tougher to win over. The old man always ended his talks with the remark that now everything was easy and available, now that it was too late for him to do anything about it.
'Say,' continued the old man, 'that little girl's mother sure is a sight for sore eyes. She was wearing the smallest swimsuit I've ever seen.
Neil nodded and held his silence.
'She's a real beautiful woman, don't you think?'
'Uh-huh.'
'When I was your age, the underwear women wore were ten times more covering than that swimsuit. And you know… heh-heh… I used to get really worked up when I saw a lady in her girdle. Can you believe that? Lord, things sure have changed.'
Neil pictured old Mr. Crocker wrestling some young lady out of her corset and began to giggle.
'Think it's funny?' the old man said. 'Well, you're right. We've had the Stone Age, the Iron Age, and all the rest of the ages. Now it's the flesh age… and damnit, I'm too old to get in on it'
'Oh, you're not that old…' lied Neil.
'You'll see, you'll see. But for Pete's sake make hay while the sun shines, that's what I always said. And I made my hay whenever I could… took a lot of work, too. But you're living in the age of liberation and sexual revolution, so score while you can. History repeats itself, and those damned girdles and corsets will be back on the women before you know it. Mark my words, young man.
'I'll try my best,' said Neil
'That's all you can do. Never take no for an answer and never think twice… just do it… may seem like a risky thing at the time… but when you get to be my age you'll have memories to dream about…'
The old man drifted off to sleep and Neil continued his sweeping. He really enjoyed Mr. Crocker's stories of the past and he respected the old man. He had lived a long, active life and was trying to impart his years of experience to Neil. Neil felt obliged to listen, to try his hardest to understand just what the lesson was the old man was trying to pass on.
He hadn't seen Helen since the other day but was anxious to. Not for any reason other than to show her he was in full control of himself. He wanted her to see him, hear him give her a casual greeting that showed no trace of what they had done. Even though she'd hardly left his thoughts for two days, Neil knew he could play the we- didn't-do-it game with complete and total conviction.
But his head was swimming ever since she so kindly relieved him of his virginity. Suddenly the girls at school seemed just that – girls. There wasn't one pair of deep eyes among the whole co-ed population. They seemed silly, flirtatious, juvenile, and not worth the effort.
In contrast, Neil felt manly, worldly, mature. He didn't need wit or charm, he was acting the role of the strong, silent type. The man who quietly, discreetly, was carrying on an affair with a married, older woman. He felt comfortable in the part even though he knew the affair was nothing more than a one-shot occurrence. But he could dream.
He finished his sweeping and managed to get the brush hung over the filters with minimum hassle. Now he had to flush the filters and tidy up the pump-house. The water roared loud in his ears as he worked at his task. He didn't hear the person in the open doorway until she yelled.
'Are you Neil?' she screeched.
Neil jumped and spun around. He faced a woman with a short, businesslike haircut. She was dressed in a light beige suit and carried a briefcase. He turned the valves on the filters until the noise subsided then looked back up to notice the lady was smiling. She had straight white teeth and a very attractive face.
'Yes?' he asked.
She stuck her hand out to him like an insurance salesman and said, 'My name is Gloria Tyson. I'm a reporter with the Chronicle.'
'Oh.' Neil took the tiny hand and shook it. She shook back with a strong, firm shake.
'I was told I could find you here by Mr. Walker, your employer'
'Uh-huh.' Neil had no idea why.
'Is there some place where we can talk?'
'Uh, sure… I guess so,' he stammered.
She saw he didn't understand. 'I want to interview you. We need a place where it's not so noisy.'
'Interview me? Why?'
“We'll get to that. Where can we go?'
'Uh… how about the lanai?' The lanai was what Mr. Walker had labeled the recreation room. It was a small building that stood on the far side of the pool area, where tenants could play pool and sit around tables. As far as Neil could recall, he'd never seen anyone use it.
'Oh. that's perfect,' she replied.
As they walked from the pump house to the lanai Neil noticed that his first impression of the lady was inaccurate. The suit and briefcase had thrown him. Actually the suit did little to conceal the rhythmic roll and lift of her firm, round backside and the fullness of her breasts. She was a small woman, tiny and compact, with a disarming manner of business propriety about her.
They sat on the floral-print couch in the shade of the poolside playroom. She opened her briefcase and took out a photograph.
'This picture came into our office yesterday afternoon and I've been sent out to get a cover story for it,' she said.
Neil looked at the photograph. It was him. And the girl. He was shocked by the clear beauty and professionalism of the photo. There he was, dripping wet, out of the pool with the struggling girl in his arms. But she didn't look like she was struggling. She looked unconscious, one arm wrapped around his neck, her face away from the camera, her body contorted like the victim of some great tragedy.
It was a full-length photo that showed his whole body. His build looked terrific, his narrow waist and strong legs. The skimpy swim-team trunks. But the most surprising thing about the picture was the expression on Neil's face. It brought back all the pain and agony he had suffered from the solid kick in the balls by the girl's tiny foot.
His face was a grimace of fear, suffering, it looked like he was in the grip of some great torture, some powerful panic which controlled his whole being. Dots of water sparkled on his skin, streams of wetness streaked his face like tears; all in all, the picture made him feel like some victim of a great holocaust carrying his stricken child from the wreckage.
'Isn't it beautiful,' said the lady.
'I don't know what to say… '
'Well, first let me tell you what happened. It seems someone took this photograph when you saved the girl's life. I talked with the photographer yesterday – you see he called the news with the lead on the story. Then I talked with Mrs. Thompson, the girl's mother. What I want to do now is talk with you before I write the story and we run the picture.'
'You mean it's going to be in the papers?'
'Only if you consent.'
Her look imparted the complete responsibility to him. Neil felt flattered, impressed with himself. 'But… I didn't do anything that good. All I did was jump in and pull her out.'
'That's not the question… the question is, do we have your permission to run the photograph?'
'Uh… well, sure, why not.'
She smiled. 'Good. Now, you leave the question as to whether or not what you did was important up to us, okay?'
'Okay.' The woman had a strong way about her, Neil noticed. She was like one of his teachers, strict but not hard. She handled herself in a way that let you know she was all business, and he admired that.
'How old are you?' she asked.
'Seventeen.'
'I know where you go to school and that you're on the swim-team. Also how long you've worked here and that you're a responsible young man. As a matter of fact, all I really needed was your permission to run the photograph. Everyone else I talked to filled me in on your history with glowing detail.'
