Soundtrack: [What a Diff'rence a Day Makes---Dinah Washington]
Pat stood up and, without a further word or a moment's hesitation, she began walking toward the door; Bill fell in quickly behind her. However, Pat immediately realized that what Bill really wanted to do was to get out of her dorm altogether, not just out of her room to go to the bathroom. So she stopped short and spun around to suggest that they go back to his place to talk; as it happened, Bill was so close behind her that, as she turned, he stumbled right into her, instinctively reaching out to keep from falling. Pat, too, reached out to block his fall and as a result the two of them ended up in each others arms with Pat's breasts unmistakably pressed against Bill's chest.
As they awkwardly sought to disentangle themselves, Pat felt a now-familiar warmth move through her body. "Oh..." she gasped.
Meanwhile, Bill looked totally embarrassed, as he groped for words, "Uhh... sorry Pat, I... uhh... I must have been...uhh.. following you too closely..."
Looking down, Pat happened to glance in Bill's direction and to her surprise noticed a definite bulge in Bill's crotch; she knew right then that it was going to be up to her to get them both out of this fast-developing mess.
"Hey, Bill, sorry I turned around so suddenly; it's just that I had this brainstorm! Since you're clearly uncomfortable being in my room, why don't we just go back to your place? It's so late — or rather early in the morning — that everyone's sure to have cleared out from the party by now and I can help you clean up while we talk."
But Bill didn't seem to hear her; he was staring at the floor, apparently stunned by what had just happened or, perhaps what was still happening.
"Bill? Bill? Are you there?" Pat, said, trying to break through to him and get him to shake off whatever it was that seemed to have paralyzed him. "Hey, I just thought it might be easier for you, but if that's a problem, too, we can just call it a night. You go home and I'll catch a few hours of sleep here in my own bed."
Bill looked up abruptly and seemed to notice that he was still standing very close to Pat because he backed away a bit and then said very quietly and very slowly, as if studying each word for its suitability to the situation "Yeah... let's do that. Let's... go... back... to ...my.... house... and clean up the mess... and… and I'll rustle us up some... breakfast"
"Sure, Bill, that would be fine." Pat replied, although she wasn't really sure it would be. There seemed to be something seriously off about Bill's reaction to their accidental collision. And, then there was the sexual frisson she had felt---what about that?
But now Bill seemed to be making a comeback of sorts; his voice grew stronger and took on a stiff, professional tone. "Yes. You know that might give us a chance to discuss my Urban Sociology course. I'm not really satisfied with what I've got planned right now and I'd like to get your feedback before classes begin next week."
What a weird thing for him to say in the midst of her trying to talk through the confusion of her rather intimate feelings. And at this time of night!
Pat guessed that maybe he was trying to overcome the embarrassment of their little collision or perhaps attempting to remind them both of the professional nature of their relationship and their relative positions. He was the professor; she was a graduate student.
Okay, Pat thought, two can play that game. She very deliberately walked over to where she'd set down their coats, picked up Bill's jacket, and casually tossed it over to him. She then lifted her coat off the chair and slipped it on quickly before Bill could cross the room to help her put it on. In this way, she figured she’d join Bill in re-establishing the “professional” nature of their relationship.
Bill smiled slightly and turned to open the door. He poked his head out into the hallway cautiously and, seeing no one there, began walking quickly to the staircase. Without looking back to see if Pat was close behind, he hurried down the stairs, his long legs taking them two at a time. When he reached the first floor foyer, he once again rapidly scanned the rooms within eyesight and, apparently seeing no one, breathed a sigh of relief and made for the front door, which he yanked open and quite literally ran through. As Pat walked down rather more slowly, she watched Bill's entire performance with bemusement. What the heck is going on with Bill?
When Pat emerged from her dorm building, it was still fairly dark out, although the fog and approaching dawn highlighted their immediate surroundings and their figures. She could see Bill quite clearly: he was already walking toward his house, as though he’d forgotten that she was going to accompany him there. She could tell that he was totally preoccupied with some issues of his own and probably in no condition to listen to her lame attempt to account for her earlier behavior.
As Pat picked up her pace a bit to catch up to Bill, she seriously considered just going back up to her room and abandoning any thought of talking to him about her emotional confusion or, for that matter, talking to him about anything else, at least for now. But, once she’d overtaken Bill and fallen into step with him, she realized how terribly agitated Bill seemed and decided that even if he wasn’t going to be able to be of any comfort to her tonight, he had been so helpful to her in the past that she owed it to him to provide a helping hand in his time of need.
Having come to this conclusion, Pat reached out for Bill’s hand and, almost unconsciously, gave it what she intended to be a reassuring squeeze. Bill seemed startled and jerked his hand away at the same time as he looked around fearfully, as if checking to see if anyone was in the vicinity and could see them. Then, apparently satisfied that they were alone, he took Pat’s arm, an obviously more paternal gesture than holding hands. In this manner and in silence, they completed the short walk back to Bill’s house in no time.
As they opened the door to the house, they were greeted by an ungodly mess: upset chairs scattered over the living room floor, leftovers covering every available surface---table, book case, radiator...you name it, along with plastic cups, containing the dregs of red wine and cans of unfinished beer. The students called these unfinished drinks “Schofields” because of Carl's penchant for drinking them the day after a party when he'd awaken from his inevitable pass-out. Now, however, cigarette butts floated in some of the cups, making a disgusting day-after-the-party soup that not even Carl would drink. And there was Carl, himself, passed out, as usual, in a large arm chair. As far as Pat could see, there appeared to be no one else in the house...unless perhaps in bedrooms upstairs.
As they opened the door to the house, they were greeted by an ungodly mess: upset chairs scattered over the living room floor, leftovers covering every available surface---table, book case, radiator...you name it, along with plastic cups, containing the dregs of red wine and cans of unfinished beer. The students called these unfinished drinks “Schofields” because of Carl's penchant for drinking them the day after a party when he'd awaken from his inevitable pass-out. Now, however, cigarette butts floated in some of the cups, making a disgusting day-after-the-party soup that not even Carl would drink. And there was Carl, himself, passed out, as usual, in a large arm chair. As far as Pat could see, there appeared to be no one else in the house...unless perhaps in bedrooms upstairs.
Pat walked tentatively into the kitchen and looked around: more mess. She retrieved a roll of green plastic leaf bags from a shelf in Bill's pantry, unrolled one, and after struggling a bit with opening it, held the bag with one arm, while using her other arm to scoop trash of all sorts off the kitchen counters into the bag.
Shortly afterwards, Bill followed her into the kitchen, awkwardly carrying a stack of paper plates, containing partially eaten food and a variety of plastic utensils. He looked stricken by the condition of the kitchen.
Pat held out the partially filled bag toward him, exclaiming: "Just toss that stuff in here. What a mess!"
Bill sighed. "Yeah, it is, isn't it? I think maybe I'm getting too old to be giving this kind of party. Maybe it's time to pass the torch to the younger generation. The whole thing feels like a mess to me. Not just the food and drink, but the people, too... like Jake last night and Carl this morning, and... and me."
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New Years's Eve 1968: Pat, Scene 7 "An After Midnight Confession"
New Years's Eve 1968: Pat, Scene 7 "An After Midnight Confession"
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