The Blameless Bystander

By Autumn Writer

Chapter 8—Interlude

On Sunday night James took Vicki to dinner at a restaurant in Corning. It was nice to relax in the open, unconcerned about being observed. They spoke a little about James’ worries over Reverend Chandler, but not much. Anything said would have been preaching to the choir.

They did make some preliminary plans for a weekend trip into the Wine Country at one of the Bed and Breakfast Inns that dot that area of the State. There were many to choose from between Seneca and Cayuga Lakes. School would be closed on Veteran’s Day, so they thought they would take advantage of the long weekend.

It was an Italian restaurant, small and friendly with red and white checkerboard tablecloths and candles on the tables that cast a glow on the otherwise darkened room. It was on the street that sidles up to the Chemung River, not far from the Museum of Glass. The veal and eggplant covered in sauce, splashed down by Chianti, was excellent, if filling. They were going to pass on dessert, but the owner persuaded them to split a cannoli. They had coffee with it.

“This dinner is going to go right to my hips,” Vicki complained.

“I know what you mean,” James replied. “I think that I just neutralized a week’s worth of running—but it was worth it.”

“At least you have a way to work it off!” she rebutted. She lowered her voice and asked, “Would you like to help me work some of it off in my apartment tonight?”

“I was afraid that you weren’t going to ask,” James replied.

“What time have you got, James?” Vicki asked.

“Exactly eight o’clock,” he answered.

“It’s still early,” Vicki said. “Let’s have another coffee.”

“Let’s go to your place and make some,” replied James.

“It’s so early,” Vicki insisted. “Let’s have another cup of coffee here.”

“Cold feet?” asked James. “That’s a new one for you.”

“No, I don’t have cold feet,” Vicki whispered seductively. “I’m going to show you another one of my secrets—so now you can think about that a little longer.” Her promise made James shift restlessly in his chair. “Order me an espresso while I powder my nose.”

****************

The couple returned to Vicki’s apartment at nine fifteen. James had been there earlier when he picked her up, and something looked different—like someone had been there while they were away.

“Something doesn’t look quite right, Vicki,” he warned. “I think that someone’s been in here while we were gone.”

Vicki looked quickly in the kitchen and around the living room. “Seems alright to me,” she assured him.

“What about the bedroom?” James queried.

“You’re always trying to get in my bedroom,” she feigned a protest in a sultry tone. She embraced him, and waited for him to kiss her, which he did. James forgot his suspicions and let his senses fold into her. She peeled away his jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. Next, she loosened his tie, and lifted the noose over his head. James started unbuttoning her blouse.

“Save that for later,” she ordered, and then snaked her tongue between her lips and through his. Before he could respond she pulled away. She took him by the hand and led him to the closed bedroom door. “I thought this is where you wanted to go,” she teased as he tried to analyze what was happening. James abandoned resistance, sensing something special in the opening stages.

Vicki put her hands on the doorknob. “Close your eyes,” she whispered. James obeyed. He heard the door creak open and allowed her to pull him through the doorway. “Open them!” she bade him in her soft voice.

As James tried to adjust his vision to the darkness, he peered toward the bed. He barely made out a figure there, and wondered how Vicki had got on the bed so fast when he thought that she was standing beside him. The hiss of a striking match broke the silence. The glow of a newly lit candle pierced the room. It all happened too fast for James to realize that he was confused.

With the new light a new vision appeared, kneeling on the bed, the covers turned down. She wore a bright red negligee with little straps and a lacy bodice. It descended to the middle of her thighs. She remained motionless, allowing James to view her. Finally, her tongue wet her lips—two plump, red ribbons—and they spoke.

“You’re a little overdressed, James,” Abby said in her petite, laid-back voice. She looked back at him with that sweet smile. James gazed at her more closely, comparing what he saw in the flesh with what had been emblazoned in his mind’s eye so many times. He tried to see through the thin, shiny material, but couldn’t quite manage it.

Her small, compact body was as he always envisioned it; yet, the newness of the revelation made it into a magnet for the eye. There was the lean, but soft limbs, the bare shoulders delicately sculpted. Her collarbone connected them with a graceful arc. Pale skin, which he knew would be so smooth to the touch, glowed in the candlelight. He could see nothing of her cleavage, just lacy suggestions begging discovery.

“But Bubba…” he stammered.

“Bubba’s somewhere in Pennsylvania,” Abby replied. “He got on his way after dinner,” she added as she arose from the bed and walked toward James.

“That’s why we needed that extra cup of coffee in the restaurant,” Vicki explained, standing beside him. “I wanted this set up just right. I promised you another of my secrets. Tonight I’ll show you one of my best.”

“But…” a confused James blurted.

“Let’s have some fun!” Vicki interrupted. “Don’t worry about Bubba. I guarantee you— he won’t mind a bit.”

James wondered for a second how Vicki was able to speak for Bubba, but it seemed like it was permission enough; he was aroused and it was approval that he was hoping for, regardless how thin the veneer.

Just as he was wondering how—or what—to get started, Abby and Vicki surrounded him. “Just let us take over now, James,” Vicki spoke into his ear from behind him. James liked the idea. He delivered himself into the hands of the two women.

Abby unbuttoned James’ shirt. Vicki reached around him, unbuckling his belt and undoing the hook in the waistband of his trousers. James gasped at the sensual overload, unable to keep track of the four hands working in unison. The women switched tasks. Vicki peeled off the shirt and lifted the tee shirt over his head. James raised his arms in cooperation without even thinking. Abby pushed the trousers over James’ hips and they puddle at his feet on top of his shoes. Four hands grasped a corner each of his boxers and pulled them down, too. Abby was careful to lift the elastic waistband over his erection.

“Go ahead and stroke him a few times,” Vicki said softly to her partner. Abby reached out with her open palm turned toward the ceiling. She twined her delicate fingers around James’ full length, holding it motionless for a moment. James moaned at the warmth and feminine softness holding him. Abby slowly slid the skin back and forth. James was under her spell.

“He likes to have his balls caressed,” Vicki instructed from behind. She had taken hold of his arms in a gentle, but firm way. Abby tenderly stroked the underside of his sack with undulating fingers. The pleasure brought forth some clear fluid.

Abby saw the glistening droplet hanging from the end of his penis. “Should I suck on him while I do it?” she asked.

“No, he can wait for that,” Vicki answered. “Let’s get him on the bed.”

The women nudged him slightly and James shuffled backwards, his pants still around his ankles. When the backs of his knees touched the edge of the bed he let himself fall onto the mattress. He slid to the center and lay down.

“You get his shoes and socks. I’ll get his watch.” Vicki removed the watch from James’ wrist, while Abby pulled off his loafers along with his trousers and socks. To James, it seemed like they were taking care of a few details until he felt some sort of strap replace the watch band on his wrist, and then quickly the same on his ankle. He instinctively tried to pull his arm back, and found that except for a few inches of slack, he was unable to. The same was true of his ankle.

“Relax and go with it, James,” Vicki instructed as she and Abby completed the second pair of restraints. Abby was quietly laughing. “We won’t hurt you.”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Abby teased, which set the women laughing harder.

“No, we won’t,” Vicki insisted. “We won’t if he’s a good boy.” The joke brought another round of titters from the two females.

James craned his neck to look at the straps holding his arms outstretched. They were attached to the headboard. They were loose enough and had enough slack in them so that he could be comfortable. They were made of leather, coated with a soft material. Those on his ankle were the same. His passive role in the play was clear enough. He went along without protest—as if protest was on his mind or if it would have come to anything.

Vicki and Abby stood on either side of the bed. Vicki was still fully clothed; Abby looked seductive in her negligee.

“He’s truly a nice specimen,” Abby observed.

“Look how hard he is!” Vicki pointed out.

“It’s standing straight up,” Abby exclaimed in a cheerful, lilting voice. “It looks like a popsicle.”

“It tastes nice, but I wouldn’t call it a popsicle. It’s not nearly cold enough to be one,” Vicki laughed. Being ogled by the ladies made James eager to find out what was in store for him. He gave himself over to whatever their plan turned out to be.

The inspection of his naked body, bound as it was to the four corners of the bed, sent a shiver of excitement through James. The uncertainty of it all, his totality as receiver, made him nervous, yet eager. The women eyed him. James thought that they looked eager, too.

“Let’s take off these clothes,” Vicki directed. She met Abby at the foot of the bed as James watched them. They embraced and kissed, letting their lips linger sensuously. The moist tips of their tongues danced over each other and their parted lips. James was mesmerized; he watched as they taught him what women desired.

Abby worked the buttons of Vicki’s blouse. She opened them one by one and then pushed the garment off her shoulders. Vicki stood motionless as Abby walked behind her and released the hook of her bra. She stepped to the front and gently pulled the straps from her shoulders and carefully peeled away the cups so that the large breasts weren’t pinched or bounced. To James, the nipples looked like hard rosebuds. Abby bent her head down to capture them in her lips. James couldn’t tell if she kissed or suckled them. Vicki moaned in pleasure.

Vicki’s skirt was next; soon it lay on the floor. Abby knelt at Vicki’s feet. She grasped the waistband of her panty hose and pulled them slowly off her hips and down her legs, and then off her feet as Vicki lifted them.

Abby leaned forward and kissed Vicki’s mound though her silk panties.

“You smell good, Vicki,” she said softly. Then, she gently pulled them to the floor.

James could see that Vicki was panting heavily. It was as excited as he had ever seen her. He noticed that she did smell good, as Abby said. He wondered how often the scene that he was witnessing played out. He hadn’t even known that they were friends.

Abby stood. Her red negligee was the final garment. Vicki smoothed her hand down its length, pressing the outline of her svelte body within. James watched closely, wishing to see the first instant of the unveiling. Vicki toyed with the thin shoulder straps. Abby started breathing harder. Vicki paused. She glanced at James on the bed and then turned Abby slightly so that he could see the two of them in perfect profile.

“Are you ready?” she asked Abby.

“Yes—yes! Please do it now!”

Vicki lifted the shoulder straps a little, and then eased them down Abby’s thin arms. The negligee fell away, first to the small woman’s waist, then to the floor. Abby stood nude, arms at her sides, her head turned up slightly. She faced Vicki. The aromas of the two women mixed as James appreciated their contrasting forms. He had seen Vicki before. He had only imagined Abby in the channels of imagination. Her tiny, heaving frame, only a few feet before him, was a vision that he would not forget.

Her nipples were hard and swollen. As they pushed themselves out of the small, round breasts they made the flesh appear even smaller and more petite than it really was. Abby’s flexed her firm buttocks cheeks. She struck a perfect silhouette.

“Touch me! Please touch me!” Abby quivered.

Vicki paused. The pace of Abby’s breath increased as she waited. “No, we’ll save it for James.” Abby remained motionless as Vicki went the few steps to her dresser and opened the top drawer. James couldn’t quite make out what was in her hand. “Abby, can you help me with this?” They picked up a heavy leather-upholstered reclining chair and set it at the foot of the bed.

Vicki sank down into the leather with her feet on resting on the footboard not far from where James’ restraints were secured. She adjusted the back of the chair so that she sat back in comfort, but could still see James as he watched her.

Abby had taken a place at the side of the bed, breathing hard, waiting patiently.

“Go ahead and get on the bed with him,” Vicki ordered. Abby set a knee on the mattress. James saw her wide-eyed anticipation. “Straddle him,” Vicki whispered. James took a last look at Vicki and saw that she was holding a pink imitation penis, made of some sort of plastic. It was about eight inches long and true in detail. It appeared that it had heft and firmness, and also some flexibility. The knob at the end looked formidable. He watched Vicki raise it to her lips and wet it with her tongue.

The next instant Abby was straddling James. She was on her hands and knees, not yet in full contact. “Kiss him!” James heard Vicki command, and Abby’s sweet lips encompassed his own. They were soft and pliable; gentle as they caressed him. He had thought of them often. It was his first contact. If the session had ended then, to James it would have been worthwhile—but it wasn’t ending.

“Tongue!” Vicki called out. Abby complied by adding her tiny, moist tongue to the kiss. It lasted over a minute. James felt it dance over his lips and own tongue. James wished that he could embrace her.

“Stop!” Vicki commanded. As quickly as the kiss began, it was at an end. James waited for the next instruction. There was a pause. Vicki could be heard moaning as she worked herself with the dildo.

“Dip your nipple into his mouth!” James tasted Abby’s flesh as she lowered her chest to his lips. There was a hint of a soapy taste. He lashed the bud with his tongue. He heard Vicki moaning in the chair and Abby purring her pleasure above. “Switch nipples!” Vicki called out after a minute. Abby immediately obeyed. James struggled to swallow as much of her breast as he could.

“Move down!” Abby slid down between James’ spread legs. She waited for her next direction. Vicki, preoccupied with her own throes, moaned louder, mixed with little squeals. Abby remained motionless. James struggled to look past her. Vicki was working the tool hard with the knob just inside her labia. Her eyes were open, staring at the pair on the bed.

“Take him in your mouth—just the crown” Vicki finally gasped. Abby slowly lowered her head to James’ groin and formed her lips to encompass him. James anticipated the moist, warm pleasure.

“No—wait!” Vicki abruptly sighed before Abby’s lips made contact. “Sixty-nine!”

Abby’s face broke into a slight smile. She pivoted immediately. James stared upward at her vulva, inches away.

“Just the crown first!” Vicki repeated, struggling to issue the command through her own pleasure. “Lower yourself onto him.” James took a deep breath as Abby’s wet sex descended onto his face. He savored the musky aroma; as she came into reach he craned his neck up and thrust out his tongue to meet her. At the same time he felt her lips encircle his glans. As she worked him her body rubbed on his, she adjusted her position so that he would hit all her right places. It was hard for James to keep the cunnilingus going, restrained as he was and with Abby stetching forward to fellate him. He did his best, and somehow got the job done. The combined sounds of Vicki’s and Abby’s pleasure played a symphony.

“Deep throat!” Vicki shouted out in a husky, labored voice. Abby’s response was immediate. James felt himself hit the back of her throat. The movement made Abby move forward so that her sex was no longer planted on James’ mouth. He gasped for needed breath while he enjoyed the pleasure.

“Don’t let him come!” Vicki ordered after a minute or so. “Pull off—straddle him again. As Abby moved to the command, James saw Vicki tilt her hips up slightly and insert the pink implement fully into herself. “Ahhh!” she groaned in relief, as she finally filled herself. She began humping her hips up at the dildo, nearly forgetting her charges.

“Mount him—put him inside you—all the way—put him in hard!” she gasped loudly. Abby did as commanded. She impaled herself on James and he looked up and saw her mouth gape open, as though screaming out her pleasure with no sounds coming forth. With Vicki’s desperate cries in the background Abby rose up and down on James. James found her rhythm and met her as she bottomed out on him. He felt himself deep inside her, enclosed by her flesh, bumping her back wall on each thrust. Abby began to lose control of her breathing as each thrust pounded the air from her tiny chest. She planted her palms on James’ shoulders for stability. She cried out as pleasure overtook her.

All at once, she sat upright, fully impaled, and tensed every muscle. She let out a high-pitched moan as her orgasm took control of her mind and body. James stopped his movements and watched her in amazement. He had never seen or felt anything like it, not even during his best sex with Vicki. Abby’s climax crested and began to subside. James sensed that it had drained her.

“Finish him!” Vicki rasped. Abby started moving up and down atop James again. James resumed his counter strokes. It wasn’t long before he felt the approach of his own climax. When it finally came he raised his hips as much as he could and allowed the spasm to release his flow into her. Although he doubted it, he hoped that his own pleasure matched that which he saw her experience minutes before. Whether it did or not, he would never know, but he knew it was good. Abby collapsed on James chest, spent for the moment.

“Ahhh!” The sound of Vicki’s own loud orgasm, nearly forgotten in her chair, broke James’ train of thought.

Although he was, by this time, softened, James still rested inside Abby. The three remained motionless for a few minutes. Vicki was the first to finally get up.

“That was a good one!” she sighed as she began releasing James’ restraints. Abby reluctantly lifted off him and helped undo the straps on the other side of the bed.

When they were done James kept his place in the center; each woman rested her head on one of his shoulders and their warm bodies against his side.

“Yes,” James thought to himself, “That was a very good one.”

***************

The satisfied threesome lay together on Vicki’s bed. They had the contentedness of relaxing bodies and memories playing back whatever had been best for them during the sex that they just had. James made a mental note to rationalize it all later. Most of what he had seen and done in the previous hour was new to him—even to his imagination. For the moment, all he could do is bask in the aftermath of the event.

For Vicki and Abby, there were no apparent second thoughts. As they leaned up against him, they made little mewing and cooing sounds as they reminded themselves of the pleasure and sensual release of it all.

Vicki’s hand started stroking across James’ chest, as it usually did as the afterglow started subsiding. James felt Abby’s slender fingers testing him below, but he had not yet recovered.

“I can’t remember when I’ve gotten off so well,” Vicki commented.

“We owe it all to James,” Abby replied. “He was so willing.”

“Yes, he was perfect!” Vicki agreed.

James was happy to receive the praise, especially since it signaled a chance at a reprise. He wondered, however, why the women spoke to each other across his body as if he were not there.

Abby reached her hand across James’ body and lovingly caressed Vicki’s large breast as it lay peacefully on James’ chest. At the same time she crossed her top leg over James’ own and began to rub herself against his thigh. Vicki propped herself on her elbow. Her breast draped down from her chest. Abby kept hold of it. She rose up on her own elbow. The two women met, hovering above James in a passionate kiss. James watched as each tongue laved the lips of the other woman, and probed inside the lips for its counterpart. He was in awe as the prolonged kiss excited them—and him. He wondered when it would be his turn to share in the banquet.

“James,” Vicki said softly, as she and Abby broke away from each other. “Abby and I need some time alone together. We’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

James was stunned at the dismissal, but it seemed definite, so he didn’t appeal.

“Don’t be hurt, James.” Abby consoled.

“That’s right, Sugar. You were wonderful,” Vicki added. “We’ll get together again soon.” The women parted a little further to give James some room to rise off the bed. As he put on his clothes the two remaining bed partners resumed their attentions to one another. A fleeting thought in James’ mind was that he wished that he could sit in Vicki’s leather chair and watch them, but his dismissal was final. He would have to wait for another chance on another day.

As he drove home in the darkness James pondered the events of the day in disbelief. Less than four hours earlier he had been seated in an Italian restaurant, happy that he finally was able to take Vicki somewhere for a nice time together. At the end of the night he was reliving things that he had done and seen that he had never even thought possible. He was sure that there was a sin committed at some point that would need confessing, but at that moment he could only remind himself how much he had liked it. He wondered if perhaps the sin was in the unabashed enjoyment of it.

He would figure it out later, after he slept. Only a single added question nagged him, which he asked out loud.

“How could Vicki say that Bubba wouldn’t mind a bit?”

*************

Henry Thompson and James O’Toole sat side by side at the long table in the conference room. Shirley Jacobs sat opposite with a clenched jaw. She slouched in the fabric-covered swivel chair, arms folded across her chest.

“Shirley, James will be there whenever Raymond is at Tracey’s. There doesn’t seem to be a chance of anything bad happening,” Henry pleaded.

“Why can’t we leave things as they are?” she repeated her question.

“I told you already, Shirley, Superintendent’s orders.”

“But why?” she insisted.

“Just a precaution. It just doesn’t look right for a young boy to be…” Henry started to explain, but Shirley interrupted him.

“It’s because of what that preacher said in the paper!” Shirley exclaimed loudly. “I’ve known it all along. The one he’s talking about is Mr. O’Toole! I just wanted you to say it to me—but you didn’t have the nerve. You think that folks like me don’t read the paper—that we can’t figure things out. You’ve got it all wrong!”

Henry sighed. “Nothing’s been proven, Shirley. It’s very unfair…”

“Don’t you think that I know that?” she replied angrily. “Raymond told me that everything is alright. He likes Mr. O’Toole. I believe Raymond.”

“Raymond has a lot of potential,” James butted in. “He could go far. He needs the Math that I’m teaching him. When he goes away next year all of his classmates will have it. We can’t let him start out behind the others.”

“I know…” Shirley sobbed, although her arms remained folded across her chest.

“Why are you and Tracey at odds with one another?” Henry asked.

Shirley only sobbed harder and shook her head.

“Why don’t you tell us, Shirley? Maybe we can help,” Henry probed again.

Shirley’s eyes opened wide. She sat forward, baring her teeth. “Because she called me ‘trailer trash’!” she spat out in anger. “More than once! She shoved her expensive car and jewels in my face, too. She told my husband, Melvin, that I’m a slob.”

“Maybe you could make up with Tracey,” Henry interrupted.

Shirley wasn’t finished. “Maybe she should try and not be a slob with seven kids!” she shouted in a rage. She sat back in her chair, looking away from the men, wiping away a tear that descended down her cheek. Her lower lip jutted out, defiantly. She exploded again. “And, I can tell you how she got all those fine things. I should tell Melvin.”

“It’s for Raymond,” James reminded her. “Maybe you could sacrifice this one thing.”

“Why should I sacrifice? I’m always the one to sacrifice,” she hissed through clenched teeth, staring into the men with bloodshot eyes.

“Mr. O’Toole’s sacrificing his tutor’s fees,” Henry reminded her.

“Good for him!” Shirley spat out, recrossing her arms over her chest, staring at the floor. “That’s none of my business!”

Henry hung his head, unable to respond. James paused, allowing the anger hanging in the air to disperse. When he answered his voice was calm and kind.

“Because he’s your son, Shirley, and you love him. How much have you sacrificed already? It’s just one more time, and this will mean a lot.”

Henry was startled. He jerked his head around and stared at James with his jaw hung open. Shirley hung her head, not saying a word. She sobbed once, then dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

“I could do it at your trailer if you can keep the kids quiet for an hour,” James offered the mock ultimatum.

A thin smile broke over Shirley’s face. “Alright, you convinced me,” she said. “I’ve got no answer for that one.”

After the meeting, Henry and James were walking down the hallway to Nathan’s office to let him know Shirley’s decision. “You’re quite a man, James. It’s a good thing that you were there.”

“Forget it, Henry.”

“How did you know to say that—about the sacrifice and everything?”

“Because I knew that it was true and there is nothing stronger than the truth—once it’s let out in the open,” James replied. “You knew it, too. I just said it before you had a chance to.”

************

“Ethan Chandler is a respected leader in this community, Miss Hardaway,” Jarrod Morris said as he leaned back in his leather office chair. He eyed the pretty, young Valley Sentinel reporter who had come to his office seeking the Mayor’s slant on the town’s raging controversy.

“Then you agree with his stand about pedophiles teaching in Bates Schools?” She leaned forward to make sure that her words were captured on the portable tape recorder that she had set on Jarrod’s desk at the outset of the interview. She turned the microphone to put it the best angle to capture the Mayor’s response. She really wished that he wouldn’t lean away from the device like he was, but she couldn’t find the words—no, couldn’t find the nerve—to make him sit up straight so that he could be heard properly.

“I certainly agree that if pedophiles are in the school it would be a horrible situation, and if they are there, they have to be found out,” the Mayor replied.

“But the question, Mayor…” the young woman summoned her courage to contradict the intimidating older man, “…the question is, do you agree…”

“As Mayor, I cannot have an opinion on that, Miss Hardaway,” Jarrod calmly interrupted. “I do agree with the Reverend on the Separation of Church and State.”

“But…” she started to argue.

“It’s obvious, don’t you think?” he interrupted again.

“You’re a member of that Church. I saw you there on Sunday,” she said, taking an alternate tack. “What about…”

“Freedom of Religion is one of my most cherished beliefs, Miss Hardaway.”

The exchange left the young reporter in confusion. Jarrod sensed the consternation and an opening.

“As I was saying, Ethan Chandler is one of the most respected religious leaders in this community. Let me tell you in what condition he found the First Baptist Church when he came to Bates in 1982. By the way, did I tell you how the First Baptist Church got its name? Well, in 1846…”

Jarrod continued with his soliloquy until he saw the young woman’s eyes glazing over. As she realized that she had lost track of what Jarrod had said she shook slightly as she returned to being fully awake. She decided to give a last try at gaining some useful information.

“What do you say about the School District refusing to…?”

Jarrod interrupted again. “Bob Jackson is a much-respected leader of this community. Let me tell you how Bob found the schools when he first came to Bates in…”

She lost conscious track of the words again. She was resigned that nothing important would come of the interview and that the most important thing she could do at that moment was to save the batteries in her recorder.

“You’ve been most kind to grant me this interview, Mayor Morris,” she said politely, finding an opportunity to cut in between breaths as the Mayor paused in his long oration. She turned the recorder off and began to pack up her things.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to meet you before, Miss Hardaway,” the Mayor probed as soon as he knew he was off the record. “How long have you been with the Sentinel?”

“About two months,” she answered. “It’s a part-time job. We just moved here. My husband just became the Assistant Quality Control Manager at the Cheese Factory.”

“Then it’s Mrs. Hardaway,” Jarrod interjected. “You should have corrected me.” The petite, young woman blushed as Jarrod made her feel guilty for oversight.

“Just out of college?” Jarrod asked. The pretty strawberry blonde nodded.

“A young couple just starting out always needs extra money,” Jarrod proclaimed the axiom as she rose to leave the office. “Have you ever thought about trying Insurance Sales on the side?” he asked as she reached for the doorknob.

“Think about it!” he added with a grin as she turned and left the office.

****************

“Peggy, it’s going to be hard to write much of a story with what you’ve got here.” It was Roger Blair, Editor and Publisher of The Valley Sentinel, chastising his cub reporter over the interview tape she brought back to the office. “You let Jarrod run you around the maypole, I would say,” he continued.

“I know, Mr. Blair. I knew it while it was happening. I just didn’t know how to stop it.”

“You’ve got to make them understand that it’s in their interest to come clean with you,” her mentor answered. He saw her nodding with that empty look in her eyes that made him know that her nod was only for courtesy and saving face.

Roger Blair had lived his whole life in the Southern Tier corridor that began with Dansville in the north and ended in Corning in the south. On the east were the Bristol Hills and Keuka Lake. His newspaper office was in Hornell, the County Seat which bounded the area on the west. He was a lifelong newspaper man, having taken over for his father who was a lifelong newspaper man. He knew the people.

“What I mean is that if Morris had understood that it might be possible…” he checked his pupil’s expression to make certain that she was keeping up, “…if he thought that your take on the story had him included in a way he wouldn’t like, he might open up to make sure that he got his two cents in.”

Although the years were catching up to Roger, he still gave an impression that bade people pay attention to what he had to say. He stood tall, pushing six-four. His frame was gaunt, so he looked even taller. Some likened his nose to the beak of a hawk, others to a can opener. Light reflected from his bald pate, and sometimes he propped his reading glasses on it. He did that when he thought he needed to learn something from someone else. When he thought that a listener should take lessons from him, he would leave the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and peer over them at his target. He was in the later posture as he spoke to his young subordinate. There was really a lot of kindness in the man. A reporter needing to learn a hard lesson or two would realize it while reflecting on the session a few weeks later.

“What interest has Morris got in this whole thing?” he quizzed the young woman.

“He’s a member of Ethan Chandler’s Church,” she answered.

“What else?” Roger demanded. Peggy shrugged. “Who’s on the Church Board?” he hinted to her. She gave another shrug. “He is, for one!” the older man said pointedly.

“I didn’t know that,” Peggy answered meekly.

“You should have found it out!” Roger answered mercilessly. “He’s also the Mayor of Bates and owns the biggest insurance agency around. That means that he’s got position, power and money to protect. He stonewalled you because he didn’t want you getting close. Maybe he’s just cautious—maybe not,” he speculated. “This won’t fully play out until Jarrod’s part in this is known.”

“I thought that the people in the church were going to tear me apart on Sunday!” Peggy confessed, changing the subject.

“That’s what they wanted you to think, but they wouldn’t have. People like to get up in arms about things, but when you put’ em to the test there’s basic decency in most folks,” Roger admonished. “Well, go write your story,” he ordered.

“I thought that you said…” Peggy began, but Roger held up his hand to silence her.

“Use what you have. Just write it so that it ties Jarrod to Ethan Chandler. Get a file photo of Jarrod and put it with the story.”

“Whew!” she exclaimed. “This is getting complicated.”

“A little different from writing for the college gazette, is it?” Roger asked.

**********

James went through the motions of getting Tracey’s address from Henry. Although he knew the exact house where she lived, he didn’t want to let on that he had been noticing her, even at a distance. He arrived at her small ranch-style house right on time at four. Raymond was already there and let him in the front door. As James walked into the living room he saw Tracey sitting on a sofa.

“Hello, I’m James O’Toole.”

“I know,” she answered blandly. “I’ve seen you around school.” She rose and extended her hand. James grasped it gently. “I saw you at Nathan’s party, too,” she added.

James glanced over to the kitchen table and saw Raymond’s books already opened on it. “It’s nice of you to allow us to use your house.”

“Think nothing of it,” she answered, in a voice that lacked conviction. “I’ll just read here in the living room while you two work at the table.”

To James, the pieces were falling into place. The bronzed skin, high cheekbones, and angular features told of her Native American blood. The blonde hair was the disguise. As beautiful as Tracey was, James pictured her with her natural raven color and liked it better.

“I’ve seen you jogging around the neighborhood a few times,” James blurted out, hoping perhaps, for an invitation.

“Yes, I saw you, too,” she replied, without looking up from her magazine.

James realized that he would have more luck introducing integrals to Raymond than in making time with Tracey, so he sat at the table and started the lesson.

Forty-five minutes later it was clear that Raymond was well on his way to mastering the rudiments of integration.

“I gave you some problems for next time,” James told his student. “Be sure to read the explanations; don’t just jump right to the problems. You’ve got to understand why you’re doing it.”

“Okay,” Raymond conceded, in a way that was a virtual admission that he was prone to jump right to the exercises.

“How are you doing in the rest of your courses?” James inquired. “They are important, too.”

“I like Physics the best; they’re all fine,” he answered. “I was wondering….” He started asking and then hesitated.

“What is it, Raymond?”

“I’ve applied to Cornell, Mellon and Buffalo. I don’t know where I want to go,” Raymond asked.

“You should be asking Mr. Thompson,” James replied.

“I did,” Raymond said. “He said that I could ask you if I wanted to.”

“I guess that would depend on what kind of engineering you want to study and where you want to live and work when you’re done with college,” James answered. “I have a friend who is an Engineering Manager at a company in Rochester. I could arrange for him to talk with you,” James offered.

“That would be great!” Raymond shouted. He grinned and his eyes lit up.

“Raymond, I just saw your mother pull into the driveway,” Tracey called out from the living room. Teacher and pupil gathered their books together to prepare to go home.

They walked out the front door of the house as Shirley opened her car door. She handed James his customary plate of cookies. “I ran out of chocolate chips,” she apologized. “I had to use raisins instead.”

“Mrs. Jacobs, your cookies would be excellent if you used thumb tacks instead of chocolate chips,” James quipped. Shirley was confused and gave James a funny look.

“He means that your cookies are always good no matter what, Ma,” Raymond explained.

“That’s right; I appreciate them very much,” James corrected himself, a little bit embarrassed. Shirley smiled slightly, acknowledging the praise.

Shirley looked quite different than usual. She was wearing a pleated skirt with the red on black Black Stewart Tartan and a coordinating red sweater. Rather than her sneakers, she wore black hose and shoes. Her hair had obviously been tamed a few minutes earlier.

“Hello, Shirley,” came Tracey’s voice from behind them. “I like your skirt.” That comment surprised James because even he could tell that it wouldn’t hav e been the style that Tracy would choose. He figured the younger woman was just putting her best foot forward.

“Thanks,” Shirley replied, with a cautious look in her eye. “Melvin bought it for me last Christmas.”

The two women paused, unsure what to say next. Shirley reached into the car.

“I made some cookies for you this afternoon,” she blurted out and then reached into her car to scoop up her currency. “It’s for letting Raymond use your house.” She held the plate in outstretched arms and walked a few steps forward. Tracy took two steps in Shirley’s direction to close the gap.

“I’ll put some coffee on and we’ll have some!” Tracey offered.

No—got to get going. I’ve got to get the kids’ dinner,” Shirley explained as she retreated.

“Maybe next time,” Tracey replied. She went back into her house. Raymond and Shirley packed themselves into the car and backed out of the driveway.

As night fell James walked the short distance to his rooming house. He felt good. The brisk night air was refreshing, and there were other reasons, too.

********************

It had been a banner week for James. It began at Vicki’s where Abby joined them for—he wasn’t sure what—but he knew he had enjoyed it. He saw a different side of Vicki that he couldn’t quite decipher. He had known from the start that there was a hard shell surrounding her core. He thought that he had seen it opened up just slightly once or twice. Perhaps, knowing the new side was the key.

He was most happy in what he accomplished with Raymond, and his mother. He did something good, he thought; or maybe he was just a catalyst that enabled Shirley’s goodness to come out. Either way, he had shucked away his role as bystander. He took action, gained little for himself, and had been confident of his course in the doing of it. Thinking again, he reckoned that his gains were greater than he originally calculated.

The biggest riddle was Abby. He had craved her since the first day; a fact he freely acknowledged to himself. He had thought that his own private world would be big enough, and real enough, to capture her essence—for the purpose for which he needed it. For a time, it had sufficed. It allowed him self-denial, as after he followed her home from the supermarket. Self-denial was at the heart of all he had been taught, at the seminary, and in his early years when nuns gave the children tiny mite-boxes to fill with coins for the missions. Self-denial built strength against all the near occasions of sin—so he was taught and once believed. Yet, with the taste of Abby on his tongue, he felt a gnawing hunger.

Why, then, had he given in at Vicki’s on Sunday night? One reason was that he was tied up, nude, on Vicki’s bed. Vicki had assured him that ‘Bubba didn’t mind’, as if he believed it. Vicki was giving the orders—it wasn’t his fault. He stopped kidding himself.

“I did it because I wanted to; because I couldn’t help myself. It was wrong and I did it anyway. I should be sorry, but I’m not!” he said to himself as he turned into the driveway of his rooming house. “I just can’t be sorry,” he repeated. “…or at least sorry enough.”

And so James found himself lurking around the Principal’s office on Friday afternoon. He waited until he saw Nathan leave for the day. Abby sat at her desk. He knew Bubba wasn’t due in until Saturday night.

“James, I haven’t seen you since Sunday night,” Abby greeted him in her lilting voice and smile as he approached her desk. “Wasn’t that a wonderful evening?”

James didn’t answer; he just hovered over her.

“Nathan’s gone for the day,” she informed him in a voice that told James that she knew that he really wasn’t there to see the Principal. She said no more, just sat placidly, looking up at him; waiting for him.

“I saw him leave,” James stammered. He paused, creating an uncomfortable silence. He knew he had to come out with it, couldn’t avoid it. He had come too far; he felt flushed as the gates of hell swung open.

“I just wanted to ask…” he stopped short, looking for the right words. “Are your appliances alright?”

“Why, I think so, James,” she answered and gave him that smile as she tortured him. “I think that they’re all fine. Thank you for asking. Were you hoping to fix them?”

“Well, I was thinking…” James became lost for words again. He opened his mouth to speak, unsure what words would sally forth; Abby rescued him.

“Maybe you think too much, James. If you’re suggesting that you would like to come to my house for sex tonight, come around at eight.”

James nearly fainted as the deal was struck. He managed to stay on his feet in front of her desk.

“Is that what you wanted to ask, James?”

He nodded his head in a stuttered yes.

“Shall it be eight, then?” James didn’t answer and she didn’t insist on one. She went back to her typing and James about faced and marched from the office.

***********

When James was a priest, he practiced self-denial during the season of Lent along with his fellow priests and brothers in the community. They led an austere life all during the year. Lent was special. They would deny themselves all but subsistence rations of food. Water was rationed to that which a man needed to live. There would be no drinking, or smoking. Television, radio and music, except at liturgy, were off limits. Recreation of all sorts halted. A blanket was removed from each bed. Rising time was moved from five to four in the morning. All the while they would carry out their duties as teachers, or as assigned to them by Father Brendan. All of them did it, young and old suffering silently, as long as they were fit enough to stand the forty days’ rigor. It made them happy because of the shared suffering with one another, and the martyrs.

On Holy Saturday night they would confess—clean their souls. On Easter Sunday morning, there was Mass and Communion. After that, they put all work aside. In the afternoon they would celebrate the breaking of their Lenten penance with a big dinner that all the priests and brothers enjoyed together. Spirits would always be high with the communal satiation of body and soul.

Following one such occasion Jamie was in his cell, sitting at his desk, reading his vespers, allowing his dinner to settle before going retiring for the night. His door was open, signaling his availability for conversation with anyone so inclined. Father Brendan walked in and sat in the chair beside Jamie’s desk.

“Have ye had eno’ o’ self-denial fer the time bein’, Jamie?”

“I must admit, Father, that ham dinner tasted pretty good,” Jamie acknowledged with a smile.

“Aye, it did!” the old priest agreed. “A right and true banquet it was, all provided t’us by Himself,” he said as he pointed and cast his eyes upward.

He leaned forward, his elbows propped on Jamie’s desk. Jamie felt the old eyes bore into him from behind the thick lenses. “Why do we do it?” he demanded through his clenched jaw, as if angry. “Why do we put ‘erselves t’rough dis heartless mis’ry each and ev’ry year—and we’ll do it ‘til we die, I assure ye.” He ceased speaking and kept staring at Jamie, letting him know that he insisted on an answer.

“To remind ourselves of the suffering of Christ on the…”

“Tish—Tosh!” The old man dismissed Jamie’s memorized answer with the mild oath and a violent wave of the hands. “Come, Lad! I’ll have more d’an catechism from ye, if ye please.”

“Honestly, Father, that is truly why I thought we did it, and to share the suffering with the brethren of our Order.” Jamie answered truthfully.

“Aye, Jamie! Well enough ye know it, I can see,” his mentor conceded. “But ye’ve not got the truth of it, boy.” He paused, waiting for Jamie to probe further.

“Tell me, Father, then why?”

Father Brendan answered as he rose and gave Jamie a brotherly slap on the back of his shoulder, “We do it fer the enjoyment of dat ham dinner at th’ end of it all.” He turned and left Jamie to his vespers.

***********

TO BE CONTINUED