Chapter 4

 

Meg O’Riley

 

Frank and Pinky continued their strange relationship through the summer and autumn. What had begun as a simple, spontaneous encounter blossomed into something considerably more complicated. However, both boys continued to deny that they had any deeper feelings for each other, for fear of crossing the fine line from experimenting teenagers to homosexuals. But when they were alone they pondered on what they shared, and realised they were more than just friends.

Their encounters graduated from kissing and touching to oral forms of gratification and finally full anal penetration. Frank couldn’t understand why Pinky knew so much about sexual matters, but whenever he broached the subject, Pinky changed it. The slender, fair-skinned boy could talk for hours about anything that didn’t directly concern him, but when Frank pried too deeply he clammed up. Frank began to wonder if dark problems simmered beneath Pinky’s unassuming exterior; more evil secrets to fuel Promise Falls’ rumour mill.

Despite Pinky’s worldliness, he fell naturally into a passive role. He seemed to relish being dominated by a larger, stronger person like Frank. Not that Frank minded being in control. He couldn’t see himself taking it up the ass. Once, at home by himself he tried to shove a finger up his butt, but all it did was hurt. He soon established himself as the dominant partner, becoming more protective of Pinky outside their War Room as well.

Pinky may have ceased being the butt of bullies’ cruel taunts while Frank was around, but the thugs still teased him whenever they caught him alone. However they were no longer as enthusiastic as they used to be, for fear of incurring Frank Cassidy’s wrath.

But none of these individuals had actually seen Frank Cassidy’s wrath. Sure the boy could be a tiger on the playing field, but that was strictly business. Everyone suffered from the delusion that Frank simply looked big and angry.

One chilly Friday afternoon in late autumn saw Pinky tearing out of class, eager to get home to some coke and cookies. He didn’t meet Frank at the gates like he usually did because his friend was in training for a big game against Waco High, due to be played in two weeks. Frank would meet Pinky in the War Room after an hour or so.

In his eagerness to leave, Pinky didn’t watch where he was going, and slammed into the back of a boy named Georgie Hatfield, one of Nelly Hatfield’s children. He was a notorious bully, as big as he was stupid, and as homely as a pig’s backside. His only advantages were his size, his speed, and his ability to use his fists.

When Pinky cannoned into him, his short fuse snapped. He whirled on the skinny boy with his unruly, mouse-coloured hair, and balled his enormous hands into fists. “Why don’tcha watch where ya goin’, runt?” he snarled.

Pinky straightened, lifting a skinny hand. George noticed that his fingers were as long and thin as a girl's, nothing like his own thick, ugly fingers. “Sorry Georgie – it won’t happen again!” He turned to keep walking.

Georgie couldn’t believe his eyes. How dare that little creep turn his back on him! What happened to the respect he used to command? The fear he used to instil in scrawny geeks like Pinky? Georgie shot out a massive claw, grabbed the smaller boy by the back of his sweater, and hauled him back. “I’m sick o’ the way you think you’re cock o’ th’ walk ‘cause you’re best buds with Cassidy!” he snarled, and before Pinky could react, he had smashed a fist like a pile-driver into Pinky’s face.

The blow sent the little boy flying. He hit the grass and all the air whooshed from his lungs. He lay gasping while Georgie approached, slamming a fist into his palm and squeezing it. A big, stupid grin spread the entire width of Georgie’s pimple-spotted face. “I’m gonna clean your clock, Robinson! And there ain’t shit your pal Cassidy can do about it!”

 

When Frank reached the War Room after football practise, he found Pinky sitting on the old couch holding a tissue to his nose. At first Frank thought his friend was coming down with a cold. Then he noticed the eye that had swollen shut, a bruise blooming a sick, ripe purple on Pinky's cheek, and numerous cuts and abrasions on his hands and arms.

“What happened?” Frank gasped.

Pinky looked up. His nose was swollen, the tissue between his fingers stained with blood. “Damn Georgie Hatfield! I accidentally ran into him and he gave me a pounding!” Tears brimmed in his eyes. He looked away, hating to show weakness in front of Frank.

Without a word Frank sat down beside him and slipped an arm around his shoulders. The tender gesture made Pinky’s tears flow faster, and he couldn’t contain his sobs any longer. He buried his poor bruised face in Frank’s shoulder and cried until he could cry no more, pouring out not only his pain from being beaten up by Georgie, but all of his agony from the years of humiliation he had suffered at the hands of his uncle. He wanted to reveal all his woes, but the words caught in his mouth, only emerging as more strangled sobs. He had been ordered to keep his mouth shut too many times.

 

The next Monday saw Frank armed with a baseball bat, lying in wait for Georgie as he made his way to school. He would have got away with his crime if one of Georgie’s sisters hadn’t spotted him sinking the boot into the bully’s prone and bloodied body. Frank was forced to flee.

An hour later, Frank found himself sitting on the bench in front of the principal’s office, waiting for Mr Hendley to call him in. At least I got a few good hits in before that little bitch showed up, he thought, picking some blood from his knuckles. He might have split his skin on Georgie’s mouth, but he recalled smashing at least one tooth. That ugly bastard will think twice about punching Pinky now.

“You sit here until the principal calls for you,” a high voice snapped, and Frank looked up, thinking it had been talking to him. He saw Miss Hobbs, a nervous stick-insect of a woman, push a tall, slender girl down on the other end of the bench. When the middle-aged teacher turned to leave, the girl thrust a long pink tongue out at her back.

Frank smiled.

The girl glared at him. She had carrot-coloured hair, pulled into two thick bunches on either side of her head. Freckles sprinkled her cheeks and nose, and her front teeth protruded slightly. She wore an old-fashioned, high collared dress, black stockings and clunky shoes. “What’re you starin’ at?” she growled.

Frank looked away. “Sorry, but I’ve always wanted to stick my tongue out at Miss Hobbs.”

“Actually, I did more than stick my tongue out. I told her she was a dried-up old spinster who don’t know jack about kids and should retire before she has a nervous breakdown!”

Frank actually gaped. “You said that to Miss Hobbs?”

The girl nodded. “What did you do to end up here?”

“Beat the shit out of a Georgie Hatfield.”

“The fat kid with the bad skin and black teeth?”

“That pretty much describes all the Hatfields.”

“He’s in my maths class. I guess he won’t be pulling my pigtails for a while! Thanks. My name’s Meg, by the way. Meg O’Riley.”

“Frank Cassidy.”

“I think you’re in my English class. You sit up the back, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m not much good at English.”

“Neither am I. As a matter of fact, I’m not much good at anythin’. I can’t stand school, and I’ll be so glad when I can leave!” She lowered her voice. “It wouldn’t be so bad if they let me do some cool subjects, like science and shop class, but nooo, I have to do stupid home science and sewing!” She pulled a face.

At that moment Mr Hendley’s door creaked inwards, and his fleshy, moon-face floated out. “I’m ready to see you, Mr Cassidy.”

“Nice talking to you, Cassidy,” Meg called as he headed for the principal’s office.

Frank had never been up before the principal before, not even when he was in elementary school. Normally a studious, well-behaved boy, he rarely misbehaved. His guts clenched themselves into tight fists of nerves as he sat down in the hard-backed wooden chair in front of Mr Hendley’s enormous whale of a desk. The principal sat down and folded his fat, sausage-like fingers in front of him. “You sent that poor boy to hospital, Mr Cassidy. Whatever prompted you to thrash him as completely as you did?”

“He beat up Pinky, sir.”

“I saw Mr Robinson this morning. His bruises look almost healed, and he can open his eye. It’ll be a week before Mr Hatfield returns to school. What do you have to say about that?”

What could he say? “Only that if Georgie touches Pinky again, I’ll do more than just beat the stuffin’ outta him. I’ll kill him.”

Mr Hendley drew back at the sudden coldness in Frank’s eyes. He had never seen anything like it. It seemed the mild-mannered Reverend’s son had a mean streak. He would have to be taught a lesson. “You’re on lunchtime detention for the rest of the semester, and believe me, your poor mother will hear about this.”

“Yes sir.” Though Frank didn’t think she would be too perturbed. She mightn’t have been able to fight back when the Rev was alive, but at least her son was learning to stand up for himself.

“Before you go, Mr Cassidy, I suggest you stay away from Meg O’Riley. That girl is nothing but trouble.”

“Yes sir.” Frank got up and left. Stay away from Meg? A girl who liked science and shop class? A girl who was actually interesting? Not bloody likely!

 

That afternoon Frank had a double period of English. He realised that he had seen Meg before, but only the back of her head at the front of the classroom. He had never paid much attention to that curly red head with its enormous fluffy pigtails sticking out at right-angles. Since he had no real friends to disappoint by changing seats, he decided to sit next to Meg.

“Whatta you doin’ here?” she demanded.

“I’m failing English, so I decided I’d better sit up the front and pay more attention.”

“Bull. I’ve been sitting up the front all term and I’m still failing!” She looked down at her notebook, crammed with illegible notes that straggled every which way except along the ruled lines. “I hate English.”

Frank pulled out his own notebook, which was covered with numerous different doodles of military insignias, war-machines and guns. “Did you finish the composition?”

Meg’s face fell. “Aw no! I forgot!” She opened her book to the last page, which sported the heading; “Describe what you think the United States at the turn of the century will be like. Your essay must be at least a thousand words.”

Frank opened his open book, where he had scrawled several pages about the Brave New World of futuristic North America. He had described a bleak world where the Germans had formed a Fourth Reich, resurrected Hitler from the grave by cloning him, and taken over most of Europe. The United States were currently at war with Greater Germany, and their army was led by none other than General Frank Cassidy!

Although it probably wouldn’t give him any extra points, Frank had even drawn a picture of a futuristic battlefield, presided over by himself in full military regalia.

“Wow, cool picture!” Meg exclaimed, her voice cutting through his reverie. “Did you draw that?”

“Yeah.”

“You should do art. I’m in Mrs Kelly’s art class – it’s the only class I actually enjoy.”

“I’ve got heaps more pictures in here.” Frank started flipping pages, showing Meg his doodles.

“You seem to know a lot about military stuff. Was your Dad in the army?”

Frank shook his head. “He was Reverend John Cassidy, a Baptist minister. He’s dead now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not. He was a creep.”

“My Dad was in the war,” Meg began. “He fought the Japs at Guadalcanal. He loves talkin’ about it, tellin’ everyone how he and his friends were abandoned there for months, yet they managed to capture the entire island on their own, with only limited resources and ammo. You should hear him go on. I’ve heard the story a zillion times now!”

“I’d love to hear it.”

“You can come over any time you like, Cassidy. There’s only me and Dad at home, and we get mighty lonesome at times.”

 

Thus Frank made a new friend. He invited her to sit with him and Pinky in the cafeteria at lunchtime, and be a part of their group. At first Pinky was surly and unresponsive to Meg’s questions. Later on in the War Room, Frank explained to him that she was only a friend, nothing more.

“Are you sure?” Pinky insisted.

“What, are you jealous?” Frank needled.

“Of course not!” Pinky appeared aghast at the thought – too aghast. Frank realised that he’d hit the nail on the head.

“Then whatta you worryin’ about?”

Pinky looked away, gnawing on his lower lip.

“I assure you, there’s nothin’ goin’ on between me and Meg. She’s a nice girl and I like talkin’ to her, but I don’t feel like playing tonsil hockey with her, okay?”

Still surly, Pinky nodded. Frank slipped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him.

Pinky soon realised that Meg was as interesting as Frank said. She could join in their conversations about military history, science and sport. Despite her poor grades, she was a font of wisdom. Frank began to do all he could to help her pass English, even though his grades in that subject weren’t much better. He just couldn’t seem to get the hang of all those dang rules.

Frank even took up her offer of accompanying her home one Thursday afternoon, while Pinky was at band practise. She took him to the south-eastern outskirts of Promise Falls, the part of town where the infamous Hatfield family lived. If the south-western quarter of Promise Falls was home to all the unemployed niggers, than the south-eastern section was occupied by all the town’s poor white trash. The infamous Hatfields lived in a tumbledown two-bedroom clapboard shack on a small block of uncultivated dirt, and down the road old man Hickman shared a similar house with his two grown sons. The O’Rileys lived a sprawling old house from the turn of the century, which looked like a strong wind could blow it over.

Tom O’Riley, a World War Two veteran, could no longer perform the necessary repairs the old house required, and it was slowly crumbling down around his ears. He was quite ambulatory inside, but outside on the uneven ground, he required a walking stick. Despite his stooped posture he was still a big, strong man, and he detested the fact that he was slowly losing control of his world. He kept the place spic and span, but the roof still leaked during bad storms, and the loose gutters rattled constantly.

As Meg promised, he was glad of the company, and proceeded to talk Frank’s ears off about his exploits during the war. Not that the boy minded; he was in his element badgering the fifty-six year old ex-sergeant with questions. Meg began to get edgy, and eventually wandered off to attempt a start on dinner. Usually her father cooked, but sometimes Meg tried what she had learned during home science – and invariably failed with spectacular results. She absolutely hated being in the kitchen.

When she left the room, Mr O’Riley heaved a sigh. “Meg’s a good girl, but she needs a mother.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to her mother?”

“If I didn’t want you askin’, I wouldn’t’ve brought it up,” Tom growled. “Her mother died when she was three. Cancer.” He lowered his gaze, his eyes suddenly damp. But that was as far as he would allow his grief to progress. “I had to bring Meg up all by myself, and I’m afraid I ain’t done too good a job. She’s more like a boy than a girl.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with that. I think she’s the most interesting girl I’ve ever met. All the other girls in my school are boring, an’ only talk about clothes and make-up and other stuff I got no interest in.”

Tom sighed again. “But that’s what girls are supposed to talk about! Not all the women’s lib and bra-burning crap that dames are startin’ on about in the big cities! Well, I guess I should consider myself lucky that you’re showin’ an interest in my Meggie. You seem like a nice, level-headed boy.”

Frank wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Well, I try my best!” was all he could manage.

“And a star quarterback, too! I bet you have to fight ‘em off with a stick!”

“Well, not exactly! Mostly they just giggle like idiots behind my back.”

Suddenly, Mr O’Riley leaned forward, his grey-blue eyes suddenly steely, and Frank received an impression of the stalwart soldier that he must have been during the war. “My Meg might seem to have it all together, but she doesn’t know anythin’ about boys. You do right by her, you hear? Or you’ll see that I can still move pretty damn fast for an old geezer with a pin in his leg.” He patted his gnarled old walking stick meaningfully.

“Meg and I are just friends,” Frank explained hastily.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. You just watch yourself.” He leaned back into his chair, just as something started to sizzle frantically in the kitchen.

“Aw shit!” Meg cursed.

Tom pushed himself to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen with admirable speed. “Now what’ve I told you about usin’ potty-mouth talk like that? You watch your tongue there, missy! We’ve got company, or have you forgotten?”

Tom had to rescue the meal before Meg could completely incinerate it. Frank found himself with a plate of half-burned sausages, mushy mashed potatoes, and stringy beans. He ate with pretend relish for Meg’s sake, although he knew in his heart she would never be a cook.

After dinner and the washing-up, Meg took Frank down the hall to her room.

“You keep the door open there so I can see you!” Tom roared from the lounge room, then he turned on the TV and settled down to watch, completely oblivious to anything that might have transpired in Meg’s room.

Meg’s room was as spotless as the rest of the house. Frank had thought that he was a tidy person, but Meg took the cake. There wasn’t even a layer of dust on top of the bookcase.

Meg bounced onto her embroidered bedspread, and patted the bed beside her for Frank. Suddenly nervous, he sat down. So far the evening had progressed smoothly, with conversation flowing as freely as the Promise River after a storm. But now he found himself tongue-tied and wondering what time it was.

“You’ve sure got a nice room here,” Frank declared. “It’s a lot bigger than mine.”

Meg shrugged. Instead of her usual old-fashioned high-collared dress, she wore a floral-print number with a bow around her waist. She had also removed her hair from its usual two bunches and combed it so it fell over her shoulders. Unfortunately it still frizzed out like a bramble thicket. Still, she had nice green eyes and a pretty smile. Frank knew she had so painstakingly done herself up for him.

He could only squirm uncomfortably, because he knew what she wanted, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to give it to her. He gulped. C’mon Frank, he told himself. She’s a nice girl, and you both have heaps in common – just a little kiss, for God’s sake!

He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and gave Meg a chaste little peck on the cheek. He sat back to gauge her reaction. She blushed furiously, tomato-red contrasting with her fair, freckled complexion. Then she giggled and looked away, covering her mouth with one hand.

Frank couldn’t believe his eyes. His tight-lipped little kiss would probably keep her going for ages.

“Hey!” a deep voice called from down the hall. “What are you two doin’ down there? I don’t hear any talking! Don’t make me get up!”

 

The girls in Frank’s form couldn’t believe that the football team’s star quarterback had elected to go out with that skinny, bucktoothed redhead. What on Earth did he see in her? She was gawky with unmanageable hair and freckles! Why did he bother with the likes of her when he could have any svelte cheerleader he wanted?

However Meg suited Frank fine. Her father might have brought her up to be a tomboy, but he had instilled some very strong values in her, and very early on in their relationship, she made it clear to Frank that she wouldn’t be getting up to any funny business until after she was married.

He led Meg to believe that his own father had instilled the same values in him, and for a while she was satisfied with chaste, close-mouthed kisses.

But Meg was every bit as healthy as the bouncing blonde cheerleaders, and as her youthful desire burgeoned, she began to want more than just light picks on the cheeks and lips. Frank was a true gentleman, but Meg knew that beneath he was just like all other teenage boys; a raging maelstrom of uncontrollable hormones. It was up to her to initiate the next stage of their relationship.

The next year she decided to take matters into her own hands, and one evening, while they were at the cinema together, she leaned forward to give him a kiss on the lips. But this time she slid her tongue into his mouth. He responded eagerly, capturing her tongue in his. His arms slipped around her, burying her in his warm, powerful embrace. Meg thought she was going to melt with desire. She had never felt anything like this before! She could feel her heart pounding in a place she had never felt it beat before!

Then Frank pulled away with a sudden jerk. He was gasping for breath, and in the half-light of the flickering screen, Meg could see perspiration gleaming on his brow. “No – we shouldn’t!”

She caught his arm. “It’s all right. I didn’t mind at all!”

She tried to entice him into another kiss, but he refused, and when he brought her to her front door, he gave her another simple peck.

“What’s the matter?” Meg asked.

He turned away, hands shoved into his pockets. “I don’t want to start anything we can’t finish,” he muttered.

“It won’t go that far.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Good night, Meg.” He hurried off before she could call him back.

Tonight’s encounter had frightened him as much as it had aroused. When she kissed him, he had been so engrossed in the movie that he had thought Pinky was beside him. He responded as he would have with Pinky, and for a few brief moments, he thought the soft, slender body in his arms belonged to his best friend. But then, as he ran his hands over the willing form, he realised that Pinky didn’t normally wear a dress.

Reality returned with a cold, hard slap. It was shock that made Frank pull back. Why had he the thought of kissing Pinky turned him on so much? And the realisation that he was kissing Meg hosed him down like cold water on a pair of copulating dogs?

For a long time he hadn’t thought about his affair with Pinky. After the initial uncertainty, it became perfectly normal – a way two horny young boys could control their surging hormones without getting any girls in trouble.

But now it seemed that Frank didn’t want to get a girl in trouble, even one as nice as Meg. He preferred to continue fooling around with Pinky.

Jesus, could he possibly be a homosexual after all?

The thought filled him with icy dread. For a few weeks he kept away from both Meg and Pinky, trying to sort his tangled thoughts into some sort of order. But he was too young and confused to work out what was wrong, and he had to turn to someone.

He went to see Pinky. His best friend was annoyed with him that he had been away for so long, and for a while Frank couldn’t bring himself to broach the sensitive subject of his desires.

Then Pinky asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, “So, how’s your girlfriend? You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately. Is that why you haven’t been over?”

“No.” Frank didn’t like the underlying jealousy in Pinky’s tone. It seemed no matter how hard Pinky tried these days, he couldn’t keep his true feelings hidden. “I’ve been by myself, trying to sort some things out in my head.”

“What things?” Pinky asked.

Frank took a deep breath, and hoping he wasn’t cutting his own throat, he explained what had happened at the movies. At first Pinky listened disdainfully, then when Frank revealed who he had been thinking about, his jaw dropped in surprise. The joy in his eyes was unmistakable.

Frank looked away. “I’m really worried that I might be homo.” He waited for Pinky to deny it, but he heard only silence. Slowly, dreading what he might see, he looked up.

His best friend’s grey-blue eyes were hooded, downcast.

“Meg’s a nice girl, and we can talk about heaps of stuff … but I just don’t feel about her like I feel about you,” Frank continued.

More silence.

“Why … why won’t you answer me, Pinky? Don’t you have anything to say about this?”

Suddenly, two big tears spilled from Pinky’s eyes, and he turned away in shame. He tried to wipe them away before Frank could see them, but his entire body began to shake with sobs. A knife twisting in his heart, Frank took him into his arms and held him close. “It … it’s true,” he croaked. “We are homosexuals! There’s no other explanation!”

“Oh Pinky – don’t say that!”

Pinky pulled away. “Goddammit Frank! If we weren’t homos, we wouldn’t have these feelings for each other! I’d be chasing girls, and you’d be necking at the pictures with Meg!”

“But I can’t be a homo,” Frank whispered, devastated. “As soon as I leave school I’m gonna join the army, and they don’t let homos into the army!”

“Don’t tell ‘em. Don’t tell anyone.”

“But what about Meg? I can’t keep pretending if I don’t feel anything for her?”

“Yes you can. Maybe you can learn to feel something for her.” Pinky took his arms, squeezing them. “But you can’t let anyone in this town know the truth. They treat homos worse than blacks here. I should know.”

Frank stared. “Why?”

Pinky dropped back into his seat. “I’m sorry Frank, but there are some things I just can’t tell you.”

 

Frank tried to do what Pinky had told him. He resumed his relationship with Meg, much to her relief as she couldn’t figure out what she had done to upset him. He kissed her like she wanted, and every time Pinky’s image crept insidiously into his mind, he pushed it away and concentrated on Meg.

After a while he got used to the fell of her soft feminine body in his arms. He began to enjoy kissing her, because the feel of her tongue in his mouth felt no different to Pinky’s. He even managed to convince himself that he was a normal heterosexual guy, just like all the other jocks in his form.

But then he would visit Pinky in the War Room, one thing would lead to another, and he would be swept away in a whirlwind of sensation that all but obliterated the tentative pleasure he had started to feel with Meg. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t deny that everything felt better with Pinky.

Time and time again, Pinky’s words rose to haunt him;

We are homosexuals!

 

* * * *