable—or play some video games. You’re a reader, so you might like the library.”
I voted for that, and he led me down a hall and opened a door. It was an oddly shaped room, as the ceiling went much higher than the other rooms I’d been in, as if it ascended two floors. There were walls filled with books going way above my head, and a rolling ladder on rails that you could climb to get at books out of reach. I thought I could happily live in this room.
“They’re organized by literature type, like in a regular library. There’s daily papers there on the table, and a few monthly magazines, if any of those strike your fancy. I’ll leave you here and find you when I’m done, okay?”
He pulled the door closed behind him, and I wandered around staring up at the books that towered over me. I wondered if this was something put together by the architect for show, where they’d buy books by the foot until the shelves were filled, or if the family actually read them.
A question for another time. I chose a newspaper, because I thought it my duty to check with the real world periodically to see if it were getting along without me. Not much had changed, it seemed, wars, threats, crime, politics, corruption, poverty. Same old, same old.
I found a more local newspaper with the same thing on a smaller scale, state and county-focused. Plenty of crime and misery to go around. I pulled a book from one of the shelves, a military history of the Crimean War and read that for awhile until Larry popped his head in and said, “Bingo! Party with the Shindig Sisters tonight. Amelia’s back from Barnard and has her crew together looking for trouble.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Well, they’re not really sisters, we just called them that. They’re some girls I went to school with, always looking for a party, someplace to blow off steam, have fun. I had a thing with a couple of them. Anyway, we’ll go over to her place tonight. Her parents are off in Europe somewhere and she’s got the run of the place while she’s on break.”
There must have been something on my face, because he said, “Carter, I’m pretty sure I can guarantee you a good time. You’ll thank me. Trust me on this.”
We debated what to do till tonight, and he finally convinced me to play some video games. He was pretty good at them, and I was a bit rusty, so we were evenly matched. Later we watched a couple of action movies, one on cable, one that he had on video tape.
Martha eventually came looking for us and announced that dinner would be in thirty minutes.
“We don’t have to, like, dress in black tie, do we? ’Cause I left my tux hanging in the closet.”
“Nah, it’s just us tonight. My mother’s off to some dinner for a charity she’s involved with, and my dad’s not back till tomorrow. You’re fine the way you are.”
So Mahoney made us another dinner that I was sure involved some not-quite-legal incantations.
It was squab, roasted, with some herbs, and perfect. Like melt-in-your-mouth perfect. With wild rice, and asparagus. I knew asparagus wasn’t in season, so I was curious where they got it from, because it looked fresh. And when I thought we were done, she brought out crème brûlée with the coffee and I thought I might have to take a nap afterwards.
After we left the table I asked Larry, “How is it that you don’t weigh like two hundred fifty pounds? Did you eat like that every day?”
“I was a bit of a fussy eater all through secondary school, so I didn’t have much weight gain.
But I’ll have to watch myself when I’m home, ’cause I think my metabolism’s changing, speeding up, and I can feel this food going to my gut. But I don’t have that problem at the chuck wagon, where it’s just bad enough that I stop when I’m full.
“Okay, so I think I’m gonna take a shower and change, then we’ll head over to Amelia’s. You look fine, you don’t need to change if you don’t want to.”
I killed some time until he knocked on my door. “Time’s a-wasting, Carter, let’s go.”
We found our coats and made our way to the K-Mobile. I wished he wouldn’t call it that, but the name amused him. Down the driveway, punch in the code, wait till the gate opens, then off on the back roads. I’m glad he knew the way, because there were no street signs. None. But he drove them like it was second nature.