At the same time, Cal was hanging out with a girl from "POTC" (Problems of the Twentieth Century, an actual course). She was the stepdaughter of a pair of diplomats, and she had a peculiar upturned nose. She held her books in front of her chest, covering her small breasts, and she walked alongside Cal between classes, chatting him up. Then, there were long walks along the creek. ("By old Sligo's slimy waters, there's a putrid air...") The Litman's lived in a creek-side villa (is it a villa, or just a Colonial on stilts?), way up in the trees, up a steep, quite a panting climb from the winding walk. Linda leads him here after a month of walks and talks. She offers him a lemonade, and they sit on the verandah (or is it more of a sunroom?) overlooking the creek. They've been talking about his favorite topics, Neitzsche and being raised a Baptist.
"So. You were saying?"
"Mmmm. This is good! I forgot totally what I was talking about..."
"Baptism. Breaking the rules. 'No cards, no dancing...
"No sex."
"None?"
"Well...there must've been some. Here I sit."
"You're funny."
A pause.
"And Neitzsche," she prompts, "which I don't quite get."
"'If I am struck in the cheek, instead of turning the other one, join in the striking.'"
"Um hmm."
"What's the part you don't get."
"I guess I don't get what that has to do with Baptists."
"It has to do with overturning the prevailing structures. Which, in my case, has to do with being brought up in the Church with all of these strictures."
"Structures. Strictures. How do you plan to stage the rebellion?"
He is so thick. She's stopping short of showing her chest, though she's undone the top button. He does not see that she's already completed the argument and is ready to jump to the next obvious step. Obvious only, it seems, to her.
"Well. I don't really give a shit about playing cards. I hate games."
"I hate games too."
"As for dancing, just give me a good slow rock and roll groove and I'm there."
"Yeah, me too. I don't think there's a lick of rock and roll in this house. Plus, Paul's kind of picky about the stereo."
"Paul?"
"My step father."
"What's it like having a step father?"
"What can I say? It's all I've known."
All of a sudden, he feels her passion. He feels it in his thighs and his cock is stirred.
"Look," she almost whispers, noting his arousal, "would you like to see the rest of the house?"
"Sure."
He thinks this will take his mind off of his predicament, but he wonders how he's going to stand up and not look ridiculous. She's totally aware of this, and deftly solves the problem by creating a diversion.
"Wait here just a sec. I'll put these glasses back in the kitchen."
He sits and thinks of death and dismemberment, of how he's flunking French, and how his music is going to make them laugh and cry both at once. When she returns, he's vanquished his boner and is standing.
The first stop on the house tour is her bedroom.
"Come. Sit down here."
She pats the edge of her bed. Soon, they're on their sides, facing each other. Kissing is too intimate. They find each other's fingers. The fingers find the shoulders, then the neck and down the back. He finds the top of her jeans. She unbuttons hers and rubs his hard-on through the outside of his until his wetness has stained the cloth. He works a hand down the crack of her ass and, taking the Southern route, finds her warm, wet desire. She shudders.
"It's OK?"
"Oh."
"OK?"
"Yeah."
But downstairs there's the sound of an opening door.
"Shit."
"What?"
"My Paul and Julie are back. they've been gone for weeks, and they pick just now to show up."
"Uh. Gone for weeks?"
"I'm a latchkey kid."
The phrase is so far out of his experience he has no reply. From downstairs, a fluting voice yells up.
"Linda!?"
She turns her head away from his and yells back. She's unfailingly considerate, her class act nearly lost on clueless Calbraith.
"Yes! I'm here! I've got a friend over!"
"OK, dear! Take your time! We're just checking in!
The shouting is over, and so is the breaking of rules. For the moment.
