The arrival - Chapter Two, part one

The Halle Resort and Conference Center was located outside Phoenix, ten miles into the desert. It had been built on land formerly owned by a man who raised cattle. His ancestors had claimed the land based on an artesian well, and blood was spilled to keep it. That violent past was nowhere in sight as nine teachers exited a resort shuttle bus that had been sent to pick them up at the airport, and deliver them to the Julia Halle wing of the resort.

Named after the builder's mother, the Julia Halle wing was a self contained unit that could literally be called an oasis in the middle of an inhospitable desert. It consisted of a series of adobe-faced rooms, that led off like two odd looking legs from a central meeting area. Everything was air conditioned, of course, and guests were reminded of that as they left their rooms, to enter a covered walkway that surrounded the pool, which was between the meeting area's legs. Up against the outside wall of the meeting area was an outside bar, a sauna, which many people looked at oddly, since it was in the middle of a desert, and a large hot tub, which also seemed a little odd in the desert.

What visitors were unaware of was that temperatures in the desert can get quite chilly during the hours of darkness, when the baking sun is absent. Anyone who stayed longer than a day or two soon found that the pool was for daytime, and the sauna and hot tub were for night time.

Other small "compounds" were associated with the center. The central meeting and check-in building was the center of a group of buildings in which tourists had one area, and chartered groups had three others. Each area had its own conveniences, and a certain amount of relative privacy, allowing groups to gather as groups, without a lot of strangers hanging around them.

No water was wasted on grass or gardens. What grew around the Halle Center were the plants that thrived in that environment. The sun's energy was put to work in a lot of ways, from solar heating of all water used on the premises, to generation of electricity, and even to imbuing in the center's linens that unmistakable smell of sheets dried in the sun and made soft as silk by flapping in the wind.

The little group of teachers were somewhat in awe of what they saw. This place was obviously ritzy, based on the accoutrements. When they entered the meeting hall, they found it housed multiple meeting rooms, on both upper and lower floors. Thus far, the trip had already been educational, at least for some of them.

Responding to a sign, held by a liveried driver, the group had begun identifying each other as they collected their baggage, and hurried toward the bus, afraid they might be left behind if they lagged. They needn't have worried. Manuel, the driver, had a list, and was an expert at making sure everyone who was supposed to be picked up WAS picked up.

The first to learn something, were Crystal Smith and Woody Buckholtz, who had sat beside each other on the plane, completely unaware that they were headed for the same place. Woody had, indeed, tried to engage Crystal in conversation, several times in fact. The first time had been when she ignored his greeting and began to "read" her book. A few seconds later, she turned the book right side up. Woody had noticed it was upside down, and was thinking about how badly she must want to ignore him to pretend to read that way. Then she suddenly righted the book, and opened it in the middle, instead of the "beginning" she had been pretending to read the first time. Woody had mentioned that he had to start books over all the time, because by the time he got to the middle, he'd forgotten the beginning. Crystal, embarrassed that he'd seen her flustered behavior, had ignored him.

He'd gone to the bathroom, or somewhere, twice during the flight, and spoke to her each time he came back. The first time she stared steadily at the book. She'd been reading the same paragraph, over and over, because she couldn't concentrate. The man, damn his eyes, smelled good. The second time she glanced at him, and then went back to reading.

It hadn't been odd that he followed her to the baggage carousel, or that he offered to carry her bag, which she had also ignored. When their bags had come off at the same time, that hadn't seemed odd either. But, when he began following her to the bus, she finally turned to him and said:

"Look, I'm here on business, and I'm not interested, OK?"

He'd looked at her strangely, and continued to the bus, leaving her standing there. When she saw him speak with the driver, who checked something on a clipboard, and then get on the bus, she felt mortified. She even waited until two more people had gotten on the bus, before she approached it herself.

She found the man, who had introduced himself as Woody, sitting in the second seat behind the driver's seat. He smiled, and patted the seat beside him.

"I saved you a place," he said cheerfully. "I mean, we did so well on the plane, I thought you might want to keep not talking to me here on the bus."

He didn't look like he was trying to make her feel bad. He just acted like the whole thing was one big joke to him. To her immediate surprise, she sank down beside him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't know."

"It's OK," he said, looking out the window. "My sister says I scare lots of women."

He hadn't said another word for the whole bus ride.

Chuck Bradshaw also got an education, or at least his wish. As he picked a seat on the bus, and sat down, he was treated to a familiar silk blouse, and short skirt, being worn by a woman whose backside was still etched firmly in his memory. The front looked even better, he decided, as she walked down the aisle, heading for an empty seat. He decided that, if he ever fell off a building, he wanted those breasts on the ground, under him, when he hit. He felt a little thrill as she smiled at him, but she kept on going down the aisle past him.

Roger Zowalski got a surprise too. He was the last one on the bus, because his bag didn't show up until the very end, for some reason. When he got on, there was only one seat left vacant. There were three "two person" seats down each side of the bus, with a long seat that went across the back. All six of the short seats occupied. One had two people in it, an extraordinarily tall woman, and a man who looked like a tennis pro, instead of a teacher. As he walked toward the long seat in the back, he was amazed to see little miss braces sitting on that seat, hugged against the window. She was looking out the window, through her glasses, which were at least ten years out of date, and looked hot in her long sleeved, dowdy clothing. He thought back to the sign the driver had held. It had said, simply "Halle Center Human Relations Seminar". He had assumed, just as all the others had, that discretion was being used. After all, sex was the epitome of "human relations". It was a natural pun... to be expected. Now he wondered if there might be some other conference going on. There was no way this girl was a teacher. He decided it didn't matter. This bus was going to the Halle Center, and that's where he wanted to go. He sat down, wondering if any of the other passengers were teachers.

They were all delivered to the same building, and herded by Manuel into a little gaggle in front of the check-in desk. The clerk looked up from his computer and smiled.

"And you all must be the teachers from Idaho. Welcome to the Julia Halle Conference Center. I hope your stay here will be both informative and pleasant. My name is Christopher, and I am here to make your stay comfortable. Let me just get the rooms assigned, and then I have a questionnaire for you to fill out that Mr. Nivens asked me to give you. You're to bring that with you when the conference starts, tomorrow morning. That will be in room 2A, which is right over there." He pointed and smiled. "Just about anything else you need to know is covered in the material in each room. You have the rest of the day to relax and look around. If any of you need transportation into Phoenix, there are usually taxis out front."

He looked at Tiffany expectantly. When she didn't say anything he said "Name?"

"Oh!" she said, her cheeks pinking up. "Jones... Tiffany Jones."

"Ah, yes," said Christopher smoothly. "I have you in the desert rose room. If I may be so bold, it fits perfectly." He handed her a key on a silver chain.

Christopher was equally complimentary to all the others, Roger saw, as he checked them in. Roger hung back, looking on in shock as the girl stepped up to the desk when it was her turn.

"Lori Simpson," she said clearly. "I'm twenty-three and I'm a teacher."

"Well, Miss Simpson," oozed Christopher's cultured voice. "It is Miss, I assume."

Roger saw the girl's head jerk, as if she'd been struck. "Yes," she said tentatively.

"Well, Miss Simpson," said Christopher. "There's no accounting for taste. Obviously a number of men have been very foolish to let you slip away. I've put you in the Lilac room." He handed her her key and looked past her at Roger.

"And you must be Mister Zowalski. Did they send you down here to ride herd on all the youngsters?"

"You complimented everyone else," pointed out Roger.

"They look like babies," said Christopher, who could only have been in his thirties, at the very most. "Who'd have thought that our teachers were so young? I never had any teachers who looked like them." He smiled, to show he was just chatting. "It's nice to know there's someone with a little maturity out there, showing them the ropes."

"You get pretty good tips, don't you?" asked Roger, grinning.

"I put myself through college doing this," said Christopher, grinning now.

"Really? What was your major?" asked Roger.

"Elementary Education," said Christopher, his face dead pan. "I found out during my student teaching that I hate kids."

Roger took his key, still laughing. He had been put in the Saguaro room.

The group, once they had taken their luggage to their rooms, gravitated toward the dining room, which had a buffet style offering. Several of them had brought their surveys with them, to look over and fill out while they ate. There were tables of all sizes in the dining room, and they almost shyly assembled at one that seated twelve.

Introductions were made, as people got their food and sat down. Roger was the last to come in and sit down. The younger teachers deferred to him automatically. They went around the table, saying their names, and where they were from. He looked at the tall one, who had said her name was Crystal, and the tennis pro, who called himself Woody.

"I thought you two came from the same school," he said. "I saw you sitting on the bus together."

Woody spoke before Crystal could say anything.

"Sat together on the plane. It was totally by accident. Kind of weird, huh?"

Crystal realized that he could have gone on and on about how he'd tried to get her to talk to him, and how she'd snubbed him repeatedly. But he didn't do that. When he'd sat beside her at this very table, all he'd said was "Hi" again. He was obviously friendly, but not in the predatory way she was used to.

"I saw Miss Simpson get on the plane," said Roger. "But I sure didn't think she was part of our group."

Lori sat up straight. "I'm a teacher," she said, her voice loud.

"Of course you are," said Roger patiently. "You just look very young, that's all."

"I'm twenty-three!" she said firmly.

"I'm not picking on you," said Roger calmly. "I'm just pointing out that, had I seen all of you, I doubt I would have pegged any of you as teachers. I just find that interesting, that's all." He looked at Woody. "For example, I thought you might be a tennis pro."

That got titters from some of the people. He turned to Chuck. "And I'm guessing you're a coach."

Chuck nodded. Roger looked at Jane.

"You're quite possibly the only one of us that I'd have thought might be a teacher. You have that look of competence about you."

Jane blushed. She'd been eyeing Roger ever since he sat down. It wasn't that he looked like her father... he just reminded her of the man she had on the highest pedestal in her life. There were clear differences. He had lines around his eyes that suggested he smiled a lot. Her father didn't smile much at all. And, his demeanor was much more friendly than her father's would have been in this situation.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"I'm not trying to make any bold statement or anything," said Roger, picking up his fork. "I just think that we all carry around preconceptions, and sometimes those are wrong." He smiled. "I've been in this business long enough that you all look pretty young to me. That doesn't mean you aren't talented, or capable, and I need to remind myself of that occasionally."

The conversation lagged, as everyone began to eat. Then it picked up again, as teachers, like they do everywhere, began talking about their schools, and their administrators, and what was wrong with both.

It picked up again when Roberta, who had been scanning the survey she'd brought with her, spoke.

"Have you all actually looked at this?" She held it up. "It's very strange, if you ask me."

No one had. The other two people who'd brought theirs picked them up.

Roberta read off a question.

"How many lovers have you had since you became sexually active?"

That got some attention.

"Why in the world would they need to know that?" asked Chuck.

"Here's another one," said Tiffany, looking at her survey. "How many different positions do you like to use when making love?" She looked up. "What the hell is THAT all about?"

Roger looked over at the survey Roberta was holding.

"Looks to me like they're trying to get a dialogue going. Isn't that what sex ed is all about? Dialogue? We're trying to get kids to talk to each other, instead of just making out and letting nature take its course."

"You mean it's some kind of test," suggested the man who had called himself Jeff. "To see if we're comfortable talking about intimate things."

"Something like that," said Roger. He read another question, and his eyebrows rose. "Then again, I don't know. Take a gander at question number fourteen."

People's heads bent, almost touching each other, as the three with surveys shared. Question fourteen said: "Have you ever used a dildo or other sex toy with your partner?"

Lori gasped, and looked shocked.

"You think maybe Christopher gave us the wrong survey?" asked Woody. "This is pretty outrageous, if you ask me."

"You can say that again," said Crystal, whose shoulder was touching his as they leaned together to look at the survey.

"This is pretty outrageous, if you ask me," said Woody, dutifully. He grinned. He was the only one, apparently, who thought it was funny.

"It probably is the wrong survey," said Jane. "They can't ask us stuff like this. It isn't right."

Roger looked at her. She looked embarrassed. That made him wonder why she was embarrassed. Was it because she did some of the things there were questions about? He looked at her more closely. The initial impression one got was that she was young. That was because of her diminuitive size. But her face looked fully mature. She had that mysterious aura around her of a passionate woman. There were little things she did, like stroking the table cloth with her fingertips, that suggested she was sensual. She wasn't beautiful in a classic sense, but then, Roger had seen glamour shots of some of his senior girls, and what the makeup and hairdo had done was nothing short of astonishing. So he knew this woman could, if she chose to, become beautiful. While she was small, she didn't have the same childish attitude as the one with braces did. He looked at another question or two, and then back at Jane, wondering if she did any of the things being questioned. He glanced at her finger, and saw no ring.

Just then she looked at him, and he saw her eyes stray to his temples. They came back to his, and she smiled tentatively.

"We'll work it all out in the morning," he said. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to fill the things out, and then keep them private until we find out what the deal is. We can always destroy them later."

"I can't fill this out." Lori's voice sounded like she was being asked to eat the dead.

"Then don't," said Roger, simply. "Like I said, we'll get this all worked out in the morning. Now. I think I'm going to try out that pool."

He got up and pulled Jane's chair out for her. She smiled her thanks.

"Might I interest you in a short swim?" he asked, bowing.

"That would be nice," she said softly. "But I don't own a swim suit. Back home we always swam in cutoffs, or..." She didn't finish.

"Ahhh," said Roger, smiling. "I remember skinny dipping with a great deal of happiness myself." He frowned much more fiercely than his voice supported. "I suspect they'd frown on that here at this fancy resort."

Jane was blushing beet red. "Oh I could NEVER do that... not any more."

"Pity," said Roger, bowing again. "I rather suspect I'd have enjoyed remembering that too."

Jane flushed even harder. "Oh, you're just AWFUL!" she said, her voice half moaning and half chiding.

"Tell you what," he said, his voice becoming serious. "I'll bet you twenty-five cents that this fine establishment has a selection of swimming wear available to those guests who... forgot theirs. If they do, will you take a quick dip with me? I might need someone to pull me out if I have a heart attack or something."

Jane goggled at him. "You're not THAT old," she said.

"May I take that as a yes?" he asked.

Jane felt a flutter in her belly. He was so different than her father, but so similar in appearance. He was handsome, and friendly and surely harmless. Her eyes drifted to his hand and she saw the shine of gold on his third finger.

"What would your wife say about you inviting a strange woman to swim with you?" she asked, archly. She saw the flicker on his face, and he closed down a little.

"I wish she could yell at me," he said softly. "I lost her ten years ago, and I'd give anything to hear her again, even if she was mad at me."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Jane, feeling horrible.

"Life goes on," he said. "I still think of her sometimes, but it's not so hard now."

Jane made a decision.

"Let's go see Christopher. Maybe you're right."

Crystal and Woody stood from the table at the same time. She looked at him, but he wasn't looking at her. She was curious. He acted like he was interested in her, but then he acted like he didn't know she was alive. Maybe he WAS just trying to be friendly.

"I'm... uh... sorry about being so antisocial on the plane," she said, as a peace offering.

"That's OK," he said, without any rancor. "My friends all say I talk too much. I guess I like talking. You want to get a drink?"

Crystal analyzed his comments. He'd glanced at her, but not in that way that men looked a woman over. He was just talking... something he confessed he liked to do. She hadn't just sat and talked with anybody in a long time. His offer of a drink didn't sound like a come-on. That made her curious too. She hadn't had a drink in a long time either.

"OK," she said, surprising herself.

They went to the bar beside the pool. It was a nice night, and there didn't seem to be as many bugs around as there were back home. He ordered a whisky sour. The last drink she could remember having was a sloe gin fizz, back in college, so that's what she ordered.

"How long you been teaching?" asked Woody.

That surprised her too, along with his next four or five questions, which were all about her. Most men liked to talk about themselves, but he listened to everything she said. She found herself telling him much more than she'd intended to, about her failed marriage, and going back to school to make a new start.

They were interrupted by Jeff Watts, who came up and invited himself to sit with them. He ordered ginger ale.

"Quite a place," he commented.

"A lot fancier than anyplace else I ever stayed," agreed Woody.

They talked about inconsequential things for ten minutes, when they were joined by Charles, who, like Jeff, invited himself to sit with them. He ordered sour mash whiskey, straight, and took tiny sips, relishing the taste.

They began trading teaching stories, and were in the midst of laughing about those when Tiffany and Roberta walked up together.

"Join the crowd," offered Woody, moving away from Crystal to let them approach the bar. "We're telling war stories about our profession."

Tiffany ordered white wine and Roberta said she just wanted a Coke.

All of them had sat around the teachers lounge, at one time or another, and talked to other teachers. But in those situations, there was always an undercurrent of local school politics and policies, as there is in any bureaucratic institution. Here, though, there was no concern over what would get back to another teacher, or the administration, and it was a lot more relaxed. There were no romantic pairings, either, which put them all on a level playing field. They found it invigorating to be able to say whatever was on their minds, and were soon chatting and laughing like they'd known each other much longer than a short afternoon.

Crystal was in the process of telling a story about a girl who had started her period... in class... on the same day the lesson plan called for discussion of the female's menstrual cycle. The girl had been wearing jeans, and by the time she realized what was happening, they were stained. It had been a horrifying experience for both the girl and Crystal, back then, but now, it was hilarious. She had just gotten to the point where she was going to tell them how she handled the class, after the girl had been excused to go take care of her problem, when she was interrupted by Roger, dragging Jane to the pool.

All of them could clearly hear Jane trying to tell Roger that her swim suit wasn't acceptable, and all of them saw him tug at the towel she was covered with, exposing a bright yellow bikini.

Woody, Jeff and Charles did what boys do everywhere. They signaled their appreciation for a good looking woman with whistles and catcalls.

Roger had taken Jane to Christopher, who was just about to go off shift. He had smiled at their request.

"Of course we can handle that. We have a variety of new suits we keep on hand just for this eventuality."

He took Jane to a back room, eyed her up and down, in a most disconcerting fashion, and started opening drawers in a large cabinet system on the wall.

"Size six... right?" he asked, peering into a drawer.

"Uh... yes," said Jane, surprised he could know that.

"One or two piece?" he asked.

"Um... one, I think," said Jane. Events were unfolding much faster than she was used to, and she was having a hard time thinking about what to do.

"Can't do that," said Christopher. "Not in a one piece. The smallest I have is a ten, and you'd fall out of that."

"Oh my," said Jane. "I've never worn a two piece. Where I come from that would be a scandal." She didn't think about the fact that, while swimming naked was fine, a bikini crossed the line, somehow.

Christopher turned around and looked at her. He cocked his head to one side.

"You've definitely got the body for a bikini," he said, as if he were saying she'd look good in brown. "I've got some here that are reasonably modest."

Jane didn't know what to do. She felt some attraction for Roger, even though she knew she was just fantasizing, and that that fantasy involved her father. She wanted to spend some time with him. What if he went swimming without her? She didn't want to sit on the side of the pool and yell at him, just to have a discussion. She held out her hand and gulped when Christopher pulled out a bright yellow bunch of cloth. It still had tags hanging from it, and he bit them off with his teeth. When he handed the pile of yellow cloth to her, it felt awfully light in her hands. It was a small pile too.

Christopher saw the doubt in her eyes.

"Miss... Watson... isn't it?" She nodded and he went on. "I'm a pro at this. You'll look good in this suit. I promise. It may be a bit more brief than you're used to, but nobody will notice that. By today's standards, this suit is quite modest. I promise you that too." He smiled. "Besides, you'll be in the water anyway, right?"

"I guess so," said Jane, staring at the yellow cloth. The color WOULD go well with her black hair. She knew yellow was a good color for both her hair and her skin tone, which was a mellow tan shade because she spent as much time outdoors as she could. She'd always been tanned.

She took the suit and met Roger, who smiled when he saw she'd found something. He walked her to her room, and then said he'd change and come back.

When she got the suit on, and looked in the mirror, her tan darkened considerably, taking on a rosy glow, from the tops of her breasts all the way to her forehead. If THIS was modest, by today's standards, she wondered what the immodest women wore! The main reason she was a size six was because of her breasts, which were mere swells of flesh that stuck out more because of the muscle under them, than because there was any breast flesh to protrude. Her nipples had always been her curse, thrusting out proudly, even though she wasn't proud of them. They were very dark, very large, and usually stiff, even when she wasn't excited. She had to wear the thickest bras, just to mask them.

This suit didn't mask them at all, even though the top was loose. There was no padding in the bra. Her hips stretched the fabric of the panty so that there was not a single ripple in it. That part wasn't too bad, since it covered her whole mons, transitioning into sides that were three inches wide. It pulled up between the pussy lips she loved to pull at in the dark of night, and she tugged, trying to get that part smooth. The dip wasn't completely gone, but it wasn't as pronounced. The top covered most of her breasts too, though that wasn't hard, really. The problem was that the suit advertised everything she DID have, and did it shamelessly. She looked critically at her upper body. She thought she looked like a boy there.

She turned sideways, and saw that she had the smallest of pooches on her belly, just above the waistband of the suit. She let her hair down from the bun she usually wore it in, and it fell, straight and thick to the middle of her back. She pulled it around to lie over her breasts, but that just made it look like she was topless, except for the tiny bit of yellow between her breasts.

She'd lied to Roger. She DID own a swimsuit, the one piece suit she'd mentioned to Christopher. She'd gotten it in college, but hadn't worn it more than twice. It didn't fit her well, and she was embarrassed to be seen in it.

Just then someone thumped on the door and she jumped.

"Ready?" came Roger's voice through the door.

She dashed to the bathroom, and got one of the big, luxurious towels the center supplied and wrapped it around her. The thumping came again and she ran to the door and opened it, about to tell him the suit wouldn't work. She was unprepared for him to reach in through the door and take her wrist.

"Come on!" he said. "Let's go get wet!"

"Roger!" she complained, barely able to close the door behind her as he pulled her toward the pool. "This suit is too small!"

"Good!" he said, a smile in his voice. He was wearing baggies, and was bare-chested, a towel in his other hand. "I like looking at pretty women in suits too small."

"But I can't appear in PUBLIC like this!" she whined.

"You're a grown woman!" said Roger, pulling her along. "We're all adults here."

By then they were at the edge of the pool. Jane looked around, only to see what looked like the rest of their group at the bar. All the faces were pointed her way.

"They're watching!" she hissed, jerking her wrist from his grasp.

"Who cares?" asked Roger. "Look at me... old and fat... and I don't care."

Jane did look at him. He looked neither old, nor fat, though he did have a comfortable layer of thickness all over him that suggested his days of bodybuilding had been left behind, and his muscles were beginning to droop a bit.

"I care," she moaned, turning to go back to her room.

Roger reached out and grasped the bottom of the towel, where it crossed the back of her thighs. He gave a jerk downward, and it pulled from her hand, where she had been holding it closed, at her breasts. Her automatic response was to turn around and glare at him.

"Too late!" He grinned. "Now the whole world has already seen you."

There was a ruckus at the bar as three men whistled, and three women began to tell those men how crude they were.

Jane froze. Nobody had ever whistled at her before. Philllip had told her she was beautiful, but he'd been in the process of getting her to have sex with him, and she had later discounted his words as a ploy. Having other men make appreciative, if impolite sounds, put her in a world she'd never been in before.