David Alexander - Bert

He left his house at seven o'clock on the dot knowing it would take a minimum of fifteen minutes to arrive at the van derr Hoff house. The youth wanted to be intentially late. All part of his act, his seeming ennui with the whole evening.

The teenager pulled up in front of Carole's house twenty minutes late. He casually walked up the path to the door, knowing Carole was probably watching his every move and seething inside, angry as hell!

The chime had barely died when the door was swung open by Robin. The look on her face was something of a mixture of anger and confusion. In a low voice she said, "Bert! I thought you'd never get here. Carole's been ready for ten minutes. Do you want to go out with her or not?"

Bert smiled ingratiatingly and said in a normal tone, "Good evening, Mrs. van der Hoff. Is Carole ready yet?"

Robin shot him a venomous look, then motioned him in. He immediately took his place on the loveseat as Robin said, "She'll be ready in a couple of minutes." The civilzation-old make-the-mailwait routine seemed a bit trite and useless since he had turned the tables so neatly. It no longer appeared he was the eager stallion trotting after the filly, but rather that the filly was slightly stupid not being ready after an inexcusable delay.

Carole appeared in a few minutes, and Bert had to restrain a gasp. She was dazzling. Her very radiance brightened the room immensely. She had obviously dressed to impress him to the utmost. The turquoise dress seemed to float about her body, clinging here, flowing there. All the heres and theres were strategically placed for maximum effect on any red blooded male.

The decolletage of the dress was as improbable as it was heart wrenching. The sharp V notch of the neckline plunged far down past the bottom of Carole's compact melon-sized breats. Umbra danced and masked vital portions of her partially exposed tits in a cunningly designed fashion. Bert allowed a slight smile to creep across his lips as he said, "Good evening, Carole. Ready to go or do you need a few more minutes to get dressed?"

The teenager started to duck as Carole picked up her purse. He was certain she would fling it at him in rage at his implied insult. Instead, her face fell into a wooden mask that smiled mechanically.

"I'm ready. Let's go." Ice dribbled from every word.

Bert carefully studied anew. The hemline of her dress was perfect for what he had in mind for the main event later in the evening. It came to mid-thigh. The photographer thanked his lucky stars that Carole had not chosen to wear stockings. That would have complicated things to the point of idiocy on his part.

Who knew? It might be nothing but stupidity that he planned. But he would soon know.

"I want to say good-bye to your mother." Bert turned his back to Carole and went into the kitchen where Robin was stuffing the dinner dishes into the dishwasher.

"I just wanted to tell you, Mrs. van der Hoff, that I'll have Carole back before midnight. We'll be at the school dance – it's in the gym – and we'll probably to to Dan's Den for a hamburger afterwards."

Robin's lips compressed into a tight line. "I don't know what game you're playing, Bert, but you'd better watch yourself. I'll see you burn in hell if you…"

"Good night, Mrs. van der Hoff," he said, cutting off her lowvoiced tirade.

Bert returned to the fuming Carole and said, "Let's go now. I wanted your mother to know where we'd be."

As they walked to the car, Carole asked, a note of curiosity creeping into her soft voice, "And what did you tell her?"

"I told her that you wanted to fuck me, and we'd be going to a motel. What did you expect me to tell her?" Bert slammed the door behind Carole with a trifle more force than necessary.

He went around and got in behind the wheel. He keyed the car to life and took off.

"Did you really tell Mom that?"

"You know I didn't since you were listening through the door! Don't try to be coy or more dense than you have be, OK? I just want to have a good time tonight, and you asking silly questions isn't going to make it."

Carole promptly crumpled in the seat, clutching at the door handle as if she planned to leap out at the next street light. She retreated into a shell of silence and uttered not a single word until they arrived at the high school gym.

They passed be the hideous statue of Walter Williams, after whom the school had been named. Carole idly remarked, "I wonder why they cast him with his mouth open like that?"

Bert snorted. "He probably wouldn't stop screaming when they poured the bronze around him."

Carole spun in amazement, her mouth half open in surprise. She quickly clamped it shut when she saw Bert didn't appear to be kidding. His tone and face said that he was dead serious. His mouth had a slight smile.

She shivered slightly although the evening was still and warm. What kind of a warpo had she mistakenly allowed to have a date with her? In spite of herself, however, the thougth was a bit ludicrous, and she was silently amused. But Bert Ellis was definitely not her type, not the way he had been treating her so far. It was as if she were…beneath his notice!

She, Carole van der Hoff, head cheerleader, most popular girl in school, man killer, was being ignored as if she simply was not important. She'd show that stupid bastard what it meant to be with a real woman!

Bert, when he was in plain view of anyone else, was the perfect gentleman. He opened the door for Carole, made the rounds introducing her to various friends of her that she didn't know. He even introduced her to Cruncher.

"…and this is Carole. I suppose you two already know each other…since Crucher told me so much about you. After all, you two do see each other all the time..on the field…so to speak."

Carole didn't know whether to be insulted or not. Was Bert merely being tongue-tied and obtuse? Was he implying that she knew this neanderthal football player intimately?

She decided she would turn the tables on him, turn on her charms full blast and let this Cruncher be the lucky recipient. "I've always admired the way you just smash right on through and take out all those big guys intent on running over the quarterback."

"Well, sometimes I play the defensive line, too. I sort of enjoy being the one to dump the quarterback."

"Oh, that's marvelous!" Carole squealed in glee, almost to the point of jumping up and down and clapping her hands in cheerleader fashion.

Bert took her elbow and maneuvered her away before she realized what was happening. "Over here is the school paper's editor. You know Alana, I guess. You cheerleader types seem to know everyone."

Alana's reception was markedly different from Cruncher's. The big tackle had been turning on the charm as much as Carole had been. Carole was met with pure, unadulterated hatred here. And Bert seemed intent on lingering, making lewd innuendoes with this black bitch and talking about trivial matters.

The band blared out its first song, but still Bert talked on with Alana. Just as Cruncher started over, his intent obvious, Bert grabbed Carole by the arm and guided her out to the dance floor. "Enough talk for now. Let's dance."

The girl couldn't get into the flow of the music, and her movements were those of a poorly coordinated marionette. Bert flowed and glided with easy grace. Soon, Carole was beginning to feel completely out of synch with everything going on around her, a new and disquieting feeling. She normally dug these dances. They gave her a chance to flaunt her multitudimous charms, bedazzle male onlookers and generally have a fine time.

Tonight, nothing was going right. Her dancing, normally sinuous and vaguely lewd and suggestive, was clumsy. It was Bert who shone, who had the envious eyes of both sexes on him.

Carole didn't understand that. Not completely. The male admirers were to be expected. He had a date with her. But the feminine attraction to this zilch of a photographer was inexplicable. Carole wracked her brain and failed to find the answer. He treated her like dirt. Polite, well mannered, but disinterested. And yet all the other girls cast envious eyes on him.