The Slipper Read Free Page A

sip it.”
    â€œFuck you,” she said.
    She had never used that word before. It felt strange on her lips.
    â€œI’m not the one who selects the scholarship winners, Carol. In fact, I have nothing to do with it. I understand they’re selected by members of the school board.”
    â€œAnd Janette Anderson’s mother is on the board. Fuck her, too.”
    She finished the wine in another gulp, and Norman Philips shook his head and signaled the waiter and ordered another. He took a sip of his scotch and studied her with dark-brown eyes. Carol felt dizzy, felt she might burst into tears again, and she mustn’t do that, must have some pride. When the waiter brought her second glass of wine she toyed with the stem and stared down at it and listened to “Moonglow” and cried in spite of herself, quietly, tears flowing down her cheeks. Philips waited patiently and, when she was finished, handed her a clean white handkerchief.
    â€œReady for dinner?” he inquired.
    â€œI—I suppose so. I might as well get a good meal out of this.”
    He looked askance at that, but he made no comment. He ordered their meal without consulting her, and it was strange and exotic. Carol had never tasted shad roe before or asparagus with hollandaise sauce, either. There were so many things she had never had, never done, but that was going to change, she vowed. Somehow, some way, she was going to get out of Kansas and start living in earnest, and if she had to be bad, she’d just be bad. Mr. Philips was a very wealthy man, and there was much he could teach her.
    â€œMrs. Epperson told me you’re a superlative young actress,” he said over dessert. “She said your performance in Stage Door last month was brilliant, worthy of a professional. I wish I’d been there to see it.”
    â€œIt was a silly class play by a bunch of high school students. I seriously doubt you’d have enjoyed it.”
    â€œYou’re a very beautiful girl, Carol.”
    â€œMy cheekbones are too high. My mouth is too full. I’m too tall.”
    â€œVery beautiful,” he repeated, “and Mrs. Epperson is right—there’s a luminous quality about you, an undeniable presence. I noticed you up there on the platform long before you made your dramatic exit.”
    â€œDid you?”
    â€œYou stood out. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. The sun was shining on your hair. Your hair was like dark golden wheat.”
    His husky voice seemed to caress each word. Oh yes, he wanted to get into her pants. He wasn’t stiff in his jeans, didn’t have damp palms like boys at school, and he wouldn’t paw, wouldn’t plead, but he wanted her. Every female instinct told her that, and Carol felt a curious sense of power that was entirely new. She found it vaguely alarming. Something had happened to her back there in the cornfield. Somehow she had changed. She was a good girl, a virgin, had never even considered going all the way, but now … now she was utterly intrigued by this man old enough to be her father. It must be the wine, she thought. She had had two glasses before their meal arrived, another while she ate the shad roe.
    â€œYou want to become an actress?” Philips asked.
    â€œIs—is that so foolish?” she asked defensively. “Is that so wrong?”
    â€œThere’s nothing foolish about it, nothing wrong, either. If one has no ambitions, one never succeeds.”
    â€œI—I don’t intend to vegetate in Ellsworth, Kansas, for the rest of my days.”
    â€œI doubt that you shall,” he said. “Mrs. Epperson tells me you had your heart set on attending Claymore University in Indiana. They have a very fine drama department, I understand. I remember reading an article about Julian Compton in Time a few years ago—noted director gives up the bright lights of Broadway for the groves of academe.”
    â€œClaymore was a