Free The Amboy Dukes by Irving Shulman Page B

sighed, “you’re swell.”
    “I like you too,” she whispered to him. She stroked his hair and lifted her lips to him again.
    The night breeze struck them as the open car sped along the road, and the music coming from the radio was dreamy and pleasant. Again he kissed her, and now he could feel her body tense as she clung close to him, and he gasped as she bit him on the lip. Now he kissed her endlessly, one kiss blending into the next, and it seemed to Frank as if they were sitting on a cool wind that was blowing them farther and farther into the darkness, off the earth, out of the world, into space, where they raced with the speed of excitement and the wild, passionate tumult of youth and heart and blood. He cupped her cheek in his hand and looked down at her closed eyes. Then gently he kissed her on the forehead, and as her lips parted he kissed her again, and the wind blew soft and cool, and they were swept along in the night.
    The tires screeched as Benny swerved the car around the traffic circle, and Frank was jolted back to reality.
    “Take it easy,” he shouted to Benny. “You want to wreck us?”
    Ann twisted around in her seat. “He’s a good driver, Benny is. I like the way he drives.”
    “Slow up.” Frank ignored her. “And don’t turn around to give me an argument while you’re driving, Benny. Come on,” he ordered him, “slow up.”
    “Anything you say, sport.” Benny eased his foot on the accelerator. “How about you driving and giving me a chance to work my points in the back seat?”
    “You go on and drive.” Ann giggled.
    “I’d rather be loving you,” Benny insisted, and stopped the car. “Come on”—he opened the car door and stepped out—“swap.”
    Frank worked the gearshift and was glad he was able to start the car without jerking. The gears ground noisily as he shifted rapidly into high, and Betty snuggled down in the seat and leaned her head against his shoulder.
    “I’d put my arms around you, honey,” he said to her, “but this isn’t my car.”
    “You certainly can kiss,” she said.
    He laughed. “You’re not half bad yourself.”
    “Do you like me?” she asked him.
    “And how! You’re really something, Betty. You’re”—he faltered for words—“honest, I don’t know how to say it.”
    “Just kiss me,” she said to him. “That’s all the saying I want.”
    “No more?” His lips brushed her face.
    “Don’t ask me,” she said, “and watch where you’re driving.”
    Benny was wrestling his date in the back seat, and Frank heard the rough exchange of lines that meant only one thing: Benny was going to lay Ann, but not before she had asked him what made him so fresh and who did he think he was and where did he get the idea that he could mess her up and did he think she was a pushover and if he didn’t cut it out she was going to walk home and why was he in such a rush and couldn’t he wait until they knew each other better and she didn’t like doing it in a car and honest, she wasn’t a teaser, and she’d prove it when they went back to his apartment that night. He was glad he was driving.
    The moon came up hot and orange, and Frank stretched out on the Manhattan Beach jetty and cradled Betty in his arms. The black waves with their white froth broke gently across the narrow beach and swirled in among the rocks. Across the bay the revolving searchlights of Floyd Bennett Field stabbed the darkness in wide circles of light, and the red signal lamps on the small craft winked and bobbed with the movement of the waves. Frank stared up at the moon as it climbed higher into the sky and faded from orange to white, and then he closed his eyes and was at rest. Betty lay close to him on the rough blanket, her right arm across his chest, her breathing soft and relaxed. There was no need to speak, to say anything, for they both understood. And as they lay there Frank resolved that things would be cleaner with Betty, with sharp incisive lines and no