The Slipper (14 page)

“When do you want to start?” she asked.

Sanders looked vastly relieved. “You mean you'll help me?”

“I'm a glutton for punishment.”

“How about tonight? We could meet at the library, say around seven, and work till nine or so. I'm pretty slow when it comes to remembering dates and stuff like that, but maybe you can help me remember 'em, help me sort out all those campaigns Napoleon was always making.”

You're no mental giant, sweetie, but with muscles like those who needs to be articulate?

“I guess we could give it a try,” she told him. “If it doesn't work out we can always sneak into the stacks and screw.”

Sanders laughed loudly and gave her a quick hug and hurried on, dribbling the basketball on the walk. Nora was in a daze. Her spirits started to lift, and by the time she got back to the dorm that afternoon she could scarcely contain her elation. Carol was sitting on her bed with a pillow behind her back, reading
Marjorie Morningstar
, Herman Wouk's latest best-seller.

“I've just got one word to say,” Nora announced.

“What's that?”

“Whoopee!”

“Good Lord! What happened?”

“A bloody
miracle
, that's what! I saw Dick Sanders today; he was waiting for me when I got out of physics class, and I mouthed off something awful and he thought I was a riot and he wants me to tutor him in history. Beasley recommended me for the job. I'm going to meet him tonight at the library at seven o'clock, just the two of us, we'll work at a secluded table. The game's on again, kiddo, and this time I'm gonna
win
.”

Carol gave her an exasperated look and shook her head.

“I've got one big problem though,” Nora confessed.

“Oh?”

“What the hell am I going to
wear
? Be frank with me, Carol, I want your honest opinion—do you think the black velvet sheath would be pushing it?”

She arrived at the library shortly after seven in a simple brown skirt and a tan blouse, a vivid tan-and-daffodil-yellow scarf tied around her neck. Dick was waiting near the front desk, surrounded by friends, and when he saw her approaching he said something to them, waved farewell and sauntered out to meet her. He had an unusual walk, a kind of lazy, loose-kneed lope that was incredibly sexy. He was wearing jeans and a green-and-black striped nylon shirt with the tail hanging out, and his golden-brown crew cut looked freshly waxed. Girls gazed at him with longing, Nora observed, but then he was the Big Man on Campus, the star jock, a golden youth who, at forty, would probably be a washed-out insurance salesman, recalling these years of glory with a gnawing sense of loss. Nora was perceptive enough to realize that, but at the moment he was absolutely dazzling, and that was all that mattered.

“Ready to work?” she asked.

“Guess so,” he said. “I put my books and stuff on a table in back.”

“Great.”

She was going to play it cool, take her time, let him slowly discover her charms and awaken to the possibilities. She didn't intend to throw herself at him, at least not right off the bat. She'd awaken his interest gradually, then reel him in. Tonight she was going to be all business. God knows I've got my work cut out for me, she thought half an hour later. Dick Sanders might knock 'em dead on the basketball court or on the discus-throwing field, but when it came to more cerebral pursuits he was almost hopeless. Not one of your bigger achievers. Sitting at a rather secluded table in back, surrounded by towering shelves of books, he frowned and gnawed the end of his pencil and tried desperately to follow her simple outline of the Napoleonic campaigns. Nora went over them again and again, even drew him a chart, but Dick couldn't grasp any of it. She kept repeating the information over and over again, one, two, three, and after an hour and a half a light bulb seemed to go on inside his head. He nodded and grinned and finally got it, mulled it over in his mind, trying to digest it. Nora sighed, exhausted.

“Hey,” he said, “you're good. I got it. I understand now. That chart you drew helps a lot. Mind if I keep it?”

“Be my guest.”

“Wanna take a break? Wanna go get a Coke or something?”

“We'd better keep on working. You've got the various campaigns. Now you've got to learn the dates of each one.”

“Geez. Why do we have to learn junk like that?”

“You never know when it might come in handy. You'll be at a cocktail party one day and someone will bring up Napoleon's invasion of Russia and you can say, ‘Oh yes, he entered Moscow on September fourteenth, eighteen twelve, but had to retreat because of lack of supplies and winter quarters.' You'll make a lot of points, impress all the guests.”

“I've never thought of it that way,” he told her.

“I'm sure you haven't, Sanders.”

“Look, don't you think you could call me Dick? We're gonna be working together real close.”

“I may not survive it.” She sighed.

“Guess I'm kinda dense,” he admitted.

“But gorgeous.”

“You're kinda cute, Nora. Never known a girl quite like you.”

“Back to the books, Buster. We've still got half an hour.”

Shortly after nine Dick closed his textbook and yawned and threw his arms out, stretching lustily. He was so big and strong and muscular, bursting with virile energy, could probably go at it for hours on end. Nora lowered her eyes and primly gathered up her notebook and papers. Dick grinned and looked at her with green-brown eyes full of friendly affection. He might not want to jump my bones yet, but at least he
likes
me, Nora thought. That's progress. She fully expected him to walk her back to the dorm—it was late, it was dark, good manners required him to see her safely to the door—but Dick stood up and started to look around expectantly. Nora felt bitter disappointment when she saw Helen Morrison coming toward them. Shit. Helen was wearing a tight pink sweater and a wide gray cinch belt and a gray skirt so tight you could see the crack between her buttocks. Long gold hoop earrings dangled from her ear-lobes, and her mouth had been freshly painted with lush red lipstick.

“Hi, babe,” Sanders said.

He slung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Helen wiggled a lot, butt twitching, boobs straining against the pink sweater. The subtle approach works every time, Nora thought ruefully. She got up, clutching notebook and papers to her less abundantly endowed bosom.

“Learn anything?” Helen inquired.

“Yeah. Nora's a treasure. She's been workin' me hard.”

“How sweet,” Helen said sweetly.

Fuck you, slut. The thought that Dick undoubtedly would was little consolation. Nora forced a tight, polite smile onto her lips. Helen looked at her as though she were some kind of amusing insect. Curling his arm loosely around Helen's throat, Dick handed her his books to hold and jammed his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a crumpled five-dollar bill.

“I almost forgot,” he said, handing it to Nora. “Tomorrow night suit you okay? Same time? Same place?”

“See you then,” Nora told him.

“Great. Take care, kid.”

Although it was one of her own favorite words, the “kid” hurt. Dick gave her a final grin and then steered Helen away, the two of them glued tightly together. If Dick was selling insurance and mourning the golden years at forty, Helen would be overweight and frowsy, wearing sloppy houseshoes and a flowered wrapper as she cooked breakfast for her husband in a suburban tract house, eager to get him off to work so she could have her first drink of the day. Nora saw it clearly and tried to tell herself she was vastly superior to them both, but there was a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach as she walked back to the dorm alone. Couples strolled across the dark campus, hand in hand, voices low, and laughter came from lighted windows. A terrible feeling of loneliness besieged her, so strong it was almost like physical pain.

“How did it go?” Carol asked.

“He likes me!” Nora said brightly, putting her notebook down on the desk. “I'm gonna get him, kid. Just you watch.”

“You look a little—a little down, Nora.”

“Down?
Me
? When I've got him on the hook at last? You must be imagining things. Look, the Silver Bell's open till ten and I skipped dinner tonight, as you know. Why don't we pop over and say hi to Julie and order a hamburger and fries. My treat.”

“I'm not hungry,” Carol protested.

“So be a friend. Come anyway.”

“I guess I could order a cup of coffee,” Carol sighed. “Let me get some clothes on.”

“Shake it, kiddo. I'm ravenous.”

Nora continued to meet Dick Sanders at the library several nights a week, and he confessed that he was showing definite progress in class, made an 82 on the last test, all thanks to her. He was friendly, relaxed, even started teasing her playfully. Nora maintained a brusque, all-business manner, knowing it was most likely to intrigue him. This guy had girls falling at his feet right and left, he was bound to wonder why
she
didn't. One night, as they headed toward their table at the library, he slung his arm around her shoulders and she felt her knees grow weak and felt sensations stirring inside and pretended not to notice the warmth and weight of that muscular arm pulling her close and the touch of that be-jeaned thigh bumping against hers. Jesus! A girl could lose complete control! This was the closest contact she'd ever had with a boy, her Cousin Myron excepted, and it was a heady experience. Nora was more businesslike than ever that night, drilling him on the American Civil War, and it wasn't easy keeping her mind on the subject at hand. Robert E. Lee was dead and buried, but Dick Sanders was alive and well and sitting right there across the table in all his virile glory.

Helen Morrison failed to show up to meet him when they finished work that evening. Maybe she tripped on those spike heels of hers and broke her pelvis, Nora thought cheerfully.

“Where's Helen?” she asked, ever so casual.

“Don't know. We broke up yesterday.”

“Pity,” Nora said. “You'll find a replacement soon enough.”

“There are always a lotta girls around. Don't want to get too thick with just one of 'em. Helen expected me to give her my letter jacket. Next thing you know she'd be expecting me to give her an engagement ring. I'm havin' too much fun to be thinkin' about stuff like that yet.”

“I see your point. I'm all for fun myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Try me sometime, big fellow.”

She was definitely getting frisky. Sanders laughed, slung his arm around her shoulders again and walked her to the front desk. Talk about bliss! Little Nora Levin crushed against the side of the great Dick Sanders, everyone in the library seeing them together. Maybe he'd walk her all the way back to the dorm tonight. Maybe tonight she wouldn't have to make the trip alone, feeling lonely and left out, feeling life was passing her by. No such luck. A couple of jocks were waiting for him at the front desk. Jack Palmer was built like a bull, with belligerent black eyes and a broken nose. Bud Knox had a short red crew cut and sexy brown eyes and a wide, amiable mouth. The three of them were apparently going out catting.

“Thanks a bunch, Nora,” Sanders said, squeezing her shoulders. “See you tomorrow night.”

He gave her another crumpled five-dollar bill. Bud Knox grinned. “What'd-ja do to earn that?” he inquired.

“You'd be surprised, cutie.”

All three boys hooted with laughter and tromped out of the library, piling into a red Ford convertible parked in the lot outside. Nora watched the car roar away and walked back to the dorm alone.

Nora helped him with his written report on Ulysses S. Grant the next week and, chump that she was, said she'd type it up for him. Dick was thrilled and said she was a sweetheart, any favor he could ever do for her, just ask. Nora had a zinger on the tip of her tongue but decided not to blurt it out. Didn't want to scare the fellow. He hadn't found a replacement for Helen yet, and he was probably growing restless and, who knew, might even give her a second look if he got horny enough. Nora gathered up her notebook and papers and told him she would type up his report tomorrow afternoon and bring it to him when they met at their regular time. Dick frowned, looking pained.

“Geez, tomorrow's Thursday, isn't it? I can't make it tomorrow night. I promised the coach I'd watch some basketball film with him, check out the high school talent—and I've gotta have the report first thing Friday. What're we gonna do?”

“Slit our wrists?” she suggested.

“I've got practice tomorrow afternoon, one till four. I don't suppose it would be possible for you to bring it over to my place, would it? Around four-thirty? I hate to ask, but—”

“No problem,” Nora said. “Where do you flop?”

“Hunh?”

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, me and Bud and Jack—you met 'em, remember?—we've got a place a couple of blocks off campus. On Chelsea. It's a huge old Victorian house, painted gray, with lots of white gingerbread trim—it's located right behind the Safeway. The place is a shambles. We just have the bottom floor. A married couple rents upstairs.”

“I'll be there at four-thirty, report in hand.”

“Sure you don't mind? I feel like an utter heel, puttin' you to all this trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

“Tell you what, you bring the report over and I'll make you one of my specialties.”

“You've got a specialty?”

“You're gonna love it,” he promised.

Nora cut all her classes on Thursday. Who needed the hassle? She wouldn't have been able to concentrate anyway. She lovingly typed up Sanders's report and placed it in a neat manila folder, and then she took a long, luxurious bath and washed her hair and dried it and spent an hour and a half trying to do something clever with it and finally said “Shit!” and let it curl naturally. She carefully did her nails. Would Jungle Red nail polish be a bit too flashy? Hell, why not go whole hog? Carol came back from her classes and noticed the nail polish and arched one eyebrow. Nora shot her the finger. She spent another hour doing her face. Just a little eye shadow, soft brown with a suggestion of violet, and lipstick, not much, just a touch to make her lips look pinker. She spent thirty minutes trying to give herself provocative cheekbones with shadow and rouge, and the result was comical. She scrubbed the gook off in disgust. Makeup wasn't a big thing in her life. She rarely used it.