Chapter 3

Doug and Angie were lying on the grass in the quadrangle. Too soon the bell would ring and they'd have to go to classes. But for now they could lay close together, enjoying the nearness of their bodies.

"You know what time I hate the most?" Angie asked.

"What?"

"Friday night."

"Wha-at?"

Angie slipped her hand down between their bodies and put it on his crotch. "Because I know it'll be a whole seven days before we can make love again.

"Don't do that here," Doug said alarmed. He looked around to see if anyone was looking at them. No one seemed to be.

"We shouldn't be ashamed of being in love," Angie protested.

"Angie," Doug said disapprovingly. "You know how people are. They'll say we're too young anyway. They don't think we ought to know anything about it. Or to feel any desire."

"We ought to invite them over on Friday night," Angie said playfully. "Can't you see Mr. Bailey and my mother watching us make love?" She started laughing loudly at the thought.

"Shhh! Someone will hear," Doug cautioned.

"No one's even near us."

"Brad's coming over this way."

Angie made a face. "I hope he doesn't start a fight again. Don't fight with him. For any reason."

"Take it easy. No sense in looking for trouble."

"Hi, there, you two," Brad called as he approached them. "Been having a lot of sex lately?"

"Is that al you ever think of?" Doug asked.

"Got a better topic?" Brad asked.

"I would think an operator like you would have," Angie put in.

"With you, it would be dishonorable to think of anything else," Brad said mockingly, as he flopped down on the grass beside her.

Angie laughed scornfully. "What a line!"

"Mamzelle, you wound me!" Brad exclaimed, melodramatically. He clapped a hand over his heart, threw himself flat on the grass, and pretended to be dead.

Angie laughed in spite of herself.

Mary Jane and two of her friends came over, attracted by Brad.

"O, Angie," Mary Jane exclaimed. "Are you coming to the dance tonight?"

"No, I'm busy Friday nights," Angie said casually.

"Oh, you should come," Mary Jane squealed. "We had so much fun last time. Didn't we, girls?"

The girls chorused the affirmative.

A bell rang to signify the end of the lunch period and the resumption of classes.

Doug got up. "Well, I must be off."

"Bye now," Angie smiled secretively to him.

Brad sat up. He took in Angie's smile and looked appraisingly at Doug as he walked away.

"Brad, are you coming to the dance tonight?" Mary Jane gushed.

"Not if I can find something better to do." He narrowed his eyes and looked at Angie.

"She looked at him wide-eyed.

"You've been looking good lately," Brad said to Angie. He turned to the other girls. "Don't you think so?"

"She sure has," Mary Jane said. She looked enviously at Angie.

To her chagrin, Angie blushed.

"You do," Brad insisted. "Maybe it's because you have a boyfriend now."

Angie's chin went up haughtily. "He's just a friend."

"Friend or not, it's made a change in you," Brad said.

"How?" Angie asked.

"Ohh," Brad searched for words. "You're happier--more approachable."

"Oh, I'm not," Angie protested.

"I'd like to get to know you better," Brad said confidently. "When can I come over? Tonight?"

"No," Angie objected. "Tonight is Friday."

"So?" Brad smiled enigmatically. "What's so sacred about Friday?"

"Nothing," Angie replied. "It's just that I already have plans for tonight."

"Why can't I be included?" Brad persisted.

"Because why should I change my plans?" Angie said mockingly.

"Because you'd like to take pity on a poor homeless bachelor," Brad mocked back at her.

Mary Jane and her friends clustered around Angie, obviously impressed by Brad's pursuit of her.

Angie preened, proud to be the center of attention. "What would we do if you did come over?" she asked tentatively.

"What you usually do," Brad said boldly, his face expressionless. He added, "We could play records."

"Maybe you could come over for a little while," Angie said carelessly, with a guarded glance at the girls. She was rewarded with envious expressions on their faces.

"What time?"

"7:30," Angie said. Then she thought for a moment. "No, better make it 8."

Brad studied her face. "Not 7:30. 8."

That afternoon, after school, Angie went straight home and went to her bedroom and laid on her bed and began to worry about what she had done. What if Brad found out about what she and Doug were doing? He'd probably tell and then she'd be in a mess. Her mother would die from the shock. It was dangerous to let him come. Maybe she should call him and tell him not to come? The envious faces of Mary Jane and her girlfriends came into her memory. Their avid glances and rapt attention to her verbal tongue-of-war with Brad pleased her all over again. They had walked with her to her classroom afterwards, chatting with her like old friends. Her dreams of friendship were coming true.

Her mind was rationalizing. Why not let Brad come? It would be a joke on Doug. They would talk and play records for a while and then they'd send him home early. She and Doug could make love afterwards. She could have the best of everything.

Finally, she heard her name being called.

"Angelica."

It was her mother calling! What did she want?

"Angelica!"

"Yes, Mother."

"Open you r door."

Angie swung off the bed, padded to the door and opened it a crack.

"Yes?" Angie asked.

"Aren't you going to let me in?" he mother asked, somewhat uncertainly.

Angie stepped back and opened the door wider. Now what? she asked herself. The occasions her mother visited her room were in frequent. Angie stood, waiting.

Mr. Marlowe seemed uneasy. She kept prowling about the room, seemingly unable to settle down. The silence grew strained. Embarrassing. Angie determined not t o break it. Let her. She invaded my room. I didn't ask her to come.

"Well," Mrs. Marlowe said nervously. She cleared her throat loudly. "I've--I've been thinking. About what you asked me. And--and I think it's time you did know-some things," she ended lamely. She stopped, confused, and look at the floor.

Angie watched her mother with clear eyes. She supposed she should feel sorry for her but all she could feel was indifference and, yes, pity. If she could only see what a pitiful spectacle she was making of herself!

Mrs. Marlowe looked up at Angie, couldn't bear to look in her probing eyes, and looked out the window.

"It's hard to explain," she started again hesitantly. "Especially to a younger girl. Only married women really need to know."

Angie's eyes met hers unflinchingly. Her mother looked away quickly again.

"But, girls should be aware--they should watch out for compromising situations. Like, you should never stay alone in a room with any boy-or man. And don't let them touch you. Anywhere. Men are animals. It's their nature. A girl has to protect herself."

"From what?" Angie asked innocently.

The simple question threw her mother in a tizzy. Her face turned red, her mouth opened involuntarily and hung open, bereft of words. Obviously, her mind was confused and shame filled her body.

"What happens, mother?" Angie asked stubbornly.

Her mother concentrated on a spot on the floor. "They touch you. It doesn't feel good. And you'll probably get pregnant right away." She frowned, searching for words. "It's better to put all thought of sex out of your mind now." She straightened up. "And now you've been warned."

"Warned against what?" Angie asked, disgusted.

"About getting pregnant."

"I wasn't wanting to," Angie said. "I just wanted to know how it happens."

Her mother looked at her silently for a long moment. "You don't have to worry about it until you're married." She added with a playful smile, "And that's several years in the future."

"Where do babies come from?" Angie asked point blank.

"From love," Mrs. Marlowe said, embarrassed.

"Then where did I come from?"

"What do you mean?" her mother asked, confused.

"You don't love daddy."

Mrs. Marlowe turned white with an almost rising anger. She sat in agony for a few moments, trying to control herself. Finally, she said, "It has nothing to do with you."

Angie looked directly at her. "Yet, it has. I might have had a sister or a brother."

Mrs. Marlowe jumped up. "Impudent!" she screamed.

"Isn't it true?" Angie persisted.

"You're just as bad as your father--always getting off the subject." Mrs. Marlowe rushed out of the room.

It's just as well, Angie thought as she lay back on her bed. She can't tell a straight story anyway.

But an idea kept popping into her mind and bothering her. Something must be wrong with me because I enjoy sex. There must be some good reason why mom is uptight about it. I must be a pervert of some kind. A nymphomaniac!

She got up and turned on the stereo as loud as it would go, subconsciously wishing to drown her thoughts in noise.

She poked through her clothes closet. I must dress up tonight. Brad's coming. I hope Doug won't be mad at me. We'll get rid of Brad some way. Then we can have it out. I can't go on. Shame engulfed her. I must stop. It must be wrong to enjoy sex. Why, I don't know. It seems so natural, once you get the hang of it. I wish I had a mother who could help me. Tears filled her eyes, her vision became blurry. She had difficulty seeing the dresses. The tears silently rolled down both cheeks and dropped on the floor.

When the doorbell rang at 7:30, Angie was waiting. She'd had second thoughts about surprising Doug and bad decided to tell him Brad was coming.

"Oh, Doug--" she said as she opened the door.

Brad stepped in. "I hope you're not disappointed that it's me," he said with a confident smirk on his young face.

"I told you to come at eight," Angie said angrily.

Brad hit his palm against his forehead in simulated distress. "Did you? You told me two times--seven-thirty and eight. And I kept thinking, not eight, seven-thirty.' I must have turned them around."

"You're not welcome until eight," Angie said coldly.

"I have nowhere to go," Brad said self-pityingly.

"Walk around the block a few times," Angie said, unmoved.

"You wouldn't throw me out," Brad protested lightly, with a dangerous tone in his voice.

Angie could see that he had no intention of leaving and she knew she wasn't strong enough to throw him out alone. She decided it would be smarter to play along with him.

"You can look over the records in the rumpus room while I get a bottle of wine," she said, leading him to the rumpus room.

Brad looked approvingly at the elaborate stereo set built into the wall and the shelves filled with records.

"Make yourself at home," Angie said, turning to go. "I'll be right back."

She hurried up to the kitchen and rushed into the breakfast nook and dialed Doug's phone number.

"Who're you calling?" Brad asked behind her.

Angie jumped in surprise. She turned to see Brad lounging in the doorway, grinning at her in an oppressive way.

"Hello," Doug's voice said in the phone, "hello."

Angie hung up the receiver. "My mother told me to call her at the dinner party they're at. But no one answers."

She smiled appealingly at Brad and slipped past him to the kitchen. "I put a bottle of wine to cool in the refrigerator. Do you like port?"

"I can take it or leave it," Brad said pompously, following her.

With the wine and three glasses on a tray, she led him back down to the rumpus room. She set the tray on a table.

"Would you like some now or shall we wait until Doug comes?" she asked.

"Why not now?" Brad asked, playing a sophisticated man-of- the-world type.

"You pick out a record while I open the wine," Angie directed.

Good gosh, he was hard to talk to! And he kept looking at her in that insinuating way. She must reach the front door first to warn Doug. She kept hoping the doorbell would ring soon.

Brad pretended to look for a record. Is she nervous! he thought. Those two must have been up to something. I'm going to be there when old Douggie boy steps in the door. He put a record on and turned the volume down low so he could hear the doorbell.

Angie poured wine into two glasses. "Turn the volume up, I can't hear it," she told him innocently.

Brad turned it up a little bit. They smiled at each other sincerely.

Angie handed him his glass of wine. They continued to measure each other with their eyes. Panic began to gain possession of Angie. Doug should get here any minute, she kept thinking. I've got to be upstairs when he comes! She tried to think of an excuse to leave.

"Oh, dear!" she said. "I forgot the coasters. Mother'll be so mad. Wait here. I'll run up and get them."

She dashed upstairs. Brad followed at a discreet distance. She went into the kitchen. Brad watched her open a drawer and take some coasters out. Then she stood uncertainly, not wanting to leave. The doorbell rang. Brad watched her dash down the hall and open the door.

In a high voice, Angie said, "Doug! I've got to tell you--"

Doug, stepped in the door saying, "Hi, baby!" and grabbed her and kissed her soundly.

Angie struggled to get him to stop but Doug responded by bending her body backward and running his hand up her skirt to the crotch band of her panties. Angie tried to pull his hands away. In vain.

"Well, hello, you love birds," Brad said in an amused tone.

Doug and Angie pulled apart guiltily.

"Just as I thought," Brad said happily. "There's nothing like learning from experience, is there?"

"What's he doing here?" Doug asked Angie angrily.

"She invited me," Brad answered quickly.

"Why?" Doug asked Angie, humiliation and, rage colored his tone.

Angie was devastated by the quick turn of events. "I--I--," she faltered. She hadn't anticipated such a disastrous end.

"Why not?" Brad sneered. "You're not going to be selfish and keep all the experiences for yourself?"