Summer Accommodations: A Novel (28 page)

The noise level in the building that night was in its usual range, a few people listening to their radios tuned to the same station that was playing Elvis's “Heartbreak Hotel” which sounded less irritating to me than it did the first few times I'd heard it. Not only didn't I like Elvis's music I didn't like what it represented to me: change. There was something subversive in his music and his style, something that wanted to upend the world as I knew it, the world I was equipped to engage. Thinking about Elvis and his mutiny of the social order made me weary, though this was a disquieting idea, and I must have dozed off while considering it because later I was awakened by someone tugging on my arm.

“Hey, Jack. Jack get up or you'll miss Sarah.”

“Jesus, Harlan, what time is it?” But I looked at my wristwatch before he could answer and seeing it was already 11:30 threw my legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. “Christ, it's late.”

“Maybe you should just forget about going out tonight. What's one night more or less?” In a summer romance one night more is always a festival crowded with glorious hours of revelry, one night less, a wasteland.

“No, I want to see Sarah. Besides, I'll never get back to sleep now right after a nap.” Harlan shrugged and walked to his bed.

“Better hurry or it will be tomorrow before you see her.”

It was a clear night and the brilliance of the full moon illuminated the hotel's buildings and grounds with a brightness that seemed unnatural, as if one were walking in the artificial light of a photographer's studio. The ambience was surreal with planes of harsh light flattening out the contours of the trees and driving the shadows receding from them into a depthless darkness. The band had quit for the night, the usual noise from the hotel casino was gone and a glacial silence overhung the landscape. I felt as though I had walked into a black and white photograph and the feeling of unreality this engendered was disorienting. Walking quickly towards Sarah's dormitory I was suddenly overtaken with intense feelings of love. Imagining her twirling towards me, dancing out of the darkness, quickened my breathing and made me dizzy as though it had been I who was twirling around and around. This sudden and urgent intensity of love for her was overwhelming and why it should have felt so profound right then and there was a feeling fraught with some alarm. It was as though, somehow, I had sensed I was going to lose her. She had said nothing to suggest a change of heart, had in fact been wonderfully loving the night we fought and made up, but something was different, something I could not put into words.

The window of her room looked out onto the porch of the old building that housed the girls working at the hotel. The room was dark but a broad shaft of moonlight had penetrated the window illuminating her curled form lying atop her bed. She had fallen asleep in clothing she might have worn were she going home to New York City, a gray suit, white blouse and sheer stockings; short white gloves covered her hands. It was odd that she should be dressed in such a manner on a weeknight and I worried that she had gotten some bad news from home and would have to leave in the morning or, worse still, that for her own reasons she was leaving for good. The feeling that I could be losing her seemed to have been justified after all but I calmed myself thinking it more likely to be just another of the manifestations of her feminine mystique. She and Heidi seemed always to be trying on clothes, configuring outfits, trying out lipsticks and makeup, changing hairstyles and experimenting with eye shadow. The arrangement of a single lock of hair, insignificant to the casual male observer, could make all the difference in her mind between her feeling alluring and attractive or hopelessly dowdy and plain. I leaned forward to whisper her name through the open window and wake her but stopped when she shifted on the bed and her face was suddenly bathed in blue-white moonlight. She was so beautiful. The light had disturbed her and as her eyes slowly opened she awakened from a peaceful sleep. Then, startled by my silhouette in the window, her jaw dropped and she drew a quick, fearful breath relaxing only when she recognized me.

“You startled me,” she said, stretching her arms up on either side of her head, yawning, then smiling and lowering them to her sides. “How long have you been out there?”

“Not long. Why are you so dressed up?” She curled up again, her face averted from me, and took a deep breath.

“Just trying on clothes, what time is it?” she asked sleepily.

“Midnight.”

“Midnight?” she said in disbelief, “is it too late for you?”

“No, it's not that late.” I looked into her room and seeing the other bed was empty I asked, “Where's Barbara?”

“I think she went to stay in Swan Lake with her boyfriend.”

“Staying the whole night?”

“Yes. She's always wanted to do that and since it's already close to the end of summer I think she felt she'd take the risk of being late for work in the morning.”

“Wanna take a risk yourself?” With her roommate Barbara away I hoped that maybe we could stay together for one night.

“I know what you're thinking, Mel. You're thinking that with her away you could sleep in my room with me, right?”

“Well, why not?” Sarah rolled over on her bed and stared at me.

“I don't think you should do that. I'm uncomfortable with that.”

“What if I just come into your room for a while and lie on the bed with you?” It would be the first time we would hold and touch each other on a bed with clean linens rather than on a musty cushion in a dim and dusty storage shed, the first time we could be loving in a private but not deliberately hidden way. “I promise not to fall asleep.” Smiling, her lips pursed, she said, “Just for one hour.”

Rather than walk into the building I hoisted myself up on to her window ledge and climbed into her room. “If I knew it was that easy I'd have done this before,” I said, kicking off my loafers and sitting on her bed.

“If I knew it was that easy I'd have put barbed wire on the window sill,” she said giving me a little shove. I pulled her closer to me but she ducked out from under my arm.

“Let me get out of these clothes first.”

“It will be my pleasure,” I said, sprawling on my stomach and cupping my chin in my palms to watch her as if she were about to do a striptease just for me.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“I'm watching you get undressed.”

“No you're not. Turn the other way.” She was blushing.

“Come on, what's the big deal, I've seen you nak … undressed.”

“This is different, Mel, it feels creepy. When we're petting things seem to just happen naturally but taking off my clothes in front of you, just like that, well, I don't know,” She turned her back to me. I could see her discomfort, like someone caught off guard and embarrassed, but I was excited and didn't want her to turn away from me when she undressed. I got up from her bed and went to her, grasping her shoulders when I stood behind her.

“Let me help you then,” I said, sliding my hand down her arm and reaching around to unbutton her jacket. She leaned in to me, her small frame suddenly seeming smaller upright than it did when we lay beside each other. I undid the three buttons of her jacket, slipped it off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. A shiver trembled along the length of her body and, as if in sympathy, a shudder coursed down my right leg. “Now this,” I said, unbuttoning her blouse at the neck with my right hand while sliding my left hand under her arm and onto her breast. The contour of her brassiere cupped her softness firmly but I could feel her nipple rise to my touch. Restraining my excitement, left unchecked I'd have torn her clothes from her body, I slowly stripped the blouse from her, and then her brassiere so that she stood there, her back to me, naked to the waist, in her skirt, stockings, and short white gloves. “Now the skirt.” I unbuttoned the tab at the back and unzipped the zipper slowly, my hand trembling and almost snagging the zipper as it descended. Her skirt sank to her feet and as I pulled down her half-slip she peeled the short white gloves from her hands. My legs trembled with excited spasms that threatened to pitch me over on to the floor.

“That's enough, now what about you?” she said, turning to look me up and down. I pulled my crew neck sweater over my head and stripped off my shirt. I had stopped wearing undershirts just that summer. It looked more rugged and manly to be bare-chested under your shirt, more Dean Martin, less Jerry Lewis. I undid my trousers and when they fell to my ankles I kicked them off, my erection tenting my underpants in front of me. Sarah giggled. “Let's lie down,” she said taking my hand and leading us to her bed. I was so excited I was breathless. In each other's arms we fell on the bed, our mouths searching for the entryway into the union in which boundaries disappear and a fusion occurs. The few, scant underclothes remaining came off as we rolled over and under one another with my erection gripped against her moistness, our mouths joined as if breathing life from each other. I wanted to enter her, I had to be inside her, I had to be completely one with her. I raised my body from hers and looking into her eyes I said, “Let me come inside you now.” Her lips were swollen and she had a dreamy unfocused look in her eyes. She moaned. “Please, Sarah, let me make love to you.” My words tore through her reverie. A look of alarm crossed her face and she suddenly came alert as if startled by a stranger in the dark.

“Don't you think we're going a little too fast?” she said in her small, tentative voice.

“I want …”

“No,” she said more forcefully, fully awake, “not yet, Mel.”

“Yes, now, don't be afraid it'll be all right,” I urged.

“No!” she said and jumped up from her bed. “No, not now. No.”

And all the harshness of the names I'd learned to use for my male member,—cock, prick, dick, all those stiff, assaultive and disonant consonants that batter aggressively at the soft feminine dominion of pussy and poon like weapons, like rock, like stick and pick, descended in a sudden and embarrassing cacophony to disgrace and shame me. Once again my lust had mortified me. I slumped on her bed. She was right; maybe we had been going too fast.

“Why must you insist on pushing me to do something I'm not ready to do?” She was stern.

“I'm sorry, I get carried away with you, I'm sorry.”

“That is not going to happen this summer. I am not going to have intercourse with you this summer. It's not about you, it's what I promised myself before I came up here. I knew what might happen, what people do, and I didn't want this to be my summer of regret. Can you understand what I'm telling you?”

“Yes, Sarah.” Yes, there'd be no consummation, just consuming desire.

“Okay.” She stroked my face with her palm. “Get some sleep, you have work in a few hours.”

3.

When I returned to my room Harlan and Ron were still out and the bunkhouse was fairly quiet. There would be traffic in and out of the building throughout the night and a radio might be turned on too loud at an odd hour but we were generally pretty considerate of one another and kept the noise to a minimum. My shame had begun to relent; nothing bad had actually happened I assured myself. Sarah was protecting her virginity and as much as I wanted to lose mine, it would not be with her. She hadn't sent me away or said it's over. Sarah was being true to herself and I was going to have to accept that. I was still in love with her and Sarah hadn't said “never” she'd said “not this summer” so what was I moping for?

I washed up at one of the sinks in the shower room, brushed my teeth and picked at a few pimples before returning to my room and changing for bed. The door to Abe's room had been left ajar and I tiptoed past in the hope of avoiding any contact with him. His unsolicited counsel about Harlan still irked me. I had climbed into the upper bunk and was just straightening my covers when I heard his voice.

“You in there Melvin?” Shit. He had come out of his room and across the hall as noiseless as a shadow. “Melvin?” and this time he rapped gently on the closed door.

“Yeah, who is it?” I said, pretending not to know.

“It's Abraham.” To my recollection he had never used his full name before nor spoken so clearly and forcefully. It was as though the majesty of all three syllables had straightened his spine, expanded his lungs, and thickened his vocal cords.

“I'm very tired Abe, I was just falling asleep.” It was a very deliberate choice not to call him Abraham. Whatever new dignity he was striving for was not my concern.

“I just want to talk to you for a minute. Let me come in.” The door was closed but unlocked and he could have entered if he had insisted but I knew he was too timid to do that—at least that was what I thought. The one rule we all obeyed and strived not to violate was our right to privacy. But Abe was very determined that night and opened the door without invitation. “Only a minute and then I'll go,” he said closing the door behind him. I exhaled loudly and refused to look at him staring instead at the circular marks on the ceiling made by the Spalding rubber ball Ron and I had been throwing there all summer long.

“Ben Braverman asked me to ask you what you are doing crawling around in his yard in the middle of the night.”

“Looking for Harlan's I.D. bracelet.” My voice did not crack but it was a struggle to get the words through my throat. I'd been seen and though I'd done nothing wrong still there was guilt. “Looking for Harlan's what? Harlan's I.D. bracelet? What are you his servant, his lackey, his his … his
flunky?
” Abe fumed and blustered indignantly giving me time to compose myself.

“No, I'm just his friend. Will there be anything else?” I said, using the David Niven voice trick. This was beginning to feel good. The sound of Abe's restless shifting made me look in his direction. Once again he was unfolding and refolding Harlan's blanket. “Is there?”