Chapter 7

Wolf River, October 1966

FRAZIER

One of the pleasures for the people who lived on lower Elm Street was the piano playing of Orva Nunley. Even the time she spent practicing, they said, was a delight. And when in the early evening Orva sat down to play for her small family, the neighbors opened their windows to share in the music.

On this October night Orva Nunley gave her full concentration to the sheet music before her as she played a Mozart sonata. It was a difficult piece, and she had worked some months at perfecting it. Orva was a tall, graceful woman, and her hands moved over the keys with a powerful authority.

Seated in the worn wingback chair that he refused to let his wife throw out, Ellis Nunley kept time to the sonata with the stem of his pipe as he read one of the little literary magazines he subscribed to. From time to time he would glance up at Orva and nod his approval.

Their son, Frazier, sat slumped on the couch, holding on to a polite listening attitude while his mother played. He was appreciative of her talent, and he did enjoy good music, but he had heard this piece many times, and just now his mind wanted to be elsewhere. He unwrapped an Almond Joy as quietly as he could and took a bite, letting his thoughts wander.

The school year was more than a month old, and school activities were well under way. Old friendships had been renewed, new ones formed. Couples got together, broke up, reunited. The football team was off to a good start, winning four of its first five games. Roman Dixon was being talked about for All-State. The Halloween Ball at the Hartmans' cabin on the lake was a week away, and everyone was busy planning costumes.

Well, not everyone. Not Frazier Nunley.

For Frazier Nunley it was the same old depressing story. As always, he was not a part of the action. His presence was acknowledged in a general way, but nobody ever thought to invite him anywhere. He was a snag in the stream of high school life, stuck helplessly in place while the fun flowed all around him.

It wasn't that he didn't want to join in, or that he didn't try. He made it a point to learn the way the kids were talking and to do his best to emulate it. He tried calling everybody "man," said "like" a lot, and used expressions like "far out" and "bitchin'" and "outasight."

He practiced walking around with an open, eager expression that would tell people he wanted to be friends. None of it worked for Frazier. It only made people back off further. Once he caught sight of himself in a mirror and was appalled at the sappy look he had been affecting. He quickly reverted to his normal vocabulary and the scholarly, distracted look that invited no one to come near him.

He tried going to the Friday night football games even though, it wasn't much fun all by himself. He cheered wildly at all the right times, and did all the yells right along with the rest of the kids. But when the Wolves scored and everyone hugged and clapped each other on the back, Frazier remained alone, unhugged and unclapped.

After the game was worse. No one asked him along to the Dairy Queen or to Shakey's for pizza. He would go alone, buy himself a Coke, and hang around while the kids talked about what they were going to wear to the Halloween Ball. Nobody asked for Frazier's ideas on costumes, and nobody came close to inviting him.

The Halloween Ball was supposed to be a school-sponsored event, but in truth it was run by the Wolfpack, a tightly structured group, of the most popular kids. It was made up of the jocks, the rich kids, the attractive ones, and a few connivers like Alec McDowell, who managed to be included in everything without possessing any special attributes. To belong to the Wolfpack was to be in. To be excluded made you a non-person.

Frazier's mother finished the Mozart piece and sat back. She frowned at the sheet music in front of her.

"That was lovely, dear," said Ellis, using a finger to keep his place in the magazine.

"It's the best I've heard you play it," said Frazier.

"I don't know," Orva said. "The middle part isn't quite right. It needs work."

"You're a perfectionist, Mother," Frazier said. He swallowed a big chunk of the candy bar and stood up, hoping she wouldn't ask them to listen to it again.

"One does not play Mozart carelessly," she said. "But that's enough for now. Don't spoil your appetite, Frazier. Dinner will be ready in an hour."

"I won't," Frazier said, stuffing the rest of the Almond Joy into his mouth. He knew he should pay some attention to his diet for the sake of his complexion and his shapeless body, but the discipline a diet would require discouraged him. It didn't seem fair. Both his parents ate exactly what they wanted to, and his father hadn't an ounce of fat, while his mother's graceful form had remained unchanged since girlhood.

Frazier climbed the stairs to his room and sat gloomily at his desk. It was a room of books, chemical equipment, mounted biology specimens. Maps and charts covered the walls. Much of the floor was taken up by an eviscerated television set that he was repairing.

Frazier licked the chocolate off his fingers and then poked through the untidy drawers of the desk. He found a bag of salted Planter's peanuts and carried them to the bed. There he lay back and ate the nuts, popping them into his mouth and carefully chewing one at a time to make them last longer.

When the cellophane bag was empty, Frazier folded it neatly and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about school and the Halloween Ball and how lonely he was.

And about Lindy Grant.

If only he could somehow make her notice him. Recognize the romantic soul that inhabited the lumpish body. What if she should be in the library sometime, frantically searching for a reference book for one of her classes. He could come along and she might ask him for help and then...

Jesus H. Christ, you're sounding like Charlie Brown and his little redheaded girl!

Angrily Frazier put the fantasy out of his mind. He breathed deeply and rhythmically, willing his mind to relax. Gradually, without his consciously summoning it, a pinpoint of soft blue light appeared directly over his forehead. As he began to focus, the dot of blue irised open, inviting him through, out of his fleshy prison. Frazier let his body go limp, and his spirit rose gently from the bed and out through the psychic window.

* * *

Floating free, he looked down on Elm Street through the branches of the tall old shade trees. Below in the dark houses lights glowed orange and inviting in the front windows. A wind sent the dry leaves skittering along the pavement. Frazier couldn't feel the wind; there was no feeling in this state, but he could sense it.

He let his mind glide up the hill, between the rooftops and the pinprick stars in the black velvet sky. He didn't think about where he was going, just let himself drift. When he eased back down among the sheltering trees and saw where he was, it came as no surprise.

It was Lindy Grant's house. Directly in front of him was a lighted window on the second floor. Her window. Frazier had been here many times. Sometimes in the flesh, down on the street, riding his bike past the house in feigned nonchalance. There was always the chance Lindy might come out just as he was riding by, see how easily he handled the machine, and... But she never did.

More recently, disembodied and free, he had gazed from up here into her room, savoring at close range the things Lindy touched and wore and lived with. The pleasure he felt in even such intangible contact was enough to make him ache.

He came to know Lindy's bedroom as well as he knew his own. There was her dressing table with its oversize mirror and the photos stuck in the frame. Her chest of drawers that held a Raggedy Ann doll, a carnival kewpie doll, the framed photograph of a woman, and a statuette of a shepherdess. There was her record player, there the posters tacked to her wall of the Beatles and the Monkees.

And over there, the shrine: her bed - all frilly in pink and white; and propped on the pillow, a stuffed panda. Lucky panda. Frazier could imagine the sweet smell of her body still clinging to the sheets as she left the warm bed in the morning.

Often before, he had devoured the bedroom with his imagination. He could have drawn a plan of its contents blindfolded. What happened next would change his life.

Lindy came into the bedroom.

LINDY

She closed the door and hugged the big box to her. She couldn't believe Daddy had actually gone all the way to Milwaukee just to buy this for her. Here she had been planning to wear some dumb homemade costume to the Halloween Ball and he had gone and found this simply marvelous outfit.

She laid the box down on the bedspread, set the top aside, and unwrapped the tissue paper. Inside was the beautiful, velvety, black cat costume with glittery sequined stripes. In a way it was Daddy's admission that she was growing up. No more clown or Dutch Girl or corny witch costumes for her.

Judge Grant had not thoroughly approved of Wonder Woman last year, but went along with it when Lindy promised to deemphasize the boobs. This year she would absolutely be the sexiest thing at the party.

Lindy could hardly wait to try it on. When Daddy gave it to her after dinner she had taken a quick look, squealed with delight, hugged him, and rushed up here to see how she would look wearing it.

She shucked the bulky knit sweater over her head and tossed it aside. The bra was next. Three hooks on the back and it was free. Lindy let the brassiere fall forward over her shoulders and stood for a moment enjoying the freedom of her unrestrained breasts. Some of the girls were starting to go braless, and Lindy thought it was a neat idea, but Daddy wasn't ready for that yet.

She admired herself in the mirror. Her breasts were high and beautifully rounded. Lindy would have liked them to be a bit larger, but that could still come. She lifted them gently in her two hands, playing over the nipples with her forefingers. The pleasant sensation tingled throughout her body, settling in her crotch.

She undid the plaid skirt and let it fall down over her smooth hips and long firm legs. She stepped out of the skirt and strolled back and forth in front of the dressing-table mirror.

Damn good body, she told herself. No wonder Roman Dixon and God knew how many other guys were drooling to get their hands on it. The blue nylon bikini panties barely covered her pubic mound in front, and revealed an expanse of downy curved buttocks behind.

Feeling sexy and good, and purposely delaying the excitement of trying on the cat costume, Lindy practiced a sensual walk, rolling her hips, jutting her breasts. She licked her lips and, with her eyes half-closed, blew an open-mouth Marilyn Monroe kiss toward her mirror. The result was less erotic than she had hoped for.

Well, she wasn't really the Marilyn Monroe type. Leave that to Merilee. Lindy saw herself as more a younger Elizabeth Taylor. She had the black hair/blue eyes combination, if not quite the cup size.

She slid her hands inside the elastic band of the panties and touched herself. She was moist and ready. Slowly, sensuously, she rolled the strip of blue nylon down over the silky triangle of black hair and slid the panties on down her legs and off. Tossing them on top of the discarded skirt, she stood again before the mirror, petting the soft pubic hair. A finger slipped between the lips of her vagina and touched the secret place.

A shiver went through her, and Lindy was tempted to bring herself to a climax, but she resisted. Reluctantly, she drew her hand away, watching herself in the mirror. Then she returned her attention to the cat costume.

It was a one-piece outfit of elasticized fabric that zipped up the back. There were black vinyl gloves with soft make-believe claws, and her own black boots would go perfectly. A silky domino mask fit over her eyes without hiding her face, and a hood was topped with velvety black cat ears. There was a stiffly curved detachable tail she would wear into the party for the effect, then remove when the dancing started.

When she had put on the entire costume, except the tail and mask, Lindy stepped in front of the mirror, making her movements sinuous and catlike. The effect was startling. She blushed, aroused by the way she looked. She was going to knock them dead, no doubt about it.

She picked up the tail, held it down behind her, and gave it an experimental swish. The end of the tail crooked up and knocked the Hummel shepherdess off the chest of drawers. Lindy made a grab for it but could not catch the figurine before it hit the floor and shattered.

The excitement of trying on the costume drained instantly away. Lindy peeled off the cat gloves and dropped to her knees. She fluttered her hands over the broken pieces, picking up the larger ones, trying to fit them together. It was hopeless. The shepherdess was destroyed. Gone. Just like that, a piece of her mother had been lost forever. As she knelt over the shattered figurine Lindy looked up at the photograph of the woman she had never gotten to know, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

FRAZIER

When the Hummel shepherdess smashed into fragments on the floor of Lindy's bedroom, the force that held Frazier's disembodied attention broke with it. The sight of the girl in the tight costume weeping as she knelt over the fragments flooded him with a guilty remorse at having watched her most private moments.

He withdrew swiftly from the window, up over the trees, and in a heartbeat was back slipping through the roof of his own house and into the inert form that lay on the bed where he had left it.

With the power to move restored to his body, Frazier sat up with a groan. Never in his life had he done anything so contemptible as to spy on a girl undressing. He felt evil. Unclean.

And yet he could not forget the exquisite excitement of looking upon the nude body of his goddess, watching her touch that most holy of places.

Shut up! he told his mind. Guilt washed away the erotic vision. He felt certain that the smashing of the figurine, which had obviously meant a lot to Lindy, was his fault. It was his evil, voyeuristic presence. He would have no peace until he had somehow made the loss up to her.

* * *

The next day Frazier left the school grounds during the lunch period. Feeling like a truant, he hurried down Main Street to Bonnie's Gift Shop. He hesitated outside the shop, looking at the display in the window. There were half a dozen ceramic statuettes among the decorative plates, the crystal decanters, the ornate candy dishes, and all the other useless things people give each other.

Although the statuettes were similar, none was exactly like the one he had seen dashed to pieces the night before in Lindy Grant's bedroom. With his spirits sinking, Frazier went into the shop.

A middle-aged saleslady came up from the rear of the store to greet him.

"Can I help you?"

Frazier pointed at the little figures in the window. "Do you have any more of these?"

"Hummel figurines? The ones you see are all I have at the moment. They're very popular. Were you looking for a particular one?"

"Yes. It's a girl in a long full dress and an apron kind of thing, standing, holding a crook."

"Ah, the little shepherdess."

"That sounds like it."

"I did have one, but it was chipped, and I sent it back to the supplier."

Frazier wilted, disappointed beyond all proportion.

"Some of these are quite nice," said the woman.

"Yes, I can see they are, but I really wanted the shepherdess."

The woman pressed a finger to her lips. "Let me just take a look in the back. I told my husband to take it to the post office with him this morning, but it's just possible he might have forgotten."

"I'd appreciate it," Frazier said.

While the woman walked back to the rear of the store, Frazier picked up one of the statuettes, a young minstrel holding a stringed instrument of some kind. He turned it over to see the tiny price tag glued on the base.

$69.95! He swallowed hard. This morning he had taken all his cash from the secret compartment at the back of his top dresser drawer. It totaled forty-seven dollars and change. He had no idea these delicate little chunks of ceramic cost so much.

The woman returned smiling from the storeroom. In her hand she carried a six-inch figurine that she wiped carefully with a soft cloth.

"We're in luck," she said. "For once my husband's absentmindedness paid off."

She gave the piece a final dab with the cloth and handed it to Frazier. He held it reverently, turning it over slowly like a sacred relic. It was almost a duplicate of the shepherdess in Lindy's room. Close enough to be a sister.

He swallowed hard. "Uh, how much is this one?"

"It was marked sixty-nine ninety-five."

Frazier sagged.

"But since there's a chip out of the base - see? right here - I'll let you have it for, oh, forty dollars. If you still want it."

Frazier nodded wordlessly and counted out the price from the bills that were folded neatly into his wallet. The woman wrapped the figurine and he carried it back to school, where he placed it reverently in his locker just as the bell signaled the end of lunch period.