So Willing

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Vince parked his father’s car in front of Betty’s house, checked in the glove compartment to be sure he hadn’t forgotten the “necessary equipment,” smoothed his hair on the left side, where the wind coming in the window had mussed it, and stepped out of the car.

Betty’s father was sitting on the porch in his undershirt. It was seven-thirty of an evening late in June, and just twilight. Betty’s father was an indistinct figure seen from the street, an expanse of white undershirt and a glowing cigarette, that was all.

Vince frowned. Betty’d told him her parents were going to be out tonight, and he’d planned to bring her back here after the movies. A bed had it all over a backseat any day, particularly with a virgin. Well, the hell with it. The backseat would have to do.

Erasing the frown and replacing it with an easy, deferential smile, Vince walked around the car, across the sidewalk and up the walk. “Hi, Mister Baxter,” he said, as he went up the stoop.

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