Rapture

He stubbed out the cigarette and finished the cup of coffee. Inside, he picked up the telephone and began to dial a familiar number.

"Hello."

"Diane? Hi, it's Jeff."

"Oh, hi, Jeffie," she said, her voice changing instantly. "Where've you been? I've really missed you. It's been ages, absolute ages since you came by...."

"That's what I was thinking," he said. "And I've got that book to return to you. How about this afternoon?"

"Uh ... just a sec." Then, "Jeffie, that'll be fine if you can come early. My mom and dad are going to be out, but they'll be back later."

"So ... two o'clock?"

"Yeah, or one-thirty would be even better."

"Okay, one-thirty."

After they'd talked a little longer, Jeff hung up, made a second cup of coffee, and went back out to the balcony. He had known Diane for about a year, and he regarded her as a friend. Of course, it was a bizarre relationship-he had to admit that. But it wasn't something new in his life. There had been others before Diane. Not one of them had been as good as Diane, and none had lasted this long. But even with Diane it was the same kind of thing, a facet of his needs and his behavior that he didn't really like but had come to accept. He could only hope that his plans for Georgianne came to fruition, in which case Diane would be redundant.

It was a shame about Georgianne. A woman falling for the wrong guy was an old, old story, Jeff knew, but he still found it hard to fathom. First Mike Rollins, then Sean Corcoran. It was up to Jeff to turn her around, to save her, in a sense, from herself. When she told him in Danbury that she would have dated him if he had ever asked, the dream had started to become real. In 'the weeks since, he had analyzed her words, her expressions, the sound of her voice. He replayed in his mind every second of his time with her, and he subjected everything she had said, every gesture she had made, to an intense and objective scrutiny. It all added up to the same thing: Yes, she could love him; yes, she wanted to love him; yes, only he could help her out of her present situation. Georgianne didn't understand this yet, but she would in time. Meanwhile, the more Jeff studied it, the more obvious and irrefutable the truth became.

He made a tomato-and-cucumber sandwich and ate it in the living room. He smiled at the sight of Georgianne's pen-and-ink sketch of the old barn. The brushed-metal frame he'd bought was perhaps too modem for the picture, and it looked rather lonely because he'd never bothered to put anything else on his walls, but he loved it. Anyhow, he told himself, someday dozens of Georgianne's drawings would be hung here.

Diane rented a two-story so-called maisonette in Universal City. Jeff parked his Camaro around the corner. When he rang the bell, as usual he couldn't bring himself to look directly at the eyehole in the door. He was tense, but excited. The door opened, he walked right in, and it locked behind him.

"Hi, Jeffie."

She had longish, streaked blond hair and wore a boy's white shirt, open to the fifth button. She had a way of holding her head slightly down and looking up from behind a fall of hair, like Veronica Lake. Her smile was shy but knowing.

"Hi, Georgianne." Jeff felt the goose bumps on his arms. It was the first time he'd ever actually called her that! "Are your parents still here?"

"No, they're out fora while."

"Oh, here's the book I wanted to return."

He took an envelope out of his pants pocket and handed it to the girl.

"Thanks ... So, what've you been doing?"

"Nothing much."

"I'm just playing records. Come on."

"Okay..

He followed her up the stairs, appreciating the way her thighs moved and her shirttail rode her fanny. They went into a large bedroom with a deep shag carpet and a wall of mirrors. Jeff stepped out of his loafers.

"Want a drink? I've got some of my father's whiskey. He never even notices it's gone."

"Okay, sure."

Jeff watched her get the drinks at the vanity table, where she had a tray with a Scotch bottle, some ice and mixers, and a couple of glasses. He enjoyed the way she bent over, the way she walked back to him and bent over as she served his drink. They sat cross-legged on the floor. Music played softly on the stereo system.

"Your parents would kill us if they found us like this," he said, smiling.

"They're in Disneyland. I told you they won't be home until later."

"How come you didn't go with them?"

"I'm too old for that, Jeffie. Or haven't you noticed?"

"Yeah, I guess you are."

"Seventeen."

"I know. I've been watching you, Georgianne."

"You have not." She pouted. You never notice me. You hardly even look at me in school or in the library."

"But I do, really," he insisted. "I saw you at the library the other day. You were in the reading room, and I sat and watched you for nearly an hour."

"You did? How come?"

"You were wearing a miniskirt and black tights with some kind of pattern in them."

"You were looking at my legs?"

"Mm-L .■

"Oh. Well, you were at that party last weekend, and you didn't ask me to dance. Why not?"