Sleeping Beauty (14 page)

N
orman Spencer's father had worked in a lumber mill until a back injury put him on disability. His mother was a checkout clerk in a supermarket. Norman wanted to quit high school to help out, but his parents knew that education was the only way out of hard times for their only child. School was never easy, but Norm struggled to a B-plus average. Sports were easier, and earned him a wrestling scholarship to the state university, where he continued to struggle with the books and found that there were a lot of boys who were better than he was on the mats. Still, by his sophomore year, he was getting A's and B's and was an unspectacular, but sound, member of the varsity.

During the season Norm kept his hair short, because the coach insisted his team wear crewcuts. As soon as the wrestling season ended in his sophomore year, Norm decided to let his hair grow long. Norm's hair was down to his shoulders by the time school ended and he started back to work at Vernon Hock's Texaco in Portland. Even with financial aid and a scholarship for wrestling, his family could not afford to send Norm to school, so he was always working. He'd pumped gas at Uncle Vernon's gas station for the past two summers.

Vernon Hock, who had fought in Korea and was a one hundred percent,
true-blue American, gave Norm some shit about his fag hair. But his uncle was also a pretty laid-back guy, so he didn't give him much shit. While he worked, Norm tied his hair in a ponytail and kept it tucked up under his hat so as not to upset his uncle's customers. That helped keep the grease out of it, anyway.

“I got a tow for you,” Vernon said one Thursday night. Norm was under the hood of a Buick, working on the carburetor. He pulled his head out and wiped his hands on a rag. “Some broad's stuck out near the turnoff to Slocum Creek Road. She's calling from a house.” Vernon gave him the address. “You can pick her up there and she'll take you to the car.”

Norm was glad to get out of the garage. The weather was balmy but the garage was stuffy and smelled of gasoline fumes. He took the tow truck and headed out of town with the radio blasting and the window rolled down.

Slocum Creek Road crossed Blair Road a few miles past the new mall in what was still mostly farmland. Streetlights illuminated the area around the mall, but after a mile Blair Road turned pitch-black. Norm had to put on his brights and squint hard to find the address on the mailbox. The house was at the end of a dirt driveway. Norm parked the truck and knocked. A man dressed in chinos and a work shirt opened the screen door. When he saw Norm's grease-stained coveralls, he called out, “It's the tow guy.” Then he asked Norm to step inside.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, “but I'll wait out here. Don't want to track dirt in.”

The man nodded before turning his head to look at a tall, blond girl around Norman's age. The girl was wearing a green Izod shirt and white cotton pants. Her straight blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was very tan.

“I'm from Hock's Texaco. I hear you've got a problem.”

“My car is about a half mile down the road. It won't start.”

The girl sounded put out, as if she found it inconceivable that something she owned would betray her.

Norm held open the passenger door of the tow truck. He threw a half-eaten bag of potato chips in the back and brushed at the seat.

“Hop in and we'll have a look.”

The girl didn't hesitate. Norm liked that.

 

They drove to the car in silence, and Norm drew some conclusions about the girl. He figured that she was athletic, smart, self-assured, and way out of his league. Her car was a red Thunderbird convertible, a classic, and it was sitting on a grass strip on the side of the road. Norm added “rich” to his guesses about his passenger. He parked in front of the car and went around to the passenger side to let the girl out. She was already slamming the door shut when he reached the front of the truck.

“Nice car,” Norm said. Then he noticed the Stanford sticker.

“You a Cardinal?” he asked.

The girl looked confused for a moment. Then she got it.

“Yes.”

“What year?”

“I'm going into my junior year.”

“Me, too. I'm at the U of O.”

The girl gave him an indulgent smile and the temperature cooled by ten degrees. Norm figured he'd better go about his business and leave the sweet talk to someone from the girl's country club set.

“Can you crack the hood for me.”

The girl leaned into the car and sprang the hood release.

“Thanks.”

Norm got to work and surfaced a minute later.

“I've got bad news for you, Miss….”

“Van Meter. What's the problem?”

“Your fan belt. It won't take long to fix, but we'll have to do it at the garage. That means a tow.”

“Damn.”

“Why don't I hook her up and take her in. There's a good chance we've got a belt for the car in the shop. If we do, I'll have her running within a half hour.”

The girl waited in the cab while Norm hooked up the Thunderbird to the tow truck. After they'd been driving in silence for a while, a thought occurred to him.

“You said your name's Van Meter, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a brother named Miles?”

She nodded.

“He wrestles for Stanford,” Norm said, smiling. “We've tangled a few times.”

The girl was suddenly interested. “How did you do?”

Norm laughed. “I lost both times, but I made it interesting.”

“You don't seem to mind that you lost.”

“It's only wrestling. You win some, you lose some.”

“That's certainly not Miles's philosophy.”

Norm shrugged. “It's just a sport. Something to help you blow off steam. Not real important in the grand scheme…. Say, I don't know your first name.”

“Casey.”

“I'm Norm.”

They drove in silence for a while, with Norman stealing glances at his passenger. Being this close made him antsy. Her skin was so tan and smooth. He wondered what it would be like to touch it. And there were her breasts, which pushed against the golf shirt.

“So,” he asked, when he worked up the nerve, “what were you doing in the middle of nowhere, tonight?”

“I was headed home.”

“You live out here?”

“At Glen Oaks.”

“Isn't that where the Oregon Academy is?” asked Norm, who'd wrestled there once in a tournament sponsored by the school.

She nodded. Norm couldn't think of anything more to say, so they rode in silence for a little more until he decided to go for broke.

“Coming back from a date?” Norm asked, trying his hardest to sound casual.

Casey studied him closely for a moment. “Why would you want to know that, Norman?”

He turned his head and grinned. “I'm fishing to see if you've got a boyfriend.”

“And if I don't?”

“Then I might get up the courage to ask you out.”

Casey smiled. “You've got balls. I'll say that for you.”

Norm was surprised when Casey swore but he liked the fact that she wasn't prissy.

“What if I told your boss that you're propositioning his customers?”

“My uncle owns the gas station. He thinks I should date more. So, what do you say? I've got Thursdays off. I promise I'll scrub off the grease and look presentable.”

The couple made plans to meet at eight in front of the Fox, a grand old Art Deco movie house on Broadway, but they never saw the movie. Casey cruised by in the Thunderbird at a quarter to eight. She pulled to the curb and flipped Norman the keys.

“You drive,” she said.

“I thought we were seeing the show.”

“I'm not in the mood.”

Norman gladly slipped behind the wheel. He was dying to see how this baby ran and he hadn't been that interested in the movie, anyway. It had just been a vehicle for getting close to Casey.

“Where to, madam?” Norm asked in a phony British accent.

Casey closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the seat.

“Take the Banfield to Eighty-second.”

Norm was tempted to ask where they were going but decided to just play along. The Banfield was the eastbound interstate, and he might get a chance to open up the car if traffic was light.

When they took the exit, Casey gave him some more directions.

“There,” she said a few minutes later.

Norm looked in the direction she was pointing and saw the gaudy neon sign of the Caravan Motel. A knot formed in his stomach, but he drove into the lot.

“Park over there,” Casey said, indicating a spot fifty feet from the office. As soon as they were parked, she held out a twenty-dollar bill. Norm hesitated. A mischievous grin formed on Casey's lips.

“Don't tell me this is your first time, Norman.”

“No,” he answered, trying not to sound defensive.

“Too proud to take money from a woman?”

Norm grabbed the twenty.

“Good boy,” Casey said with a grin. “Register as Mr. and Mrs. John Smith, a classic. I don't think the clerk will ask why you don't have a ring if you pay cash.”

Norm took the money and started to get out of the car. He hesitated.

“I don't have any rubbers.”

“Not to worry.”

Norm colored when Casey pulled several foil-wrapped condoms out of her purse. She laughed.

“Didn't expect to get laid on the first date, did you? Now get us a room fast, Norman. I'm wet already.”

 

Before Norm could turn on the lights, Casey was stroking his crotch and unbuttoning his shirt. Moments later, they were naked and rolling on top of the bedspread. Casey pushed him down and sucked until he thought he'd explode. Her mouth disappeared just when he was going to come. When he opened his eyes, Casey had turned her body so her crotch was over him and she was commanding him to use his tongue to make her come. In his limited experience, Norm had never gone down on a woman but he was so eager to be touched again that he did as she said. Whenever his efforts slackened, she stroked him for encouragement, but stopped before he was satisfied.

Bringing her off proved easy. He tried to get inside Casey, but she made him bring her to orgasm a second time before she'd touch him again. When she finally let him inside her he was so excited that he came instantly and collapsed beside her.

“Jesus,” he gasped. Casey didn't say anything. After a few seconds she stood up, grabbed her purse and walked to the bathroom. A yellow glow framed her for a moment when she turned on the light. Her back was to him. Norman took in her perfect form, the long, tanned legs, the symmetry of her back, the line of her spine, and her long, golden hair. Then she shut the door and left him in the dark. Norm was covered
with sweat. He felt like he'd run a marathon. This was the best sex he'd ever had by miles.

The toilet flushed and Casey came out of the bathroom. In the few seconds that she was standing in the light, Norm thought he saw a trace of white powder on her upper lip. Then the lights went out and she was on him again.

For Norm, the next two months were a blur of heavy sex and heavier longings. He and Casey spent every Thursday and Sunday night together, and Norm spent the other days fantasizing about the next time they would be together. The couple made love in motels, forest glens, the alley behind a bar, the back seat of Norm's car, and any other place where the urge overcame them. In all that time, Casey never asked him to Glen Oaks or let him pick her up there. She would not let him call her at home, either. She wouldn't even give him the Van Meters' unlisted number. Casey always called him at the garage to set up their trysts. Norm guessed that she didn't want her folks to know that she was slumming. He was insulted when he thought about it, but mostly he thought about Casey naked and sweating in bed with him.

Then the phone calls stopped. A Thursday and a Sunday went by without seeing Casey. Norm was wound so tight that he almost took off two fingers with a power tool and dropped a mug of hot coffee. Vernon noticed that his nephew was on the prowl but said nothing. He knew Norm was in love, and people in love acted the way Norm was acting.

Norm tried to get the number for the mansion, but the best he could do was the Academy office. Twice, the receptionist promised to give Casey a message asking her to phone. The third time the receptionist told him that Miss Van Meter did not wish to speak to him. Desperate, Norm drove to Glen Oaks. The houseman left him standing outside while his request to speak to Casey was delivered. Moments later, the houseman returned. Casey had instructed him to tell Norm that he was forbidden to try to contact her again and that the police would be informed of any further harassment.

Norm had always known that he was in over his head, but he'd convinced
himself that the affair would go on forever. He even had fantasies in which he and Casey married and moved to her estate where he drove the Thunderbird every day and lived in luxury. The threat of police action convinced him that his dreams of marital bliss would not come true. It was a bitter pill. Withdrawal from sex with someone like Casey was as difficult as swearing off heroin. Norm wrote one pain-filled letter, which was never answered, before resigning himself to the fact that he would probably never see Casey again.

 

Norm's desperate letter contained his return address. The Wednesday after he sent it, Vern told him that he had a phone call. Norm's heart pounded. He wiped his damp hands on a rag as he rushed to the gas-station office.

“Norman Spencer?” a man asked.

“Yeah.”

“If you want to find out why Casey dumped you come alone to the parking lot at Tryon Creek State Park tonight at ten.”

“Who…?” Norm started, but the line had gone dead.

Norm walked back to the garage in a trance. The man had not sounded friendly, but there was no question that he was going to the park.