The Sitter Page 11

  Once in a while Jeannie would allow Larry to stay for dinner and that, Steven thought, was a very good thing. She still didn't trust the kid but she did allow him to do a little yard work, spend a bit of time with Kevin, and occasionally to have dinner with them. Progress.

  Where would it end? Steven wondered. What scared him was that it had already ended, and this was as good as it was going to get.

  The phone rang then and he jumped to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Steven, it's Larry.” Steven looked at his watch. It was close to 10 o'clock, and Larry should be in school. “I...could you come over here...to the high school?”

  “Now? Why?”

  “There's a problem,” Larry said. He sounded nervous. Scared.

  “What kind of problem?” Steven's first feeling was one of alarm, and his first thought was that this call had something to do with Kevin--but how could that be?

  Jesus, I'm as gun shy about this boy as Jeannie!

  “I... ” Larry paused,” then went on with a rush of words. “A girl here--Jordan Kennedy--says I raped her. Well, almost, anyway. I didn't touch her, Steven--no way! She's got her mother coming over here to talk to the principal. My mom is sick and I thought...could you come over...could you be here with me?”

  Adrenaline pumped into Steven, filling him with excitement, a condition he barely remembered. “Of course, Larry,” he said quickly, absurdly pleased that the boy thought to call him. “I'll be right there.”

  The Pine Glen River flowed down from the foothills through Pine Glen and on through Pine Flats. The river was the only pretty thing in The Flats, Steven thought, driving through that windy, brown terrain to the high school at the eastern edge of the community.

  A question to a student idling in the hall guided Steven to Principal Manuel Perez's office. A grim-faced woman nodded to Steven as he entered the small office. She was seated at a gray metal desk and Larry sat on a bench opposite her.

  “Mister Connor?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He walked over to Larry, who stood. Steven smiled, clapping the boy on his shoulder. Larry was wearing baggy shorts, white Nikes, and a white T-shirt. His hair was slicked back and he was sweating. He had about him a look of barely contained excitement.

  In the universal gesture of masculine good will, Steven reached down to shake Larry's hand. Taking the offered hand, Larry pulled himself up next to Steven and put his arm around the man's waist. He put his face against Steven's shoulder, hugging him. At first Steven was uneasy. He hoped Larry wasn't going to cry. After a moment, however, he was moved by the boy's obvious emotion. Apparently, Poor-Larry-Cutler had no one to stand up for him.

  “It's okay, son,” he said and gently pulled away.

  At that moment an anxious-looking little man stepped out of the inner office and went up to Steven.

  “Mr. Connor?” He smiled and pumped Steven's hand. “I'm Manuel Perez. A problem here today,” he said in a brusque manner, ignoring Larry. “I'm glad you could come.” Perez nodded toward his office. “Mrs. Kennedy is here—Jordan's mother—and, of course Jordan.” The man made an awkward herding sort of gesture toward his office.

  “A moment please,” Steven said to the principal, and turned to Larry. “You want to tell me about this first,” he asked. “Privately?”

  Larry flashed him a grateful smile. “Nah,” he said. “I don't need to. This whole deal is a big mistake. You'll see.”

  Steven was reminded of Larry's calm insistence in the kitchen when he wouldn't leave until he saw Jeannie.

  This kid is full of surprises. He has guts.

  “It's good you could be here today,” Principal Perez said as they entered his office. He walked to a gray metal desk against the far wall that faced four metal chairs. The desk was cluttered with several yellow legal pads. He stood a moment and gestured to Steven and Larry to sit down in two empty metal chairs facing the desk next to Jordan and her mother.

  Immediately, Steven felt the steely gaze of Mrs. Kennedy, who sat next to her daughter with an arm around the girl's shoulder.

  “This incident happened yesterday,” Mr. Perez said. “Larry explained to me that his mother is ill and suggested he ask you to fill in for her.” He stood behind his desk and sighed like a man who had far too much to put up with. After a moment, he gazed off into space looking completely exhausted and bewildered, the proverbial deer in the headlights. Then, he seemed to recover his focus.

  “This is Mrs. William Kennedy and her daughter Jordan,” he said. Mother and daughter were sitting in two straight-back metal chairs near the desk. Depressing room, Steven thought. It looked like it had been equipped with discarded prison furniture. This impression was enhanced by a gray concrete floor.

  “And this,” Mr. Perez explained to Jordan and her mother, “is Mr. Steven Connor, a close family friend of Larry's.”

  Though he'd never thought of himself as Larry's close friend, Steven decided that description would do, at least for now. He nodded to the Kennedy's and sat down.

  Looking at Jordan and her mother, Steven was struck at once by the fact that they didn't seem at all related. They were a study in opposites. Mrs. Kennedy was a small woman, lean and hungry looking, her lips pursed in dislike as if she had just tasted something foul. In the yellow pants suit she wore, her skin was pale and unhealthy looking, and her frizzy yellow hair didn't help the picture. Her face was lined, like that of a heavy smoker.

  Jordan was a big girl with the rosy cheeks and the glowing skin of a healthy young woman--one who was, at the moment, madder than hell. Her hair was a shiny auburn--long and thick and straight. With large, brown, doe-like eyes, Jordan was pretty, Steven thought, except for a too wide mouth accentuated by too much lipstick. She was wearing jeans, a pink T-shirt, and dirty white tennis shoes. She was glaring at Larry.

  Mr. Perez seated himself behind his desk. He then fussily straightened some of the pads on his desk. He picked up a metal canister of pens and pencils, inspected it briefly and set it back down on his desk with a bang. The Principal cleared his throat. He folded his hands; they seemed to be clutching each other in fearful support.

  Steven was fascinated.

  “Well,” the Principal said finally, his dark eyes blinking rapidly behind the thick lens of his glasses “are we all comfortable?”

  “Yes-sir-Mr-Perez-sir,” Larry answered promptly, sitting ram-rod straight in his chair.

  With a welcome rush of awareness and a pleasure he hadn't experienced in a very long time, Steven realized he was actually interested in what was happening here. He was very close to enjoying himself.

  *****

  ”Thanks for nothing Jeannie-Luv, your tennis sucks,” Bertie says. “Next time just send over a picture of yourself in tennis gear.”

  The McQueen property is extensive. There are two levels; the house on the upper with the lower sporting a first class clay tennis court with a lovely little gazebo nearby. The Pine Glen River is a scant 100 yards or so away through a forest of pine and Eucalyptus trees.

  “Where are you anyway?”

  “You have every right to ask,” I say as we climb the wooden stairs up to the deck and house. ”I'm sorry, Bertie. I know I'm not much fun this morning.”

  “Just tell me what's going on.” With a friendly arm around my shoulders, Bertie walks me across the deck and into the kitchen. She motions toward the built-in leather breakfast nook and I sit down.

  “I'm not exactly bouncing back,” I say.

  “Well, it's only been what? Three, three and a half months?”

  “I'm angry with Steven,” I say. “He keeps shoving Larry in my face. If you were to ask him if he blames Larry for Stevie's death, he would consider your question carefully and then he would thoughtfully reply that yes, of course he does. After all, Larry was the only other person at the scene and he was Stevie's sitter. And then he would go on to say that it was, after all, an accident. And that it does no one any good to attach blame when speaking of an acci--”

 
; “Larry Cutler is a piece of shit,” Bertie says, as if stating an obvious fact.

  “Yes, he is,” I agree. I'm pleased that Bertie has stated exactly what I too think of Larry Cutler. “Tell me why you think that.”

  “You know I don't like him.”

  “Yes...but tell me why. Again.”

  “Well...I have a really hard time believing that kid. I mean about anything. If he tells me the sun is shining, I'm not sure it is until I look out the window. Now, you tell me something. How did this piece of shit come to sit for you in the first place?”

  I think for a moment. “Guzman. Jimmy Guzman was our first sitter here. He was the son of our cleaning lady, Isabel. I loved Isabel. She was so damned honest and hardworking I had to brow-beat her into accepting a raise.”

  “And...?”

  “When the Guzman's left for Texas, Jimmy brought his buddy Larry Cutler over and recommended him to us as his replacement.

  “Did he tell you anything about Larry?”

  “Not much that I remember,” I say. “They were doubles partners on the school tennis team. I think that's all I knew about him. Other than that Jimmy vouched for him,” I drop my head into my hands. “I let that boy into our home on Jimmy Guzman's say so...nothing more. As if any friend of the son of our cleaning lady would have to be the salt of the earth, right? A veritable pillar of-- ”

  Bertie reaches over and pulls my hands from my face. She holds them tightly in hers. “There you go again. It must be almost an hour since you've blamed yourself for something. You're slipping.”

  “The boys were crazy about him, you know. Right from the start. Of course that had a lot to do with our acceptance of him. And Steven liked him as well.”

  “But you did not.”

  “I did not,” I agree. “But I didn't tell Steven that. I just...swallowed my feeling about Larry. So, he became our new sitter. Pretty soon it seemed like he was a member of the family.”

  I slap my forehead in exasperation. “What's wrong with me, Bertie, that I can't let this go and get on with...things? My life, for example. I don't mean Stevie--I'll never let Stevie go. But this obsession I have against Larry--it's eating me up. It's like that woman on TV said, hate does devour.” Bertie takes a breath to reply, but I hurry on. “I can't stop thinking about him. It isn't that I don't know it was an accident. And after watching Larry tear at his face, I certainly know he's devastated too.” I pause, realizing then that I'm not as sure of Larry's feelings as I had been at the river.

  “Well, if he isn't,” I say with a short laugh, “he's sure one hell of an actor.”

  *****

  Holy shit, this is wild!

  Holding his breath, Larry sat rigid.

  “Here is the situation that Jordan... ah...presented to us yesterday.” Perez-sir began. “It seems that... ah, Jordan, will you please tell us your story?”

  She had been slouching in her chair but straightened at the mention of her name. Her mother reached over and patted her hand.

  “Okay,” Jordan answered. “But it's not a story. It really happened.” She shook her head and hurried on. “He,” she indicated Larry with a quick, spasm-like wave of her hand, “put his hands on me.” A spot of color appeared in each cheek.

  Silence.

  A pregnant pause, thought Larry, trying not to laugh.

  “Will you explain that please?” Perez-sir began to drum his fingers on his desk.

  “I can't,” Jordan said. “I can't,” she said again, louder. “Ask him to explain!”

  “I mean,” the principle said with labored patience, “we need a little more detail... as to what you mean.”

  Mrs. Kennedy surprised everyone then by swiftly reaching out and whacking Jordan on her shoulder. “Talk plain, Missy,” she hissed to her daughter.

  Jordan swatted back at her mother, scowling. ”This isn't easy, you know,” she said, her voice trembling. Her mother patted her shoulder, gently now. The woman pulled her chair closer to her daughter's.

  “I was in the hall...it was during class. I had to use the...little girl's room.”

  Hah! thought Larry. A senior in high school and she can't say 'rest room'? It was all very funny. Seinfeld wasn't this funny. Larry had a sense of power. As if this was all a game and he was winning.

  “He came along.” Jordan took a deep, ragged breath. “And he dragged me into the...men's room.”

  What Jordan, no 'little boy's room?' Larry stared up at the ceiling, remembering what had happened then.

  The crazy thing was, he hadn't planned any of it--not the idea or the execution. Everything had just sort of fallen into his lap. He was heading to the can when he saw Jizzy-Jordan-Kennedy ambling through the hall. She was not the brightest or prettiest girl in school, but Larry had heard the guys talking about her, and he was curious. He decided to check her out.

  'Hey Jordan, how's it goin?' he had asked with a grin and planted himself in front of her. She grinned back. 'Okay,' she said, and he noticed the swell of her boobs coming up over the top of her low-cut blouse. He wondered how it would feel to touch her there. Was her skin as soft as it looked?

  She was looking him over with a smile when a totally awesome thing happened. A sudden heat in his gut and a giddy rush of power and confidence surged into him. With it came the knowledge that he could touch her there, Shit, he could touch her anywhere and she would let him.

  She would let him!

  A real woman--not just pictures? Why not? He'd gotten a little frantic then, he remembered, a little rushed. He knew he had to move fast, in order to 'seize the moment.'

  'Jordan,' he said, taking her hand and sliding an arm around her waist, 'ever seen the inside of a men's room?'

  “He just dragged me! He was so rough, you know?” Jordan looked at everybody, milking the room for sympathy. She leaned forward in her chair. “Then he got me against the wall in there, and put his hands... ” She dropped her head into her hands and began to cry.

  Silly bitch!

  Larry glanced at Steven sitting calmly and taking it all in. Cool. A man-of-the-world kind of guy. Maybe Steven was even a little bit proud of him? Maybe like dads were when their sons began to come on to chicks? Larry consciously relaxed his body and sat there just like Steven, calm and cool, not affected at all by the shitty tears that bitch was dishing out.

  Jordan's mother reached out toward the girl's shoulder and Larry thought she was going to smack her daughter again, but that didn't happen. Instead she started to stroke Jordan's shoulder, murmuring softly. It was a kind of cooing sound--soothing, almost a whisper. That sound made Larry uncomfortable.

  “Fondle... ” Jordan finally choked out. “He fondled me.”

  “Ah,” Perez said, nodding. As if 'fondle' was the key to everything, the word he'd been waiting to hear.

  “Go on, Sweetie,” Mrs. Kennedy said, still kneading her daughter's shoulder.

  “I tried to yell, but he put his hand over my mouth. He had his knee... ”

  Yeah, that was the cool part, when he'd had his knee pressed upward, forcing it between her legs. His mouth was at her neck, her pulse throbbing wildly under his lips. He had her pinned against the wall; she was totally under his control. Larry knew he could do anything he wanted. Exciting as hell it was, but he had a problem. Lips at her throat, hand on her breast, her heart beating furiously against his, but...nothing. There was absolutely nothing going on with his dick. But then...oh, yeah, then! He thought of Jeannie and Jordan faded. It was Jeannie, helpless as he held her close. His knee was between Jeannie's legs and was rubbing up against her there. His hand was caressing Jeannie's breast--he could feel her nipple harden and rise to his fingers beneath the cloth of her blouse. His dick sprang to attention as if no power on earth could keep it down. Nothing this glorious had ever happened to Larry before. He was so thrilled he was actually dizzy. Frantic then, he slipped his hand inside the top of her blouse, hot to feel Jeannie's bare breast. His knee and pelvis continued to hold her body tight against the cool
plaster of the wall. He knew he could take her. She wanted him to!

  But first he had to taste her--this woman he'd been so crazy-wild about for so long. Lowering his fingers from Jeannie's lips, he thrust his mouth to hers, his tongue hot. She screamed.

  “I screamed and he let me go and I ran out.”

  “You sonofabitch,” Jordan's mother said. She got up from her chair and, before anyone had time to think, she was in front of Larry with her hand drawn back, all set to whack him in the face. But Steven's hand shot out and grabbed hers just as she began to swing it forward.

  There was a noisy, action packed moment then that Larry knew would stay with him forever--the loud, flesh to flesh thud of Steven blocking the woman's vicious smack, the principal getting up so fast he knocked his chair over, and that crazy Jordan snuffling into her wadded up tissue.

  “Hold it right there,” Steven said, standing now and holding Mrs. Kennedy's hand with both of his. “There is no need--”

  “Mrs. Kennedy--” Perez-Sir sprinted around his desk like a track star. “This will not do. Absolutely not!” He patted the woman's shoulder with quick, nervous fingers.

  She stood breathing deeply through her mouth, her face contorted as she wrenched her hand from Steven's. She turned and walked back to Jordan, who was just then rising from her chair, a dazed look on her face.

  “Sit!” the woman commanded, and Jordan did.

  “Ladies... ” the principal muttered, his hands fluttering about the two like a couple of confused butterflies. He never touched them--just hovered.

  Larry scrubbed at his face with both hands as everybody sat down again. Funny. A giggle escaped him and he quickly covered it by clearing his throat.

  This is hilarious!

  Jordan sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. She looked like shit. Staring at that mess of a girl with her red eyes and blotchy skin, Larry's amusement faded.

  If Jordan is as easy as the guys say, then why didn't she go along with me? What's so wrong with me?”