On the Edge of Dangerous Things (Dangerous Things Trilogy Book 1) (5 page)

“It’s open.”

Al Murphy was alone in the small room, sitting behind an old desk. He had taken off his suit jacket, and the muscles of his chest strained against the fabric of his striped shirt. His tie was loose. He was leaning back in the office chair, and the tips of his fingers were wedged into the top of his pants. His wavy black hair was combed back neatly and carefully trimmed around his ears. His skin shone a deep honey-color even though it was the dead of winter.

The wall behind him was lined with shelves stacked with disheveled piles of paperwork and some binders labeled Phys Ed 469 through Phys Ed 488. A dusty plastic fern in a red pot was on one side of the desk and a folding chair on the other. There were no windows. A small white poster was taped on the wall above the fern. It read, “Be a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. Shaw, 1903.”

Hester read the sign before she looked down at Al and smiled.

Al smiled up at her, cleared his throat, and said, “Well, Miss Randal, something will have to be done about your inability to control your class.”

Hester’s smile quickly disappeared. “Excuse me, Mr. Murphy?”

“You heard me, Hester.” He frowned, but his dark, deep-set eyes were warm and friendly.

Flustered, Hester felt weak. Her voice trembled as she made an attempt to defend herself. “Well, Mr. Murphy, it is true that…”

“Call me Al.”

“Okay, well, Al, it is true that some of the students in some of my classes misbehave some of the time, but I believe I am progressing in the area of discipline. As a matter of fact, today I was planning on speaking to several parents concerning just this sort of thing. I really am trying to get a handle on each one of…”—Hester couldn’t stand the way Mr. Murphy was staring at her—“…them. It’s just that there are certain students like Beth Humbolt, Amy Watson, and Robby Pherson, who just seem to be able to….”

“The three musketeers of Sourland High? You think they’re the worst?”

“Well, yes, I do think they talk too much and that…”

“Tape their mouths shut.”

“What?”

“Lock them up in the janitor’s closest.”

“Mr. Murphy, you must be…”

“I said, call me Al.”

“Al, you must be kidding.”

“I am.” As he said this, he got up, went to the door, and locked it.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, but walked up to Hester and took her hand in his. “I don’t want us to be disturbed; and yes, I was kidding around with you.”

“Thank God, I really don’t want to lose this job.” Hester’s hand felt warm in Al’s, so she tried to pull it away, but he squeezed it and put his other hand on her wrist.

“You’re not going to lose your job, not if I can help it. Besides, it’s good to know you can take a joke. I love a girl with a sense of humor.”

He led her around the desk and tried to kiss her. She pulled away.

“Come on now, Hester. I won’t hurt you.” He leaned in slowly. His breath was hot on her face. It smelled minty. His lips touched hers. They were soft and full and made hers tingle. He pulled away and looked in her eyes, and she noticed his were the color of hot fudge. He kissed her again, this time longer and harder, and she found it difficult not to kiss him back, not to open her mouth, not to let him in.

Al backed off, sat in the chair, and pulled Hester sideways onto his lap. The quickness of this maneuver surprised her. She stiffened and whispered, “No.”

But Al had one arm firmly around her, his hand on her waist. “It will be alright. No one will know.”

His face was full of concentration. His features took on a look that could be described as disdain, though it wasn’t. Hester knew he was aroused, seriously aroused. 

“Hester Randal, do you know how hot you are?” His eyes met hers.

“Mr. Murphy, please, we’re bound to get…”

“Stop calling me Mr. Murphy, for God’s sake, and lighten up.”

Before she could decide if what he had said was out of line, he kissed her again, and she sank deeper into his lap, where it became easier for him to reach under her blouse and massage her back and press her closer to him. He kept that hand there, and with the other, pulled the front of her blouse up, reached into her bra, and cupped her breast. He massaged it, then rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it hardened. He pushed her blouse up under her chin and pulled her bra down until her breast was out. He sucked on her nipple, then he sucked her whole breast into his mouth.

Hester looked down, saw her blouse bunched up, saw Al Murphy’s lips stretched out around her; and despite her shock at what she was letting this man, her boss, do to her, she was on the verge of an orgasm.

He touched the zipper on her slacks. Hester froze. She could not let him inside her like that, even though she was so close to coming, even though she wanted so badly to come with him inside her. But she had learned her lesson, and she would never be careless about getting pregnant again. She took a deep breath and put her hand on his. “Stop. Please. Stop.”

He did. He leaned back and looked at her. The pupils of his eyes were black pinpoints, the irises the color of wet bark. His gaze was unflinching. His mouth was slightly open and he was breathing heavily. Hester longed for him, longed to satisfy this handsome, beautiful man. Her hand was on his forearm and she could feel how strong he was. He took his hand from her zipper and pulled his down instead. She slid off his lap, knelt between his legs, and tried to stay lost in the heat of the moment. But she couldn’t stop the image of Tom Buchanan and his “cruel body” from popping into her mind.

Eight

At noon the power in Pleasant Palms was still out. Hester was on her patio, lying on the chaise lounge, staring at the scarred Bo tree. Two board members came by with clipboards and made notes about the damage to the tree and her trailer. She told them about Al being in the hospital, and they said how sorry they were and moved on. When they left, the quiet grew so intense Hester fell into a trance and no longer even heard the ocean. When a sea gull squawked, she almost jumped out of her skin.

She got up and went for a walk north on Old Ocean Road, which bordered the beach and led out of trailer park. On the west side, through lush landscaping Hester could peek at the mansions. She spied a Burberry plaid beach blanket hanging over one of the balconies. A recycling bin full of empty Johnny Walker Black Label bottles had been left outside one of the gates. There was not much else to look at. No one seemed to be around.

Other than palm fronds, coconuts, and sea grape leaves scattered along the roadside, little here seemed to have been disturbed by the storm. Hester picked up her pace, and soon she was sweating. It felt good to put one foot in front of the other and leave Pleasant Palms and all that happened there behind.

She made it all the way to the Boyton Inlet, three miles from her trailer. No boats were going out, and the pelicans sat on the concrete pilings looking bored and hungry. Hester stopped by the marina restroom, but it was locked. The sun was high in the cloudless sky. She sat on a bench near the pelicans and watched them watch her. It had a calming effect on her, being so near the birds. When they flew away after an incoming fishing boat, she headed back past the “mausoleums of the living rich,” as Al called them.

Hester really liked one particular residence. The facade was Tuscan Revival, and the color of the stone made her think of mango honey. Through the black wrought-iron gate, she could see a giant bronze sculpture of a woman in a toga wearing sandals and holding a sword. One of her breasts was exposed, and the broken shaft of a javelin stuck out of it. The position of her body and the way the long braid of her hair flowed out behind her made her appear to be running. Hester knew she was a goddess and at first thought it was Diana, but after she wracked her brain, she remembered. Because of the wounded breast, it had to be Camilla from the
Aeneid
.

As Hester passed by the replica of the fleet-footed Amazon, she wished she lived in the giant house behind it. She thought if she could just push a button and open the gate and walk past Camilla into the cool glass foyer and stand beneath the glinting crystal of the chandelier (the size of a shed), she just might be able to forget burying Nina’s body by moonlight, scrubbing every inch of the trailer in the dark, hiding Nina’s belongings in her cheap suitcase, and shoving it under the bed.

When Hester got back to their trailer, she found two messages from the hospital on her cell phone. Her husband was asking to see her and could she come as soon as possible. No, she couldn’t. She didn’t call back.

Hester made herself a Captain Morgan and Coke—heavy on the rum, light on the Coke. She drank it down quickly, then switched to wine. She lit one of the candles that were still on the coffee table, and stared at it. She polished off half a bottle of Bogle Pinot Noir before she began to feel dizzy.

She stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes. She knew she drank too much, knew it would sit in her stomach and make her queasy, and give her one hell of a hangover tomorrow. She got up from the couch, went into the bathroom, and stuck her fingers down her throat.

Her vomit reeked. Undigested Coke and red wine splattered the sides of the toilet bowl. It wouldn’t easily flush, so she pushed the handle down several times in rapid succession until toilet water spilled over the top. It was a mess, and it stunk. It wasn’t that she was too drunk to clean it up. She wasn’t now. In fact she felt better, sleepy, even a little peaceful inside. She didn’t give a damn about the mess.

She went back to the couch and curled up on her side. Before she drifted off to sleep, she realized that for tonight, anyway, she didn’t miss Al at all.

Nine

The minute Hester left Al in the Phys Ed office, she began thinking two things. One, she could really love Alexander Bruno Murphy for the rest of her life; and two, she shouldn’t have done what she did. Not since Arthur Kendall and her freshman year in college, had she been at once so afraid, and so alive. It was like leaping off a cliff and thankfully discovering she could still fly.

Al didn’t call her that evening as she’d hoped, but he did come by her classroom at the end of the next day to ask her out.

Friday night the temperature dropped into the twenties. With the wind chill it felt like the teens. Al picked Hester up at her apartment in Trenton, and they drove north on River Road along the Delaware River to Lambertville. He was taking her to a place he claimed had the best food in town, Bell’s on Union Street. Al parked in the empty lot of Niece’s Lumber. When they got out of the car, the cold made Hester gasp.

“It’s freezing,” Hester shouted.

“It’s not that bad.” Al hunched his shoulders and started walking toward the restaurant.

“Yes, it is,” Hester insisted. She was a few steps behind him.

“Don’t be such a baby, Miss Randal.”

“I’m not, I’m just really freezing, Al.”

Al stopped and turned to look at Hester, who was wiping her dripping nose on the back of her gloved hand.

“Alright, get in the car. I’ll see if I can park closer.” He didn’t sound happy. He sounded like getting in the car and finding somewhere else to park might be a problem, but he hurried back and held the door open for Hester. He got in the other side and started the car. Before he put it into gear, he looked at Hester hesitantly.

“Thanks.” She ventured a quick glance.

Al turned the heat up full blast. “Hot enough yet?”

“Yes, it’s perfect now.” Hester wanted to start a conversation, but she could think of nothing clever to say.

“Here, move closer to me if you’re still cold.” His voice was softer. She slid over. He put his arm around her. She put her head against his shoulder and watched the lights on the dashboard. Their breathing condensed and steamed up the inside of the windshield. It was like they were inside a silk cocoon. Hester sat there silently berating herself for not knowing what subject might interest Al, so they sat in silence until he kissed her. She kissed him back.

Too fast,
she told herself. She swore she was going to slow things down, hold back, make him wonder whether she wanted to do anything with him at all, despite how far she’d gone the other day, and in school at that.
Temporary insanity
.

But his lips were on hers again. His warm, demanding tongue in her mouth.

It was over before Hester could resist.

She pulled her panty hose up from around her one ankle, hooked her bra, and buttoned up the top of her shirtwaist dress. She was breathless, and fretful. What in the hell had she done! Al, though quick, had excited her intensely, touching, messaging, sucking her body to its breaking point. All thought ceased, all common sense went out the window. He knew what to do to her and did it passionately. As if he’d known her body for a long time, how it worked, what it wanted. As if he’d been down this road before and knew all the bumps and curves. How easily he’d driven her mad with desire.

Al zipped his pants up, put the car in drive, and rode around the small town looking for a parking space. He put the radio on. Wolfman Jack was reviewing the top twenty hits. Al turned the volume up. He couldn’t find anywhere to park. After circling the block two times and over Cher belting out “Dark Lady,” he said loudly, “Guess we’ll have to call it a night.”

They drove back to Trenton listening to the Wolfman and not talking, except for Al lowering the volume on the radio once and saying, “You are on birth control, aren’t you?”

Hester’s first impulse was to lie. Al would think she was an idiot to have sex with him and not be on the pill. But she wasn’t about to go to a gynecologist to get a prescription. She had her reasons.

“No,” she admitted with some trepidation. She knew what it felt like to be lied to, and she didn’t want to start out lying to Al.

“Well, maybe you should get some,” he replied flatly.

“Okay, I will.” Hester was relieved. Al was planning on seeing her again. Maybe she could figure out a way to get something on the black market, not that she knew anything about that sort of commerce, but she’d sure as hell try.

Despite the even colder temperature now that it was later, Al walked Hester to the door of her apartment.

“Why don’t you come in? We could talk.” The night had gone by, and she didn’t know one new thing about this man she’d just had torrid front-seat sex with.

“I’m beat. Maybe some other time.” And he turned and left.

Later, starving hungry and rummaging through the refrigerator, disappointment descended on Hester.
Not even a goodnight kiss.
She’d wanted to impress Al, to dazzle him with her wit and vivaciousness, but she’d failed miserably.

Well, not at everything. So they hadn’t talked much. So what? They hadn’t needed to.

When she closed her eyes, she could still hear the sound of his voice saying her name, “Hester, Hester.” She was on top of him. He was squeezing her breasts. She put all her weight into each thrust.