Chapter 7: Freshman - Three Exceptions

On Sunday morning, Shirley not only asked Millie, one of the girls in the group who had not hooked up with one of the male members, to move so she could take the seat next to me, she actually spoke to me.

"Do you know if the Laundromat in town is open on Sunday?"

I didn't know. "I seem to recall it is," I answered.

"I understand it's bigger and less crowded than the one here on campus," she said.

"Would you like to see if it's open?" I asked, pouncing on the opportunity she had offered me.

"Only if you have laundry to do too," she said, making it sound like a question.

Going to a college three hundred miles from home had its advantages. It was a little too far to drive home for a three-day weekend but very manageable on a weeklong holiday. Not going home on weekends had its disadvantages too. Laundry, for instance, was a lot harder to do than I'd ever imagined. I had to admit that I sometimes missed going home on weekends.

"Are you serious? I always have laundry," I assured her. We made plans to go to the Pontiac Laundromat that afternoon, Shirley was speaking softly. I don't think she wanted anyone else knowing she was actually going to see me away from the group.

I, of course, was delighted with the way things were progressing until I noticed Tracy. She was seated almost directly across from us, straining her ears to hear what we were saying.

"He doesn't do his own laundry," Tracy declared. "Don't let him con you. He'll sweet-talk you into doing his laundry. You'll be making his bed next."

I bristled but felt a hand on mine and let the soft touch draw my attention from Tracy's iniquitous stare to Shirley's slightly parted lips. The contrast between the girls' eyes spoke volumes. Tracy's were the color of amber and lovely when they weren't shooting daggers; Shirley's were grey and placid, always composed, even when she was showing disgust with me. I couldn't pull my hand away from of hers.

"Thanks for the warning," Shirley said to the frustrated girl on the other side of the table, and I felt my hand being patted, once, twice.

Shirley suggested that we leave and I found myself following her out of the cafeteria, moving away from what could have easily become an ugly scene.

"Why did you touch me like that?" I asked when we were outside. It had snowed during the night. She didn't object when I took her hand on the pretense of helping to steady her.

"You're knuckles were white. I was wiping the white away," she answered, sounding mystified that she had to explain the obvious to me.

"I don't understand what that girl has against me."

We were on the street where the snow had been cleared, walking past my dorm. Shirley removed her hand from mine.

"You must have done something to irritate her. Perhaps you should ask what it was."

I was pretty sure I knew what was causing her constant irritation with me but I didn't tell Shirley about Tracy mistaking my pushing her out of Kent's way for a move to kiss her. "I think I embarrassed her. I'll apologize."

"You don't have to walk all the way with me. Marcy may want to talk to you," she said, demurely looking my way for a reaction.

"I like walking with you. What did she tell you?"

"I don't remember. You'll have to ask her."

No matter how I tried, I couldn't make her say more about their conversation. When we reached her dorm she turned to confirm our Laundromat appointment, her eyes searching mine. Some instinct told me not to attempt to kiss her. Instead, I removed the glove from my left hand and extended it. She looked at me, quizzically.

"Wipe the white away," I said and held my breath in anticipation of her reaction.

She removed the glove from her right hand and with her eyes fixed to mine, patted my knuckles, once, twice before quickly turning and opening the door. I stood near the glass, watching her walk down the hall. She took two steps, turned and stuck her tongue out at me before skipping away in the direction of the stairs.

I ran to my dorm, my heart pounding uncontrollably, wanting desperately to talk to Marcy and tell her what just happened.

The telephone was tied up for a solid hour, first with Charlie talking to his mother, then Skip taking a call from a girlfriend, and finally by Kent, chatting casually with a friend in the next dorm.

Didn't they know I had important business to discuss? I sat at my desk, catching snippets of Kent's mundane conversation. When I heard Tracy's name mentioned in the same sentence with mine, I stepped into the common room. He watched me take a seat and kept talking to his friend.

"I've told her I'm going to stop having breakfast with her if she doesn't stop criticizing him, but she's so obsessed with making his life miserable that she doesn't care," Kent said, winking at me. For the next ten minutes I listened to his side of the conversation, wondering who he was talking with and why he was using valuable telephone minutes describing something he obviously didn't understand. Wasn't he aware of my need to talk with Marcy?

"Not bad if you like ... no, I haven't gotten ... we don't do anything but ... ha, I'll have to try that if I can get her to ... no, all she does is talk about Sammy ... nice, I would say it's nice ... small, yeah, small tits and nice ass ... no, I haven't felt ... kissing, that's all ... five ... just a minute, I'll ask Sammy ... how tall is she? ... he says maybe five-seven ... describe what? ... hold on ... he wants a one word description ... ha, he says she's clumsy..."

It went on like that for another five minutes until Tracy knocked on the door and Kent abruptly ended the call. Tracy followed him into his room without looking my way. I sat looking at the 'phone, waiting for Marcy to call.

"Hello?" I said, answering the 'phone on the first ring.

"Sammy, would you like to come over for lunch? I want to model my new clothes for you."

"I saw them yesterday, Wanda, but thanks for the invitation anyway."

"That was in the store with those annoying overhead lights, not in my almost ... dark room," Wanda said, working hard to make her voice sound sexy. I pictured her sitting on the sofa and saw something I didn't like.

"You're wearing black, aren't you?" I asked, accusing.

"I was going to change, honest."

"Go change. Take the 'phone with you. I'll wait."

"What should I wear?"

"Try on the jeans with the rip in the knees. You can wear the grey sweatshirt with them."

"Okay, I'm in my bedroom. I'm taking my sweater off and putting on ... wait a second ... there, I removed the tag."

"Wanda?"

"Yes, Sammy?"

"Is that a black bra you're wearing?"

"Please, Sammy, do I have to change to ... we didn't buy any grey bras."

"Okay, you can wear the black one with the grey sweatshirt but just this once."

"Thank you, Sammy. I'm putting the sweatshirt on."

"Good, stand in front of the mirror. How does it look?"

"Aren't you coming to see for your self, Sammy?"

"I'm sorry, Wanda. I have to do laundry this afternoon."

"You can do laundry here while I model my new clothes for you," she said, suddenly excited.

"That's not going to work. I've arranged to do laundry with someone else."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed but didn't ask the obvious question, who I was doing laundry with.

"Are you putting the jeans on?"

"Just a minute ... I'm removing the tags."

"Change your panties first. I can't let you wear those black panties with jeans."

"Yes, Sammy. I'll wear blue ones, okay?"

"That's the ones I had in mind."

"I'm taking the black ones off. I'm ... I wish you were here ... there, I'm wearing the blue panties and getting into the jeans. I'm buttoning them right now."

"Good, how's the fit? Do they feel comfortable?"

"Yes, Sammy. Thank you for telling me to wear this outfit."

"We bought green panties, right?"

"Yes, Sammy."

"Good. I want you to wear green panties with the long green skirt and the white lace blouse and a white bra. Be ready at seven on Friday. I'm taking you to dinner."

"Yes, Sammy ... oh, Sammy?"

"Wanda, I'm not going to dictate which stockings and shoes you wear. If you want to wear dark stockings that will be okay"

"Thank you, Sammy."

"And, Wanda?"

"Yes, Sammy?"

"We're going to try something new."

"Yes, Sammy?" she asked, dubious excitement in her voice.

"No polish on you fingernails."

When she didn't respond immediately, I hung up.

Charlie arrived with Angie in tow, asked me what I was doing and disappeared in the room before I finished telling them I was waiting for a 'phone call. I knew they wanted privacy but I didn't tell them that I would be out of their hair most of the afternoon. They were obviously unaware of the precarious situation they had put me in the day before when we found them fucking in Charlie's bed and Shirley had fled the room, embarrassed.

I had a feeling that it would be a long time before Shirley would come back to my room. But I had Marcy to thank for patching things up. "Ring, damn it," I said to the 'phone and just then, it did.

Marcy wouldn't tell me what was said between her and Shirley either. She wanted to know about my shopping expedition the day before and what I had selected for Wanda.

"I would like to be there when Mr. Rowell opens the charge-card bills. We made the sales clerks very happy in three shops. We started with casual and worked up from there. Wanda's very particular. She wanted to shop outfit by outfit; you know, pick out a pair of corduroy slacks and then try to find the right shirt and sweater to go with them. I told her I didn't have all day and we were going to do it my way or not at all."

"Sammy, I know she's your project but please don't treat her like a child. You may do more damage than good."

"You may be right. I never thought of it that way. I don't want to hurt her."

"I know you don't, Honey. Just be careful, okay?"

"I'll slow down but I think I'm on the right track. She liked the leather coat we found. It's just like mine. She never argues about anything I tell her to do."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. I'm afraid she'll become too dependent upon you."

"Hey, I've got a date with Shirley. We're going to do laundry."

"Do me a favor. If your first child is a girl name her Marcy."

"You got it," I assured her before ending the call.

I knocked on the door to our room and waited until Charlie said it was all right to enter. They were both seated at his desk, Angie using my chair.

I grabbed my bag of dirty laundry and my coat before telling them I would be out until about four. They just nodded their understanding, withholding any sign of their delight. I wondered how long it would take them to get naked.

With time on my hands I threw the laundry bag in my car and found an unoccupied payphone.

Nothing I could say would convince my mother how sorry I was about ignoring Heather in her time of need. I did learn, during one of the lulls in our shouting match, that Heather had delivered a baby boy on December 23, 1989 and that she and the baby had taken up residence in her old room. "No, Heather doesn't want to talk to you."

I called home and gave Suzanne the news. She said Mr. Oldham would send Heather money, and my objection to this was so abrupt that I had to apologize to Suzanne.

"I know you're upset, Sammy. I was thinking that John could telegraph the money and she would get it sooner, but you go ahead and send her a check if it will make you feel better."

"Thanks, Suz."

"You called me Suz. I can't describe how special that makes me feel."

"You are special," I said before ending the call.

I knew I wasn't being very good company. Shirley must have noticed that my mind was in another world but she didn't say anything about how quiet I was. We dumped our stuff into the washing machines and Shirley took a seat on one of the plastic chairs at the front of the shop. She had thought to bring a book; I hadn't.

With nothing else to do, I paced in front of the machines and tried to count the revolutions the tumblers made. Every so often I would glance at Shirley. Once, I caught her watching me. She blushed and returned to her reading.

It occurred to me that I was looking at her differently than I had ever looked at a girl in the past. She was definitely female and I knew that under her sweater there was a pair of breasts. What I found astonishing was that I hadn't tried to picture the size or their shape, let alone think how she would react to my touch.

Every time I looked at her I was struck by her tranquil facial expression, the way her hair bounced on her shoulders when she walked and how her eyes sparked when she laughed. The wrinkle that appeared in her forehead when she was perplexed was as much a part of her as the even teeth she displayed when she smiled. I accepted the wrinkle with everything else about her and I had to admit that I was beginning to wonder how her breasts looked in the shower.

At first I didn't recognize the young man when he walked up to me, a friendly look in his eyes. He was maybe six feet and had to weigh two hundred pounds. His hair was short; reminding me of my days at C M A where short hair was a requirement.

"That shiner cleared up better than I thought it would," the young man said.

"Officer Oliver," I said, remembering his name tag from when he and his partner were watching Roland pack his belongings. I wasn't expecting to run into him in the Laundromat and hadn't recognized him out of uniform. We shook hands, smiling at each other.

"Mr. Oldham, this is my wife, Polly."

I said hello to Polly and felt her small hand in mine. She reminded me of a doll, timid and tiny next to Officer Carl Oliver, and very, very pregnant. A clip of Heather flashed in my mind. Had she looked that way a month ago?

Officer Oliver was telling Polly how we had met, how he and 'Mully' had to drag me off of Roland. He didn't say how he knew about my shiner. I assumed the campus police talked amongst themselves. I felt a bump on the back of my leg and turned to see Shirley standing next to me.

I introduced her to Officer Oliver and his wife, not certain how to refer to Shirley, I told the couple that we were in the same breakfast group. From the way Shirley's knee was touching the back of my leg I got the impression she was trying to tell me something but I wasn't sure what and didn't want to assume anything.

Polly was urging her husband to help load one of the machines with their laundry since she was having trouble bending so he said it was nice to see me and broke away.

Shirley took my hand and led me back to the plastic chairs where she had been reading her book.

"They're exactly what I've been looking for," she said, more excited than I had ever seen her before, even when she was using her toe to trace how currency changes hands in the snow.

"He's a member of the campus police. You see them around school every day," I informed her.

"He's also a native. You've simply got to ... would you arrange ... I want to get to know them."

We looked down at the same time. She had unconsciously taken my hand was patting the white away. Her blush was precious.

I wrapped my hand around hers and said, "Okay," before letting her withdraw.

At first, Officer Oliver was dubious about speaking to Shirley, saying his wife needed to go home and rest.

"It would mean a lot to me if you would have coffee with us. This is our first date and it's important that I get off on the right foot with her," I said, trying to appeal to his romantic side.

He smiled, "Call me Olli," and agreed to have coffee with us.

Shirley was ecstatic at the prospects of getting to know a native of the town. We transferred our loads of laundry from the washing machines to dryers and walked, very slowly to the bakery with the pregnant woman and her husband.

I took their orders, Olli wanted coffee with sugar, Polly only wanted a glass of water, and Shirley wanted a cup of tea. When I returned to the table, carrying the drinks and a variety of pastries, Shirley was conducting an interview reminiscent of the casual conversations I had had with Mr. Oldham's employees the summer before.

"Have you always lived here? What is the most distant point you have traveled from the town? What does your father do for a living? How do you feel about your baby growing up here?"

Polly was letting Olli answer the questions. She grinned sheepishly at me as she selected a raspberry filled pastry. Olli didn't hesitate to polish off his first slice of sweet-cake and take a second. Even Shirley nibbled on a fancy tart, just to be sociable. She looked supremely happy as she continued to find out more about her subjects. I was pleased with the way things were going even though I wasn't really involved.

Olli was a good-natured man, proving very knowledgeable about the town, its history, its strong points and its fragility. I watched in awe of Shirley's ability to grasp the subtleties and get him to expand on points of interest to her. I was also captivated by Polly's eye movement as she watched her husband's lips move, clearly proud of him. The crowning achievement of the afternoon came when Olli invited us to their home.

Shirley's eyes were troubled when she heard me say that I couldn't make it on Friday night but returned to their normal placid state when we settled on Saturday.

"May I ask what's so important that you couldn't go on the night Olli suggested?" she asked when we arrived at her dorm. I was carrying her bag of clean laundry and hoped to deliver it to her room but she took it out of my hand.

"I told you about Wanda. I'm trying to wean her from always wearing black clothes. Black is like ... what do you call it, a security blanket to her. Friday night is going to be her test to see if she can go out in public dressed like a normal person."

"It's not like a date or anything?"

"I told you our dads are in business together. It may be like a date to her but I'm doing my part for my dad. As far as I'm concerned it's strictly business."

This seemed to satisfy her. Shirley said she would see me at breakfast and I watched her walk in the direction of the stairs, wondering what floor her room was on. When she got to the stairs she turned and stuck her tongue out at me, doing more for my state of mind than a goodbye kiss would have ever done.

Why had I told her that my involvement with Wanda was for my dad and strictly business? Mr. Oldham didn't even know that I was telling Wanda how to dress or that she wanted me to fuck her so badly that she practically asked me to do it. Girls don't invite you into their bedrooms to watch them try on clothes without an ulterior motive.