“Well.” Tiger said. “What have you got for me?”
Hetty smiled. He could have grinned. He studied the warm, yet partly mischievous smile on her. The mixture was fascinating. Irresistible. He grinned. “Well—” she said, plunking the catalog on the desk. “Here’s the list.” She paused. “Formidable.” She opened the catalog, to a certain section.
Tiger took a look at it. Page after page of new Guidance/ Counseling/Career stuff. Just published. Tiger grinned.
“They really churn it out, don’t they?” He said.
“Don’t they! It’s getting big as a whale—each month it’s bigger—it’s crowding other fields out, Tiger, I’m telling you.” She said.
“Urn Hmm,” He said.
“How’s Hilda?” She said.
“Same as ever.”
“So it’s a problem. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Good thing you came to me.”
“Don’t they have anything else to do with their time?” “Well, it’s the way up, you see—”
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Wait till computers take over—”
She laughed, in that way he just loved, “I’ll just give up then—period.”
“Can't see you doing that.” He grinned again.
“Look—” she said, placing a loving finger on the page. Tiger admired the nail, an intriguing pink, well cared for, she had lovely white hands, warm too, the absolute temporary crazy utterly transient fleeting nature of things, Tiger mused, out of the blue, “Look at this one—” She said, “The Average Response Pattern And The Perpendicular Theory Of Rest,” She read out, from the page, looking at him afterward, befuddled and mischievous, those bright big blue eyes right on his. He loved her lipstick.
“Sounds great, doesn’t it?” He said.
“J. Kimona—” Hetty read, “Know him?”
“Never heard of him.”
“I mean, just what are they getting at?”
“Guess.”
“Ha Ha! Yes.”
“We need rest.”
“Tiger, honestly—”
“How’s the best?”
“Are you stuck with her?” She asked, softly.
“Looks that way.”
“How can you take it?”
“I try my best.”
“I know you do.”
“You help a lot.”
“Ah, that’s sweet of you,” she said, warmly, laying her hand on his.
“It probably has something to do with computers—to tell the truth—” Tiger told her.
“I’ll bet it does,” She said, stroking his hand. Tiger loved her warm, soft hand.
“I’ll tell you one book I’d really like you to get for me—” He said, telling her about Eble's gem. She nodded, jotted it down. Her hand came back.
“I’d like to read it,” she told him, “I think I’ll order two copies.” He nodded assent.
“It sounds great—let me tell you.”
“Whose hands are like mine?” She murmured now. “Nobody’s.”
“Ah—sweet—” She murmured, warmly, to him.
Tiger grinned, and nodded, and started patting her hands.
“1 do all I can to keep this teaching-machine and Programmed Instruction and computer racket down to a minimum,” He told her, speaking low, “You know that—” She nodded, her eyes were on him. tender and warm, as she listened to him. ‘ But those guys are shrewd little operators, let me tell you. They go and work on the individual School Board members, maybe even offer a cut, I don't know. That’s the latest. Once they sell them, the fight’s harder than ever. Sec?” He paused, caressing her lovely, slender arm. “They don’t bother at all coming to see me or Proffer anymore—How about that?”
“What a racket—” she murmured.
“We’ll beat them,” he told her, “I get along pretty well with the Board, due to factors, the team, other factors. He grinned, “At least the key members, I mean—” He was up to her elbow now, caressing tenderly, just inside. She gave a sigh.
“How are you?”
*7 love you—”
“How’s everything?”
“You'll see—”
“Will I see?”
“Always—”
“Let’s check the catalog.”
Tiger’s favorite Librarian came around to his side of the desk. She laid her hand on the catalog. Tiger glanced admiringly at her red hair. He loved her fragrance.
“Here’s one—” she said, softly, '7 locked the door, my love—" Tiger nodded. “Patriotism and Counseling—" She read “P. T. Johnson—” She said.
“Pat Johnson!” Tiger grinned—“I know him.”
“We'll get it—”
“Sure, get it—”
“But what’s Patriotism got to do with Counseling?” She asked, touching his face.
“Don’t sell it short—” he murmured, “Check his namesake—” He also murmured, touching her lovely soft hair, “What have you got on?” He murmured now, kissing her sweet nose.
“Just cologne—” She murmured, “Like it?”
“Love it.”
“Like my lipstick?”
“Gorgeous color.”
She smiled warmly, she brushed her lips against his.
“You angel—” She said.
“I try—” He said.
“Touch my breasts—”
He did so. He found them free.
She laughed, very softly, in his ear.
“That’s terrific,” he said, “Really terrific,” he also said, fondling those warm, full, joyful things.
“What about Patriotism?” She said, kissing little kisses all around his ear.
“It has its place,” he murmured to her, loving those soft breasts, stroking their tips now, gently. “There’s nothing perfect in the world—” He said, “Except you, of course —” He also said, as she slipped her arms about him, and looked at him, her sweet warm breath in his face, “You— of course—” He reiterated—“But—there’s a lot to be said for the USA—” He kissed her eyes. What an exquisitely feminine creature she was. Tiger idolized her. He could play all day with her. Time permitting. Time, time. The master of all destinies. It was Tiger’s archenemy. “Imperfect as it is—in many ways—” He said, gliding his right hand down her side, reaching her flanks, caressing them, tenderly, and around the back. She would have purred, he knew, if she could. Her breath was a purr, stirring him, more. Tenderly, he caressed. “No intelligent person would deny it’s imperfect—” He murmured, continuing to brush her ear with his lips, dozens of little kisses falling there, as her eyes closed, and she moaned, “But of all the many many imperfect countries in the world—and they’re all imperfect, of course—I, personally, prefer this one—” He said, “In many ways.” He also said, gently slipping his hand under her skirt, and upward, as she let him glide, ever upward, and sighed, making way for his hand—“England, for instance—” He went on, murmuring low, “I wouldn’t live in a class-ridden place like that—for anything—anything— What a rotten setup they have—and—as far as I can see—always will have—that’s their trouble that’s why they’re always in trouble—who’s got a chance?” He kissed her lips, which were moist, and warm, and opening for him. His hand reached silken skin, just above her stockings now. He stroked and caressed, quite awhile, before venturing farther on. She kissed beautifully, giving all to him. He loved her. He surfaced for air. “It’s in the Educational area of course that the worst injustices are perpetrated there—” He told her, soft and low—“In that country—” He said, as she licked his lips, gently, her warm, sweet tongue gliding tenderly, “They separate the kids with a vengeance, way back there, right at the beginning—almost—” He gave her longue a little nip, and she gave a little cry, and a quiver—“The poor kids of the community get a slum education, except those with the very highest intelligence—and drive—However, if the family has dough—or is titled—any of their dumbheads can get the best education—” She sighed, in his arms—as he went on—“A rotten setup—” He kissed her tongue, letting it slide into him. He kissed her. fully. They clung a long time. They surfaced, finally—“Very few get to college—” He went on—“The so-called ‘intellectual elite’—and the rich, of course—only—” He murmured, stroking her, his right hand lovingly on its goal, as she moaned softly, in his arms —“Result—” He said—“A moronic country.” He paused— “An uneducated mass of class-ridden and dominated nincompoops. No kidding—” He said—“What a country." She whispered something, he couldn’t make out what it was, she continued moaning. He went on, murmuring—“Then all the rest—’’ He paused, his hand stroking Paradise— “Germany—just marking time until the next Nazi Lunacy —or whatever they’ll choose to call it then—” He paused —“France, Italy—Russia—” He murmured—“All of them —" He kept on murmuring. “Not to mention South America—’’ He paused—"And the Far East—,J