Free Changing the Past by Thomas Berger Page B

sneering. “I hate sherry. Too weak.” When, years later, he discovered that the cork in a fortified-wine bottle was topped by a knurled cap, requiring no extracting tool, he still did not regret having missed the drink, for had he taken it his reason might have been impaired for the succeeding forty-five minutes.
    â€œI’m real sorry,” said Betty Jane. “Because that’s all there is.” She smiled as if she knew something he didn’t and closed the cupboard while taking his hand with her free one. “C’mon, I’ll show you my room.”
    The route upstairs was a blur to him, and they arrived at their destination much too soon. Her hand was not even soft and smooth, and he withdrew from its clutch as soon as he could. Her room had some pink girl’s stuff in its decor and a stuffed animal or two. Unlike him she apparently did not have to share it with anybody else (he had an older brother who appropriated the better of every alternative: position of bed, dresser-drawers, etc.)—except a tiger cat, who on seeing them leaped off the bed and slunk under it.
    Kellog knew at least one joke that played on the two meanings of “pussy,” but he could not bring it to mind at the moment, and perhaps just as well, for alone in the house as they were, any wrong move on his part might give Betty Jane grounds for a charge of rape. Such stories were always floating around, though it was never possible to confirm one.
    Betty Jane sat down on the bed and asked brightly, “Well, what should we do? Look at movie magazines? I’ve got quite a few. My aunt brings them home from the beauty shop where she works. I don’t know any card games but Old Maid. I’ve got a scrapbook, and also I collect autographs of the famous: so far I’ve got some baseball players’ that my father gave me. I never heard of them but he says they’re real well known. I have written to some of my favorite stars in Hollywood but that was just a few days ago, so they haven’t had time to reply yet, but I am told they sure will.”
    â€œThat’s great,” Kellog said without enthusiasm. He was just standing there.
    She smiled at him. “You have a terrific sense of humor. My father says a person needs that above all to succeed in life.”
    â€œUh-huh.” His mind was barren. “I got to go now. My old man will give me a beating if I don’t clean up a lotta junk in the garage.”
    â€œAre you serious?” she asked. “Your father beats you?”
    â€œWell, not with a club. But he’ll slap my face off if he feels like it. He split my lip once.”
    â€œThat’s too bad. My father is usually real swell to me. If anybody’s lousy, it will be my mother, though mostly she’s okay. My sister doesn’t act right lots of times, but then later we make up.”
    Kellog looked around the room. “Where does she sleep?”
    â€œShe’s got her own room.” Betty Jane looked at the floor. “Do you really have to go?”
    â€œI’m not lying,” he said defiantly. “My old man beats hell out of me sometimes.” He understood that he could get somewhere with her at this moment, but he did not know just where or how, and the fact remained that he had always hoped his first sexual association would be with a person he found attractive. On the other hand, he was aware that with his weight and skin problem he was not likely at this stage of life to get access to anybody of the sort he saw in the imagination as he masturbated. It might be either Betty or continued chastity for the forseeable future.
    He sat down on the bed beside her, not yet ready to make the first move, but as luck would have it as soon as he was in place she fell heavily against him. He leaned back, and she descended into his lap, her elbow digging into his crotch. The effect was both painful and arousing. Soon he had the giant of boners,