After the Wilderness

By Gordon Kearns

Chapter 1

Patty --Patricia Flanery --was the only passenger to get off the bus at Bernard Station, California. She was wearing light blue cotton jeans, pegged in close at the cuffs, and a cool looking white, short-sleeved, V-necked blouse. For shoes she wore thin-soled beige moccasins --no socks. A close look into her eyes would reveal deep blue irises. Her long, fine, relatively straight dark blond hair was parted on the left, with a sweeping loose wave keeping it mostly off her forehead. It was brushed back over her ears; and, when not being lifted by the warm zephyrs, rested casually fanned out about her shoulders. At her mother's suggestion, she had with her only a small "carry-on" suitcase, which easily held all her mother said Patty would need for her week and a half stay at Bollinger's Resort. A quick glance around revealed most of Bernard Station: a convenience store with self-serve gas pumps out front, a Post Office/telephone building, an adobe-looking garage, the Legion hall, several white frame houses, a mobile home park down the road, an ornamental stone/antique shop, a bar with doors closed and air-conditioner running (it's warm in this part of southern California even in November), and an occupied open jeep parked at the curb near where she stood. It was all the knowledge she would probably ever need about the little village where she would most likely spend no more than the next minute or so of her life.

"Miss Flanery?" A smiling woman in blue shorts and a white tee-shirt with "Bollinger's" printed in a red arc across the front stepped out of the jeep. Her face was heavily freckled, and she had thick, naturally curly red hair, bobbed to chin length --reminiscent of film stars of the mid-1930's. Her eyes were a distracting transparent blue. At five-three she was some three inches shorter than Patty. She had a healthy, well-shaped athletic body --good shoulders, voluptuous bust, small stomach, and nice legs with muscles that reflected her avid interest in jogging.

The seventeen year old girl smiled as the woman approached.

"I'm Rachel Bollinger, your official welcoming committee." Rachel was the twenty-eight year old wife of Darren Bollinger, the third generation owner of Bollinger's Resort. Patty shook her proffered hand and allowed her to take the grip and put it in the back seat of the jeep. "Hop in, Patty.

About a thirty minute drive ahead. Not too bumpy, and plenty of fresh air." Rachel grinned slyly. "But then fresh air is what we're all about here, isn't it?"

Patty's cheeks reddened slightly. "I guess so," she said softly.

With a quick jump the jeep pulled away from the curb, and by the time Rachel dropped the gearshift out of second, they were past the Bernard Station "city limits" sign, heading south on the state highway. The jeep flew along at a sixty-plus speed, creating a wash that tousled both girls' hair unmercifully.

The jeep turned left onto a narrower county road whose original pavement was hard to discern between its myriad, randomly laid patches --patches that the highway department made no attempt to blend into a surface of any consistent level. In turning off the main highway they left the flat, arid, relatively barren country behind and entered a more relaxing atmosphere of greener woodlands. The road now rolled and curved with the gentle hills, requiring the driver's almost full attention. However, she did take due notice of the younger girl's apparent self-conscious silence. "This your first time at a nudist camp, Patty?"

"Yes."

"Nervous?"

"Yes."

"It's not so bad, really. This is a good time for a first visit. It's our slack period --normally the rainy season, when most of our activities have to be held inside. But we're in luck this year; we've had ourselves an extended summer: nice dry and warm days --though the nights get pretty chilly. Only about three dozen guests here now; even that's more than we usually have in November. It'll pick up again in a week or so when the holidays begin. In any case, you won't have the in-season crowds to contend with for your first go-round bare-assed."

Patty smiled ...weakly.

"It's always awkward at first," Rachel went on. "You'll catch yourself staring at the penises jiggling as the menfolk walk by --and especially when they play tennis or jog or do calisthenics."

Patty's smile turned somewhat more natural.

"And don't be bothered when you see an occasional hard-on. It's all part of nature, you know. And it's a compliment if it happens while they're watching you."

The smile became a laugh.

"You really do get used to it all. After a while you don't notice the different shaped breasts on the women, or the pot-bellies on the men. or the sagging skin and muscles of the older people. You'll get in tune with the down deep meaning of. the whole thing: that the human body in whatever form is good. You get to understand there's beauty in age, in wrinkles and creases, in pot bellies, in skinny-gourd breasts ...and in hard-ons."

They bounced on, with Rachel attending to the road patches and the holes that needed patches --although they didn't seem to affect her speed significantly.

"New-jays adjust in their own individual ways --like in hospitals when some patients wait until the last possible minute to change to the backless gown, and sometimes keep their briefs on underneath. Here, the shy ones will walk around an hour or so in bikinis, or maybe take just the bra off --or the bottom. Once they get used to nobody laughing at them, they join the fun and shed all."

Patty hadn't packed a swim-suit --or any clothes or underclothes other than what she would need to wear home.

"You'll like your room: a great view of the lake and mountains, your own private porch, satellite t.v. and some great flesh-pics available on our

in-house cable system --they kind of fit the mood around here. We don't ask that normal... urges be suppressed for more 'spiritual' attitudes about the body. We feel that the very nature of nudity can stir the libido; we figure if it does, then let it roll."

Patty blushed again ...or still.

"Ours is a full-time au naturel program: twenty-four hours a day everyday --breakfast, lunch, dinner, game time, bingo, dancing, hiking, horseback riding ...everything --even chapel."

Patty held tightly to the edge of the windshield as the jeep bounded over a particularly bumpy section of road.

"When your mother called to make the reservation for you, she said she'd been a guest of ours about eighteen years ago --that was back in my father-in-law's time as manager. She must have liked us pretty much to be sending you here alone."

"I... I suppose so."

"Is this a special vacation from school for you? We don't usually get kids your age at this time of year."

"No ...yes ...well, it's not a school holiday. Actually, I'm a senior. I'll have more than enough credits for graduation by this coming January. I have some ...decisions to make then." The jeep hit a mean pot-hole, bouncing Patty about an inch off her seat. "It was my mother's idea that I take some time off my studies to ...think things over."

"A week and a half is a long time away from class. Won't it affect your grades?"

Patty smiled, mostly to herself. "I'm kind of coasting this semester anyway --only a couple college prep courses. I've finished the books on my own in both of them. I think my grades will be all right."

"You're a good student, then?"

Smiling confidently for a change: "That's what they say."

A bread truck passed going in the opposite direction. "We have a good working relationship with the local suppliers," Rachel said. "They come and go with their deliveries, pretending to ign9re us naked folk. They profit from our business, and we benefit from their discretion. In fact, many locals come as guests on holidays and weekends."

The jeep turned right onto a gravel track, kicking up a spinning tail of thick white dust. "Almost home," Rachel said.

Patty's cheeks reddened again as they cruised along much smoother than on the paved road, drawing closer and closer to Bollinger's Resort.

"My mother wants me to meet someone --an old friend of hers I guess --he's supposed to be staying here ...a man named Patrick something. Do you know him?"

"Patrick? No ...I don't think there's a Patrick here at the present time ...at least that I know of."

"She said he might come in later ...or maybe not at all. If he doesn't show up, then I'm just supposed to go ahead and have myself a ...carefree week and a half holiday, and come home in time for the Thanksgiving weekend with a clearer head ...and a better idea of my ...priorities."

"Well, you've come to the right place. for that, all right. There's nothing like stripping off all your clothes to pull you back to the basics of living."

The jeep swung sharply to the left and slowed as it approached a gate blocking the narrow road. Rachel tapped the horn, and a man in a blue uniform stepped out of a small building, waved a friendly "Hello," and opened the gate to let them through. As they came over a slight rise, the whole panorama

of Bollinger's Resort presented itself. To the right was a hutch of four semi-modern motel units behind a wide, neatly cut lawn. Three rustic cabins paralleled the way farther on, set in the shade of several tall trees. To the left was a fast running water course flowing around and over a path of gray, soft-edged boulders. The stubborn little stream received its impetus from the run-off of the spillway for the dam impounding Lake Bollinger, the ten thousand acre boundary separating the resort from the national forest. Guests of the resort had access to the national forest via the two hundred yard long berm atop the earthen section of the dam. To the left and below the earthen dam was the meadow created as the borrow pit for the dam. To the right of the dam was the sparkling lake. The berm could be reached by crossing the oil-drum pontoon bridge over the stilling pool. A white sand swimming/sunning beach utilized the stilling pool, and the pontoon bridge served as a marina for a dozen or so rowboats available free to the guests. As the jeep proceeded farther along, the main lodge building, which faced the lake, came into view. Here was located the registration desk, recreational rooms, cocktail lounge, co-ed steam room, dining room, library, one hundred guest rooms, and central lobby. Attached to its far side was a new annex containing fifty additional guest rooms and the gymnasium. On two gravel roads off to the right, ten more cabins of varying primitiveness nestled into deeper woods. The theater in the round was located along one of these roads. Across the lake in the national forest, the mountains' apron of foothills began in earnest. And in the distance could be seen the high peaks themselves, already capped with a thin coat of white.

Once inside the compound, Rachel slowed considerably. As they approached the central junction of all the roads in the resort, at which corner the main lodge was located, she stopped momentarily to allow a couple to cross in front of the jeep --a man and a woman, probably in their mid-thirties, with their arms around each other's waist and their heads tilted fondly together --just as naked as the day they were born. Patty touched Rachel's arm and said softly, "Wait ...please ...just a moment," as she stared intently at the couple now headed slowly toward the pontoon bridge.

"It's funny ...strange, I mean. I thought it would ...bother me ... you know, make me embarrassed ...to see naked people right out in the open. But it doesn't. It really doesn't bother me at all. It's like ...the most normal thing in the world --as if I've always known things should be this way. But this is the very first time I've ever seen anybody ...any man without clothes on. And here's a man and a woman together ...right out in the open and nude ...and it doesn't bother me at all."

Rachel smiled affectionately at her youthful passenger, put the jeep in gear again, and pulled ahead to the parking lot of the main lodge.

Darren Bollinger was manning the desk when Rachel and Patty entered the Mexican-styled lobby. Darren was a stockily built, five foot ten, thirty year old with solid body and limb muscles sculpted on the resort's weight machines. He and Rachel were a well matched athletic couple.

"Darren, I'd like you to meet our newest guest, Patty Flanery," Rachel said as they reached the desk.

"We've been looking forward to your arrival, Patty. It always gives our pride a boost when we get a 'second generation client.' Welcome to Bollinger's."

"It's ...nice to meet you," Patty said as she shook Darren's hand across the desk --a low desk that screened nothing from the girl's eyes.

"You can go straight on to your room if you'd like," Darren said. "Your

mother took care of all the registration details through the mail and over the phone." He handed her a key attached to plastic tab identifying the room number --231 in the new lodge annex. "Most people drop their keys off at the desk when they leave their rooms. Pockets are scarce around here." He laughed. "You'll find a complete schedule of routine and special activities in your room. Dinner will be served in about two hours --at six o'clock. The dining room is above us; it has a good view of the lake. Just go up the main staircase behind you." Patty glanced quickly in the direction he was pointing. "I understand some of the guests are trying to get together a group for a quick volleyball game down on the field between here and the lake --in about a half an hour, I think." Patty nodded. "Rachel will show you to your room now. If you have any questions or need anything at all, either Rachel or I will always be close at hand. Don't hesitate to call on us." Patty turned to follow Rachel. "Oh," he added before they could get under way, "... and I don't know if Rachel told you, I hope you understand that if you feel... well, awkward at first about undressing and all, nobody will be at all concerned if you ...get into the nude thing gradually."

"Yes ...I understand ...Rachel mentioned it to me," Patty said, and again turned to follow Rachel.

As they were going up the steps to the second level of the annex, they were passed by a naked young family of four on the way down to the lobby --a father, mother, and exuberant pre-school age boy and girl. The children called out friendly "Hi"'s as they bounced down the steps, and the parents smiled their warm greetings.

Once in the room, Rachel pulled back the drapes and opened the sliding glass door to the small wooden sun porch, revealing a view that more than lived up to Rachel's promise. She also pointed out to Patty the laminated cards on top of the t.v. with the channel listings and schedule of the flesh-pics. "I think Darren forgot to mention," Rachel said as she was about to leave, "footwear is optional. Several of the guests do wear sandals or low-cut sneakers. It all depends on how tough their soles are."

When Patty was alone, she surveyed her new temporary home. It was similar in style to most rooms one can find in most good resorts: pile carpets, color t.v., tasteful drapes and wall covering, a scenic painting not even closely matching the view from the french doors, clean-as-a-pin bathroom and shower, vanity with more drawers than anyone could possibly use in a place like this, round all-purpose table, two soft chairs, a vanity chair, and (what did you expect?) a king-size water bed.

After a necessary visit to the bathroom to relieve her bladder, she started walking slowly around the room --no apparent direction in mind -- stopping here and there and pretending interest in whatever happened to find itself in front of her. She touched the t.v., brushed a finger across the round table, opened and closed a drawer, and stared out at the lake through the glass door. Then she crossed over to the bed and sat down, with enough impact to set it into an easy rocking motion. Giggling to herself for just that moment, she bounced up and down on the mattress several times for an even

greater effect. Finally, her face turned serious again, and she allowed the bed to still itself.

After sitting there pensively for two to three minutes, Patty took in a deep breath, let it out with a little blowing sound, and, after pushing the moccasin off each foot with the big toe of the other foot, she stood up again. Slowly, but resolutely, she took off her jeans and laid them neatly on the bed; unbuttoned her blouse, took it off and laid it by the jeans; unhooked and put her bra in the same place; and without missing a beat

slipped out of her panty-briefs, and deftly lifted them up with a toe and dropped them on the small, but meaningful pile. Now totally in the buff, she went to study herself in the full length mirror attached to the bathroom door. What she saw was a seventeen year old girl about five foot six inches tall --long legged and naturally slim front to back and side to side. Her lower rib cage pressed gently against the surface of her light-complexioned skin just below her smallish, youthfully strong and pointed breasts. Her gentle, nicely rounded and attractive body curves --back, buttocks, legs --reflected her general leanness. Her shoulders were straight across rather than sloped, and the wiry muscles of her arms and legs showed respectable physical conditioning. She had a wonderfully flat stomach that didn't require any holding-in effort on her part --and an "insy" navel, which punctuated the near perfection of her belly. Lower, there was a petite inverted triangle of pubic hair --and the hint of a crease leading to where her dainty pink labia would be.

After a few minutes looking at her mirrored image in deserved vanity, she made a quick, funny little face at herself, picked up the room key from the table, walked to the door, opened it, stepped out into the hall, and closed the door behind her.

Patty walked through the lobby, dropped her key off with Darren Bollinger, and stepped outside onto the patio area --and, even in such a place as this where people are mostly blase about the unadorned human body, everyone she passed stopped to appreciate her unrestrained beauty. And among the men, each who looked on her glowing sexuality felt the buzz of nature's primordial motor in his loins --and some could not help but fulfill Rachel Bollinger's prediction earlier that afternoon. It was a spirited game of volleyball; the score was inconsequential, bearing no relationship to reality. Points were added or subtracted at will; the score called out by the server usually reversing the call by the last opposing server. But it was played with gusto by both sides midst self-congratulatory cheers and excited shrieks for miffed chances and surprise coups. Patty, utilizing her high school "power volleyball" skills, gained a good deal of respect from her fellow players for her diving saves of some very macho spikes. The wives smiled knowingly to each other at their mates' untypical exhibition of energy with the addition of a beautiful seventeen year old to the game. After an hour of play, the game was called, each team claiming an overwhelming victory.

When Patty first walked onto the front lawn from the patio, the group at the volleyball net insisted she join the game --everyone was anxious to meet the young newcomer. Besides Patty, Ernest Bergen was the only other single player. A widower, he was the dean of fine arts at Three Springs University, a relatively small liberal arts school in Stockton. Dr. Phil MacClean, "Internist to the Stars" at Los Angeles General, and his wife Doris; Jerry and Marnie Schulman, owners of the Schulman Talent Agency in Burbank; and from San Francisco, real estate broker Bart Crespy and his wife Janet, an engineer for Walker and Associates Silicone, Inc. rounded out the volleyballers. Ernest Bergen and the MacCleans were in their mid-fifties and were in fair physical condition for their ages --just enough paunch to reflect a respect for the American way of eating. Jerry and Marnie, both about forty-five, were in excellent shape --lean and sweet. Bart Crespy, 42, had a big, but solid gut, and was on his fourth diet system this year; Janet, 38, was slim and trim --a woman working her way to the top in what used to

be a man's domain. When the game ended they all went to their respective rooms for a quick shower before dinner.

The Schulmans insisted Patty eat dinner at their table that evening. They were joined by John (Jack) Bollinger, Darren's father --the not so old grand old man of Bollinger's. Sixty years old, Jack had been retired from his active management role at the resort for the past five years. He made his permanent residence in one of the cabins in the woods. Mostly these days he enjoyed the friendship and camaraderie of the guests, and he loved to regale them with tales of "the good old days." He was one powerhouse of a man: barrel torso'd with giant, iron-bound muscles in his arms and legs, and hands that could crush beer cans --the old steel kind ---with the beer still inside.

"Rachel tells me you're Marianne Flanery's daughter," Jack said to Patty.

"Yes ...do you know my mother?"

"Do I know her? Why Marianne has a very special place in our hearts at the resort ...dating from way back. You remember Marianne, don't you Jerry?"

"Of course I do," he answered. Then turning to Patty, "How is your mother these days? Is she still as pretty as she was back then ...what was it, Marnie, fifteen years ago?"

"Almost eighteen years," Marnie Schulman said.

"We've been looking ...hoping for her to show up every year since," Jack said.

Patty looked from one to the other of her table mates with some confusion in her expression. "Do you remember all your guests from eighteen years ago?"

Jack: "You'd be surprised how many I do remember ...and from farther back than that. But Marianne Flanery ...well, like I said, she was special."

Before Patty could press deeper into what to her must have seemed a building mystery, Jack readjusted the subject of the discussion. "But first about you, Patty. Rachel tells me you came here to work out some problems ...or worries, or --"

Patty: "Decisions. I'm finishing all my course work this January, and I have to ...well, figure out what I want to do."

Marnie: "Kids getting out of school today have a rough competitive row to hoe. I can see where you have to get things ironed out in your mind."

Jerry: "What sort of decisions are you weighing?"

Patty, hesitating, apparently not sure she wanted to talk that much about herself: "A couple things ...three, actually. I have an offer of a good scholarship ...in physics, that's my specialty ...I think. Anyway it's what I'm probably best in --along with math."

Jack: "You don't sound very sure."

Patty: "I guess if there were nothing else, it's what I'd want to do, but. .."

Jack: But?"

Patty: "There's a teacher at my school --St. Mary Magdalene Academy near Santa Cruz --Sister Daniella, she's the principal --besides my mother, the person I respect most in the whole world. I think she'd die if she could see me now. Sister Daniella thinks I've got the makings of a nun. She wants me to join her order. It's a teaching order, and they do a lot of research and laboratory work. She says I could still get my education and study the things I want. She thinks I'm more serious minded than most of the girls; I take my religion more to heart. She says I'm strong enough to take the rigors of convent life. I always did ...think about being a nun."

Jerry: "Now that would be one terrible crime. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be all covered up with black veils. Believe me, I know. You've got all the makings of a model or an actress ...you really do."

Patty smiled: "They don't dress in black any more. And you've just given me another career possibility to worry about."

Jerry: "1 didn't mean ..."

Patty: "No, that's all right; I was only joking. Truthfully, I like people to tell me I'm pretty. And that worries me too. Maybe I'm too ... vain, or ...worldly to be a nun. Sister Daniella says that's natural --many postulants feel that way. She says once I give myself up to God's love -- trust my heart to his hands --he'll give me the strength I need to control worldly inclinations."

Marnie: "Thinking seriously as you are about becoming a nun, isn't it odd that you're in a place ...like this?"

Patty: "Yes ...well, at least I thought so when my mother asked me to come here. But it seemed very important to her that I give it a try. The funny thing is, from when we first drove in, seeing everybody nude didn't bother me at all... and ever since I stepped out of my room naked, I've felt just as natural as could be. I'm finding I like going around, as Rachel would say, bare-ass." She blushed deeply. "1 suppose that doesn't sound too nun-like."

Changing the subject, she continued: "My folks --my grandparents and grand-aunts, that is --we've lived with them ...at their estate ...since I was born; they've pretty much guided my education --in fact, my whole upbringing. Since she graduated from Brown, my mother has worked at the family investment enterprises. Anyway, the folks would like me to follow in the family tradition --go to Yale or Brown or some other eastern college and take up law or accounting or something like that, and then join the investment enterprises, as my mother did. However, I don't think they'd mind if I became a nun; we're an old line Irish family. Joining a religious order would be considered a worthwhile career for a young person. Some traditional families consider it almost expected that at least one person from every generation should join the religious life. Since I'm the only representative of my generation in the family in the least interested, I don't think they'd be disappointed if I were to become a sister."

Jack: "Still, it sounds to me like you're most interested in that physics scholarship."

Patty: "1 ...I'm really not sure. The scholarship is something I earned for myself ...something that's all me ...not family; not something somebody else expects of me. I know it sounds selfish. And I'm not even sure about that. I like the idea of being a nun, too."

Marnie: "Patty ...ah ...what does your ...father think?"

Jack and Jerry seemed suddenly tense, almost shocked by Marnie's asking that question, which didn't escape Patty's notice.

Patty: "1 don't have a father ...I mean, I don't know my father. He could be dead as far as I know." She blushed slightly. "I'm what some people call a 'love child.' Mother told me about it when she thought I was old enough to understand. She never talks about him, though. She says it was just a brief affair. She doesn't regret it, she says. She really did love him, I think. She said marriage wouldn't have worked. They were from two different worlds."

The group finished their desserts in relative silence. Relaxing afterwards with coffee, the conversation picked up again --with tentative overtones.

Marnie: "Does your mother want you to go to Yale?"

Patty: "She just wants me to be happy --to do what I want to do. That's why she sent me here, as far away as she could imagine from my normal life." She glanced wryly down at her bareness. "And I guess this is as far from my normal life as I can get."

Patty took a deep breath: "I'm supposed to meet somebody here --that is, if he comes. My mother sent him a message of some kind, but she's not sure he received it."

Jack: "Patrick?"

Patty: "Yes, Patrick. Do you know him? Rachel didn't seem to recognize the name."

Jack: "I know Patrick ...I knew Patrick. All three of us did. But it's been a long time."

Patty: "Is he here now?"

Jack: "Not that I know of. If he got the message, though, he'll come. He used to visit us a lot, but not so much since ...in recent years. If he does come, it'll probably be like it used to be: suddenly ...like out of thin air almost." He laughed self-consciously.

Jerry: "Did your mother tell you anything about Patrick?"

Patty: "No. She said I should form my own thinking about him ...but that I'd be interested in what he might say. She gave me a letter to give him when ...if I see him. It's sealed. My mother told me he might tell me what it says. But if he doesn't show up, I'm just supposed to tear it up ...and enjoy my stay at the resort. She said it might clear my mind about what I should do."

After dinner, Patty and Jack strolled outside to the patio, and then down to the lake's edge to watch its impish ripples dance in and out of the light from the lodge. They sat down on the grass.

"It's beautiful out here at night," Jack said. "Trouble is, the mosquitoes think so too. That's the one problem with nudity --you can't hide from the mosquitoes."

"I've never been bothered with mosquitoes --or flies or ticks or chiggers or any of those pesty types," Patty said. "Must be something in my blood. But my mother gets eaten up by them. If there's a mosquito within a mile of her when she goes outside, it'll find her. But me, nothing." Pause. "Something I inherited from my father, I guess."

Still looking out over the water, Patty suddenly asked Jack, "Is Patrick my father? You know, I'm good enough at math to do a simple subtraction problem. I'm seventeen; mother was here about eighteen years ago; then there was an illegitimate baby, me; a mysterious Patrick --who hasn't been here 'in recent years,' either." Turning to look directly at Jack: "Is Patrick Patricia's father?"

It was Jack's turn to study the ripples. "Patty," he said finally, "I'm not sure your mother would want me to talk about ..."

Patty interrupted: "I think my mother expected me to ask about things from back in the past. That's why she wanted me to come here. I think she wanted me to find out about ...myself."

"Maybe so," Jack said.

More silence.

Jack: "Of course, your mother is the only one in the world who really knows the answer to your question. But the rest of us --Ernie Bergen, the Schulmans, and Doc MacClean and Doris --we knew Marianne and Patrick; and we notice coincidences ...and we know our arithmetic, too."

He turned slightly to face Patty more directly, and she followed suit.

"Year after year in this place things go on mostly the same, everybody having good, clean fun dressed the way God intended for people to dress, like the lilies of the field --but as I said, everything pretty much the same: the same kind of activities, the same jokes, the same kind of acts on amateur nights, the same good, happy people. But there was one time --it was special. It was 'Marianne's Week."'

"Marianne, my mother?"

"Yes, hon, your mother."

Patty scrunched her eyebrows dubiously.

Jack continued: "Eighteen years ago; she was your age at the time, seventeen, just finishing her junior year. It was on a dare. She was going to some Catholic girls' high school... "

Patty: "Saint Mary Magdalene, the same school I go to now."

Jack: "Right. A bunch of the kids were together at a party, and with all the giggling and stuff, the conversation got around to some forbidden subjects, including what it would be like to go to a nudist camp. When Marianne bragged that she wouldn't mind going nude, the kids took her up on her innocent bluff. One of them had seen an ad for Bollinger's in a magazine. They said they'd take a collection among themselves and pay for a week's stay for her at Bollinger's if she had the nerve to go. Your mother must have had a real brazen streak deep inside her; she wouldn't back down. They worked out a clever scheme whereby Marianne's parents thought she was spending a week visiting one of the girls in Los Angeles during the first week of their summer vacation.

"She wasn't so brazen when she arrived here. When she left her room the first time she wore a tee-shirt --nothing else, and the tee-shirt only came to her hips, but it was an attempt to maintain what she thought was a modicum of modesty. She walked shyly about the lobby and patio for a while, keeping her eyes to the ground. She didn't realize her outfit was more seductive than if she had nothing on at all. She stayed that way most of the afternoon, trying as best she could to stay in the background ...until the music started. Our piped music system had been on the fritz for a couple days, and we had a local repair man in working on it. Just at three o'clock, right after an Olympic diving champion had given an exhibition of his winning skills at the outdoor pool --it was an exciting event. Just after the conclusion of his performance, when almost the whole camp was heading back to the lodge, the loudspeaker opened up with the loudest, most raucous bit of burlesque music you could imagine --I didn't even know it was in our library; the technician picked it up from a stack at random to test the system --and with the opening bars of that music a sudden metamorphosis came over your mother. In front of a couple hundred naked people, Marianne began the most erotic strip-tease dance I've ever seen. She wriggled and rolled her pelvis and bust, and winked and blinked her pretty eyes and played that little tee-shirt like it was all the seven veils in one. She'd show her navel, and hide it again --and show a teat, and hide it --and show both teats, and hide them. And she mooned the crowd and flashed the crowd. And she did high Rockette kicks, and low down shimmies, and darling bumps and grinds. And she slithered through the delighted audience, and flirted with all the men ...and the women too, by God. She stopped when the music ended, flinging her tee-shirt high in the air. And she stood there spread-eagled and proud, without a stitch on her body, soaking up the greatest ovation I'd ever heard up to that time at Bollinger's. And so began 'Marianne's Week."'

Patty, turning her head slowly from side to side: "I... I don't know what to say. I never thought my mother was a prude, but this ...I just can't

picture ...She's always been a proper business woman --tailored suits and all."

Jack: "That performance set the tone for the whole week. Once every day she would arrange for a special number to be played over the inter-com system --a Broadway show tune, a popular rock and roll song, an old gay-nineties or roaring-twenties piece, even a Sousa march --and she'd improvise a free-spirited dance to go with it, always integrating the audience into her charming choreography. This, her feature of the day, was never presented at the same time two days in succession, but always when the greatest audience possible was available to her, such as when the dining room was emptying right after breakfast, or when we were all settling in for a good evening movie, or right after the potato-sack races during play-day. The piece de resistance came on her last evening here; she played the dying swan from Swan Lake., finishing up as a fetching center-piece on the table of a group celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary.

"But that wasn't the end. At other times she'd suddenly pull together a bunch of kids for a lively Eagle Rock, or get a too-quiet group all worked up into a lively square-dance, or lead the entire camp in an endless conga line across the berm and back. When Marianne appeared in front of any bunch of people, young or old, they'd automatically follow. And it wasn't only her spontaneous dance efforts. At almost everyone of our scheduled activities, she'd be found right up front helping the leader and whooping up excitement in the crowd, or warming up the audience for the program's feature -- pretending to juggle, telling outlandishly risque jokes, or leading a sing-a-long of outlandishly risque songs. She was far more effective than any Pied Piper could dream of being. For that week we had the smilingest guests we've ever had."

Patty: "But ...my mother? She was trained in a religious home and a strict Catholic school, as I was. Where on earth did she ever get ...?"

Jack: "Oh come on now, Patty. Don't you and the other girls in your class ever tell risque jokes or sing risque songs? Besides, remember this was the group that arranged for your mother to spend a week at a nudist camp."

Patty: "No ...I mean yes. The kids at school do like to group together, and I suppose they talk about ...daring things. I'm not sure. It's that ... I'm kind of a loner. I don't go around with the others very much. Oh, I like them all right, and we get along pretty well. But usually I'm by myself ...I spend much of my free time in the chapel... or talking with the sisters -- especially Sister Daniella ...or working with my math studies. I've always been that way, I guess ...by myself most of the time. But I don't mind it so much ...I like to ...think about things. But you're right ...I suppose ... about the girls, I mean. And mother does like to be with people more than I do. Please go on, Jack; I want to know about that week ...mother's week."

Jack: "The second day she was here, she met Patrick. There was an immediate mutual attraction between them. He followed her wherever she went, sometimes joining her as she led one activity or another. By the end of her third day here, they were touching hands. And by the fourth day, in between her exciting exhibitions, they'd be seen walking arm-in-arm. From then on from time to time they'd disappear into the woods across the berm for sometimes a couple hours, returning with sly grins on their young faces."

Patty, almost in a whisper: "I guess I must have 'happened' during one of their trips to the woods."

Jack: "I suppose that's possible. And, knowing Patrick, I'd suspect there was more than just lovemaking to those absences."

Patty: "Knowing Patrick? I don't understand. What else do you think they

were doing? Tell me what you think ...and about Patrick: tell me about Patrick."

Jack: "I'm sorry, child, I can only tell you a little of Patrick; it's a matter of confidentiality. I promised him. What I think happened in the woods, too --besides the obvious, I share your thoughts on that, as did all the other guests at the time, I imagine. Marianne and Patrick didn't make any secret of their attraction to each other. You can ask the MacCleans and Schulmans, and Ernie Bergen too --they were here at the time, and they know ...about Patrick, also.

"But 'about Patrick'? they'll most likely hold off talking about that, as I did. I hope he comes, then you can ask him directly what you want to know. I agree with your mother, however: you do need to meet Patrick, and not just because a daughter --if you indeed are his daughter --a daughter should know about her father. There are things about Patrick you should know ...you have a right to know if you are his daughter." Jack could not see the tears welling up in Patty's eyes. "I'll say this: you won't see him checking in at the desk if he does come. That wasn't his way. When Patrick decided to come to our camp, he'd just suddenly be here. He never stayed in the lodge, and never ate anything in the dining room either. He and I had a special agreement dating from way back before 'Marianne's Week.' But that's as far a I can go."

Patty: "His name ...I think I should know his whole name, shouldn't I?"

Jack, sighing sadly: "The only name I ever knew him by was Patrick. That's a part of his mystery even I don't know."

Patty: "His mystery?"

Jack: "His mystery, yes. I'll tell you this, there's ...some magic to your ...to Patrick." A beat. "And maybe to you, Patty."

The unseen tears made paths down Patty's cheeks. Almost unconsciously she stood up, took two steps to the side, and casually urinated --while still standing straight up. The liquid skippped lightly between her feet. Suddenly becoming aware of what she'd just done, Patty let out a loud squeal of surprise, putting her hands to her mouth at the same time. "I don't believe I did that," she said in utter shock.

Jack showed no sign of surprise. He chuckled to himself. "Not to worry, Patty," he said. "In your geometry classes I think you'd call that 'Q.E.D.' Patrick was noted for his unashamed public peeing. When he had to go, he'd do exactly what you just did; he'd turn to the side and let loose --not even touching his penis in the process."

Shivering, Jack stood up himself. "Look, Patty. can we continue this talk in the lodge? It's getting a little too cold for my blood. Even though the days right now are quite warm, the nights are getting too cold for comfort."

Patty: "Oh? No, I think I want to stay out here for a while. I'm all... confused. I'll be in shortly." Then she kind of held her palms out and looked up toward the sky slightly. "Cold? Do you really think so? I feel fine."

Jack, moving to go: "Then I'll see you later. I think I'm turning blue." He started walking up the slope to the lodge. Patty remained, lost in her confused thoughts for some time before realizing Jack was no longer there.

She gave the grass a frustrated kick and started walking idly along the lake shore, gradually leaving the lights and sounds of the lodge behind. She reached the pontoon bridge and started across. The rhythm of her steps elicited an easy rocking motion not dissimilar to that of the water-bed in her room. Once across the bridge, Patty continued her aimless walk. Half-way across the berm she stopped and looked out over the lake. It was darker here.

The lodge windows were only small spots of light now. When she looked up to the sky, she had a clear view of its millions of resident stars --there wasn't even a moon to blur the sight.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

Patty almost jumped with fright at the sound of the unexpected voice from a few yards farther on along the berm. "What? Who ..."

"Over here, Patty --it's me, Janet Crespy ...from the volleyball game. Remember?"

Patty saw her now. There was just enough starlight to recognize the attractive woman sitting on the grass with a cardigan draped over her naked shoulders. "Yes, I remember. That was a real fun game," the girl said. "I wasn't expecting to see anybody else out here in the dark."

"I come out here often at night. I love the sky way out away from the city," Janet Crespy said. "How about joining me?"

"Sure," Patty said as she sat down beside her.

Janet: "With the smog and light pollution of the city you hardly know there are stars in the sky."

Patty: "They are beautiful here. And there are so many of them --like a million little white balls hanging down from a black ceiling. I feel like I could just reach up and pick them out of the sky."

Janet, laughing: "It would take an unbelievably long arm. The closest star to us is over four light years away. And each light year is ..."

Patty: "The distance light travels in a year at a speed of 186,000 miles per second --almost six trillion miles. So four light years would be ..."

Janet: "Almost 24 trillion miles. Actually Alpha Centauri is 4.34 light years away, so its distance is over ..."

Patty: "25 trillion miles from earth."

They both laughed.

Janet: "Not everybody can compute a light year in her head."

Patty, still laughing: "I cheated. We worked that out way back in freshman science, and for some reason I never forgot. I seem to have a pretty good memory, especially for numbers."

Janet: "YOU like math?"

Patty: "Yes ...I like it, I suppose. I usually get good grades in it. And the sciences --the practical sciences like chemistry and physics particularly. I've been offered a scholarship in physics. I don't know if I'm going to take it, though."

Janet: "Take it. If you have any interest in math at all, get into a career that calls for it. Physics is great. Me, I'm an engineer. I'm involved now in developing a new ceramic for our company's superconductor program. I think I'm about to make a big break-through. Like the gal said, I've come a long way from Saint Louie.'"

Patty: "You're from St. Louis?"

Janet, laughing again: "Just an expression. I was born and raised in Terre Haute, Indiana. Went to Indiana University at Bloomington for my bachelor's and master's. Came out west to 'seek my fortune' in Silicon Valley.

"I'm one of the pioneers, I'll have you know. When I started, gals in technical fields were quite rare. I had to prove my worth to a lot of doubting Thomases --and run the gamut of sexist boors, though I have to admit most of the guys were decent, at least until they thought I was a threat to their positions. Then I was treated like I was one of the boys; it was dog-eat-dog for all of us equally. But for you kids coming in today, it's different --not so much sexism, they're used to us now (and it's against the

law), but the dog-eat-dog business never stops among us professionals. Whenever you start to move up, you've got to keep your eye on your backside --and your secret computer code. You never want to let your computer catch the flu.

"But that's par for the whole business world, I understand." A beat as Janet looked up at the stars again. "But in the business of science and numbers, it's worth whatever hassle you have to put up with. You're in charge of nature when you handle numbers. Many philosophers and theoretical scientists spend their whole lifetimes looking for unity in the universe: the equation that wraps up everything from quark behavior to strings in space. They think there's some central logic for the big bang, supernovas, black holes, matter and anti-matter, quantums and electro-magnetic waves.

"However, I don't think there is any deep down logic to the universe. I think sizes, shapes, distances, and velocities are haphazardly assigned by nature --God, if you will. What logic there is, we've invented. There's nothing holy about the length of a meter-stick or a foot-ruler, or a speedometer, or the 12 slash 60 divisions on a clock, or the 360 divisions on a circle. We invented these scales and measured everything we could find with them, and then devised a system of mathematics to manipulate the measurements to suit our purposes of the moment. And when nature doesn't fit our formulae, we ignore it and work with what we think nature should be. As an example, those intelligence tests you take in school, they're based on the assumptions that there is a natural difference in mental ability between individuals, that within the whole population of mankind these differences distribute themselves in a normal curve, and that printed tests can be made to measure those differences. When questions are decided for those tests, only those questions that produce a bell curve on the sampling are included -- effectively deciding what nature should be. But that's the science of the mind. The science of galaxies and electrons is much more exact. But make no mistake, whatever systems they contain, we've devised for them. What's interesting is that even when our assumptions are off the exact mark, it's okay, because the systems work anyway --at least for the assumptions we pre-decided. Those intelligence tests do seem to work adequately well spotlighting the differences between individual potentials; though they misfire in some cases, not too many are hurt, and schools do seem have workable programs utilizing them. So it is on a universal scale: there may be no unity, but in the end we will work out a unity equation, and in so doing we'll have the potential to control nature within our reach, if not the whole uni verse. Girl, that.' s power !

"So stick with it, Patty. Through numbers you have charge over nature. Gee, I've been rambling. When I start on a discussion of mathematics, I don't know when to quit."

Patty: "Oh no ...that's all right. It's very interesting to me. I don't know if I understand it all, though. And I... I don't think I'm so convinced that you can control nature by, as you said, measuring it. But like with those intelligence tests, we play as if what we're doing is based on what is true instead of only on what we think true should be. Trouble is, if it's not true, we're hurting people by making important decision based on tests like that. I think we go too far sometimes trying to systematize so many things, especially about human beings."

Janet stood up, slowly. "You're a good thinker, girl. I wish we could stay here longer talking about my favorite subject, but Bart's probably getting antsy waiting for me. He's been acting horny since you showed up at the volleyball game. Besides, the cool night air makes my old bones creak," she said. "Ready to walk back to the lodge?"

"No," Patty answered. "I don't think so. I'd like to stay out here a bit longer looking at the lake and stars."

After Janet Crespy left, Patty remained as she was for some time, occasionally tossing a pebble into the water. Finally, the events and emotions of her day caught up with her, and fatigue took charge of her eyes. Slowly, she lay down on the cool grass, turned on her side, and, using her outstretched arm as a pillow, she fell into a deep untroubled sleep. As she slept, soft starlight covered her bare body. Sometime during the night the temperature dropped to the mid-forties, but Patty's dreams went on undisturbed.

On to Chapter 2

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