room off the hall of the fraternity house. He was shouting over the telephone in order to be heard over the children who were busy putting on their coats and galoshes and screaming out goodbyes to one another and to their new-found friends.
Barbara, still with a champagne glass in her hand, stood just inside the door, leaning against the wall, watching him.
“Yes, dear. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Yes, I’ve just been talking with a friend of hers, and she’s going to call around for me.” As he listened to his wife he eyed Barbara apprehensively as she slumped unsteadily, her eyes glazed over. “Yes, well, I’m not sure. No, I don’t think we’ll be home early this evening. The snow is still coming down and it’s a bit late to head out now.”
In the next room, Phyl too, was leaning against the wall. Her arms were crossed in front of her and Santa Claus was kissing her passionately on the mouth while his hands groped behind her, finding her bottom. Barbara slipped from the small room and began to shepherd some of the children who were lingering toward the door. As she came around the corner she saw Phyl and Patrick and could not fail to note Patrick’s hand placement.
“Jesus, they ought to call you Santa Crotch, instead of Santa Claus.”
The kids skipped merrily by, one or two tentatively eying Santa and the girl who was obviously not Mrs. Claus.
Phyl said, after pulling her mouth away from his, “You’re going to blow your image, Santa.”
In a husky voice he said, “Say you’re not going away skiing. Go ahead, say it.”
“You’re not going away skiing.”
“Oh, come on, Phyl. What’s going on, anyway. You promised me.” He pulled his beard down and kissed her again, even more urgently than before.
“I’ve got a place in the hills not far from here. Ski slopes, a fireplace. Warm, toasty. You’ll love it.” Nibbling on her earlobe he added, “I love you.”
Phyl reached up and pulled down the elastic of his false beard, stretching it away from his chin. “I love you, too, but it will have to wait.” She kissed him tenderly but he responded even more passionately than before. She pulled quickly away, letting the beard go with a snap against his nose.
“Ouch!” he said, and released her. She ducked away and went to the door to help Barbara while he rubbed his nose. A last child went by and looked up at him curiously. He growled at the child who stopped and continued to stare at him.
“Beat it, kid!”
The boy’s face began to pucker and then he started to cry.
“Oh, Christ!” Patrick said and he turned and went quickly out of the room to change back into his own clothes.
Down the hall from where he had been rehearsing, Peter Smythe stood in a phone booth trying to support the receiver on his shoulder as he finished dialing while tying his tie. He stopped, listened, fidgeted and tapped his foot as the mechanism rang several times. There was no answer. He looked at his watch, put the receiver back angrily, stepped into the hall, heard the coin drop, went back for it and, still preoccupied, went down the corridor.
Another student passed him and called out, “Good luck, Peter.”
Bringing his attention back in focus he answered, “Oh, uh, thanks, Allan.” Then he crossed back to the practice studio still fussing with his necktie.
When she got home she was flustered and shaking from her confrontation with Peter so Jess decided to take a bath to calm herself. She ran the water in the tub of the bathroom that she shared with the other girls and, in her slip, brought her towel, washcloth and robe into the bathroom, closing and latching the door. The large mirror was steaming up but she could see to pin her long hair up and out of the way. After she had finished doing that she looked down curiously at her body.
Quickly she grabbed the towel and wiped the steam from the mirror then stripped off her slip, bra and panties and stared curiously at her stomach,