"Okay," I said, "I'll have a Coke."

In a little while he said, "Aren't you warm, Susie? Why don't you take
off your parka,"

I did.

After this he said, "You're very pretty, Susie."

"Thanks," I said, even though he gave me what my friend Clarissa and I
had dubbed the skeevies.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No, Mr. Harvey," I said. I swallowed the rest of my Coke, which was a
lot, and said, "I got to go, Mr. Harvey. This is a cool place, but I
have to go."

He stood up and did his hunchback number by the six dug-in steps that
led to the world. "I don't know why you think you're leaving."

I talked so that I would not have to take in this knowledge: Mr.
Harvey was no character. He made me feel skeevy and icky now that he was
blocking the door.

"Mr. Harvey, I really have to get home."

"Take off your clothes."

"What?"

"Take your clothes off," Mr. Harvey said. "I want to check that you're
still a virgin."

"I am, Mr. Harvey," T said.

"I want to make sure. Your parents will thank me."

"My parents?"

"They only want good girls," he said.

"Mr. Harvey," I said, "please let me leave."

"You aren't leaving, Susie. You're mine now."

Fitness was not a big thing back then; aerobics was barely a word.
Girls were supposed to be soft, and only the girls we suspected were
butch could climb the ropes at school.

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