Little Did I Know: A Novel (6 page)

“Dad, we both know what’s going to happen.”

“No, we don’t. Perhaps we think we do, but in truth we don’t.”

“I don’t want to be some asshole who doesn’t think of consequences until I’ve already screwed up or hurt someone. I want to do what’s right.”

“You have to play the entire game and make your decisions as you move ahead. Take charge of the situation and don’t let anyone force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I know you—you don’t make bad choices. Trust your instincts and you’ll know what to do.”

“Okay, Dad. I’ll keep you posted.”

I hung up the phone, turned on the TV and watched highlights of the Red Sox beating up on the Indians earlier in the day. I dozed off before I heard the final score.

T
he next morning I headed toward the beach and quickly found my stride. My legs felt strong, and as I ran along the beachfront my feet made a rhythmic, percussive sound on the damp sand that drowned out any of last night’s doubts. I thought of all the women I’d slept with in college, and how none of them offered the allure, adventure, or adrenaline of Lizzy Barrows. She was the unknown, charged with fire, chaos, and bliss—a dangerous but enticing cocktail.

When I returned to the hotel the morning clerk handed me an envelope from Mrs. Barrows. “Thanks. Do you think it might be a letter bomb?” I asked.

She laughed. “I make no promises, but if so, rest assured I’ll let your parents know what happened to you and why you won’t be home for dinner.”

“Much appreciated. Good to know.”

The envelope contained a brief letter from the Barrows Foundation stating its willingness to lease the Priscilla Beach Theatre to me and to fund the theater program with fifty thousand dollars. It was signed by the president of the foundation, which according to the expensive letterhead, was Lizzy Barrows. I reread the letter to make sure I hadn’t misinterpreted it. I didn’t find any of the stipulations for the lease or the money objectionable. Just then the last clouds outside my motel window disappeared, and my room flooded with a bright, beckoning light.
“Okay
, I thought,
if that’s not a sign
. . .”

I got in my Mustang at just after ten-thirty. I thought I’d grab a quick breakfast to steady my nerves and calm my stomach. I pulled into the Garden Diner up the road, taking a seat alone at a booth near the window. A friendly waitress took my order of orange juice, fried eggs, corned beef hash, and dry English muffin. The food arrived quickly, but my mind was elsewhere and I didn’t taste a thing. I perused the newspaper someone had left at an adjacent table. The Yankees had won yesterday with Munson hitting a grand slam, while Catfish had won his seventh.

I paid the bill, left a reasonable tip, and returned to my car. I headed over to the Barrows’s mansion with time to spare. The sun had burned off the morning rain, leaving the grounds as green as a fairway. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass, rich topsoil, and honeysuckle. There was a wisp of a breeze that offered just a scent of the ocean down below. There was one car in the driveway, a bright-red two-seat Mercedes that must have just left the showroom. To my surprise the door was ajar, with a small note on scented paper taped prominently over the doorbell:

Auggie, I am on the back deck. Let yourself in and meet me there. Don’t worry, I won’t accuse you of breaking and entering it’s safe in that regard.

L.

I entered the quiet house and made my way to the back deck. I was amazed by the enormous size of the home. The vaulted ceilings made me appear small and insignificant. I found the deck and watched Lizzy quietly. She was wearing a two-piece bathing suit with a revealing halter top that dramatized the unforgettable line of cleavage that had fired up my imagination the previous afternoon. A thin sarong wrapped around her hips, gradually revealing the muscular outline of her long tanned legs. She let her hair cascade sensually over her smooth bronze shoulders, making her body even more desirable. I could barely keep a clear head. I tapped on the glass door and was enthusiastically received.

“Prompt as usual,” she said as she greeted me with a smile and a chaste kiss.

“I like being on time. It shows respect. In the theater it‘s often said that if you are five minutes late you must multiply the minutes by the number of people waiting for you. That adds up quickly. I’d rather be early, in fact. For all you know, I could have been loitering for some time on the grounds.”

“Security would have picked you up, but I slept with the judge a few years back and you’d be out on bail in no time.”

“Fortunate for me.”

She offered me a seat on a redwood chaise with a blue canvas cushion. Then she pulled a bottle of chilled Krug from the ice bucket nearby, filled a glass for me and topped off her own. She wore no makeup and was absolutely ravishing. I wondered if God was on the Barrows’s staff as a lighting designer. Mrs. Barrows would have been a sight in a blackout, but here in the noonday sun under a cloudless sky, it was hard not to stare. Or run away.

She raised her glass. “To you, Auggie. To our summer together. To your wants. Whatever you’re looking for, I’ll help you find it.”

We clinked glasses and drank.

I looked away and saw several sailboats on the horizon. I decided to say something before the silence became uncomfortable. “I wanted to thank you for last night. Also, thanks for the papers this morning. I’ve gone over them a few times and spoken to my dad. I’m ready to sign.”

She took the envelope from me and removed the papers. She perused them quickly, not reading a word. Then, using the railing as a writing surface, she signed her name and turned to me. “Now you.” She offered me the pen and watched me intently as I signed.

“Congratulations, Auggie. Now the pressure is on you to deliver. Your ship has come in—and in Plymouth that means a bunch. Let’s celebrate.” She emptied the bottle of champagne in our respective glasses and drank. I watched her arch her neck as she drained the last drop of alcohol in her crystal flute. She poured me another glass, and I began to feel warm and flushed. “I have your check upstairs in my bedroom, why don’t you come with me . . .”

“If it’s all right with you, Mrs. Barrows, I’d prefer to wait down here. I’m feeling a bit lightheaded and I might not make it safely up the steps.”

“Suit yourself,” she said as if I had a third eye. “While I’m gone, pop another bottle.”

She walked off the deck slowly but deliberately. I watched her narrow ankles disappear up the stairs. I sat there thinking how I didn’t even like champagne, and how one bottle of this stuff cost more than my car. I was a bit reticent to see where a second bottle might lead, but I was beginning to lose control of my head. I needed to pace myself so I could play the entire game. For the moment I wasn’t winning, but I certainly wasn’t losing either. I wrestled with the cork, which exploded out of the upright bottle sounding as if I’d pulled the trigger on a snub-nosed 38.

Lizzy returned. “What you shooting at?” she asked coyly.

“Doubt and insecurity.”

She was now wearing a red silk robe, partially open, with a matching sash. The swimsuit was gone, and if the robe slid any further she would be wearing nothing but a smile. She took a long drag from her cigarette and blew perfect smoke rings into the air.

“Doubt and insecurity?” she said. “What the fuck? Here’s your check—now don’t screw things up.” She finished her cigarette and flicked the butt into the ocean a hundred feet below. Classy.

I took the check and held it away from me to admire the five numbers to the right of the dollar sign. All those zeros. My dream was starting to come true.

She filled the flutes again and asked me to sit next to her. Then she opened her robe and placed my left hand softly on her breast. She pressed her lips on mine and moved my hand down toward her navel. I was quickly aroused and began to lose control of my thoughts.

She kissed me again, this time practically demanding a primal response.
Remember
, I told myself,
play the whole game
.

I jumped off the chaise. My boner was pressing uncomfortably against my jeans. The scene was comical, but as real as one could imagine; I felt like Jerry Lewis. I was afraid to move too quickly as I might stumble, fall on my boner and break it

“What is this all about?” I said to her. “Do you believe in my project or do you just want to fuck me?”

Lizzy cornered me against the deck railing. She moved in confidently for the kill, then stopped about a foot away from me and let her robe drop onto the floor. “Breathe, lover. Grab the champagne and meet me upstairs. You need to thank me properly.”

I said nothing as she climbed the grand staircase to her bedroom.

I thought of the talk with my dad. The alcohol made me feel brazen. I wasn’t afraid of this woman. I picked up her robe; it smelled of lilac and smoke. I collected my thoughts, found the envelope in which I had brought the contracts, and took a moment to write Mrs. Barrows a note:

Partner
,

Thanks for the dough. I was advised not to live my entire summer’s adventures in a single day. Maybe dinner and a long talk will help my reticence disappear, but for the moment we have work to do. You may think I am an idiot but for now, see you, doll. Good luck to us both.

PS: Put some clothes on. I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.

I left with the check folded in my breast pocket. I drove to the Plymouth Savings Bank to open an account and make a $5OK bet on my dream. Mrs. Barrows would have to wait at least until the check cleared before we could resume our cat-and-mouse game. Next time, I might even let myself get caught.

T
he Plymouth Savings Bank, established in 1806, was built of stone. It reflected the no-nonsense Puritan values of hard work and innate strength. It sat high above the knoll as if keeping an eye on the denizens of the village and their money. The leaded-glass windows, placed in an orderly fashion across the facade of the building, had tinted panes that cast a prism effect on the steps leading into the offices.

I went to the bullpen, where Mrs. Saunders greeted me. She was a grayhaired woman approaching fifty. Her navy-blue suit made her look attractive and slender. It came adorned with a name tag above her left breast pocket. Her lapel had the bank initials
PSB
embroidered next to the emblem of a pilgrim. She quickly extended her hospitality and offered me the chair next to her desk. Her eyes widened when I told her I wanted to deposit $50,000. I quickly signed a multitude of forms for setting up the account, then handed Mrs. Saunders the check. I saw her wide, happy eyes narrow in disappointment.

“The Barrows Foundation,” she mused. Then in an offhand fashion she warned me to stand back from the check, because it might bounce up and hit me in the eye. “Is this a standard banker’s joke?” I asked, surprised and without a hint of mirth. “How long before these funds are available?”

“Well, if there are no problems, considering that it’s a local check being deposited on a Saturday, you can have the money as early as Tuesday afternoon.”

“Do you foresee any problem?”

“No, no, nooooo. It’s just that I’ve been working here since the Pilgrims landed and I’m always cautious. Small banking has its surprises. If I’m not overstepping my bounds, you might want to talk with Marty Stanhope who runs the White Cliffs Resort a few miles up the road on Route 3. He’s . . . Well, you might want to chat with him. But please don’t tell the Barrows.”

“Rest assured,” I replied. The woman was more than hinting at something, so I thanked her with a smile and walked out into the afternoon sun.

T
he banker’s reaction had thrown me a bit. Perhaps Marty Stanhope could enlighten me. I soon arrived at the motel and found Veronica behind the front desk. Each day she looked more attractive. I couldn’t take my eyes off her near-see-through flower-patterned dress. Her firm, round breasts were held in place by two delicate shoulder straps. I wondered how they were able to support that magnificent chest. Putting lust aside, I dove straight in and asked if I could keep my room for two days at a discounted rate while I was away in Boston.

She smiled and told me she would make an exception as long as we both kept it a secret. “I won’t tell if you don’t. In fact, there are a lot of things I won’t tell if you ask me not to.”

To me, her body language suggested something carnal and her eyes reinforced the same. It was if she were saying, “Take me in the back office and bend me over the file cabinet.” I began to wonder why I didn’t. So far I had been extremely lucky in this town. A gorgeous woman was ready to strip me down and have her way with me. Now I was reading signs from Veronica. Yet I hadn’t done anything about either. I blamed it on the musicals. That overwhelming desire to produce a play was eroding my libido. I swore I would reaffirm my manhood as soon as I took care of some theater business in Boston.

“Hold my room for two days and I’ll take you out for drinks on Tuesday night when I return. We’ll keep that between us as well.”