Joy Lansing moaned. The touch of Clay Trent's hands was enough to bring a throbbing fire coursing through her veins.
They were at the cabin for the first time in a month. Clay hadn't been able to get away from college because of exams. But that didn't matter, now. "Miss me?" he murmured, his mouth brushing her throat.
"Sometimes, I hate that old college of yours." Joy pressed her supple body against him. She couldn't quiet her impatience. Her nerves were tight strings.
"Tell me you love me," she insisted.
"You know it, Honey." The words came easy, but there was a frown on Clay Trent's face, one she didn't see in the shadows from the glowing fire.
Clay Trent liked what she had to offer, her luscious willing body, but beyond that . . . nothing really fit. Joy Lansing was hardly the type a man married, at least not the son of the town's leading doctor.
Joy was from the wrong part of town, Willow Street. Then, too, there was her mother, Barbara Lansing, who didn't turn men from her bed if they had a few dollars to spend.
For Clay, it had started out as a simple conquest. He had seen Joy, one afternoon, at the drugstore and decided she was worth having. Auburn haired, gray-eyed, with a figure that would stop a clock, she was really something.
Surprisingly, it had taken Clay several dates, mostly drives around the countryside before he talked her into coming up to Ins father's cabin.
Clay normally lost interest in a girl after a few sessions. There were a dozen coeds at college who could attest to that. Joy Lansing though, became a compulsion. Breaking off relations with her wasn't that easy. It seemed that every time' he made up his mind to tell her, he couldn't. And he felt a little guilty. I wasn't hard to tell her he loved her and take what he wanted. She believed him. So there was still a year of college. No one knew about the trips up here to the cabin.
Joy's parting lips, the probe of her tongue. forced Clay's thoughts aside. Easing away her blouse from her shoulders, he unsnapped her bra. His eyes glowed with appreciation as her full breasts burst free. The light of the fire danced on her tawny flesh, tanned below the creamy breasts. He felt her tremble as his hands cupped the cones, bringing instant response. One thing about Joy, she was always willing after that first time. She had an insatiable hunger for love.
Clay found a. nipple with his mouth and caressed it into a rigid bud. He felt her hands twine in his hair, urging him on. She was sobbing softly, mewing like a kitten.
Finding the zipper of her skirt, he eased it down. In the quiet, it had the sound of coarse cloth being torn. She arched to let him slip it free from her thighs.
Clay paused to let his eyes feast again on her slender loveliness. Unlike so many naked women, Joy gained rather than lost in beauty, when she was naked.
Joy felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "You make me feel so self-conscious when you look at me like that," she cried. It was silly, and she knew it. He had seen her naked many times.
A grin played across his mouth. "I enjoy looking at you, Honey," he said. Then, he hooked his fingers in her panties and drew them down over her thighs.
She started trembling more violently as his hands caressed her thighs, moving up the inside, pausing and moving, pausing and moving.
"Please, Clay, please," she sobbed. "It's been so long."
"Too long." He started to undress, his eyes never leaving her.
Joy watched him. An anger dug at her insides. There were times when she thought she couldn't control this anger, this hating, almost of herself. It was always the same. She had no control of her emotions at his touch, at the sight of his masculinity. Her body was on fire.
The moment he came to her, her nails raked his back, trying to hurry him. She knew she couldn't. Clay was a deliberate lover, insistent on preliminaries.
Her sobs grew into cries of anguish as he tasted the succulence of her breasts, his lips moving, always moving.
Joy felt herself being carried higher and higher, reaching for the crest. Time stood still. Rockets exploded in a myriad of colors. His gentleness gave way to violence as he took her. For one tenuous, exquisite moment, she fought the burning tide that engulfed her, then surrendered completely, gloriously.
Sweat oiled their bodies. Arching, her body a storm of motion, she built the tempo ever higher.
"No, no, not yet," she cried as she felt him shudder. Her nails raked his back, leaving a ribbon of blood as she fought on to find her own satisfaction. It came. Then like an abating storm, they sank back into a lassitude of contentment.
"You're wonderful," Clay muttered. He leaned away and looked at her, at her breasts still swollen with passion.
He was thinking that when the time came to end it, it wasn't going to be easy. Joy was everything a man could want. Compared to her, all the other girls he had taken to bed were imitations. Still the day of reckoning would have to come. But, Hell, not now. There was still a year of college left.
Kissing a breast, he felt renewed response. This time, he let her make love to him, flagellate him into submission with her wild attack. There was pleasure in fighting, struggling against her whip-lashing assault.
When it ended, he had to fight to gain his breath. She was laughing, her breasts rising and falling with the exertion.
"Just what I thought."
The voice came from the doorway. A cold breeze caught at her and she saw Dr. Trent in the open doorway.
He slammed the door shut and strode across the room to them. Joy caught up her skirt and tried to hide her nakedness. It was a miserable failure.
"Get your clothes on and get the Hell out of here," Roger Trent roared at his son. "'I'll settle with you later."
Joy stifled the scream rising in her throat. She cast a glance at Clay. His face was ashen.
"Dad, I ..." He started.
"No need for explanations. I've got eyes. And I'm not paying for your damned education to have you wreck it with some tramp. Now, get dressed." Trent's look silenced his son. Hovering over Clay, the elder Trent seemed to dwarf him.
Joy watched helplessly as Clay started to dress. She wanted to move, but her limbs were numb, refusing to obey her command. Clay wasn't even looking at her.
It was all like a bad dream. But then, the cold blast of air from the door opening and closing, brought some reality. Clay Trent was leaving her.
"How much has he been paying you?"
Joy was stunned. Dr. Trent was talking to her. "What?" she gasped.
"You heard me. You are Barbara Lansing's daughter. I dare say you have a price. How much?"
Joy stared him. From the outside came the sound of Clay's convertible. The motor roared and then started to fade. Fear died. Anger came.
"I - I'm not that kind. Clay and I are in love," she cried.
Roger Trent laughed harshly. "Don't label it, girl. Love isn't going to bed. Get dressed. I'll drive you back to town." Then he turned his back on her and started putting out the fire Joy watched him, staring at the broad back Then she dressed. Slipping into her clothes she tried to make herself believe this was all some kind of nightmare, one she would wake up from soon. It wasn't. Suddenly, she was seeing it as it was all too clearly. The meetings with Clay on street corners, the sneaking up here. She had fallen so blindly in love with Clay, she hadn't seen the real truth.
Beaching for her coat, she said resignedly, Tin ready."
He turned and studied her for a moment. There was a deep frown on his face.
"I won't have anything or anyone standing in the way of my son, girl. Clay is going to be a doctor and a good one. There's no room for your kind."
Joy forced a tremulous laugh. "You think you're some kind of God? You think you can run Clay's life - and mine?"
I haven't the slightest interest in yours." He eyed her. "Frankly, I don't blame my son. I dare say you're probably damned good in bed. The point is, Havenhurst is a small town. People talk. Doctors can't afford that. I'm just glad I got suspicious and decided to come up here. I saw him pick you up early this evening. If it had been someone else ..." He shrugged. "It doesn't take much to get people talking."
"And that's all, you think it doesn't mean anything else?" Joy cried.
"We both know it doesn't." He paused and gave her a look. "It's obvious. You're Barbara Lansing's daughter. I'm not going to stand here and argue with you. Now, suppose we head back to town."
Joy wanted to retort, then decided against it. His mind was set. There was no room for argument.
He held the door for her. A moment later, they reached his car. Joy paused before getting in and looked back at the cabin. Now, it had a dark and foreboding look, a far cry from the lovely place where she had shared stolen moments with Clay.
As they drove back toward town, Joy stared moodily at the road. What a fool I've been, she mused to herself. If Clay loved me, he wouldn't have walked out the way he did, like a scared puppy with his tail between his legs.
They were almost to town when Dr. Trent spoke for the first time since leaving the cabin "I don't hold any personal grudge against you. I know you're not the only girl my son has ever taken to bed. Medical school is a tough grind. A student has to blow off some of the energy. I did my share in college."
Joy held silent, casting a furtive glance at him. It was easy to see where Clay got his good looks. Dr. Trent was grey and close to fifty, but he was still a handsome man. And perhaps he was right. At the moment, Joy was in no mood to argue. Remorse and anger intermingled in her thoughts.
Roger Trent pulled to the curb. "I'll let you out here. It's only a couple blocks to Willow Street," he said.
Joy felt a crazy urge to laugh. The respectable doctor couldn't afford to be seen letting Barbara Lansing's daughter out of his car in a conspicuous place.
He caught her arm as she started to get out. "Just a moment," he said.
Joy watched him take his billfold from in inner pocket and extract some bills. Suddenly, she realized what he was up to. "I don't want your money," she cried. "I - I'm not what you think."
This money is to see that you stay away from Clay. Take it," he ordered.
"You . . . you really think you can buy me?"
"I'm not trying to buy you, girl. I'm being practical. I could have you and your mother run out of town. I think you know that. Now take the money." He forced it into her hands.
Joy hesitated, then took it. He's bribing me. It makes him as cheap as he thinks I am, she told herself.
Tears scalded her eyes as she watched the car drive away. The night air was cold, a breeze blowing in her face as she started up the street toward home.
Joy felt nothing. As she walked, her fingers closed from time to time on the bills in her pocket. It kept reminding her that she had been paid for services rendered. At a street light, she paused and took the money out. She gasped. There was five one-hundred dollar bills. It was obvious. Roger Trent had known what he would find, had come prepared.
A bitter laugh caught in Joy's throat. The money meant Dr. Trent regarded her as her mother's daughter. Was it true?
It was after midnight when she opened the door and let herself in. She felt a crying urge to talk to her mother. It died in birth. How many years had it been since she had shared a mother-daughter relationship?
Moving through the kitchen toward her bedroom, Joy paused at the sound of voices corning from her mother's room. The huskier tone of a man's voice was heard over her mother's. Her mother's voice was high pitched, laughing at something the man had said.
Suddenly, Joy knew what is meant. She had told her mother she would be spending the night with a girl friend. It was the excuse she always used when Clay came home from college for a weekend. Obviously her mother was taking advantage of it.
Drawn to the sound of the voices, Joy crossed to the bedroom door. It was open a few inches. Joy froze at the sight through the crack in the door. She felt a numbness. To know what her mother was, was one thing. But to see it, be a witness ...
Joy caught the door jamb to steady herself. She wanted to turn and run, but a strange fascination rooted her to the spot Her mother was naked on the bed. A huge hairy man lay next to her, his hands fondling her thighs. Clothes lay scattered on the floor, thrown there in obvious haste.
Joy stared at her mother, at the heaving breasts swollen with passion. She watched as the man leaned forward and started kissing and caressing her mother, searching each mound in turn with his mouth.
Sobs and little cries of ecstasy reached Joy's ears. She couldn't take her eyes from the man's bobbing, weaving head as he made love to her mother. For all the two on the bed were aware of, Joy could have walked into the bedroom and stood over them.
"Sam, don't you ever get enough?" she heard her mother moan.
"You're getting paid," his sneer replied. "You know what I want, Baby."
Joy sucked in her breath. It made a hollow sound in her throat. She bit her lower lip to hold back a scream. A tremble shook her. She tried to think of the woman kneeling on the bed as not being her mother. But it was her mother.
Sobs echoed and re-echoed in the bedroom as Barbara Lansing gave voice to her lust.
Joy felt a nausea creep into her stomach. Her mother was returning the caresses now. The look of pleasure on the man's face showed the love was what he had asked for. His eyes were wild with lustful passion. It didn't last long.
Joy gasped as she saw her mother sink her teeth in the man's shoulder, bringing a grunt from him. She thought of animals, wild jungle animals.
The man shuddered, shaking like a big bull. Growls rumbled in his throat.
"No, damn you, not yet," Barbara screamed at him. Obscenities bubbled from her throat.
Joy wanted to cover her ears. Suddenly, she understood something. It was more than just money. Her mother was insane with lust. It was registered in her face, the sweet anguish of pain and want. She was enjoying it more than the man. Her curses were vented only to incite him to greater heights.
The man fell away, flat on his back, his mouth hanging open, sucking in air. Then he laughed. "Baby, you could kill a man," he muttered.
"You're not so bad yourself, lover." Barbara leaned down and kissed the nipples on his chest. She lingered there a moment, then flicked a trail across his stomach with her tongue and settled lower down on him.
Joy felt a nausea creep into her stomach. Still she couldn't move, couldn't take her eyes from the sight. Her mother's bobbing head, the man's face, his look of pleasure. Joy twisted her fingers together so hard it brought pain.
The man suddenly caught Barbara's hair in his hands and forced her on her back. It was obvious what he wanted.
Joy knew why her mother had done what she had. The man was ready, big and powerful. He rose and then flung himself on her mother. Joy clutched her stomach. It was almost as if she felt the pain.
Barbara Lansing, though, showed only wild delight. Her long slender legs danced in the air, in rhythm with her lover. The foul words came again, urging him on. Arching, churning, she found her pleasure. There seemed no end to the savage assault, the wild limb entanglement. Cries of rapture filled the room.
Time stood still and held no meaning. Joy wanted desperately to turn and run, yet the scene held her to the spot.
Perhaps it was the sudden erotic scream, her mother arching almost off the bed, that brought Joy back to reality. It was over. The man was finished.
Joy stared for a long moment at her mother's swollen, heaving breasts, at the look of contentment in her eyes.
Turning away, she almost stumbled and fell. Her insides were in a turmoil. A vomit formed in her stomach. Somehow, she managed to reach the bathroom.
Leaning against the door, she fought for control and finally made it. Her jaws ached. Suddenly, she knew the reason. She had clenched her teeth hard the whole time she was watching. God, it was so hard to believe.
Thoughts jangled in her brain. She wondered if she looked like her mother in Clay's arms. No, she moaned to herself. And yet Dr. Trent had paid her. The man with her mother was paying too, but for - for that. No, what she had with Clay wasn't dirty. They never ...
The picture of the big hairy man and her mother doing what she had done wouldn't leave Joy.
But she had seen it. And the woman was no stranger. Her own mother. Why? Oh God, why?
Joy trembled. She couldn't stop trembling. While she had watched, she had felt so strange, almost as if she was experiencing the passion herself. Maybe I am my mother's daughter, she mused. Maybe Dr. Trent was right. He paid me for making love to his son.
A bitter laugh caught in Joy's throat. She had been paid a lot more than her mother for doing a lot less. The laugh died. The truth was she had been willing to do it for nothing, pretending to herself it was love. Yes, now she could see it clearly. What was it they said about love being blind? She could add to that. Love was stupid, too. Why hadn't she seen it? Clay, a man with everything, and she, a girl with nothing, from Willow Street. It was all so terribly clear now.
Joy undressed slowly. Despair dug at her insides. Turning, she stared at her reflection in the mirror behind the bathroom door.
Her lovely body suddenly represented something. She had never thought of it like this before. Her mother with that man. Herself with Clay. Two bodies men wanted and were willing to pay for. No, that wasn't true about Clay. He couldn't think like his father. It was love with Clay. The thought was there but it wouldn't jell.
Joy ran her hands over her breasts, touching the marks of Clay's love making, still there A tremble came as she touched herself, moving her fingers slowly down to her flat stomach and then her softly curving thighs She could remember the times she had gone through this same ritual, back in high school, when her breasts first took on the fullness of womanhood. Then, after meeting Clay, she had known what it was to be a woman.
A frown creased her forehead. After that first time with a boy at sixteen, she had vowed never again - and she didn't, until she met Clay.
When I was sixteen, maybe there was an excuse, an ignorance, she thought.
Her thoughts went to her mother. She wondered what she was really like. These past years, living a pretense, forcing herself to believe her mother was something she wasn't God, her mother was only thirty-seven. And I'm twenty, Joy told herself, twenty and I've given myself to a boy and a man. A harsh laugh caught in her throat as she thought of Clay Trent as a man.
Joy wanted desperately to take a shower, try to scrub away the dirty feeling that engulfed her. The shower would make a noise though. Her mother might hear it.
Back in her own bedroom, Joy dropped down on the bed and let the tears flow. Finally, she fell into a fitful sleep.
The phone awakened her. She picked it up, glancing at the clock on the table. It was shading eleven.
"Joy?"
She recognized Clay's voice, "Yes."
"I wanted to call you last night but I couldn't. Dad was furious. He just left on a call. First chance I've had to give you a ring."
"Oh," Joy murmured into the phone.
"I know you've got a right to be mad, Honey. But you don't know Dad. He's got set ideas. All he can think of is my becoming a surgeon like him."
"You ran out on me, Clay. Why?"
"I had no choice. If I'd have argued with him, no telling what he might have done. After all, he pays the way, Honey. I have to go along. When I graduate, there will be a good place for me at the hospital. Dad will see to it. You must understand that."
"I'm beginning to, Clay. Without your father, you're nothing. I guess I have been blind. Your Dad opened my eyes last night when he paid me."
"What do you mean?"
Joy forced a laugh. "Oh, he didn't tell you then. You don't know that he paid me five hundred dollars to stay away from you."
"He what?" Clay cried over the phone. "If I'd have know that I'd have had it out with him."
"Like you did last night at the cabin," Joy retorted.
"Be reasonable, Joy. Last night wasn't the time to try and explain anything to Dad."
"He explained it to me. I'm Barbara Lansing's daughter, and the Lansings and Trents don't mix, at least not in the open. I just isn't done."
"I don't feel that way. Look, Joy, we can work things out. I have to play ball with Dad, now. It won't always be like that. Suppose you come up to college next weekend. I can get Bud to room with someone else for a couple of days. We'll have the apartment all to ourselves."
Joy laughed bitterly. "No thanks. I'm sick of hiding. Find yourself someone else to sleep with." She hung up. Tears burned her eyes. Clay had given her an answer. The only way he wanted her was on his terms.
CHAPTER TWO
Joy slipped into a negligee and went into the kitchen. She turned the coffee on. The sharp pain was gone now, replaced by a dull ache. I thought it was love, she mused to herself, staring at the flame under the coffee.
She was unaware of not being alone until a voice spoke.
"Um, Babs didn't tell me she had someone else living with her."
Joy turned and stifled a scream. She recognized the man she had seen with her mother the night before. All he had on was shorts. Apparently he had stayed the night. His eyes leered at the open cleft of Joy's negligee. She pulled it closed.
"Damn you, Sam." Barbara Lansing was in the doorway. "Get your clothes on and get out. You were supposed to leave last night."
The man turned and grinned. "I fell asleep. How about an introduction. I like them young," he smirked.
Joy looked at him a minute, then ran past him and into her bedroom. Her legs trembled, and she felt sick.
A half hour went by. Then, there was a knock at the door. "Joy, let me in," Barbara Lansing called.
Joy opened the door. "What do you want?"
"I'd like to explain."
"Explain, Mother? Isn't it obvious?"
"I know how it must look to you but, well, Sam is a fine man." Barbara Lansing paused "I didn't expect you home last night. You said you were going to spend the night with a girl friend."
"And that makes it all right for you to play whore with a man. How much did he pay you?" Joy blazed. "Oh I know about all your men. Everyone in Havenhurst knows."
Barbara Lansing flinched at the word. "All right, so maybe it is true. Your father died when you were eight. Men have always found me attractive. There wasn't any insurance. I wanted nice things for you."
Tike a reputation as your daughter," Joy sneered. 1 don't suppose you ever thought about getting a job."
"As a scrub woman? I quit school at sixteen to marry your father. I can't type or take dictation the way you do. And I had you. Men don't marry ready-made families that often. I gave up the kind of fun you've had in school. I was entitled to a little after your father died."
Joy threw back her head and laughed.
"I don't think it's funny," her mother flared.
"Isn't it?" Joy said. She turned and picked up the roll of bills from her dresser. Then she waved the money in front of her mother. "I've had fun, too. All the nights I told you I was staying with a girl friend, I spent in bed with Clay Trent. His father caught us last night and he paid me five hundred dollars. You want to know why? It's because I'm your daughter, and he figured like mother like daughter."
Barbara Lansing recovered from her surprise quickly. A cunning look spread across her face. "Dr. Trent gave you all this money? You know what that means?"
"Only that I'm like you," Joy sneered. "Only I guess I can command a better price."
"Don't be a fool. You can force Clay Trent to marry you. Dr. Trent wouldn't dare stop you." She paused. "That boy is a good catch."
Joy stared at her mother. She didn't want to believe her ears. Her mother was pushing aside the last semblance of decency. A mental picture of what she had seen the night before came alive in her mind. Suddenly, her mother was a stranger, someone she had never known.
"You think I'd force Clay Trent to marry me? I don't want a man just to have someone to sleep with the way you do. I saw you last night. I looked through the door."
"You . . . you watched?"
Joy forced a laugh. "It made me sick. And I'm leaving, Mother. I wouldn't spend another day in this house." It didn't matter that she hadn't even thought about leaving. The words came on the spur of the moment.
"You . . . you can't leave. What about your job at Bailey's? What will I do?"
"What you did last night, only you won't have to worry about me barging in any more."
"You can't, Joy. Where would you go?"
"New York. I can get a job there."
"That's crazy. You're talking foolish. With Clay you can have everything." Barbara Lansing paused. "You're just too young to understand."
Joy nodded, pretending to agree. But, her mind was made up. If she stayed, she could see herself become labeled like her mother. Havenhurst was a small town. People would find out. It was bound to happen.
Dr. Trent was right. There would be others like Clay. Perhaps she was lucky it hadn't happened already.
Joy pulled her old suitcase from the closet She packed only the necessary things. Taking the money from the dresser, she put it in her purse. A sharp laugh caught in her throat. In a way, it was ironic. The money was her freedom. It would be enough to tide her over in New York until she found a job.
During a quick shower, Joy felt a tinge of excitement. She wondered what it would be like in New York. She had been there once, when she was fifteen. A group from school had gone on an excursion.
A knock came at the door as Joy finished dressing. It was her mother, telling her through the door that she had some shopping to do and that there were some cold cuts in the refrigerator if she was hungry.
Joy called out an okay. Her mother had already forgotten their talk.
A half hour later, Joy was buying a bus ticket for New York. She had left a short note for her mother on the table. As she boarded the bus, she felt no regrets at leaving Havenhurst.
CHAPTER THREE
At first sight, New York scared Joy a little. It wasn't the same as the last time she had been there. Then everything had been arranged for her.
After a few minutes, Joy hesitantly hailed a cab. He was an older man and inclined to be friendly. When she asked him about hotels, he said, "You new in town? You might try the Y. Rooms are cheap there."
Joy tipped him a dollar when they reached the Y. Ten minutes later, in a room, she felt better. The room wasn't much but it was clean and not too expensive. After unpacking her things, she settled down with the paper she had bought at the bus depot and scanned the ads. There were a lot of jobs listed, only most of them asked for references and experience. She decided on the employment agencies. There was a full column of those.
Writing down the addresses, she laughed, it felt good to be independent and on her own. Her enthusiasm died, though, in the week that followed. Even the agencies wanted some references. Joy wished she had stopped to think, gone to Mr. Bailey at the Feed Mill for references instead of just leaving without notice.
She thought of writing him but then decided against it. After all, leaving without notice was hardly a reason for Mr. Bailey to give her any glowing references.
By the end of the second week, Joy was completely disillusioned with New York. It didn't seem possible that a city the size of New York could have more unemployed typists and secretaries than jobs.
Wandering along, aimlessly window shopping, Joy was wondering if she should make one more call about a job or call it a day.
Someone touched her arm. "Joy Lansing, well I'll be," a voice said.
Joy whirled. Then, she laughed. "Vicky Neale," she gasped. "Where on earth did you drop from?" Vicky had moved from Havenhurst right after graduation from high school.
"I could say the same thing" Vicky hugged her. "Imagine running into you in New York, of all places," she exclaimed. "The chances are one in a million. How are you?"
"Just fine," Joy said, trying to make it sound convincing. She noticed the way Vicky was dressed.
Her old schoolmate was wearing an expensive coat. The sleeves and collar were mink. It made Joy feel shabby in her cloth coat.
At school, Vicky had always been popular and attractive, but now she was stunning. Joy hadn't known Vicky too well at school, but just seeing a friendly face was enough. Suddenly, she realized she was a little homesick.
"You in New York for a visit?" Vicky wanted to know.
Joy forced a smile. "No I'm living here. Fact is, I'm looking for a job. Know anyone who needs a secretary? It seems every one needs references and experience here."
"That's New York," Vicky said airily. "Look, suppose we go to my place for a drink. I'm free this afternoon. I'm dying to hear the latest from Havenhurst."
"I thought you moved to New Jersey when you left Havenhurst," Joy said.
The folks still live there. I live here. I work to New York. Come on, there's a cab." Vicky stepped to the curb and motioned to the cab cruising by.
Joy didn't protest as the cab slid in to the curb and they got in. She felt conscious of her drab appearance next to Vicky's elegance As the cab pulled back into traffic, Vicky offered a cigarette from a silver case and then held a lighter.
"Now, tell me all the dirt from Havenhurst. Any of the kids I knew get married?" Vicky asked.
"A few. Sally Heffly married Ben Williams. If I remember, you used to chum around with her."
"That figured. They went with each other long enough. How about you, Joy? Any big romances? You married yet?"
Joy shook her head. "I was working at Bailey's Feed Mill until I decided to come to New York and try my luck."
"No boy friend?" Vicky's eyebrows lifted slightly. "I always thought you'd be one of the first. The boys in Havenhurst must be blind."
Joy blushed at the compliment. To cover her feeling of embarrassment, she changed the subject. "What about you Vicky?"
"I'm not married, if that's what you mean," Vicky said. "I'm having too much fun to be saddled with a husband."
"What do you do? What kind of a job?" Joy wanted to know.
"Modeling work. I'm a photographer's model. Not bad. The work is easy, and the pay is good." Vicky paused. "It's just a job. Now what about the old home town. I'm dying to hear about Havenhurst."
"It hasn't changed much," Joy laughed. She chattered away about home, about girls and fellows they had known in high school. Suddenly, it was wonderful to talk to someone she knew.
Vicky listened attentively nodding from time to time, smiling, understanding with a warm intimacy as Joy told her troubles in not being able to find work.
At the same time, she studied Joy. Joy had grown up since she had seen her last. In high school, Joy had been rather shy and on the thin side. Vicky noticed how well she had filled out, especially her high-riding young breasts under the sweater she was wearing.
It was funny, running into Joy the way she had. Perhaps it was fate, she mused to herself. Another thought popped into her mind. Since her roommate, Lois DeFore, had left for the coast, she was alone. Maybe Joy - why not, she decided. Joy would make a wonderful new companion.
"I just had to get away from Havenhurst," Joy was saying.
Vicky smiled. "I'll bet it was a man. Was it?"
Joy started at the question, then recovered quickly. "No, I just felt I wanted a change. I wasn't getting anywhere working at the Feed Mill," she said.
Vicky noticed the color rise in Joy's cheeks.
It was a dead giveaway. She decided, though, not to press the point. Changing the subject, she said, "You'll find New York is quite a change from Havenhurst. Now that you're here, do you like it?"
Joy nodded. "Yes, I guess I do. Only it's so big. It scares me a little. Everything moves so fast. Everyone seems to be in such a hurry."
"That's natural. It is big, and we're small town girls. I guess I was just as scared when I first came. You get used to it."
"I'm not sure," Joy said ruefully.
"Where are you staying?" Vicky wanted to know.
"At the Y. A cabby recommended it to me when I first came. It's about the cheapest place, I guess. If I don't find a job soon though, even that won't be cheap enough."
Vicky made a face. "The Y? Sharing a bathroom with a half dozen others? Look, I've got an idea. How would you like to have an apartment that won't cost you half as much? Come and stay with me. The girl I had sharing my apartment left. She went out to the coast. I've got plenty of room."
"I couldn't, Vicky. I couldn't impose on you. I don't even have a job and right now, the prospects look hopeless."
"All the more reason. You don't want to go back to Havenhurst. When you do get a job you can share the expenses. Until then, why not? I insist. Well talk about it when we get to my place."
Vicky touched Joy's hand for a moment. Her eyes rested, momentarily on the pointed breasts beneath the tight sweater Joy was wearing. Perhaps it would take a little persuasion but she felt sure she could convince Joy that sharing her apartment was the best solution.
A few minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of an old Brownstone. Vicky paid the cabby and led the way inside.
Joy gasped as she stepped through the door Vicky keyed open. From the outside, the old Brownstone was so shabby and unpretentious, but the apartment was furnished expensively, with an eye to visual impact. It was beautiful. The floor was covered from wall to wall by a deep maroon rug. The heavy drapes over the windows were a lighter shade of the same rich color.
A television set was built into a wall of book cases. The furniture was early American, a maple-armed divan and matching chairs. Spinning wheel lamps on end tables at each end of the divan, added to the attractiveness.
"It's beautiful," Joy managed to say.
Vicky laughed. "I like comfort." She eyed Joy. "Better than the Y. Now will you come and stay with me?"
Joy looked at her. "Are you really serious, Vicky?" she asked.
"Of course. Since Lois left, I've been miserable. I hate living alone. I think it was fate that I ran into you today."
"I have a few hundred dollars. I guess I could stay for awhile. And if I find a job . . ."
"Never mind the money. After all, I still have to pay the rent, don't I? You're alone in New York. That's what friends are for. Believe me, I know. I was scared half to death when I first came." It was a lie, but Vicky made it sound convincing. When she first came to New York, she had lived with Trey Benton and she still shared a bed with him, occasionally, besides working for him. But the idea was to impress Joy Lansing.
Joy gave her a rueful look. Next to her room at the Y, the apartment was a palace. And she was alone in New York. "I guess I'd like to stay," she said.
"Swell. Now that that's decided, let's have a drink."
Joy nodded.
"Martini okay," Vicky asked as she opened a cabinet and a portable bar swung out.
"Whatever you're having,"' Joy conceded. She was still fascinated with the apartment.
Vicky poured Martinis into ice-filled glasses and handed Joy one. "Come on, I'll show you the rest of the joint," she said.
The other three rooms were as luxuriously furnished as the living room. The big bedroom was almost unbelievable. A huge circular bed with a white leather headboard centered the room. Everything was done in white, even the scatter rug on the floor and the drapes.
Joy was admiring it in silence when the phone rang.
Vicky picked it up, spoke rapidly for a moment, then replaced it in its white cradle. Turning to Joy, a frown clouded her face. "I have to go out, a modeling job. I should have let the damned phone ring. Be about an hour. Make yourself at home while I take a quick shower." She disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.
Joy sat on the edge of the bed, sipping her Martini. She still wasn't sure she believed her good fortune in running into Vicky Neale. And the apartment, so wonderful in comparison to the room at the Y.
Vicky came out of the bathroom. "Rush, rush," she laughed. "You're right about no one ever taking their time in New York."
Joy started and felt color rise in her cheeks. Vicky was naked except for a towel draped carelessly around her shoulders. Now, she was drying her breasts with the towel as though Joy wasn't even there.
A strange fascination caught at Joy. She didn't understand it. She remembered Vicky had always been attractive, but now she was beautiful. She continued to watch Vicky dry her long slender legs.
Vicky caught her look and smiled. "Guess I'll have to powder. The boss gets furious if I show up for work glowing pink from a bath." She went to the dressing table and picked up a huge puff.
Joy's eyes followed her. The embarrassment of the moment before, gradually eased. After all, they both were women.
"I wish I didn't have to take this job this afternoon," Vicky said over her shoulder. "I'd like to just talk and talk." She finished the powdering and walked across the room, in front of Joy, to a closet.
like this?" she asked Joy as she took out a blue knit suit and held it up.
"It's lovely," Joy said. Her eyes went beyond Vicky to the array of dresses and gowns hanging in the closet. Vicky does all right, she decided. The thought made Joy feel a little envious. Her own clothes were nothing in comparison.
Vicky tossed the suit on the bed and wait back to her dressing table. She took panties and bra from a drawer and then nylons. Turning, facing Joy, she eased the nylons up her sleek legs. Then, she slipped into the sheer panties.
"Would you?" she asked Joy, holding her bra in place, and turning her back so Joy could snap it. A smile Joy couldn't see cornered her mouth as she felt Joy's fingers tremble slightly.
"You can get a cab and get your things while I'm gone. I'll give you a key in case I'm not back in time," she said.
Reaching the street, they walked to a cab stand on the next corner.
"See you later," Vicky said, as she entered a cab. "If you get back before I do, maybe you can fix a salad for dinner. You'll find some things In the refrigerator."
Joy watched the cab disappear, then found one herself.
A half hour later, she was checked out of the Y and back at the apartment. After unpacking her bags, she undressed and took a quick shower. It felt wonderful.
After slipping into a negligee and robe, she went into the kitchen. Staring at the gleaming stove and neat little sink and adjoining counters, she couldn't help thinking of home. Back in Havenhurst, the sink seemed always filled with dirty dishes.
She was about to explore the refrigerator when the doorbell rang. She hesitated, wondering if she should answer it. Then, she remembered Vicky had given, her the key from her purse. It wasn't Vicky when she opened the door.
The man was tall and handsome. He regarded her with an amused grin and his eyes were taking in the open cleft of her negligee.
"Vicky home?" he asked.
Joy shook her head. At the same time, her fingers reached and closed her robe at the throat. "She's working. I'm not sure when she'll be home," she said. Before she could stop him, he moved past her into the apart-Bent. She felt helpless as he crossed the room to the portable bar and nonchalantly started fixing himself a drink.
Over his shoulder, he said, "Care to join me?"
Joy found her voice. "No, and I told you Vicky isn't home."
He turned, drink in hand, and grinned. "The name is Trey Benton. Vicky won't mind me having a drink."
Joy felt his eyes on her again, undressing her in an obtrusive stare. Anger caught at her insides. She wondered what his relationship with Vicky Neale was. He obviously was no stranger to the apartment, not the way he went to the bar and helped himself. Grudgingly, she had to admit he was handsome. Muscles bulged under the sport shirt he was wearing. For some crazy reason, Joy thought of Clay Trent.
Trey Benton had the same kind of disarming charm, the same kind of thick wavy hair but he was older, about thirty-four or five, Joy guessed. Despite her resentment, she felt a fascination, a magnetic force.
"You Vicky's latest?" he asked.
"What?"
The grin on his face broadened. "Lois DeFore moved out a week ago. Vicky go you sharing her apartment with her?" He paused and his eyes had that look again. "By the way, I suppose you do have a name."
His flippancy angered Joy. "The name is Joy Lansing and I'm sharing this apartment with Vicky Neale. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like you to leave," she said.
"No reason to get mad, Baby." He finished his drink and set the glass down. "I won't wait for Vicky. Just tell her there's a party at Brad Hanbury's tomorrow night. Tell her nine o'clock."
"I'll tell her."
He paused at the door. "If you'd like to come, you're invited too."
Joy opened her mouth, but the door was already closing behind him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Joy made a salad and cut cheese for some grilled sandwiches. There wasn't much else. The cupboards contained mostly cans and nothing that looked appetizing.
Vicky came in just as she was putting the sandwiches on the grill. It was almost seven and Joy decided to eat while she was waiting.
"Well, it looks like I made a good choice for a new roommate," Vicky kidded when she saw the table set and the salads. "I'm starved. Those damned poses. Rog couldn't seem to get what he wanted until he took a jillion shots." She paused. "Roger Cantrell, the photographer I work for."
"I hope grilled cheese is okay. I couldn't find much else," Joy said.
"Sounds good. I usually eat out. When it comes to cooking, I'm the world's worst."
Joy turned the sandwiches on the grill and poured coffee. She glanced at Vicky. "You had a visitor this afternoon. He said his name was Trey Benton."
Trey? What did he want?"
"He said there was a party tomorrow night. Somebody by the name of Brad Hanbury. Said you were to be there at nine."
"That all?"
"Yes, except he invited me to come if I wanted to." Joy slid the sandwiches from the grill onto plates. She looked at Vicky. "Who is he? He barged right in like he owned the place and helped himself to a drink."
Vicky laughed. That's Trey. I work for him occasionally. He promotes parties for out of town clients of businessmen here in town. You know how it is, men like girls at a party. Trey hires models to add to the window dressing. A few drinks and a few laughs to keep the men in good spirits, that sort of thing."
"Oh," Joy said. She bit into her sandwich Across the table, Vicky laughed. I think you're getting the wrong idea, Joy. I can see why. You're not used to New York and guys like Trey." She paused and nipped at her sandwich. "Umm, these are delicious."
Joy didn't press the point when Vicky changed the subject and started to talk about Havenhurst.
They finished the meal.
"I brought home a surprise," Vicky said. I stopped and picked up some brandy. I think it will go good after that food."
"We only had cheese sandwiches," Joy protested with a laugh.
"But they were home-cooked. You have no idea how good they tasted." Vicky paused. "I'm glad you decided to come and live with me, Joy. It's no fun living alone."
"I'm glad you want me," Joy said.
"I do." Vicky rose and went into the front room. She came back a moment later. "Here it is. Good stuff," she laughed, taking a bottle from a bag.
Joy watched her pour two glasses.
"To us," Vicky said, touching her glass to Joy's. Joy was unaware of the tense look Vicky gave her. The brandy was good. It brought a pleasant warmth to her stomach.
Vicky refilled the glasses, despite Joy's protest. "We have something to celebrate, don't we?" she laughed. "Look how lucky it was, us running into each other."
When they finished the second drink, Vicky said, "I need a shower. The lights were hot this afternoon."
"I guess so," Joy conceded. "And that knit suit must be warm."
"Sure is. I'll slip into something comfortable.
Pour yourself another drink." Vicky disappeared into the bathroom.
Under the shower, she soaped herself, feeling a tingle as she massaged her breasts with suds. A frown creased her forehead. She felt the tension. Stepping from the shower, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Then she laughed softly. Would Joy Lansing find her appealing? she wondered. The frown came again. Maybe I'm a fool, she mused. Joy isn't Lois DeFore. And yet - Joy had trembled when she snapped my bra. Vicky had been aware of Joy's eyes watching her.
She applied lipstick and combed her long blonde hair down over her shoulders. Then she slipped into a filmy black negligee. The silk felt good against her flesh. She paused a moment longer, caressing herself.
Joy was on the divan, watching TV when Vicky came out.
"Now, I can enjoy a drink," she said. Vicky noticed the slight rising of Joy's eyebrows. "Like this negligee?" she asked.
"I'd freeze in it," Joy said. "It is nice though."
Vicky refilled the glasses and handed one to Joy. "I feel like getting a little high tonight," she smiled.
"I'm not used to drinking," Joy protested. But she accepted the drink. She decided there was no harm in getting to feel good herself. The memory of the lonely nights at the Y was fresh in her mind, and the brandy tasted good. She felt a nice glow.
"Something wrong?" Joy asked after a moment, suddenly aware that Vicky was staring at her.
Vicky laughed. "Course not. I was thinking. You need a job. Why typing or secretary work?"
"It's the only thing I know."
"You're lovely, Joy. The guy I model for, Rog Cantrell, I bet I could get you a job with him."
"I don't know anything about modeling," Joy protested.
"So what. I didn't either. You have the looks and the figure. That's what counts. How about it? Want me to talk to Rog?"
"I don't think so," Joy said.
Vicky laughed. "It's not any fashion kind of modeling, Joy. It's cheesecake."
"You - you mean nude poses?" Joy gasped.
Vicky laughed again. "Not entirely. I do a lot of posing in negligees, like the one I'm wearing now. The secret is to suggest more than you actually show. I suppose it does shock you. I was shocked myself the first time I posed, but it's a hundred dollars a series. You can't make that kind of money as a typist."
"I couldn't pose naked in front of a man. I'd be scared half to death."
Vicky refilled the glasses again. She studied Joy for a minute.
"You had a reason for coming to New York, Joy. It was a man, wasn't it?"
"No." Joy stopped and looked at Vicky. Why should she lie. "Yes, it was Clay Trent," she blurted.
"Doc Trent's son?" Vicky's eyebrows lifted "You were shooting kind of high, weren't you He's not Willow Street."
Perhaps it was the brandy, or maybe that Joy had to get the agony off her chest. Suddenly, she was telling Vicky Neale everything about the nights she spent with Clay at the cabin, about Dr. Trent finding them and giving her money, about her mother and the man she had been with. The words came in a steady sobbing stream.
"You poor kid," Vicky soothed. "Men are like that, bastards, most of them." Joy was nestling in her arms now, crying softly. It was all working out even better than she had planned it. Sympathy could be a powerful weapon. Leaning forward, Vicky kissed Joy's cheek, her lips trembling at the satin softness.
"Why, why did you do that?"
"I guess because I wanted to share some of your trouble, Joy. I know what you've gone through. It happened to me. There was a man in Jersey before I came to New York. He sweet-talked me into thinking we'd be married. After I went to bed with him, he laughed in my face. That's when I made up my mind no man would ever make a sucker out of me again. It's what you should do, too."
"I don't know. All men aren't like that," toy said.
"Aren't they? I haven't found any that weren't," Vicky said.
Joy caught the bitterness in her tone. She wondered about it. After all, she was no fool. Vicky had admitted posing nude for pictures. And she had admitted to sleeping with one man.
The thought died as Vicky suddenly leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips. She wanted to pull free and yet there was a gentle sweetness in the lips, so soft and caressing.
Encouraged, Vicky's hand stole to Joy's breast and her fingers toyed with the nipple.
Joy pulled free and stared at Vicky. She felt a strange mixed emotion. "Why . . . why did you do that?" she stammered.
Vicky forced a soft laugh. "I don't know. I just had to touch you. Did you mind, really?"
Joy found herself shaking her head, negatively. It was wrong, and yet it had felt wonderful, the kiss, Vicky's hands. And she felt a strange pounding in her head. Averting her eyes, her long eyelashes dropping, Joy felt herself blushing.
There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Vicky broke the silence. "There are some things a woman needs that no man can give them," she said slowly.
Joy looked up. Vicky's eyes were bright, tense with anticipation.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"It isn't something that can be explained. I can show you if you'll let me. Will you?"
Joy trembled. Her brain was reeling. For some reason she couldn't take her eyes off Vicky's breasts, exposed now, as her companion twisted, facing her. So firm and full, so creamy white with coral tips that were erect.
"Will you?" Vicky whispered again. "Will you let me show you?" As she spoke her hands went beneath her breasts, lifting them, offering. "Tell me you want to touch me," she demanded.
Joy found trouble trying to breath. The lovely breasts were like a magnet. She did want to touch Vicky. She didn't know why, only the compulsion was there. Trying to force herself to blame it on the brandy, she knew it wasn't that.
It was a force that went far beyond reason.
Joy closed her eyes, tried to blot out he sight of Vicky's breasts, so close and so appealing. I'm crazy. This isn't happening to me, she tried to tell herself. She remembered reading somewhere about women who made love to other women. But Vicky wasn't like that. Those women were mannish, they dressed like men and acted like men.
A whimper escaped Joy's lips as she felt Vicky's hands start caressing her breasts again.
"You will let me show you," Vicky whispered in her ear. "A woman knows what another woman needs - wants."
Joy opened her eyes. "No ... I ... I don't." Her voice quivered slightly. Vicky was rubbing her thigh now, moving her hand higher and higher.
"Men are animals. They only want one thing from a woman," Vicky continued, in a low husky voice. "They don't understand a woman's true desires."
A sixth sense warned Joy she had to stop, move away from Vicky, but the hands roving, moving, felt so wonderful.
"You do want me to show you. Say you do," Vicky hissed.
Joy nodded. Her throat was too dry to talk.
"Close your eyes, Darling," Vicky whispered. "Don't move."
Joy did as she was told. Then she felt the warm moist mouth on her flesh. Without knowing, a moan escaped her lips as chaos seemed to split her wide open. The contact of lips brought a wild surging urgency. Vicky's fingers teased her thighs, pinched, hesitated, moved on. Joy felt herself ready to explode with the wild anticipation, the unknown that was to come. Joy wanted to scream. She was lost in the vibrant senses of desire.
"like this?" Vicky crooned. "Want more?"
Joy shook her head, kept shaking it. Oh, yes, she wanted more and more and more. Vicky's mouth found hers, her tongue a serpent of exploration. Only for a moment and it left. Then the lips found her breasts, the mouth bringing the nipples to hard, erect points. It was then Joy screamed, gave vent to the wild stirring passion.
Vicky heard and laughed. Joy was going to be so much more than Lois DeFore had ever been. Her own passion was starting to react, to boil and storm.
Quickening the pace, she moved to the satiny softness of Joy's stomach, nipping at it with her teeth, trailing her tongue on the flesh. Desire became a demand as Joy's hips started to respond, rotate slowly, then faster and faster. Vicky could hear the sobs of want now from above. She paused for a quick glance. Joy's lovely face Was twisted with emotion.
"You don't want me to stop, do you?" Vicky cried.
The auburn head above threshed from side to side. "No, no, please," Joy moaned.
Vicky complied expertly, forcing the issue, forcing Joy's thighs to part and reaching for the silken triangle.
Joy arched, half lifting off the divan as wild ecstasy took over, a wild satisfaction she never knew could exist. She felt herself being carried aloft, higher and higher and then flung down. She collapsed in happy, rapturous exhaustion. Her body throbbed, tingled and felt wonderful.
Joy could hear her own harsh breathing. After a long moment of silence, she dared to look at Vicky. The reality of the situation began to mix with the still present pleasure engulfing her. She wanted to feel ashamed and guilty but she couldn't.
Vicky smiled at her. "You're not angry, are you?" she wanted to know.
Joy shook her head. She was at a loss for words. What was there to say? It was all so crazy and yet . . .
Staring at Vicky, she finally found her voice. "I ... I don't understand. I never did anything like this before," she murmured.
"You're not supposed to understand, Darling. Something happens; it just happens," Vicky soothed. She ran her hand slowly up Joy's thigh, pinching it gently. "It's only important that you liked what you've done." She laughed as Joy started to tremble. "See how good it is. You want more," she whispered. "Never fight your desires."
"Please, Vicky," Joy moaned. "Oh, please."
"Tell me you want more," Vicky demanded. Her voice was a little harsh now.
"Yes, yes," Joy cried out. The hands were starting to drive her crazy again..
Vicky paused. "You sure, Darling? This can become a habit," she taunted.
Joy stared at her through half-closed eyes. She shook her head and a moan came as Vicky's fingers twisted and pinched between her thighs.
Then it stopped. Joy opened her eyes and gazed at Vicky. "What - what's wrong?" she asked, a sob she couldn't control erupting from her throat.
"Nothing, Darling. Only, let's go to bed. We can be more comfortable there." She caught Joy's hand and pulled her to her feet. In the bedroom, she quickly slipped from her negligee and then helped Joy out of her robe and gown Vicky settled down on her back and beckoned. Joy sank down beside her. She stared at Vicky, at her lovely heaving breasts, her smooth slender legs. Vicky didn't move.
"You . . . you don't want to . . ." Joy stammered, feeling suddenly guilty at her own eagerness.
"I'm waiting for you." Vicky's tone was sharp, almost a command.
"I ... I don't know how."
Vicky put her hands under her breasts. "You can learn. Kiss me, kiss my breasts," she ordered.
Joy hesitated, then leaned forward. As her lips touched the softness, she lost her fear She felt a delight in feeling the nipples stiffen and rise to her caress. Laughing, she moved to Vicky's mouth, kissing her wildly. Vicky let her linger there a moment, then forced Joy's head back to her breasts. She twined her fingers in the auburn hair, helping Joy fulfill the desires that were building. Her hands caressed Joy's body, inciting her on From her own experiences, Vicky knew that instinct would take over. She had given Joy a new experience, and now Joy was lost. Joy was hers. No more lonely nights of hoping Lois would come back.
Joy looked up. She kissed Vicky's mouth again. The lips were like ripe fruit. Gingerly she inserted her tongue. The thrill was wonderful. It was all so wonderful.
"Am I doing all right?"
"Yes, yes, don't stop," Vicky cried impatiently. "Kiss me, bite me, make me live."
Joy nibbled at a nipple, then bit it. She stopped at Vicky's cry of pain.
"Its all right, it's all right," Vicky urged.
Joy moved on, kissing below Vicky's rib cage, caressing the smooth stomach with her lips. She felt awkward, a little afraid and yet . . . J must make her as happy as she made me, she thought. Instinct gradually erased the uncertainty. Her own growing passion guided and paced her. Her anxiousness brought another cry of pain from Vicky as she bit too hard.
"I'm sorry," she apologized.
Vicky laughed. "It's wonderful. I like being hurt. Go on, go on." Writhing wantonly, her legs rose, her hips undulating in wild, savage responsiveness. Vicky was finding a wonderful ecstasy in Joy's neophyte love. Urging with her hands, she forced Joy down.
And the sobs incited Joy to greater effort.
Suddenly, fear left Joy. She became aggressive, daring, toiling joyously. Vicky's sobs, filling the room, only added to her own excitement.
For Joy, it was like stepping off the top of the highest mountain. She could feel herself floating through air. Vicky's thighs, so disciplined in the act of love, imprisoned her, urged her on and on to greater heights. Thoughts no longer held meaning.
There were only the fires of wanton passion igniting and re-igniting. This experience of loving a body like her own was electrifying to Joy. She reveled in the new-found pleasure.
It ended almost too soon for Joy. Vicky shuddered mightily and broke free. "You're a dream Darling, a precious dream," she cried.
"Was it ... it all right for you?"
Vicky laughed. "Wonderful, oh so wonderful." She reached to the table and got a pack of cigarettes. Lighting two, she handed one to Joy. Then she studied her for a long moment. "Was it right for you, Darling? No regrets?"
Joy inhaled deeply and shook her head. She could still feel the excitement. Her head was still spinning too wildly for any thoughts, was all so unreal and yet it had happened. There was no denial. And worse, she could find no denial of the fact she had enjoyed it far more than she had ever enjoyed anything in her life.
"I'm beat," Vicky said, butting her cigarette. "How about you?"
"I am tired," Joy admitted. She stared at Vicky. Her companion's eyes were closed. The lovely breasts rose and fell evenly. Joy felt a sudden anger. She wondered why she wanted to touch Vicky again. It was all so wrong, so crazy.
CHAPTER FIVE
Joy awakened slowly. Fingers of sunlight streamed through open curtains. For a moment, Joy wasn't sure of her surroundings. Then it came back slowly.
Her head pounded, a hundred hammers beating at it. That Would be from the brandy.
It was more than the drinks though. Joy felt shame flood her very being. What could she possibly have been thinking to let herself get carried away, let Vicky think she was a ... a lesbian. The word made Joy flush. Still, she had known what it was like to be really loved. It was something she knew now; she had never had it with Clay Trent. But with another woman? It was wrong. Nothing could change that.
The memory of the night before brought a tremble. There was no way she could discount how much she had enjoyed Vicky's love. Thoughts couldn't push aside the fact she had willingly let Vicky love her. And worse, she had returned the love.
Joy tried to blame it on the brandy. She knew it was far more than that.
Vicky's head popped in at the door. "Well, so you're finally awake, sleepyhead," she said.
"What time is it?"
Vicky grinned. "Almost ten. I've got coffee made, and I've already been to the store and bought some sweet rolls for breakfast."
"Ten? I never sleep later than eight. It must have been that brandy last night." Joy started to get up. Suddenly, she realized she was naked. She pulled the bed clothes up around her.
Vicky's laugh was low and sensuous. "There's no reason to hide from me, Darling," she said softly. Easing down on the edge of the bed, she leaned forward and kissed Joy.
Joy twisted her head away. "Please, Vicky, don't," she said.
"Feeling guilty about last night?" Vicky wanted to know. "You'll get over it. We did have a ball, didn't we?"
Joy stared at her, aware of her companion's probing eyes. "It was the drinks," she protested, trying to make it sound convincing.
Vicky smiled indulgently. She was remembering her own pangs of conscience after the first time with Lois DeFore.
"Perhaps the drinks, Darling, but it's so much more than that," she said.
"What do you mean?"
Vicky shrugged. "Things happen. Why look for a reason or an explanation? If there's pleasure, why fight it?"
"You planned it to happen," Joy said, with a touch of remorse.
"I helped, that's all."
"Why?"
"Why?" Vicky looked at her for a moment "I guess because you and I are alike. When you told me about Clay Trent, it was like it happened to me. I had to show you that men aren't that important."
"What we did isn't natural," Joy protested. It isn't the same as with a man. It never can be."
"It is. I can give you anything a man can, except babies," Vicky said. "I'll show you."
Joy wanted to resist the moist parted lips devouring her, but the thrill of the night before came alive again. The heated kisses brought Joy's desire to the boiling point. A tremor shook her as she watched Vicky slip out of her negligee and robe. Totally naked, Vicky dropped down beside her.
"Love me," Joy sobbed, not aware of her plea. There was no stopping the pulsating passion sweeping through her.
Vicky moved on top, her body crushing Joy's, thighs moving, hands moving, simulating the kind of love a man would give.
Joy lost all control. Arching, she lifted to meet Vicky's warm flesh with her own. Her lips fused on the erect tips of Vicky's swaying breasts.
The two bodies began to move as one, twisting, thigh clutching thigh. The mutual excitement drove them to a wild tempo of pagan abandon.
"More, more, take me," Joy cried out. Feverishly, her pliant body thrust hard, seeking to encompass her companion.
Vicky's sleek legs goaded her, incited, drove her on. Shock waves of sensation fused back and forth between them.
Joy felt herself being swept up in a delirium, a wild desire lifting her up and up. Suddenly, she arched high in a long prolonged shudder. Everything hazed before her eyes. Then, twitching, she collapsed in complete fulfillment.
There was silence.
"Joy . . ."
Joy opened her eyes and looked at Vicky at her side. "Yes?"
"Was it satisfying for you . . . like a man?"
Joy nodded, unable to speak. There was no way of telling Vicky her exact feelings. It had been something she couldn't describe. Later, as they sat in the kitchen over coffee and the sweet rolls, Vicky said, "I have no feeling for men, Darling. When one makes love to me, it's nothing." She paused and looked at Joy over the rim of her cup. "I'm more than a photographer's model, Darling. You may as well know it all. We shouldn't have any secrets from each other."
Joy gave Vicky a curious look.
Vicky went on. "That party tonight. I work for Trey Benton. He arranges these parties. I entertain men."
"You mean . . ."
"Yes, I'm a call girl," Vicky cut in. "I work two, three nights a week. It's what pays for an apartment like this."
Joy wanted to say something, hut the words wouldn't come. The impact of Vicky's bold admission stunned her. Vicky broke the silence.
"I guess it does shock you, Darling, but I wanted you to know. It won't change anything for us? You do understand?"
Joy looked across the table at her, uncertainly. "I suppose I should have guessed. That Trey, yesterday and all." She paused as a thought came. "Last night, this morning. It wasn't to convince me I - I should - ?"
"No. Oh no, Darling. I make enough. I never give that a thought. You do believe me? All I want is you, sharing my apartment with me."
"Did Lois work for Trey?" Joy asked, not knowing why the question popped out.
"A few times. But I never wanted her to. I never asked her. It's the truth."
Joy felt an insane urge to laugh. In essence, Vicky was pleading with her. The concern in her eyes was genuine. Vicky was interested only in one thing. In a way, it was ironic. Joy could feel a guilt and yet it didn't bother her.
"I could never work for a man like Trey Benton, go to bed with someone I never knew." She paused and glanced at Vicky. "You don't find that hard to do?"
Vicky shrugged and laughed. "The first few times it frightened me. After that . . . well, I think only of the money. Men are nothing. To me, it's a job, nothing more. I'm not like a lot of girls in New York who give it away for pleasure. They're damn fools." She hesitated and sipped her coffee. "I'm only interested in knowing that this won't make any difference between us."
Joy caught the plea in her voice again. She wanted to tell Vicky it did make a difference, but she wondered if it really did. If she moved out, what then? Admit defeat? Go back to Havenhurst? God, no. Anything was better than that.
Joy shook her head. "It doesn't matter, Vicky. It's just that I feel so helpless, not being able to find a job."
"There's always Rog Cantrell. I'll see him this afternoon. Would you like me to ask him if he'll give you a try?"
"I'd rather not, Vicky. I don't think I could pose for a man."
Vicky laughed. "The truth is I'd just as soon you didn't, Darling. I want you all for myself. I'm sure you'll find a job sooner or later." The thought of Roger Cantrell photographing Joy, pawing her the way he did under the pretense of getting the right pose, made Vicky feel a little sick. No, Joy was too fresh and clean. Vicky wanted her to stay that way.
Joy went to the agencies every day. At the end of a month, she was no closer to a job than she had been the first week in New York. It was always the same; references and experience were needed. The agencies didn't seem to take into consideration the fact a person couldn't get experience if she had no job.
It bothered Joy a little that Vicky did not seem to mind her not finding a job. She was satisfied to find Joy home when she came from a job.
Joy could always tell if the man had been a bore or a drunk. Vicky would make love, on those nights, with an abandon that had no limits.
Love became a habit. Joy found herself looking forward to the wild love sessions with her roommate. Vicky was forever teaching her new tricks, new little intimacies that made it all so wonderful.
It finally reached the point where Joy lost interest in finding a job. What was the use? She had everything she could desire.
Vicky was content. Joy was in a seventh heaven in Vicky's arms. The warm lips burning her flesh, the eager passion of Vicky that never lost it's glory forced aside reason, even sanity at times.
One Thursday evening, the doorbell rang, as Joy had just finished her shower. Vicky had left a few minutes before on a date.
Joy slipped into a new negligee Vicky had bought her and laughed when she saw Vicky's key on the table. She had forgotten it and was coming back for it, Joy thought.
"You'd forget your head if . . Joy started to say as she opened the door. The words died in her throat. Trey Benton was standing in the doorway.
"I haven't forgotten you, Baby," he grinned.
Joy recovered from her surprise. Then she clasped her negligee closed as she realized he was staring at her. "Vicky isn't home," she managed to say.
"I know. She's working a job I sent her on, I came to see you," he said and brushed past her into the apartment.
"What do you want?"
"I'm curious, Baby. First time I saw you, I didn't figure you for the type. Guess I was wrong." He walked to the bar and fixed himself a drink.
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Joy said.
He turned and grinned. "You know damned well what I'm talking about. You think I don't know Vicky Neale is a lesbian. What I can't understand is that she hasn't talked you into working for me. Your kind usually play the same game."
Joy started. "Will - will you please leave? What-what I do is none of your business."
"You admitting it?"
"I don't have to admit anything to you," Joy retorted. She could feel the rush of blood flood her cheeks.
He finished his drink. I've known too many dames in my time, Baby. I still think you're a woman. Maybe Vicky has got to you, but I'm betting it's temporary."
"Get out of here. I don't have to listen to your insults."
"I'll leave after I find out the truth," he growled. Moving closer, he stood legs apart, hands on hips and stared at her.
Joy stared back, meeting the challenge in his eyes with a defiance of her own.
His insolence brought an anger. She hated him for his cold assumption.
Perhaps it was a mesmerism in his eyes that caused her to be off guard. At any rate, she wasn't prepared for his quick movement.
His mouth, harsh and demanding, crushed her lips. She struggled in his arms, beating her fists against his broad chest, but he was too strong for her, and helplessness replaced the anger clawing at her insides.
Pain brought a sharp cry to Joy's lips as his hand found its way inside her negligee, his fingers closing over her breast and squeezing hard.
She freed her hand and clawed at his face. He caught it and laughed.
"I like a fighter, Baby. Now, suppose you forget the act. You're no damned lesbian. You need a man. Why don't you admit it?" His lips crushed her mouth again.
Joy renewed the struggle, twisting her face away and fighting him with a fury. Her efforts brought another laugh. He held her around the waist, pinioning her arms.
She felt her feet leave the floor as he forced her back on the divan. Fear came alive. He was like a maniac pawing at her, his hands savagely caressing her breasts.
Joy sobbed at her own helplessness, at the way he easily evaded her raking nails.
Then, suddenly, he reached back and slapped her hard across the face.
"Enough is enough," he growled. "Let's stop playing games." He pinned her down with the weight of his body.
Joy stared up at him. Her cheek throbbed from the slap. All she could think of was that he might kill her if she resisted. He was crazy. She prayed that the doorbell would ring, that Vicky might come back for her key. It was wishful thinking and she knew it.
There was no escape. His hands moved on her thighs, gentler now, and more intimate.
Joy suddenly felt a wonder at the touch. She could feel herself trembling. She tried to fight the feeling, tried to understand why her body was reacting this way, so contrary to her fear earlier.
"Please. Please let me go," she sobbed. Jerking from one side to the other, she tried to escape from the roving hands.
"Still playing it the hard way," he muttered. Then his hands went to her breasts and began a hard, circling, rubbing caress.
Joy felt a shame at the throbbing sensation coursing through her veins. She didn't want it this way. She wanted desperately to be immune to the driving sensation. There was no obedience. Something inside her, something she couldn't fight gathered speed, grew and made resistance impossible.
"You like this." His voice came from somewhere above, beyond her closed eyes, taunting.
A moan escaped her lips, a mixture of despair and desire. Her hips started to move in unison to the caress of his hands. She tried to order them to stop. They wouldn't. There was no longer any semblance of control.
"Please stop," she cried out. It was only a futile gesture, contained no meaning. She didn't even know she lifted to let him free her negligee.
A throbbing awareness pounded through her body, forced her nipples to rigid alertness. Through the daze of uncertainty, she felt the rough material of the divan against her naked flesh. Then he released her, stood up and stared down at her.
Joy wanted to get up. She made a desperate attempt, only to find her muscles refused to function.
Numbly, she watched him undress. She felt like two separate identities. One of her wanted to scream out, run and escape. The other, the one who felt the wild desire, watched him in deep fascination.
Trey Benton was a big man, immense through the shoulders, muscles bulging. His eyes held an amusement. Joy forced herself to study him and wonder what he might be thinking. What he was going to do she could see as her eyes traveled down his body, pausing at his manhood. A fear caught at her. There had only been Clay Trent, never any other man. The boy in high school had been nothing.
Joy tried to make herself hate Trey Benton. The beating of her heart made a mockery of it. His hands touching her as he came to her made it worse.
There was no gentleness from him, none of the tender experience of Vicky. Yet his mouth on her breasts forced a response from her body. She cried out as his hands moved up the inside of her thighs, reached her and drove her crazy.
Joy dug her nails into the flesh of his back. It felt good, a release for the moment. She searched and tried to understand the conflict between desire and Conscience that stormed in her brain. There Was no answer.
But Trey knew the answers. He knew what she wanted, how to prolong the action of love until Joy reached a fever pitch. Her hips undulated, arched, rose, begged for his attention. The first thrust brought a scream of anguish. Brutal, hurting, it burned a fire in her middle. But then, the pain lifted to a glory, a wild throbbing ecstasy.
Crying out, Joy gave herself rapturously until the final explosion came with driving force. She felt him shudder and then leave her.
"Baby, you're some piece," he panted. "When do you want to start working for me?"
Like a curtain dropping, the ecstasy and the thrill of the moment before were gone. Joy stared at him. Now, she could feel the hate she had tried so desperately to feel before. Vicky had told her the truth. Men were bastards. Lust, all lust, no true feeling.
"I hate you," Joy cried. "You got what you wanted. Now get out!"
"We both got what we wanted, Baby," he said. "You were starving for it. I just showed you you don't have to be a sucker for Vicky Neale. Now what about it? When do you start working for me. I'll make you some real dough:" "I'd rather be dead," Joy screamed at him. "I'm not your kind. Get out! Get out!"
He laughed and started to dress. "You'll change your mind, Baby. You've had a taste. You won't be satisfied with Vicky any more. A woman needs a man, and you're a real woman."
Joy watched him finish dressing. His words had dug deep, especially his crack about being kept by Vicky. Until, now, she hadn't really thought of it like that, yet it was true.
"Think it over. I'll call you in a couple of days," he said and headed for the door. He paused for a moment in the doorway. "You were hungry for a man. Don't waste it on a dame like Vicky."
Joy opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come. Then he was gone.
She pounded her fists at the pillow on the divan, as a hysterical laugh rose in her throat. Trey Benton had been so sure of himself, but he didn't know. He didn't know how much she detested him and what he had done to her. His hands, his kisses brought on her wild need, but it was only the kind of need she found satisfied with Vicky. It had ended the moment he became a man, and when he took her like a man takes a woman.
She rose and mixed herself a drink. It held no taste. She picked up her negligee and went into the bathroom.
The hot shower helped ease her aching body, but it did nothing for the confusion in her mind. Was Trey Benton right? She thought about Vicky. A feeling of guilt came. Then there were thoughts of her mother. Was she going to follow in her mother's footsteps? Vicky again. Her mother at least, was honest; she didn't sleep with other women.
Joy scrubbed her skin until it glowed and as if she could wash away the guilt.
"Damn him, oh damn him," she said aloud.
Toweling herself dry, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. There were marks on her breasts from Trey Benton's savage caresses. There had been no gentleness. Subconsciously, she made a comparison between Trey and Clay Trent. Somewhere in between, Vicky Neale was there. And Joy's body was crying out for Vicky.
CHAPTER SIX
Joy woke up under the pressure of Vicky's warm lips.
"I couldn't resist, Darling. You looked so lovely with the sun shinning on your face." Vicky smiled.
"You didn't wake me up when you came home," Joy said.
"It was late, after four. I had a guy who wouldn't quit. What a bore. You stay put. I've got coffee on. I'll bring a tray in here. Well have breakfast in bed."
Joy watched Vicky leave. She- trembled. Just the touch of Vicky's lips had brought a burning desire.
In a moment, Vicky was back with the coffee. She poured two cups, after handing Joy one, she crawled into bed beside her.
"Vicky," she said, "Trey Benton was here last night."
Vicky's eyebrows lifted. "Trey? What did he want? He knew I was working."
"He came to see me. He wants me to work for him."
Vicky frowned. "You don't think it was my idea?"
Joy shook her head. Her voice quivered. "He made love to me. He forced me," she sobbed.
"Oh, you poor darling," Vicky soothed, her mouth finding Joy's lips. She lifted away and caressed Joy's breasts. "He did this? The bastard," she cried when she saw the bruises. "Let me get some cream."
"It's all right. It doesn't hurt. Just love me, Vicky. Help me forget him," Joy moaned.
"I will, Darling. Oh, how I hate him for hurting you." Vicky leaned forward and gently nibbled the nipples. Her hand went to Joy's thighs, working gently up the insides, massaging the flesh.
Joy arched and twisted as Vicky's fingers reached her triangle and soothed the deep hurt that was still there from Trey Benton's brutality.
It was going to be all right, she told herself. Nothing really happened. Vicky would help her forget.
Turning, she hugged Vicky, drawing her close, feeling the comfort of Vicky's hard pointed breasts digging into her own. No, she didn't need a man. Trey Benton was wrong about that. The contentment was here, in Vicky's arms.
Straining, Joy enveloped her companion her thighs warming to the caresses. Lips burned trails of passion, moving, always moving to new thrills, to new excitements. Their bodies sought each other, each in her own way, offering the satisfaction, the wild building of desires that only knew how to share.
Lips blended, touched breasts, the warm flesh of stomach and thighs. Gasps of passion-filled the room.
But there was an exchange of gentleness and violence, each in it's own accord. The first arching explosion only spurred them on to greater heights. Time stood still in their struggle for satisfaction. It came.
"Want a cigarette?" Vicky asked.
Joy nodded.
They lay back and smoked, in silence, for awhile.
"Have I helped you to forget what happened?" Vicky asked.
Joy lifted on an elbow and looked at her. "It wasn't like it had been with Clay Trent, Vicky." She paused, "Can I ever forget?"
"You will, Darling. I'll help you," Vicky smiled. She butted her cigarette and took Joy's. "I feel greedy today. I want more."
Her lips sought out Joy's. Her breath quickened. Joy's lips were so soft, so like a rich nectar. "Let me," she whispered, tickling Joy's ear with her tongue.
Joy lay back, lost in the contentment, the lassitude or the warm roving mouth. Then, as Vicky found her love spot, she screamed out as the ecstasy rolled and stormed through her. Would there ever be a time when she would get enough, she wondered.
Shock waves brought sensation after sensation. Joy's thighs throbbed with the renewal of fire coursing through her flesh. Her legs rose to encompass Vicky's love.
Fulfillment came in a wild burst of release. The emotion was so great, Joy thought the ceiling above danced and joined in the ecstasy.
It had to end. When it did, Joy looked at Vicky. Her companion was lying on her back, eyes closed, sucking in deep breaths. Her pointed breasts rose and fell with the labored breathing.
She is so lovely, so wonderful, Joy mused to herself. And I never knew how wonderful this all was.
Vicky opened her eyes and smiled. "Happy?"
Joy studied her silently, for a moment. "Trey made some awful accusations, Vicky. He said you were keeping me. He was right."
"Nonsense, Darling. Why listen to a bastard like him. It isn't your fault you haven't been able to find a job. We're old friends: It's only right that friends should help each other."
"It's more than that, Vicky. Last night. Some of the things he said. Maybe it is wrong, this, you paying for me like you do."
"Forget Trey. I know how awful it must have been for you," Vicky said.
"No, Vicky, you don't understand. I was scared at first, then, suddenly, I wanted him to make love to me. I was on fire. But, then, there was nothing, no feeling at all. It wasn't natural."
"I should think not. There's nothing natural about being raped," Vicky soothed.
"That isn't what I mean. I never felt like that with Clay Trent. I felt funny, like I wasn't a woman any more. I kept thinking of you and what you would say."
"There isn't anything to say. It's over and best forgotten. It won't happen again."
"But, I'm not a Lesbian, I'm not like you. I can't forget it."
Vicky laughed. "Sometimes I even find it hard to admit I enjoy a woman far more than a man. It isn't a crime though, Darling. It's just accepting the facts that's hard. You do enjoy me, and I enjoy you. It's that simple. We don't need men, especially bastards like Trey." Joy frowned. "But you work for him."
"Necessity. Trey has the best contacts. Working for him is better than being a barroom mistier."
"He said, he'd call me in a few days. He wants me to work for him, too," Joy said. "Do you want to?"
Joy shook her head. "No. But . . . Well I haven't been able to find a job. I have to do something. I can't go on living off you."
"It hasn't been any problem. Right now, you've got a touch of pride because of what Trey said. Don't let it bother you. Trey has no control over you."
Joy gave her a curious look. "You mean he has over you?"
"I was in love with him, once. He was the man in Jersey. I never told you he was the one. I did love him until I found out what he was. After that . . ." Vicky shrugged. "It was too late. I'm hooked on good living, and Trey has the contacts."
Vicky leaned close and kissed Joy, again. "You're the only one who means anything to me, now," she whispered. "I can forget everything when I'm with you."
Joy felt Vicky start to tremble. She did something about it.
Trey Benton called Joy several times during the following two weeks. When Joy told Vicky about the calls, her roommate just shrugged and laughed.
"Next time he calls tell him to go to Hell," she said. "If it will make you feel better, tell him you have a job."
"Which I don't," Joy said, ruefully.
"There's always Rog Cantrell, if you want to try modeling," Vicky offered.
"Maybe," Joy said. Still, she couldn't bring herself to think of it, seriously. The idea brought her distaste. Vicky had shown her some of the pic spreads she had posed for. It seemed almost as bad as sleeping with a man.
"No rush, Darling. I like things the way they are," Vicky laughed.
The little doubts in Joy's mind lost identity as they made love.
Still, as the weeks crept by, and Joy redoubled her efforts to find a job, the dependence on Vicky was becoming a barrier. Little things would crop up. Vicky would complain that Joy wasn't keeping the apartment neat enough, that she had all day to do things.
Joy was at the point of taking a job as a waitress, or anything. And, she was giving serious thought to taking a stab at modeling Vicky kept bringing the subject up.
Then one afternoon as Joy had just left an office building after learning she had missed a job by a matter of minutes, she made up her mind to do something.
Preoccupied with her thoughts, she stepped from the curb into the street and didn't see the car until she heard the screech of brakes. By then, it was too late.
When she came to, a nurse was leaning over her. "How do you feel?" she asked.
Joy tried to smile. As she shifted, a sharp pain caught in her chest and brought as gasp.
"You shouldn't try to move. It's your ribs," the nurse cautioned.
"What happened?" Joy wanted to know.
"You were struck by a car. You're lucky it's not more serious than it is."
Joy nodded. The memory of the screeching brakes came back.
"The man who hit you is outside. And there's a Miss Neale. We found her name and address in your purse. Feel up to seeing them?" the nurse asked.
Joy shrugged. "I guess so."
The nurse went out. A moment later, she came back, accompanied by a tall broad-shouldered man and Vicky Neale.
"You all right?" Vicky asked. "They scared me half to death when they called and said you had an accident."
Joy nodded and managed a smile.
"You gave me quite a scare too, Miss Lansing," the man said, smiling. "What on earth were you thinking of that you stepped in front of me?"
"I ... I don't know. I had just left the Tudor building after trying for a job. I'm sorry." The man had the bluest eyes Joy had ever seen, and at the moment they were filled with concern. She guessed he was about forty. Flecks of grey sprinkled his jet black hair at the temples, giving him a distinguished look. "I'm Bart McLane," he introduced himself. "I've given orders you're to have anything you need."
"Please, it was my fault, Mr. McLane. I don't want to cause you any trouble."
"It's no trouble." He glanced at his watch. "I have an appointment. Suppose I drop back tomorrow and see how you are." With that, he turned and left. The nurse followed him out.
"You sure picked a car to walk in front of," Vicky said when the door closed. "Bart McLane of all people."
"You know him?"
Vicky grinned. "I'd like to know him better. You mean you didn't recognize the name? He's a top lawyer."
"I thought he was rather nice," Joy said.
"That's all you can say?"
"What do you mean?"
Vicky grinned. "Maybe you don't know it, but you've hit the jackpot. You want a job. That's the least a guy like McLane can do. With his connections, it's a cinch."
"Sure," Joy retorted. "I tell him he has to find me a job because I walked in front of his car."
"So what. It's worth a try."
Just then the nurse came in with a vase of roses. "Mr. McLane had these sent in," she said. "Aren't they lovely?" She glanced at Vicky. "Don't stay too long. The patient needs rest."
Vicky nodded. When the nurse left, she turned to Joy. "I'd say you can do better than just a job. You must have made quite an impression."
"He's just being thoughtful," Joy protested.
"Yeah, but I caught the way he looked at you. He's got ideas and you better believe it."
Joy forced a laugh. "You and your imagination," she scoffed.
"Don't bet it's imagination. I know men, especially the Bart McLane kind." Vicky picked up her purse. "I'll drop back tomorrow. And I still think McLane has eyes for you."
The doctor came in shortly after Vicky left and said, "We should have you out of here tomorrow evening. You can stop back in a week or so to let us check these ribs. You were mighty lucky."
Bart McLane came again the next afternoon. "Well, how are we doing?" he smiled down at her.
"I feel much better." Joy noticed the flowers he was carrying. "More roses. You shouldn't. I still have the ones from yesterday."
"A pretty girl should have lots of flowers. I figured you for roses. Was I right?"
"They are my favorite," Joy admitted. "But I still think you shouldn't be going to all this trouble."
He laughed. "It might sound a little callous but "I'm rather glad you walked in front of my car."
Joy looked at him. His blue eyes were dancing with amusement. She decided she liked Bart McLane. Then she told him she would be getting out of the hospital that afternoon.
"I'll be here," he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Vicky showed up at the hospital at three. "Brought you my blue knit to wear home," she announced. "I suppose you know your clothes were a mess." Then, she saw the second vase of roses. "McLane must have been here, huh?' Joy nodded. "I'm getting out at five. He said he'd be back. I guess he will want to drive me home."
"And maybe more, Darling. Now, I'm glad I brought the blue knit. Bet he asks you out to dinner."
"You think he will?" Joy rather liked the idea. It would be nice to have dinner with Bart and, she thought, maybe he could find her a job. It would be worth a try.
The phone rang. It was Bart McLane. "I should be there by five. I'd like to drive you home," he said. "And if it's not too presumptuous, perhaps we could have dinner somewhere."
"If you'd like," Joy accepted. As she hung up, she looked at Vicky.
"Dinner?" Vicky said.
Joy nodded and laughed.
At five when Joy entered the office with the nurse, Bart McLane was waiting for her. As they left the hospital, he said, "I've made reservations at Andre's for dinner. Is it all right with you?"
Joy had trouble suppressing a gasp. Andre's was an exclusive French restaurant that catered to the elite of New York. She was glad Vicky had insisted on bringing the blue knit.
A half-hour later, it was obvious that Bart McLane dined there often. The maitre d' seemed to fawn over him. The meal was spectacular. Bart ordered with the finesse of an epicure, the right wines with each course, giving certain orders as to how he wanted the food prepared. Joy found herself enjoying this invasion into the upper echelon of society.
Bart did most of the talking, at the same time drawing answers from her with subtle questions. In the first ten minutes, he knew she wanted a job.
"I'm sure I can find you a job, Joy," he laughed.
"I don't have any references or New York experience," she warned him.
"You'll have mine. Suppose I give you a call sometime tomorrow." The evening ended all too soon for Joy. She felt like Cinderella. Bart McLane had treated her like a queen.
When they reached her apartment, he kissed her gently at the door. "I enjoyed dinner with you. Perhaps we can do it again, soon," he said. "I'll give you a call tomorrow if I find a job for you. I don't think it will be any trouble."
Joy hesitated in the doorway until his car pulled away. Then, she hugged herself. She felt sure he would keep his promise.
Vicky was waiting when she opened the door. "I saw the car from the window. Coming home kind of early, aren't you?" She paused, "He did take you to dinner?"
"Andre's. And he's going to get me a job," Joy said.
Vicky whistled. "So I was right. He is interested. Did he make a pass?"
"For Heaven's sake, Vicky. All he did was kiss me good-night, that and promise to find me a job."
"You're being naive, Darling. He isn't being nice for nothing. I'd like to be in your shoes. Believe me, I'd take him for everything I could get, and you can bet that would be plenty."
Joy's face flushed with anger. "I'm not interested in sleeping with him. All I want is a job."
"No sense in getting mad, Darling. Did he ask you for another date?" "Kind of."
Vicky's eyelashes flickered. "There's your answer. Look, he's no damned Trey Barton. McLane is the kind of guy who spends money on a woman. Why toss it out the window?"
Joy's eyebrows lifted, "You mean you wouldn't care if I slept with him?"
"Care? Why, Darling. He's only a man. Look how many I sleep with. We should never be jealous over a man."
Joy stared at her. "Sometimes I don't understand you, Vicky."
Vicky moved close and kissed her, long and hard. "You have to be practical, Darling. When I sleep with a man, it's business. Bart McLane wouldn't mean any more than that to you: Don't you think I know it? Jealous?" She paused and laughed. "Not the way you love me."
Joy didn't reply. She turned and went into the bathroom. Then under the shower, she tried to collect her thoughts. She wondered what it would be like to go to bed with Bart McLane. And, at the moment, she wondered if she would. It was kind of foolish to even think of it. He hadn't made any proposals.
Joy scrubbed herself. She decided he wouldn't be like Trey Benton. He seemed much more gentle than that. She thought of Clay Trent. It had been a long time since she thought about Clay.
Vicky was stretched out on the bed, naked, when Joy emerged from the bathroom. She looked up and laughed.
"Come to bed, Darling and I'll show you why I'm not jealous," she taunted.
Joy felt the tingle of anticipation. Then, she felt devilish. She knew what Vicky wanted.
"I'm an invalid," she said. "You wouldn't take advantage of a sick woman. The doctor told me I'll have to be careful for a week or so."
Vicky dug her fingers under her breasts and held them up. "There nothing wrong with me, and I can be gentle."
Joy slipped out of her negligee and dropped down on the bed. She was too anxious to carry the play any farther.
Vicky toyed with her breasts, kissing first one and then the other. As Joy responded Vicky whispered, "We shouldn't ever argue about men. Forget what I said about McLane He isn't that important."
Minutes later, Joy knew what she meant Vicky had been waiting for her, warm, perfumed, wonderfully desirous. Joy decided she was glad she was home.
Vicky was so careful and so gentle. It was an hour before the love subsided and Vicky fell asleep.
Joy found she couldn't sleep. Perhaps, she thought, it's because I slept this afternoon a the hospital.
She knew, though, it wasn't that. Easing from the bed, she found and lit a cigarette. Then she turned and stared at Vicky.
I do love her, she told herself. I never want to love anyone else. The, thought had a disturbing quality. Was there any future in going on like this? She hadn't really given it too much thought before the accident, but now . . . the things Vicky had said about Bart McLane.
Finishing her cigarette, Joy went back to bed. When she did finally fall asleep, she was still thinking about McLane.
The phone awakened Joy at ten, the next morning. She recognized Bart McLane's voice.
"I've made an appointment for you at Inverness Insurance. Ask for a Mr. Trantor. He'll be expecting you at one," he said.
"I don't know how to thank you, Mr. McLane," Joy said.
His laugh came back thru the phone. "You can start by calling me Bart and having dinner with me, again, this evening."
Joy hesitated. "Well ... All right, Bart."
"Fine, I'll pick you up around seven. You can tell me all about your new job."
"I don't have it yet," Joy laughed.
"Don't worry, you will. See you at seven."
Vicky appeared in the doorway. "You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Am I right in guessing that was Bart McLane?"
Joy nodded. She was still holding the phone. "He's found me a job and - well, we're having dinner again this evening."
Vicky shrugged. "You accepted. That means you've changed your mind?" She paused. This is New York, Darling, not Havenhurst. A guy like McLane isn't interested in platonic friendship if you get what I mean. Hell expect results."
Joy chose to ignore Vicky's insinuations. "I'm only having dinner with him to thank him for getting me the job," she said, testily.
Her appointment with Mr. Trantor took only a few minutes. He dictated a letter and had her type it. Then, he told her to report for work at nine the next morning.
Joy had an idea that she would have gotten the job even if she had messed up the letter.
At dinner, that evening, she mentioned this to Bart McLane.
He laughed. "The important thing is you got the job. So maybe a little push does help. I'm sure it will work out fine."
After dinner and a show, Joy was sure he would make some kind of proposal, perhaps an invitation to his apartment. He didn't. In fact, he kissed her only lightly when he said goodnight.
Joy fit into her new job, easily. In a few days, she had the intricate insurance forms mastered. On Friday, she had dinner with Bart again. After that, a week went by and there were no phone calls.
"I don't get it," Vicky said. The guy takes you out to dinner a few times and that's all. You sure you didn't turn him down?"
Joy laughed. "What reason would I have to lie to you. You were wrong, that's all." She didn't let on she was disappointed. She had enjoyed Bart's company more than she cared to admit, even to herself.
Now, she wondered what she might have done had Bart made some kind of offer. She wasn't sure.
* * *
"Your ribs have healed nicely, Miss Lansing. You won't have to come back," the doctor said.
"And that's all?" Joy buttoned her blouse, She had expected to be at the hospital most of the afternoon and the examination had taken only a few minutes. There would have been no need to take the afternoon off from work.
Joy laughed to herself as she caught a cab. Vicky would be surprised when she walked in in the middle of the afternoon.
She stopped off at a bakery and bought some Danish pastry, the kind Vicky liked. A tremble shook her body as she opened the apartment door. It would be nice to spend an afternoon with Vicky. Of late, they didn't seem to have much time together. Vicky was always corning in late, and with having to get up early herself, there was a conflict.
The living room was empty. Joy closed the door, quietly. Vicky would be taking a nap. She had worked late the evening before. Joy headed for the kitchen.
First, make some coffee and fix a tray before she woke Vicky up, she decided. A high pitched cry from the bedroom stopped Joy short at the kitchen door.
She hesitated, then crossed the living room to the partially opened bedroom door.
The sight greeting her eyes froze Joy there. Vicky was in bed, but she wasn't taking a nap. And she wasn't alone. A dark-haired girl lay sprawled naked across the big circular bed.
Joy stared, unable to take her eyes from the girl, the small heaving breasts, the glow of lust in the girl's eyes. Her mouth was twisted with sweet pains of ecstasy. Her slender body was arched to receive the caresses Vicky Neale was bestowing on her.
A strange feeling dug at Joy's insides. Suddenly, she knew what it was. She was jealous of the lovely young creature with Vicky. An urge came, an urge to rush into the room and scratch the dark-haired girl's eyes out. But she couldn't move. The fascination of the scene paralyzed to her limbs.
Vicky's whimpering noises mingled with the urgent cries of the girl she was making love to.
Joy, watching the dark-haired girl arch and twist, clutched her breasts. She could almost feel the girl's ecstasy. Beads of perspiration formed on Joy's forehead. She could feel the sweat on her thighs.
The women on the bed changed positions. Joy wanted to turn and run. She couldn't move. Vicky's face was contorted with rapture, now. Jealousy tore at Joy's insides. It wasn't right.
No one had the right to give her Vicky pleasure.
But Vicky was enjoying it. The naked passion registered in her face, the way her legs danced in the air, her hands clutching the dark head, all attested to what she was experiencing.
Joy stared at the hips, the thighs, slowly moving and increasing in tempo as the fires rose. For some reason, she suddenly thought of her mother and the other time she had been a witness to love.
But, this was different. This was Vicky, her Vicky.
Joy bit her hp to hold back the sob. She felt pain and then realized she was clutching her breasts so tight, it hurt.
"Don't stop, don't stop."
Joy heard Vicky's plaintive scream, the begging. How many times had she thrilled to that same plea. Staring, she couldn't take her eyes from Vicky's dancing legs, the bobbing dark head that was the reason for the wild excitement.
She heard her own sobs break from her lips. She felt the agony, the need in her own body. The ache was unbearable.
Another scream, much sharper, the scream of fulfillment, brought Joy back to reality.
Her own scream, high pitched, came, in unison. Joy had no knowledge of screaming. The pent-up emotion broke free, bubbled out, from deep, so terribly deep within.
Suddenly, her world was spinning in crazy circles. Getting a grip on herself, Joy poured a drink. The whiskey burned raw down her throat. Then, a dull ache came.
"Darling, you will let me explain?" Vicky was behind her. "It's not what you think at all."
Joy turned. "There's no need for explanation," she said.
Just then, the dark-haired girl came out of the bedroom. She was dressed.
"Joy, this is Leona," Vicky introduced.
Joy nodded to the girl and quickly averted her eyes. In the one quick glance she could see Leona was lovely and no more than eighteen.
"I better go, Vicky," the girl said.
"Yes, I'll call you, Leona," Vicky replied. Then, as the door closed, she poured herself a drink and turned again to Joy.
"Leona doesn't mean anything to me, Darling. She works for Trey. She dropped in this afternoon to tell me about a party we have to work this evening."
"Just dropped in?" Joy sneered. "Don't make it worse by lying, Vicky."
"All right, there have been a few times. After all, you were in the hospital. I was lonely. And this damned job of yours. You're always so tired when I come home." Vicky reached for her, her fingers cupping Joy's breasts. "Please, don't be jealous," she pleaded.
Joy trembled, and then there was no meaning. The excitement wasn't there. All she could feel was revulsion. A picture of Leona on the bed with Vicky was all she could see.
"Don't, damn you! Don't touch me," she cried. Turning, she ran out of the apartment. She walked aimlessly, stopping at a small restaurant where she had coffee. A half-hour later, she found herself in a show, not seeing what was going on on the screen. All that registered in her mind was that she had to leave Vicky. It was after nine when she returned. Vicky was gone. Joy packed her bag. An hour later, she had a room at the Y. It would do until she found an apartment.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two days after Joy moved out on Vicky, Bart McLane called her at the office.
"Your girl friend told me you had moved out and she didn't know where, Joy," he said. "I suppose you've been wondering why I haven't called. I had to leave town and there wasn't time. Will you have dinner with me this evening?"
"I'd like that, Bart," Joy said.
"Where do I pick you up?"
"I'm staying at the Y until I find an apartment," Joy said.
"Seven then." He hung up.
Joy expected Bart to ask her why she had suddenly moved out of Vicky's apartment and she was grateful when he didn't. Instead he was apologetic about not having called her before leaving town.
It was one of those hurry up deals, a client out of town. I had to catch a midnight plane. It's no excuse, though. I guess I could have called you from Chicago," he said.
"It didn't matter, Bart," Joy laughed.
"I'm forgiven, then?"
"You're forgiven."
"Good. Now, you mentioned you wanted to find an apartment. Will you let me help you look?"
"If you'd like, Bart. But it. will have to be either Saturday or Sunday."
* * *
Joy discovered Bart knew New York. In less than two hours, Saturday afternoon, she found a nice place. It wasn't quite as luxurious as Vicky's apartment, but it was a pretty three-room unit and the rent was lower than Joy had expected to pay.
Bart showed up that evening she moved in with a TV set. "House warming gift," he grinned.
"Bart, you shouldn't have," she protested.
"There's no strings attached," he said.
Joy sensed a hidden innuendo in the way he said it, but she decided to see what developed. Without really knowing it, she was becoming fond of Bart. She liked going out with him, the feeling of being with someone important. He was so different from anyone she had ever known. He seemed to dominate everyone he came in contact with, head waiters, people who stopped at their table to chat, and yet he wasn't domineering or arrogant, not like Trey Benton.
That something had to happen, Joy knew. Bart started seeing her at least once a week. She could feel the growing tension when he'd kiss her goodnight.
Then, one afternoon when he called her at work, instinct told Joy that there would have to be an answer one way or the other.
It was in the way he told her about a new restaurant on Long Island and a surprise he had for her.
Dressing for her date, Joy felt nervous. Her hands shook as she hooked her bra in place. Then, she found it twisted. "Damn," she said, aloud at her reflection in the mirror. She finally got it straight.
I'm being foolish, she thought to herself. I should be calm. I know what to expect. But she wasn't sure. She remembered Vicky telling her that Bart McLane was a guy who would expect more than friendship from a woman. But, so far, he had been a perfect gentlemen.
Rising from the dressing table, she stepped into a pair of black panties. They were a shadow against the creamy whiteness of her thighs. She thought about Vicky Neale again. Vicky had said men liked black lace panties.
Joy frowned. Suddenly, she realized, she was brazenly planning her own seduction. She knew Bart would seduce her.
What made it worse, she felt a tremble of anticipation. Since leaving Vicky, there were Vicky's lips. Perhaps Bart would make her forget. She wondered if the answer would come tonight.
Crossing to the closet, she decided on a dark blue gown. It was the best dress she owned, in fact the only one she had bought since coming to New York.
Slipping it over her head, she went into the bathroom and examined herself in the door mirror. The neck of the dress was low, but not too low. It just enough to reveal a hint of bold hollow between her breasts.
Joy turned sideways. The gown fit snugly, giving a nice profile to her body, hugging nicely rounded buttocks above her thighs and slim legs.
Staring at herself, she wondered if she could fall in love with a man like Bart McLane. Or was love something that had died with Clay Trent, died even as a substitute in the arms of Vicky Neale. The thoughts tortured her. And she wasn't sure of the answers.
Shrugging, after a last critical look she went back into the bedroom to apply her makeup.
The door buzzer sounded and Joy ran to the door. She decided that tonight she would be carefree and gay, let whatever had to happen, happen.
Smiling, she opened the door.
Bart stood there. His eyes widened slightly as he looked at her, his glance moving up and down, caressing every curve.
"You blind a man," he said. "Your gown is beautiful."
"Thank you," she murmured. The way he was looking at her offered part of the answer. She turned and picked up her purse.
As they left, heading for the street, Joy was aware of his eyes. At the same time, she studied him. He was wearing a pin stripe. It made him look younger. Except for the grey at his temples, he looked very young. Joy decided they made a distinguished looking couple.
The restaurant they went to was well out on the Island. The food was Viennese and like always, a taste treat.
They were having brandy when Bart took a long oblong box from his pocket and set it in front of Joy.
"I saw this, this afternoon and decided it was meant for you," he said, flicking the box open.
Joy gasped. The wrist watch was exquisite, very tiny and set with diamonds. "Bart, I . . ."
"Don't say a word. Let's see how it looks." He took the watch from the box and put it on her wrist. "Perfect," he smiled. "Meant for you."
"I really shouldn't accept it," Joy said. "You've spoiled me so much already."
His face turned serious. "I enjoy spoiling you, Joy. This is only the beginning. The day you walked in front of my car was the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."
"I'm not sure I know what you mean."
He laughed. "It isn't a thing that's easy to explain. Let's just say I find you different than other women I've known."
Joy gave him a puzzled look. "What do you really mean, Bart?" she asked.
He hesitated and sipped his brandy. "I've never been a man who kidded himself. I'm forty-six. Since my wife died some years back, I've tried to act half my age. Most of the women I've taken out were young, like you, say about twenty or twenty-one. I know why they go out with me. They want something."
"And me?" Joy said, softly.
"You asked me to get you a job. Since then - well you haven't asked for a damn thing. You must have a price."
"Price?" Joy stared at him. His blunt admissions stunned her for a moment. "Does there have to be a price on enjoying one's company? I'm grateful for the job you got for me. What else is there?"
"I think you know. You know what I want. I'm willing to pay for it." He turned and motioned to the waiter for the check.
Joy held silent. She wasn't sure what she was expected to say.
Bart spoke again, after paying the check. "I have a place up the road. I'd like to show it to you. You would like to see it, wouldn't you?"
Joy nodded numbly. She stared at the watch on her wrist. And she knew it was meant to be the first offering.
They drove in silence. Joy cast furtive glances at Bart. He drove with his eyes straight ahead, intent on the highway.
Ten minutes later, they turned off the main road up a side road between trees to a white bungalow.
This is it," Bart said as he killed the motor. Joy gasped as he opened the door and switched on a light. She had the feeling of entering a movie set. Logs burned in a huge stone fireplace. Scatter rugs covered the floor, haphazardly. There was a small bar and stools along one wall.
Above the open ceiling was rough hewn planks.
"Like it?" he asked.
"It's beautiful." Suddenly, Joy was thinking of Clay Trent and the cabin back at Havenhurst. It wasn't the same, though. Bart McLane wasn't Clay Trent. He wasn't a college kid. He was a man and he wanted something. That was why she was here.
Joy felt foolish at the thoughts rising in conflict in her brain. Everything was so obvious, why was she trying to make issues of it. Bart had as much as told her what he wanted and expected to get.
"Care for a drink?" he asked.
Joy nodded and moved across the room to the big divan that circled in front of the fire.
Bart joined her a minute later with drinks. "I had my caretaker clean up the place and start a fire," he said. "Frankly, I use this place so little, I don't know why I don't sell it."
Joy tried to find some significance in his words. She decided he was just making conversation.
"It's a lovely place, Bart," she said.
There was a moment of silence. Then, he spoke. "I said something about price earlier, Joy. It was a poor choice of words. I don't think you're the kind who can be bought at any price. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
Joy looked at him and forced a smile. "It adds up to the same thing, doesn't it?" she said. "What you want is me. You want me to sleep with you." As she said it, Joy was surprised at her own boldness.
But, there wasn't much sense in evading what was there.
"It's what I want. Neither of us are kids, Joy. I dare say you've had a man. I've wanted you since the first time I saw you."
"And you've waited this long? Why?"
"I'm not sure I can answer that. Maybe I wanted to see if you'd make the first move, the same as all the rest. Most women I've known do the proposing. My money gives me that advantage."
"If I say no?"
He laughed sharply. "I've never forced a woman in my life, and I'm much too old to start now. You're a beautiful girl. I want you. The answer is strictly up to you."
Joy moistened her lips with a scrap of red tongue. "I don't have any price, Bart. I'm not that kind of girl. I like you. I enjoy your company," she said.
He leaned closer. His arm circled her shoulders. As he kissed her, Joy let her lips part, in response. She wanted him to make love to her. Suddenly, she realized that, subconsciously, she had planned it this way.
A fear caught at her. The memory of Trey Benton came alive. Would Bart be like that? There was no Vicky to turn to any more.
His hands reached inside her gown, gently caressing her breasts through the bra. Joy was grateful for his gentleness. And his lips, so soft and nice, not harsh and demanding like Trey's. It was almost as if it were Vicky, she thought.
A wild tremor shook her body. Suddenly, Joy knew how starved she was for love. Trey had called her hungry. Well, perhaps, now she was. Bart eased her gown away from her shoulders and kissed her neck, then the swell of her breasts above her bra.
Joy unsnapped it, letting the twin mounds of flesh burst free. Her tremble became more violent as his mouth toyed with the nipples, moving from one to the other, gentle, oh so gentle.
He's a man; he's a man, Joy kept telling herself, trying to force Vicky from her mind.
And she wanted to enjoy him, know that he was a man. Arching, she eased her gown down over her hips and helped him take it off.
His hands felt good on her thighs, then on her legs as he eased off her nylons. He kissed her knee, the insides of her thighs and smiled up at her. His fingers closed on her panties and pulled them free.
"I've pictured you like this," he said. "You're more beautiful than I imagined."
Joy looked up, met his eyes. For some reason, she felt no shame. "I'm glad," she whispered.
As he rose and started to undress, she watched him. His fine erect figure belied his age. His stomach was flat and hard. A fine mat of black hair covered his chest.
Then, he was picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom. He seemed to do it so easily, as if she weighed nothing. The fear she had felt left her. Bart was no Trey. He would be gentle. She would find what it was to be a woman again. The thoughts rose in conflict in her mind. Suddenly, she didn't care or want to think.
She felt the strength of his arms, the glorious warmth of his body.
No more pretending, she thought to herself as he dropped her gently on the bed. She smiled up at him, hovering over her.
Then, he was beside her, his mouth searching her breasts, gently, the caress of his tongue on her buds, building a fire.
Joy caught her fingers in his hair and pulled his face up. "Kiss me, kiss me hard," she hissed at him. A desperation engulfed her. She wanted something to happen. She wanted to he loved, wanted the memory of another cabin, centuries ago, brought back.
Her lips parted. She forced her tongue between his teeth and felt the tremble in his body as he responded.
"I'm going to make him want me more than he ever wanted any woman, Joy told herself. She pressed against him. Her lips started to move, forcing him to pick up the rhythm. A cry broke from her lips as she felt his masculinity penetrate her.
Thoughts raced through her mind. She thought of Vicky. Bart was gentle like Vicky. And there was Trey Benton.
No, not Trey. Bart wasn't forcing her. She was letting him make love to her. The grunts of pleasure coming from somewhere overhead, through the daze of thoughts meant he was enjoying himself. This was good. This was what he wanted, what she wanted.
Sobbing, Joy clawed his back with her nails, drawing a ribbon of blood. She arched to accept all his love. Slowly, a need came, a wild desire to find fulfillment.
When he stopped with a convulsive shudder, she refused to stop, forcing him on, beating a tattoo against him with her supple thighs. And, finally, she found the completion she sought.
In a sense, she found triumph. She wanted to cry out, fling curses at Vicky Neale, at Trey Benton. Pleasing Bart McLane was only a small part. Winning the battle with herself was far greater.
Perhaps she did owe Vicky something. It was Vicky who had told her to take what she could get. And I will, Joy told herself. She looked at Bart.
The tenseness in his eyes told her he was pleased, contented. She ran her fingers thru the mat of hair on his chest.
"I'm glad this happened, Bart," she whispered, her voice catching, girlishly, with just the right touch of hesitation.
"That makes two of us," he grinned. "I could use a drink, how about you?"
Joy nodded. She watched him rise and cross into the front room. He's not really old, she told herself. He's a man, the kind of man who will be good to me. The thoughts were there, but there was a confusion, too. His love had been satisfying. Yet . . . There was something missing, something she couldn't quite pin down. But there was time.
He came back with two glasses and handed her one. They sipped their drinks in silence for a moment.
Joy watched him over the rim of her glass. "You knew I would give in to you, didn't you, Bart," she said, finally.
He smiled. "I've always found that one can't be sure of anything, Joy."
Joy forced a laugh. "But you did plan it. Dinner out here on the island, coming to this place. It was kind of obvious. I think you knew you would win."
"A calculated risk," he laughed. "Now I have a confession to make."
"Confession?" Joy gave him a curious look.
Bart nodded and finished his drink. "The apartment you live in. We didn't find that place by accident. I arranged it. The rent is a little more than you pay. I made a deal with the manager to pay the difference before we ever got there."
Joy felt an anger dig at her insides. "You were sure that I . . . that I'd . . ." she cried.
He frowned. "I wasn't sure of anything. I wanted you to have a decent apartment."
"And now?" Joy retorted. "If I decide that tonight is a mistake? I suppose that would mean I'd be out of a job and an apartment."
"No. I've told you I never force. I've talked to Trantor. He tells me you're very efficient. The decision is yours."
Joy gave him a reflective look. "Just what does that mean?"
He shrugged. "There's no limit. A better apartment to start with. There won't be any need of you working any more."
"I like my job, Bart. I wouldn't want to give it up. And there's nothing wrong with the apartment I have."
He laughed. "I kind of expected to hear you say that. I think that's why I like you. You don't make any demands." He caressed her breast, trailing his fingers across the nipple. "Suppose we just let nature take it's course then."
Joy nodded and smiled. His eyes told her he was interested in more love. She complied. And, moaning and twisting in his arms, she decided that nature would take it's course.
CHAPTER NINE
The following weeks proved it. There was so much more than just sex with Bart. He was so kind and considerate.
There were times when he became a little angry at her insistence in keeping her job.
"I don't understand you, Joy. I want to do things for you and you won't let me. Why?"
"I like things the way they are, Bart. I like working, and it gives me a feeling of independence. Just nothing would bore me. I had enough of that when I first came to New York." Joy was thinking of the weeks with Vicky Neale. They weren't easy to forget. Even now, she would feel an urge to see Vicky again.
This evening, they were spending at his apartment, a lavish penthouse.
Bart shrugged. "Okay, but I still can't see why you don't use the account I gave you at Mandell's. You haven't used it more than a couple of times."
"I don't buy clothes just for the sake of spending money, Bart. I have enough dresses. You've seen to that. You're always bringing me presents."
He leaned over and kissed her. That's what I like about you, always saying and doing the unexpected."
Joy eased from his arms. Rising from the divan, she let her dress ease off her shoulders. There was one thing she had found that Bart enjoyed, watching her undress.
The truth was, she discovered, he liked the preliminaries of love-making as much as the love itself.
Now, as she slowly undressed, his eyes grew animated, hungering, following her every movement.
Down to her bra and panties, she moved close and caught up his hands, urging them to her hips.
A soft laugh escaped her throat as he eased them down over her thighs and then kissed her stomach. The kisses moved, pausing and then moving on. He undid her bra and buried his face in the soft flesh of her breasts.
Joy felt her own desire rise, engulf her. This was the part she enjoyed the most, when his warm lips blazed trails across her body. There was a tactile wonder in the touch of his hands, the caress of his mouth. Then he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Joy took over. In the weeks of being together, she had learned just how to incite him, make him want her. Pleasing him was almost an obsession. The storm rose, found it's climax and died.
Through half-closed eyelids, Joy watched him. Tonight, he would want her again. She knew it was one of the reasons they had come home early from dinner. It was funny how simple it was to read his mind, know almost his every desire.
Joy thought about what he had said earlier, about her never wanting too much. At first, she had thought she'd take everything she could get, but after one spending spree at Mandell's she had only gone back once to buy a negligee. It just didn't seem right to take for the sake of taking. No. Bart was too damned good to her as it was.
He stirred next to her. His mouth found hers in a long lingering - kiss. The second session of love was slower, more satisfying. Their sweat-oiled bodies were glued together before the final rapture came.
They lit cigarettes and relaxed. This was the good part, the contentment of belonging.
"How about a drink?" he asked. "Maybe some brandy. I just got a new lot of imported cherry, twenty-year-old stuff. Haven't tried it myself yet."
Joy nodded, half asleep.
Bart got up to fix some drinks.
Waiting for him to return, Joy flicked another other cigarette from the pack of the small table next to the bed and tried the table lighter. It refused to work. Leaning over, she pulled open the drawer in search of a match. There was a colored photo of a stunning girl in the drawer. A platinum blonde, the girl had haunting eyes that seemed to challenge.
That's Janine," Bart said.
Joy looked up. Intent on the picture, she hadn't heard him return. She gave him a questioning look. "My predecessor?" she asked.
He grinned. "Hardly. Janine is my daughter."
"Oh." Joy bit her tongue. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I was looking for a match." She paused. "You've never told me about her."
"I know. I kind of hate to admit I have a daughter, over twenty. Makes me feel old," he said.
"She's lovely," Joy murmured.
He frowned. "Don't let the picture fool you. Janine is a non-conformist. Far as I know, she's in Paris now, studying painting."
Joy's eyebrows lifted. "You mean you don't know for sure?"
Bart frowned. "Janine and I were never close. When her mother died, she took off. That was two years ago. She disapproves of my way of life. And she never writes me or asks for money." He closed the drawer.
Joy got the idea he wanted the discussion closed, and she didn't press the point. After all, it wasn't any of her business.
Bart was strangely silent the rest of the evening. Joy wondered if it was because of Janine. It wasn't.
"I have some business in Europe, Joy. I'd like to make it a vacation as well. Will you come along?"
"Aren't you forgetting I'm a working girl?"
The job will still be here if you want it when we get back. That or another one. Wouldn't you like to see London and Paris?"
"Oh, Bart, I'd love to. Do you really mean it?"
"I mean it. Tell Trantor you're quitting tomorrow. Then do some shopping at Mandell's. When we get to Paris I'll show you what clothes really can do."
* * *
"Is it always like this in London?" Joy asked, peering out the cab window at the fog shrouded street lights. "It's been raining or foggy ever since we got here."
Bart laughed. "The weather report is clear for tomorrow. I've rented a car. Well take a drive in the country. I want you to see the moors."
"How much longer will we be in England?" Joy wanted to know.
"Another two days. IT1 have my business finished by then."
Joy gave him an inquisitive look. "You never say much about your cases, Bart," she said.
"It's mostly dull legal routine, Joy. Fact is, "I've been cutting down lately. I don't need the money, so why work. What I'm doing here is a favor for a friend."
Joy mused over his answer, in silence. There were times when she wondered about Bart McLane's work. Occasionally, she had seen his name mentioned in the paper, but he never said anything. Articles about him always called him sharp or cagey. Yet she always found him gentle and understanding.
The next day they went for the drive in the country. The wind whipping through Joy's hair felt wonderful. It was fun wandering the narrow roads in an open car.
Bart circled her shoulder with his arm. "Anyone ever tell you, you're beautiful with your hair messed," he taunted.
"You better watch your driving," she taunted back.
A little later, they stopped at a small village inn for dinner. Then they drove on. It was after dark when they got back to London.
As they went to bed, Bart told her they could leave for Paris the next afternoon.
Joy noticed that Bart was in excellent spirits. She decided it meant his business, whatever it was, had been successful.
The week in London had been exciting, but Paris . . . Bart seemed to know Paris even better than he knew London. They visited all the famous places first, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and one evening the Folies Bergere.
Bart insisted on a trip to one of the exclusive salons. He laughed at her protest when he bought her a gown for six hundred dollars.
"Money isn't any good unless you spend it," was his answer. "As long as we have fun."
They dined at small out-of-the-way cafes. Joy was thrilled with the gaiety, the carefree mood of the French.
Most of all, she enjoyed the breakfast on the small balcony of their suite. It overlooked the city, in a sweeping panorama.
It was such a morning when a telegram arrived for Bart. He frowned as he read it and then stuffed it in his pocket. "I have to fly to Italy. I won't be gone more than a week," he said.
"I'm not going with you?"
He shook his head. "It's just a dull little town."
"I wouldn't mind, Bart."
"No. I wouldn't want you cooped up in some fly-by-night hotel. I'll be busy. Well see Italy later, when I won't have any business to attend to."
Joy looked at him. She didn't like the look in his eyes, the same troubled look she had seen, in London. But to argue with him would only make it worse.
"All right, Bart, I'll stay here if that's what you want." She forced a pout.
He grinned and then kissed her. "Paris will be more fun for you. Now, suppose you help me pack a bag."
An hour later, she rode with him to the airport, but as they parted, she couldn't resist asking, "Is there anything wrong?"
"No, just something unexpected that's come up. Nothing for you to worry about. Have fun. I'll see you in a week or so."
Joy stayed at the airport until Bart's flight took off. Then, she headed for the cab stand. Changing her mind, she decided to walk a while.
Several men gave her the eye, but she ignored them. She saw a sidewalk cafe and found a table and ordered coffee.
Sitting there, sipping coffee, Joy wished she had insisted on going to Italy with Bart. Despite people all around her, she couldn't dispel the sudden feeling of loneliness.
* * *
It was the day after Bart left. Joy had finished the lunch she had ordered sent to the suite. Someone knocked at the door.
Assuming it to be the waiter for the lunch tray, Joy opened it. A tall girl stood in the doorway. Joy stared without realizing she was staring. The girl was stunning. And the outfit she was wearing was startling. The slacks, if they could be called that, were of imitation leather, molded to her thighs and legs. She was wearing a silk black blouse, open almost to her waist, revealing the swell of high firm breasts. The entire ensemble was black. It accentuated her short platinum hair. As she stood there, she smiled. Her lips were full and sensuously wide, too full to be called beautiful.
This is Bart McLane's suite?"
Joy nodded without speaking. Suddenly, she recognized the girl. Older, but with the same high cheek bones and haunting eyes.
It was Janine McLane.
"Is Bart here?"
"He's away on business." Joy paused. "You're Janine, aren't you?"
Janine's eyelashes flickered slightly. She nodded. "Bart told you about me? That's a switch." She laughed.
Joy felt uncomfortable under gaze of the taller girl. "I saw your picture quite by accident," she said. "Would you like to come in?"
"I could stand a drink." Janine moved through the doorway past Joy. Her eyes swept the suite. Her laugh was low and sensuous. She turned and looked at Joy with amusement. "I see Bart hasn't changed. He still have to have the best," she said.
Joy had a feeling Janine was referring to more than just the suite.
"How did you know Bart was in Paris?" she asked. She was thinking that Bart hadn't mentioned his daughter. And she had forgotten all about Janine McLane until this moment. Aware of Janine's probing eyes, she wondered just what the girl was thinking.
"I saw the two of you at a cafe the other day. Bart always stays at this hotel when he comes to Paris."
"And you didn't come up . . .?" Joy started.
". . . Didn't barge up and say hello?" Janine cut her short. "It's been quite a while since I've seen Dad. Besides, he doesn't like his women to know he has a grown daughter." She paused. "You're Joy Lansing."
"You seem to know everything," Joy retorted, her voice carrying a slight irritation.
Janine shrugged. "I have some friends back in the states who keep me posted. The truth is, you're the reason I decided to come. I was curious. Bart doesn't usually keep one woman very long. You've lasted far beyond par for the course."
Joy flushed at the insinuation. To cover her embarrassment, she said, "What would you like to drink? I have some wine or if you prefer I can order something sent up."
"I'm partial to wine," Janine smiled.
Joy filled two glasses. It was early for her to have a drink, but she had the feeling she would need it to cope with Janine McLane.
She felt unsure of herself. There was something about this tall stunning creature that bothered her. She wasn't sure what it was.
The way Janine looked at her with those smoldering eyes, shaded with amusement. There was a certain fascination. It was hard to accept the fact she was Bart's daughter, Janine accepted the glass of wine and drained half of it. "I suppose Bart has told you all about me, what he thinks of his black sheep daughter," she laughed.
"All he told me was that you lived in Paris and were studying painting. As I told you, I found your picture quite by accident. I didn't consider it any of my business to ask a lot of questions."
"But you are curious, now. I can see that by the way you look at me. You probably don't approve. Bart doesn't. In fact, he despises me and the life I choose to live. The feeling is quite mutual. You see Dad and I are a lot alike. The only difference is that I don't pretend the way he does."
"I'm not sure I know what you're driving at," Joy said.
"Then, you don't know Dad very well." Janine finished her drink and helped herself to a refill.
"Bart has never pretended anything with me," Joy countered. "But, then, you and I might look at values differently. I know where I stand with him. There's no reason for pretence."
Janine laughed. "I like you. I have the feeling we could be good friends. How long will Bart be away?"
"He said about a week. I've been expecting him to call. I'll tell him you stopped by."
"I'd rather you didn't. My only reason for corning was to meet you, anyway." Janine paused. "It isn't any fun being alone in Paris. Perhaps you'll let me show you the town."
"I've already seen most of it with Bart."
"Not my Paris. Most tourists never see the city." Janine hesitated and her eyes wandered about the luxurious suite. "My place, for example. It isn't like this. I live in a studio loft. There's no stiffness or formality. I don't live in a rut. There's no excitement in being waited on hand and foot."
Joy had a feeling of being challenged. She caught the hidden innuendo in Janine's tone.
"I find nothing wrong in being comfortable," she said.
"I'm afraid you miss my point. I'm talking about freedom, the right to do what you want when you want to do it. It's a feeling like . . . Well, now that I've met you, I have a strong desire to paint you. That probably sounds crazy to you. To me, it isn't."
Joy forced a laugh. She was aware of the eyes, again. There was a message in them she couldn't quite fathom.
"It does sound a little ridiculous and, of course, it is quite impossible."
"A week would be more than enough time. I'm no Rembrandt. I do a painting in a few days. The tourist trade doesn't demand perfection. Mostly, they want bargains. For thirty or forty dollars, I paint what they want. I'd do you for nothing."
Joy caught the almost erotic excitement in Janine's voice.
"I'm afraid I couldn't," she said.
"Afraid?" Janine gave Joy a reflective look. "That's what I mean about freedom. You have doubts so your easy answer is not to let go. Stay comfortable in your little niche."
"I do what I want to do," Joy snapped.
"Do you?" Janine's eyes probed at Joy. Then she turned and picked up a sheet of hotel stationary and a pen. from the table. She jotted down an address. "If you want to change your mind, this is where I live. Perhaps you'd like to drop by and let me buy you a drink."
Joy glanced at the address and then looked up at Janine. The eyes challenged her, again. And there seemed to be something else, something that went much deeper.
CHAPTER TEN
Joy spent a sleepless night. She couldn't get Janine McLane out of her mind. There was almost a compulsion in the desire to see Bart's daughter.
The next day, she tried to dismiss Janine from her mind. She tried reading; it bored her. Finally, she dressed and left the suite. Without realizing what she was doing, she hailed a cab and gave the driver Janine's address. A half hour later she knocked on a door a the top of a long flight of stairs. A voice, "Come in."
Joy hesitated, then opened the door. Janine, was standing in front of a canvas, working on a painting.
"You did come," she exclaimed. "Come on in."
Joy stepped through the doorway. She hesitated when she saw a giant of a youth posing with arms bent. He was tanned to a deep bronze and except for the narrowest of loin cloths, he was naked. A dark-haired girl lounged in a chair by the window, sipping a glass of wine.
"I didn't mean to interfere with your work," Joy said.
"You're not. This is Renauld. He poses for me. And Marie." Janine waved toward the girl at the window. Then she said something rapidly in French, and the youth and the girl started for the door.
Joy protested, again, as the pair left. "I should have called you, first."
"Nonsense, we don't have any formalities around here. Hell, I don't even have a phone." Janine swept some clothes off an old divan. "Sit down, I'll get us some wine." She paused, "Don't mind the looks of the joint. It's always a mess. Renauld never hangs anything up."
Joy gave her a quick look, Janine was as much as admitting the tall youth lived there. But, then he could be her husband.
ill Janine caught the look and laughed. "Renauld and Marie share the apartment with me. It's convenient to have him handy to pose. We all share around here. Sometimes this place is like Grand Central Station." She rustled through a cabinet and came up with a bottle and glasses. It isn't as good a wine as you offer, but it's the best we can afford around here."
Joy accepted the glass of wine. She found herself staring at Janine. The girl was wearing an old pair of paint spotted denims, so tight that they outlined the panties she wore underneath. The rest of her attire was a blouse, unbuttoned, the bottom tied carelessly together above a bare midriff. It seemed a miracle that her bold out-thrust breasts didn't break free of the confines of the blouse.
Averting her eyes, Joy suddenly felt self-conscious. Still, she couldn't control the tremble that coursed through her veins. It was crazy. She was thinking of Vicky Neale.
And then she knew what it had been at the hotel, what she hadn't been able to understand there. The way Janine had looked at her, the same way Vicky Neale studied her. The thought came, and Joy decided it was ridiculous. Still, she couldn't quiet the desire that forced a tremble.
"We live and let live," Janine was saying. "If more people did that, there wouldn't be any need for wars. Trouble is- that people are always afraid of what someone else has to say."
Joy laughed as the words broke through her thoughts. "You're quite a philosopher," she said.
"What you really think is that I'm a little crazy. I guess I am. Only, I get sick of people trying to prove something for some one else's benefit other than their own."
"That . . . that isn't so crazy," Joy found herself saying. She was having trouble taking her eyes off Janine's swaying breasts.
Janine was aware of Joy's interest. She hadn't been sure at the hotel, but Joy Lansing had come. And now Janine wanted to laugh. This was her Dad's woman. That made it all the more exciting.
It went beyond that. Hatred was there, a tense hatred for her father that mixed with the desire. Janine had never forgiven him his escapades, the reason for her mother's early death. Yes, revenge could be sweet. The pleasures of the lovely creature staring at her would make it more so.
"Are you going to let me paint you?" Janine asked.
"Is it that important?" Joy looked at her and smiled. Janine was so close. Her perfume assailed Joy's nostrils. The urge to reach out and touch those delectable breasts brought a sweat to Joy's palms.
Suddenly, Joy knew. And she was aware that Janine did too. Still, she held back. In her mind was the knowledge that this was Bart's daughter. The thought offered a deterrent.
But it was Janine who took the initiative.
"You came. I know why, Joy," she whispered. Her hands reached, cupped Joy's breasts. At the same time, her lips found Joy's mouth, her tongue darting between the lips. Then, she pulled free for a moment. "We want each other, don't we?" she said.
Joy stared at her. Her throat went dry. Desire burned in her. The taste of Janine's lips had renewed an old fire she had thought was dead.
Janine undid the knot of her blouse. Her breasts sprung free, bold and challenging. She caressed them, sensuously for Joy's benefit.
Joy went numb with the overwhelming desire. They were so lovely, so full, the coral tips erect, centered in the satiny flesh.
Janine moved closer, hovered over Joy. "Kiss them, bite them, it's what you want to do," she cried.
Joy hesitated. She lifted her face to Janine's. The blue eyes, deep pools like her father's, were tense and challenging. There was no longer any need for words.
Closing her eyes, Joy leaned forward, her mouth starting an exploration of the hard nipples. A dormant hunger swept through her. There was ecstasy in the succulence of the warm vibrant breasts. Reason fled, lost to desire. Joy felt Janine start to tremble. She ran her hands up the inside of Janine's slender legs and thighs.
"Wait," Janine cried out. Her fingers undid her denims, and she started to ease them down her thighs. Joy helped her.
The moment they were free, Joy renewed her caresses. Janine's thighs were so soft and yet so firm. The white columns throbbed to her touch, moved forward to seek more. Joy sank to her knees, stared up, hungered at the creamy flesh that was about to be1 hers.
Janine caught her fingers in Joy's hair. "You, too. I want to see you," she cried out. Her fingers worked at Joy's clothes. Impatient at the delay, Joy almost tore them off.
Then, free of them, the girls swept into each other's arms, breast pulsating against breast, thigh churning against thigh. The gentleness gave way to violence as they searched for the first wild surge of passion.
It lasted only for a moment. Then Janine became the aggressor. Anxious, she did away with preliminaries.
Joy sobbed as the burning mouth found her center of love. She was unaware of the greediness of the attack. Legs arching, they parted to accept a love that had been long too dormant.
The sensations were exquisite, unbearable, driving her wild. Compared to Vicky Neale, Janine was overpowering. The hot lips never rested; her fingers were electric shocks, adding to the maddening flight into ecstasy.
Joy twisted and cried out. Shudders racked her body as nerve endings felt a litany of sensation. And there was no stopping Janine. She was insatiable in her lust.
Finally, she pulled free and stared at Joy. A smile creased her mouth as she saw Joy's twitching face, the still moving hips.
"Love me," she demanded. "It's your turn." The coldness in her voice went unnoticed by Joy.
Joy was far too excited and hungry. The lovely body, the full sweeping breasts were all she could see. Yet, it was still Janine who held command.
Her slender body went taut, then rose with disciplined responsiveness.
Writhing, with wanton abandon, she cried out, "Don't stop. Don't ever stop."
Joy felt the fires mount. The sobs of delight erupting from Janine spurred her on. To please her new-found lover became an obsession. She labored at the task.
"You're wonderful," Janine laughed as it finally came to an end. "We're perfect for each other."
Joy stared at her. Passion was still alive in the blue eyes. Janine's wondrous breasts were quivering, fascinating. Thoughts rose in conflict, little doubts that frightened Joy. God, I am Lesbian.
Living with Bart, she had almost forgotten Vicky Neale, but now. She knew that she had never really felt anything with him. Even the feeling of sudden guilt couldn't counter that. She was unaware that she was frowning.
Janine noticed it, though. "Thinking about Bart, Darling? It is crazy, isn't it? He pays the way and you find pleasure with his daughter."
Joy stared at her, searched for something to say. The words wouldn't come.
Janine went on, "Tell me you want me, that you don't want Bart any more," she said. "Tell me." Her voice was demanding.
Suddenly, Joy found her senses. She was seeing Vicky Neale, again, that afternoon when she had walked in on Vicky with the dark-haired girl.
She shook her head. "I like what I have with Bart. I'm sorry, Janine. This afternoon should never have happened."
"But it did happen." Janine smiled. "You were hungry and I satisfied your hunger. Why not admit you enjoyed it. Let yourself be free."
"I'm not going to argue with you," Joy said. "And I'm not going to throw away what I have with Bart for this."
"And if he finds out? Bart is a proud man. He doesn't like to be crossed. Don't forget he is my father, and I know him."
"Are you threatening me? Do you intend to tell him?"
Janine laughed. "I don't I think I'll have to, precious." Her hand trailed up the inside of Joy's thigh.
Joy trembled at the touch. She was angry at herself and yet she couldn't control the rise of passion. Reason fled as Janine's mouth teased her breasts and the lips burned.
Triumphantly, Janine forced the attack until there was no resistance left. Joy started to sob and moan as the ecstasy rose higher and higher.
"Please, please," she cried out. "Yes, Darling, I know - I know what you need," Janine replied.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The phone awakened Joy. It was Bart calling from Italy.
"I tried to get you twice last night." he said.
"I went to a show," Joy lied. "I was bored with staying at the hotel." She hesitated. "When will you be back."
"No more than a week. I promise," he said. "About Monday if everything turns out right."
They talked for a few minutes more, before Bart said, goodbye and hung up.
Joy dropped the receiver back in its cradle. A tremulous laugh caught in her throat. She had told Bart she was bored. If he knew the truth. If he knew how much she had enjoyed the previous night in the arms of his daughter. A tremble shook her as the memory of Janine came alive. And tonight, she would be seeing her again. Janine had asked her to come.
The truth was, Janine had ordered it, an order Joy knew she dare not refuse. Antagonizing Janine was not the way to save herself with Bart. Somehow, she had to convince Janine not to tell her father.
* * *
It was after eight when she arrived at Janine's studio loft. Laughter greeted her ears as she paused to knock. Then, before she did knock, the door flew open and Janine embraced her.
"Saw your cab pull up from the window, Darling. Come on in and join the party."
Joy had no choice as Janine hooked her arm and pulled her inside.
"This is Joy," Janine announced to the three girls. Then she made the introductions.
Carla was a tall redhead, beautiful, but in a hard sort of way. Paula was almost tiny, except for breasts that seemed too large, jutting breasts that threatened the halter she was wearing. The third girl was Roberta.
For some reason, Joy took an instant dislike to Roberta. A cigarette dangled from full un-painted lips. Her hair was a nondescript mousy brown and cut short. Perhaps it was her eyes that bothered Joy the most. Black-brown, they were piercing and, at the moment, caressing and undressing Joy.
"You better have a drink and catch up," Janine said. "We've already started." She thrust a filled glass of some cheap wine in Joy's hand.
Joy accepted the drink. She was conscious of eyes staring at her. And she had a feeling this party might be one she'd live to regret.
Carla put a record on a small record player and announced she felt like dancing. She started to sway seductively to the music.
Whirling around the room, Carla started to shed her clothes. In a matter of minutes, she was naked except for a bra and panties.
"Carla used to dance at the Folies Bergere," Janine whispered in Joy's ear. "She's really good."
Joy grudgingly had to admit it was true. The girls flashing hips and thighs were poetry.
The admiration died as Carla flung aside her bra and swung into Roberta's arms. The two women danced together thigh hugging thigh.
Joy watched as the girls made love. Carla had the most unbelievable breasts, full, firm, the nipples a glossy red.
Suddenly, Joy knew why the buds were so red and gleaming. Carla had applied lipstick to the nipples. She shot a quick glance at the other girls. Mouths were strained, eyes shining. They were enjoying the orgy.
The piece on the record player ended with a coarse grind of the needle.
Janine put on another record. "Let's all dance," she laughed. As she said it, she took Carla from Roberta.
Joy wasn't prepared as Roberta turned suddenly and caught her in her arms.
"You're as lovely as Janine, Darling," she whispered in Joy's ear.
Joy felt the pressure of strong thighs against her. She winced as Roberta's hands pinched her buttocks. They felt like a man's, rough and unkind. Shame burned through the pores of Joy's body. She tried to push Roberta away. The woman had a man's strength, imprisoning her.
Looking around wildly for Janine, she discovered Janine was having her own fun, fondling Carla's breasts.
Finally, as the piece came to an end, Joy managed to escape.
Disgust came in waves. She felt dirty from the grinding rubbing dance with Roberta. She could still feel the hurt of the pinching hands.
"You and I can have some fun together, Darling," Roberta was saying.
Joy looked at her. "I'm not your type," she said, coldly. "Leave me alone."
Roberta grinned. "I can wait, Dearie." She reached over and pinched Joy's breast, giving it a hard twist.
Joy bit her hp to hold back the sharp scream the pain evoked.
"Don't mind Roberta, she gets carried away," Janine said, at Joy's elbow.
Joy faced her. "I think I better be going," she said.
"Going? Darling, you just got here. I've told the girls how wonderful you are. I'm not going to let you disappoint them. We're going to do a show." "What?"
Janine's voice lowered almost to a whisper. Her tone, though, was harsh. "You're going to make love to me. Remember Bart. I still can tell him." Then, she laughed and kissed Joy. Her fingers bit into Joy's breasts.
"Please," Joy pleaded. "I ... I can't."
"You can and will." Janine stepped back. In a louder voice, she said, "Undress me, Joy."
Joy stared at her, not wanting to believe the command. But the look in Janine's eyes, the warning was enough to know she had to do as she was told. Janine's mouth was twisted in a sneering smile.
As Joy just stood there, unable to move, Janine reached and caught her fingers in Joy's blouse, ripping it off, tearing away her bra with it.
"I said undress me," she ordered again.
Joy managed a look at the other three girls. They were laughing, enjoying her discomfort, whetting their appetites for what was, apparently, all planned.
With a little cry, Joy started undoing the knot of Janine's blouse. Janine helped, wiggling free of it. Her breasts sprung free.
Joy startled. Janine was wearing lipstick on the nipples, too. The perfume of the lipstick assailed Joy's nostrils. With nerveless fingers that held no feeling, she started to ease Janine's denims down her sleek legs.
Janine was laughing. Joy looked up at her face. There was no mercy in the eyes.
"Now love me. Show my friends how good you are," Janine commanded.
Joy couldn't move. Fear gripped her. Somewhere in the haze of despair, she could hear the sharp intake of breath from the other girls.
"I said love me," Janine cried. Her hands caught Joy's auburn hair and forced her, guided her down.
She heard Janine's wild moans of ecstasy, then everything went black.
How long it was, she had no way of knowing. An awareness brought consciousness back. Roberta's leering face was close. She could feel rough hands caressing her breasts. More hands pawed at her thighs and legs.
Joy realized she was naked. And she could see die girls more clearly now. They were all stripped nude. Screams started low in her throat and slowly erupted.
She tried to get up. Hands pushed her back. She tried to fight. It only seemed to incite her opponents more. Warm lips, hands that seemed numbered in the hundreds flagellated her into submission. Through the haze, Joy was aware of Janine's high pitched laugh.
It went on and on, in nightmarish sequence. At times, Joy passed out, only to be revived by some new revulsion. Lips used her flesh as if she was something being bid for on the auction block. Nothing was private. It was all so crazy.
Time held no meaning. When it ended, Joy had no way of knowing. When she came to, after the last in a series of faints, she found herself alone on a bed.
Every inch of her skin crawled, ached with fatigue.
"You did well, Darling. The girls liked your performance."
Joy twisted her head. Janine was at the side of the bed, grinning down at her.
"Why? Oh God, why?" Joy whimpered.
"We like a girl who fights, Darling. It's the kicks, like a guy raping a woman. You showed lots of fight."
"I ... I don't understand. Why me?"
"Because I wanted you down to my level. Maybe now, you won't think you can despise me."
"Despise you? You think that after . . . after last night?" Joy sobbed.
"Last night was only another night to me. I've had a dozen women as good as you are. Making love to you was only a diversion."
"A - a diversion?"
"Just that. I hate my father. There's no way I can get at him, but I could have you. Watching you suffer tonight, I saw him suffering. Now, whenever he takes you to bed, you'll remember me. He won't know, but you will. And it won't ever be the same for him."
Joy stared at her. Janine was crazy. In her warped mind, she really did believe she was getting even with her father. Joy had a wild urge to laugh. It was all so unbelievable. She wondered if this was some kind of strange retribution. Unconsciously, the laugh did come, bubbling hysterically from her throat.
A hard slap pushed aside the hysteria. Joy felt the weight of Janine's body pressing her into the bed.
Twisting, she tried to escape the cruel hands. It was no use. Janine, in her craze, was capable of anything. Joy realized it and succumbed to the kiss that bruised her lips. The pain became bearable. Joy forced her body to feel nothing. The ache wasn't there, she told herself. Janine wasn't loving her. It was nothing.
Janine had accused her of despising. Well, now, she did. It was more than that. Now, it was a deep hate and disgust.
Finally, it was over. Joy felt the weight of Janine's body leave. Through half closed eyes, she stared at her attacker. She forced a laugh.
"Are you finally satisfied?"
Janine smiled, the smile hp deep. Her eyes were cold.
"You're an amateur. Joy. Go back to men. Go back to my old man. Get the Hell out of here."
It took an effort, but Joy managed to get to her feet. Her body was afire with ache. Every inch of her flesh crawled with pain. Without looking again at Janine, she walked into the front room.
Joy dressed quickly. There was only one button left on her blouse. The zipper of her skirt stuck a minute before she could get it up.
Janine appeared in the doorway. Her lips were twisted in a sneer. "If you need some pins, I have some," she said.
"I can manage." Joy looked at her, searched the face. The loveliness was gone now. She wondered how she could have thought of Janine as lovely. "What is it you really want?" she asked. "Money? So you won't tell Bart about all this?"
Janine laughed. "I've had what I wanted Darling. Worried? I'm going to let you stay that way. I'll let you wonder if I'm going to tell Bart."
Just then, Carla came in. She looked at Joy and smiled. "I see our little pigeon has recovered," she said.
Joy hesitated a moment, then ran past the red haired girl and out the door. Reaching the street, she kept running until she saw a cab. It was only after she was in the cab and headed back to the hotel, that she regained some semblance of control.
Joy spent a frantic week. She didn't leave the hotel suite. Whenever someone knocked at the door, she was afraid it would be Janine. She couldn't believe Janine would let her alone, and worse, not tell Bart.
And there were no calls from Bart. Then, on Friday, the hotel manager knocked. He handed Joy an envelope when she opened the door.
"Mr. McLane sent a letter authorizing me to give you this, Madame," he said.
Joy accepted the envelope and closed the door. She stared at it. A frown creased her face. She had a feeling something was wrong. After hesitating a minute, she ripped the flap and then gasped. The envelope contained five thousand dollars.
The next morning, Bart called. "Did the hotel manager give you an envelope?" he asked before he said anything else.
"Yes. I opened it. It's money. Bart, what does this all mean? What's it about?"
"You'll know when you get back to the States. You can use the money from the envelope. Pay the hotel."
"You - you're not coming back here? Where will I meet you?"
"You won't. Now, listen carefully. Take the train and the boat back to London. When you get there, catch a plane for Montreal."
"Montreal? Bart, what's wrong?" For a moment, Joy thought about Janine. But Bart was in Italy. He couldn't know.
"You'll understand when you get back to the States. It'll be in the papers. There's a subpoena out. They want me to testify before the Grand Jury."
"I don't understand."
"I know. There's no time to explain. Just do as you're told. I don't want you mixed up in this. Now, when you get to Montreal, take a bus to New York."
If it's what you want, Bart. I still don't understand, though. This subpoena. Shouldn't you go back to New York, too?"
"I can't afford to, not right now. My chances wouldn't be worth a dime."
"Is it something to do with Maratti?" Joy wanted to know.
There was a pause at the other end of the line. Joy could hear the intake of Bart's breath.
"It does concern him. They want information I can supply." There was another sharp pause. "None of this concerns you. Just do as I've told you. I'm going to be on the move for awhile. When I get settled, I'll get in contact and let you know where you can meet me."
"I could come with you, Bart." Joy felt guilty. He sounded concerned over her welfare. After Janine, she wondered if she was worth it.
"No I'm going to be moving around a lot. Fact is I'm leaving in an hour for Spain. I don't know where I'll go after that. You've got it straight. London first, then Montreal."
"Yes, whatever you say, Bart."
"It might be awhile, but I'll get in touch with you as soon as I can. Goodbye."
Joy hung up. She felt tears scald her eyes but she couldn't cry. She felt terribly lonely.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Joy had just stepped from the shower and was toweling herself dry when the doorbell rang. As it rang a second time, she decided it must be the apartment manager. She had left him a note that there was something wrong with the refrigerator. It kept making a funny noise ever since she got back.
Slipping into a negligee and robe, she headed for the door. As she opened it, two men forced their way in, almost knocking her down. One of the men, the bigger of the two, an ugly man with thick lips and heavy eyebrows that jutted from his forehead, grabbed her and clapped a big hand over her mouth before she could scream.
His partner, moving quickly, went into the kitchen and then the bedroom. "She's alone," he announced to Ugly when he came out.
"Turn the radio on nice and loud," Ugly ordered. As the radio started to blare, he released his hand.
"What do you want?" Joy managed to say.
"Where's Bart McLane?"
Joy stared into the evil looking face. "I don't know," she said.
"Oh, you want to play it the hard way, Baby. Get smart. We're going to find out one way or the other. Tell us where he is and you save yourself some grief."
"I have told you. I don't know."
"Like Hell. You're his broad. You must have had a reason for sneaking back to New York on a bus from Montreal. You were in Europe with him. What's his plans?"
"If you know that, you know I came home alone. The last time I saw Bart McLane was in Paris. He left and sent me some money to come home."
Ugly's hands tightened, the fingers biting into Joy's arms. "Just like that," he sneered. "And I suppose it was your idea to come by way of Montreal."
Joy bit her hp to hold back the scream. "He told me to when he called me," she said.
"Where did he call from?"
"Italy, somewhere in Italy."
A big hand caught Joy across the cheek, moving back and forth a couple of times. "You'll have to do better than that, Baby," Ugly growled.
Joy screamed. The blaring radio drowned out the sound.
"Please, I don't know any more," she moaned. Another scream erupted in her throat as his big hand caught her breast and twisted, cruelly.
"She wants it the hard way," the smaller man leered. He tore off her robe and then ripped the negligee from her shoulders.
Joy was aware of him stepping back and looking at her. Still imprisoned by the big man, there was nothing she could do. Fright brought a tremble.
"McLane sure knows how to pick them," the smaller man laughed. "Why don't we take some of this? Man, what a broad."
"Knock it off," Ugly said. "All we're after is information."
Joy looked at him. It was ridiculous but he was protecting her. Or 'was he? She wasn't sure as the big hand twisted her breast again, bringing a renewal of pain. A nausea clawed at her stomach. Then, she fainted dead away.
A wet cloth on her face brought her back. She was on the divan. The two men hovered over her.
"Had enough? You going to tell us where McLane is?" the big guy growled down at Joy.
"I have told you all I know," Joy pleaded. She cried out as the smaller man dug his lighted cigarette into the flesh of her breast. Then, he drove his fist into her stomach.
The lights flashed out again. It was almost pleasant slipping away into the safety of darkness. She felt the water splash in her face again.
Through the fog of returning consciousness, she heard one of the men say, "She ain't no good to us dead."
Joy kept her eyes closed, pretending she was still out. It didn't work. The men were too expert at their trade. She screamed as the cigarette seared her flesh again. A flailing hand across her mouth cut the scream short. She tasted blood from her split hp. Her stomach was on fire from the earlier blow. What's the use, she thought. They're going to kill me. They want me to tell them something I don't know, and they won't believe me.
"Where did McLane say he will meet you?" Ugly persisted.
"He isn't going to meet me. He ... he said he was going to keep moving. He ... he said Spain," Joy gasped out, between cracked lips.
"Maybe the broad don't know," Ugly said, looking at his partner.
The thin man grinned. "You gonna tell Maratti we didn't find out anything. She knows." He moved toward Joy.
The bigger man's slaps and actions were nothing compared to what Joy went through in the next few minutes. The torture of hands, at her breasts, working up her thighs was indescribable. Joy longed for the comfort of fainting. The man, though went about his work pawing her enough to bring the pain, but not the oblivion of unconsciousness. She screamed and sobbed in turn. What was a matter of minutes seemed hours.
Finally, when he stepped back, breathing hard, she cried, "Kill me. Kill me. I can't tell you what I don't know."
"Yeah," the thin man grunted. He looked at his partner. "You could be right. No broad is dumb enough to take this without spilling. Let's get the Hell out of here."
Ugly caught Joy's chin in a big hand. "Don't get any ideas of going to the cops," he growled at her. "I ain't never knocked off a broad, but ..." He released her chin.
Joy trembled, but she didn't answer. She sucked in her breath as she saw the two men head for the door and then leave. With an effort, she lifted half way. Perspiration beaded her forehead. She ached all over. Her chest was on fire. The radio was still blaring. She had to turn it off.
That was the last thing she remembered. As she tried to stand up, a driving pain shot through her ribs.
The oblivion of darkness came, a welcoming shroud. Leering faces came out of the black chasm she dropped into. Pain was there. Cruel hands, a hundred hands wouldn't let her go. She felt the twist of fingers at her breasts. She smelled her own burning flesh.
* * *
It was the way John Winters, the apartment manager, found her when he opened the door with a pass key.
"She's coming around. You can talk to her but only for a few minutes."
Joy opened her eyes for a moment. Then she closed them again as a wave of pain caught at her chest.
"Miss Lansing. I'm Lt. Saunders. Police. I have to ask you some questions."
Joy forced her eyes open at the sound of the voice above her. She managed to nod.
"Can you tell us who beat you up? Did you know who it was?"
Joy shook her head. At the moment, she wished the voice would go away and let her sleep. She felt so terribly tired.
"We know you're Barton McLane's girl friend. Where is he? We think whoever beat you up wanted to know that. Did you tell him?"
"There . . . there were two of them. They wouldn't believe me when I told them I didn't know."
"You mean you don't know?" The lieutenant persisted. "If you do, tell me. It could mean his life. The men who beat you up were under orders from Solly Maratti. You know who he is?"
"I don't know anything. Please leave me alone," Joy cried.
"That's enough. No more questions until she gets some rest."
Joy twisted her head to look at the voice coming from the far side of the bed. Her mouth quivered and a small gasp escaped. It was Clay Trent. His face was stern, no longer the boyish face she remembered, but it was Clay. For a moment, Joy thought she had passed out and this was some crazy dream.
He didn't seem to show any sign of recognition as he stared down at her.
He knows me but doesn't want to admit it, Joy thought to herself.
"It's important that this girl tells us what she knows, Doctor," Saunders said. "We know Maratti wants McLane. We have to find him first."
"You have your job and I have mine. This girl is in no condition for questioning. She's had enough already. Tomorrow," Clay said, sharply. "Right now she needs rest and some sedation."
"I'll be back in the morning," the detective conceded.
Joy watched him leave. The moment the door closed, she twisted and looked at Clay Trent. "Clay, I . . . I . . .
"Don't try to talk," he said. "You've had a rough time. You need rest."
"Where did you come from?"
He smiled. "I happened to be on duty in emergency when they brought you in."
"I don't mean that. You're here, in New York. College, your father-" "I decided to intern in New York. Better opportunities. We'll talk about it in the morning."
Joy watched him fill a syringe. She felt the sharp thrust of a needle in her arm. Things grew hazy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Joy awakened, the room was dark except for the dull glow of a small night lamp. Glancing at the window, she could see it was night.
Realization of where she was and why came back slowly. The two men at her apartment, then the detective and the questions. And Clay. Yes, Clay Trent had been with her.
Her fingers went to her chin. There was a small bandage. Her chest felt tight. A tight wrapping was the reason. And she was so dry. Her lips felt parched.
She pressed the button on the cord next to her pillow.
A nurse appeared. "Pain?" she asked. "I'll call the doctor."
"No, I'd like a drink of water if I can have one," Joy said.
The nurse held a glass with a straw. "I'll call Dr. Trent," she said.
"I'm all right," Joy protested.
"Orders. Dr. Trent left word he was to be notified when you woke up."
Joy shrugged.
A few minutes later, Clay came in. "Feel better?"
"I told the nurse I was all right. She needn't have called you."
"I left orders. I wanted to talk to you before the police came back in the morning. Think you're up to telling me what this is all about?"
Joy eyed him. "You must know. You heard the questions the detective asked me. It's true. I am Bart McLane's girl friend. I've been his girl for almost a year."
"I see." Clay paused. "I have a lawyer friend here in New York. Suppose I call him. He owes me a favor."
Joy forced a laugh. "I don't need a lawyer. This is New York, Clay. I'm not going to be arrested because I happen to be a kept woman." As she spoke, Joy watched his face for a reaction. Other than a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, there was none.
"Why a man like McLane. And why try to protect him now?"
"Protect him?" Joy laughed, again. "Bart isn't a man who needs protection. He can take care of himself. Besides, I told the truth. I don't know where he is."
"The police, obviously think you do. And I dare say the men who beat you up do too. I want to help you. I feel responsible for this mess you're in."
"You? Why?"
"I'm the reason you're in New York. You left Havenhurst because of me."
"Aren't you being a little naive, Clay? That was almost two years ago. I'm not a child. All that is long forgotten." Joy paused, "I would like a cigarette if you have one."
He fumbled in his jacket pocket and brought out a pack. After lighting one, he handed it to her.
"I tried to find you when I first came to New York. I talked to your mother before I left home. She told me you were here."
Joy's eyebrows lifted. She smiled. "You talked to my mother? I'll bet your Dad had something to say about that."
"I had it out with him when I graduated. We had a fight. That's what decided me on interning here in New York."
"And all his great plans for you?"
"His plans meant living in his shadow. He didn't like it when I told him I wanted a general practice and not surgery." Clay hesitated. "And when he decided who I was to marry."
Joy laughed. "You have grown up, Clay," she said, with a touch of alacrity.
"Enough so I know life isn't a bed of roses. I've learned more about life since coming to New York than I would in a lifetime in the hospital at Havenhurst. I've seen cases here that I didn't think possible."
"Like a girl beat up by a pair of hoodlums?" There was a trace of bitterness in her tone.
"You know I don't mean that. And I do want to help you. I walked out on you once. I don't intend to do it, again."
"Aren't you being a little ridiculous, Clay? A doctor doesn't get mixed up with my kind. Maybe you haven't taken a good enough look. I'm not the starry eyed kid I was in Havenhurst."
Anger flared in Clay's eyes. "Stop trying to be hard. Right now, you're scared. Admit it."
"No more than I was the night your rather walked in on us. I didn't know the score then. Now, I do. I don't need your help, Clay. I've learned to: take care of myself. Now, I'd like to get some more sleep. Please go and leave me alone."
Joy wasn't prepared when he leaned down, suddenly, and kissed her hard on the mouth. Then, without a word, he turned and left.
A tremble came as Joy watched him leave. She wondered why he had kissed her. She touched her lips. The past came back. Then an anger. Perhaps he was thinking he could pick up where he left off. A tremulous laugh caught in her throat. He has no right to interfere in my life, she thought. He can't bring something back that is dead. Still . . . she wasn't sure. It was so long ago, so many centuries ago. Clay wasn't the same. And she wasn't. Tears came, rolling down her cheeks. Joy was unaware that she was crying.
* * *
Lt. Saunders and another detective came early the next morning.
"I want you to tell me everything you did since leaving the states, Miss Lansing. The least thing might be important."
"There isn't much. We went to London, first. Bart had some business to attend to there."
"With who?" Saunders interrupted.
"I don't know. Bart never told me anything about his business." Joy went on, telling him about the trip to Paris, about Bart leaving her for Italy and then calling her. She told him everything she could remember, leaving out only the time she spent with Janine McLane.
Saunders frowned. "And he called you and told you to come back by way of London and Montreal. Did he say why? Didn't you wonder?"
Joy shook her head. "He insisted I do exactly as he asked. He said he'd try to get in touch with me later. He said he was going to Spain and would be moving a lot and that I couldn't come with him."
"And that's all?"
"Yes. I came home and yesterday those two men came."
"Did you tell the men about Spain?"
"I don't think so. I don't remember".
Saunders exchanged a glance with the other detective. "You thinking what I am?" he asked.
The other detective nodded. "You mean London and Montreal. Why should McLane have her take a circular route? Why not right home from Paris."
Lt. Saunders nodded. "McLane makes it a setup." He turned to Joy. "He intended to see that what happened to you, would. He knew Maratti would have someone watching you. And they'd follow you home. The London and Montreal trip was a stall for time."
"You mean he -" Joy gasped.
"Exactly. Maratti's hoods beat information out of you. You tell them Italy and he goes somewhere else. My guess is a later plane following yours."
Saunders turned to his partner. "Get back to headquarters and have them contact the Montreal police. It's just a guess but worth a try. Let's just hope Maratti doesn't think the same."
"Solly's no fool, Jess," the other detective commented and left.
Lt. Saunders returned his attention to Joy. He took a ledger from a brief case he was carrying. "These are pictures of well known hoods. I doubt if you'll find the men in here who beat you up, but it's worth a try." He opened it on the bed in front of her.
Joy kept shaking her head as he turned the pages. "The one was big and ugly. I don't see him here," she said. "His friend was kind of ordinary looking, thin faced."
"Probably a couple of imports from the coast. Maratti is too smart to use any of his local boys," Saunders said.
Joy looked up at him. "You - you really think Bart knew I was going to get beat up? I can't believe that. He isn't like that at all."
"When a man is desperate, he does a lot of things one finds hard to believe, Miss Lansing. The kind of information he can give a grand jury could send Maratti to jail for life."
"Then why?"
"Why hasn't he answered the subpoena?" The detective cut in.
"His life wouldn't be worth a wooden nickel. The protective custody we could give him would only last through the trial. Maratti has a lot of long arms. They wouldn't let him live very long." He paused and looked at Joy. "I'd suggest you leave New York once you get out of the hospital." "Leave?"
"If you don't want a lot of publicity. Right now, this has been kept from the papers, but it will get out. The scandal rags will find you and hound you for a story. McLane is news. That makes you news."
Joy frowned. She was well aware of what he meant. She was still frowning after Lt. Saunders left and Clay Trent came in.
"I want to take a look at that rib of yours," he said.
Joy trembled as his fingers probed her rib cage, easing under the bandage. His hands were so cool and gentle. She wondered if he was aware of her trembling. Looking at his dark head bent over her, she wondered what he was thinking.
He looked up. "You'll be all right except for the rib, Joy. They take time to heal. A week maybe, and then you'll have to come back for a check-up. It isn't broken but it is cracked and might give you some trouble."
Joy felt an urge to laugh. She had met Bart McLane because of a broken rib and now she was back in the hospital again, this time, indirectly because of him. A different hospital but the same circle.
"I talked to the detective. There are no charges against you. Where will you go when you leave here?"
"Back to my apartment," Joy said softly.
"I didn't mean that. Lt. Saunders told me he advised you to leave town. I told him I knew you."
"That was hardly necessary, Clay." "I had to know if you were being arrested. What about money? Do you need some? I'll see that the hospital bill , is taken care of, but -" "I have money, Clay. I can pay my own way," Joy cried, angrily. "I don't need Trent money."
Clay winced "Damn it, I'm only trying to help," he said.
"And I told you last night, I don't need any help. If you have any ideas of picking up where we left off in Havenhurst, the answer is no. Let's understand that, Clay."
"You think that I ... ?"
"You kissed me last night. There had to be a reason," Joy flared. "Just leave me alone. I'm only your patient, nothing else."
He stared at her for a long minute, then turned and walked out.
Joy watched the door close. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her again. And she was disappointed when he didn't.
Clay only came back twice in the next five days. When he examined her, they shared an uncomfortable silence. Joy was almost glad another intern did most of the checking.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The day Joy left the hospital, she didn't see Clay. She had thought he'd, at least, drop by to say goodbye.
Joy didn't leave her apartment except to shop for food for two days. That she was frightened was something she wouldn't even admit to herself. Twice, she pulled out her suitcases and started to pack. The stickers on the sides, from London and Paris, changed her mind. She couldn't believe that what the police had said about Bart was true. And she decided she owed it to him to wait. He had said he would get in touch with her.
Friday evening's paper changed it all. She stared at Bart's picture and the caption beneath it and refused to believe what she read. Bart couldn't be dead. Well known criminal lawyer a suicide. She read on, below the picture. The Montreal police hinted that it might not be suicide despite finding the prominent New York lawyer dead in a car with hose attached to the exhaust.
Joy felt numb. There was no grief, only a sense of sympathy. Bart McLane was dead. That was it. Nothing more. Without thinking, Joy pulled out her suitcases and started to pack. There was no longer a reason to leave New York and yet . . . She knew she had to.
The doorbell rang, startling her. At the door, she asked cautiously, "Who is it?"
"Clay. Open the door."
Joy opened it. "What do you want?"
"I missed you the day you left the hospital. I was out on an emergency call. I suppose you've seen the papers."
"I've seen them," Joy said.
Clay moved past her into the apartment without waiting for her invitation. Seeing the packed suitcases, he said, "You going somewhere?"
Joy nodded. "I'm leaving New York. I'm going to the coast."
A frown creased Clay's forehead. "Aren't you curious as to why I came to see you? There is a reason."
Before Joy could stop him, he caught her in his arms. His kiss was hard and bruising on her lips.
She twisted free. "I told you, no, at the hospital. It's no use trying," she cried angrily.
He dropped his arms. "Damn it, Joy, it isn't that. The day they wheeled you into the hospital and I saw you, something happened. These past two days, I've been trying to forget you. I can't." He paused. "When I saw McLane's picture in the paper tonight, I had to see you again. There's something I must know. I can't believe you were in love with him. He was an old man."
"I never said I was in love with Bart," Joy said. "He bought me. He paid for me the same way your father did once. The only difference was he treated me as a woman not some - some -" Joy's voice trailed off. "It's not the same. We were in love."
"We?" Joy said, bitterly. "I was Barbara Lansing's daughter, remember?"
"What about before that night? Can you deny you loved me then?"
"What happened before that night isn't important. I grew up the night your father handed me that five hundred dollars. I got smart to a few things." Joy hesitated when she saw a sudden brushfire of anger in Clay's eyes. "Time changes things. I'm not the same girl any more," she said.
"There are some things nothing can change. Maybe you're afraid to admit the truth. You think I didn't notice how you trembled when I touched you at the hospital."
Joy forced a laugh. "You think all it takes is a touch to bring back what we had in Havenhurst? If you do, you're a fool. Besides, love isn't sneaking to a cabin and crawling into a bed. I'm not sure what it is. Right now, I don't think I even care. Be honest, Clay. Why not admit what you want is me, in your arms. You're curious. You want to find out what I've become."
Clay's mouth was a hard straight line. Then, he pursed his lips. "Yes, I want you, Joy. And what you say may be true. Back home, I did want only one thing. I didn't know then what you meant to me. But you can't joke about love. It's real. It has to be accepted." He stared at her. There is one way of finding out if we can find what neither of us knew we really had," he growled.
Joy knew what he meant. His challenge angered her. Suddenly, it was more than a challenge.
In a way, it was a chance for revenge. Joy couldn't deny she had loved him once. If it had been love. She was telling Clay the truth when she spoke of love. She didn't know what it was. That night when Clay had walked out on her at the cabin, she had died a little. But Vicky and Bart . . . that was a kind of love, too. Clay had been the reason for them. Joy forced herself to believe that.
It was rather ironic. Right now, she could turn the pages of the book back. Clay wanted her. It was in his eyes, the way he stared at her.
A thought came. Did it matter if she gave herself to him? Why not? Give and then laugh in his face. Tell him he meant nothing to her, tell him about Vicky and Janine. She could picture his reaction. These were things his college hadn't taught him.
"Bart used to love to watch me undress, Clay," she said, her lips twisting in a smile. With the words she undid her blouse and let it slip from her shoulders. Watching him she unsnapped her bra and let her breasts spring free.
Clay's mouth twisted, relaxed, then twisted again. "You're more beautiful than I remembered," he said hoarsely.
Joy laughed. "I know I'm beautiful. It's why a man like Bart McLane wanted me." Her fingers found the zipper of her skirt. Slowly, deliberately teasing him, she eased it down. Then, she wiggled her hips and let the skirt drift down over her thighs. Reaching her feet, she Jacked it aside.
Attired now only in panties, she looked at him. There was a satisfaction in seeing the light come into his eyes, the animation and admiration.
He'll want me more than he ever wanted me before I'm through with him. She walked toward him, her hips swaying seductively.
Clay stared. He moistened his lips. And he knew she was teasing him. She wanted to make him believe she was hard. But she was still the same Joy Lansing. The pride was still there. No matter what she pretended, he wasn't fooled. She wasn't a hardened woman. No, she was still soft and desirable.
As her head tilted and her lips parted, he kissed her. His hands closed on her breasts.
Joy let his lips linger for a moment, then she pulled back and caught his hands, urging them down to her hips. Leaning away, she said, "Bart used to like to take them off."
Clay felt the pressure of her thighs against him. Fire stormed in his veins. He fought to gain control.
"I'm not Bart McLane," he growled at her through clenched teeth. Then, he kissed her hard, the force of his kiss driving her head back.
Joy laughed. "No, Bart was a gentle man. He never tried to hurt. You always were kind of rough," she teased.
The laugh, the taunt brought anger. Clay wanted to wipe the smile from her lips.
"Damn you," he grunted. His fingers, hooked in her panties, tore them free from her body. Then, he crushed her in his arms.
Joy went limp, let him caress her for a moment. She felt a triumph. She was making him want her more and more.
Pushing at his chest, she freed herself. She gave him a look. "Your clothes are rough. They irritate. Take them off."
Clay stared at her. The expression on his face showed an uncertainty. "Putting on an act doesn't fool me," he muttered.
"I'm not trying to fool you, Clay. You don't see me trembling to your touch, do you? After all, you aren't the one man any more. There have been others."
Turning, she walked away. At the bedroom door, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "You said, you wanted to find out. I'll be waiting when you're ready," she taunted.
In the bedroom, she lit a cigarette and dropped on the bed. Thoughts rose and brought conflict. Did she have the right to treat him like this? And yet . . . It was his fault. She forced that belief. She would show him the result, make him suffer some too.
Clay came to the doorway. He paused there for a moment.
"I didn't mean it to be like this," he said.
Joy forced a smile. "Does it matter what way it is, Clay?"
Seeing him standing there, brought back a memory. A fear caught at Joy.
"Tell me, what are you trying to prove?" he asked.
"Nothing. It's all quite simple. You want me. I'm here. You think you're any different than Bart McLane? He wanted me and was willing to pay." Joy snapped the words at him harshly. Then she was sorry. The hurt in his eyes was genuine. It was there only for a moment. Anger replaced it as he strode across the room and stood over her.
Joy smiled up at him. She let her eyes trace the ribbon of black hair that started at his navel and spread across his broad chest. Clay was even more handsome than she remembered. For some unaccountable reason, she felt a tingle creep up her spine.
"Well?" she said.
He didn't move.
She reached with her hand and ran her fingers up his thigh, pausing and then moving on to the top of his shorts.
She tore them free and laughed, again. "You used to be more anxious," she taunted.
Her careful plans to hurt him, ridicule him lost meaning in the fire of his lips, the hot tormenting flames, the dart of his tongue between her teeth.
The pressure of his mouth lifted her higher and higher, up and up.
"Clay!" She sobbed out his name, nothing more.
Arching, she sought to engulf him, hold him tighter and tighter. Her legs rose, spread to receive the luxury of his manhood. There was hurt, still a tenderness from Paris and the hoodlums, but it lost meaning in the rapture.
Suddenly, Joy was back in Havenhurst and nothing had ever happened to her. He shuddered and it was over, but she wouldn't let it be. Urging, crying out, she demanded more, and he complied.
The yearning flowered anew in her body. She trembled violently as his mouth caressed her breasts, re-igniting the fires.
The sharp burning pain in her ribs went unnoticed. The wild ecstasy became a song, a lilting wonderful song. Lifting, pleading with her body, Joy fought for fulfillment. Crazy thoughts raced through her mind.
Clay was a man. This was not Vicky or Janine offering promises of the unknown. Her hips rotated, the tempo increasing, her body challenging his.
Then, it came, an explosion that lifted her almost off the bed. It was far greater than any thrill she had ever known, greater than the memories of Clay back home. And she knew why. Suddenly, she knew. Before it was a girl and boy seeking stolen moments. Now, Clay was a man and she was a woman.
Joy wondered if this was the love she had taunted about, told him she didn't know.
Contentment flowed through her and she couldn't stop. Twisting and churning, she forced the pace, her hips a blur of speed. She didn't want it to end. A tiny fear caught at her as she felt Clay shudder, but the respite was only for a moment."
Joy felt the moist sweat on his back as they rose again to orgiastic heights.
The tides of ecstasy flowed and ebbed at last. Exhaustion finally called a halt, and they lay back.
Clay kissed her lips gently. "Tell me you don't love me now."
Joy stared into his eyes. "Clay, I . . . I . . ." The words wouldn't come. She felt tears in the back of her eyes. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Why wasn't she laughing, telling him the things she had planned to tell him?
"Tell me you are in love with me," he demanded. "Admit it."
Joy nodded.
"Things haven't changed, Joy. The place, the time, maybe, but nothing else. I was a fool back home. I didn't have brains enough to see what was there all the time. Thank God, I've come to my senses. I guess something more powerful than either of us arranged all this.
"It couldn't be just luck that you happened to be brought to my hospital."
Joy stared into his eyes for a moment, then looked away. She tried to control the tears but they came anyway, drifting down her cheeks.
"Hey, this is no time to cry," Clay said. "This is a beginning, not an ending."
"Beginning, Clay? Beginning of what? We have been all through this once before. I couldn't again."
"Now what is that supposed to mean. You admit you love me. And I love you. What else matters?"
"You're forgetting Bart."
"Hold on. You don't understand. I want to marry you."
Joy forced a tremulous laugh. "You must know how impossible that is. You're a doctor. Doctors don't marry women like me."
"This doctor is going to. You think I give a damn about what's past and done with. It's my life and yours. We have a few lost years to make up for. That's all that's important."
Joy shook her head. "You think that now, but we're not alone on some desert island. I was Bart McLane's woman. The papers will have it. They're bound to play it up."
Clay laughed. "You think I haven't thought of that? How long? A few days, maybe a week. McLane is dead. The minute something else hits the headlines, all this will be forgotten. I'm talking about a lifetime, Darling, not a few days."
It isn't something we can forget. It did happen."
"All right. Damn it, it happened. So did that night back in Havenhurst. We're both grown up. There are some things we have to live with. I'm asking you to take a chance with me. What does it take to lick a past. If we love each other and believe in that love, nothing can beat us. I want you. And I won't take no for an answer." Clay paused to catch his breath. "I finish interning in a couple of weeks. I already have a job up in New England. It's not much, only a small town. I'm replacing a doctor who is retiring."
"I ... I would like that," Joy said. "But . . . Oh, I don't know, Clay."
"I do. And it will work out. I'm not offering you the moon. It isn't going to be easy."
Clay went on. "A man has to have a wife. In a small town, a doctor works day and night. I'm asking you because I need you. There are no bright lights or other doctors to look after things. You and I, Joy, you and I against the world. Maybe, that sounds corny, but it happens to be true. People who need help don't look at pasts, or even think about them. It's now that counts. And that's the way it is with you and me. Now." His fingers brushed aside her tears. "Now, Darling," he whispered.
"I . . . I've seen the bright lights, Clay," Joy said.
He kissed her. It was answer enough. Then, touching her, caressing the satiny smoothness of her breasts, he wanted love.
Joy felt the strength of his arms tightening around her. In a way, it might prove a prison but she didn't care. It was a nice prison, one she didn't want to ever escape from. The touch of his hands rekindled a desire. The flames ignited. And this time, from the start, there was no thought of revenge. She was home, home at last.
She accepted him, accepted everything he had to offer and sought more. It was so wonderful, so glorious.
Joy knew what love really was, then. And when it ended and she looked at Clay, the past seemed only a fading memory. Perhaps some day she would tell him about Vicky and Janine, but. . . Well, the time would come.
She felt alive, so much alive after so long in the void of indecision. It was a nice feeling. She curled up in the cradle of Clay's arms and closed her eyes.
