I Love You, Miss Irvine

Brigden Cole had a rough problem. He pondered it, hunched over his desk, his fingers chasing each other through his hair, his shoulders moving irritably against the stretch of his jacket. Miss Irvine's light voice, her enunciation very precise, made a kind of soothing background for his thoughts. Miss Irvine was reading Keats' The Eve of St. Agnes to the class.

Brigden's problem was whether to unload his perfectly good 1950 Buick sedan and put himself in debt for a '56 Olds convertible, or put up with Nancy's teasing for it. Teasing, thought Brigden, whose thoughts were certainly on the jump; now there was a word. He thought of Nancy in the front seat of the Buick, saying: "Not below the belt, darling. Darling, we've got to stop somewhere. You promised. You gave me your word."

Brigden wondered if Nancy really knew what a stopper that was. Sure, he got handy as (continued on page 94) Miss Irvine (continued from page 43) hell sometimes, who wouldn't the way she kissed and carried on? But he had given her his word. "The one thing you're gonna be," his father kept saying, is a gentleman. I want your word to be worth something." He had said it not more than a night or two ago, when Brigden had been weaseling about coming in later than he'd promised.

" 'Tell the truth and shame the devil,' huh?" Brigden said.

"I'm not telling you to be naive," his father said. "If we all went around uttering the strict truth the devil would be delighted. When somebody's trying to give you a square shake don't let 'em down, that's all."

Brigden didn't know if Nancy was trying to give him a square shake, or what. She gave him the shakes, though; and thinking of her now, switching back to the front seat of his Buick, Brigden felt a sensation as of heat tickling at the base of his spine. He lifted his head and gazed across the classroom at Nancy's shining blonde head. It was a trick that never failed. He would look at her, in class, and right away she would turn and they would smile at each other, acknowledging and proclaiming the wonderful thing they shared.

"Brigden Cole," Miss Irvine said.

"Yes Miss Irvine," Brigden said. He struggled to his feet. One of his legs had gone to sleep.

"Don't you like poetry any more?" Miss Irvine said sadly. She could use her tongue like a horsewhip when she wanted to, but she usually saved that for a tough situation.

"Yes Miss Irvine. Sure. I like it fine." Brigden was still struggling with his leg, which had started to prickle. Any other teacher, he'd have bought a few laughs with it, but Miss Irvine never went along with clowning. For some reason Brigden always behaved himself for Miss Irvine.

"I'm so glad you like it fine," Miss Irvine said, and Brigden flushed. "And now," she said, "won't you sit down and do me the courtesy of a little attention?"

Brigden sat down and rubbed his leg and paid strict attention to Miss Irvine. She started reading again. As she read, she walked slowly back and forth in front of the class. She was a tall woman, quite slender, and Brigden liked her elegant way of walking. When Miss Irvine walked nothing bounced or jiggled or stuck out. But once in a while, Brigden remembered, her dress would tighten across a small and perfect little bosom.

Miss Irvine lowered the anthology and looked straight at him. Brigden colored and jerked his eyes away. Then the period bell rang. It was the final period (continued on page 94) and the rush out was especially fierce. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Miss Irvine coming toward him. She was probably going to give him one of her quiet talks, all sarcasm, he thought, and he stayed in his seat. Better Miss Irvine peeling off a little of his hide than Nancy yatting at him about that damn Olds. He pretended a little surprise when he couldn't pretend any longer that he hadn't noticed Miss Irvine, and started heaving himself to his feet.

"Don't get up, Brigden," she said. She gave his shoulder a brusque little push and sat on the edge of his desk. The wood pressed into her hip. "I don't think you heard a word of what I was reading today, did you?"

Brigden looked up at her. Miss Irvine had clear gray eyes. Her face was kind of triangular, and a little square of reflected light gleamed on her lower lip. Miss Irvine was not pretty. It came to Brigden shockingly, and in a way that he could not fully grasp, that she was beautiful.

"Brigden!" she said.

Brigden's eyes fell away from her face and there was the damn edge of the desk pressing into the back of Miss Irvine's leg, going sharply but not deeply into the material of her skirt and the back of her slender leg and up to the turn of her hip. Not idly, he wondered where she put her perfume on herself.

"Brigden," she said, "what's the matter with you?"

He slid down in his seat until his shoulders were pressed against the back of it. Then he looked up again, at her face. Miss Irvine was smiling down at him.

"You're beautiful," Brigden said. It came out of him like that. It was like hearing somebody else say it.

"Why," Miss Irvine said, "why Brigden Cole!"

"Geez," he said deeply. "Geezez, Miss Irvine, I'm sorry. I didn't mean----"

She tilted her head back and laughed. He could see the pink roof of her mouth. "Don't say you didn't mean it," she said. "Please don't say that."

"No, no," he said. "I meant it, Miss Irvine. I just didn't mean to be fresh, that's all." He rammed his shoulders against the back of the seat.

"Oh I think I know a genuine compliment when I hear one," she said.

Brigden's face was cold and his head felt light. He had really given himself a hell of a scare, popping off like that.

"Perhaps we'd best go back to the subject," Miss Irvine said. "What's the matter with you these days, Brigden? You used to be a good student."

"I don't know," he said. "I'm all tensed up."

"Well, why?"

He shrugged. "Life is catching up with me, I guess."

"Sit up straight," she said, "and don't shrug like that. It's slovenly, and it's not like you to be slovenly. Life is catching up with you faster than you think," Miss Irvine said. "You'll be 19 this year, Brigden."

Brigden wondered how old she was. There were two faint lines around her mouth, sort of left over after she smiled. There were other faint lines at the corners of her eyes. Thirty? he wondered. Twenty-eight?

"I know that it's not your fault," she said. "I know that your family moved a great deal when you were younger, and that you lost a year. And don't look so surprised," she said. "Your record has been under faculty discussion. The way you've started off, it looks as though you intend throwing away your final year. We'd just like to know if we're wasting time on you."

He sighed. "I guess I've got too many worries," he said.

Miss Irvine stood up. "You've only one real worry," she said. "And that's your College Boards."

Nancy was waiting for him when he went into the hall. "What did Skinny Irvine want?" she said.

"My liver and lights," he said. "She whaled right into me."

"She must have," Nancy said. "You look terrible." Then Nancy said: "I thought I heard her laughing."

"Yeah," Brigden said, "you know what she's like. Makes a sarcastic crack and then laughs like a madwoman."

"She stinks," Nancy said.

"Yeah? I thought she smelled kind of nice, as a matter of fact."

"You're so witty, dear. As if you don't know what I mean."

"Come on," Brigden said, "let's get out to the car. I've got to go to work, you know."

"Chanel," Nancy said. "That's what she uses. Anybody could smell just as nice if somebody bought them a bottle of it."

"Next payday," Brigden said, "and let's skip the Irvine, huh? I've had about all of her I can stand for one day."

"That's what you think. She and Miss Lawlor are going to be the chaperons tonight at the class dance. The country club is letting us have the floor."

Brigden opened the car door and groaned. "I thought that was two weeks from now," he said.

"That's the harvest dance, cretin. I said class dance."

"Damn it, Nancy, I've got to study sometime. The Irvine told me I was going to crash."

"Darling," Nancy said, "this is our senior year. Our very last year!"

"What are you wailing about?" he said. "You sound as though they were gonna line us all up at Commencement and shoot us."

"How terribly, terribly funny," Nancy said.

It seemed to Brigden that he and Nancy slid into the bickering routine a little too easily these days. A little too easily, and a little too often. He fired up the engine and listened to it for a minute. It was a hell of a suave power plant, he thought.

"Have you decided about selling this hearse?" Nancy said.

It was bound to come. Brigden sidestepped it. "One thing at a time," he said. "I'm trying to figure tonight. And don't call my car a hearse."

There were times when Nancy knew better than to push. She fiddled with the radio and sang until he had parked in the driveway beside her house. Then she slid across the seat. "Lover," she said.

She could be very enthusiastic and rather experimental when she wanted to be. Her tongue danced across his lips and she strained her chest against his. Nancy was a well-developed girl: Brigden at once became terribly aware of the twin pressures of her large breasts. A familiar lick of flame raced down his spine.

"I'm gonna be late for work," he said.

She kissed him again, this time darting her tongue into his mouth. "Souvenir," she said. "Until tonight."

He laughed. "You know how to win," he said. "Don't you?"

Brigden saw Nancy's mother coming toward them through the garden and Mrs. Price was just more than he could take right now. Nancy's mother had marriage on the brain and she was always coining up with it in some coy, subtle way. Subtle as a truck. Brigden still remembered his embarrassment when Mrs. Price had walked in on one of their first heavy sessions. He had been trying to unfasten Nancy's brassiere. It had taken him a long time to realize that his embarrassment had been quite unnecessary.

He started his car and waved hastily at Mrs. Price and started easing the car backwards. Nancy jumped out. "Eight-thirty," he said. "Maybe a quarter to nine."

"Don't be late," Nancy said.

Brigden's father was not at all small in the matter of an allowance, but it seemed to Brigden that ever since he'd started going steady with Nancy Price his cost of living had been awful. Nancy was a girl who liked to be seen around, and often. To keep himself solvent Brigden worked three or four hours every day at a service station. Dates with Nancy were always a rush and Brigden didn't have much home life any more.

His father and mother liked to dine late and take their time about it. Brigden, who had rushed home from his job and rushed through his shower and dressing, found them drinking cocktails in the living room.

"Hi," he said. "It's 8:15. I don't think I can wait for dinner."

"That's terrible," his mother said.

"I had a hot dog downtown," Brigden said. "Nance hates me to be late."

"Say," his father said, "you're not by any chance secretly married to this Nancy, are you?"

Brigden grinned. "No," he said. "It just seems like it."

"You're damn right it does," his father said. "But in view of the fact that you're not, that she can't divorce you or take any other legal action against you if you happen to be a little late, how's about having a drink with us?"

"He's going to be driving," Brigden's mother said.

"I know he's going to be driving, and look at the state he's in. He's got the perpetual twitch these days. A drink will calm him." His father got up and poured whiskey into a shot glass. "Wine of the country," he said.

"Well, thanks," Brigden said.

"Sit down, sit down," his father said. "What gets me," he said, "is the way she talks to you. I've noticed it, on the rare occasions when you bring her around. As though the honeymoon was over 10 years ago."

"Well," Brigden said, "there never was a honeymoon."

"I can believe it," his father said. "It's a goddamned abnormality."

"Stop yelling," his mother said.

"I'm just trying to make a point," his father said. "I'd simply like to observe that he works like a dog to support a travesty of marriage. And I'll allow you one more drink," he said to Brigden.

"Not unless he eats dinner afterward," his mother said.

"Fair enough," his father said. "Well?"

"As a matter of fact," Brigden said, "I think it's a good idea."

• • •

When he stopped the car Nancy came running down the walk in something floaty made of chiffon. She was wearing a sequined stole over her shoulders. It had cost Brigden a week's pay.

"You're late," she said. "You're terribly late."

"Geez," he said, "I took off right after dinner."

"Dinner," she said. "They eat dinner in the middle of the night at your house. Why didn't you have something downtown?"

"Because I wanted to have dinner with my old folks, that's why. Is it a goddam crime to eat with your own parents?"

"Don't swear at me," she said.

"Oh God," he said. "I'm sorry. Why're we always fighting, anyway?"

"Ask yourself," Nancy said coolly. "Just ask yourself that question."

The combo was blowing it out when they arrived. Nancy hurried to the powder room. Brigden made his manners to Miss Lawlor and Miss Irvine and gloomed over to the sidelines. Nancy came back with her let's-make-it-up look on her face, but Brigden still felt gloomy. He took her into his arms and shuffled out on the floor.

"There's Buzzy Norton," Nancy said.

"That thief," Brigden said. Buzzy Norton was the owner of the Olds.

"Have you talked price with him?" Nancy said.

"Seven and a half."

"Why, that's cheap. That's a bargain. Any dealer in town would give him that for it."

"So why hasn't he taken it to a dealer?" Brigden said. "I'll tell you why. He's driven the hell out of it. He had the motor seize up on him once. Nobody wants Buzzy Norton's car."

"I do," Nancy said. She swung around and looked down the floor. "Irvine and Lawlor are looking the other way," she said. "Come on."

Brigden followed her out to the terrace. A red moon was just rising and he stumbled a couple of times going down the stones and around the hedge after Nancy. "Lover," she whispered. "Lover!" It was Nancy's trigger-word.

Brigden responded in a token way. He felt remote and sad and pitying because there had been rehearsals for this in the matter of the sequined stole, and the watch Nancy had wanted, and the numerous expensive places he had taken her to. Brigden felt sad; and he decided he'd better precipitate things.

Nancy pulled her face away. "Lover," she said, "not below the belt."

Brigden feigned an urgency. Nancy held his wrist. She backed away a little.

"Will you buy it?" she said.

"What?" he said. "Buy what, Nance?"

"The car," she said. "The Olds."

Very gently, Brigden disengaged his hand. "No," he said.

"You've got the money," she said. "I know you have. Most of it, anyway."

"Nance," he said, "don't push it. Please don't push it."

"I will so too push it!"

"OK," he said, "let's look at it this way, then. Don't you think seven hundred and 50 dollars is kind of high for what you're offering?"

Of course she hit him. Brigden was expecting it. He also expected her to start crying, but she didn't. "You're trying to get rid of me," she said, "aren't you?"

"I think we'd better call the whole thing off," he said.

"But let me tell you something," she said, as though she had not heard him;

"you're not going to get rid of me. Do you understand that?"

He turned away from her. "Let go, Nance," he said. "Let go."

She moved around in front of him. "I'm going to make you awfully sorry. I promise you that."

"All right," he said. "All right."

He watched her walking along the terrace, until she went back inside. He shivered a little and then went in himself, and into the men's john. He washed his face and hands and examined his mouth in the mirror for lipstick. Then he went out to the floor. Nancy was dancing with Buzzy Norton, her cheeks pink and her hair flying. Brigden wondered what the hell the protocol was now. He supposed he should hang around and take her home.

Miss Irvine caught his eye and beckoned to him. "I see you're free for the moment, Brigden," she said. "Would you care to escort me? I'd like to go outside and smoke a cigarette."

"Sure," he said. "I mean, certainly, Miss Irvine. I'd be delighted."

A few figures in standing embrace glided deeper into the shadows when they went out. Miss Irvine put her hand on Brigden's arm and they went down the stone steps to the long gravel walk below the hedge. Brigden fished out his cigarettes and lighter. "There are benches along here," he said. "Or would you prefer to walk?"

"I think walk." She bent a little to the flame of his lighter. Then she took his arm again. "I see you and Nancy have quarreled," she said.

"Does it show?" he said.

"Oh yes," she said, "it shows. And Nancy is talking, naturally."

"Well," he said, "I guess she's entitled to that."

"What about you, Brigden? Aren't you full of it, too?"

"No," he said. "I feel sort of emptied. Not empty. Free, I guess. I think I was building up to it for a long time, without realizing it."

"How is your conscience?" Miss Irvine said.

"Pretty good," Brigden said. "A bad spot here and there."

"Would it help your conscience at all to know that it was common knowledge that Nancy Price was taking you for everything she could get?"

"I don't know," Brigden said. "I don't want to run her down, I know that."

Miss Irvine said: "Neither do I, Brigden. I'm not very interested in her, in fact. I hope you'll forgive me for questioning you about it."

Brigden turned and smiled at her. Miss Irvine was not as tall as he was. He said: "I'm pretty used to having you grill me, Miss Irvine."

"I keep forgetting that, I don't know why," she said. She dropped her cigarette on the gravel and stepped on it. Her hand tightened slightly on his arm.

"I think we should turn back. We're nearly off the property."

"Wait," Brigden said. "Miss Irvine, please wait a minute."

"I must go back. What is it, Brigden?"

"Just look up," he said. "Just look up in the moonlight."

Miss Irvine lifted up her face.

"You're beautiful," Brigden whispered.

"I wanted to hear you say that," she said. "I wanted to hear it again."

"You're beautiful," he said. "I could look at you forever."

"I believe you mean it," Miss Irvine said.

"God, yes," Brigden said. He reached up and traced the outline of her cheek with his fingertips. Then he bent forward and kissed her. "I love you, Miss Irvine," he said.

In the moonlight her eyes glittered and this glittering spilled and spread downward. Miss Irvine was crying. "Don't you know my name?" she said.

"Kathleen," he said. "I love you, Kathleen."

"Well I love you too," she said. "It's quite a situation, isn't it?"

"I don't know," he said. "I just love you. Let's get married."

"Dear heaven," she said. "Dear heaven. You aren't holding back a thing, are you?" Her hands, now in his, held with a drowning tightness; her heart's beat pulsed in her breath, and her tears fell on their hands. Brigden was very close to weeping, himself.

He was, as they say, without frame of reference. Avid front-seat explorer, brassiere engineer extraordinary, Brigden Cole was now truly in love with a woman whose personality had long since invaded his. His instincts in the matter were virgin, but sound. He had stated his case. Now he rested it.

Presently Miss Irvine sighed and with a curious gesture that was of her whole body came into his arms. Brigden sheltered her and marveled over her, and kissed her again with the utmost gentleness.

"We've got to go back," she said. "Let me go, Brigden, and light me a cigarette, please." She began to look about her, on the gravel. "I must have dropped my purse," she said.

He gave her a cigarette and found the purse and held it while she took out tissues and dried her face and wiped her mouth. "Come on," she said, "we must go back. What am I going to do about you, Brigden. Can you forget all about this?"

"No," he said. "Can you?"

"Dear heaven," she said, "I should. I most certainly should. Darling," she said, "let me go. In your mind."

"Well----" Brigden said.

She began to hurry along the path. "Look," she said, "they're all going home. Don't follow me, darling. Let me go in alone."

"Miss Irvine!" Brigden said. "Let me talk with you. Tomorrow."

"No," she said. "I need tomorrow and I need Sunday. Don't you come near me, Brigden Cole." She ran up the steps to the terrace.

Brigden eased around to the parking lot. The floodlights were on and a lot of people were milling around the cars. He spotted Buzzy Norton's two-tone Olds. Buzzy and Nancy were standing beside it. Brigden strolled over.

"Heyah," Buzzy said, not too easily. "Want to buy a good car?"

"Hey, thief," Brigden said. "Let's go, Nance."

"What's the idea hey!" Buzzy yelled. "I'm taking her home."

"I brought her, I take her," Brigden said.

Nancy jumped into the Olds and skidded across the seat. "I'll go home with whom I please," she said.

"Well, you can't say I didn't try to do my duty," Brigden said. He gave Buzzy a contemptuous push. "Have fun," he said.

Brigden slept until noon. He needed it. When he came downstairs his father was drinking coffee and reading the paper. "Good morning, cad," his father said.

"Huh?" Brigden said. He poured himself coffee and sat down.

"Your girlfriend's mother was into me over the telephone this morning," his father said. "Seems like you're the lousiest double-crossingest son of a bitch in creation. She promised me trouble."

"Yeah," Brigden said. "So did Nancy, last night."

"Well I don't think they can get us on breach of promise," his father said. "And there's only one other thing I can think of. Did I understand you right when you said there'd been no, ah, honeymoon?"

"You did."

"Well I can stop worrying, then. You have any plans?"

"I'm gonna quit that goddam job at the service station," Brigden said. "Get some sleep, and hit the books."

"This is better than I'd hoped," his father said.

"Yeah?" Brigden said. "Thanks for taking care of Nance's mother."

"It was a pleasure," his father said. "I assure you."

Brigden was worried about his English period on Monday. He wasn't sure he could stay together when he saw Miss Irvine. He even wondered about skipping it, but in the end he knew he had to see her. He sat quietly, admiring the way she moved, loving the beauty of her face, and trying not to think. When the bell rang he shambled to his feet, turning his back to her desk. The mob rushed out, but he couldn't go. He turned around again and she came toward him at once.

"Get that look off your face," she said. "That's no way to look around here."

"OK, Miss Irvine," he said.

"I want you to do something for me," she said. "There's something wrong with my car. The service man has taken it away. I was wondering if you'd care to drive me home."

"Yes," he said. "I'd be glad to, Miss Irvine."

"Shall I meet you outside, then, in a few minutes?"

He waited at the main entrance and escorted her to his car. Miss Irvine didn't say anything, except to tell him where she lived. He opened the door and handed her in.

He moved out into the light traffic and headed for Miss Irvine's address. Miss Irvine sat stiffly beside him, and not at all close. Several times he thought she'd started to say something, but she never did. She didn't say a word until he parked in front of the house on a quiet residential street.

"Well----" he said uncertainly. He got out and opened the door for her.

"Perhaps," she said, "you'd care to come in for a moment, Brigden. Would you care for a cup of coffee and something to eat?"

"Why yes, Miss Irvine," he said. "That would be very nice."

The house was a duplex and Miss Irvine's was the downstairs apartment. He followed her through the hall, where there was a mirror over a small table. There was a bowl of flowers on the table. The living room was restful, the furniture of no period. Brigden, who had learned something from his mother, perceived that Miss Irvine liked her wood shining and her fabric clean. There was a trace of her perfume in the air and of those thousand other things that give houses and rooms in houses an odor as distinctive as a fingerprint.

"Well," Miss Irvine said. "Do you like my house?"

Brigden smiled gently. "Yes," he said. "I like the smell of it."

"How nice." Miss Irvine's voice was nearly harsh. "You have rather a gift for saying nice things, haven't you, Brigden?"

"I don't know," he said. "Whatever pops into my head, it seems to me."

"Please sit down." She came back across the room in a striding jerky way that was not at all like her usual elegant walk. "Here are cigarettes," she said, putting a carved wooden box on the coffee table. "Will you excuse me, please, while I put on the coffee and tidy up?"

Brigden lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the chair. Miss Irvine's tenseness was beginning to make him uneasy, not that he was feeling like any carefree kid himself. She was still striding around the place, in and out of the kitchen, in and out of the bedroom. She came out of the bedroom once putting her suit jacket on a hanger. "I don't know," she said. "Do you think it's cool enough for a fire? Would you like to lay a fire?"

"Sure, Miss Irvine," Brigden said. It was something to do.

She went into the bathroom. Brigden could hear her turning faucets on and off. When she came out he stayed on his knees, studiously building a lattice of kindling. "Brigden," she said, "did you do what I suggested? Did you manage to forget all about it over the weekend?"

He stood up. "No," he said, "I didn't, Miss Irvine."

She looked at him out of eyes that seemed to have turned black. "Does your father let you drink?" she said.

"What?" he said. "Miss Irvine, are you trying to brace me for something?"

"I'm just asking you if you'd like a drink," she said. "I seem to have changed my mind about coffee, for this moment, anyway."

Brigden was beginning to feel sorry for Miss Irvine. He wondered why she was making it so tough for herself. She could have said it was no dice in the car instead of trying to be nice about it and getting herself all worked up instead. "Well," he said, "my father would be disappointed in me if I refused a drink and mad as hell if I got drunk."

Miss Irvine laughed a little, and Brigden felt rewarded. "He must be a remarkable person," she said.

"Yeah," Brigden said. "I like him. That makes me remarkable too."

"You're trying to make me laugh," she said. She opened a corner cupboard and put a bottle and small glasses on a brass tray. She brought the tray over and put it on the coffee table. "You're trying to make me laugh because you're such a nice boy, and you're really not a boy at all. I distinctly remember," Miss Irvine said, "the clay when I realized that you were no longer a boy. Will you pour, Brigden? I've had this bottle of Scotch for a long time. I hope it hasn't gone bad or anything."

Brigden handed her a glass. They were both standing in front of the unlit fire. "What should I say?" she said. "What does one say before drinking, on occasions like this?" Her glass shook and some of the liquor spilled over her fingers.

Brigden put his hand under hers, cupping it. "Just drink it," he said. It had come to him, now, that he had nearly made a terrible mistake. A false assumption, that's what Miss Irvine would call it. He watched, loving her, as she bent her head to drink from the glass he was steadying for her; and his soul acknowledged a lover's responsibility.

When she had finished he put their glasses on the tray and took her hands in his and she came to him immediately. Her legs were trembling violently. "Dear heaven," she said, "dear heaven my darling, I'm a terrible seductress, I just don't know how to do it. I thought I'd do something graceful and exquisitely significant, you know, like the woman in Tea and Sympathy, just one button..."

"Well," Brigden said, "it seems to me that it takes a hell of a lot more than just one button."

She laughed, her voice liquid now and falling in her throat, and stroked her cheek against his. "Darling," she said, "you take such good care of me, don't you." Miss Irvine's elegant legs weren't going to hold her up much longer; Miss Irvine's eloquent hands beseeched. Miss Irvine's voice plunged into some great depth, and was lost. "Darling," she whispered, "take care of me. Take care of me."

• • •

In November Brigden's father said: "Say, I think you're gaining weight. Feeling pretty good these days, aren't you?"

"Like a millionaire," Brigden said.

"School grades getting better all the time too," his father said. "How the hell do you do it, on so little sleep?"

"Oh, I'm getting plenty of sleep," Brigden said.

"Rolling in at three and four in the morning?" his father said. "Not around here, you're not."

Brigden colored brightly. "Geezez," he said, "I thought you'd be sound asleep. I mean, after the first two or three times, when you didn't say anything..."

"Well, well," his father said.

"Listen," Brigden said, "I hope this isn't a crackdown."

"Don't be stupid. Could I stop you if I tried?"

"No sir, you couldn't."

"Well then. I just hope she isn't married."

"No," Brigden said. "She won't marry me, either."

"What?" his father said. Then he laughed. "Why not?" he said.

"She says she's too old, that it would wreck me. She's only 27," he said. "I keep trying to get her to come home with me and meet you, but she won't do it. It doesn't make sense to me."

"Well I hope you won't ask me to explain it," his father said. "Let's leave it that you're damn lucky to be the recipient of a grown-up woman's charms."

For Brigden Cole, Miss Irvine's charms were ten thousand. Miss Irvine's charm was her face against a white pillow, the face of his beloved. Miss Irvine's charm was her slender body seen by lamplight, seen by firelight. Miss Irvine's charm was pink and tendriled and of incredible delicacy. Miss Irvine's charms were her small and perfect little bosom, offered; her fine-boned feet, quiescent under his caress, that yet could dance a frenzy in the air.

Roses for Brigden Cole; roses all the way. Brigden's grades were good because Miss Irvine made him study during their evenings together, Brigden hunched at her escritoire while she read by the fire and passion secretly renewed itself in them. Brigden's health was good because he went early to bed with Miss Irvine and slept deeply, commingled with her charms. To rise and leave her was sweet sorrow indeed, but for Brigden Cole there was always tomorrow. And he would walk through the cold streets of early morning, three blocks to where he had discreetly hidden his car. And in half an hour he would be asleep again. There was always tomorrow.

On a Saturday morning Miss Irvine awoke with a start. "Dear heaven my darling." she said, "it's broad daylight. I didn't set the clock."

Her distress awakened him abruptly. Miss Irvine had scrambled out of bed and was standing by the window as though somehow something still could be done. "I can't risk having you leave now," she said. "What if somebody calls on me?"

"I could hide in here," he said.

"But could I hide knowing it?"

Brigden got out of bed and took her in his arms. "Maybe it won't happen," he said. "People don't call much in the mornings, after all."

She nodded against his shoulder. Her initial fright was passing. Her hands that always in agitation made their plea against his chest, now began to stroke his face and neck. Brigden held one and kissed it. Miss Irvine's hands, like the rest of her, were slender and elegant and beautiful. "You're so beautiful," he said. "Kathleen. What a way to wake up, seeing you standing there in the sunlight." He wanted to kiss her mouth, but he nuzzled her neck instead. "Gotta clean my teeth," he muttered.

"My darling," she said, "you're so nice. So should I." She lifted herself against him. "Shower too. My darling how I love you. We're going to have a wonderful day together."

The telephone rang. In Brigden's arms Miss Irvine shuddered and then clung.

"It's only the telephone," he said. "It's only the telephone."

Brigden watched her while she talked into it. It was funny, he thought, there she was just like one of those calendars in some place like an auto shop, a naked girl with a telephone. But Miss Irvine was not striking any provocative poses. Miss Irvine just looked defenseless. Brigden picked up her housecoat and took it to her, holding it so that she could put her arms into the sleeves.

"Lawlor," she was saying, "well, you'd sound funny too if you'd just been awakened. Yes, dear, quite alone and I'm getting a little tired of that kind of talk. I can't help it if my complexion's suddenly improved." She shifted the telephone from one hand to the other, turning her head rapidly. "I'm sorry," she said, "I think I'm due to fall off the roof today." She put her other arm into the housecoat. "I think I'll just huddle by myself. Hot tea and aspirin."

It took her a long time to get rid of Miss Lawlor. Then she sat on the edge of the bed. "The lies you have to tell," she said. "My darling, the world is catching up with us, or creeping in on us."

"Let's meet it," Brigden said. "Let's get married."

"We've been over that before. Over it and over. Let's not again."

"Well I want you to marry me."

"My darling I love you. And I'm not going to ruin you, I've told you that and told you. I'll be middle-aged while you're still young."

"You're crazy," Brigden said.

She nodded, beginning to cry. "Yes," she said, "I know." She put her head down, her shoulders shaking. "Dear heaven my darling," she said, "how long will the world keep out of our life?"

• • •

The world crashed in on them just five days later. The principal's office sent for Brigden during the final period of the day. It was math and Brigden walked out, innocent and a little preoccupied. When he went into the office his father was sitting in a chair near the desk. The principal was behind the desk and Nancy Price and her mother were in chairs in front of it. And in another chair, to one side, sat Miss Irvine.

"Sit down, Brigden," Mr. Paul, the principal, said. "We've got something pretty serious here." He started to tap a pencil on his blotter.

Brigden looked around him. His father looked fierce. Miss Irvine looked broken. She was sitting very straight, her back not touching the back of her chair, and with no expression on her face. It was as though, broken, she were trying to hold it all together. Brigden didn't look at Nancy or her mother.

Mr. Paul stopped tapping the pencil and said: "Brigden have you been having an affair with Miss Irvine?"

"Geezez." Brigden said. "Geezez!" He looked helplessly at his father, but his father was watching the principal.

"Affair!" Nancy said. "He's been sleeping with her."

"Be quiet, Nancy," Mr. Paul said. "I've heard your story. Allow me to choose my own words. "Well?" he said to Brigden. "And don't lie."

Brigden's father said harshly: "Remember what I told you about the value of your word. I want it to mean something."

Brigden's brains felt congealed. But he was going to make his word mean something, all right, and to hell with anybody who tried to make him change it.

"Well?" Mr. Paul said, stabbing the blotter with his pencil. "Well?"

"Geezez, sir," Brigden said, "that's terrible. How could I have an affair with Miss Irvine? Goddam it, she's my English teacher!"

Mr. Paul winced. "You don't need to yell and you don't need to swear," he said. "Although I can understand that this might be a shock to you."

"I saw him," Nancy said. "Night after night, going into her place. I saw them together," Nancy said. "I looked in her window."

Miss Irvine closed her eyes.

"Sir," Brigden said, "it just isn't true."

Brigden's father said: "Miss Irvine denies it and my son denies it. Surely that's enough to discount this girl's ridiculous story, Mr. Paul."

Mr. Paul seemed grateful for this. He said: "Brigden, weren't you and Nancy Price, ah, going steady?"

"Yes sir," Brigden said.

"And then you broke up? You yourself broke it up?"

"Yes sir," Brigden said.

"I also understand that you escorted Miss Irvine outside for a few moments on the night that you took Nancy to your class dance." Mr. Paul turned to Brigden's father. "A young girl," he said, smiling in a tentative way. "You could call it hysterical jealousy, perhaps?"

"Yes," Brigden's father said. "I'd let her off with that."

Miss Irvine opened her eyes.

Nancy leaned forward. "Prostitute," she said to Miss Irvine. "I'm going to talk and talk and talk. I'm going to talk you right out of this town."

Mr. Paul stopped smiling. "Mrs. Price," he said, "I hope you realize that if you allow your daughter to persist in this the consequences will be very serious for Miss Irvine."

Mrs. Price looked scared but she wasn't backing down. "Well it's a fine thing," she said, "when a nice young man like Brigden Cole is seduced by a schoolteacher, and she gets away with it. I say my daughter has every right to complain."

"You have already told me that you are accepting your daughter's word for all this," Mr. Paul said. "I don't understand what you have to gain by your attitude. I don't understand at all."

Brigden Cole understood. They were holding Miss Irvine up for ransom. He threw an agonized look at his father.

His father said: "I've heard enough of this. Miss Irvine has been a dinner guest in my home several times. She and my wife are quite friendly, as a matter of fact. They have often talked together until quite late. It never occurred to me," Brigden's father said angrily, "that having my son escort her home would result in this."

"And he always came right home?" Mr. Paul said. "He was never gone for long?"

Brigden's father smiled and said: "I don't like your question and the answer is yes. He was always back within a few minutes."

"I just want to nail this thing down." Mr. Paul said. "I wish you'd spoken of this earlier. I think we would have saved Miss Irvine a good deal."

"When people are throwing slanders around," Brigden's father said, "it's a good idea to see how far they want to go. I don't think Mrs. Price wants to go any further, do you, Mrs. Price?"

Mrs. Price stood up. "I was only thinking of your son's welfare, Mr. Cole," she said. "And that is no longer any concern of mine."

Mr. Paul got up too and came around his desk. Mr. Paul was looking very tough but it was clear, also, that Mr. Paul was feeling very good. "I think any apologies would be farcical," he said. "I'll just see you and Nancy to the street, Mrs. Price." He ushered Nancy and her mother out and closed the door. For a moment his voice could still be heard. He was saying: "Now I want you two to listen to me very carefully..."

Brigden's father said: "There goes one hell of a relieved guy. When I came in here he was seeing his job going up in a blaze of scandal. The new social factor," Brigden's father said. "Guilt by association. Make you a nice theme." He was studying Miss Irvine, and he seemed to be waiting for something.

Miss Irvine looked awful. She looked half dead. Her face was white and her eyes were black and blind-looking.

"This is a terrible place," Brigden said. "Let's get out of here. Let's take Miss Irvine home with us."

His father got up right away. "Now you're talking," he said. "Let's go."

Still sitting in her chair, with her back still straight, Miss Irvine started to shake.

"We'll have some of that wine of the country," Brigden said loudly.

"Now you're really talking," his father said.

Brigden went over and took Miss Irvine's hands. They were cold. She said: "You don't have to do this, Brigden. You don't have to do it my darling!"

"Miss Irvine," Brigden's father said, "it seems to me that he knows that."

"Dear heaven," Miss Irvine said. "Dear heaven."