Chapter 10: Unreciprocal Desire

There was another dance scheduled for Saturday in Jenkins’s social hall. Tuesday evening Connie called Diane on the phone, being a little leery of knocking on her door. “Diane, this is Connie, one of your charges.”

“Yes, Connie, I remember you.”

“There’s this dance coming up Saturday. Would inviting a student who lived in another dorm be acceptable?”

“If it wasn’t, a third of the kids wouldn’t be there.”

Connie noticed that the ‘men’ or ‘women’ were ‘kids’ when they were together. Well, many of them sure acted like kids when they were together.

Walters was setting a fast pace in his class. He’d covered the vocabulary the first session, gone to iambic pentameter couplets the next Monday. “Your assignments will be to use the particular rhyme and rhythm schemes we’re studying right now. Your verse has to make sense; you can’t string together words just because they have the right beats. That is the only limit on content, though. Master the forms this quarter, and you can worry about content later.” He assigned a rhyme a day, first couplets, then quatrains. This meant two pieces of verse to be handed in on Wednesday, and five on Monday. He graded on a numerical scale and gave five points out of a hundred for neat typing. She wrote her rough drafts in the notebook for that course, then typed a final draft. Connie was glad she’d learned to type.

Wednesday, at the beginning of their study time, she invited Josh to the dance. “Why, thank you,” he said.

Kim turned out to be a much more pleasant roommate than Lisa had been, neater for one thing. She kept her TV in the living room, and let others watch it when she wasn’t watching and didn’t have guests there. She was in another section of geology, but neither she nor Connie was of much help to the other. Connie was able to help her in English and did so gladly. Connie heard from Kim, who had apparently heard from Beth, that Lisa was on academic probation -- blaming that on the dust-up with Connie.

“Ignoring her situation before then,” said Connie, “I didn’t choose the fight. She did. Her only surprise was that I could fight.”

Josh was a pleasant dance partner; He was by no means expert, but neither was Connie. He was attentive, and he held her close for the slow dances. She walked him out to his car, and they kissed there on the curb.

The afternoon studying was getting to be a drag, the course on mechanics of verse taking the only convenient time. They decided to eat together Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and then study in the cafeteria afterwards. University meal plans paid for food at any cafeteria on campus.

They started sitting together in economics, and Josh invited her to a movie the campus film society was showing Friday. When he drove her home, he parked where they were out of anybody’s eye. His kisses were warm and sweet. Then they talked. When they kissed again, he stroked the outside of her blouse. She was very glad she’d abandoned the stuffed bra, although the feelings weren’t all that strong. When Josh reached for the buttons, she decided he was moving too quickly. She moved his hands away but didn’t break the kiss. He put his hands back on her shoulders and deepened his kiss. Whatever his technique, his front seat was the best designed for making out she’d seen in her limited experience.

Josh went home for Christmas. So did her roommates. Connie enjoyed herself for two weeks. She read ahead in all of her textbooks, even economics. Every evening, she lay splayed on her bed and brought herself to a slow climax. She pulled the covers over herself and went to sleep. Some nights she remembered Joe’s hands on her; some nights she imagined Josh. A few nights she imagined Walters -- if your lovers were going to be only imaginary, why not imagine big-time?

She called home to wish her parents a merry Christmas. Helen answered, but after that conversation was done, she knocked on Andre’s door so that Connie needed to make only one call. “I sent some more money,” Andre told her. “Two checks. The small one’s a Christmas present, buy yourself something you’ll enjoy, not something you need. The big one’s to refresh your bank account.”

“Thanks, Andre.” Although, when the money came, she was puzzled as to why he thought she needed $4,000 to refresh her bank account. Still, she was happy to have the money under her own control. Andre and Helen could run out at the most embarrassing times, occasionally both at the same time. The smaller check, $25, mostly went for her own copy of A River in Africa.

Helen sent her a warm coat.

She went to the Christmas Eve service at St. Matthew’s. All the people after the service who wished her a merry Christmas made her feel lonelier than she had felt the rest of the break.

Kim came back Sunday night; Josh got back, too, and called her up. He’d caught a bad cold at home.

Classes resumed that Monday. She got Wedlock out of the library when it reopened. It didn’t improve on second reading. She was puzzled by the absence of any poems about children or even childbirth. There were definitely two which implied pregnancy. For that matter, there was no mention of morning sickness, either. Not that she regretted that, but Walters had seemed fixated on nausea in A River in Africa.

She and Josh ate and studied together that night. Wednesday, they called it off right after dinner. “Somehow,” Josh said, “the nasal passages aren’t the only things that get clogged up. Anyway, I don’t want to give you the cold.”

Back at Jenkins, Connie walked into her room. Kim, who obviously had depended on Connie’s staying with Josh for hours, had her bedside lamp on illuminating some magazine. It also illuminated the lumps from her hand playing with her boob under the sheet and the other one busy between her legs. “Sorry,” said Connie, and backed out. She went downstairs and did two hours studying in the lounge. Lots of kids studied in the lounge, some with other kids of the opposite sex.

When she came back, Kim was still awake. “Sorry,” Connie said again. “Josh has a bad cold, and we called the study off.”

“You aren’t going to tell, are you?” Kim asked.

“Who? You’re my friend. And far fewer people would be shocked than you might think. Anyway, I’ve said it before. I don’t tell my roommates’ secrets.”

“You know what I was doing?”

“And I wasn’t shocked. I was disturbed at invading your privacy, but that was totally inadvertent. Maybe we should arrange times when we both know that only one of us will be in the room. Anyway, it’s late. We can talk about that tomorrow.”

And Thursday, they almost talked about it. Connie said that she would be out of the room from 6:00 (“Really earlier. I usually meet Josh at 6.”) to 8:00 Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. If Josh weren’t available, she’d study elsewhere.

“I don’t need that much time,” said Kim.

“Well, that’s what’s usually available. And you need more time than you think. If I only give you privacy when you are going to use that privacy, then I’ll know what you’re doing, which wouldn’t really be privacy. See?”

Kim figured out her TV schedule, which took her out of the room. “And if it’s not on or I need to study, I’ll be somewhere else.”

“That’s fair.”

Friday, she got a letter from Andre with a new phone number and a check for $5. “Please call,” it said. While Kim was watching TV, she did.

That her parents were getting a divorce didn’t surprise Connie. This was a marriage? The grounds did. “Andre,” she asked, “what happened to incompatibility?”

Andre laughed. “Incompatibility is one of the grounds for marriage, Princess. You’re thinking of ‘irretrievable breakdown of the marital relationship.’” That would apply, too. “Adultery is still one of the grounds for divorce in Connecticut. I caught her, caught her on film. She can’t bring a man into my bed.”

“Your bed? You two haven’t shared a bedroom in five years.”

“Closer to ten. This was at the cabin. That’s my cabin. I go up there for inspiration and quiet. What inspiration will I get after I saw them together? What spiritual quiet? It never was all that soundless, it’s just that the sounds of nature are soothing. Now, there’s nothing soothing about that place. She can’t expect me to turn my back on that sort of behavior. I finally got suspicious when she went up there in midwinter.”

Helen was still in the house. “All the payments are now mine, dear. I’ll really have to stretch to cover you next quarter. And after all I put up with over the years. He’d better watch out. The other spouse’s adultery is a defense, you know.”

Connie figured she was well out of it. For all Andre’s statements about finally getting suspicious, the idea of divorce must have been on his mind for years. His suggestion that she go to college far from home had taken her out of the situation. He could be a subtle writer; as a person, he was mostly transparent.

Monday she and Josh resumed studying after dinner. He was almost over his cold. He asked her to a dance that was being held in his dorm, Brewer, the coming Saturday.

He drove her there. Connie thought this was a little silly since she took longer walks getting to breakfast every morning. Still, it was cold;, and he had to drive her back to Jenkins. If he didn’t, they couldn’t park.

But he did, and they did. “I don’t think I’m contagious anymore,” Josh said before kissing her. His car had been parked in the cold for hours, and the heater hadn’t managed to warm it all that much. She didn’t object when he unbuttoned her coat, but she shivered at the touch of his hand.

“Let me,” she said. She took his hand between hers, blew on it, and rubbed it. She put it back on her boob and covered it with her coat. It was still chilly, even through the bra. But the nipple rose in response to the chilliness as much as to the caress. She welcomed the kiss and the stroking. Finally, she broke the kiss. “I’m getting cold,” she said. He drove her back to Jenkins. Their kiss at the end was brief. “Don’t get out,” she said. “You’d freeze.”

She’d let her assignment for mechanics of verse slide. She needed five quatrains (ABAB) of trochaic tetrameter on Monday. She stayed in bed except for a trip to the bathroom until they were all written. Then she went for a heavy lunch. Afterwards, she checked over the verse for any errors. She typed all five quatrains up very carefully. She’d spent most of her Sunday on the course which had the fewest hours, but she had all her other actual assignments done. All that was left was readings. She concentrated on geology.

Monday was warmer. Only the true Wisconsin types would call it warm, but her new coat kept Connie comfortable on her way to breakfast. When Josh drove her back from their evening study, he parked on the way -- out of the way, actually. The new coat had a zipper; that would make her more conscious of his opening it than she’d been of his unbuttoning the old coat. She grabbed Josh’s hand and held it in front of the vent of the heater. When she was satisfied with its temperature, she dropped it and unzipped the coat.

Josh was grinning. You could tell when you kissed someone who was grinning. This time the hand wasn’t chilly through her bra, wasn’t chilly against her belly through the shirt. She enjoyed his touches and his kisses. When she got upstairs, Kim was watching “Cagney and Lacey,” allowing Connie the privacy to finish herself off.

The next afternoon, when she had done her verses for Wednesday, Connie considered her situation with Josh. All the other guys in her past -- all? there were three -- had loads more experience than she had. Josh had gone out with one previous girlfriend. Anyone before Jessica had been as a freshman in high school. So Josh had not the slightest idea of how fast he could move under the high-school rules, let alone the college rules. Actually, since they had this long past of study dates before their first real dates, Connie suspected that the college rules would be vague anyway. She would have to decide. And, really, she would have to decide anyway, always and with any boy. She liked Josh, liked him far more as a person than she had Kent. It wasn’t his fault that she was really one of those coeds drooling over Walters. Not that she would admit that to Josh; it hurt to admit that to herself.

Besides, Connie was getting a little tired of providing all her own stimulation. Josh seemed to respect boundaries. When it got warmer, she would go without a bra on special occasions and move into the backseat. When Josh suggested it, of course; she wouldn’t be so forward as to suggest something. And when would she say no? The waist was a good boundary.

Wednesday, Walters stopped class a few minutes early to hand back the papers which had been turned in on Monday. There were complaints about his grading system. “Look,” he replied, “I know that I require more work from you on Monday assignments than on Wednesday assignments, and then I grade them by the same system. But the grade on your transcripts will be from both. As long as you turn in the requisite number of quatrains, you start with a hundred points. I’ll allow one typo per line in the assignment, if it’s corrected neatly in ink. If it’s not corrected, it’s a spelling error. Those are two points. When in doubt, use a dictionary. An error in rhythm is five points, ten points if it’s egregious. If you turn in a list of nonsense words instead of a coherent thought, I’ll treat it as a quatrain not written. Copying from someone else is more likely to fail the course than to take off points. For that matter, it can get you thrown out of school. Other than that, I don’t look at content.”

“Word lists,” said a boy in the back, “are a legitimate form of poetry.”

“So they are, John. But they aren’t one of the forms we’re learning.”

“What did you get?” asked Sharon as they walked out the door. Connie showed her. “105! It’s not fair that the best poet in the class is also the best typist.”

“I don’t always get that high.”

“I don’t ever get that high. John!” John came over. “This is Connie Steffano. Don’t mention where you’ve seen that name before. She’ll kill you. John,” she told Connie, “is the poetry editor of The Quill.” That was the literary magazine for the university.

“Are you going to submit?” John asked.

“I’ve read it.” She hadn’t been impressed. “Do you take verse that rhymes?”

“If it’s poetry. And if it’s submitted. Don’t blame me for some of the stuff we print; we have to select among the things which are submitted. You should see the shit we reject.”

“I’ll think about it. When does the next issue come out?”

“Third week in the quarter. But deadline is Monday the seventh. People don’t consider all the stages that you have to go through between seeing their deathless prose and putting out a magazine with a cover and fifteen pages of print.”

“And it’s submissions? I thought it was staff.”

“Everybody gets equal access.”

“But,” Sharon said, “some animals are more equal than others.” John laughed. “It’s awfully hard,” Sharon explained to Connie, “to work for hours beside somebody whose work you’ve just rejected. And, of course, there’s always the guy who stomps out ‘cause you wouldn’t dedicate ten of the fifteen pages to his pointless, plotless, short story. Which just might mean that somebody who has never done pasteup needs to learn in a hurry.”

“This is just an example,” John assured Connie. “Nothing like that has ever really happened.”

“And,” said Sharon, “I didn’t really go into that exam without either studying or sleeping for the previous forty-eight hours. Now, if we could just persuade Professor Michaels of that, he might change the grade he gave me for that quarter.”

Connie really couldn’t afford being late for geology, but this was an insight into the ‘college experience’ Diane had talked about. She didn’t want to be one of those people staying up all night to put out a pretentious literary magazine. Distributing toilet paper was a maintenance responsibility, not a student responsibility. For that matter, Andre might not like it if Connie told him she had crossed the divide and worked -- worse, volunteered -- for a publisher.

That night Josh drove her home from the study date again. He held his left hand in front of the vent of the heater while he kissed her. She was wearing her new coat, and when he fumbled with her zipper she said, “I’ll get it,” not wanting him messing it up. His kisses already had her excited, and his touch brought her higher and higher. Finally, she pushed him away and buttoned her shirt before zipping up her coat. She held his face for one final kiss before leaning back in her seat and refastening the seat belt. “Friday,” she said when he stopped at the door to Jenkins.

Connie brought herself to a rapid completion and was asleep when Kim got in from watching “Quincy.”

“A word with you, Miss Steffano,” Walters said after English class on Thursday. As he didn’t seem headed for his office, she waited with him outside the classroom until the rest of the students had left. “Look, I’ve often complained about students worrying too much about grades, and it isn’t as if you were in the slightest danger of failing, but...”

He took a breath and seemed to start over. “I think you could get an ‘A’ in this class; you certainly got one last quarter. You’re not quite at that level this quarter. On the other hand, your grades in the verse course are embarrassingly high, far above the grades of the upperclassmen. You could afford to relax in that class, not go to sleep, but relax. And a little more effort in this class might get you an ‘A.’ “Are you on a scholarship?”

“No.”

“Then the difference between an ‘A’ and a ‘B’ probably doesn’t matter. Forget I mentioned it.”

“It might matter to me. I seem to have difficulty pulling my geology grade above ‘C.’ I’ll think whether it does matter. Thanks for telling me.”

Perversely, instead of digging into the English homework, she began planning out a poem for The Quill. She wanted the college experience, after all. She’d describe the ‘mechanics of verse’ course, from the subject matter to the seating arrangements. She’d use several quatrains, each one with a different rhythm. Would they print it? The poetry they printed seemed mostly to be unrhymed gushes of emotion with sprung -- if any -- meter.

Anyway, she had both geology and French to do before the next day.

Friday, Josh invited her to another movie the coming Monday. She was impressed that he would schedule a date to conflict with the after-study make out session.

Of course, he wasn’t so disinterested uninterested as to not park after the movie. She got back to her room greatly excited. Unfortunately, Kim was already there. It took Connie a while to get to sleep and she woke cranky the next morning. She stopped working on her poem for The Quill on Tuesday to bring herself off while Kim was watching “Saint St. Elsewhere.”

It was snowing so badly when they got out of the cafeteria Friday, that she asked Josh to drive her straight back to the dorm. Mindful of her promise to Kim, she studied in the social room of Jenkins until 8:30.

The snow stopped falling by Monday, but it was so deep that they gave up on driving altogether. They found an unused nook for deep kisses while standing, but Connie was too nervous to allow actual making out. Josh grabbed her buns during the kisses and pulled her hard against his erection. Appreciating this acknowledgement of her power to arouse, Connie ground her belly against his hardness during the kiss. Still, standing was less comfortable than sitting in a car, making them both happy to cut the time short. That night, and subsequent nights she walked home, Connie got back to Jenkins before 8:00.

And the end of the quarter was coming up. Connie concentrated on economics and his English with Josh, on her English and on geology when alone. She didn’t ignore French, but she figured that not too much effort was needed to keep her ‘A.’

She had finished the poem and put it aside. On Thursday, with the deadline looming, she got it out, cleaned up a few rough spots, and typed it out. She carried it over to the offices of The Quill on Friday. Nobody was there, but she dropped it in a box for submissions.

The snow didn’t actually melt, but -- as the temperature got warmer -- the piles of snow got smaller. Josh started driving her back from study again, although they still didn’t see anywhere to park. For that matter, his heater barely cut the chill in the car.

When she met him in the cafeteria Monday, Feb. 14, he handed her a box of candy. She hadn’t even got him a card! She opened the box, then had an idea. When they were done studying, she said “Come with me.” When they were out of sight in an empty hall, she put her coat on top of her books and the candy box on top of that. She selected a piece of candy that looked firm and put it in her mouth. When she straightened, she pulled him against her and used her mouth to put the candy half into his. They stood like that eating the same piece of candy and kissing. “Thanks, Josh,” she said after the piece of candy was gone. “Nobody has ever given me such a nice present for Valentine’s Day.”

Since all she had received was cards from her parents (and real cheap ones from an occasional grade-school classmate, usually a girl) this was totally true.

Josh got his heater fixed, and the weather got better. Connie was used to New England winters, but they had never been as consistently cold as the Wisconsin weather this year. Even so, occasional parking lots got cleared, and uncleared areas got worn down. Both she and Josh were keeping their eyes out for possible spots, as well. They started parking again, and -- after Josh had warmed his hand -- she was unzipping her coat again.

The Quill wasn’t due out for a long time, but Sharon phoned her the Sunday before exam week that her poem would appear. She saw Josh only after the tests that week, and he was going home the next. They took a drive after her last test on Friday, his last test having been on Thursday. They drove past three of their usual parking spots. At the third occupied one, she started to giggle. “Those people shouldn’t park their cars there today. Don’t they know we need the space.? We’re going to be apart for two long weeks!”

He laughed, too. “Bet there’s a spot free at the mall.” They’d gone there sometimes very late, but they’d still worried about security.

“Yeah. And, since you just want to talk, there’s plenty of space today in student parking.” He didn’t just want to talk -- for that matter, neither did she -- but she wasn’t going to make out in a mall lot with shoppers walking past.

Finally, he found a spot near the athletic fields. Nobody would use the fields in this weather, but maintenance plowed every parking lot sooner or later. “It would be more comfortable in the back,” he suggested.

“Not in this weather,” she said. She unzipped her coat, and he began their kiss. They had enough time, for once. He kissed over her face and neck while he stroked her boob through the bra. She was aroused when he dropped her off at the cafeteria for an early dinner. The arousal dropped over dinner; university meals would do that.

Kim was gone when she got back, however, and she had the room to herself. She lay on her elbows naked under the sheet with her lamp on, pulling the nipples and twisting them very gently. When she was completely aroused, she turned on her back. Even then, she stroked her thighs with her right hand and her boob with the other. Only when she couldn’t stand the tension did she touch her cunny. A few strokes on the trigger brought her over. She pulled the blanket up, turned off the lamp, and went to sleep.

Helen called late Saturday. “Dear, how are you fixed?”

“I’m not hurting.” If she had to pay tuition, she would be.

“I have sent the tuition and the room and board checks off to the university, but that leaves me strapped indeed. Books are my responsibility, too. But could you buy them with your own money and send me the cash-register tape? I can’t get the money to you in March; I’m delaying some bills to get this money out now. But I will get it to you in April. Can you hold out that long? Real early in April. I’ll drop my paycheck off at the bank instead of mailing it.”

“That would be fine.” And Andre was scheduled to pay her first quarter’s tuition next year, but how would Helen manage next January? Well, that was a year in the future; anything could happen.

Walters was scheduled to teach a course on Robinson Jeffers the next quarter. Unfortunately, it conflicted with the times of her geology course on Wednesdays and Fridays. It also had a prerequisite of American literature. She was taking English 102, which was a prerequisite for English 211, American literature, which was a prerequisite for English 329, poetry of Robinson Jeffers. Actually, English 103 and 213 were the prerequisites. Delightfully, however, the catalog said, “or permission of the instructor.” So she could go talk with Walters, assuming Walters kept office hours during the break time. Half the front row visited Walters all the time, with damn-all excuse. She didn’t want him to see her as one of those groupies, but what could be more legitimate than asking for a permission that the catalog said he had to decide?

Monday, she checked his office. He wasn’t there, but a hand- lettered sign on his door listed “break hours.” She could come back Tuesday after breakfast. And, if she were going to claim a deep interest in studying Jeffers, it might be wise to read something he had written. Luckily, the library was still open in the daytime during the break. Jeffers had written a bunch of poetry, some of it single book-length poems. She checked out three books: one collection, one single poem, and one biography.

The Stallion was good stuff, why hadn’t she found it when she was looking for erotic poetry among Andre’s books? Well, that was the answer right there; sometimes -- among Andre’s books -- you were lucky to be able to find the door. She couldn’t remember whether he had any Jeffers or not. And, as usual, St. Wigbert’s had been absolutely no help.

“Why not?” Walters said when she asked to take his course. “Well, I can think of one reason. Read any of Jeffers?”

“A little.” Connie knew that rule. You had only read a ‘a little’ of a poet’s oeuvre even if you had committed all his published work to memory. And it was a useful rule, she really had only read a little of Jeffers, and Walters was quite likely to ask about specific works.

“You know that some of his poems are explicitly sexual?”

“Yes.” Although she hadn’t known it for long, which was why she’d only read a little.

“Well, if that doesn’t embarrass you, it doesn’t embarrass me. Do me a favor, though. Don’t sit in the front row this time. Lecturing on sexual matters with an eighteen-year-old girl staring at me just might be embarrassing.”

She wouldn’t. And she sure-as-hell wasn’t going to correct his guess about her age. Well, he’d asked her to not sit in the front row for one particular course, and new seating arrangements in English 103 would be available for the new quarter.

She went back to the library for more Jeffers. She’d been going to study her ongoing courses over the break. Jeffers, however, was something she’d need to know for the next quarter. And, besides putting a slip of paper in the pages to mark the good parts, she did read the poems. Connie would have to go back more slowly, but she could get through one hell of a lot in two weeks.

She went out with Josh briefly when he got back Thursday. They talked more than they made out although the car was warm enough to be comfortable for once. Kim came back a few hours after Josh did. Lisa didn’t come back at all; Beth would have their room all to herself.

Friday, she registered for the Jeffers course, English 329, a section of Geology 103 which met TTS after English 103, and Archery for a gym class. The rest of her schedule matched her previous quarter’s.

She made sure to get to the English classroom before the previous class got out on Tuesday. She got the left-hand seat in the front row. Wednesday, she felt virtuous about taking a seat in the third row, for the Jeffers course, the left-hand one. Walters had only asked her not to sit in the front row. Many of the students who filed in were people she remembered from the mechanics-of-verse class. It seemed that everybody else knew each other. They were junior and senior literature majors. “Who are you?” one boy who hadn’t been in the mechanics class asked after class.

“Connie Steffano.”

“Oh.”

“She has a poem in the next Quill,” said John. “Connie, this is Bill Gibson. Don’t take his arrogance personally, he treats everyone the same way.”

“A poem in The Quill. I’m impressed,” Bill said in a tone which implied that he wasn’t.

“It rhymes,” said John. Bill raised his eyebrows before walking away.

She got ‘C’s in geology, economics, and -- of course -- gym. She got ‘A’s in French and both English courses.