Don’t Crowd Me Read online

  I could hear her breathing, heavy and labored.

  “Well,” she said, “now that we’re acquainted …”

  “I’m sorry about what happened,” I said. “I really didn’t know.”

  “That’s all right.” She trembled again and said, “I could use a pair of pants or something.”

  I got to my feet and turned on the light. “I’ll be right back,” I called. I carefully picked my way over the small stones in the path to my sleeping cabin.

  “Bring some cigarettes,” she said softly, and her voice was incredibly clear in the stillness of the lake.

  I opened one of my valises and tore the top off a carton of cigarettes, taking a fresh pack from it. Then I took the pint bottle of rye from the valise and set it on the end table while I rummaged for the plastic cup I knew was somewhere around. I found it, put it on the end table with the bottle, and swung the other valise onto the bed. I dug out a pair of dungarees that were a little small for me. While I was there, I figured, I might as well put something on myself. I unwrapped the towel from my waist and slipped into a pair of pants. I put on an old sweater, picked up bottle, cup, dungarees, cigarettes, and matches, and walked out to where she was sitting on the dock. Her knees were pressed against her chest, and she had her arms locked around them. When she saw me step out of the cabin, she rose quickly, probably realizing how short the shirt was. I switched off the flash and handed her the dungarees. I heard the harsh scrape of the material as she put them on.

  “I always forget men’s clothes button the other way,” she whispered.

  I tore the seal on the pint and unscrewed the cap.

  “Here’s something that’ll take the chill off,” I told her. The whiskey made a funny gurgling sound when I poured it into the cup. I gave her the cup and she said, “Thanks.”

  She downed the whiskey quickly, made an “ahhhhh” sound and handed back the cup.

  “Did you remember the cigarettes?” she asked.

  “Sure.” I pulled one from the pack and gave it to her, holding a match to it.

  Her eyes in the light of the match were the deep green of a jungle glade. She drew in deeply, her body straining inside my shirt.

  When I lighted my own cigarette, the flame lighting my features, she said, “The face is familiar, but the name …”

  “Steve,” I supplied, “Steve Richmond.”

  “Lois,” she said simply.

  “Should we shake hands or something?”

  “Hell,” she said, and I knew she was grinning in the dark, “we’ve passed that stage.”

  I puzzled that one for a minute, watching her face flare into brilliance as she drew on her cigarette.

  “Another drink?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said lightly.

  I poured, and she threw it off quickly. I threw one off myself.

  “I must say,” she said a little thickly, “that I never expected to find you waiting for me.”

  “That was evident,” I said.

  “Do you always wait on docks for nude girls to pop out of the water?” She drew on the cigarette again, and I looked at her eyes in the momentary brilliance. They were narrow, serious, almost hard.

  “Only at night,” I said. “Do you always pop out of the water nude?”

  “Only at night.”

  I poured another half-cupful and handed it to her. She gagged a little, finally downed it. “Powerful stuff,” she said.

  “Mighty powerful.”

  She leaned a little closer. Her voice was much thicker this time. “I must say it was a very pleasant surprise, though, finding you here, you know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That’s all right.”

  She flicked her cigarette over the water. It trailed in a wide arc, like a rocket zooming into the sky and dropping earthward. There was a slight hiss when it hit the water.

  “Shouldn’t really do that,” she mumbled. “Drink that water, you know.”

  She leaned forward a little, swayed recklessly. I put my arm around her to steady her, and she folded against me, her lips seeking mine—hungry lips, demanding, pressing, moving.

  Then suddenly she drew back, almost fiercely. Pin points of light glistened on her teeth, and her eyes were two brilliant dots.

  She stumbled to her feet.

  “Mustn’t,” she said.

  I tried to help her, and she backed away.

  “Mustn’t,” she repeated. “Nice, but mustn’t.”

  She giggled a little, then broke into a throaty laugh that set the woods ringing.

  She started to turn, wobbled a little, rested her hand on my arm. She drew it away rapidly, as if she’d been burned.

  I remembered her kiss again, and I waited.

  “You won’t need these clothes tonight?” she asked, pulling the shirt out from her body.

  “No.”

  “I’ll bring them back tomorrow.” She started to walk away, stopped, giggled, and added, “Powerful stuff.”

  I watched her make her way across the rocks that separated Sites One and Two. I stood watching until she was out of sight.

  Then I poured a stiff one and went back to my cabin.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The sun flooded the cabin, streaming through the screens, dust motes dancing in the air. I propped myself on one elbow and yawned widely. I vaguely remembered a girl in my shirt and dungarees, small, with long black hair and bright green eyes. I got up, stretched, and wondered if she’d really been there at all.

  I swung one of the valises onto the bed, opened it, and took out a pair of swimming trunks which I slipped into. I looked at the rumpled clothes in the valise, shrugged, and snapped the top shut. The clothes I’d come up with were hanging over the back of the chair: a sports shirt, a pair of light blue gabardines, and a gray sports jacket. The pint of rye was resting on the end table, the plastic cup beside it. I held it to the light, measured it with my eye, and then tightened the cap and put it into the valise alongside a copy of This Is My Best. I’d planned to do a little reading. Now, when I thought of Lois again, I wondered.

  Quickly, I lighted a cigarette and stepped out into the early morning sun. The view sat there like a picture postcard. The lake glistened brightly, streaks of gold flashing on the surface, twinkling like the jewels in a broad tiara. The water was crystal clear, rocks and twisted branches shimmering far below the surface. Across the lake, another tree-studded island with a red canoe bobbing at the dock reflected itself in the water. The air smelled of growing things, and the sun was warm on my back. I breathed deeply, feeling alive for the first time in three years, and walked down to the dock.

  Looking out over the water, I saw a white bathing cap break the surface. Two gently curving arms followed it, cleaving the water with even strokes. I stood watching, puffing lazily on my cigarette. The swimmer was heading for the dock on Site One.

  She stopped swimming near the low, flat rocks that ran into the water. She stumbled to her knees, got to her feet and began wading ashore, pushing her pretty legs against the water. She was wearing a white bathing suit, curved and dripping wet, and she looked even better swimming with something on, I thought.

  I waved my arm over my head and yelled, “Morning, Lois.”

  She waded onto the rocks, shook herself like a large puppy, and peered curiously in my direction. Then she pulled the cap from her head, and the close-cropped blond hair caught the sunlight and sent it dazzling across the inlet in little blinks of brightness. Lois had long black hair, I remembered.

  “Sorry,” I called. “My mistake.”

  She didn’t answer. She walked quickly behind the trees that covered most of the cooktent. I caught a brief glimpse of her as she passed an opening in the trees and headed into the woods. That, I figured, must be Jean.

  I wondered why she should take a fit, as Lois had said, if she’d heard about the incident last night. I shrugged and took a quick swim, the cold water shooting through every fibre in my body. Then I climbed onto the dock
and sat in the warm sun for ten minutes, my legs swinging over the planking, the heat seeping into my bones, making me feel lazy and content. Reluctantly, I dragged myself to my feet and headed for the cooktent.

  I started the bacon going, hearing it sizzle in the pan, smelling the sharp aroma in the air. When it was curled and crisp, I lifted it out of the pan and put it to soak on a brown paper bag. I put up a pot of coffee and waited for it to perk. I was beginning to feel pretty jolly as I cracked three eggs, dropped them into the pan, and began slicing the pumpernickel I’d bought at Ike’s. I thought momentarily of Mark Gandler. What he’d said about the kerosene stove turned out to be right. It was a cinch to operate once you got the knack. I began getting real hungry, the smell of the bacon tightening the knots inside my stomach. When the coffee was ready, I poured a steaming cup, brought it to the table outside the tent, and began eating my eggs straight from the pan. They were good. I spread the pumpernickel thick with butter and bit into it eagerly. I hadn’t felt so well in a long time.

  When I’d finished the meal, I lighted another cigarette and walked back to the sleeping cabin. I was sitting on the step of the cabin, puffing on the cigarette, thinking about Joey and Mike sweating in our cubbyhole on West 17th Street, when Lois popped out of the woods on the other side of the inlet.

  “Hi,” she called brightly.

  “Morning, Lazybones,” I called back.

  “Got coffee on?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll be right over,” she said. She walked to a basin near the lake front, and sprinkled her face with water, her long black hair tumbling over her face. She patted herself dry, and then stepped over the rocks that formed the natural barrier between the sites.

  She was wearing yellow linen shorts. A halter affair held her breasts in place loosely. She wore no makeup, and she looked somehow different than she had last night in the darkness. The halter did little to hide the swell of her breasts, and I was suddenly warm, thinking of what the cloth was covering. The shorts were thin, just short enough and just long enough, and when she stood in the sunlight she might just as well not have been wearing any.

  She caught my glance and her eyes narrowed. “Such thoughts so early in the morning?” she asked. Her voice was still fuzzy with sleep.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Fine.” She paused. “Why?”

  “Well, you were a little happy last night.”

  “I’m always happy,” she said.

  “I mean.…”

  “I know.”

  “Okay,” I said, ready to dismiss the subject.

  “Lucky I didn’t run into them last night,” she said as an afterthought.

  “Them?”

  “Jean and Sam. Did I tell you about Jean?”

  “You mentioned her,” I said. “She’s the one who was going to have a fit if she knew what had happened.”

  “That’s her. A cold tomato, I believe men call her.”

  “And you?”

  She grinned. “Jean is here with Sam. He’s her husband.”

  “She wouldn’t happen to have blond hair, would she? Short blond hair?”

  “That’s my sister Jean.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Have you two met?”

  “Sort of. I mistook her for you this morning.”

  “And?” She raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

  “That’s all.”

  She grinned again, her teeth glistening white in the sun. “That would have to be all with Jean. Like I said, a.…”

  “A cold tomato.”

  She laughed, a bright little laugh that wrinkled her nose. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get that coffee.”

  She took my arm and we walked to the cooktent. I poured the coffee and sat opposite her at the table, watching her hold the steaming cup cradled in both hands. Once, she tugged at the halter, pulling it higher on her breasts. My eyes followed her hands and the smile spread over her face again while she sipped the coffee, the steam rising lazily from the cup.

  “What brings you to Lake George?” she asked suddenly.

  “Rest,” I said. “Peace and quiet.”

  “And have you found them?”

  “Just one,” I said, watching her closely.

  “Which one?”

  “Piece,” I answered.

  She chuckled a little.

  “And you?” I asked.

  “My sister’s idea. She and Sam were coming up for a rest, figured I might like one, too.” She shrugged, her brown shoulders lifting gracefully into the air.

  “Don’t you like it?” I asked.

  “It was sort of dull,” she answered, “until now.”

  I smiled.

  “It’s not exactly my idea of a vacation, you know,” she went on. “I like people, lots of people. But Mark talked Sam and Jean …” She stopped, raised one eyebrow and said, “But then, you don’t know Mark.”

  “Sure,” I said. “The fellow who owns Paradise, Incorporated, isn’t he?”

  “That’s Mark. We know him from the city, you know.” Her eyes met mine and she added, “Quite a man, Mark.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily. “Mark and I …”

  “I understand.”

  “Still,” she said wistfully, “he’s quite a man.”

  I began to feel a little uncomfortable. All right, dammit, he was quite a man. Who was interested?

  She sipped a little more coffee and changed the subject. “Is this your vacation?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Two weeks. How long will you be here?”

  “It depends.” She buried her face in the cup, stretching her legs out in front of her.

  “On what?”

  “Lots of things. The weather. Gets pretty miserable up here if the weather turns bad. Not a hell of a lot to do.”

  “Oh,” I said, “I’m sure we could think of something.”

  She looked at me over the coffee cup, and her eyes were large and frank.

  “I’d wear you out,” she said, and there was a touch of bitterness in her voice. Her mouth was hard, and her eyes, green and unblinking, looked directly into mine across the table.

  I felt slightly uncomfortable. “What else does your stay depend on?” I asked.

  “Jean and Sam mostly. When they decide to pick up, I go with them. They’re financing this little expedition.”

  I nodded understandingly.

  “Besides, Jean might get bored. The scenery might not interest her as much as it does me.”

  “She sounds like a great gal,” I cracked.

  “Terrific,” Lois said without enthusiasm. The halter had slipped a little, and she didn’t make a move to touch it. It threatened to fall completely, and my eyes riveted to the deep valley, the soft shadows in the cleft. Her breath seemed to come harder when she felt my eyes on her. We sat there at the rough-hewn table outside the cooktent. The top of the table was fashioned from logs sawed in half, and the benches were made in the same manner. The benches were attached to the table and you had to swing your legs over them to get up.

  Almost involuntarily, she leaned closer to me over the table, the halter struggling vainly to keep her together.

  She seemed to catch herself, drew back with a sudden motion that reminded me of her behavior the night before, and yanked the halter high on her chest.

  Her voice was husky when she spoke again. “I’d like more coffee, Steve.”

  “Sure.” I swung my legs over the bench and walked back to the cooktent. Bringing the pot back to the table, I filled her cup. Then I set the pot down and lighted a cigarette. She was still breathing heavily. She clutched at the coffee cup with trembling fingers. Her eyes had become large and bright, looking like two rounded emeralds. Her foot brushed against mine under the table and she pulled it back instantly, a shudder running through her body.

  I watched her, watched the battle in her, wondered how long it would continue.

 
She took a hasty gulp of coffee and asked, “What do you do for a living, Steve?”

  “Advertising. I’m a partner in an agency.” I saw the look of surprise in her eyes and hastily added, “A small agency. Two rooms, to be exact.”

  She was biting her lip now, and she seemed to have trouble breathing.

  “Steve,” she whispered, and there was a desperate urgency in her voice. “Steve.”

  She stood up suddenly, putting her cup down on the table. She began to pace behind the table, back and forth, the sun dancing through the thin linen of her shorts.

  She wrung her hands together and I watched, a little embarrassed, a little curious. Then, with a quick motion, she stepped into the cooktent and turned to face me.

  Her eyes smoldered with savage desire and her breathing was harshly audible.

  “Steve.” Her voice was a hoarse plea.

  I stared in amazement. Then I stepped into the cooktent and she leaped at me. I caught her roughly against me and the fire between us exploded into a bursting, screaming skyrocket.

  Later, she said in a dull, quiet voice, “You must think I’m terrible.”

  “No,” I answered softly, wondering about her, wondering about the fight she’d fought and lost.

  A slender red canoe nosed its way across the lake, rounding Little Harbor, bearing straight from Big Burnt.

  “Company,” I said, finishing the knot in her halter. She kissed me again, pivoting into my arms, her lips still afire on mine, demanding more.

  Then we stepped out of the cooktent to watch the approaching canoe. The paddler handled the job expertly, nosing it into the inlet. He was tall and brown, his hair cropped short, his muscles rippling with each paddle stroke.

  “Oh, it’s Johnny,” Lois exclaimed. “Come on.” She took my hand, and we began wading across the inlet.

  “Who’s Johnny?”

  “From Big Burnt,” she explained. “He comes over sometimes.” She looked up into my eyes and added, “I like people, Steve. Lots of them.”

  I nodded, beginning to understand what she meant. The canoe snuggled against the rocks where the water lapped lazily onto the shore. Johnny stepped out and pulled it ashore. We clambered out of the water, and Lois waved at Johnny. He waved back.