Chapter 1

A sudden darkness fell over the ruffled water and a
distant rumbling of thunder caused the bathers to pause a
moment in their thoughts and look up at the walls of dark clouds
that rose from the horizon up to the zenith. A moment later the
sun was shining again, and the beach relaxed once more into its
lazy afternoon chatter.

Peter Cross noticed the lifeguard and the girl. From
his towel he could almost hear what they were saying. His eyes
carefully studied the soft curve of the girl's back and the
firm strength of the lifeguard's dark brown chest. Peter took
his glasses from his shirt pocket, put them on and looked even
more closely at the couple; he didn't watch them straight on,
but kept his gaze on them from the corner of his eye. At last,
he relaxed the arm he was propping himself up with, and laid
his cheek on the cool surface of sand beside his beachtowel.
From that position he could see only the putty-white skin of
the girl's back and the elastic tightness of her blue and white
polka dot bathing suit. The lifeguard was lost behind the
chubby girl except for his strong bony hand that squeezed the
loose flesh on the calf of her leg.

As Peter's eyes were beginning to sink beneath a warm
sleepy feeling nade by the sight of the dozing couple, two
chattering girls scuffed past him, scattering sand in his hair.
Peter looked up at them, irritated, and shrank a little when he
met their gaze.

"Hi," the taller and browner of the girls said, "Do
you mind if we park our junk here, next to your towel? There's
no sunlight down the way." She smiled at him as though he had

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already said yes.

"Sure, go ahead", Peter's hand went to his chest and rubbed the skin back and forth over his ribs. The two girls looked him over matter of factly and then spread their towels and forgot all about him. They were quite busy tuning their portable radio, adjusting bobby pins in their haie, and scanning the people on the beach, when Peter turned over on his side toward them.

"You're Sarah Haven's sister, aren't you?" he asked the older girl steadily.

The two girls shot a glance at each other. "Yes, that's right. Do you know Sarah?" the older girl asked with a slightly amused, patronizing look on her face.

"Not very well. She's in my history class. She's a wonderful girl. Very popular."

"That's for sure. Every night she gets about a hundred phone calls. Ever since she got out of junior high last spring the high school boys have been just plagueing her."

Peter looked down at the sand. "Yes, she's very popular. Someone told me the other day, that this summer she was dating a junior from Princeton."

Sarah's younger sister looked very pleased as she listened to Peter speak so respectfully of her sister. The other girl read a movie magazine while the boy and her friend talked. At last she sighed, put her magazine down, and shook her friend's shoulder. "Let's go swimming. Come on."

The older girl frowned and continued talking to Peter.

"Have you ever had a date with Sarah?" Sarah's sister continues, an innocent look on her face.

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"No, not me", the boy smiled apologetically. His hand moved over his chest and stretched protectingly down his stocky thigh. Sarah's sister smiled, perfectly sure of herself. Her girl friend squirmed and prodded her with a comb.

"Come on. Let's go on in. Come on".

Sarah's sister took a deep, disgusted breath, and put her bathing cap on. When she was ready she smiled at Peter, knowing that he had watched her as she put the bathing cap on.

"I suppose I've got to go in", she said wearily. Both of the girls rose a little self-consciously. When they got to the water, Sarah's sister looked around nervously and pulled the bottom of her bathing suit a bit farther down on her legs, covering the little creases of flesh that had wedged out from under the binding at her hips.

Peter smiled when he saw this and looked away.

The warmth of the sun had spread intensely over the beach. Conversation gradually trickled away, and people were buried under blankets of silent heat. Peter's eyes closed, and his whole body joined in a deep communion with the sun.

He was awakened by a boy's clear voice, coming from somewhere down the beach.

"Daddy, don't get out of the water. If you come on in just another two feet you'll be on sand."

"These goddamed rocks, they're killing my feet!"

"It's wonderful out here. Take my hand. There, now, isn't it better?"

"Thanks for the help. Yes, it's nice out here."

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Peter smiled wistfully as he had the voices coming
over the water. He opened his eyes and saw, a few feet out in
the water, a small boy, around ten, and the middle aged, heavy
chested man. Peter's eyes sank in on the scene, and lazily closed
again.

When he was awakened the next time it was by the
chatter of the two girls who were standing next to him, drying
themselves with their towels.

"Oh, that water is just fabulous. I love it. This day
is terrific for getting a suntan," Sarah's sister was saying.
Peter looked up at her through his half closed eyes and noticed
the water dripping from her chin into the wrinkles of her flat
bodice. He rolled over, so that his back was to the girls. He
saw the lifeguard's girl friend sit up and tuck her shoulder
straps inside her bathing suit. Lazily the young man traced the
white strap marks with his fingers. And then his hand spread
over the rest of her back.

Peter stood up, pulled his bathing suit down, and
and strolled over past the couple. The lifeguard glanced at
him and smiled faintly.

In the distance a long wave of thunder rolled along
the horizon. Peter looked up at the approaching bank of clouds.
Then his gaze fell on the lifeguard. Following the lean, brown
leg, centering on the scrawny chest, that had only a few, light
hairs stretching away from the nipples, studying the fullness
of the lower lip and the sharp blue of the eyes. Peter found
himself being drawn closer to the young man. Jumping up, the
girl kissed the lifeguard and climbed the wooden steps, hurrying
across the park to her car. Peter's eyes followed her and
then looked back down at the lifeguard.

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type."

Peter was delighted. "Exactly."

The lifeguard stood up and stepped into the narrow wooden guard's tower. After a moment he hopped out, and handed Peter a paper bound boo. "Here's something you'll like."

"I would? What is it about?"

"Cherie" is the story of a gigolo and his middle aged mistress." said the lifeguard, in a soap opera voice.

Peter smiled broadly. "Wonderful. Is this where you learned all the secrets of love?" the boy taunted.

"No, it was the touch of flesh and not the smell of ink that twisted me." The lifeguard said very grandly.

"Oh, are you the English major type, too?"

The young man relaxed into sincerity. "No, I'm studying to be an engineer."

"My father is an engineer... You are really too good with the bon mot to waste yourself on engineering."

"Who's your father? I might have heard of him."

"No, you wouldn't have. He doesn't live around here. He and my mother are divorced."

"Oh. So are mine; since I was twelve."

"Mine since I was seven," Peter mentioned easily.

The lifeguard's eyes followed a woman's figure up the stairs from the beach to the lawn. He moved over beside Peter and put his arm lightly on the boy's shoulder.

"Do you see that woman walking away from the steps?"

"Yes." Peter leaned a little against the guard.

"Now, she's the woman I had before Ginger."

Peter looked at the guard, surprised, wondering whether he was joking or being serious.

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"Don't look so shocked," the lifeguard chided. "These things do happen, old man. And it's time someone told you."

Peter laughed. "Much obliged." The boy was blushing. "Please go on."

"Well, that woman is absolutely the most talented thing, in bed, I've ever known." Peter's arm touched the life-guard's side.

"She's married, isn't she? I've seen her walking with a man and a little boy."

"Yes, she's married; she's a nymphomaniac. Last summer she used to have me up to her apartment when her husband would be away. She would meet me at the door with her blouse unbuttoned and her hair falling across her face. And then she'd press herself against me very hard, as though she were trying to pull me inside her."

Peter was embarrassed. He looked down at his carefully trimmed toenails, and at the sticks in the sand, and at the waves, and at the fulminating sky, and at the departing bathers.

"What's the matter? Aren't you interested?"

Peter pulled himself together and turned to the life-guard. Their faces were quite close, and Peter noticed the light gleaming on the long, straight line of the young man's nose, and shining wet on his lower lip, penetrating deep into his blue eyes. "Yes, I'm interested. What finally happened?"

The lifeguard rubbed the boy's shoulder approvingly, "Well, last winter she had psychiatric treatment. When I got back in town this summer, she had me in for old times sake. We hurried through all the proper civilities; she fixed me a drink. But when I started to slip my hand beneath her skirt, she put

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my hand back in my lap and said, "Sorry, Darling, The honey-
moon is over."

The two boy's laughed; Peter, shyly, through his
embarrassment, the lifeguard, warmly, encouragingly. Peter
could feel the strength in the flexure of the young man's
arm, and thermoist warm of his skin. The boy relaxed a little
farther into the curve of the guard's arm.

The lowering sky rumbled and a swift, cold wind rubbed
the water back. "Here comes Ginger now." the young man said
as he stood up and walked toward her.

Ginger ran down the steps to the beach and into the
lifeguard's arms, her hand between their two bodies, pressing
against his chest. Peter only looked for a moment; then picked
up "Cherie" and read the blurb.

A moment later he saw two pairs of legs beside him;
the one short, slightly bowed, and clean shaven; the other thin
and hard and brown. He looked up and saw the young man smiling
at him.

"Who's your friend, Manley?" Ginger asked, sounding
somehow much older than Peter.

Manley sat down on his towel. "You know, we've been
talking since you left, but didn't introduce ourselves." He
turned to Peter. "My name's Manley Young; this is Ginger
Faverty."

Peter stood, shaking the sand out of his cap. "Hi,
I'm Peter Cross. "I've seen you down at the beach her a lot."
The girl sank down on her calves, beside Manley. "Of course,
that's entirely believable," she said, nudging her boyfriend,
and opening the paper bag she had brought with her. Peter

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sat back down a little farther off.

"Here, Darling, eat up," she whispered as she fed the young man a hot dog. The lifeguard put the hot dog aside and pulled her supporting arm out from under her, then he leaned over her body and the two people kissed for a long time. Peter watched, the copy of "Cherie" open before him on his lap.

Sarah Haven's sister, at that moment was going up the steps with her friend. Both girls noticed Peter, and when they saw him by himself sitting so near and watching the two lovers, an open book on his lap, they broke into a long gale of laughter. Peter reddened, bent his head, and closed his eyes.

Manley and Ginger weren't in any hurry to finish their love making, and they obviously weren't self conscious of the people around them. At last Manley rolled over on his stomach and remained there, breathing hard and running his hand through his hair. Ginger simply stayed where she was, her body heaving beneath the tightness of her blue and white polka dot bathing suit.

"Let's go swimming, honey," Manley suddenly broke in.

Ginger never moved, but said, "I'd have to go get my swim cap in the car."

Manley was irritated, "Well, go get it."

Ginger frowned, got up, and strolled luxuriously off, After she had climbed the stairs to the park, Manley went into the narrow guard house and brought out a bottle of clear liquid. He opened it and started to spread the lotion over his shoulders.

"You know," he stated, "I hope you don't think we're cheap to neck in public; I guess it looks that way, but we're just so---oh, damn it, I spilled the goddamned baby oil. Will

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you press some out of the towel and put it on my back?

"Sure, here." The boy moved over behind the lifeguard and cupped some of the spilled oil in his palm; then he spread it gently over the guard's lean back. "You are certainly are brown." The lifeguard's hair, streaked with the sun's blond, touched Peter Cross' smooth stomach. Peter moved his knee against the guard's hip.

"Thanks. That's fine." The lifeguard took the bottle and put the cap back on. Ginger was coming back down the stairs; she had seen Peter smoothing the oil over Manley's back and she looked rather disgusted. When she reached them, she said, "Why are you putting on baby oil before going in the water? How stupid!"

"Because I'm expecting," Manley shouted as he slapped Ginger's hip and ran down towards the beach. Ginger laughed and chased after him, falling into his arms at the water's edge. Their two bodies squeezed out the sunlight between them; Manley's thin, brown hands pressed Ginger hard beneath the shoulder blades; Ginger's smooth, round calves filled the hollows of his lean, golden-haired legs. Peter watched, "Cherie" in his lap.

He wasn't the only watcher. Down the beach, a fat, white-haired woman in a loose yellow bathing suit was grinning sentimentally as she looked at the two lovers. Peter snorted loudly when he saw her. But his attention quickly returned to Manley and Ginger.

The lifeguard lifted the girl up into his arms, his one hand under her legs, the other beneath her soft, white back. As Manley stumbled out over the rocks to the sand bar, Ginger turned her full breasts against him, and looked the boy on the beach right in the eye. Peter dropped his glance, but after a

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moment he raised it again and gazed at the girl straight on.
He smiled at her, but she didn't smile back; she just kept
staring and stroking the thin growth of hair on Manley's
neck.

The old woman in the sagging bathing suit turned on
her side, shaking the little waves of fat that streamed down
her legs, and frowned at the boy, a curious resentment in her
eyes; then she looked back at Ginger. They were in league.

Peter's hand tightened around a knot of sand that
he held in his grasp, his knuckles whitening with the pressure.
His eyes were still held by Ginger, who seemed to be in a
strange alliance with the old woman down the beach. Concen-
trating on the lacquered white fingernails sliding up and down
the young man's neck, Peter slowly unraveled the cord he had
tied among the grains of sand, beneath the beach towel, while
his lips molded into a smile of fear and hatred. At last he
let his eyes fall. When he looked up a second later, Ginger
was looking elsewhere, triumph written on her face. She and
Manley had reached the sand bar and there they were having a
water fight. Peter's mouth was still imprinted with his ugly
smile.

Spray shot out from under Manley's scudding hands
as he splashed the laughing girl with a shower of fresh chill
water. Their mingled laughter rang along the shore. Peter put
"Cherie" aside and arose.

As the long limbed, well built boy slowly paced his
way down to the lake, Manley, in the midst of a new volley of
water and laughter, stopped short, his eyes fixed on the
approaching body of the boy. The clean, white smile on the

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After the man and woman rose from the water, slowly,
they walked, dreamily, back over the rocks, onto the beach,
and across the sand towards Manley's towel. When Peter glanced
up from "Cherie" he saw the two moving towards him, arm in arm.
Peter buttoned the top button of his shirt.

"That was a wonderful swim, Peter. You should go in
for a dip." Ginger smiled at the boy.

"No, thanks, I've just gotten interested in Manley's
book. Would you like me to read it, Manley? We could talk
about it then." asked Peter Cross.

"Sure. You'll enjoy it." Manley said enthusiastically.

"I've already read it. Manley and I have already
dais nearly everything about it there is to be said." Ginger
mentioned.

"I'm sure Manley would like to hear a fresh approach
then," the boy said.

"Read it. I'm almost finished....Say isn't that your
mother's car, Ginger? She's honking."

"She must have seen the sky and wanted to give me a
ride home before the rain started," the girl sighed.

"Maybe we'll see you tomorrow, Ginger," Peter suggested.

The girl disregarded him. "Call me tonight, darling.
Bye." Ginger walked away from Manley and Peter. On the steps
she hesitated, looked around, and said, "You'd better get in
before it rains, Peter."

The boy smiled, "Thanks. I just live across the
street. If there is a down pour I can stay here in the guard-
house. Bye."

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"Bye, Ginger," The lifeguard said.

The girl waved goodbye and thoughtfully walked towards her mother's car. When she got in, she called Manley. The lifeguard trotted over to her. Peter could see him talking to Ginger's mother, then take the girl's hand and give it a peck. The car drove away.

As Manley's lanky frame came down the stairs, Peter looked up and said softly, "The beach is empty, now."

"Yes, everyone's seen the rain coming...Ginger's a nice girl, don't you think?"

"Yes she's very nice. You're lucky to have her. Feel, the rain's starting."

"Yeah, it is. Help me shake out this towel." The two stood up and snapped the towel in the wind that had suddenly grown cool. It had begun to rain heavily. "Let's get in." Manley picked up his things, hurried Peter into the tiny house, followed him and closed the door.

In the guard house there was only about four feet of room both ways. Manley put his babyoil and blanket on a shelf. Peter stood quietly, leaning against the wall and facing Manley. The dark lifeguard puttered longer than necessary with his things. Slowly he turned to Peter. There was only a few inches between their bare feet. Peter brushed his leg against Manley's. The young man looked down at his knee, then turned to the little, meshed window. Peter looked at Manley's bare, thin back, broken by the sharp lines of his shoulder blades, ridged with his ribbing, knotted by the skin tight line of his backbone.

"The rain is wonderful, when you're inside. There is such a sweet, fish smell on the beach." Peter blushed at break-

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ing the silence; he raised his hand to his chest, breathing
deepl y. Irresistibly, he lifted his hand as if to touch Manley's
back, then let it fall to his side, and leaned against the cool
boards behind him, closed his eyes, and sighed.

"If I had lived two hundred years ago, I wouldn't have
been embarrassed about noticing the fish smell---or about tell-
ing of anything I really felt."

Manley turned around and looked at the boy. "Why can't
you say it, now?"

The boy tried to look into the young man's eyes, but
his courage failed, and he looked away, at the peeling paint on
the old white door. "People were allowed to say what they felt
then---even be eloquent. Everything sounds corny now."

"Maybe it did then, too."

"It didn't have to."

"It doesn't have to now."

"Perhaps not."

Manley' Young's face moved near Peter's, neck and mouth.
Suddenly Manley turned sideways, moved his hands up to his shelf,
where he found a red beach-shirt.

Loud banging startled the two out of their reverie.
Peter nervously touched his chest. Manley turned and opened the
loose white door of the guard house. There stood a woman dressed
in a black coat and full hood with rain streaming down her face
and a look of apprehension in her eyes. Peter recoiled when he
saw her.

"Peter you've got to get in. Lightening might strike
any moment, you've got to get in."

"Mother, this is Manley Young. I was just talking to

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him here--he's got to go home soon. The beach closes in a few
minutes."

"Hello, Mrs. Cross. Both of us are reading the same
book and we got into talking about it."

"Yes. There's all kinds of lightening out on the water.
It's not safe to be here."

"Mother, it'll just be a few minutes."

"Peter, please. You must get in."

"But, why?"

"Because I said so. It's dangerous. Do as I say this
instant."

"We can finish our talk some other day, Pete." Manley
smiled his broad, emcee smile on the mother and son.

"Well, I think you're being silly, Mother. --Good-bye,
Manley."

"Good-bye, Pete. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Cross."

"Thank you. Nice to meet you, too." The short woman
in the black, hooded coat and her tall son walked in the lurid,
green light, through the persistent rain. The boy, walking ahead
of his mother, brushed his short, brown hair down on his forehead
and twisted a wet lock around his fingers.

Once inside their apartment building across the street,
Peter's mother stopped in the hall just within the front door be-
fore she mounted the stairs to her floor. There in the vestible
she bent her short, heavy body, straining to unzip her boots.
Peter walked on past her through the second door and up the two
flights of stairs. There he entered the large, green apartment,
leaving the door open behind him. Walking straight to the sun-
room, the boy looked out the picture window at the beach across

Page 57

Roland."

"No, I've got to talk to Peter."

As Peter stood up and stepped out into the aisle from
his seat, the other boy said in a suddenly friendly voice, "Who're
your teachers, Pete?"

"I don't know, yet," Peter smiled at him.

Peter walked up the aisle and sat beside Roland. "Hi,
Ready for the big school?" Peter asked.

"Sure. Are you?"

"Oh, I'm sort of nervous. It's a lot bigger school
than Junior high."

"You'll know all our friends from Junior high. How did
you like John Rounders?"

"Who's John Rounders?"

"That guy you were sitting next."

"Well, he wasn't very nice to me, but I imagine he's O.K.
How do you know him?"

"Leslie used to go with him. He's a junior. I don't
like him much—he's such an ass."

"Why don't you like him? He seems to like you—I mean
wanting you to sit with him."

"So—"

"So, you should like him if he likes you."

"You don't like anyone just because he happens to like
you. You like people because they make you feel like something.
I always feel like an ass around Jack."

"I probably make you feel like one, too."

"Are you fishing for compliments?"

Chapter V

On Tuesday morning Peter smiled nicely at his mother when she awakened him at seven o'clock. His eyes were shining despite the black circles of fatigue under them. He was happy.

" What are you so happy about, punkin? " his mother cooed.

" I can't tell you, but I will later--if everything works out all right. "

" What things? "

" I can't tell you. "

" Tell me. "

" Tonight."

Peter hopped out of bed, turned on "Caviellero Rusticana" at top volume, opened his window wide, and sang, "O, Lola! " with Turrida. When Mrs. Cross called for breakfast he came promptly, even asked her some questions about her work; of course, after a minute he was talking again about his own happiness and it's mysterious cause.

" What are you so happy about, " his mother insisted.

" Something wonderful and exciting. "

" Anything to do with Roland? " Mrs. Cross asked suspiciously.

" No, " Peter said firmly.

" Me? "

" No, honey--not you, " Peter patronized.

" Maybe Sarah? "

" I'm not telling till tonight. "

" It is Sarah--I knew. "

" You don't know anything, " Peter said, annoyed.

" Aren't you going to eat your breakfast? "

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" No, I'm not hungry. "

" Sometimes I am just at a loss as to how to please you, Peter. "

" You could stop making that groggy toast--and get some fruit for breakfast. "

" I'm trying to please you -- if you'd only help me order the groceries. "

" It's not such a major problem, you know. Don't sound so tired. "

" It's a problem to see me after working all day... "

" O.K. " Peter broke in. Let's not fight today, for once. "

" Peter, I'm not fighting. You know we never fight. "

" O.K. We never fight. Gosh -- am I happy. "

Peter wiped the dishes for his mother, got dressed carefully, worried a long time over his crewcut hair which was too long in back. At last he decided to shave his neck; he cut himself and bled a little.

When he finally managed to get himself together, Peter phoned Roland. Mr. Bright answered sleepily, "Hello? "

" Hello--is Roland there? "

" Yes--isn't this a bit early to be phoning? "

" Did I wake you? Were you sleeping? "

" At seven thirty in the morning most people are. I think that was a little inconsiderate. "

" I--I'm terribly sorry. "

" I'll get Roland. "

" Never mind. "

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" Don't you want to talk to him now? What's wrong with you, boy? "

" I'm sorry. I-I didn't want to bother you anymore. "

" Some people....I can't figure you out. "

Peter could hear Mr. Bright call for Roland and hang up when his son took the downstairs receiver.

" Hello? "

" Hi. This is Pete. Is your father MAD? I didn't think. "

" Oh, forget it. You shouldn't pay any attention to him. He just likes to make a big noise. "

" I hate to flub with him, though. I thought he was just beginning to tolerate me and then I wake the sleeping bear. "

" Oh, it's all growl and no gruff. "

" I don't think your father likes people like me. "

" What kind of people are you reffering to? "

" Oh, sort of faky; I mean, I think he likes the great American boy type. "

" Like me. "

" Well, not exactly. You seem that way but you're not. "

" Yes I am. You just pretend I'm not because you don't want me that way. You like to think of me as deep and complicated like yourself, but I'm not. I'm simple and gee-whizy, and I think you know it, really. "

" And I suppose what you just said is typical of the average, middle-west bumpkin? "

" Gee, once in awhile I can parrot something intelligent I've heard you say. "

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" I don't know why you talk that way. Basically you know you're bright. "

" I never will. No sense of propriety, you know. "

" You need some -- like my savoir faire in phoning at exactly the right moment. "

" I wish you'd forget about that. He isn't mad anyway. Besides, why do you care so much? "

" Well, it doesn't really matter. But I respect your father a lot; you know -- solid, family man, strong. That's the only reason why I mind him being mad at me. "

" You sound like 'Portia's Other Life'. "

" It probably does sound pretty pathetic. "

" By the way -- why did you call? "

" Oh - guess what! I've got to tell you something. Promise you won't laugh? "

" Yeah - shoot. "

" I wrote, and am going to mail today, a love letter to Sarah. "

" Pete! " Roland exclaimed. There was a moment of strained silence. " But why? "

" Well - I - I thought I had to. I mean - well-I thought that would be the only way I would get her. "

" She hasn't even shown you any sign of liking you, has she? "

" No, but that's just why I must write her. She has so many boys who're always courting her, guys who are better looking, sharper, more athletic, more popular than I; - and the only thing I can do is talk. If I ever win her it will only be by telling her how I feel."