Chapter 8 – House of Horrors
The next day was a really busy one. I got out of the house early, telling my Mom that I was having lunch at one of my friends’ house, and I was at Jane’s a little after nine. I got right to work, with Tempest’s help, and I had another paper completed when Amy walked in at ten.
She was in a good mood, raring to go, and had a bag of treats with her, as usual. I had two papers ready for her to type, and I hoped to get another one finished while she typed those. If the timing worked out, we would take a break for lunch when she had finished the first two papers, and we could review the finished ones over lunch.
Jane had a radio on a desk in the living room, and we put on WDOT. It was a fun day; we were both working well, and at good speed. Jane wasn’t there to chatter with Amy, but the radio was a good substitute, and we would both sing along to our favorites, which were not always the same. By noon, or a little before, she had the two papers typed, and I had the next one written.
I had finished a few minutes earlier, so I started on lunch. Amy didn’t know about the Chili; I just told her Jane had a surprise for us. By the time she had finished, the aroma was filling the kitchen.
“Hey, that smells like Chili!”
Well, she was right, of course, but it turned out that she had only had the canned stuff from the supermarket, so it was as much of a revelation to her as it had been to me. She liked spicy food, though, so she was delighted to try it.
That was one of my most fun lunches ever, sharing authentic Southern California Chili and cornbread with Amy, talking and laughing while we tried to review some of the papers. We didn’t make much progress, and ended up spilling Chili on one of the papers, but we figured it would just make it seem more natural. When we had finished the Chili, we decided we had better get more serious, and we sat down at the coffee table with cocoa and the doughnuts she had brought and finished reviewing the finished papers – the two from the night before, and the two she had just typed.
“Well, that leaves just four, right?” she asked, “And one of them you’ve just finished.”
“That’s right. So, if I finish one more today, that will leave just two, which we can do over the next couple of weeks; they aren’t due just yet.”
“Right. We’ve actually got more of them finished this week than I expected. I thought we would have six or seven left to do. Well done, kid!”
“Aw, thanks, but it’s just as much your work as mine; and we couldn’t have done it without Jane. I’d still like to get them finished, though. Do you have any more time this week to do any?”
“Hmm… I’m working in the shop the next three days. Maybe Sunday night?”
My face lit up, and then I remembered.
“No, not this Sunday. The Rolling Stones are going to be on Ed Sullivan, and I’ve got to watch it.”
“You’re kidding! The Stones? How did you find that out?”
I shrugged. “Tom found out somehow. We never know where he gets his information, but he’s always right.”
“Well that’s my Sunday planned, too.”
So, we decided to stay long enough for me to get one more written. She had one to type, and I could leave the next one with her to finish at home. I would get the last two written either at home or at the library, and drop them off to her.
The paper I was writing was a twelve-pager, and Amy had to wait a little bit for me to finish, but she didn’t mind. She did the dishes, fed Tempest, and tidied up while I wrote. The writing wasn’t as difficult as it sounds, although my right arm was getting a little sore. I had written introductions and theses for all the papers already, and outlined the arguments for each one, so all I had to do was follow my outline and fill up space with words.
When I was finished, we quickly reviewed the last paper she had typed, and then we packed up to go. She had five completed term papers to deliver, and one more to type.
“Here’s what we’ll do, kid,” Amy said as she put on her jacket, “Let’s meet at the shop after school on Monday – about three-thirty? I’ll give you the money I’ve collected, and we can talk about what’s left to do. Okay?”
On my way home, I went up Hillcrest to see if Win was home, and I could hear the noise before I got close to the house. Win and Jimmy and Larry were playing wiffle-ball in the yard behind their house. As I walked around the garage and into the back yard, Larry was laughing insanely, Win was cursing his brother, and Jimmy was silently trotting around the yard, head down and arms pumping, trying to look like Mickey Mantle. Apparently, he had just hit the ball over the trees and into Doctor Keller’s back yard.
I was persuaded to join the fun with the usual assurances: “C’mon, anybody can hit a wiffle ball; even you!”
Win and I were a team – the seventh grade against the sixth – and Jimmy had solemnly promised he wouldn’t throw me any trick pitches, just straight and slow. But he was lying, and I struck out, to the delight of Jimmy and Larry and the disgust of Win. Anyway, we played for about half an hour, and I managed to get the bat on the ball a couple of times, but we were thoroughly beaten.
We retired for some Kool-Aid, and I asked about Saturday.
“Yeah, we’ll be there!” Jimmy said, and Larry nodded in agreement.
“I talked to Tom this morning,” Win said, “He’s in, and he’s going to try to get Roy to come, too.”
“That’s great,” I said, “What about Rollo?”
Win rolled his eyes and shrugged.
“Well, he’s gotta come; it was his idea.”
The events of the previous summer and fall notwithstanding, Rollo was well known for avoiding anything that involved inconvenience or discomfort.
“Maybe,” Larry said, “he’ll get his old man to give him a ride to the campsite.”
“Yeah, and bring a bed with him,” Jimmy added.
When the laughter had died down, I said, “Nah, he’s gotta show up; he’ll never live it down if he doesn’t.”
“I think he’ll show up,” Win said, “But here’s the question: how many sandwiches will he bring with him?”
“We’ll know from the smell,” Jimmy said, “as soon as he gets within fifty feet!”
Another round of wild laughter.
“Okay, okay,” I said, when I could be heard, “Speaking of food. We’ve got lots of canned stuff out there already. Should I buy us some hot dogs and buns?”
Jimmy and Larry both looked at me and shook their heads with patient condescension.
“Don’t spend any money, Denny,” Larry said, grinning, “We’ll take care of it.”
The next day, Friday, I decided to take a break from writing and go downtown with Win and Tom. Vacation was almost over, it was a beautiful day, and none of us had been to Burlington for a while, except for my trip to the library. As we headed down Pearl Street in the bus, we passed one of the big Fraternity houses, where a bunch of students were lounging on the lawn, drinking beer.
“Is that where The Planets are playing tomorrow?” I asked.
“That’s the Lambda Iota house,” Tom said, “My brother told me they have the wildest parties on the whole campus.”
“I don’t know,” Win said, “All I know is it’s a UVM frat and it’s their end of semester party. They’re supposed to have ten kegs of beer and Karl said they get a hundred bucks plus whatever tips they can get and all the beer they can drink. But those guys there are partying right now, so it must be somewhere else.”
“Not necessarily,” Tom said, “I’ve heard the Lambdas start drinking Friday at noon and don’t stop until Monday morning. Maybe they’re just getting warmed up for tomorrow night.”
We couldn’t go to the frat party, of course, but we still had hopes that we might get into the Dance Date gig as their roadies. Meanwhile, music was one of our primary motivations for the trip downtown, but we didn’t head for the record shop right away; we wanted to walk around a bit first.
The first thing we did was stop by each of the three movie theaters in Burlington, the State, the Strong, and the Flynn, to see what was playing and what was coming up. Not that we planned to see anything soon; our budgets were a little tight. But we liked to know what was playing, and the posters at the theaters were much more descriptive and exciting than the notices in the Free Press. Of course, Win and Tom didn’t know that I had six dollars in my pocket.
There was a new Elvis movie playing, which we had no interest in, and one of those ridiculous beach movies had just come out – “Beach Blanket Bingo.” Much as we liked girls in bikinis, we felt that music had progressed far beyond Frankie Avalon and his childish crap, and, if we had once adored Annette (I know I certainly had,) those days were over.
“Sound of Music” was still playing, for the girls and parents who liked that sort of thing, as well as “The Greatest Story Ever Told,” and a World War II film called “In Harm’s Way.” The ones that appealed to us, though, were “Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors” and a new science fiction thriller called “The Satan Bug.” George Maharis, who had starred in “Route 66” on TV, was in “The Satan Bug,” and that was appealing, but when I pointed out that “Dr. Terror” was starting in ten minutes and pulled the bills out of my pocket, the decision was made.
So that was our unplanned afternoon of thrills and horror. The film had five separate episodes, tied together with a sort of framework plot, and featuring all kinds of murder, lust, and supernatural thrills. There was a vampire, a werewolf, a disembodied hand, a killer plant, and quite a few good-looking women, some of them victims and some of them killers. The female vampire in the last episode was my favorite. All in all, it was well worth seeing. You couldn’t go wrong with Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing.
As we left the theater, we noted a couple of up-coming features – “Shenandoah,” a Civil War drama, and “What’s New Pussycat?” which featured Ursula Andress, the Bond Girl from “Doctor No.” With my extra cash from the term paper business, I planned to see more movies this summer, but it was clearly going to be impossible to hide my business from my friends much longer.
Val Carter’s Record Shop was our final stop before the bus. We spent quite a while checking out the singles, and checking out the sales clerks to see if there was any chance to hide a record or two under our shirts, but they were watching us too closely. We imagined, of course, that they recognized us as the “Infamous Troublemakers from Essex Junction,” but it was more likely that they watched every twelve-year-old boy the same way. Anyway, Win and Tom had enough to buy one 45 each, so they got “Game of Love” and “The Last Time,” and I bought “Tired of Waiting For You” and “Help Me Rhonda,” the new one from the Beach Boys.
Back to Essex on the bus. Tom got off across from his house, and Win and I got off at the shopping center. It was after five, and I wanted to see if Jane was home, so we went around to the back of the house where her apartment was and up the stairs. I could hear her in the kitchen, and she opened the door seconds after I knocked.
“Hey, guys; what’s up?” She opened the door wide and beckoned us in.
“Just wondered if you’d been in court,” I said, “and what’s going on with the trial.”
“Oh, sure. Have a seat and I’ll tell you all about it while I heat up my supper.”
“Great. We can’t stay long, though; we both have to get home for supper.”
“Well, hopefully, it’s almost over. The prosecution rested this morning, and the defense attorney made his opening statement and called the first of his character witnesses. But what’s more important is what’s going on behind the scenes. At least that’s what I think.”
“A plea deal?” I asked.
“Yeah. That’s what I’ve heard. Supposedly, both sides are talking about it, and they might make it official on Monday.”
I had told Win already what Jane had told me before, that the prosecution might offer a second degree charge if the defense would agree to plead guilty.
“It seems like a bargain for Mrs. Rock,” he said, rather disgustedly.
“Well, that’s what I think, too, and Sally’s Dad, and just about anyone who knew her and cared about her. But, on the other hand, there are people who think she should get off scot-free; the ones who think Sally was a no-good drug dealer from California, as if it was an evil foreign country. Anyway, like I told Denny, first degree might be difficult to prove, so maybe it’s for the best.”
“Yeah,” I said, “and at her age, she still might be in prison for the rest of her life.”
Jane gave me a kind of questioning look, and asked, “Do you know how old Mrs. Rock is?”
I looked at Win and he looked at me, but neither of us had a definitive answer.
“Well,” I said, “she must be in her sixties.”
“At least,” Win added.
Jane shook her head back and forth as she stirred her supper. “She’s forty-nine.”
We were astonished. “That’s impossible,” I said, “She looks like she’s almost dead!”
“Sorry, but it’s true. She started teaching in 1936, at age twenty-one. She turns fifty in July.”
I didn’t realize until much later that all children tended to overestimate the ages of adults, especially teachers, but it was quite a shock at the time; Mrs. Rock was only a few years older than my mother.
“I know her face looks older than that,” Jane said, “and I’m sure the whiskey has a lot to do with it. That and having to deal with brats like you two five days a week.” That was said with a smile, of course.
We had to get going, so I pulled out the 45 of “Help me Rhonda” and handed it to her.
“Oh, it’s the new one from the boys! Thanks, Denny, I’ll put it on right now!”