of thudding joy, remained. She could remember it easily; it was the first thing she thought of when she awoke in the morning. And she dreamed about Hank almost every night. He was always approaching her in her dreams, always coming toward her, looking right at her, smiling, and she would moan and sigh with excited anticipation. But that was all that happened in her dreams; he never managed to get close to her; he never touched her.
And then today, when she had been walking down the hall to the principal’s office with her attendance sheets, not even thinking of him, not really thinking of anything except that she was tired and ought to go to the laundromat that evening, just then as she was about to go into the principal’s office, the door opened, and Hank Kennedy walked out. In fact he almost walked into her. He was busy talking to another teacher, had pushed the door open with one hand, but was looking back over his shoulder, saying something that was making the secretaries laugh, and he nearly walked right into Dale, who was just moving to open the door to walk in.
“Oh, excuse me,” Hank said, and stopped so suddenly that the man behind him smashed into his back. He looked at Dale, who had gone into a state of semi-shock at having him materialize so suddenly before her. “Hi,” he said, almost as an afterthought.
“I—I was just going in,” Dale said weakly, almost inaudibly.
“Well, I was just going out.” Hank smiled, and stepped back to hold the door for her.
For a moment Dale could not move; she was frozen with delight—there he really was! Hank Kennedy: lean, powerful, dark, fine. He was wearing jeans, Frye boots, a plaid button-down shirt, a pullover sweater. His dark-brown hair was parted on the left side, and some of it fell over his forehead. His mouth was finely chiseled and long and exquisite. His eyes were green and long-lashed, thick-lashed; Dale’s heart leaped and spun.
“Thank you,” she said at last, and walked into the office, and Hank and the other man walked out. Dale could not bring herself to close the office door; she stood there dumbly staring, holding the door open, watching as the two men walked down the hall. She could not force herself to stop staring at him; she was too hungry for the sight of him. And she liked so well the sensation of desire which ran through her body so fiercely it bordered on alarm; she felt totally focused on the moment, on the reality of his presence. She did not want the moment to end.
Hank continued to walk down the hall, and then, casually, he stopped talking to the other man, and looked over his shoulder, and looked right at Dale. Their eyes met. For a moment Dale thought he would surely leave the man and come back down the hall to her—she wanted that so much. But he only looked at her, and then the other man said something to him, and Hank smiled and turned away and went around the corner, out of sight.
There was nothing more she could do. She handed in her attendance sheets and chatted with the secretaries automatically, then returned to her classroom to do the necessary things that the end of the day required. Finally she was through, she was free. She walked with great control to her Beetle convertible, and drove immediately to the ocean, and tore off her shoes and socks, and ran. She ran and ran. She ran for joy, she ran for love. She ran wildly at the edge of the surf because Hank Kennedy’s eyes were green.
She ran, thinking how drab the rest of her life seemed in comparison to this moment, how the rest of her life had not prepared her for this. She was full of such joy, such energy, such elation, simply because one man lived on this earth and had stopped for a few moments to meet her stare. And he would call her now, she was sure of it. If she had learned nothing else during her two years in Europe, she had learned how to say, merely by the way she held her body and her mouth, by the way she held her eyes:
I am interested in you
,
And then today, when she had been walking down the hall to the principal’s office with her attendance sheets, not even thinking of him, not really thinking of anything except that she was tired and ought to go to the laundromat that evening, just then as she was about to go into the principal’s office, the door opened, and Hank Kennedy walked out. In fact he almost walked into her. He was busy talking to another teacher, had pushed the door open with one hand, but was looking back over his shoulder, saying something that was making the secretaries laugh, and he nearly walked right into Dale, who was just moving to open the door to walk in.
“Oh, excuse me,” Hank said, and stopped so suddenly that the man behind him smashed into his back. He looked at Dale, who had gone into a state of semi-shock at having him materialize so suddenly before her. “Hi,” he said, almost as an afterthought.
“I—I was just going in,” Dale said weakly, almost inaudibly.
“Well, I was just going out.” Hank smiled, and stepped back to hold the door for her.
For a moment Dale could not move; she was frozen with delight—there he really was! Hank Kennedy: lean, powerful, dark, fine. He was wearing jeans, Frye boots, a plaid button-down shirt, a pullover sweater. His dark-brown hair was parted on the left side, and some of it fell over his forehead. His mouth was finely chiseled and long and exquisite. His eyes were green and long-lashed, thick-lashed; Dale’s heart leaped and spun.
“Thank you,” she said at last, and walked into the office, and Hank and the other man walked out. Dale could not bring herself to close the office door; she stood there dumbly staring, holding the door open, watching as the two men walked down the hall. She could not force herself to stop staring at him; she was too hungry for the sight of him. And she liked so well the sensation of desire which ran through her body so fiercely it bordered on alarm; she felt totally focused on the moment, on the reality of his presence. She did not want the moment to end.
Hank continued to walk down the hall, and then, casually, he stopped talking to the other man, and looked over his shoulder, and looked right at Dale. Their eyes met. For a moment Dale thought he would surely leave the man and come back down the hall to her—she wanted that so much. But he only looked at her, and then the other man said something to him, and Hank smiled and turned away and went around the corner, out of sight.
There was nothing more she could do. She handed in her attendance sheets and chatted with the secretaries automatically, then returned to her classroom to do the necessary things that the end of the day required. Finally she was through, she was free. She walked with great control to her Beetle convertible, and drove immediately to the ocean, and tore off her shoes and socks, and ran. She ran and ran. She ran for joy, she ran for love. She ran wildly at the edge of the surf because Hank Kennedy’s eyes were green.
She ran, thinking how drab the rest of her life seemed in comparison to this moment, how the rest of her life had not prepared her for this. She was full of such joy, such energy, such elation, simply because one man lived on this earth and had stopped for a few moments to meet her stare. And he would call her now, she was sure of it. If she had learned nothing else during her two years in Europe, she had learned how to say, merely by the way she held her body and her mouth, by the way she held her eyes:
I am interested in you
,
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