Chapter 2

Ivan left for the upstate campus before the Tutlock brothers arrived at the estate. It was late; night was falling. He had a long drive ahead of him and a chance to ponder all that hap happened As he cruised thorough the night on Route 17 he had plenty of time to play the weekend memory over.

Of course Mrs. Tutlock's visits to his bedroom were disconcerting. The sex was great, but he wondered why he didn't regret his unfaithfulness to Robin more than he did. What Beryl had told him as she undressed herself in his room was ringing in his ears. What did she know? Should he expect a 'visit' from her at his every visit to the estate; and where would that leave him if they were found out?

Robin's behavior disturbed him even more. As nuptials approached she seemed cold when he thought she would want to be closer to him. He could get over her refusals, though irritating, but wished he understood better. He didn't believe her 'time of the month' excuse. The worst of it was her humiliating parading of him shirtless at the photo session. How could she have done that to him? It got under his skin that he'd stood still for it.

"Love will conquer all," he muttered aloud, with only himself and his half-finished coffee to hear the words.

How hollow they sounded, having only the value of the empty cliché that they were. He stared ahead at the blackened road, following the headlight beam,

He thought of his own parents. He realized that he hadn't thought of them enough of late. The Tutlocks' snub was nasty and he realized that by saying nothing he was part of it ... Ivan pondered the vast differences between their lives and the Tutlocks'. They had not a fraction of the wealth of his in-laws to be.

"At least they weren't ready to kick me out because I messed up on that Bio course," he reasoned in the darkened car. "Ma would never have made Dad parade around shirtless for photos—and Dad was pretty well-built when he was my age."

He told himself that things would have to change. He knew that he had to play by the Tutlock's rules, but only to a point. Although Robin was the heiress, he would be the husband. Their name would be Horton, not Tutlock. He would bed his bride and he would not be a boy-toy of her mother. Ivan challenged himself to live up to his bold resolutions.

"Sounds easy to say, but..." he mused in the darkness.

Rebecca met Ivan in the carrel as scheduled. As she thumbed though his notes and lab report he thought she would be pleased. She went through it without speaking, making a few notes in the margins.

There was a part of the lab that Ivan knew wasn't right. He'd done the best he could, and then given up on it. He expected a caustic rebuke as she arrived on the sinful page ... She took a deep breath.

"Oh-oh, here it comes," he warned himself

He could see her thinking—probably thinking up some king of stinging remark to highlight his incompetence. As he thought she was ready to speak she eased the stored breath from herself, closed the notebook and handed it to him.

"Done!" she said. "Do you have any questions about the next lab?"

"I'm surprised that you passed right over the hard part of the lab without a word about it."

She gave him a surprised look, perhaps that he had squandered her leniency.

"You're right—I'm sorry," she answered. "I'm just not myself today."

"What's the trouble? Can I help?" he asked.

"I don't think so."

She squinted at him through her black-framed glasses. It was an opening. Ivan thought to make good his exit, and he almost did. As he turned to leave the carrel his feet seemed to be stuck to the floor...

"I'm not myself, either," Ivan offered.

She continued looking, but didn't speak. Ivan was ready to give up, but decided on a final attempt.

"You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine," Ivan tried again.

"I can't," she admitted. "I'm not very good at that sort of thing, and we're not very close, anyway. I know you're trying to be nice, but..."

"What've you got to lose? After this Bio course is done with you'll never see me again."

She was silent again, eying him as though he was a burglar that she'd caught in a private room.

"Let's go across the street to the student union and have something to drink," she said at last as she closed her books and stacked them on the shelf...

Ivan bought himself a coffee and Rebecca a tea in the cafeteria line. They found an empty table in an isolated corner and relaxed into the chairs.

"Tell me yours first," Rebecca said.

"The trip to Southampton wasn't very good," he began. "I have a lot of things to think about."

She didn't say anything, but cocked her head in a way to let him know that she expected him to spill all of it.

"Robin was like another person. She didn't even care if I was there or not—except when she needed me to perform some little act for her friends. It was like being a trained seal. She would parade me in front of her friends and then send me to a corner until she needed me again. I even had to take off my shirt for the photographer so they could all see my muscles. It was humiliating."

"I suppose so," Rebecca answered. "You asked for the pudding. Now you have to eat it. Maybe she'll settle down after the wedding. She's under a lot of pressure. I've seen those rich families in the Hamptons. They're all alike. I don't even know the name of this one, but it doesn't matter. To them, life is just one show after another."

"Speaking of families," Ivan continued, "I've treated my own parents like bags of dirt. Robin's family thinks more of their servants than they do of them."

"Is that their fault—or yours?" Rebecca asked.

Ivan was surprised that Rebecca seemed to understand the whole thing so well. Maybe it was because it was so easy for him to tell her. It was hard for him out because she wasn't the type of girl he was ever interested in talking to.

"You've got a point there," Ivan confessed. "There's more. This part you won't believe."

He told her about how his mother-in-law to be, came to his room—not once, but twice while Robin slept in her room down the hall.

"I wonder if I did the right thing in having sex with her," he said as he finished the story.

"Definitely not," Rebecca pronounced. "There is only one acceptable circumstance to have sex with anyone. It's when the lovers are free to give themselves to one another. You can't take what you want when someone might get hurt from it ... If you can't respect yourself or your partner after you've done it, then it is not the right thing to do."

Ivan hung his head. He thought he knew a lot about sex, but was finding out that he did not.

"But look," he heard her say almost in afterthought, "maybe your mother-in-law to be did you a favor in the long run without even knowing it."

"Huh?" Ivan grunted. "What does that mean?"

"That is a question you will have to answer for yourself," Rebecca said.

Ivan scratched his head.

"You haven't taught me much Biology today, but I'm learning some other things," he admitted. "I was actually hoping that you would just tell me not to worry about it and everything would be alright."

"Sorry, Ivan, I couldn't do that. I always speak my mind."

Rebecca took a sip of her tea and Ivan poured some cream into his coffee. It was an uncomfortable pause, as both of them sank into their own thoughts and struggled to climb out of them.

"I'm going to be a man," Ivan thought to himself as he stirred his coffee. "It's about time. It's a little late for some things, but better late than never."

Rebecca had finished her tea and it looked like she was getting ready to leave. That didn't sit well with him—to be the sole beneficiary of the conversation.

"Now you tell me yours," Ivan blurted out.

"That's alright," she answered. "I'm just in a bad mood because I have to go to a dinner tomorrow night that I really don't want to attend."

A person who did not know Rebecca very well would not have recognized her as she stood on the hot sidewalk in the late afternoon sun. She was standing in front of the book shop, over which she rented her small apartment. She awaited her ride to the unwelcome dinner.

If a single word was required to describe her it might have been 'delicate'. She had put aside her overalls, which made one think that she was a little overweight. Instead, she wore, a sophisticated ensemble made of gauzy material in a black and white print. On top, was a sleeveless shell that she could cover with a black sweater of light cotton. In the heat she just held it along with her small handbag. On the bottom were matching pantaloons cut full so that at first glance one thought of a full-length skirt.

The outfit accentuated her thin frame and pale white skin. Her feet, which peeked out from the bottom of the pantaloons were clad in thin-strapped sandals with a little heel to raise her up just a little. She let her long, black hair fall free, unveiling her natural tight curls. They cascaded to her shoulders like a waterfall of ink, contrasted with the skin of her bare arms. She even set aside the glasses with the dark frames, in favor of her 'good' pair with the small lenses and almost invisible wire rims. It was a look that Rebecca could make provocative or neutral, depending on her intent. She fidgeted as she waited for her ride.

It was her idea to wait on the sidewalk. She told her escort it would be easier to do that than for him to find a place to park in College Town. Her real reason was that for him to call on her at her apartment door was just more personal than she was willing to accept...

Before long, a high-end Saab wheeled around the corner and Rebecca recognized the driver. The sedan stopped and she pulled the passenger's door and climbed in.

"Good evening, Professor Gilbert," she said in a soft voice. The air conditioner in the car was running, so she draped her sweater around her shoulders, covering her bare skin.

Gilbert pulled into traffic and then cast an admiring glance at her.

"Rebecca," he exclaimed, "you are absolutely stunning!"

She didn't answer. The comment sounded phony to her—and she knew she looked nice, but not stunning.

"I just know that this restaurant in Elmira will be exactly the right place for us to discuss your future," he went on. "It's one of the best that I know in the area."

Rebecca had never been very good at small talk. She sought an alternative to conversation. There was a CD player in the dashboard and a stack of CD's in a compartment beneath it.

"May I play some music, Professor?"

Rebecca saw her host grimace, which she guessed he thought he had hidden from her.

"Of course, Rebecca," he answered. "Most of my music is classical. You might try some Beethoven."

She disdained the haunting, sensuous strains and deep, passionate bass chords of the Master.

"Have you any Bach?" she asked.

"Possibly," he replied, appearing a little disappointed. "Look through them."

She found one and started it up. She turned up the sound and the passionless mathematical precision filled the passenger compartment.

She looked out the window and they were headed out of the city, to the rural area outside of Town. She peered out the corner of her eye at her mentor as he drove. At middle age he had not lost his looks. He was neither fat nor slender. His hair was light brown, with a few speckles of gray. He sported a van dyke beard, which hid the corners of his mouth and put one at a disadvantage in discerning his facial expressions ... He was well-dressed—perhaps a bit too dapper, in Rebecca's opinion. His car well-appointed.

It was a twenty mile drive to the restaurant and they said little on the way, listening to the music, instead.

At last, the Saab pulled to a stop in front of an old, but polished building. A simple sign was hanging over the front door: Price's Inn.

"Here we are!" Professor Gilbert announced. A parking attendant opened the door for Rebecca and the Professor joined her on the sidewalk. He handed the keys to the valet and soon they were being escorted to their table by the Head Waiter.

It was a nice dinner at the old inn. It was seldom that Rebecca was exposed to such things. The décor of the restaurant was bright with an understated elegance. It wasn't the darkly lit bistro style that Rebecca expected. Their conversation centered on 'shop talk'. Professor Gilbert enthralled Rebecca with descriptions of research projects to be, awards that his other grad students had won, new additions to the labs. All the time the focus returned to Rebecca and her fledgling career. It was heady—inspired all her dreams to come to mind ... She knew that her imagination was soaring. On a night of self-indulgences she allowed herself a private one...

"How was your meal?" he asked.

"It was wonderful!" she exclaimed. She meant it, too. She'd learned how nice luxury could be and that it was alright to enjoy it. She learned a lot about the Professor, as well. His womanizing reputation seemed to be a myth. He had been a perfect gentleman throughout the whole evening. He really was interested in her career, after all. It made her regret her chilly attitude on the drive over.

The waiter arrived with the dessert menu.

"Professor Gilbert, I couldn't!" Rebecca exclaimed while glancing at the menu of sweets. She would really have liked one, but knew how much he had already spent on her.

"I want you to call me 'Boyd," he corrected.

Rebecca stifled a smirk. "Alright, Boyd," she answered in a tone she thought was cool. "But I just can't ask you to buy me a dessert on top of everything. They all look so expensive."

"Oh, I insist that you have one," he answered. "We must always be sure to taste the sweet things as we go through life."

His philosophical words confused her and she was sure there was a double entrendre cloaked in his dictum, but she didn't quite get it. As she tried to decipher it she noticed him moving his chair a bit closer to her.

"Have the Raspberry Torte," Gilbert said. He nodded to the waiter and he set it before Rebecca.

"And for you, sir?" the waiter asked.

"Just leave two forks and we'll share it," Gilbert replied. "We don't want to get too full."

Gilbert turned back to his guest who was starring at the pastry in front of her. He leaned closer and rested his arm o the back of her chair.

"You're wondering about what I said a minute ago," he told her. He took a deep breath.

"One sweet thing that we have in our department," he began, "is the closeness that we all share as colleagues. Don't you see that, Rebecca? I decided to invite you here to get acquainted, rather than in my stuffy office. Hasn't it been a nice to get have a nice evening like this.? It's important to me. I just don't feel comfortable working with students that I'm not close to."

"I guess so," Rebecca mumbled

"You see," he continued, "we need this feeling of closeness to function well together. I try to foster it, especially with my female students who need help from those of us in power. I have power to use and share. All my grad students, who's Assistantships are renewed, have a close relationship with me. After spending this evening together I feel that you and I share this closeness. You could ask me anything—and, I feel like I could ask you anything."

He closed his large hand over her small one. "We have so much to give to one another, don't you see, Rebecca."

She tried to make sense of what he was saying. Everything they'd talked about the whole evening made so much sense—research, grants, new labs, the cutting edge. All of a sudden he was speaking in riddles.

"I don't get this; what's he talking about?" she asked herself.

She'd drank a martini before dinner and she wondered if that was having its effect As she thought about it Gilbert stroked his thumb over the back of her hand—as he had never removed his hand form hers. She hadn't noticed that, lost in her thoughts as she was. He stroked the back of her hand some more and she looked down at him doing it and then up at his face.

"Now I understand what he's getting at."

"Well, how about it, Rebecca?" Gilbert asked.

She looked back down at the table. His hand hadn't moved off of hers. It was as if he was holding her there, although she could have pulled it away and buried it in the pocket of her pantaloons. She wanted to, but it wasn't easy. She was so close to it all—the research grants, the new labs.

"They have rooms upstairs," Gilbert said. "I took the liberty of booking one. They're beautiful—really luxurious. You'll really be impressed."

He was caressing her hand again. It was a gentle stoke, but an insisting one at the same time. She kept her glance pointed down, trying to hide the fact that her heart was beating faster.

"I never thought it would come to this," she moaned in silence. "Naomi would have guessed it—and they be on their way upstairs right now."

Those dedicated to science must sacrifice whatever necessary to further their knowledge. She had always believed that, as Madame Curie and Rachel Carson must have.

"Someday I'll be a professor and he'll be long-gone. I won't even remember this little affair."

"You've hardly touched your raspberry torte," she heard him say. "It's delicious."

"Besides, I'm twenty-five miles form home," she thought. "What would I do?"

She set her fork on the plate and looked up at him.

"I not hungry," she answered.

She rose without saying any more and led him out of the dining room. The deal was set. Her heart ceased racing.

"We'll have breakfast tomorrow morning in this same dining room," he promised as they made their way out of the dining room.

They stopped at the front desk where Gilbert signed for the dinner and asked for the key to the room. The clerk was expressionless, and didn't even glance at Rebecca. She was convinced that it was because she didn't matter—as noteworthy as if she had been a piece of Gilbert's luggage. It gave her a dirty feeling, but she was committed. While Gilbert signed she thought.

"It's just sex, a one night stand, nothing I haven't done before. I'll just get it over and done with. I'm sure I'm not the first and probably not the last."

They mounted the stairway and climbed to the second floor. There were only eight rooms in the small inn on the second floor of the restaurant ... Their room was at the end of the silent hallway. Gilbert turned the key and swung the door open. Rebecca surveyed the small, but luxurious quarters. In the center was a king-sized bed fluffed in the middle by a downy comforter. The bed was so large that there wasn't room for much else, although there was a small chest of drawers sandwiched into a corner.

The big bed demanded her attention. She couldn't stop looking at it. Perhaps the giant bed had consciousness and a memory. If it could speak, what would it tell her? Had it known the man who had followed her into the room and was standing right behind her? She took a deep breath, trying to purge the questions from her mind.

They didn't speak. The only sound was rain pelting the window. She stripped off her sweater and set it on a nearby chair. Gilbert did the same to his sport coat and tie. He kicked off his shoes.

Her fingers went to the bottom of her sleeveless shell, about to lift it over her head. She wondered if he knew that she hadn't worn a bra,

"Probably so," she guessed.

She was about to lift her top up and over her head when she felt his hand on her and that made her stop, He turned her to face him.

"I like to do that myself," he explained, "but first—this."

He approached her and peeled her glasses from her face, then kissed her. He tasted of coffee and smelled of after-shave cologne. Rebecca kissed back, but she knew that it was a half-hearted reply.

"You feel a little nervous," Gilbert said. "I imagine you're new to this. Don't worry. Soon you'll like it."

He paused and she noticed that his expression had changed. He put away his solicitous smile. There was something else. Rebecca saw it as a kind of smirk, but beyond that she could not understand what his face was telling her. His hands were tight around her arms at the elbow.

"How will you be on your first time with me, Rebecca?" Gilbert asked in a hushed voice, but she knew it wasn't really a question. He took a deep breath.

"I'm going to strip you," he went on, "and soon you'll be lying nude in the center of that bed, waiting for me."

He turned his face from her toward the big bed so that she would look at it, too.

"Some curl up into a little ball, trying to hide themselves," he laughed. "Such false modesty!"

He shook his head and Rebecca began to understand his smirk better.

"Some just lie there passive and accepting."

His voice turned into a growl and his eyes sparkled.

"The rest get wild. They spread themselves to show me everything while I take my clothes off. They stretch out their arms to me. They can't get enough. They can feel my power and they want some of it for themselves."

Rebecca was shaking, thinking about what Gilbert had just said, wondering what she would do. Gilbert didn't seem to notice her shaking because he was panting.

"Actually," he said after pausing for almost a minute, "I like the second kind the most because they knw why they are where they are and understand the power I have over them. I hope that's what you do, Rebecca. You look like the type."

Rebecca stood motionless, waiting for him. He began to lift her top until the bottom halves of her breasts were bare.

"You're braless," he gasped. "I hadn't noticed. You must have known we'd end up like this, after all. I think I was wrong about you, Rebecca. You're a bit more wild than I guessed."

He paused in lifting her top the whole way, as if playing peek-a-boo with the white, round flesh.

"What a beautiful sight. I can't wait to taste them," he said. "It's almost a shame to lift it off all the way."

He stroked the underside of one breast with his fingertips, as if to try it out. He bent his head lower, sure to put his mouth on it.

All at once, with all the strength she had, Rebecca pulled away.

"No—No—No!" she cried.

She ripped away from his grasp, ran out of the room and down the stairs of the inn. In a few moments she was out the door and on the street. She didn't stop running until she found herself at a gas station at the end of the street.

She was out of breath and crying. Her hair and clothing were drenched from the rain that was pouring harder all the time. The gas station was closed for the night, but there was a pay phone, on the outside wall but she had no money with her.

It occurred to her that during the summer session the campus, many miles away, was nearly deserted and none of all her friends had stayed after graduation. There was only one person that she could try. She dialed information.

At the fraternity house Ivan was playing pool with Jerry. With raining so hard they decided to stay in for the night. The phone rang and Jerry answered it while Ivan went to the refrigerator in the basement for two more beers.

Jerry called out to Ivan, who was returning two fresh bottles in hand.

"Ivan, there's a collect call for you—someone named Rebecca—you wanna take it?"

"What would she want?" Ivan wondered out loud. "Alright! I'll accept the charges."

He handed Jerry his bottle and then took the phone receiver from him. It was Rebecca, alright, at the other end of the line.

"Ivan, please help me. I don't know who else to call. Please come get me." He could tell Rebecca was crying.

Rebecca told him a few details and then Ivan hung up the phone and turned to his friend.

"Jerry, we've got to go to Elmira."

"What's going on?" Jerry asked after they had piled themselves into Ivan's car.

"Dunno for sure," Ivan answered. "It was my Bio tutor on the phone. She sounded like she's in trouble."

"I thought you didn't like her," Jerry countered.

"I don't!" was Ivan's quick reply. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"Sure, whatever you say," Jerry laughed. "It sounds more like 'while Robin's away, Ivan will play'."

"I wouldn't be taking you along if it were that," Ivan said.

"I thought maybe she had a friend..."

"No, it's not that," Ivan insisted. He thought for a second. "Look, it sounded like trouble. I need you. I might need help."

You're asking me for help?" Jerry mused. "Ivan you're a changed man. What's gotten into you?."

Ivan laughed with Jerry, but was thinking about what his friend had just said. He conceded that Jerry had stumbled on something that was more-or-less true, even if he had stumbled on it by accident. The new truth was, at least, a possibility but by no means a certainty.

"I really don't like her," he assured his friend., "at least, not that much. She's okay if you give her a chance."

"Then why are we driving through the rain in the middle of the night?" Jerry asked.

"I dunno ... I dunno," Ivan mumbled.

It was a truthful answer, but an unsatisfying one. At least it was so for Ivan, who squinted to see the road through the oncoming headlights and the downpour. There would be time to figure it out later.

Rebecca waited outside the deserted gas station for Ivan to arrive. It was locked up for the night, so she stood in the rain, wet and shivering. As she searched the dark streets for an approaching car, Gilbert approached her. He was drenched from the rain, as she was.

"Rebecca, I've finally found you. Thank goodness you're alright. Please come back to the hotel room. We can start where we left off. All will be forgiven."

"I won't go back there!" she yelled back at him over the roar of the downpour. "You made me into a whore!"

She backed away from him, wishing to hide her face but afraid to let him out of her sight. She began sobbing—which made her ashamed at showing her feelings to him, but she couldn't help it.

"It's not like that, Rebecca," Gilbert answered. His smirk was returnng. "We were just beginning to make friends. Think of what you're giving up."

"I lose either way," she sobbed. "Why does it have to be like this? I only wanted to be..."

"This is the real world, Rebecca," Gilbert answered. "Something given for something received. You're making too much of the whole thing. It's just a night of pleasure after a nice dinner. What would be the harm?"

"I would always know," she sobbed. "It would ruin everything that..."

Gilbert drew closer to her and held out his hands to her.

"Just a night of pleasure," he said. "What's wrong with pleasure? Believe me, you're won't be the first. Now stop this silliness and come back to the room with me."

"Not the first," Rebecca sobbed, "or the last."

"Rebecca," Gilbert countered, "you're not like the rest. You're special. If it were anyone else I would just get in my car and drive home and let you fend for yourself. But look, I'm out here freezing in the rain with you, trying to make you see..."

"I'm not special," Rebecca sobbed. "I'm just a whore."

Gilbert shook his head in disbelief.

Come on, Rebecca," he pleaded. "Come back to the room with me. Do you really want to walk back to campus in the dark?"

The rain was washing the resistance out of her. She was so cold, and the walk back home didn't appeal to her very much. She didn't like Gilbert very much, but she knew that far worse than him cruised the lonely night roads.

"What if a police car sees me and stops," she asked herself. "I'll have to tell my whole story. It would be so humiliating."

"You'll find that I'm actually quite a good lover," he prompted, perhaps sensing that she was weakening.

"I've had plenty of lovers," she shot back at him. "Don't be so sure of yourself."

It was an answer filled with defiance, but already she sensed that it only served to save face.

"Rebecca," Gilbert repeated.

"And don't think of yourself as a lover," she said.

It was more defiance, but she felt herself looking for a chance to give in with some dignity preserved ... She cast her eyes down at the ground, as she knew he would be smirking in triumph. A sudden light made her look up. It was a car's headlights and glare blinded her from seeing much else. She waited for the car to pass by. There was no use in having spectators in on her moment of humiliation.

The car seemed to slow down. She wished that it would hurry so she could get the whole thing over with. Perhaps it was a well-meaning stranger stopping to inquire and she would heve to assure whoever it was that everything was alright—even when nothing was alright. But that, at least, begin the end of it.

The car stopped. If she could have held out for just a while longer it might have been Ivan, who'd promised her that he would come. It was too soon to expect him.