Breakfast at Noon

By Robert W. Witt

Paul Stuart arrives at an outdoor theater in the mountains of Tennessee for his summer job. He renews his friendship with Charles Crowder and Linda Thompson, associates from previous summers. He also meets Mike Chandler, a new boy to whom Paul is obviously attracted. The next morning as the four are seated together in the cafeteria, they notice a girl rush in to talk with the director. She is agitated and seems quite worried. Howard, the director, shows concern. Later at the company meeting Howard announces that Lisa, one of the female dancers, has disappeared. Jeff Keene, a new boy, was the last to see her. He walked to the theater with her last night but left her there alone at her request. Paul invites Mike, Linda, and Charles to his apartment that night for a drink.

At Pauls apartment Charles reports that the police have found some shoes in the woods near the dorm. The four talk about Lisas disappearance. It is possible that she has been murdered, but Paul thinks no one in the company would do such a thing. Linda, though, thinks that Tom Sneed, the new dorm manager, seems creepy enough. Paul and Mike begin to form a close friendship, but Paul resists the urge to seduce Mike.

The next day at rehearsal Charles reports that some campers have found the nude body of a girl who fits the description of Lisa. She has been raped and strangled. Jeff is the only suspect. Paul begins to be jealous of Mike and Linda. Linda, though, doesnt notice. She is concerned about what she thinks is a ghost--a man who suddenly appears at the edge of the woods and then vanishes. Charles believes that everyone is nervous because of the murder and so theyve revived the traditional rumors about the ghost.

Charles urges Paul to seduce Mike, but Paul thinks that a spiritual relationship is best. His jealousy of Linda, however, grows. Charles turns the conversation to the murder. He has begun to doubt Jeffs story. Paul still thinks Jeff is innocent. Later Charles rushes to Pauls apartment with the latest news--Lisas clothes have been found in Jeffs car. Even Charles agrees, though, that the clothes must have been planted. Surely Jeff isnt that stupid. Mike is spending more time with Linda, and Paul is convinced that they are having an affair. Later as Paul sits at a table with Jeff and his girlfriend, Jeff desperately asserts his innocence, but Paul suddenly realizes that he is lying about something.

Pandemonium breaks out after Howard discovers that one of the cast members has been having sexual relations with one of the young local boys, but this incident eventually leads to the identity of the murderer and the reconcilation of Paul, Linda, and Mike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 9, 2001
• ISBN: 9781465316417

Robert W. Witt

Robert W. Witt, a member of the faculty at Eastern Kentucky University, has published numerous books, articles, stories, and plays. His two previous novels, HOUR IN PARADISE and TOXIC, were published in 1993 and 1995. Various of his plays have been performed in California, Kentucky, New York, and North Carolina. At the university he teaches courses in both Shakespeare and creative writing and edits The Chaffin Journal, an annual literary review.

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Copyright © 2000 by Robert W. Witt.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

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Contents

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

I

Paul Stuart smiled as he noticed the sign: STEEP GRADE—TRUCKS USE LOWER GEAR. He pressed on the accelerator and the car spurted forward, gliding around the first curve, gaining momentum in the straight stretch, and sliding into the next curve. Paul’s body became alert, electric, as the sense of danger increased. He felt the car sway too far toward the shoulder. He fought the steering wheel as he lost more control. The headlights cut wildly across the dense forest on either side as the car squealed through yet another curve, lurching and tossing like an animal gone wild. Soon Paul knew he would have no control, and the car would tear off the road smashing and crunching against the trees, rolling down the mountain side end over end until finally, its energy spent, it would lodge against the final trees crumpled and twisted into a mass totally different from its former self, unrecognizable as he after the cataclysmic end. Ah hell, he thought, and released the accelerator. Might as well see what the summer has in store. He eased the car into control. After all, I’ll be going down the other side after the summer.

The car calm again, he relaxed and peered into the darkness beyond the range of the headlights. He wished that it were daylight. He never seemed to be able to get away from home in time to arrive in the mountains before dark. At the beginning of every summer he vowed to pack and get away earlier than the summer before. But he never did. He loved the mountains, though, and spent nine months of the year longing to return. The mountains were like a balm for the soul, he often thought, and now he needed a balm for his soul. It wasn’t the same when you’d been here for a while. It was the first breathtaking view. Damn, he thought, thirty-two goddamn years and what am I? Who am I?

The streets of the village were almost deserted when Paul arrived, but he knew that there would be plenty of activity in the compound. Drama folks always stay up late, even when they have to be up early the next morning for a company meeting. Paul swung off the road onto a side street and headed for the private drive into the compound. Following the narrow, snakelike drive, he wondered if maybe he should have let go back up there on the mountain. He thought again of the crumpled, twisted heap, himself inside more lifeless than the car. He pondered the reaction when the news reached the compound. Paul Stuart—I just can’t believe it—he’s so young, his career just getting started. Young, hell, he thought. Some people were college presidents at his age. He rounded the final curve and stopped in the parking lot between the two dormitory buildings. A few people were in the lot, some unloading cars. In the dim light from the streetlamp Paul didn’t recognize anyone. Probably all new, he thought. He sat in the car for a moment and felt something foreboding about this summer. He dreaded to make the official beginning. Aw hell, he halfway muttered, only my usual depression. Just as he opened the door and slid out of the seat, someone called to him.

Paul—Paul Stuart, Hey. Charles Crowder, a tall pleasant-looking man two or three years younger than Paul left the steps of the Boys Dorm and hurried across the lot.

Charlie—Hey, man. Paul extended his hand. When did you get here?

Oh, I’ve been here two days already. Charles grasped Paul’s hand.

Come to meet everyone as they arrived?

Yeah, I kind of feel like that’s part of my job.

You’re so conscientious. And what were you doing in the Boys Dorm, as if I didn’t know.

I happen to be living there.

Oh. One of the apartments?

Yeah.

What made you decide to give up the cottage? Not much activity down around the cottages. Ooh, I see.

Come on up and have a drink.

Maybe I better get my key first and move my things in. O.K. I’ll give you a hand. I suppose I’m in the same place? Yep. The lower apartment in the Girls Dorm. Why do you get an apartment in the Boys Dorm, and I’m always stuck in the Girl’s?

Because I ask for things, and you just take what’s given you. I suppose so.

Start unloading. I’ll get your key for you. Thanks. Who’s managing the dorms this year? A new guy—Tom Sneed. He’s also playing one of the roles. Oh. Many of the old gang back?

Several but there’re a good many new people. Charles paused. Ah, you know Sam’s not coming back? Yes, I know. Who told you? He wrote me. Oh? Is he still? Not since January.

Oh well—say come on, get your things. Let’s move you in so we can do some serious drinking.

Paul laughed as Charles hurried back across the lot and disappeared into the Boys Dorm. Paul opened the trunk of the car and pulled at one of the boxes. He shivered in his short-sleeved shirt. Nights in the mountains are always cool, especially in early June. He pushed the box back into place and fumbled in the back seat of the car until he found a sweater in the stack of clothes. Putting it on, he went back to the trunk and began pulling at the box again. Charles returned with the key, and together they unloaded the car.

Just pile everything in the middle of the floor, Paul said. I won’t be able to get things straightened out until tomorrow anyway. O.K.

After moving the last of the boxes from the car to the apartment, they walked across the lot to Charles’ apartment. The place is still a mess. Just knock some things off a chair and have a seat. Charles headed toward the kitchen. The usual, I guess?

Yes.

Scotch on the rocks coming up.

Put a little water in it.

O.K. A thimble full.

Paul laughed. You act like I’m an alcoholic.

Now would I think something like that? Charles called from the kitchen.

Is Linda here yet?

Yeah. She got in last night.

How’s she doing?

Same as ever. Still hot for your body.

Aw, come off it.

You ought to know. Charles appeared in the kitchen door holding two glasses. He handed one to Paul and sat down.

Surely after last summer she knows.

You know how women are.

I suppose.

They always think they can change you.

Paul was thoughtful for a moment. You know, I really like her. I wish she’d just be friends.

She is.

Yeah. But damn, you can’t just be friends with women. If you don’t try to get in their pants, they think you don’t like them. She spent half the time last year sulking and not speaking to me.

And the other half chasing you around the compound.

Mostly sulking.

When you and Sam went for those late night drives in the mountains.

So what. Sam and I were just friends. She knew that.

"Oh sure. Everybody knew that."

Aw, Come on, we were just friends.

Sure.

A beautiful Platonic friendship.

Oh, God, don’t tell me you’re going to start that Pluto stuff again.

Plato—please. It’s true.

Humph.

Just because you—

At least I’m honest about it. I don’t try to fool myself.

O.K. O.K. Truce. Paul lifted his glass in the manner of a toast. So how was the year?

Fine. Exhausting though.

You were on the road most of the time, right?

Yeah. Those damn high schools. We played every one in the state.

Just remember you’re taking culture into the hinterland.

Oh sure. I’m certain the State Repertory Company spreads lots of culture.

I’m sure it does.

Come in, Charles called as someone knocked on the door.

A boy with dark hair and finely shaped features opened the door and stuck his head inside. Is this where I get the key to my room?

No, Charles said, directly across the hall. That’s the dorm manager. I’m the stage manager.

Oh, sorry. Thanks. The boy pulled his head back quickly and closed the door.

Well, how do you like that, Charles sniffed.

What’d you mean?

He could have introduced himself.

He seemed rather shy.

Yeah. Oh well, we’ll meet him tomorrow. He’s pretty all right.

Yes. Beautiful face.

Face? Who cares about the face?

You didn’t see the rest of him.

I saw enough. But—I digress. How was your year?

Paul shifted in his chair. O.K.

Just O.K.?

Not even that really.

I take it you didn’t finish the dissertation.

That’s right. Paul took a deep drink. I didn’t finish.

Almost?

Paul hesitated. No.

You got it in shape so you can finish this summer. Ah . . . no. Actually I’ve done nothing on it. Nothing!

Nothing. It’s at exactly the same stage as it was last summer. Paul—

I know. I know. Isn’t the time limit about up? One more year . . . and that’s it. Then why the hell don’t you do it?

Paul studied the liquor in his glass. I don’t know. It’s like I’m paralyzed or something. I can’t do anything. I spent hours and hours this year sitting at my desk staring—just staring, not even thinking. But you’ve done all the research. Yes.

So write the damn thing. Write anything. Nobody’ll read it anyway.

Paul laughed. That true. I don’t understand what the problem is. As I said, I’m paralyzed. Just staring at all those note cards. I need something to get me started—some spark, but I don’t know what it is.

What you need is a good affair. Affair? What’s that got to do with it?

That’s the spark. Give you some interest in life. Make you want to accomplish something.

I don’t think—

Not one of your Plutonic friendships—God, that’d drive me up the wall. No wonder you’re paralyzed.

I’m afraid that’s not very likely to happen. Paul ignored Charles’ purposeful classical slip this time.

Why not?

I don’t know that either. It just never happens—almost never, he added as Charles started to protest. I meet someone I like, then it develops into friendship, and I suppose I think anything else would ruin the friendship. So I don’t try anything. Paul shrugged and emptied his glass.

How many of those Plutonic friends still hanging around?

Paul winced. Well, it’s not that—it’s just that we always seem to be going in opposite directions.

Charles stood up. Here let me get you another. You need it.

Thanks. Paul handed his glass to Charles. He stared about the room while Charles was in the kitchen fixing the drinks. Charles had also apparently brought everything in from his car and piled it in the middle of the floor, where it had remained. Boxes and suitcases were scattered about the room, all opened as Charles thought of something he needed and dug through each one until he found it. The contents were spilling out of most, books and magazines jumbled by some, towels and sheets draped over the sides of others, socks lined the edge of one of the suitcases. What a mess, Paul thought. And it’ll be this way at least until after the rehearsal period. Paul knew that tomorrow, despite all of the interruptions as old friends dropped in to say hello, he would systematically unpack everything and arrange the apartment into the neat, well-ordered place that it would remain for the summer. His apartment’s a mess, he thought, and my life is a mess.

Here you go. Charles gave the glass to Paul.

Thanks. Ah, this one is somewhat darker.

Did you want water in this one too?

Paul laughed. No. This is fine. Thanks.

Someone banged at the door again and Charles called, Come in. The door swung open and a boy in his early twenties entered. Blond curly hair surrounded an angelic/devilish face. Short, somewhat stocky, he wore cutoff jeans and a sweat shirt. I’m looking for the dorm manager, he said glancing from Paul to Charles.

Across the hall, I’m the stage manager.

Good to see you. My name’s Jim—Jim Johnson. He moved farther in and extended his hand.

Charles Crowder, Charles rose and grasped the boy’s hand. And Paul Stuart.

Good to see you. Jim released Charles’ hand and turned to Paul.

Nice to meet you. Paul stood to shake hands.

What do you do?

Paul laughed as he sat down. Actually that’s a good question.

He’s the production assistant. Charles seemed eager to supply information.

I’m kind of central communications. I perform some of the functions of a stage manager. I call the cues.

Jim turned to Charles. You don’t do that?

No. The operation’s so big here I have to be concerned mainly with discipline. So we have a production assistant who does that part of the usual stage manager job.

It’s pretty much the same set up as Cherokee. Jim glanced around the room seemingly trying to locate an empty chair.

"Oh, you’ve worked at Unto These Hills?" Charles also glanced about the room as if he were trying to decide which chair could be emptied the quickest.

Yeah, last summer.

How did you like it on the other side of the mountain? Paul asked.

Pretty well. I almost went back there this summer, but this place offered me a better deal.

What’d you do at Unto? Charles scattered books and magazines on the floor as he freed another chair.

I was a dancer.

Are you dancing here? Paul sipped his drink.

Yeah.

Have a seat. Charles had accomplished his task. How about a drink?

No thanks. I need to get my key and move into my room. But I’ll take a rain check.

Sure anytime. Come back when you’re finished if you want.

"You mean Beyond the Valley offered you a better salary than Unto These Hills?" Paul was incredulous.

No. But they said here I’d have a chance to play one of the roles—one of the small roles.

Don’t be surprised at how small. Paul smiled at Charles.

I know. But it’ll be something at least. Over there I didn’t do anything else. And I’m anxious to get into acting.

Maybe you’ll have a line or two. Charles returned Paul’s smile. I’ll remember that you’re interested when I help the director assign the small roles.

Oh will you? Great. Hey, great. I’m glad I knocked on the wrong door. Say, maybe I’ll take you up on that drink just as soon as I unload my car. Jim hurried to the door.

I’ll be right here.

See you all later. Jim closed the door behind him.

Make you a star, honey. Charles laughed as he returned to his chair.

You rascal. You’re already at it.

Sure. Stake a claim before anybody else does.

He’s good-looking for sure.

Uh oh. None of that. He’s not the type for one of your Plutonic friendships.

No. He’s not my type at all really. The first one who stuck his head in is more my type.

That’s right, hon. Just remember that. Sensitive features—just the type for a—

Please do not say Plutonic.

"For a Platonic friendship. So you go after him, and I’ll go after this one. Let’s see—Jim—right? Jim . . ."

Johnson. It alliterates. But don’t worry. I’m not going after anybody this summer. I’m going to write a dissertation, remember?

Like I said, an affair—a real affair—would be just the thing.

I don’t see how that would help me write a dissertation.

Does wonders for a body. Try it, you’ll like it.

O.K. So I’ll make somebody a star.

Just stay away from my Jimmie. Anyway I’m the one who helps Howard assign roles.

True, true. Speaking of Howard, I suppose you’ve seen him?

Oh, yeah, several times.

How is he?

The same as always. Good ole H. B., ole iron-hand himself.

He’s probably in his cottage right now preparing a speech that will strike fear into the hearts of one and all.

I don’t know why he’d be preparing one. It’ll be the same one he always gives at the first company meeting.

You’re right. He hasn’t made many variations during the past several summers. ‘This is a dry county, so you absolutely cannot have liquor on the compound.’ Paul raised his glass in a salute and then took a drink. No girls in boys’ rooms and no boys in girls’ rooms after one a.m.’ God, you’d think this was summer camp for the cub scouts. It’s a wonder we don’t have bed check.

He thinks he has to be very strict else everything will go to pieces.

I know. Poor Howard, if he only knew what really goes on.

I think sometimes he does.

He probably does but pretends that he doesn’t. So as long as we keep everything under the covers, so to speak, we can go our merry way.

Right. But he doesn’t hesitate to punish those who don’t keep it under the covers, baby.

You’re telling me? Remember I’m the one who almost got fired the first summer I worked here.

I’d forgotten that. What caused it?

I was sneaking a fifth into my apartment and that fucking dorm manager saw me.

Wonder why he told Howard?

I don’t know. He was new here, too, and I suppose he was nervous about his authority.

So he made an example of you.

Yeah. Damn, I’d still like to have his head for that.

Well, you didn’t get fired.

No. But I got one of Howard’s famous reprimands. I almost quit after that. Besides, Howard’s still convinced that I, as he puts it, have a drinking problem.

0h yeah. He wasn’t going to hire you the next summer, was he?

"No, the bastard said I did my job well but he couldn’t trust people with