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  SWEET PAIN

  SWEET PAIN

  Richard Posner

  M Evans

  Lanham • New York • Boulder • Toronto • Plymouth, UK

  M Evans

  An imprint of Rowman & Littlefield

  4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200

  Lanham, Maryland 20706

  www.rowman.com

  10 Thornbury Road, Plymouth PL6 7PP

  United Kingdom

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Posner, Richard.

  Sweet pain.

  Summary: Unable to get along with her parents, suffering from a lack of self-worth, and in need of a happy, secure and loving relationship, Casey is physically abused by her new boyfriend; and while she longs to break away she is also irresistibly drawn to him.

  [ 1. Violence—Fiction. 2. Parent and child—Fiction]

  I. Title.

  PZ7.P8384Sw 1987 [Fic] 87-8930

  ISBN 978-1-59077-318-5

  Copyright© 1987 by Richard Posner

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher.

  Distributed by

  NATIONAL BOOK NETWORK

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  For Jarrod, Mark, and Alayna

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter One

  CASEY THOUGHT, I'M GOING TO GET VIOLENT, AS SHE LIStened to the noisy truck motor out front. She focused on it with all of her concentration as she gripped her paperback novel. She felt her body tense in the lounge chair and her chest tightened with frustration. She didn't want to hear truck engines on this hot August day.

  The truck wasn't going away, and Casey began to seethe. In a couple of minutes she'd go around front and yell, but she figured she'd give this jerk a little longer to get lost. Forcing herself to breathe in and out, Casey scrunched up on the webbed chair and stared between her knees at the new swimming pool. Sun flared from the water and blinded her, even through her big round sunglasses. She shielded her eyes with a cupped hand. The water looked like a lake in hell, fiery and black.

  CRASH! The truck had dropped something right in front of her house. "Damn!" Casey said, and sat upright. Her lean sprinter's body pointed like an arrow. She dogeared her page and slapped the book down on the plastic table next to her. With quick grace, she rose from the chair and stood barefoot on broiling concrete.

  A second crash made her yelp in surprise. What was going on? Casey headed for the fence gate at the side of the house, but she hadn't taken four strides before the gate slammed open.

  "Huh?" she said foolishly. A section of stockade fence nosed through the open gate like the prow of a ship. A straining young man carried the fence section. Casey couldn't figure out how he did it by himself.

  "Where do you want it?" the kid grunted.

  A voice from the other side of the gate said, "All the way in the back." That was Daddy's voice!

  "Oh, right," Casey remembered. "The fence." The fence would close in the whole backyard because of the new pool. Daddy had said it was being delivered today. Suddenly, Casey didn't object to the gurgling truck motor. This was interesting.

  Casey followed the bobbing fence section as it floated past the swimming pool and up the slope. The kid was on the other side of the section, and Casey could see the claw of a hammer hooked onto the bottom edge. That's how he does it! she thought. She used her own arms to mimic the way he'd slipped the hammer under the section and then leaned the entire weight against his shoulder.

  "Casey," Mr. Gordon said.

  She turned. Daddy stood just inside the fence gate, in his old Army Reserve T-shirt and a pair of jeans. His curly hair looked orange in the brilliant sunlight and his skin looked paler than ever. "Hi, Daddy."

  He looked at her with a disapproving expression and gestured with one hand. "Uh, do you think you could put something on while these men are here?"

  Casey became aware of her yellow bathing suit with the huge cutouts on both sides. It was also slashed at the thighs, so it showed a lot of her. She felt suddenly embarrassed. "Daddy, don't be old."

  "Casey!"

  She made a silent raspberry with her lips. With an exaggerated flounce, she went to the picnic table, reached beneath the umbrella, and snatched up a lacy white beach jacket. She turned to watch the kid throw down the fence section as she knotted the jacket's cord around her waist. The thin material made her feel the dampness that coated her skin.

  "Happy?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  She shook her head. "It's not like I'm going to give the guy hot flashes. I mean, this body does not drive men into ecstasy."

  "Could you watch your mouth?"

  She dropped into the lounge chair. "Here at the convent, we just read and do silent prayer."

  Casey picked up the paperback, but she peered over the top of it to watch the kid come back down the slope. She knew this boy. From where? He was tall and strong-looking, with light, flowing hair. She couldn't place him but she liked looking at him. He moved like a prizefighter, balanced on the balls of his feet. She could see muscles moving under his white T-shirt. They weren't the muscles that come from pumping iron; he was ropy and tight, with a narrow waist and a firm rear end.

  She giggled to herself. God, if Daddy knew what she was thinking, he'd lock her up. But she liked the foamy tingles that rolled down her back. She imagined holding this boy very tightly and kissing him hard on the mouth.

  Don't fall for anybody now, jerk, she warned herself. She couldn't handle that, for sure. Not another louse like Mark Simon who'd make her cry until her throat got raw. For Casey Gordon, love meant pain; she'd learned that. She always found the wrong guy, and he always did a number on her. She'd done Mark's homework, typed his term paper, lent him money, bought him a gold ID bracelet, and given him every drop of love inside her. And in return he hadn't bought her even a gumball ring-and he'd cheated on her, canceled dates, and left her sobbing in her room on Prom night.

  Creep, she thought, as she relived the nightmare. It made her feel ice-cold inside, even as her skin cooked. She let the paperback rest on her lap; her damp hands were doing a number on the book. It was Faye Pollack's book, and Faye had told her not even to bend the cover back.

  The foxy guy returned with another fence section. This time he stayed on her side when he lugged the fence up the slope, and she could watch the way he bulged out at his shoulders and across his back. His T-shirt rode up and she saw a tanned slash of skin and the waistband of his undies. She snickered.

  The screen door opened and Mom looked out. She wore an aqua beach jacket over her bathing suit and she looked pretty good, though she was getting a little chunky around the middle. But her tallness covered it. Mom wore her elegant-looking eyeglasses and her hair was done up, and she looked really rich and brilliant. She wasn't that brilliant, and not that rich either, not since Dad's heart attack. But Mom was committed and strong, so very strong.

  "Hey, you got a beer?"

  "What ... ?"

  He stood over her, and his head eclipsed the sun. Casey couldn't see his features, just
a black oval, and of course his long, powerful body stretching from the sky to the patio. He smelled sweaty.

  "A beer." His voice sounded amused. "I could use a cold one."

  "Oh," she said. "I'll ask my—"

  "Hello, there," Casey's mom said.

  Casey gasped. She'd forgotten that her mom had come outside. Of course Mom had come outside; that's what had started Casey on her reverie.

  The boy looked over at Mrs. Gordon and, for some reason, Casey felt a chill pass through her, like a sense of danger.

  "Hi," he said. "I wondered if you had a beer."

  "Yes, of course," Mrs. Gordon said. "I'll bring it out to you." She turned to go back into the house. "Oh," she added, "if you get too hot doing that, feel free to jump into the pool."

  "Thanks," he said.

  The screen door slammed. Wow, Casey thought, Mom is being nice to the proles. Well, Mom was really psyched up about the new swimming pool. Dad had bought more land in the back, and when the pool was being dug, the neighbors had kept coming over and watching with green-eyed envy. This got Casey's mom turned on. Any evidence that the Gordons were getting richer made Mom go singing through the day, and even made her lovey-dovey with Dad.

  Casey made a visor of her hand and smiled up at the boy. "I love how you carry those fence sections."

  "Yeah?"

  "Do I know you from somewhere? I think I recognize you."

  "Maybe it was the night we made love in the laundromat," he said.

  "Huh?"

  He laughed, and it was that nasty little laugh that clicked in her memory. "Oh, God, you're Paul VanHorn."

  "No," he said. "It's: Oh, Paul VanHorn, you're God."

  She felt a little disappointed. "Very funny, hyuk hyuk hyuk. Did they ever let you graduate?"

  "Yeah. I had to go to Logan's office the Monday after graduation and get the diploma. They pulled down the shades."

  "I'll bet." Her eyeballs were throbbing from the sun. "Do you think you could move over a few feet so I don't go blind looking at you?"

  He shifted. Still uncomfortable, she stood up. Dizziness rushed over her; she'd moved too suddenly, and it was too hot. His hand slipped under her wrist and locked on, preventing her from falling. She swayed a little and felt her tuna fish sandwich come spinning into her throat. She sucked a deep breath and told herself not to puke.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  She nodded. The backyard spun slowly, like a merry-go-round. "Thanks," she said. "I was sitting too long."

  He looked up and down her body. "You don't seem too long to me."

  She tilted her head and made a sardonic face. "Are you really as much of an asshole as they said?"

  She expected him to go "Hee-haw" or something, but to her surprise, he looked hurt. "That was a crappy thing to say."

  She flushed. "I'm sorry. I guess it's just your reputation."

  "No problem."

  Her eyes picked out tiny black capillaries of soil that sweat had etched into his neck. His eyes gleamed an intense blue, maybe more intense because she saw them through sunglasses. His face was sculpted, very strong and bold. His mouth looked sensuous. She wished he didn't make her squirmy inside.

  It was weird meeting Paul VanHorn like this. She hadn't known him when he was at Westfield High School, but everyone knew about him. He was supposed to come from a screwed-up family, and the story said he was a super-bright guy who hardly did any work. He'd flunked out of half his classes, the ones he didn't drop. She knew he hadn't been allowed to attend graduation ceremonies because he'd shredded and spray-painted his official senior T-shirt and worn it wrapped around his naked torso during an assembly. He'd worn bikini underpants to the senior banquet and slam-danced with his friends. Lots of stuff like that. But people also said he was angry and sensitive and mixed up. He'd gone through a few girlfriends, most of them from other schools, and nobody knew anything about that.

  "Are you going to college?" Casey asked.

  "No."

  "Just delivering fence sections?"

  "I'm making money. That's what counts."

  "I guess so."

  Simultaneously, two other guys brought back another fence section and Casey's mom came outside with a tall bottle of Miller. Nobody in Casey's family drank beer, but Mom always kept a case in the garage for workmen. Mom assumed all manual laborers drank beer.

  "Here," Mrs. Gordon said.

  "Thanks." He accepted the bottle and tilted back his head, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he guzzled. Rivulets of beer ran down his chin and seeped under his T-shirt. Casey remembered now that Paul's hair had been shorter in school; in fact, he'd flaunted a Mohawk for a while, and an earring. She looked, and saw the grayish spot in his earlobe.

  She watched the other workmen as they dropped the fence section. One guy was young and huge, with a white belly that protruded from an open plaid shirt. The other man was about sixty, leathered by sun and wind. As they trudged back down the slope, Paul called out, "Hey! You dropped it!"

  The older man looked at Paul with disgust. The fat kid chuckled. Casey's mom said, "Anything else I can get you?"

  "No, thanks, ma'am," Paul said, with a snide little smile. Casey wanted to slap his face.

  "Tell the other men the same offer goes for them," Mrs. Gordon said.

  "I surely will, ma'am."

  Mrs. Gordon turned to her daughter. "Casey, when you get a chance, I'd like you to run to King Kullen for me. I need a few things for supper."

  "Do I have to?"

  "No," Mom said coldly. "You sit here. I'll do it."

  "I get the message," Casey said.

  "You have a real attitude problem," Mrs. Gordon said. "Work on it." She walked away and slammed the screen door. Casey sighed. Paul said, "Get hassled a lot?"

  "All the time. She's so into her business that she never gets organized. She forgets half of what she wants to buy and I wind up running around for her."

  "Yeah, you look busy."

  "Who asked you?" She went to the picnic table and poured cold lemonade from a red plastic pitcher into a yellow plastic cup. She drank it in three gulps.

  "Want some beer?"

  She looked at him. "No."

  "Sure you do. Bet you want to take off all your clothes and jump in the pool with me."

  "What a jerk," she said. She laughed despite herself. "All I want to do is sit in that chair for one afternoon and let my brain rot. I've been working eight hours a day at Waldbaum's. I've been up at the track getting in shape. I've been memorizing college catalogues. I've had a lousy summer—again."

  He drank another mouthful of beer. "You're on a treadmill."

  "So?"

  "Want to be?"

  "Don't analyze me, okay? My track coach analyzes me all the time. 'How do you feel about it?' That's his favorite line. Like he cares."

  "Whoa. You're pissed off."

  She looked at him. "Yeah, a little. Everyone pushes me. My times are never fast enough, my grades are never high enough. I have to get minimum 95 in everything. Getting an 85 is like failing. I get punished for it. Man, I'm not that good. If I don't make Yale, my dad's going to throw a second coronary. They've already made it perfectly clear that his first one came from overworking himself so he could afford college for me. That's a nice thing to live with."

  She couldn't believe she was saying this to him. She stalked over to the table and refilled the cup. He watched her with hooded eyes. The older man and the fat kid came back with another fence section. "Hey!" the old man yelled. "You want to move it, Paul?"

  "On my way." He set the bottle on the picnic table. "Hate to leave you like this."

  "Go ahead. You're not getting paid to hear about my problems."

  "But you're interesting," he said. He smiled a very sweet smile and jogged out through the gate.

  Casey let out a long breath. Whoa, she thought. She took her cup of lemonade and ambled to the pool, crossing a patch of hard dirt. Dad had started to build decking around the pool, but
he hadn't gotten this far. Casey looked down into the water. It lay calm and shiny, like blue Lucite, and she could see the pattern of the liner all the way to the bottom, which was sprinkled with ochre dirt. The concrete around the diving board was almost dry, but some damp gray spots remained. Casey remembered when the backyard had ended here. She'd liked the depth and sadness of the woods, the way the trees seemed to curve toward the house like a sheltering dome. She'd liked the way the afternoon sun had slivered through the trees, making dappled shadows. Now the sun just sat there, sizzling. But at night she could see lots more stars.

  Paul came back with another section. She could almost feel the pain in his joints and muscles. Casey liked the way the fence sections formed a path of yellow rectangles down the slope. Daddy had already set fence posts into the dirt, and they stood like the rough bars of an animal cage. There were a few scrubby trees left on the property, but no grass. They could now see the house on the next street, and Casey hated that. All this destruction so her little princess sister could have her own pool to play in.

  Paul suddenly stood at the shallow end of the pool, his chest heaving. Casey said, "Take it easy."

  "Why?"

  "Okay, don't take it easy. Kill yourself."

  "Whatever you say."

  She made an exasperated sound. "Idiot."

  So abruptly that it made her lose her breath, Paul's body arched over the pool steps and he dove into the shallow end. He broke the water with a slap. Somehow it scared Casey to watch him swim. Had he worn a bathing suit, it would have been okay, but he wore his filthy clothes and it was as if he polluted the pool. He swam two or three laps, with powerful strokes. Casey worried about Mom or Dad coming back and giving her hell for allowing this. She wished he'd get out.

  Finally, he stopped swimming and grabbed the ladder. He tossed his head to make his soaked hair fall back. He grinned up at her. "Beautiful."

  "I think you should get out."

  "Mommy going to yell?"

  "Come on."

  "She said I could use the pool."

  "Not in your clothes."