Chapter Four
It was about ten o'clock that evening at the Petrovsky residence, and Peter and Ruthie were lying in his bed, both trying to exhale after a shared experience that lasted nearly an hour. They didn't any misgivings about it, for as had been put so often before, how could it be wrong if it felt right? But there was something on Peter's mind, something that he had wanted to talk to Ruthie about since the last time they had sex in her bedroom ten days before; and it had nothing to do with their relationship.
Paris, Peter's mother, had taken one of her not too infrequent out of town business trips. She trusted her son enough that she no longer even left ready-made casseroles to reheat. Since he knew enough how to cook full course meals for himself, she told him to bake whatever he wanted as long as he cleaned up afterwards. He really didn't have to be told that since he made dinner at least once a week for himself and his mother already and always left the kitchen spotless at the end.
Ruthie, meanwhile, had done so well in the freshman year of her high school's gifted track (which Peter was also in), that Eric and Annie agreed at the start of the year she could for the sophomore year stay out of the parsonage until eleven o'clock, the city's official curfew for minors. Before, she had been expected to report back in to the manse at nine unless she was out with another family member. They really had no problem with her going over to Peter's because he was just as witty as she was and they were at the top of their class year.
Annie and Eric trusted their youngest daughter enough not to do anything ill-advised; in fact they still didn't know that Ruthie and Peter had become lovers. But she was also much more mature at fifteen than either of her sisters had been, and at least as much as Matt was. If she did have sex with someone, it would be right for her, although they hoped she would remain "pure."
Paris on the other hand, knowing how much Peter loved Ruthie, suspected long ago that her son might become sexually active with his girlfriend. Although she wanted him to remain celibate, she was realistic about the situation. She had long ago left a box of condoms and other tools in the top drawer of his bedside stand, with the agreed-upon understanding she'd never go looking through it to see if he had used them. But if Peter ever needed a new supply, he'd let his mother know with a password; a series of words that he would slip into a normal conversation so no over hearers would know what he really meant. Only Ruthie knew the secret code, and why he selected them.
The words he chose were "How about those Dodgers?" (or "Kings" if it was hockey season), although he really didn't like either sports franchise. He was more of a soccer aficionado and thought it was well past time that America's big four sports (baseball, basketball, American football and hockey) adopted a system of promotion and relegation just like they had in European soccer. Why should a perennial loser continue to be in the big leagues, when a minor league team might be superior, he thought?
For baseball, for instance, drop the worst three teams at the end of each season down to AAA, and promote the best three AAA teams to the Majors; and so on down the line to swaps between the AA and A levels. It would mean making all the current "affiliate" teams become independents, but it would be fun to see a team from, say Truth or Consequences, New Mexico play the Yankees or the Braves instead of seeing the Bronx Bombers or the Mouths of the South perennially trash their expected opposition ad nauseum. It might even be exciting to see a World Series between Baton Rouge and Calgary - think of the ratings such an unexpected combination that would result, Peter thought.
Ruthie heartily agreed with Peter on that one. But her gripe with professional sports went merely beyond that. She was also interested in the financial aspects, ever since two years before when the Colonel bought Ruthie a subscription to Street and Smith. Her passion in sports was football, and she couldn't understand how consistently losing teams like the Detroit Lions stayed in the NFL; but for their equal share of the television revenues, which put a small market team like the Green Bay Packers and mediocre franchises like the Lions on a level pegging with the self-proclaimed "America's Team," the Dallas Cowboys. Not only that, there was also a salary cap that was strictly enforced. True revenue sharing simply didn't exist in any of the other Big Three sports; and she was convinced if such an arrangement existed, MLB, the NBA and the NHL wouldn't be in so much trouble.
Nearly a month passed from the time they came to know each other Biblically by before they made love again. The next time was just before school started, at the home of a mutual friend of theirs they trusted; the third was a little more than a week later up in Ruthie's well-insulated attic bedroom, which she had locked for extra measure. Ruthie initially feared their sudden rush to intimacy would drive her and her boyfriend apart, but if anything it actually brought them closer together; and her determination not to let it interfere with her grades in fact saw her marks go even higher. Peter saw a similar effect on his grades, too.
Ruthie had been at Peter's all afternoon, going there right after school. After working together on homework for nearly three hours, Peter and Ruthie shared a candlelit dinner around 7:30. But there wasn't a candelabrum; it was still mosquito season and Peter had lit a few citronella candles around the dining room. Ruthie had to admit she liked the smell and deep down knew this would be another one of "those" nights.
The two started with vichyssoise (Ruthie really liked leek soup the way he put it together almost as much as Annie's version), then had a meat loaf with fettuccine alfredo and a Caesar salad with a home-made 1000 Islands dressing, then finished with another home-made concoction, key lime sorbet (Paris had gotten an ice-cream machine during the summer and she and her son loved it.)
After supper, which lasted an hour, Ruthie and Peter spent only a few minutes talking about their families' latest exploits and about each other's thoughts and feelings. Finally, they agreed that there wasn't much point talking anymore. They quickly washed the dishes, and then headed up to his bedroom where they made love, this time for nearly an hour. Each thought they had gotten better than the first two times and so had their partner.
Afterwards, as they were basking in the afterglow and exchanging endearments to each other, Peter finally remembered something which had bothered him since the night of their first time and had wanted to talk about with Ruthie when they did it at her place had it not been nearly his curfew time.
"Ruthie," said Peter, "I know this is a really weird time to be asking you this, because this time was really great ."
"It was, Peter," said Ruthie. "I just love the way you love me, and not just physically. You've always treated me as your equal, and I love you for that, too."
"I feel the same way about you. But there's something on my mind I've been meaning to ask you. Have you talked to Rhiannon since camp?"
"Only once or twice since school started, Peter," replied Ruthie, as she rolled off the bed and began putting her clothes back on. "Why do you ask?"
"Has she talked to you at all about what happened between Henderson and her?" The sight of his girlfriend in her natural state made Peter want to draw her back to the mattress for another round but he was getting tired and decided against it. There was a slight pause as she reached for her brassiere and panties.
"Well, she's glad that he's not at Kennedy anymore, but she thinks that's just a coincidence. But she did tell me something weird," said Ruthie, who had slipped her underwear on herself and was now putting on her socks. "She said that the day after he molested her, her boyfriend at the camp and her had some very, very rough sex. It was like she was taking out her anger on him. Well, as it turns out, he was also taking his anger out on her. Her boyfriend was also felt up by Henderson, three days before it happened to her. She and her boyfriend are still dating, although it's tricky since he lives about an hour from here; they only get together about once every other week."
Peter was shocked. It was bad enough Henderson had molested at least one young woman, but young men, too?
"When did she tell you this?"
"Just before school was dismissed today, Peter," said Ruthie, who had finished putting on her kilt and was now buttoning her short-sleeved blouse. "I haven't had any time today to call Roxie or Kevin to tell them. I still don't have a cell phone, remember?"
"Kevin's on night shift this week," thought Peter, "isn't he?"
"Yeah, he is. Maybe I can give him a call. May I use your phone?" asked Ruthie. She finished her outfit with her cardigan; a cool breeze the last few days had dropped the temperature down into the low 60s.
"Go ahead," yawned Peter, now totally exhausted from their shared experience. "Use the phone downstairs because I might not want to hear the details, especially after what we did tonight. Then you can walk yourself out. Just remember to set the perimeter alarm on the way out and lock the door. The code this week is -"
"I know what it is. Thank you. Good night Peter. I love you," said Ruthie, and she kissed her boyfriend and pulled up the covers over his birthday suit so he could fall asleep.
"I love you too, Ruthie - same time next week?"
"You bet. I can't wait. So, do you want my place or yours?" Ruthie winked.
"Yours again," said Peter, winking back. "Oh, can you turn down the fan, to low speed, please."
Ruthie pulled the chain on the fan above Peter's bed to slow it down, walked to the doorway, turned off the lights in Peter's bedroom and headed downstairs to call Kevin. Detective Michaels answered the phone.
"I'm sorry Ruthie," said Michaels, "but Kevin's not here. May I take a message?"
"Never mind, Detective, it can wait until the morning. I'll ask Kevin when he comes home."
"It's your call. But is everything okay?"
"No," said Ruthie, "everything's not okay. I don't want to accuse anyone of anything, but from what I heard today through the school's grapevine, Frank Henderson may be a pedophile and you might want to open a file on him if Roxie hasn't already."
Michaels was interested. "Yes, we have, Ruthie. What information have you got?"
Ruthie told Michaels everything she knew, including the name and address of Rhiannon's boyfriend.
"I'll follow it up, and thanks," said Michaels. "In the meantime, please be extra careful. Henderson may be rallying the troops and trying to smear his accusers, so you and Peter watch yourselves."
"Thanks Detective. Good night."
Michaels hung up the phone on his desk, his hand shaking. Now there were three minors all accusing a vice-principal of inappropriate conduct. He knew this was one case that had to be treaded upon lightly. Roxie and Bill were right; they needed a smoking gun. Someone had to stop Henderson, but the cop knew at least a few more students would be victimized before they could take a case to the District Attorney. It was a bitter Catch-22, but Michaels figured trying to keep quiet as much as possible was the necessary course to follow. He decided to only allow Kevin, Roxie and Simpson unfettered access to the file. Every one else on the force would be on a "need to know" basis, and unless one of their children was also a victim, they simply didn't need to know.
Ruthie hung up the phone at Peter's, stuffed the textbooks and notepads into her backpack, wrapped it around her back, and activated the security alarm before locking the door behind her. As she walked down the driveway to begin the brief trek home, she could have sworn she heard gentle snoring. She looked up as she stepped off the front porch. Peter had left his window of the bedroom above the garage open, and the curtains had been drawn.
It was about ten o'clock that evening at the Petrovsky residence, and Peter and Ruthie were lying in his bed, both trying to exhale after a shared experience that lasted nearly an hour. They didn't any misgivings about it, for as had been put so often before, how could it be wrong if it felt right? But there was something on Peter's mind, something that he had wanted to talk to Ruthie about since the last time they had sex in her bedroom ten days before; and it had nothing to do with their relationship.
Paris, Peter's mother, had taken one of her not too infrequent out of town business trips. She trusted her son enough that she no longer even left ready-made casseroles to reheat. Since he knew enough how to cook full course meals for himself, she told him to bake whatever he wanted as long as he cleaned up afterwards. He really didn't have to be told that since he made dinner at least once a week for himself and his mother already and always left the kitchen spotless at the end.
Ruthie, meanwhile, had done so well in the freshman year of her high school's gifted track (which Peter was also in), that Eric and Annie agreed at the start of the year she could for the sophomore year stay out of the parsonage until eleven o'clock, the city's official curfew for minors. Before, she had been expected to report back in to the manse at nine unless she was out with another family member. They really had no problem with her going over to Peter's because he was just as witty as she was and they were at the top of their class year.
Annie and Eric trusted their youngest daughter enough not to do anything ill-advised; in fact they still didn't know that Ruthie and Peter had become lovers. But she was also much more mature at fifteen than either of her sisters had been, and at least as much as Matt was. If she did have sex with someone, it would be right for her, although they hoped she would remain "pure."
Paris on the other hand, knowing how much Peter loved Ruthie, suspected long ago that her son might become sexually active with his girlfriend. Although she wanted him to remain celibate, she was realistic about the situation. She had long ago left a box of condoms and other tools in the top drawer of his bedside stand, with the agreed-upon understanding she'd never go looking through it to see if he had used them. But if Peter ever needed a new supply, he'd let his mother know with a password; a series of words that he would slip into a normal conversation so no over hearers would know what he really meant. Only Ruthie knew the secret code, and why he selected them.
The words he chose were "How about those Dodgers?" (or "Kings" if it was hockey season), although he really didn't like either sports franchise. He was more of a soccer aficionado and thought it was well past time that America's big four sports (baseball, basketball, American football and hockey) adopted a system of promotion and relegation just like they had in European soccer. Why should a perennial loser continue to be in the big leagues, when a minor league team might be superior, he thought?
For baseball, for instance, drop the worst three teams at the end of each season down to AAA, and promote the best three AAA teams to the Majors; and so on down the line to swaps between the AA and A levels. It would mean making all the current "affiliate" teams become independents, but it would be fun to see a team from, say Truth or Consequences, New Mexico play the Yankees or the Braves instead of seeing the Bronx Bombers or the Mouths of the South perennially trash their expected opposition ad nauseum. It might even be exciting to see a World Series between Baton Rouge and Calgary - think of the ratings such an unexpected combination that would result, Peter thought.
Ruthie heartily agreed with Peter on that one. But her gripe with professional sports went merely beyond that. She was also interested in the financial aspects, ever since two years before when the Colonel bought Ruthie a subscription to Street and Smith. Her passion in sports was football, and she couldn't understand how consistently losing teams like the Detroit Lions stayed in the NFL; but for their equal share of the television revenues, which put a small market team like the Green Bay Packers and mediocre franchises like the Lions on a level pegging with the self-proclaimed "America's Team," the Dallas Cowboys. Not only that, there was also a salary cap that was strictly enforced. True revenue sharing simply didn't exist in any of the other Big Three sports; and she was convinced if such an arrangement existed, MLB, the NBA and the NHL wouldn't be in so much trouble.
Nearly a month passed from the time they came to know each other Biblically by before they made love again. The next time was just before school started, at the home of a mutual friend of theirs they trusted; the third was a little more than a week later up in Ruthie's well-insulated attic bedroom, which she had locked for extra measure. Ruthie initially feared their sudden rush to intimacy would drive her and her boyfriend apart, but if anything it actually brought them closer together; and her determination not to let it interfere with her grades in fact saw her marks go even higher. Peter saw a similar effect on his grades, too.
Ruthie had been at Peter's all afternoon, going there right after school. After working together on homework for nearly three hours, Peter and Ruthie shared a candlelit dinner around 7:30. But there wasn't a candelabrum; it was still mosquito season and Peter had lit a few citronella candles around the dining room. Ruthie had to admit she liked the smell and deep down knew this would be another one of "those" nights.
The two started with vichyssoise (Ruthie really liked leek soup the way he put it together almost as much as Annie's version), then had a meat loaf with fettuccine alfredo and a Caesar salad with a home-made 1000 Islands dressing, then finished with another home-made concoction, key lime sorbet (Paris had gotten an ice-cream machine during the summer and she and her son loved it.)
After supper, which lasted an hour, Ruthie and Peter spent only a few minutes talking about their families' latest exploits and about each other's thoughts and feelings. Finally, they agreed that there wasn't much point talking anymore. They quickly washed the dishes, and then headed up to his bedroom where they made love, this time for nearly an hour. Each thought they had gotten better than the first two times and so had their partner.
Afterwards, as they were basking in the afterglow and exchanging endearments to each other, Peter finally remembered something which had bothered him since the night of their first time and had wanted to talk about with Ruthie when they did it at her place had it not been nearly his curfew time.
"Ruthie," said Peter, "I know this is a really weird time to be asking you this, because this time was really great ."
"It was, Peter," said Ruthie. "I just love the way you love me, and not just physically. You've always treated me as your equal, and I love you for that, too."
"I feel the same way about you. But there's something on my mind I've been meaning to ask you. Have you talked to Rhiannon since camp?"
"Only once or twice since school started, Peter," replied Ruthie, as she rolled off the bed and began putting her clothes back on. "Why do you ask?"
"Has she talked to you at all about what happened between Henderson and her?" The sight of his girlfriend in her natural state made Peter want to draw her back to the mattress for another round but he was getting tired and decided against it. There was a slight pause as she reached for her brassiere and panties.
"Well, she's glad that he's not at Kennedy anymore, but she thinks that's just a coincidence. But she did tell me something weird," said Ruthie, who had slipped her underwear on herself and was now putting on her socks. "She said that the day after he molested her, her boyfriend at the camp and her had some very, very rough sex. It was like she was taking out her anger on him. Well, as it turns out, he was also taking his anger out on her. Her boyfriend was also felt up by Henderson, three days before it happened to her. She and her boyfriend are still dating, although it's tricky since he lives about an hour from here; they only get together about once every other week."
Peter was shocked. It was bad enough Henderson had molested at least one young woman, but young men, too?
"When did she tell you this?"
"Just before school was dismissed today, Peter," said Ruthie, who had finished putting on her kilt and was now buttoning her short-sleeved blouse. "I haven't had any time today to call Roxie or Kevin to tell them. I still don't have a cell phone, remember?"
"Kevin's on night shift this week," thought Peter, "isn't he?"
"Yeah, he is. Maybe I can give him a call. May I use your phone?" asked Ruthie. She finished her outfit with her cardigan; a cool breeze the last few days had dropped the temperature down into the low 60s.
"Go ahead," yawned Peter, now totally exhausted from their shared experience. "Use the phone downstairs because I might not want to hear the details, especially after what we did tonight. Then you can walk yourself out. Just remember to set the perimeter alarm on the way out and lock the door. The code this week is -"
"I know what it is. Thank you. Good night Peter. I love you," said Ruthie, and she kissed her boyfriend and pulled up the covers over his birthday suit so he could fall asleep.
"I love you too, Ruthie - same time next week?"
"You bet. I can't wait. So, do you want my place or yours?" Ruthie winked.
"Yours again," said Peter, winking back. "Oh, can you turn down the fan, to low speed, please."
Ruthie pulled the chain on the fan above Peter's bed to slow it down, walked to the doorway, turned off the lights in Peter's bedroom and headed downstairs to call Kevin. Detective Michaels answered the phone.
"I'm sorry Ruthie," said Michaels, "but Kevin's not here. May I take a message?"
"Never mind, Detective, it can wait until the morning. I'll ask Kevin when he comes home."
"It's your call. But is everything okay?"
"No," said Ruthie, "everything's not okay. I don't want to accuse anyone of anything, but from what I heard today through the school's grapevine, Frank Henderson may be a pedophile and you might want to open a file on him if Roxie hasn't already."
Michaels was interested. "Yes, we have, Ruthie. What information have you got?"
Ruthie told Michaels everything she knew, including the name and address of Rhiannon's boyfriend.
"I'll follow it up, and thanks," said Michaels. "In the meantime, please be extra careful. Henderson may be rallying the troops and trying to smear his accusers, so you and Peter watch yourselves."
"Thanks Detective. Good night."
Michaels hung up the phone on his desk, his hand shaking. Now there were three minors all accusing a vice-principal of inappropriate conduct. He knew this was one case that had to be treaded upon lightly. Roxie and Bill were right; they needed a smoking gun. Someone had to stop Henderson, but the cop knew at least a few more students would be victimized before they could take a case to the District Attorney. It was a bitter Catch-22, but Michaels figured trying to keep quiet as much as possible was the necessary course to follow. He decided to only allow Kevin, Roxie and Simpson unfettered access to the file. Every one else on the force would be on a "need to know" basis, and unless one of their children was also a victim, they simply didn't need to know.
Ruthie hung up the phone at Peter's, stuffed the textbooks and notepads into her backpack, wrapped it around her back, and activated the security alarm before locking the door behind her. As she walked down the driveway to begin the brief trek home, she could have sworn she heard gentle snoring. She looked up as she stepped off the front porch. Peter had left his window of the bedroom above the garage open, and the curtains had been drawn.