Chapter 17

 

Ocean City, New Jersey, June 1962

 

With knees tucked into her belly, a teenage Andrea Nelson’s posterior was raised in the air leaving her face buried in a pillow. John Connors moaned as he rolled over and patted her bottom. “Leave off,” Andrea flipped on her side and shoved the youth. “What time is it?”

“Nearly eight.” Johnny drew up against the headboard. He lit a cigarette and offered, “You want a drag?”

Andrea rolled her head side to side then yipped, “Eee, gods, you stink, go take a shower.”

“Good old male musk.” Johnny slid down to peck annoyingly at her neck. “You didn’t complain last night.”

Squirming away, she said, “Wasn’t all fucked out then.”

“Shit!” Johnny threw his legs off the side of the bed. “Why the hell do you have to talk like a tramp?”

“Cause I is or I wouldn’t be laying here bare ass in your bed.” Sitting up she hugged her knees to her chest. She stared at her small firm breasts jutting over them. The rosy nipples shivered. “Sorta makes you a tramp too.” She giggled and shook her unruly hair.

Suddenly she dug her nails into the boy’s stomach. “Look at the pot?” Automatically Johnny glanced down to see his young skin still pulled taunt against the muscles. “Scared ya,” Andrea teased. “You been boozing too much.” And she whacked his thigh.

Grabbing her wrists, Johnny forced her down and flung himself across her body pressing her backside against the mattress. Kicking and squirming she spit. “No! No smelly morning after quickie!” She bit his earlobe.

“Ouch!” Johnny shoved her and swung to safety. “Couldn’t make it again no how.” Stretching his lean frame to its full height several times, he then dropped to dog position on the rug. Up and down his body moved in perfect time, his belly coming a hair’s width away but never making contact with the floor.

Andrea lay on an elbow watching. The muscles in the boy’s back and shoulders rippled under fair skin barely touched by color from the long winter. Traces of purple veins showed through. A light sprinkling of freckles enhanced the paleness of his shoulders and splattered down his spine to the crease that ended in trembling buttocks. The sunlight spilling through the window highlighted rich patches of henna in the shine of his black hair.

“You’re awful pretty.” Andrea smiled with pleasure at the sight.

“Pretty?” The teenage youth sprung easily to the balls of his feet. “That’s a screwy thing to say to a guy. But then you’re a screwy broad.”

“You are pretty.” Andrea stared at the young male body in admiration. “No,” she decided, “beautiful. I’m glad you came alone. I’ve wanted to sleep with you for a long time,” declared the eighteen year old.

“You’re a certified nut case.” Johnny advanced towards her with his raised palm showing. “Get your rump out before I paddle it.”

Andrea spun off the bed on the opposite side. With the bed between them she thumbed her nose at the boy. “Screw yourself from now on,” she said. As he started over the bed, she grabbed up a sandal from the floor and threw it at him. Her laughter floated back as she fled his room.

Andrea enjoyed feeling evil. Invading Mr. and Mrs. Raymond McCarthy Connors’ bedroom fed this obsession. Andrea knew they would have a fit if they discovered used towels in their bathroom. The parents’ private quarters were strictly off limits to the children. She giggled as she dropped naked on their bed. One thumb invaded her mouth while the fingers of the other hand twisted in the jade satin spread.

Andrea had been jealous of the close relationship her friends shared with their parents for years. She remembered how jealousy had first come upon her like a disease the summer she was twelve. Andrea and Shelia Connors had snuck off to the boardwalk. It was a slow afternoon and the young projectionist had let the girls watch a horror movie from inside the projection booth with him. It was still daylight when they’d headed home but neither admitted to the other how scary the movie had been. In the comparative sterile environment of Ocean City, New Jersey, in the fifties, no one was concerned with roaming youngsters. So, the girls had not been questioned about their afternoon activity.

The next day, when they were alone, Shelia Connors confided how she had indeed spent the night curled up against her daddy’s wide back. Andrea didn’t admit she had lain awake all night, her eyes fearfully searching the darkness for unseen monsters. She hadn’t thought once about invading her parents’ room. The idea of doing what Shelia did, of curling up against her own father to sleep, caused nausea to pool in her stomach.

Andrea never liked the man her mother had married and lately when he touched her it made her tremble in disgust.

Andrea often fantasized that Raymond Connors was her real dad. She knew it was silly and never admitted it to anyone. But he was always so nice to her. He would actually bother to talk to her. He asked her questions and listened to the answers as if he cared. And when the tall robust man jostled his lively brood around, Andrea stood on the sidelines and seethed with envy. How she longed to be Shelia, to be lifted and swung about in the safety of those strong arms. How she wished she could have been the one to crawl in that bed and sleep in the security of the knowledge her dad was there to protect her.

Now, at eighteen, Andrea rolled on the huge bed and snickered. She pictured the reaction of Mr. Connors if she should suddenly come crawling into his bed. “Out of sonny boy’s bed into papa bear’s bed.” Giggling in the empty room, she ran her hands over her breasts, down the curve of her narrow waist to the swell of her firm hips. She trembled. Would Raymond Connors toss her out of his bed now?

Unexpectedly her eyes misted. Why did she think like such a bitch? Mr. Connors was always so nice to her. She leaped from the bed, fighting back tears. She raced to Johnny’s room. She was scared. She’d been a damn fool. Quickly she donned her shorts and halter. She had to find Johnny. Let him know how things stood. It was just last night! It couldn’t go any further. They must not tell anyone. Her parents would kill her. Johnny’s parents would never let her in their house again.

 Andrea located Johnny in the family’s dinette. He was pleading with the live-in housekeeper, that he wasn’t all that hungry as the woman loaded his plate with potatoes and sausages. Apparently assuming the girl had just arrived, and in the habit of catering to the young friends of her employers, the woman left to fetch a plate for Andrea.

“Johnny.” Andrea’s husky whisper came rapidly with the exit of the housekeeper. “We have to keep last night a secret.”

 “Andy?”

 “If Mike finds out he’ll drop me. And Cathy will never speak to either of us again. You want that?”

“I was just going to say—”

“Well don’t say it. We had fun. Leave it at that. When the others get here. I’ll pretend like I just drove down this morning. Besides who’s gonna ask?”

Then they heard the noise from the deck. The patio screen slid open and Michael O’Neill sauntered in. “Sure, how’d you manage to be here already?” his curious glance settled on Andrea.

“Heck, I couldn’t wait to escape. I was up and out before dawn. Just got lazy bones here out of the sack.” Andrea gave a sharp punch to Johnny’s arm.

Catherine Anderson, a few steps behind Michael, rushed over to plant her sterile peck on John Connors’ cheek and Andrea silently sneered to herself, it was a good thing he took a shower.

Michael slumped into a chair, his long legs spread out. The handsome foreign youth, with red-gold hair and bright blue eyes spoke with a musical accent and radiated sex appeal.

~~~

 

From the moment, a year ago, when Michael arrived all the girls were giddy over him. Still, he appeared disinterested in them. Andrea had been forced to further the relationship with Michael herself.

She’d only done it to spite the girls in her crowd. He never kissed Andrea in public. He never held hands or made out like her friends with their innocent play. When he did kiss her it was simply a prelude to the ten-minute pump and push ceremony. But that was fine with Andrea because all the other girls envied her. She had the best looking guy in the pack and she flaunted the fact.

Andrea could only imagine what horrible deed Michael committed that put him jeopardy from the police in his own country. She knew that his parents had to send him off to live with his Mother’s American relatives. Michael never spoke about it. His cousin Catherine Anderson shared a few hints with the other girls, but never with her. So what Andrea knew came by way of Shelia Connors and it made little sense. Still, the thought that he might have killed someone had a sinister appeal to her.

~~~

 

“You were swimming already?” Michael apparently noticed Andrea’s wet hair.

“Took a dip,” she lied. “Told you I got down early. Had to stack my junk at my parents’ place. And the ocean looked so inviting. I nearly froze my butt.”

Michael only shrugged but Catherine said, “Serves you right. Where’s Shelia? I thought she was driving down with you?” She perched on a chair beside Johnny, her hand possessively covering his where it lay on the table.

“Don’t make me laugh.” Andrea did sort of snicker. “You think Shelia’s dad would let her drive down with old speedy me at the wheel.”

“Ya do drive too fast.” Michael said.

 While Johnny said, “My Dad’s stuck in DC till Wednesday. You know my mom; I was surprised she let me come down alone.”

 “Shelia won’t be here until Wednesday.” Catherine moaned as if it the four days were a year.

 “What’s the big deal?” Johnny wanted to know. “Most of the rest of the gang are here already. The surf’s high and my Dad gave me the keys for the smaller boat. We’ll have a great time.”