Wheels

Brett asked, "Judge, what's your verdict now you've heard both sides?"

"Excuse me." The judge put a hand to his mouth, stiffing a yawn. "For a moment I thought I was in court." He shook his head in mock solemnity. "Sorry. I never hand down opinions on weekends."

"Nor should anyone," Rowena declared. She touched Adam's hand, letting her fingers travel lightly over his. When he turned toward her, she said softly, "Will you take me swimming?"

The two of them took a boat from the floating dock - one of Hank Kreisel's with an outboard which Adam used to propel them, unhurriedly, four miles or so toward the lake's eastern shore. Then, within sight of a beach with towering leafy trees behind, he cut the motor and they drifted on the blue translucent water. A few other boats, not many, came into sight and went away. It was midafternoon. The sun was high, the air drowsy.

Before they left, Rowena had changed into a swimsuit; it was leopard patterned and what it revealed of her figure, as well as the soft, silken blackness of her skin, more than fulfilled the promise of the linen dress she had had on earlier. Adam was in trunks. When they stopped, he lighted cigarettes for them both. They sat beside each other on the cushions of the boat.

"Um," Rowena said. "This is nice." Her head was back, eyes closed against the brightness of the sun and lake. Her lips were parted.

He blew a smoke ring lazily. "It's called getting away from it all." His voice, for some reason, was unsteady.

She said softly, with sudden seriousness, "I know. It doesn't happen often. And it never lasts."

Adam turned. Instinct told him that if he reached for her she would respond. But for seconds of uncertainty he hesitated.

As if reading his mind, Rowena laughed lightly. She dropped her cigarette into the water. "We came to swim, remember?"

With a swift, single movement she rose and dived over the side. He had an impression of her lithe dark body, straight-limbed and like an arrow. Then, with a whipcrack sound and splash, she was out of sight. The boat rocked gently.

Adam hesitated again, then dived in too. After the sun's heat, the fresh lake water struck icily cold. He came up with a gasp, shivering, and looked around.

"Hey! Over here!" Rowena was still laughing. She bobbed under the surf ace, then re-emerged, water streaming down her face and hair. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"When I get my circulation back, I'll tell you."

"Your blood needs heating, Adam. I'm going ashore. Coming?"

"I guess so. But we can't leave Hank's boat to drift."

"Then bring it." Already swimming strongly toward the beach, Rowena called back, "That's if you're afraid of being marooned with me."

More slowly, towing the boat, Adam followed. Ashore, and welcoming the sun's warmth again, he beached the boat, then joined Rowena who was lying on the sand, her hands behind her head. Beyond the beach, sheltered in trees, was a cottage, but shuttered and deserted.

"Since you brought it up," Adam said, "at this moment I can't think of anyone I'd sooner be marooned with." He, too, stretched out on the sand, aware of being more relaxed than he had felt in months.

"You don't know me."

"You've aroused certain instincts." He propped himself on an elbow, confirming that the girl beside him was as breathtakingly lovely as she had seemed when he met her several hours ago, then added, "One of them is curiosity."

"I'm just someone you met at a party; one of Hank Kreisel's weekend parties where he employs hostesses. And in case you're wondering, that's all he employs us for."

"Were you wondering?"

"Yes."

She gave the soft laugh he had grown used to. "I knew you were. The difference between you and most men is that the others would have lied and said 'no.'"

"And the rest of the week, when there aren't parties?"

"I'm a high school teacher." Rowena stopped. "Damn! I didn't mean to tell you that."

"Then we'll even the score," Adam said. "There was something I didn't intend to tell you."

"Which is?"

He assured her softly, "For the first time in my life I know, really know, what it means when they say 'Black is Beautiful.'"

In the silence which followed, he wondered if he had offended her. He could hear the lapping of the lake, a hum of insects, an outboard motor in the distance. Rowena said nothing. Then, without warning, she leaned over and kissed him fully on the lips.

Before he could respond she sprang up, and ran down the beach toward the lake. From the water's edge she called back, "Hank said you had the reputation of being a sweet man when he told me to take special care of you. Now let's go back."

In the boat, heading for the west shore, he asked, "What else did Hank say?"

Rowena considered. "Well, he told me you'd be the most important person here, and that one day you'll be right at the top of your company."

This time, Adam laughed.

He was still curious, though, about Kreisel and his motives.

Sunset came, the party at the cottage continuing - and livening - as the hours passed. Before the sun disappeared, at last, behind a squad of white birches like silhoutted sentinels, the lake was alive with color. A breeze stirred its surface, bearing fresh, pine-scented air. Dusk eased in, then darkness.

As stars came out, the night air cooled and the party drifted from the sun deck to indoors where, in the great rock fireplace, heaped brush and logs were blazing.

Hank Kreisel, an affable, attentive host, seemed everywhere, as he had throughout the day. Two bars and the kitchen were staffed and bustling; what Kreisel had said earlier about drinks and food available twenty-four hours each day seemed true. In the spacious, hunting lodge-style living room the party split into groups, some overlapping.

A cluster around Pierre Flodenhale fired auto racing questions.

". . . say a race is won or lost in the pits. Is that your experience?" . . .

"Yes, but a driver's planning does it too. Before the race you plan how you'll run it, lap by lap. In the race you plan the next lap, changing the first plan . . ." The network TV personality, who had been diffident earlier, had blossomed and was doing a skillful imitation of the U.S. President, supposedly on television with a car maker and an environ-mentalist, trying to appease both. "Pollution, with all its faults, is part of our great American knowhow . . . My scientiftc advisers assure me cars are polluting less than they used - at least, they would if there weren't more cars." (Cough, cough, cough!) . . . "I pledge we'll have clean air again in this country. Administration policy is to pipe it to every home . . ." Among those listening, one or two looked sour, but most laughed.

Some of the girls, including Stella and Elsie, moved from group to group. Rowena stayed close to Adam.

Gradually, as midnight came and went, the numbers thinned. Guests yawned, stretched tiredly, and soon after climbed the stone stairway at the fireplace, some calling down goodnights from the gallery to the holdouts who remained below. One or two exited by the sun deck, presumably reaching their rooms by the alternate route which Hank Kreisel had showed to Adam earlier.

Eventually, Kreisel himself - carrying a sourmash Bourbon - went upstairs.

Soon after, Adam noticed, Elsie disappeared. So did Brett DeLosanto and the redhead, Stella, who had spent the last hour close together.

In the great hearth the fire was burning down to embers. Apart from Adam and Rowena, both on a sofa near the fireplace, only one group remained at the room's opposite end, still drinking, noisy, and obviously with the intention of staying for a long time.

"A nightcap?" Adam asked.

Rowena shook her head. Her last drink - a mild Scotch and water - had lasted her an hour. Through the evening they had talked, mostly about Adam, though not by his choice but because Rowena adroitly parried questions about herself. But he had learned that her teaching specialty was English, which she admitted after laughingly quoting Cervantes: "My memory is so bad, that many times I forget my own name."

Now he stood up. "Let's go outside."

"All right."

As they left, no one in the other group glanced their way.

The moon had risen. The night was cold and clear. Moonbeams shimmered on the surface of the lake. He felt Rowena shiver, and put an arm around her.

"Almost everyone," Adam said, "seems to have gone to bed."

Again Rowena's gentle laugh. I saw you noticing."

He turned her to him, tilted her head, and kissed her. "Let's us."

Their lips met again. He felt her arms around him tighten.

She whispered, "What I said was true. This isn't in the contract."

"I know."

"A girl can make her own arrangements here, but Hank sees to it she doesn't have to." She snuggled closer. "Hank would want you to know that.

He cares what you think about him."

"At this moment," he whispered back, "I'm not thinking of Hank at all."

They entered Adam's bedroom from the outside walkway - the route he had used this morning on arrival. Inside, the room was warm. Someone, thoughtfully, had been in to light the fire; now, tongues of flame cast light and shadows on the ceiling. The coverlet was off the double bed, with sheets turned back.

In front of the fire, Adam and Rowena slipped out of what they were wearing. Soon after, he led her to the bed.