William Kienzle - Masquerade

She shared her excitement, as she shared everything, with Alice, her best friend in all the world. Together, they began planning and preparing for the magic evening. Alice, too, had a date. And not a loser by any means, but not the captain of the football team and an all-state pick in three sports.

At long last, December 21 arrived, and it was perfect. The evening was brisk and clear. A dusting of snow made it seem as if clusters of tiny diamonds had fallen on earth.

When Marie walked into the decorated gym on the arm of Bucko Cassidy there was almost a collective gasp from the assembled crowd. They were perfect together. Young, brimming with good health, tight skin perfectly formed, a blooming couple who easily could have stepped out of the advertisement pages of any popular magazine.

Bucko and Marie felt everyone’s gaze on them. It was exhilarating.

The evening went as well as could be expected. Marie and Alice were able to steal a little time together to compare notes. By and large, Alice was having the better time of the two. Her date had interests that transcended sports. Bucko Cassidy, on the other hand, was limited conversationally not only to the sports world but more parochially to his own considerable athletic accomplishments and his bright professional future.

Bucko’s only departure from his totally egocentric monologue was when he turned to Marie and said, “But what about you, Marie: Which sport do you think I should pick for a pro career?”

It was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud. “I don’t know, Bucko,” she said in restrained self-control. “You’re so good in all of them. But don’t you think you’d last longer in baseball?”

“Last longer?”

“Yes. What’s the average football career? Less than ten years-twelve if you’re lucky. Basketball? All that constant running takes it out of your legs. But baseball, now there’s a career that could bring you a big paycheck for lots of years. . don’t you think?”

“Geez, Marie, I think you’re right.”

“But all that has to wait until the scouts make their offers and you see the whites of their contracts.”

“Neat, Marie, neat!”

Marie could scarcely wait to closet with Alice and bring her up to date on Bucko’s greatest problem in all the world.

It was toward the end of a pleasant evening with no surprises that Bucko popped his surprise: the postparty party.

Marie begged off. She had a curfew. Bucko protested she could phone her parents and tell them she’d be a little late. Besides, they wouldn’t stay long.

They argued. They discussed. Marie weakened. She talked it over with Alice, who advised against it. Marie talked it over with herself. She thought of all those deadly dull confessions. She’d never even had necking or petting to confess. If her confidantes were truthful, she must be the only senior who never did anything even vaguely naughty.

She agreed to go.

Bucko was happier about her decision than he had any right to be. She remembered that later.

At first, all went well. Her parents agreed, reluctantly, but they agreed. Her mother would wait up for her. There was an abundant crowd of seniors at the party-another reassuring sign.

But there were no adults. The owners of the house had gone on a skiing holiday in Northern Michigan and their son had opened their bountiful liquor supply.

About half an hour after they arrived, Bucko suggested they go upstairs. The downstairs was already too crowded and getting more so by the minute. Marie knew what he had in mind. Finally she was going to find out what it was like to engage in some serious necking.

They found an empty bedroom. There were several layers of coats on the bed. A sweep of Bucko’s athletic arm solved that problem. The coats were on the floor and he and she were on the bed.

Things began happening too fast. Bucko was all over her. She pushed him away and sat up. “Bucko! I’m not a baseball. You don’t have to rub the cover off me!”

Bucko considered the situation. “You’re right,” he admitted. “We’re too keyed up from the dance and all. Let’s go back with the gang.”

It was Bucko’s finest thespian moment. He had no intention of calling off this carnal intimacy.

Back to the dull confessions. After a moment’s thought, “We don’t need to do that, Bucko. Just go slower, can’t you?”

“Sure. Wait a minute.” He located his coat on the floor and drew a flask from a pocket. “Let’s have a shot of this. It’ll relax us.”

“I don’t know. . what’s in it?”

“It’s just a little booze. It’ll help. Come on. . here.”

She looked doubtful. But, she had to admit, she could use something to relax. She was tighter than a drum. Well, one doesn’t commit one’s first deliberate mortal sin lightly. “You first,” she said.

“Okay.” He took a sip and handed the flask to her.

She sampled one mouthful, then another. Then, straightway, she collapsed on the bed. Bucko stepped into the bathroom and emptied his mouth. Even so, he was somewhat affected by the knockout drops he’d put in the liquor.

When Marie regained consciousness, she was in Bucko’s car. She did not feel at all well. She looked at Bucko behind the wheel, but saw him in a confused haze. “What time is it?”

He checked his watch as they passed a street light. “One-thirty.”

Half an hour past her extended curfew. Not good, but not tragic. What was definitely not good was how she felt. “Stop the car, Bucko!”

“We’re almost at your house,” he protested.

“You’re gonna have an awful mess to clean up.”

He stopped as abruptly as he could on the slippery street. She leaned out of the car. Bucko was glad he’d stopped.

She said no more. She was using every ounce of her young and normally healthy constitution to regain self-possession.

With a determined effort Marie survived her mother’s concerned scrutiny. She made it upstairs to her room by putting one foot in front of the other and telling herself over and over, “It isn’t that far.” She was glad her stomach had emptied outside. There was no way she could have done that quietly in the bathroom. Without removing her clothing she fell into bed and was in a dreamless sleep immediately.

She woke abruptly about 10:00 a.m. She felt terrible. Her mouth felt as if it were coated for the winter. She tried to remember, but all she could recall was the dance, going to Freddy’s house with Bucko, the bedroom, and then, vaguely, coming home.

Something was missing. The bedroom. She tried harder to remember. Bucko brushing the coats off the bed. The beginning of a wrestling match. The drink. The drink. Why had she reacted so violently to a drink? She’d had alcohol before, in small measures of course. But she’d had only a couple of mouthfuls last night. Could the drink have been drugged? Buy why? Why would he do such a rotten thing? Unless. .

Her mind was clearing. There was something peculiar about her clothing. It didn’t seem to fit her correctly-tight where it should have been loose and vice versa. She began removing it. Her gown was slightly off center. Ditto her bra. Someone had dressed her hurriedly. And where were her panties? She could not know that Bucko had won a ten-dollar bet by displaying those earlier this morning.

There were flecks of blood on the inside of her thighs. She checked herself more carefully with a small hand mirror. She found the sticky white matter. It had to be semen. She’d read about that.

She’d been raped. Drugged, then raped.

Marie was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, all of them negative: anguish, shame, horror, humiliation, outrage, great fear-and guilt, guilt, guilt. For the first time she understood how one person could seriously contemplate murdering another person. She would know the feeling once again when, many years later, a televangelist/publisher would threaten to reveal something more than this secret.