Belle liked Lee. The tall, willowy, tawny blonde with the swinging stride and the open, boyish manner reminded her so much of Manhattan where Belle had lived before coming out to the Island. Sure, Lee Sherman at twenty eight was an odd ball, a single girl who never bothered with men but used her summer home to entertain women and girls from New York.
1
It began in the spring of the year, just before the summer activities brought the south shore of Long Island to life, before the hordes from New York spread out from Rockville Center to Montauk Point, bringing with them their children, their cans of bright paint, their outboard motors and the boredom of winter to be relieved by wind and sea and mosquitoes.
It began with Belle Harvey.
Belle was on the light side of thirty, a woman in full bloom, her features aristocratic and handsome, dark red hair cut short in a series of waves, her body strong and voluptuous with full breasts, lean legs, and a waist and hips which, with maturity, made her even more appealing than she had been as a'girl.
Now, at eight o'clock in the morning in the bedroom of her waterfront house in Lindenhurst, she stretched, opened her eyes, saw the brightness of the new day, and groaned, "Oh, Gawd!"
She turned to her right. The indentations on the pillow next to hers were still there, and the covers had been thrown aside so that part of them were on her. Reaching out her hand, she ran it over the rumpled sheet and found it cold. That meant that Jason had been gone a while.
There had been a time when she would awaken to have breakfast with Jason before he left for the newspaper office in Long Island City, but that was in the early days of their five-year marriage. That was when it had been exciting to live the year round in a waterfront summer community, when bed had been exciting, when many things had been exciting and wonderful and new.
She closed her eyes and made a wish. "I hope it's late," she whispered aloud. "I hope to hell most of the morning is gone." Then she opened her eyes and turned to look at the clock on the nightstand. "God damn it all!" she moaned. "It's only eight o'clock!"
That meant a good three hours before whatever life there was in her part of Lindenhurst would become activated. Three hours before she could call Lill or Gwen or any of the other lonely and bored women of the year-round residents, three hours before she would have anything to do.
She sat up and looked down at the mounds made by her feet. "What in God's name am i going to do for three hours?" she said. And a small voice somewhere back in her mind answered, "The same thing you do every morning for the three hours. Nothing much."
It had been a long winter, longer, it seemed, than most of the five she had spent here. Each winter seemed to grow longer, too, longer and bleaker. There had been the bridge parties, true, and the gang got together every Saturday night at The Breakers, their favorite bar and grill. But how long can you sit around and sing the same old songs to Whitey Mulhalley's miserable piano tinkling? And how much could you tolerate the clumsy flirtations of the husbands of your friends, men grown chubby and awkward and loud, not to mention insulting?
Summer would be here in another month, and with it there would be new faces as well as the return of old friends. There would be life and activity and the canals would be streaked with cabin cruisers loaded with people waving at you and inviting you to their homes for cocktails. You would hear new gossip and fresh talk, and there would be a rejuvenation, a charge that would have to last you through the next winter until it began all over again....
Next winter! Belle fell back with a groan. How could she last another winter? And yet she knew she would do it. She knew that, in spite of her boredom, she was actually getting used to it and that it was becoming a part of her, or she was becoming a part of it. Just as she had become a part of Jason....
Jason had not been the best answer to a girl's dreams. He was plodding and he was prosaic. He smiled always, a weak, noncommittal type of smile, said the expected things, pleasantries that neither excited nor irritated, he was the same day in and day out and she knew what life with him would be in another ten years or twenty. Dull. But she was getting used to it and accepted it as a way of life for herself.
Even though she hated it. Just as she hated Lindenhurst, the canals jutting in from the bay, the bulkhead facing their canal, their two boats tied to their dock the rowboat with a ten-horsepower, used by Jason when he fished alone, and the 18-foot cabin cruiser. Belle Harvey hated it all.
And hating everything, hating the day before her, she swept aside the covers hurriedly and got up to face it. It was like a plunge into a cold pool; it had to be done quickly or she could not endure it.
The Harvey house was a two-story affair that looked like a cottage with a second floor added. It was trim and white and had a picket fence fronting East Siesta Drive. Being on East Seista Drive meant that it was on the east side of one of the canals, canals built years before by a developer who had an idea that people would go for a Venetian canal arrangement. They went for it all right, but only in summer. Only a few diehards like the Harveys, for instance, stayed on winter as well as summer. The Drive itself ran along the canal, with a strip of land between the paved street and the water. This strip was owned by the people who had the property facing it across the street, and it was faced with bulkheading and docks for their boats.
Her place, Belle told herself as she came down the stairs wearing a quilted robe, was one of the best on the Drive. They had spent a good deal of money on a new bulkhead during the early days when their enthusiasm had been strong. They had to have a deep dredging job done in order to make a clearance for the dock and whatever boats they would have, and that had cost money, too. In fact, what with fixing up the house in addition, and then buying the boats and all the extra equipment needed for a waterfront place, the Harveys were still in debt.
So Jason worked hard. He was a rewrite man on a Long Island paper but that wasn't enough to pay their bills. So he did travel stories on vacation places on Long Island, covering all the worth while spots along the Sound and the Bay and inland. They lived on his salary and paid their back bills on his free lance work.
It never occurred to Belle that she go to work to help out. And it never struck Jason that she should, either. Belle was a woman who stayed at home and worked at being a housewife.
Jason, good boy, had made a pot of coffee and left it on the stove. Belle turned on the flame and as she waited for it to come to a boil, opened the front door for the morning paper. The front lawn running down to the road in a smooth incline, was starting to show green once more. Beyond the road on the strip facing the water, it was greener still. She could see the top of the cruiser bobbing on the canal.
"Mine," she thought. "All mine." It was an automatic expression, one she had used from the very beginning. Now, even though there was no longer any thrill in thinking it, she let her mind express the words anyway as from habit.
She had started to close the door when she saw the black, sleek Jaguar sedan parked before the house across the canal. "Well!" she breathed. "I see Lee is back. Must have come in during the night. Didn't see her car there last night."
Then she noticed that the windows of the beach house were open. Lee always had been a fresh air fiend, even when she came out during the brisk days of spring. Belle frowned. It wasn't usual for Lee to come to Lindenhurst on week days until summer, and here it was Tuesday. She came out., it was true, on week ends as soon as winter let up a little in New York, where Lee Sherman lived and worked. But here she was now, visiting on a Tuesday, and Belle wondered idly as to why. Although it didn't matter, really. Nothing mattered.
She heard the coffee boiling over and rushed back inside. Still thinking about Lee, she poured a cup and brought it into the living room. She could sit here and look through the large picture windows and see Lee's house. It gave her something to do, just drinking and looking.
Belle liked Lee. The tall, willowy, tawny blonde with the swinging stride and the open, boyish manner reminded her so much of Manhattan where Belle had lived before coming out to the Island. Sure, Lee Sherman at twenty eight was an odd ball, a single girl who never bothered with men but used her summer home to entertain women and girls from New York.
Business friends, Lee let it be known. Lee was a fashion designer and head of her department in a large ad agency. The wonen she brought for week ends to Lindenhurst were buyers and people of that sort. And when she brought out younger girls, timid, downward glancing types barely out of their teens, Lee said they were new girls employed by the office, girls she was breaking in, and wanted them to relax with their boss at her place on the south shore.
Belle lit a cigarette and smiled to herself. Lee was smart. Lee was discreet. She dressed and acted very much the woman. True, she was a bit more free in her manner than most women; she had a more casual, relaxed and open manner than the other women of Lindenhurst. But that was seen as the way of the sophisticate, the Vogue girl who was part woman and part gangling boy, and it was all very amusing and charming to the other, less sleek, women.
But this didn't fool Belle. She had known a few girls like Lee back in New York. They were discreet and they were smart. They didn't hide their way of life, neither did they flaunt it. They didn't swagger like men, nor did they wear mannish clothes. There was a word for that other type: butch. They were so flagrant, they were ridiculous and they were cheap.
There was nothing ridiculous about Lee Sherman, and nothing cheap. But Belle knew that she was a Lesbian.
The only thing that struck Belle as strange was the way in which Lee and her friends were accepted by the members of the community. They just did not seem to be aware of Lee's deviations. They actually believed that her visitors were business contacts and the fact that Lee had no men friends made no unseemly impression.
These people, Belle decided long ago, were naive. And that was all to the good as far as Lee was concerned. She was able to do as she wished and she still got along with these housewives who would be shocked if they ever actually saw a woman in the arms of another in the act of sexual love.
"Good luck, Lee," Belle said aloud. "Have a ball, gal. At least you've got something different to look forward to week after week."
Belle felt very much alone among her neighbors, even though she spent a good deal of time with them and they were her only friends. Her background had been different; they read all the best sellers as doled out to them by the book clubs, and she picked out her own literature. Her choice in music leaned toward concert and opera; they had no choice. She knew about the odd ways of life; they knew only their own ways.
She did not, however, impose her tastes and opinions on her friends. She went along with them in their ways and did more than merely tolerate them. She was able to show interest in their--likes and dislikes and still managed to retain her own.
She sighed as she poured a second cup of coffee. She was trapped, that's what; trapped by her home, by her husband and by Jason's work. All she could do was take it and God damn everything to hell when she was alone like this.
The living room was warmer when she went back to it. Sitting down with her cup, she loosened the robe and stretched out her legs. She slouched wantonly and looked down at herself. Jason had gotten slightly loaded the night before and he had made love to her. These days the only time he did get aroused was when he had had enough drinks. Belle didn't care much one way or the other. She figured that if he had his sex when he wanted and needed it, it would make him happier in his work.
She had not responded at first when he began, but she warmed in intensity as he probed and searched her. The fire lit them both and at the end she was as excited as he. But he had fallen asleep pressed against her. Bored and disgusted, she had pulled herself away and remained awake for at least an hour, wondering how she ever got into this ridiculous situation.
But it was too late to go back and she was too listless now to begin all over again. She was Mrs. Jason Harvey, the smart and handsome wife of one of the nicer and more successful Siesta Drive set, and much envied.
There had been no sign of life at Lee's place but that was par for the course. Lee and her guests always slept late, especially the morning after arrival. Belle knew that Lee wasn't bored and disgusted with her way of life. It one partner bored her, she could always bring up another the following week end. Lee pretty much kept a full cycle going always.
Lee had the right idea. She was the only smart one. Belle, for all her background and intelligence, was exactly like the other housewives, lonely in the day when their husbands were at work, and lonelier when their husbands came home, listless and forever killing time.
Well, the hell with it, Belle thought. The newspaper was still on the couch where she had tossed it. Her mind had been so occupied with Lee Sherman and the chain of thoughts conjured by seeing the Jaguar that she hadn't looked at it. Jason would expect a report on the writing from her; she was that much at least a part of his life. She would get to it sometime before Jason came home at seven.
The clock on the mantle of the fieldstone fireplace read nine o'clock when she decided she wanted still another cup of coffee. It seemed as if three hours had gone by instead of only one, the time dragged so slowly. Maybe she should have gotten drunk with Jason, she probably would have been able to sleep later, with that much less time to kill.
The phone rang while she was pouring her coffee. "Damn!" she mumbled. "Who could that be? I don't want to talk to anybody."
It was Louise Wagner, her voice heavy and sleepy. "Is it important, Louise?" Belle said. "I just want to cream and sugar my coffee and I'll be with you."
Without waiting for Louise's answer, Belle finished the preparations of the coffee and brought the cup into the living room. She picked up the phone.
"Good morning, Louise. What are you doing up at this hour, for God's sake?"
"I haven't had a minute's sleep all night, Belle."
"What's the matter? Your hot flashes bothering you again?"
Louise Wagner was a very attractive thirty-five. Her face, demure and doll-like in youth, had thinned to a sharpness that was close to beauty. She and her husband Buff were from the Midwest where he had been a successful farmer. Ten years ago they had moved to Lindenhurst with Buff being signed on as foreman on a Bethpage farm. Louise had dreamed of the big city all her life and had urged Buff to move east. But Buff was a country boy all the way. He wanted no part of New York; Lindenhurst was a compromise. Louise had gone to New York for weekends a few times, found it crowded and bustling and not as glamorous as she had expected. She finally settled for Lindenhurst life and had become part of the Sierra Drivers and one of Belle's intimates.
Now Louise yawned audibly. "It's a good thing you live across the canal," she said. "I'll bet you didn't hear a thing last night, did you?"
The Wagners had the house next door to Lee Sherman. The two women were fairly good neighbors, borrowing things from each other and things like that, but they had never become at all friendly. Louise was too every-day for Lee and Lee's style was way over Louise's head.
"No," said Belle. "What happened?"
Louise's voice was more awake now. "Oh, gosh, it must have been about three in the morning. There was a lot of car door banging next door and laughing and giggling. Buff slept through it like a log but it woke me up. Are you sure you didn't hear it?"
"I'm positive."
"Well, I thought it was a couple of drunk high school girls whooping it up and I looked out the window to tell 'em to shut up and let decent folks sleep. And do you know what I saw, Belle?"
"How could I possibly?"
Louise's home-folks way of prolonging a story irritated Belle. It was a good thing she couldn't see her friend face to face as she told it, Belle ruminated. Louise's expressions changed with each word, dramatizing even a visit to the grocery store into a scene from East Lynne.
"I saw Lee and another woman, drunk and laughing, coming to Lee's house."
"Well? And it woke you up? Too bad, Louise."
"It wasn't just that. Belle, they were hugging and feeling each other. like they were lovers..."
For the love of Mike, Belle said to herself. Here Louise had lived next door to Lee for years and she was still shocked by things like this. The really shocking part of it was that she hadn't seen more.
"Well," Belle said, " that's how things go, isn't it?"
"I swear, I never saw anything like it. Why, Lee was acting toward the other girl like she was a man warming up a girl. They couldn't even wait until they got into the house, it seemed like. Grabbing her breasts ... and even ... It was awful."
"It must have been, Louise. Look, dear, why don't you try to catch up on some sleep now?"
"Sleep? Who can sleep? I've been doing nothing but thinking about what I saw. Gosh, Lee and that girl must have been out of their minds from drink, to carry on like that."
"Louise!" exclaimed Belle impatiently. "Don't you know what you saw?"
"What? What do you mean, Belle?"
"Oh, never mind. How about a drink at The Breakers after lunch?"
"Sure. But what did you mean: don't I know what's going on? Tell me, Belle."
"Nothing at all. See you around two-thirty."
Belle hung up, ashamed of herself, ashamed of people like Louise Wagner, people who lived in their own world and knew nothing of any other worlds.
2
Kids, maybe, Louise thought to herself as she hung up. Kids who didn't know any better fooled around like that, boys with each other and girls with each other. Hot-blooded, just feeling the beginnings of sex, they didn't know any better. So they experimented with each other, not knowing what else to do.
But grown-ups, mature men and women? That was impossible. What could one woman find sexually exciting in another? No! Louise shook her head, annoyed at what Belle had hinted. It just could not be.
Still, she was confused. She wished she could talk to her husband Buff about it. But Buff, when he came home on Friday nights, was just too tired to do anything but eat dinner and watch TV until he fell asleep. He only came home for weekends, spending week days at the farm, and all he wanted to do was relax. He left it up to Louise to run the house whatever way she saw fit.
He didn't want to hear about anything at all, not even local gossip. He forgot about his work at the farm and worried only about the Dodgers. He still hadn't gotten over the team leaving Brooklyn but he wanted them to keep on winning. So he watched them on television, listened to their games on the radio, and read about them. And that was all that Buff had time for.
Louise was tempted to call some other of her friends Lill or Gwen, maybe. She wanted to tell someone about what she had seen. But after Belle's brush-off, she didn't feel that it was any use. Belle was the smartest girl she knew, and if she couldn't talk to her, there was no one left.
What she had seen had left a dirty feeling in her soul. It had come as a shock, watching the two women in the light of the moon. Lee had stopped right in front of her door and grabbed the girl with her. She opened the girl's mouth with her hand and then they had kissed, deeply and for a long time. And while they were kissing, Lee's hands wandered over the girl's body, mauling the breasts roughly, then running down the hips and seizing the buttocks.
But the great shock came when Lee's hand went around the hips and to the front of the girl's body.
Louise shook her head again. She couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. Her eyes must have played tricks on her in the darkness, making her see things that just could not be taking place, things that women just did not do to one another.
The best thing to do, she decided, was to try to forget about it. It was still early in the morning; maybe Belle had the right idea she ought to try to go back to sleep for a little while. There was nothing else to do; the Wagners had no children and she never let the housework pile up so that she had to work hard at any one time.
She would get together with Belle and a couple of the other girls idle housewives like herself with nothing else to do at the Breakers, and they would have some drinks and some laughs and life would go on once more in its routine way, with only the weather to really worry about.
She didn't want to go back to the bedroom for her nap. It was too lonely in there without Buff. It was bad enough at night when she had to sleep in there, but daytimes, for Louise, were worse. Buff had been a great one for making love in the daylight. Back in Iowa he had come in off the fields after the morning chores, hungry for her, wanting her, smelling of the fields and sweat.
And she had waited for him and welcomed him, basking in his need for her, glorying in the smell of him, so much like the earth of the farm. They had been like two strong young animals in those days, charging against each other, laughing in their joy and pleasure, losing themselves finally in a delirious mixture of flesh and love and shooting stars.
But with their coming east, something had gone out of Buff. Some of his life was gone once he left the great fields in which he had spent the early part of his life. And with it had gone the great charge, the hunger and the violent, happy need for her. Now, when it happened, it happened at night, in the darkness and under the heavy covers of their bed, hushed as the night and as secretive, over and done with and then forgotten until the next time.
So Louise stretched out on the couch in the living room. She had not yet opened the blinds, so the room was still dark. Her eyes were heavy and sore from want of sleep, she knew that all she had to do was close them and she would be gone.....
"Louise? Louise, where are you?"
She giggled, smothering the sound with her mouth as she lay behind the high mound of hay in the bam. Her cousin called her again, laughter in her voice, knowing that Louise was teasing by hiding on her like this.
"You little brat!" Kitty cried. "I'll fix you when I find you! I'll give you a spanking you'll never forget!"
Louise squirmed in childish delight at the prank she was playing on her older cousin. Kitty was two years older than Louise, and she had been coming to visit on Louise's father's farm ever since she was ten. Being from Des Moines, Kitty loved the farm and envied her country cousin. Kitty was bigger than Louise, her breasts already almost full grown, and wearing tight panties now to hide herself. Louise wished only one thing in those days to be as big and as pretty as Kitty.
Now she crouched behind the hay, her thin cotton dress sprinkled with the sweet smelling stuff, her body heated by the stuffiness of the barn, and loving every delicious second of it. She listened but Kitty was silent now. Maybe she had given up and gone into the house, thinking that Louise was nothing but a kid to go off and hide like that.
She leaned forward, ready to come out, ready to call after Kitty and beg her to forgive her, so long as they could still play together. Then she heard a rustle behind her and the next instant she was caught in Kitty's tight grasp, the long, strong arms about her waist, the full weight and feel of Kitty at her back, and she was thrown to the ground.
"Thought you'd hide on me, eh?" panted Kitty. "Well, I'm from the big city, cousin, and I know all the tricks."
Louise fought back, her small thin body pressed back against the big one of her cousin. She twisted and squirmed, trying to free herself so that she could face Kitty and fight back. But Kitty suddenly released her grip and swung Louise around so that she fell on the floor flat on her stomach.
Kitty held Louise down with one hand on the flat of her back. With the other hand she lifted the younger girl's skirt.
"Said I'd give you a spanking," she cried, "and I'm going to do it, too! Oh, why looky here! You aren't wearing anything underneath!"
Louise felt the mortification of being thus exposed to the older and sophisticated girl. But she felt even worse when the hand came down, slapping hard at her rear, stinging so much that it brought tears to her eyes. Louise had never been spanked at all, not by her father or her mother, and to suffer such an indignity at the hands of the cousin she loved so much was more than she could bear.
She was so ashamed, she didn't try to fight back any more. She cradled her head in her arms and wept as the hand slapped and slapped, harder and harder. Suddenly the spanking stopped and Kitty twisted her around, holding her by the waist, so that she was now on her back, her face streaked with tears.
Kitty's face was red, flushed and hot as she looked down at Louise. There was a look in her eyes that Louise had never seen on her before, had never seen on anyone. It was a strange look, a secret look, wild and savage.
But her voice was soft, trembling and tender as she whispered, "You're crying, Louise. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you that much."
And then Kitty was over her, holding her and kissing her, both of them crying now, their tears blending together. Kitty pressed against her and Louise could feel the full breasts crushed softly against her lean chest. And then she felt a fire, small at first and then growing and growing. It was in her loins and she knew that Kitty was pressing against her with her own body, steadily and relentlessly, as if the older girl felt the need to absorb the pain of the younger. It was strange and new and frightful and wonderful, she had never heard before.
Louise wanted to shove the other girl away, wanted to tell her to stop, that this was no kind of game at all. But Kitty was sobbing now, and kissing her throat and running her hands over Louise's body. She was like a wild thing, muttering words that Louise couldn't understand, some of it gibberish, some of it words she had never heard before.
She did not want to insult Kitty by trying to stop her. She respected and loved her cousin too much to hurt her. So she held the older girl, wrapping her arms around Kitty's waist and feeling the throbbing urgency of her cousin's heaving body.
Then, suddenly, Kitty screamed. It was a soft scream, muffled against Louise's throat, and it vibrated through the younger girl's body. Kitty clung tightly to her for a long, panting moment. And then all was still and quiet. They held on to each other, Louise not knowing what else to do, Kitty's grip finally falling off weakly.
Quickly, then, Kitty moved away, turning her back on Louise, and reaching down to pull her panties back up. They must have slipped down, Louise thought, in the struggle. Louise brushed the wisps of hay from her backside and pushed her thin dress down over her hips and knees, hoping that Kitty had not seen her like this in the dark.
They went home quietly that time. Usually they romped homeward, laughing and chasing each other but now they were silent, walking apart.
Kid stuff. That's all it was. Kids who didn't know any better.
Kitty had never come back after that. In fact, the cousins had never seen each other again and they only corresponded by sending each other cards at Christmas time. Kitty had married a lawyer in Des Moines and was now the mother of two full grown sons and a daughter of about the same age as Louise had been that summer.
It was over and done with and they never talked about it. Kid stuff, that's all it was; two children lost in the heat of summer and the turbulence of budding sex. As kids, Louise and Kitty knew no better. What they had done was simply a substitute for the real thing to come later when they were more equipped for it. Surely no adults indulged in that sort of thing, not for real. Certainly, sensation-seeking authors wrote about it as happening, but not among people she knew, not her friends.
Certainly not Lee Sherman next door. Smart, chic Lee who could have any man she wanted. It was all nonsense and the best she could do was forget about it and fall asleep.
At last...
"Darling, are you going to sleep all day?"
Lee bent over, her mouth brushing the girl's cheek. Myrna stirred, opened her eyes, looked startled for a moment as she saw Lee, and then smiled.
"Hello, lover" she cried, reaching out for Lee's body.
Lee drew back, her hand gently over the girl's mouth. "Hush, baby. None of that loud stuff on Siesta Drive. I warned you about that, remember?"
Myrna pouted, her full lips seeming to bud out. "All I remember is the wildness of last night. Lee! I never dreamed you'd be so good! You were wonderful!"
Lee's eyes were soft. "Did you really enjoy it, Myrna? I'm so glad. These things don't always work out well, I'm afraid."
"I know. I never enjoyed myself with a rough butch. That's all you run into in the Village, you know."
Lee turned away, her lips curled slightly in distaste. "I guess so. Now how about some breakfast?"
"Sure, baby-doll!"
Lee left the guest room, not waiting to see Mryna spring out of bed, and hurried into the kitchen. She had made, damn it, another bad choice. This girl, sweet and doll-like as she looked, was as rough and crude as those she had complained about. Myrna was loud; she had no control in this kind of thing. She was far too free in her defiance. With nothing to lose herself, she didn't care that others, like Lee, had plenty to lose by flaunting such an offbeat relationship.
She would have to go, Lee decided. Myrna was from the secretarial pool of the ad firm, and she had flirted openly with the fashion designer in the ladies' restroom. Her boldness had fascinated Lee, always a weak one in regard to a fresh experience. And although Lee had felt a tremor of fear, a warning that this was not the smartest thing to do, she had invited Myrna up for the weekend. But Myrna had told her of a jealous lover, a Village girl who thought nothing of cutting up an unfaithful lover or a rival. Myrna's weekends belonged to the Villager. So Lee had taken
Tuesday and Wednesday off and arranged the same for Myrna.
And now here they were, the first physical contact over with, and Lee hating herself one more time for having made a reckless and impulsively foolish choice.
The girl was a boor and a dullard. Worse, she was a bore. Lee smiled wryly to herself. My God, she was no better than the housewives of the Drive; as bored as the rest of them!
"Hi, beautiful!" Myrna's booming voice preceded her into the kitchen, and the girl swaggered in. "Nothing heavy, baby; just a dozen cups of coffee and maybe a slice or two of toast!"
She grabbed Lee from behind, her hands full on the woman's breasts, and kissed the back of her neck. "Hmmmm! Yummy!"
"For God's sake," Lee said to herself, "the girl hasn't even showered. She still smells of bed."
Lee, well groomed always, had showered and then gotten out fresh soap, washcloth and towels for her guest. But Myrna had not even combed her hair, and she wore only a bra and panties. Lee had on a pair of sleek fitting Capris and an Italian shirt tied below her breasts. Her hair was brushed carefully, the thick curls tamed and in place, and she had made up her face before awakening Myrna.
She would have to find some way of sending this creature back to the city by night. It had to be done properly; she couldn't afford to arouse this girl's animosity so that she would spread venom among the others in the office. But Lee didn't worry about that. She had a way with these things. She had charm and intelligence, she knew that, and knew how to use them. More, she had power, and knew how to use that, too.
"Sit down," she said to Myrna, "and we'll pour gallons of black coffee down that thirsty throat of yours."
"It's thirsty, all right for you," Myrna smirked. She stretched sensuously. "Let's go back to bed."
Lee turned away to hide her grimace from Myrna. "Eat up, please. I got a call this morning from the office. It's about you." She placed a cup of coffee and some toast before Myrna.
The girl looked up in surprise. "Me? What about me?"
Lee sat and reached for her cup. "They asked me about how good a secretary you are. I told them that as far as I knew, you were very good." She sipped the coffee and looked at Myrna. "You are, aren't you?"
The glint was gone from Myrna's eye. "Sure I am. I'm the highest rated in my class at secretarial school. And I came to your company with the highest recommendation from my last place."
Lee sighed in relief. "That's good, dear. They need a girl at the branch office in Bronxdale. Higher pay, more specialized work. Want it, Myrna?"
The girl was practically ready to jump out of her chair in excitement. But she did not want to have Lee think that she wanted to leave her; Lee could see that, and she smiled inwardly. The idiot needed prodding. "It'll be a wonderful break for you, dear. And we could still see each other once in a while, too."
This was the out Myrna wanted and she snatched at it.
"That'll be wonderful. It'll be easier to get together without arousing suspicions, won't it?"
Lee sipped the coffee and nodded. The poor little simpleton! It had been too easy. Now all she had to do was call the Bronxdale office and tell Jean to take Myrna on. Jean would understand; they kept doing these little favors for each other in memory of a relationship they had had in college. Then, after a month or so, Myrna would be fired, and that would be that.
Until the next time...
3
That was how it began on a Tuesday morning in the spring of the year, in three houses along Siesta Drive in Lindenhurst, Long Island. Belle watched morning television, Louise went to sleep, and Lee busied herself about the house while Myrna read some back issues of True Romances.
Meanwhile, Ben Chalmers, manager and owner of The Breakers, prepared his place for the day. Orrie Shumaker, the handy man, was mopping up the floor, and Ida, Ben's wife, brought out a tray of clean glasses for Ben to set behind the bar.
Tired and hot, she wiped her brow and leaned on the bar. "Pour me a beer, Ben, will you? Spring's come too early this year."
"Now stay sober, Ida," Ben said, his eyes clouded with concern. "It's bad enough watching all the other women getting soused in here almost every afternoon without watching you join em."
Ben and Ida were both in their sixties, both strong and hard-working. They had settled in Lindenhurst when waterfront property had gone for fifty dollars a lot. They were now up to around a thousand each. Ben had not been either ambitious or far sighted. He had bought only the ten lots required to build a tavern and small hotel. This was all he wanted, but it was not enough for Ida.
She could have been one of the leading ladies of all Lindenhurst, not to mention the bay area. All that would have had to be done years ago was for Ben to buy up everything in sight. They would have been rich, richer than anyone else. But Ben had been cautious and satisfied with just making a living.
As a result, now, years later, the tavern had decayed, the hotel had to close up for violations that were beyond repair, and she and Ben had to work night and day to make a bare living.
A further result was Ida's drinking. Folks said that she drank up whatever profits The Breakers made, and they weren't far wrong. But: I've got to be sociable, Ben," she protested to her husband. "The gals come in here and you've got to make 'em feel at home. Now how would it look if I just stood to one side and acted snobbish while the gals had a good time?"
Ben sighed wearily as he wiped the top of the bar. This was a long-time argument between the two and Ben never won. Ida started drinking as soon as she found the excuse to do so and kept it up long past the last customer. He would lock up, do the last minute putting away, and she would still be at the bar, working on straight whiskey now after starting with beer earlier in the day.
And so Ben always went to bed alone. But once a month he visited New York and saw a young lady on West End Avenue who was better by far than Ida had ever been. He spent the rest of the time thinking of her and working the bar.
Those foolish women who came in on afternoons without their husbands and got pickled and talked endlessly and who called him "Pop" would soon melt their pants, by God, if they only knew how good he was in bed with Florrie.
He looked at Ida as she leaned on the bar and sipped her beer. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed to himself. "She's an old lady! I know I don't look as old as she does. If I did, Florrie'd have nothing to do with me! I'm sure lucky, all right."
So Ben consoled and deluded himself, not daring to nail down the fact that Florrie's love could be bought by any man. Next Monday he would go to New York and spend hours in bed with her, feeling young again and being treated as a young man, while poor Ida stayed here and soaked herself in booze.
It was Ida's first drink of the day and, as always, it made her just a little bit giddy. The real giddiness would come later, after she had started on the whiskey, but this was nice, this was warming right down to her groin.
She caught Orrie's eye and flicked her eyes toward the kitchen. The little, bald alcoholic, still bent to his mop, barely nodded in understanding, then straightened his shrunken frame.
"Gotta get some fresh water," he mumbled to no one in particular. He picked up the pail of blackened water and padded back into the kitchen.
Orrie looked fifty but he was only thirty. He had been drinking heavily and steadily since he was fifteen; his teeth were gone as well as his hair, and he was as thin as a sheet of paper. He had been kicked off a freight car at the Lindenhurst railroad station and had wandered down toward the sea, hoping to stow away on a boat, not knowing that there was no shipping at the waterfront here. He blundered into The Breakers and begged Ben for a drink and Ben, understanding such things, gave him several, then kept him on as a handy man. He was cheap to employ and he did the dirty work and he stole very little whiskey. But making sure Orrie had a quart of cheap stuff to keep him going always.
"I'm gonna make me a sandwich," said Ida, wiping the beer foam from her mouth. "That beer made me hungry."
"Good idea," agreed Ben. "Make one for me, too, will you?"
When Ida went into the kitchen and the door swung closed behind her, Orrie grabbed her. He was small and wispy beside the bigness of Ida and they made a strange pair, hanging onto each other, breathlessly pawing and grasping.
She pressed his head to her vast bosom and patted it, cooing, "There, there, Orrie. Don't worry, dear. We'll get together next Monday, don't you worry."
Orrie whimpered as he nuzzled the wrinkled flesh of her neck. "I'm not worried about me. It's you."
"Aw, sweetie, baby! You're a doll! But I'm all right. I can hold out till Monday, don't worry."
"I can't help it. Gosh, I want you so much, I figure maybe you want me, too."
"Oh, I do, I do! Look, Orrie, tell you what I'll do. I'll get you a bottle of brandy all for yourself; would you like that?"
"Whatever you say, Ida. I'll do whatever you say, you know that."
She ran her puffed hand over his waist and clutched him tightly. "Oh, you poor baby! You're all excited!"
Orrie wasn't at all excited. His interest was all in liquor. But Ida chose to believe she could arouse this shrunken example of manhood and hissed her breath in and out between her teeth as she fondled him long and ardently. Then she stepped back, reluctantly.
"I've gotta make something for us to eat now, Orrie. You better get back to work, huh?"
"Yeah." Orrie shuffled to the sink, emptied the slop and refilled the pail with fresh water. He was already thinking of the bottle of brandy.
Ida made up two thick ham sandwiches and brought them into the bar. She poured another beer and had that with her sandwich alone at a table while Ben ate his at the bar, still working at cleaning up the bottles on the back bar between bites.
At one o'clock, the preparations done, Ben opened the place up by unlocking the front door. The Breakers was right on the water, its south windows overlooking the waves breaking below on the beach. On the north was the parking lot and to the east was the end of Siesta Drive, faced by the front door. Later, when business got a little better, Ben would unlock the side door, too, the one from the parking lot. But right now the customers could damn well use only the one door. Ben liked to keep an eye on who was coming and going; it was hard to do with two doors working.
Lee Sherman and a new girl were the first customers. They came in five minutes after the place was open for business. Lee introduced Myrna to the owners and then the two girls sat at a table near the window and ordered stingers.
Ida brought their drinks and leaned on the table. "What are you doing here this time of the week, Lee?" she asked.
Lee shrugged. "Took a couple of days off, Ida."
"Your friend work in your office?"
Lee had made sure to take a chair opposite Myrna, afraid that the girl would fondle her if she sat beside her. "Well, she did, but Myma's going on to a better job."
Myrna, to Lee's surprise, was very subdued; had been ever since they had talked about her new job in Bronxdale. The enthusiastic lover-talk that had annoyed Lee was gone and Myrna acted just like an ordinary girl out with another. Now she left all the conversation to Lee and Ida and looked out the window at the bay, her eyes as far off as the horizon.
Tonia would love it in Bronxdale, Myrna was thinking. The reason she was so grouchy and touchy all the time was that she hated living in the Village. She had always said so. But now with Myrna making more money, she could move Tonia to the country and then they would be as happy as they had been the first month they had been together.
Maybe now Tonia would understand why Myrna had accepted this invitation from Lee and she wouldn't beat her up the way she always did when she was sore at Myrna. She sighed happily, shutting her mind from the conversation between Lee and Ida, and watched the Atlantic Ocean, thinking of Tonia. She couldn't wait to get away from here to tell Tonia the good news.
She waited until the big gabby woman left and then said to Lee, "When would they want me on that job?"
"Why, tomorrow, I guess. Think you can get up there?"
"Of course I can, if I get back to town today." Lee fingered her glass. This girl was a hussy and an opportunist clear through. How dare she criticize the dykes of the Village when she herself was so obviously a slut? She was actually chafing at the bit now, anxious to get away from Lee, and all last night and early this morning she had been so lovey-dovey, so much the adoring one, ready to move right in as a matter-of-fact.
But Lee knew the breed. There could be only one reason for Myrna to act this way: she was eager to get back to another lover. The job offer must have opened up new avenues for Myrna to exploit and she wanted to put them into effect as soon as possible.
It was a precarious business at best, this life of the Lesbian. These were the chances you took, this dealing with riffraff such as Myrna, in order to keep up the everlasting search for something worthwhile, something that would satisfy.
Lee finished off her drink and raised her hand to Ben at the bar for a refill. "You can catch a train back tonight, if you don't mind taking the train, Myrna. I'll drive you to the station right after dinner. Will that be all right?"
"It's all right with me if it's all right with you, Lee," Myrna said sweetly. There was even a trace of tears in her eyes.
Good sweet Jesus, Lee thought. Now the broad is getting coy and wistful on me! What a godawful actress she is. Well, whoever she's going to deserves her, the miserable wench.
"I hate to leave you like this," Myrna went on. "Just when we got together, too." She sighed. "It was so wonderful, Lee."
Lee glanced at the bar. Ida and Ben were both busy so she permitted herself to risk reaching out and patting Myrna's hand.
"It was great," she said. "And we'll get together again, dear. After all, it's important for you to get ahead."
Myrna drew her hand away from Lee's and finished her drink. This was a cinch; she had thought that Lee would give her trouble, but she was easy. Lee was svelte and smart-looking and all that, but she was nothing compared with Tonia. Lee was tender in love, Tonia made her scream. It would be really wonderful to get back to the rough, strong body of her real love. This had been just a change in tempo with Lee. Myrna had had to do a bit of acting to pretend excitement with Lee, but it had worked out all right. It had worked to the point where Lee had helped her get a better job.
Yes, Myrna agreed to herself, she was a pretty smart chick and knew how to play her women right.
The fresh drinks came and the two girls relaxed, both watching the water, both with their own thoughts.
Three men, workers from a house being constructed on the bay front came in and took places at the bar. They ordered beer and looked around to appraise the girls at the table. Then they settled down to their drinking and to making sotto voce comments on Myrna and Lee.
The door swung open and Louise entered apprehensively, peering to get used to the darkness after the outside sunshine. The men looked at her and waited for her to find a place, hoping she would sit near them.
"Hello there, Louise," Ben greeted her, and moved to one end of the bar away from the men to set a place for her. He put down a coaster and an ash tray, thus giving her a private spot.
"Hi, Ben," Louise smiled. "I think I'll take a table. I'm expecting Belle. She's not here yet, is she?"
"No." Ben moved out from behind the bar and toward Louise. He pulled a chair away from a table a short distance away from where Myrna and Lee were sitting. "Sit here, Louise. I'm sure shell be here right away."
Louise smiled at Lee as she took her seat. Lee waved back. There was an unwritten law among the regulars of Siesta Drive. If you were entertaining a guest, the others did not intrude unless they were invited. All that was needed was a casual greeting and no one felt insulted or slighted.
From where she sat Louise had a full view of Lee and could see the back of her companion. And what she saw was two bright, smart young ladies enjoying an afternoon drink. There was nothing evil about it and everything was as normal as a spring day. No, Louise said to herself. She could not imagine these two making love to each other, no matter what she saw last night, and no matter what Belle had implied.
This was a good, healthy world and the sun was shining. The only things that should bother anyone were what to have for dinner when Buff came home fo? weekends and whether they should build a fallout shelter. Sex was there, all right, but it wasn't the most important thing in the world, certainly not something that would upset a person's whole world.
Belle, looking bright and cheerful in a pair of red slacks and a white shirt.and sweater, joined her and they started their afternoon drinking. Unlike Louise, she stopped to chat a little with Lee and was introduced to Myrna. Louise watched with a tinge of envy, wishing she could handle herself as well as Belle.
She didn't intend to drink too much this afternoon but the first vodka collins went down so well, so smoothly, that she had another, and then another. Belle matched her drink for drink with bourbon on the rocks and after a while, they both lost track of the number of drinks they had had and kept right on going-Louise couldn't remember how it came about or when, but they were soon joined by Lee and Myrna and the talk got fast and loud. Ida sat with them, too, and she got generous, picking up the tabs for the rounds as they came. Ben got peeved but he couldn't take a chance on insulting his customers by chastising Ida for buying them drinks. So he kept on mixing and serving and dreaming of Florrie.
The girls got mellow as the afternoon wore on. Lee and Belle talked clothes, while Louise, Ida and Myrna had a go-round about hair-dos and water skiing. A warm glow spread among the five as they drowned each other out in talk and laughter. The three men at the bar had left long ago and their places were taken by others who came and left after eyeing the group and finding the girls wanted no interference.
Ida jumped up at one point, banging a big fist on the table. "Let's have some goddam music in here, by Christ! Ben! Lemme have a load of quarters!"
The juke box started playing and Ida hopped around by herself, wiggling her huge, wide hips, one finger in the air swaying from side to side in a poor tempo to the dance music. The others laughed at her and applauded and yelled, "Go, girl, go!" Suddenly Myrna joined her, holding hands with Ida and hopping around.
Ben shrugged and said, "What the hell!" and poured himself a shot. Orrie peered in from the kitchen door, his eyes glued on the young girl's twisting body, his tongue licking his gums. Two men at the bar looked on and clapped hands in time, pretending they were watching only a dance while eagerly drinking in the cavortions of Myrna.
"What a tramp!" Lee thought to herself, watching Myrna.
"Your friend's got a lot of pep, Lee," Belle observed. "Wish I could say the same for myself."
"Well, she's pretty young," said Lee. "Besides, I don't think she can handle her liquor as well as you."
"Look at her go!" Louise cried, gaping happily at Myrna.
Myrna was dancing alone now. Ida had collapsed back in her chair, gasping and reaching for a beer. Myrna hiked her skirts up high to her waist so that her white briefs showed and the flashing, violent legs were revealed to the thigh. She kicked high, over her head, laughing and squealing, then she bent forward and wiggled her bottom in time to the music.
Lee watched her through narrowed eyes, trying to keep her vision focused. The girl was a tempting wench, a wild thing proud of her body and flaunting it for anyone to see. But she was vulgar, and the one thing that annoyed Lee was vulgarity.
But no matter; she would be gone tonight and Lee could relax another day before going back to New York. She would try to be more careful next time, pick someone more sophisticated, older, perhaps. Meanwhile, let the idiot enjoy herself.
Belle felt tired. This afternoon had started out pretty well when Lee and Myrna had joined her table. The group had been amusing and stimulating, but the more they drank, the more foolish they became. There was no point in anything now, everything was wild and reckless, and now with this girl putting on a bump and grind exhibition, it was boring.
She glanced at Lee and saw that Lee was bored, too. Only Louise was wide-eyed, enjoying every second of it and encouraging Myrna with whooping it up and clapping. Ida was ready to pass out, her eyes glassed over, her mouth gaping.
She got up and made her way to the bar, her legs as steady as ever. "Give me my tab, Ben. I think I'll leave while the party's still hot."
"Where you going, Belle?" cried Louise. "It's early yet!"
Belle paid her check and returned to the table. Myrna was still dancing, lost completely in the transport of her exhibitionism.
"I'm tired," Belle said, "and I want to rest up before Jason gets home. Got to make supper, you know."
Lee rose, gathering up her purse. "Wait a minute, Belle. I'm leaving, too. I'll walk up with you." She called to Ben at the bar to put her check on her tab and walked to the door with Belle.
"Oh, hell!" exclaimed Louise. "Why does everybody have to leave just when the party gets good?"
Myrna stopped dancing, noticing Lee at the door. "Mind if I stay, Lee honey?" she called, her face flushed with excitement.
Lee winced at the "honey," but smiled and said, "Of course not. I have to see some friends of mine anyway. I'm sure Ben will arrange for a taxi to take you to the station in time for your train." She turned to Ben. "Won't you, Ben?"
Ben nodded. Myrna's eyes furrowed for a moment, trying to fathom the extent of Lee's irritation. She knew that Lee was upset; Lee's manner was just too charming, too formal. Being accustomed to Tonia's fury and violence, she expected even the most casual of sexual relationships to flare into an emotional explosion, and she knew that her dancing had not pleased her hostess.
"How about ... how about my things?" she asked.
Lee opened the door. "Oh, don't worry, I'll take care of that, Myrna. I'll pack your bag and leave it out on the side porch. You can pick it up on your way to the station." She started to go out, stopped and called back, "Good luck up in Bronxdale, Myrna."
Louise watched the girl slump tiredly into her chair.
"Why, she's just a kid," she said to herself. "Just a nice kid having a good time. Wish she'd stay around a while; she's a lot of fun."
She ordered more drinks, glad that she didn't have to go home in time to prepare supper for her husband. This was a lot more fun.
4
"When, Louise?"
"Yesterday, when you and she left The Breakers together."
Belle and Louise were relaxing on Belle's dock, spread out on deck chairs with a tall pitcher of lemonade beside them. It was another balmy day and the water rippled and flowed along the canal before them.
"Nothing," Belle said, "at least nothing in particular that I can remember. Why?"
"No reason. Belle, you should have hung around. Ida made dinner for Myrna and me and then we all drove Myrna to the station. She's a nice kid, Belle."
Her tone was belligerent in the last sentence and Belle looked at her quizzically. "All right, Louise. So she's a nice kid. Did I say she wasn't?"
Louise's eyes glanced down at the drink in her hand. "It's what you said to me on the phone yesterday. You know, when I told you I thought I saw her and Lee loving it up..."
"You thought you saw? You said you did see them."
"Well, I could have been mistaken. It was dark."
Belle sighed. She was getting bored again. "All right again. You were mistaken. Well?"
"Well, Myrna's a nice kid. A little good-timey, maybe, but what healthy girl isn't at that age? She's not the type of girl who would ... who would..."
Louise stumbled, not daring to say the words. Belle lit a cigarette and waited. If the fool wanted to be hoist by her own petard, let her have at it, she figured. She didn't want to talk about Lee Sherman and her many affairs, no less one with a slip of a girl who made a fool of herself, and everyone on the Drive knew Lee's distaste for that sort of thing.
"Well," Louise finally blurted out, "she's not the type that would do ... dirty things with another girl, that's all!"
"Why are you taking up the cudgels for her, dear? You needn't get so excited about it."
"I don't like nasty things said about nice people."
"Did I say nasty things about her? I never even saw the child before yesterday."
"It's what you implied, Belle. You said that. ... " She stopped, stuck again. What had Belle said? She couldn't remember what it was right now, but it was something bad, something about what Lee and Myrna were doing and why they were doing it.
"I didn't say anything, Louise," Belle interjected.
"You did. You said you saw them feeling each other up the other night."
Louise covered her hands with her ears. "Oooh! Don't say that! Don't say things like 'feeling each other up'! "
"Oh, hell! Let's forget it, shall we? I don't know what we're talking about any more. Listen, what do you think of the Met's chances this year?"
Louise was silent for a moment, watching a small boat chugging down the canal, a teen-age boy in back. A sea gull flowed close by and swerved out to the center of the canal again. Some ducks bounced up and down on the wake of the boat.
Louise wanted to stop talking but she could not. There was a bug within her that was buzzing away, annoying her. She felt that Belle had the answers to questions that plagued her ever since she had seen Lee and Myrna together in the dark.
"Maybe New York is different than where I come from," she said. "We never saw anything like that."
"Like what, Louise?"
"Women treating each other like that."
"Oh, for goodness sake!" Belle flipped her cigarette into the canal in disgust. "What are you talking about, anyway? It goes on here and it goes on there. You're a grown up woman and this sort of thing hasn't been kept secret. Maybe you've never run into it personally, but you must have read about it sometime or other."
"I don't read about dirt."
Belle's eyes narrowed. "But you want to talk about it, don't you?"
Louise was defiant. "I do not! All I'm saying is that I can't believe that Myrna ... and Lee ... They're all-woman, both of them. It's disgusting that they should ... Oh, I can't talk about it."
"For a gal who can't talk about it, you're doing pretty good." Belle had decided not to lose her temper with Louise. After all, the woman was confused and it was her duty as a friend to try to clear some of her confusion. "Louise, listen to me, dear. There is nothing wrong with sex in any shape or form, at least that's what most psychiatrists have concluded. This includes homosexuality, even among women."
Louise stared at Belle in shock. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that some people find dalliance with the opposite sex as disgusting as you and I find it with the same sex. That's the way they are and society is beginning to accept that fact."
"But ... Lee? Why, she's our neighbor!"
Belle laughed lightly. "Every homosexual is somebody's neighbor, dear. We're lucky to have one such as Lee near us..."
"Lucky! Why, I don't understand you, Belle."
"Lee is decorous. She conducts herself with a great deal of dignity. Some Lesbians flaunt it. They dress like men and act pretty crude about their goings on. That's why we're lucky. We could have one of that kind instead of Lee."
"May I have some more lemonade, Belle? It's getting awfully warm." Louise poured another glass of the drink and Belle noticed her hand was trembling. "I still don't believe it."
Belle's mind had wandered. She was thinking about getting the cruiser in shape now that spring had come so early. "You don't believe what, Louise?"
"About Lee. I've known Lee ever since Buff and I came out here. She's as much a woman as I am."
Belle shrugged. This was getting hopeless. "Tell me, dear, have you ever seen Lee entertain a man at her place?"
"Of course not. It wouldn't be right for a single girl to invite men to her house for the weekend."
"I repeat: oh hell, Louise. Didn't it ever strike you as strange that she has only women friends?"
"Not at all. I think that's quite proper."
"I guess so," Belle sighed. "What do you think, dear? Should we repaint Bella Donna? Jason says no and I say yes. What do you think?"
Belle was sick of the entire subject and sicker of Louise. Maybe she and Jason ought to think about selling the house and moving, although she knew Jason was in love with the area. It was bad enough being lonely, but being lonely with a dunce like Louise around was too much.
Louise was staring across the canal at Lee's house, her brow furrowed, her teeth biting into her lower lip.
"Kid stuff!" she said and then looked startled to realize she had spoken aloud.
Belle stifled a yawn. "What's kid stuff."
"What you're talking about."
"You see, dear? You do know something about homosexuality."
"What do you mean?"
"One of the conclusions that modern psychiatry has come to concerns just what you said: kid stuff. It's claimed that each of us, male and female, has a period of homosexuality in our development when we're very young. In fact, our first sexual attachment can be for one of our own sex. It happens when we're very young, they say, and most of us get over it."
Louise's eyes narrowed. "I can believe that, about kids." Her voice was very low, almost as if she were talking to herself.
"But some," Belle went on, "don't get over it. They're called active homosexuals."
Louise was lying back in the chair now, her eyes closed against the sun. She could almost smell the hay, feel her cousin's body pressing against hers, here in the heat that was so much like the heat of Iowa..."Louise, are you asleep?"
Louise stretched and yawned. "I feel lazy. Gosh, it's awful hot for this time of year, isn't it?"
"Does this end the lesson on deviates? As far as I'm concerned, I've had enough."
"I'm sorry, Belle. I just can't quite understand it, that's all. It's hard to believe that a friend of yours a grown up woman at that is ... what do you call it?"
"Queer, Lesbian, homosexual, deviate. Take your pick."
"They all sound like dirty words to me," Louise sighed. "Nevertheless, as I was saying, I still can't believe it about Lee."
"Well, Louise..." Belle rose and picked up the tray of pitcher and glasses. "I guess the only way you're going to prove it to yourself is for you to make a play for Lee."
"What?" Louise stared at Belle, her mouth gaping.
"Take the direct approach, dear. It bothers you so much, go ahead and flirt with Lee. See what happens."
"Belle! You're out of your mind! What kind of a person do you think I am?"
Belle started to cross Siesta Drive toward the house. She said, over her shoulder, "Well, then, stop talking about it, for goodness sake! Either forget about it, or prove it one way or another yourself! Bye! I've got a few calls to make."
Louise sat alone, staring at Lee's house. There were no thoughts in her mind; she had grown suddenly numb at Belle's unthinkable suggestion. If anyone else but Belle had dared make such a suggestion, Louise would have cut her dead on the spot. But
Belle was too good a friend; Belle was only being facetious, anyway. There was no reason to get upset over anything she said.
And then she saw Lee's Jaguar come down Siesta Drive West and skid to a stop before her house. Louise had been wondering about that. She hadn't seen Lee's car when she got up that morning, and it hadn't been around all day. Louise looked at her watch; it was three-thirty.
Lee swung out of the car, her thighs flashing in the afternoon sun. She was wearing a flaring skirt and a sequined jacket and she walked quickly up the path on high-heeled sandals. This was unlike Lee. She never dressed up when she came out to her Lindenhurst place; it was always pants and blouse with Lee.
Louise snapped her fingers. Lee had been out all night. She remembered now that last night, driving Myrna to the station, they had stopped at Lee's house to pick up Myrna's overnight bag and Lee had not been home then.
She saw Lee enter the house and slam the door shut. Louise growled at herself for having walked to Belle's and not taken her car. Now she had to walk three blocks to Merrick Road, cross the bridge and come back down on the other side of the canal to get home. She wanted to see Lee, to reassure herself by looking at her and talking to her that Lee was normal. And it was too hot to walk, especially fast enough to get there before Lee left. She knew that Lee always left at this time to return to New York.
Louise hurried as fast as she could but when she was walking down Siesta West she saw the Jaguar make a U-turn and come up the street. She waved at Lee, but Lee stared straight ahead, a cigarette in her mouth, both hands tight on the wheel.
"Guess she didn't see me," Louise told herself. And she went on home, feeling very hot, tired and alone.
Lee gunned the car and swung it onto the Merrick Parkway, damning herself with every mile she traveled. She was tired of being herself, sick of the everlasting adventures, weary of using and being used. If she had not considered it to be a fate worse than death, she would have envied the prosaic housewives who were her neighbors of Siesta Drive.
She had called Jean at the Bronxdale office and given her Myrna's name. No more had been necessary; she and Jean did these little favors for each other whenever necessary. Besides, it was not a good idea to discuss details over the phone. Knowing Jean, she knew that Myrna would not appeal to her, and the brash youngster would be canned for one reason or another after a reasonable time. If Myrna then appealed to Lee. Lee would be properly sympathetic but there would be no openings in the main office.
And so another worthless bed partner would bite the dust.
The whole business had left a bad taste in Lee's mouth, so right after making the call, she had dressed and gone out. She didn't want to be there when Myrna called for her things, either.
There was only one place whe she could go and not run into her neighbors or any of that type, for that matter. And that place was Sascha's in Wantagh. Sascha's was not one of the popular places of the Island, that is, not among the general public. But to those in the know, it was the only place.
Ostensibly it was a restaurant and hotel located away from the waterfront and off on a side street. From the outside it looked like a mansion and not a commercial house. There was only a small, modest sign, hidden by vine, to proclaim it as Sascha's. The food was Russian and excellent, the service was exclusive and discreet.
It was, in fact, a hideout and rendezvous for the International Set of New York. Should a stranger try to enter, Sascha would meet him at the door, smile regretfully, and inform him that the reservations were all filled.
But he greeted Lee with a courtly bow. "Ah, Miss Sherman! Good evening." Then, looking past her, his white eyebrows shot up. "Alone this evening?"
Lee swept past him. "Yes, Sascha. Who's here? Anybody worth while?"
Sascha scurried after her on his short legs as she made her way to her favorite table. "Hmmmm, no one that you know, Miss Sherman. However, there are some nice people here. So who knows? The evening may be pleasant for you. At least I hope so."
He pulled out her chair for her, snapped his fingers for a waiter, and retired. Lee gave her order, shashlik and a bottle of burgundy, lit a cigarette and looked around the dining room.
The room was only fairly large and furnished with large tables and comfortable chairs. The lights were few and they were soft, diffusing faces and making everyone look, if not beautiful, then interesting. The waiters moved quietly on the thick carpet and spoke in hushes.
It was early as yet, but later there would be music, a classic pianist and a violinist. Now there was an early dinner group, people of means and breeding, eating and talking quietly. There were several gray-haired, distinguished men with young, chic women, and at one table were two men, one middle-aged, the other very young, talking earnestly and clasping hands at intervals.
Lee sighed, relaxed. She felt at home. The waiter brought her a martini, vodka, very dry, and she sipped it slowly, letting the warmth seep into her, draining her nerves and senses of the unpleasantness of Myrna and the sordidness of lier exhibitionism at The Breakers.
Sascha, as silent as a cat, was at her elbow, bowing low.
"Miss Sherman," he whispered, "excuse me, please, but some friends of mine, good people like yourself, would be honored if you would join them."
"Oh?" Lee barely batted an eye. Sascha knew her tastes and the--likes of his other clientele. If he approached her like this, there was a purpose to it that would be satisfactory to her. "Who are they, Sascha?"
He offered her a cigarette, one of his own, a long Turkish import, and lit it for her with a solid gold lighter. "My good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Arlington. They noticed you sitting alone. Mrs. Arlington, particularly, was struck by your beauty."
"I would be pleased, I'm sure. Which ones are they?"
"They were at the bar when you came in. They are now in their rooms upstairs. I will have your dinner sent up to you."
Lee rose, carrying her drink. "Which is their apartment?"
"If you will permit me, I will escort you, Miss Sherman. I have been invited, also."
He took her arm and escorted her to the stairway leading to the first floor. None of the other customers looked after them, each involved in his own entanglement.
And so Lee Sherman passed a satisfactory night. She spent it with people as interested as she in seeking the unusual. Mrs. Arlington was perfectly willing to share Lee with her husband while Sascha looked on and sipped champagne, and Lee was willing to accept the flesh of a man, so long as this was the price to pay for the enjoyment of a woman as flagrantly wild as Mrs. Arlington.
Sascha had his fill after the first go-round and went back downstairs to take care of his other customers. Lee stayed with the couple all night and they slept together until early afternoon.
"Thank you, darling," Mrs. Arlington said when Lee was leaving. "You must come see us in town. Jack, give the sweet thing one of your cards."
But Lee tore the card on her way downstairs and threw the pieces into the waste basket at the door. To repeat this with the same people would be deadly dull.
5
Quentin Howard ran a very successful advertising agency, and that was all he cared about. To attain the top, he employed the best people he could find in the field. As far as their personal life was concerned, he didn't give a damn. Among his staff were alcoholics, sadists, masochists, fetishists and homosexuals. But Quentin felt that these proclivities were in private domain and strictly their own business.
These were people who had learned how to live with their foibles and never let them interfere with work, which was the only thing that interested Quentin. He didn't even mind when the office was used to perpetrate affairs, just so long as it was done with tact and discretion.
For instance, he knew about the arrangement between Lee Sherman and Jean Cummings in the Bronx-dale office, and thought it a very neat way of dispatching difficulties. The only fact that confused him was the question of Lee herself.
He had known many types of Lesbians but none like his fashion designer. She looked and acted all-woman and she had a charm that captivated men completely. There was nothing about her that suggested her deviation and she had been a challenge to many men who tried to pierce that charm and find the woman.
Now, on Wednesday morning, he sat at his desk and studied his fingernails. He studied them for a while and then pressed a button on the intercom and told Lee to come in to see him. She entered, dressed in a gray suit that accented the trim lines of her figure, her firm breasts, her slim waist and tapering hips. She looked tired, her dark blue eyes marred by the small puffs underneath.
"What's up, Quen?" she asked brightly.
"Sit down, Lee, and tell me, how was your weekday weekend?"
Lee smiled wryly. "I don't know, boss. I don't rightly know, to tell the truth. Let's say it was interesting."
She was puzzled because Quen, knowing what she was up to, still never asked questions or delved in any manner. She couldn't believe that he was changing character. He had a quirk or two himself, including a wife who relished whipping and being whipped. So he was pretty broadminded about what others did or didn't do. Today, however, he was in a questioning mood.
Quen tin pursed his lips. "Interesting. That could mean a lot of things."
"What's on your mind, Quen? It's not like you to beat about the bush. Out with it, man."
He laughed. "That's one of the things I love about you, Lee. You're real. People have to level with you whether they like it or not." He leaned on his elbows and looked directly at her, struck again by her beauty. "You know I never mix in, but you bug me, baby. You're too goddam beautiful to waste on the dippy broads you take to."
"Oh, come off it, Quen! Do you know how many times I've heard that? Stick to your philosophy of live and let live, why don't you, and you and I will stay as happy as we've been."
"I know I should mind my own business. It's easy to do that, and stay out of trouble. But, Lee..." He hesitated, for once at a loss for words. "Let me put it this way: you have everything a man wants in a woman. You're beautiful, you have charm, and you're intelligent. It's only natural for a man to take to you."
There was just the faintest hint of a tremble on Lee's lips as she said, "Why are you telling me this, Quen? Is this on the agenda of Howard Advertising for the day, or what?"
Quentin was silent for a long moment, staring down at his clasped hands on the desk. Then, without looking up, he said tightly, "Stand up, Lee."
"Yes, sir!" She made a joke of it, saluting as she arose.
Hands at her sides, she stood at mock attention and waited. He looked up at her, his eyes bleak. He saw a tall, trim figure, her lines sleek as an arrow, the head high, the shoulders straight. The sight was a painful one for Quentin as he thought of her being held, being made love to by another woman, those lips crushed by feminine lips.
He pulled himself to his feet, went around his desk, and confronted her. Her eyes twinkled in wonder as she looked at him but then she gasped as he threw his arms around her and pulled her to himself. She bent in at the waist to him, soft and pliable, non-resisting, the long flow melting against his rigidity.
"Lee!" he whispered harshly. "Good God, you're too much!"
She twisted her head away to avoid his mouth as it sought her lips, and he seized her hair, forcing her head back, mashing his mouth on hers. He found her lips lifeless, not responding to the fire that was within him.
His fevered hands went down her hips, flattened against her buttocks and forced her to him. She remained with her hands down at her sides, letting him do what he wanted, and not reacting.
He found his breath choking him, his heart pounding as it had not done since his first encounter with a woman. And Lee excited him more than he had ever been. This lack of response, somehow, was more stimulating, strangely, than if any other woman had tried every trick and charm of womankind to seduce him.
He was a helpless, gasping male now, lost in the passion that engulfed him ... and he was trying to make love to a dummy. He touched her breasts; they were firm and hard to his hand, but he knew that they were without life, they were not the breasts of a woman aroused.
His mouth on her throat as he twisted his body on hers, he pleaded, "Please, Lee! Can't you tell what you do to me?"
The evidence was there, in his body, firm and throbbing, and he forced it upon her. But she was rigid, non-moving. Then he felt her shaking, her entire body caught in a spasm. "Darling!" he cried joyfully, and looked into her eyes.
She was crying, the tears filling her eyes and flowing down her cheeks. Her mouth was open in a kind of sorrowful terror. He stared at her, amazed and frightened. "Lee! What is it?"
Suddenly Lee shoved him away, her strength amazing, and then she fell against the wall, her entire body limp against it, her arms hanging, her body shaking with sobs that came from some unknown hell deep within her soul.
Quentin was a complete loss at the sight of her hysteria.
"I'm a fool, Lee!" he cried. "Please forgive me! Please try to control yourself! Lee ... Please!"
She tried to speak but could not. The sobs flowed from her without control. She pressed her cheek against the wall, her body weak, and the sobs drained it of all strength.
Quentin reached for her, barely touched her shoulders and then withdrew his hands hastily, afraid to hurt her still more. He collapsed in his chair, his head in his hands, and waited.
"What do you want from me?" she cried through her tears. "Why do you want something from me that isn't mine to give ... that I don't even have?"
"Lee, I told you, I'm sorry..."
"For the love of God, Quen, don't I have enough trouble without this? If a man like you doesn't understand, what do I have?"
She shook her head, lost and bewildered. The sobbing had stopped now but she was still weak. She started to move toward the door, but, staggering, she sat on a couch against the wall.
"I can't help what I look like," she whispered. "I can't help what other people think and feel about me. All I know is what I feel myself, and I can't feel the way others want me to. Oh, Quen! You've hurt me so much!"
The buzzer rang; Quenton switched on the button and barked, "I don't want to be disturbed for any reason!" Then he went to Lee and sat beside her. He took her hands in his, gently.
"I don't know what to say, Lee," he whispered. "Of course I understand; I always have, you know that."
She nodded. "That's what really hurts."
"I was being overly masculine, I guess, and you are overly beautiful. Look, do me a favor, will you? Take the rest of the week off. Go out to your place out on the Island and relax or have a ball, or whatever you want to do." He squeezed her hands. "Go on, get out of here. Beat it."
"Don't be silly, Quen. There's no reason for me to run off. Give me a Kleenex; I have to do a repair job on my face."
"They're in my desk drawer. Help yourself."
He watched her as she worked at the wall mirror, saw the womanly skill with which she fixed the damage done by the tears until she was once again the freshly groomed Lee Sherman.
"Now," Lee said, "if you'll give me a cigarette and give me time to smoke it, I'll get back to work."
She joined him on the couch and they both smoked. Quentin grinned at his fashion designer. "You're an amazing gal, Lee. I'm glad you're not sore at me."
"Why should I be? You made a normal mistake. I've made plenty, myself, believe me, and a lot of them weren't normal."
"Lee, how did it start with you?"
She looked at him, smiling wryly. "I know you're not delving, Quen, when you ask that. You really want to knew because you're a friend." He nodded, and she went on. "Well, there was a man in my life once. We were both eighteen and very, very much in love. In fact, we were going to get married."
"I knew it!" Quen exclaimed. "You weren't born this way. What happened, Lee?"
"Hold my hand, please. This isn't easy to say. I've never told it to anyone, but I know it's all right to tell you."
"You bet it is." Quentin took her hand in both of his.
Lee looked off, past the window, past the skies, past all things present and future, into the time when she was very young.
"I had all the womanly emotions then, Quentin. He was very attractive and very wonderful, and we wanted each other an awful lot, just the way men and women want each other."
Lee paused and Quentin squeezed her hand to encourage her to go on. She took a deep breath. "One night we found we couldn't wait any longer. It happened in the back of the car. I was green, Quen, but he was greener. He hurt me. . . ! " She withdrew her hand and clutched her face. "He hurt me terribly ... it was awful, awful! He seemed to turn into an animal. ... he didn't care at all about my feelings! It was ... disgusting!"
She lowered her hands. Her face was set firmly; there were no tears. Instead, she looked ahead, her eyes clear, as if she were looking with determination at something horrible because it had to be looked at.
"He was through after horrible minutes ... and I was left ... hurt, unsatisfied, sick. He was sorry after it was all over! He knew how wrong he'd been. He asked me to forgive him, said that he was as much a virgin as I and didn't know any better. Oh, Quen, we still loved each other; in fact, I think I loved him more than ever after that.
"We both knew that, with time, everything would be all right between us, that we would both learn together. We sat and held each other and told each other that it would be fine as soon as we learned how to make it fine."
Lee stopped again. Her cigarette had gone out. Quentin gave her a fresh one and lit it for her. She inhaled deeply.
"He drove me home, he left me, and that was the last time I ever saw him alive. He got into an accident going home..."
"Lee! How terrible!"
"He must have been thinking of what had happened; I know it shook him up as much as it did me and he was horribly ashamed. So his mind couldn't have been on his driving..."
She sat still and quiet for a long moment, remembering.
"I couldn't try it again with anyone else after that, Quen. I was horrified at the idea of going through the same crude and terrible experience. I withdrew from sex with men. If he had lived, it would have been different. But I didn't trust anyone else. So I tried to forget about sex altogether. I say I tried. But I was a-healthy young animal, with all of a young animal's instincts and drives."
"I get the picture," Quen said softly. "You met a woman."
Lee bowed her head. "At a cocktail party. I don't know, she seemed to sense my hunger; she also sensed my aversion to men. It took her a while, many meetings, many drinks, but she finally managed it and I was hooked."
"I'm sorry, Lee."
She looked at him, directly and boldly. "I'm not. It's the only way for me, Quen."
"It's a way of restlessness, of constant searching for new partners. There's nothing definite, nothing sure."
Lee held her hand up to stop him. "But maybe that's the way I am, Quen indefinite, unsure. It fits my way of thinking."
"I can't believe that. But thank you for telling me."
"Thank you for listening to me. It had to be told."
They sat in silence for a while, each lost in thought, in memory, in regret, in sorrow. It was a moment of communion that neither attained again. They both seemed to sense that and longed to hold onto it as long as possible.
Suddenly Quentin blurted, "Look, Lee, go away, will you? Take the rest of the week off as I said."
"And I said that was silly. I've got a lot of work to do."
"The hell with work! Besides, I want you to do it for me. I want you out of my sight for a while. I won't make a secret of the fact that I still want you, Lee, in spite of the fact that I know how you are and what you feel. If you stay away for a week, I'll have time to recondition myself and get a grip."
She leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips now were soft against his and for a second he felt the urge to grasp her to him. But he knew that it would be a mistake so he resisted and let her have this her own way.
Lee rose, saying, "Thank you, Quen. I'm a very lucky person to have a boss like you."
He stayed where he was, too shaken to get up. He was comparing this lovely creature before him with his wife, the fetishist he had married, crude, rough, selfish in the act of love. And he sighed at the loss suffered by men because of women like her and women like Lee.
Lee moved to the door and stopped. "You need a vacation from me, Quen; well, I'm going to take a vacation from sex, too. I'll take the rest of the week off and do nothing but relax in the sun and talk back-fence gossip with my neighbors. They're nice, normal, everyday people, Quen. Married women with husbands and kids and all that." .
"That'll be good, Lee."
She smiled. "Dull, but good. It'll he just what I need. Especially my next door neighbor. You never saw a more normal gal, Quen. Middlewest, with a twang. Her only idea of anything abnormal would be if her husband kissed her navel!"
Laughing, she opened the door and left.
Hearing the laughter, Quentin thought of the laughter of Eros the god of Love laughing at the twists that love could take in the lives of mortals....
6
"I think we ought to give an open house party tor our regular customers Saturday night," said Ida.
She was mopping her damp brow as she sat at one end of the bar, sipping a beer and watching the television set at the other end. Ben was pouring two glasses of beer for Lill Sweeney and Gwen Sterling who sat at a table near an open window.
"Oh, you do, do you?" grumbled Ben. "What's the matter, don't you drink up enough of this stuff without giving it away?
The only thing on Ben's mind was Monday. Then Florrie would make him feel like a man again and he could last out another week of this dreariness.
"Besides, it's too damn hot for this time of year, anyway." He set the mugs of beer before the two women at the table. "Nobody's gonna come out if it stays this hot."
"It looks like rain," said Lill, "or a storm or something."
Gwen wiped her mouth with a napkin after a swallow of beer. "I wish it'd do something. This ain't healthy type weather."
"How about it, Ben?" called Ida. "Just open up a keg of beer is all. It'll be a nice gesture for our friends."
"I ain't worried about the beer and all." Ben made his way back to the bar. "I just don't think anybody'll come."
"They'll come," Ida said. "We'll have a ball. It'll start the season off right."
"The season ain't for another two months yet," Ben grumbled. "But it's no use nagging with you all day, so we'll have it."
Ida lifted herself off the stool and shuffled off into the kitchen. She looked around and then went out through the back door. Orrie was in the yard dumping garbage into the large cans in back. He held a large Seagram's bottle and was staring at its emptiness. Nothing left, he lifted it to his lips and tried to drain an imaginary last drop. Then he tossed it into the can in disgust.
"Orrie," Ida called in a trill.
"Oh, hello, Ida," Orrie replied, bending quickly to his work.
She shuffled up to him, her arms folded across her heavy bosom. "I got good news, Orrie baby."
His eyes looked blearily at her. "You gettin' me some more whiskey, Ida? I don't care what kind it is, you know. It don't have to be high class stuff or anything like that. I'll take the bar whiskey; that'll be just fine with me."
She shoved his shoulder playfully. "Oh, how you do carry on, Orrie, makin' believe you don't know what I'm talking about!"
"Well, what are you talkin' about then?" Orrie turned back to his garbage, rubbing his shoulder. This woman could hurt.
Ida looked quickly around. There was no one else in the yard and only a small boat with an outboard puttering around out in the water. There wasn't anyone at the back windows either. She moved close to Orrie and slipped her right arm around him.
"Jee-sus, Ida!" he gasped. "Don't do that! I'll get killed"
"Hmmmm, don't you worry none about that, baby doll. like I said. I got some good news, sweetie."
"Excuse me!" Orrie moved away quickly, lifting a garbage can and moving it to one side as an excuse to get away from her.
But she was right with him, moving right along. This time, however, she kept her hands away from him and only leaned close.
"We can get together this Saturday night, Orrie!" Her voice was charged with delight and she looked at him as though she expected Orrie to jump up and down in excitement.
He rubbed his dirty hands on his dirtier trousers. "Er ... I ... ah ... But he's goin' to town Monday," he stammered.
She nudged his ribs so hard he was pushed heavily against the can. "We're having open house Saturday, baby! That means everybody'll get loaded and we can sneak out in back along about midnight." She squealed in delight. "Isn't it wonderful, Orrie?"
He nodded, his sad eyes on the distant horizon of the Atlantic Ocean. "Yeah. I gotta get this garbage done, Ida."
"You finish the brandy, honey-sunny? I'll get you something for tonight, too. But try to make it last until Saturday, will you, lover? I can't keep swiping bottles so much all the time."
They were standing behind a six-foot partition that served as an eye-sore preventative between the tavern and the garbage cans. Suddenly Ida grabbed Orrie again, grabbed him so hard that he winced and cringed in pain.
"Ooooh, baby! I can't hardly wait!" she cried. "You can't wait either, can you, lambie-pie? It's been so long!"
"Somebody's comin'! " he gasped through the pain, knowing that this too shall pass.
"Ain't nobody coming, lover! Just you hush up and hold still a minute!"
"It's a car! I swear it is, Ida They'll see you!"
Now even Ida heard the motor as a car swung into the parking area. She looked around the partition, still without releasing her grip on Orrie's anguished person. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Why, it's Lee Sherman Now what's she doing back?"
"Will you leggo, Ida?" moaned Orrie. "It's hurtin' fierce!"
"Oh! I forgot!" Ida dropped her arms. "But don't worry, dear; well do lots more on Saturday night, you hear?"
Orrie gritted his gums. "The bottle you promised me, Ida..."
"I'll have it for you, never fear. Now you'll have to excuse me, Orrie." Her tone became briskly boss-like. "I've got to take care of my customers. Hurry up with this garbage."
She rounded the partition, calling, "Hi Lee! Are you still here or did you leave and come back?"
Orrie sighed in relief, stretched to ease away the pain and returned with pleasure to the task of sorting garbage cans. He would have still more pleasure to look forward to when he had the bottle. It would help him forget the coming Saturday.
Lee swung out of the car, her long legs in an arch. "Anybody inside, Ida?"
Ida squinted her eyes against the sun. "Just Lill and Gwen, that's all. Maybe some of the rest of the gang'll be around later. Hot, ain't it?"
"Hotter than hell. The city's worse, though." Lee moved to the side door but then stopped, snapping her fingers. "I forgot. This door's still locked."
Too weary and hot to answer, Ida nodded and plowed along the path to the front door with Lee. This heat spell had come too suddenly and too early. A body wasn't conditioned to such a change. If it would only rain...
Inside, however, it was slightly bearable. The fans made a difference. Ben said that he wanted to install air-conditioning but Ida's drinking used up the profits and so he couldn't afford the luxury.
like every other man whose eyes fell on Lee, he lit up and came to life when she entered. And he was surprised when she asked Lill and Gwen if she could join them. Lee had always maintained an amiable distance from most people, and especially from Lill and Gwen, two stodgy, heavy-set housewives whose only interest was in how Charlie Chaplin managed to father children at his age.
"Howdy, Lee!" Ben called. "What'll you have?"
"If you've got something to eat, I'll have that," Lee answered. "And bring the girls here a refill on their drinks. I'll have a highball, very tall and very cold, please."
Lill and Gwen laughed at this, thinking that Lee always said things so smartly, but more to show how pleased they were that she had joined them. They had admired Lee for years, loved the clothes she wore, adored her hair styling, and envied her manner. Now she was one of them, a regular gal, sitting and eating and drinking with them. They both felt they had moved several rungs up the social ladder of Siesta Drive.
Lee gave it the good try. She talked with them, listened to their troubles and told them some of hers. But it just did not come off. She could not be one of these people, no matter how much she wanted to. They were mundane, they were dull; they were, in fact, she told herself, idiots. And she was a bigger idiot to attempt to play this game of "And what else is new?"
She polished off her highball and ordered another, and this time she didn't bother treating the others. Carried away by the encounter, Lill ordered a round of drinks, and then, not to be outdone, Gwen did the same.
Carried away still further at being honored by Lee's companionship, Lill and Gwen vied with each other to set them up. Ida managed to wrangle her way into the group and soon she was also doing her best to get a full-size drinking bout going.
Along about the tenth round Lee decided that this wasn't such a bad bunch after all. What the hell, they were all human beings together and fifty or sixty years from now, none of them would be around, so why not enjoy yourself and love one another, and the hell with the differences in taste, standards and sex.
"You all gotta come to our open house!" Ida sang out.
"Of course we will," said Lee, blinking to keep her eyes focused on Ida's bleary face. "When is it."
"Sat'dy night! Right, Ben?"
"Yeah!" Ben called from the bar. So long as Lee was coming to the party, he was glad it was taking place. He liked having the girl around. She was clean and fresh and smart, a lot like Florrie, or at least the way Florrie would have been if she had had Lee's breaks.
Four boys, barely over twenty-one each, were at the bar, drinking beer out of bottles and eyeing Lee even as they sipped. They couldn't stop looking at her, inhaling each detail of her figure as she sat carelessly at the table, watching her bottom when she rose and leaned across the table to talk to one of her companions.
Ben noticed this. He eased close to the boys and said very gently, "Ease off, fellows. There's nothing there for you."
The boy who seemed to be the leader, a lean kid in, jeans and a sweatshirt, smiled at him, showing bright white teeth and a bland look, "Ain't no harm in looking, is there, Pop?"
"Just so long as you keep it that way." Ben wiped the bar with a rag, his eyes away from the boys. "Besides, I think you fellows have had enough to drink for one day. Sorry, but that's the last beer for you."
The smallest of the four, a tightly-muscled, pug-faced, yellow-haired boy named Cal, leered at Lee a moment longer, and then said, "We're behaving ourselves real good, mister. Why are you picking on us?"
"I'm not picking on you. I just think you've had enough to drink. It's for your own good, boys." One young fellow had not been saying a word.
His eyes were all for Lee and he licked his lips to clean the suds on them. Now, his voice low and harsh, he said, "What d'ya do, bud, take our dough and then kick us out?"
"That ain't nice at all." This from the last of the four, a middle-sized but scrawny individual in a leather jacket and riding pants and boots. His face was covered with perspiration and he kept wiping it off with the back of his hand, shoving it up into his black crew cut. "It ain't neighborly, fellah. Folks like us is liable to resent it."
Ben was an old timer in the bar business and he knew trouble when he saw it. The way these boys were talking now, slow and low, and the way they were acting, smirking, sneering through their easy words, he knew that this was trouble all the way. He decided that it wasn't worth it. All he had to do was soft-soap the kids and maybe they would go away.
They were strangers to him; he had never seen them before. But he guessed that they were from one of the smaller in-island towns, off on a drinking spree and hitting tavern after tavern. This type got bored easily if they ran into nothing exciting, and kept going until the night wore itself out.
The women at the table were enjoying themselves and it wouldn't do to create anything that would spoil it. Ida had dropped quarters into the juke box and Lee and Gwen were dancing together. The others were singing along with the record and keeping time with their hands. It would be a shame to let these kids spoil it, Ben thought, and he put out four bottles of beer.
"This is on the house, boys. Cheers and drink up. I didn't mean to act unneighborly."
The boys smiled but their eyes were dark as they accepted the drinks. They turned their backs to the bar and watched Lee dancing while they tilted the bottles and drank. Their looks were undisguised leers, roaming up and down Lee's body, their tight mouths whispering to each other and laughing.
The women paid no attention to them. As far as they were concerned, the four were only faceless boys at the bar. They were too much in their own world to let the intruders disturb them. But Ben watched them every moment, his heart starting to thump heavily in apprehension.
"Damn this saloon business anyway," he mumbled to himself. "It just doesn't pay at all. When the hell is Monday coming?"
Lee was really having a fine time. It was wonderful to be able to dance with a woman and not arouse feelings of desire. This was just a tubby partner, whooping and hollering and having the time of her life, and that was all. There was none of the suggestive squeezing, the working of the palms along her back, the pressing of thigh to thigh that had always been part of dancing before for Lee, with a man or with a woman.
She blessed Quen for letting her have this holiday. He had the right idea and knew just what was good for her. Nothing complicated just a few days with her nice, ordinary neighbors. It would not last; she knew that. It would be only an interval and then she would go back to the chasing, to the fresh bedmates, to the women who loved other women. Meanwhile, this was a ball.
The music was rocking and it stirred a rhythm in her that she didn't know she had. She and Gwen whirled about the room, the lights spinning about them, faces grinning, beer bottles raised in a toast as they went by. She laughed back at them fresh-faced American boys watching and enjoying themselves as witnesses to her fun and revelry.
She found the rhythm broken abruptly as her left arm was seized and she was yanked away from Gwen. She felt the hard, bruising body of a male pushed against her and an arm wrapped itself around her waist.
"Whaddaya wanta dance with a dame for, baby?" It was the boy in the leather jacket, his face close to her, sweaty, wide-mouthed, the pimples on his cheeks wet with excitement. "I'll take care of you, don't worry!"
Lee felt suddenly ill. The brutality of the boy and the heated stench of him turned her stomach and made her head spin. She tried to push him away but he held on tighter. She felt her breasts crushed against his chest. And, dizziness gripping her, she felt his male hardness bruising her as he pushed his whole body against her.
"Leave me alone, please!" she whispered, surprised at the smallness of her voice. "I don't know you..."
"Just call me Bud." The body pushed harder. "Wat's your name, baby?"
The women at the table stared, not believing what they saw. The day had been so much fun and now it had turned ugly. Ida, sodden with beer, sprawled on her chair, trying to make sense of the scene on the floor between Lee and some stranger who seemed to be wrestling with her.
The other boys at the bar grinned at Bud's nerve and swilled more beer. "Go, man, go!" Cal cried. The others chipped in with advice, encouragement and admiration.
"Now look here!" Ben cried from the bar. "You cut that out and get out of here or I call the cops!"
"What for, Dad?" Cal jeered. "What are we doing wrong?"
"I'll show you what you're doing wrong!"
The shout rose like a battle cry as Ida staggered to her feet. She rose in all her majestic and powerful glory, both fists upraised. Charging over to the juke box, she yanked out the plug and the music dragged to a halt.
"Yuh young squirts!" she roared. "Get the hell out-ta my place this goddam minute or there'll be some cracked skulls!"
Without breaking stride, she rushed behind the bar and came up with a sawed-off baseball bat. Swinging and wild-eyed, she headed straight for Bud.
"Look out, Bud!" yelled Cal. "The old lady's gone nuts!"
Bud took one look at the on-charging Ida and released his grip on Lee. The next instant he was whacked across the back as he tried to charge toward the door. Ida followed close by, swinging again but missing this time as Bud dodged and wheeled, swung open the door and disappeared into the night.
When Ida turned on the others, they were only too anxious to leave. Bending over with laughter, they avoided her bat and streaked out the door.
Ida stood alone in the middle of the floor, the bat clenched in her right fist. "That's that!" she cried. "Now come on, Ben, and set 'em up all around! I run a mighty good place here and decency and decorum must be maintained at all times or heads will roll!"
Now even Ben relished the good time as he mixed fresh drinks. Ida was a great gal to have around, especially at a time like this. She was no Florrie, but hell, Florrie was no Ida. He loaded a tray with filled glasses and waltzed to the table where the women were.
"You okay, Lee?" he asked.
Lee smiled and reached for her glass. "I'm just fine. It's fine to have such fine friends." She giggled at the repetition, the others laughed at her giggling, and the sour incident was lost in the babble of laughter.
And there was laughter outside, too. Bud's friends were gathered around him at their car, hooting at him for his failure and at how he had run before the wrath of the big woman with the bat.
"You just ain't got it, Bud," Cal taunted. "Holdin that chick is as far as you're gonna get."
"Nice, huh. Bud? Whaddaya gonna do now, dream the rest?"
Bud glared at them, his mouth trembling with rage. "Oh. yeah? Well, I'll get that broad, and I'll get her tonight!"
The others exploded with laughter. "Forget it, Bud! Take five bucks and go over to Front Street! You might make out better there!"
"Come on, guys," Cal said. "Let's blow this joint."
They started piling into the battered Olds. But Bud did not move. He stood there, his hands deep in his pockets, glaring at the lighted windows of The Breakers.
"Come on, Bud!" called Cal. "We're waitin' on yuh, boy!"
"I told you I was gonna get that chick tonight and I'm gonna get her." Bud hadn't budged from his position. "You guys go on if yuh wanna. She's gonna be good and drunk later and I'm gonna follow her home. I'll show you jerks."
Cal leaned out the window of the car. "You know what, Bud? You're nuts. That old geezer in there was right she ain't for you. She's too high class."
"That's the best kind," Bud said, his voice low. "When they do give in, they're a howlin' terror. I'm gettin' me that dame if I gotta wait all night."
The car started up. "All right, fella, if that's the way yuh want it, Gal said, and drove off, the boys' laughter rising in the night and then fading as the car vanished up the road.
Bud leaned against a tree, his eyes still on the windows, his ears filled with the laughter and music from inside, and waited.
7
Lee's perfume alone had been enough to drive Bud out of his mind. Holding her, feeling that sleek body next to his, with those cute breasts shoved at him, with those thighs tight up on him, had made it even worse. And then the jibing of his friends had topped it off until he just couldn't see straight.
It didn't matter what happened, he didn't care what kind of trouble he'd get into, he was going to get that woman tonight, come hell or high water.
"I've had gals," he told himself there in the dark of the parking lot, "but I ain't never had one like this! Why, she makes broads like Maggie and Sue look like sows, and they're a hell of a lot younger'n she is! Man, what a woman!"
And so he waited and he waited. When other cars drove into the lot he ducked behind a big tree and kept on waiting there. The effects of the beer he had drunk wore off and he wanted more, his throat and his brain parched for replenishment. He licked his lips and wondered if he had time to trudge up to Merrick Road to a liquor store and buy himself a six-pack.
"Nah!" he decided. "Be just my luck to have her come out and beat it while I'm gone. I'll just stick it out, but I am dyin' for a beer, damn it!"
As the evening dragged on he began to wish that he hadn't started this vigil. It would probably be worthless anyway. Maybe she'd go home with somebody and he wouldn't get a chance at her no matter what. But then there was the counterthought: he had waited this long, so he might as well wait it all out.
But after a while, around midnight, checking by his watch, he needed another beer very badly. It was then that he saw Ben come out the door and go around the back. He returned carrying a case of beer that he brought inside with him. Bud moved to the rear of the building, too, and saw cases of beer piled up, covered by a tarpaulin.
"Well, man, ain't this something!" he grinned. He lifted six bottles out of one of the cases and took them back to his waiting post behind the tree. The beer was warm but that only made it easier to get drunk on it. He searched a couple of glove compartments and found a bottle opener in a Chewy. Then he settled down contentedly, an open bottle to his mouth, and waited some more.
It had been hot all day and now it became muggy. His clothing stuck to him, the sweat ran down his face and body, and the warm beer didn't improve the situation. It did, however, give him more courage, and charged his imagination with pictures of what it would be like to make love to Lee. So he drank more beer.
People came out, got into their cars, and left. But none was Lee. He began to wonder if she had come out without his seeing her. He saw a Jaguar in the lot and wondered if it was her car. She would be the type that would have a Jag. None of the bags in the place would have the nerve to own one.
Suddenly he straightened up and almost dropped the bottle he was holding. Eee was standing in the open doorway, silhouetted against the light. She called back to the others inside, waved her hand, and come out.
She was staggering, but not too much. It was more like a happy, weaving walk as she moved to the Jaguar. Bud took a deep swallow of the beer, dropped the bottle, and stepped out from behind the tree to face her.
"Hello, Miss." he said, trying to make his voice friendly.
Lee stopped and looked at him, peeringly. Her mouth was ready to smile in greeting, but when she recognized him, she frowned and tried to get past him.
"Look," he said, "I just want to tell you I'm sorry for getting so fresh with you."
She kept on going to her car and he followed, still talking. "I been waitin' here for you to tell you that. My buddies, they got sore at me for what I did and they dumped me. Gee whiz, lady, have a heart, will you?"
She stopped at the car and turned to him.
"All right. You're sorry. Good night."
"I was pretty drunk and tryin' to show off for my pals, I guess. I don't always act like that, honest."
"I hope not." Lee got behind the wheel. Strangely enough, she felt a touch of pity for this young plug-ugly. And, after being kicked out of The Breakers, he had waited around to apologize to her. She had had a wonderful time and she felt mellow toward all the world. And this was just a poor kid who had drunk too many beers. She smiled at him as he leaned close to the car. "No harm done. I forgot about it hours ago."
He smiled. "Thanks, Miss. That's very nice of you."
Lee started the car up. "I got pretty pooped standing here all this while," he said. "Can you give me a lift?"
"I'm only going a couple of blocks," Lee replied, but he was around on the other side before she finished the sentence. He opened the door and slid in beside her.
"That's all right, Miss. Every little bit'll help, thanks."
Lee shrugged, swung the car in an arc and then out of the lot and up Siesta Drive. The street was dark and all of the house lights were out as she drove toward home. Glancing at the boy beside her, she saw that he was relaxed and looking straight ahead and she felt more at ease.
It took only a few moments to reach her house. "This is as far as I go," she said. "Sorry. But you'll catch a bus two blocks up."
He jumped out, ran around to her side, and opened her door. Getting out, she glanced up at Louise's house. Darkness. In fact, the night seemed the darkest she had ever known. The boy waved at her and started to walk up the street, looking back.
She had the house key in her hand along with the keys to the car as she hurried up the path to her door. As she inserted the key, she heard the soft, rapid thumping of footsteps behind her. The next instant the breath was heaved out of her chest as a hand shoved her into the sun porch.
Bud stood looking at her as she fell against the wall, turned her head and stared at him over her shoulder. He was breathing heavily, his hands at his sides, running up and down his thighs.
"All right, baby!" he panted, a dark shadow in the room. "This is it! Yuh made a chump outta me in front of my buddies and now you're gonna put out for me! Give!"
"Go to hell and get out of here before you get into trouble!" Lee's eyes blazed, more angry at the impudence and gall of this brat at forcing his way into her home than at the insult of his intentions. "Go sleep it off someplace!"
"Yeah! With you, baby!" He moved toward her, fumbling at his clothes. "You got too much there to waste it! And I'm a guy that'll appreciate it!"
Lee looked around. The sun porch was enclosed completely with glass windows, the porch itself furnished as an extra living room with a couch, easy chairs, end table and lamps. The lamps were large, ornate monstrosities left over from a previous tenant. She had to get her hands on one fast. He was coming toward her, slowly, still working at his clothing.
"Just take off them clothes and lie down nice and easy and everything'll be all right, baby," he breathed. "You'll like it fine, honest. I'm the best, baby..."
He was three steps away from her now. She could not see in the darkness but she knew that he had arranged his garments so that he was ready. "All right," she said quickly. "Give me a chance. Just wait a moment."
He stopped, his teeth showing even in the shadows. "That's a smart gal. But hurry it up, baby. I'm hungry as hell for you."
Lee moved away from the wall, sliding toward an end table that held one of the lamps. She reached for the top button of her blouse with one hand. With the other she made a quick grab at the lamp and hurled it at one of the windows.
The crash of glass was tremendous in the stillness of the night. She followed it with a scream, as loud and as vehement as she could make it, and she was surprised at the sound that came out of her. She had never screamed before and didn't know she could do it.
Bud backed quickly away from her. She screamed again, picked up a large ashtray this time and threw it at him, still screaming. It hit him, bouncing off his shoulder.
"Cut it out!" he choked. "What's got into you, anyway?"
A light went on next door at Louise's house. It flooded the sun porch and now Bud looked around in panic. She saw his disarranged garb and the gleam of bare flesh. She wanted to laugh because he looked so nonsensical, so ridiculous, this big, virile male now so weak with the sudden loss of ardor.
He grasped at the door knob as Louise's voice cried, "Lee! Is that you? What's wrong?"
Lee's scream split the night air again, and now Louise screamed, too. Bud flung the door open and rushed out, skidding on the lawn, tripping, sliding on his side along the grass, picking himself up again and going on, running as fast as he could up Siesta Drive.
Lee was openly laughing now at the ludicrous sight. Still laughing, her sides hurting from it, she leaned out the door and called up to Louise's open window, "It's all right, honey!"
Louise stuck a startled, mussy-haired head out the window. "For God's sake! What was that? What happened?"
"Only a small riot!" Lee laughed. "You should have seen it!"
"I'll call the police!"
"No, don't do that. It's all over now and everything's all right."
"I'll come down and you tell me all about it."
Louise and Lee ended up in Lee's kitchen drinking coffee while Lee, still convulsed, told Louise what had happened. Louise was shocked. "Why, that's terrible. Gee, a woman can't even go home safely any more. You ought to let me tell the police, Lee."
"Oh, for Pete's sake, Louise, he was just a drunken kid with big ideas. Why, he was so scared and mortified that I'm sure he'll never try that again." And Lee laughed at the memory. "Men can look so ridiculous sometimes, can't they?"
"Well, they are at their weakest at a time like that, I guess; as well as at their strongest."
Lee sipped her coffee, remembering. Then the laughter was gone and she shuddered visibly. Louise saw this and said, "What's the matter, Lee? Are you all right?"
"I was just thinking, Louise." Lee's eyes were far away, a film over them, her lips tightened.
"Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant from the look of you."
"No. It wasn't."
How could she tell this nice, neighborly woman that the only two encounters she had had with men sexually had been violent and ugly? She looked at Louise, longing to tell her to tell anyone at all what she felt, why she was against men and found women so much more delicate and considerate and tender.
Instead, she finished her cup of coffee and refilled it. Louise, she saw, was staring at her. She had changed out of her dress and into a robe to make the coffee. Louise, too, had come down in a robe over a shortie nightgown. As Lee poured a fresh cup for Louise, she leaned forward and her robe fell away at her bosom, exposing the full mounds. Lee was startled to notice that Louise was looking straight at her breasts, a tenseness to her lips.
It was at that instant that Lee considered Louise as a bed-partner. It came upon her in a wave induced by the drinking, the lateness of the hour, the experience with the boy, and the intimacy of the situation here in the kitchen, with the whole world asleep outside this room.
Louise was of the very soft, very feminine type. Her face was appealing, the lips cupid-bow, the eyes large, gray and long-lashed. She sat now, relaxed, her round arms on the kitchen table, her soft shoulders hunched forward. Lee could tell that she had large, firm breasts, part of the entity of her fully feminine body.
Lee felt the familiar stirring, the hunger rising, the blind, passionate hunger. She had sworn off, true, for the week, but here it was again, awake and growing more alive with each second that she remained with this woman.
Louise, too, felt the tremor that was close to anxiety, but closer still to pleasure and anticipation. Her mouth was dry, her hands trembling, as she realized that she was alone with Lee at almost two in the morning, both with nothing on other than night things and robes.
"I guess the only way you're going to prove it to yourself is for you to make a play for Lee." Belle's words came back to her now in the silence. "It both" ers you so much, go ahead and flirt with her. See what happens. Either forget about it or prove it one way or another yourself."
"Louise," Lee's voice was a hoarse whisper, "would you like a drink instead of this stuff? I've got almost anything."
That's all it would take, a drink or two. Then the idea that, with that terrible thing happening, they should stay together the rest of the night. A few more drinks, and Lee would find a way for things to happen.
It would be perfectly safe, too. She had had that much experience in these matters. If Louise resisted her, she would simply blame it on the drunkenness; and if Louise did give in, then Louise would also excuse it to herself the next day because of the drinking.
And Louise was ready. She was telling herself that this would be the ideal way of finding out about Lee. Was she really a woman-lover? It would be a simple matter to stay around a while longer, have some drinks and see what happened.
And there was something else: the almost dead memory of the time with Kitty, the coming to life of the long dormant embers of that terrible, wonderful moment, a need to revive it and see if the experience would be the same, tingling, exciting...
What was she thinking of? How could she have such thoughts, such yearnings, and her a loyal wife with a husband working his fingers to the bone to keep her happy and contented?
She rose swiftly, drawing her robe tightly about her.
"No, thanks," she said evenly, hoping the excitement didn't show in her tone. "I think I'll be going along to bed now. You'll be all right, Lee. Good night."
And she walked quickly out of the kitchen and away from the house to the safety of her own bed.
Lee remained standing beside the table. Her heart was still trembling with the tremors generated by the heat of the moment. She knew the signs, knew the excitement and temptation that had gripped Louise. She recognized the fact that the climax had been close, that Louise had run in order to escape the call of her own flesh.
And in that moment Lee made up her mind that she was going to make love to Louise. She had never failed before; whenever she saw a woman she wanted, it happened as she wanted it to happen. Not at the first encounter, not with a woman like Louise and not at the second. But it would happen eventually.
She sighed deeply, put away the cups and saucers and went into her bedroom. She slept with a smile on her face although her heart was still pounding.
8
There were only a few who lived on Siesta Drive the year around. Most of the houses were dark that night and not yet open for the summer season. So, apart from Louise, no one was alarmed by the commotion in Lee's house.
Across the canal, however, Belle heard some of it. She was awake, unable to sleep because of the oppressive heat. Jason had fallen asleep early, leaving her more lonely than ever even though he was beside her in bed. She had gotten up and sat before the open window, looking out at the darkened waters of the canal, smoking, trying not to think, waiting for sleep to numb her.
She saw the lights of Lee's Jaguar as. it drove up, and she was alerted when a man came out of it and helped Lee out.
"A man?" she said to herself. "Is Lee Sherman taking a man home with her?"
She wanted to wake up Jason and show him the unusual sight but contented herself by just looking. It was very dark and she did not see Bud start to walk off up the street and then run back and force himself into Lee's house. As far as she could tell, he had gone in with her. Belle shook her head in bewilderment.
"What's she doing, playing the bi-sexual bit?" Belle wondered. "I didn't think she was capable of it."
It was only seconds later that she heard the crash of broken glass and the screams. She stood up and peered into the night, trying to pierce the blackness across the canal. Then Louise's lights went up and she saw the boy rush out and away up the street.
She turned to Jason and shook his sleeping figure.
"Jason! Wake up! There's trouble over at Lee Sherman's!"
He stirred, grumbled, and sat up sleepily. "So what? It's just a lover's quarrel. Those dykes battle all the time."
"It's nothing like that, Jason. There's a man ... he ran off and somebody's screaming. Can't you hear it?"
"Oh, for God's sake!" Jason got up disgustedly. He dragged himself to the window. All was quiet again now, and Lee's lights were on. Belle was at his side, breathless with worry. They saw Louise leave her place and go into Lee's. "You see?" Jason said. "Old Louise is taking care of everything. It's all under control."
He trundled back to bed, sighed once or twice and was asleep.
But Belle stayed at the window. Louise was alone with Lee, and at this late hour. Two women one a Lesbian, the other with a strange curiosity about her; both attractive and at the richest point of their lives; one ready to try to make love to every woman available, especially under circumstances such as these, the other lonely without her man whom she saw only on week ends, and then he was very tired.
Bell was aware of all this as she stared into the night. She saw the front lights of Lee's house go out and there was only a dim one from somewhere in back. And there was silence.
The night was oppressively hot. Belle went into the bathroom, let the cold water run, and washed her face. It would help only for a moment, she knew, but any relief was a help. She got back into bed and lay supine, staring at the darkness of the ceiling.
"I hope to God nothing happens," she told herself from the wisdom of her knowledge. "It would ruin Louise and her husband, and heaven only knows what it would do to Lee to get mixed up with someone like Louise. Louise isn't one of Lee's sex-itchy young frails. Something happened to her once; from the way she talks, she must have had a homosexual experience, otherwise she wouldn't be so bugged about Lee, and wouldn't reject so hard the idea of her being Lesbian."
She turned on her side, away from Jason, troubled.
"I should have found a better way to ease Louise's mind. If something happens, it's my fault. I don't think I handled it right when she came to me for help, and that's what she was doing, really. Except that I was too bored and too hot to be bothered. So I got wise-guyish, and that was stupid."
She cast the covers aside and went to the window again. She was just in time to see Louise rush into her own house.
"Thank God," Belle sighed in relief. "Nothing's happened. It was just one neighbor making sure that another was all right. Now I can go to sleep."
And she did.
But there was no sleep for Louise. Never, not even when she had first slept with Buff, had she been so disturbed. It hwl been so close, she told herself, it had been so near to happening again, just as it had happened with Kitty, she was sure.
The anticipation had been the same, the wonder, and the excitement, as when she had been with Kitty so many years ago. She had thought it was dead, that it had been only a temporary thing like the dreams of childhood, here only once and then gone forever...
She threw herself into her lonely bed and twisted and turned, the bed uncomfortable, the sheets refusing to stay put, the mattress pressing into the fevered flesh of her body and denying her rest.
"It's me!" she breathed aloud. "It's not Lee at all! She didn't do anything it was all in my mind! I had the thoughts, I had the ideas! I looked at her and thought only one thing that she was a very beautiful woman and something was going to happen between us!"
Even her nightie was tight and clinging on her now. She wanted to take it off, but that would be worse, she decided. It would bring her own body too close to her...
"What's the matter with me, anyway?" she said to herself. "There's nothing wrong with Lee. She's just a normal bachelor girl. The woods are full of them. Me? I'm just dreaming old dreams again and letting them bother me. This is a regular world a world of men and women doing normal things. Lee Sherman is normal, and so am I. But please, God, let me go to sleep."
And finally, with the dawn, Louise slept...
Bud's shoulder hurt him where Lee had hit him with the ashtray. But his pride was hurt even more. Sitting in the brightly lighted bus, he scrounged deep in his chair and thought about his humiliation.
It was an awful thing to get so charged up, to ready himself for making love to a woman, pridefully displaying his prowess and prepared to see her eyes light up with awe and admiration, and then know that he had shriveled and shrunk to a pitiful zero as she fought back, screaming, throwing things at him to chase him away like some mangy old hound.
He looked out the window but all he could see was his own reflection and that made him feel sicker.
"That gal laughin' at me" he growled to himself. "And me standin' there with my pants open like a damn fool! Ooooh!" He shut his eyes as if he could shut out the memory but it stayed with him, and he knew that he would never forget it, no matter how long he lived.
"What'll I tell the guys, for the luwa Mike? They was laughin' bad enough at me at the beginnin'; what'll they do now?"
More than anything else, he wanted to be big before his friends, show them that he was irresistible and virile, could get any woman he wanted. This was important, more so than actually getting to sleep with her.
And with that thought, he got the solution.
"I'll tell 'em she was easy," he said to himself. "I'll just say I waited around for her and when she came out and saw me, she said she'd been sorry I'd left because she got all excited when we danced together."
Now when he looked at his reflection, he liked what he saw. His head was up, his eyes glowed and his smile stretched.
"That's it. Then she invited me right into her house and we had a ball. Man, was she ever the hot one, though! I didn't have to do a thing, she did it all. She couldn't hardly wait to get at me, the doll. And she wouldn't let me go after the first time, either. She wanted more and more, so what could I do but give it to her?"
He reveled in the thought, gilding it with details from his imagination until it all became quite real to him. He felt bold, strong and self-confident now, his old self again, and he turned to smile at his reflection.
He was so pleased at what he saw that he said, "Now how could she have turned me down that way? There's only one excuse for it she's gotta be queer for gals."
And with this settled in his mind, Bud stretched out on his seat and slept all the way to his home stop.
9
The word about the open house party at The Breakers got around pretty quidkly among the few regular customers who were living at the waterfront resort this time of the year. Ida stayed on the phone until she called everyone she knew. Most of the people expressed surprise at the party being held on this particular week end; the weather bureau had predicted heavy rain. But she laughed this off, saying that the rain would bring an end to the unseemly heat and make the party that much more enjoyable.
"Just come loaded for beer," she laughed. "And it'll all be on the house. It's our way of wishing you a happy summer season to come."
The invited checked their schedules, some hoping they would be busy, others planning to be busy, a few deciding to attend, unable to resist the temptation of a free load-on. And there were those who wanted to go just to have something to do.
After she got her invitation, Lee called Louise to ask if she were going. "Sure," said Louise, "if I can get Buff to go. He hates to go out when he comes home, though."
"I hope you two can make it," Lee replied. "Nobody gets to see Buff at all. It must be very lonely for you, dear."
Louise shivered. Lee's voice was always low and deep and now it seemed to cause vibrations in Louise's ear. There was a pause; then she said, "Not really. I'm sort of used to it. Besides, it gives me something to look forward to every week end."
The minute she said it, Louise was sorry she had expressed it that way. It sounded as if she had said she had sex to look forward to. Well, didn't she? Yes, but that wasn't what she meant to imply.
But Lee didn't allow her to dwell too long on her thoughts. "I guess we can get used to anything, can't we? And as you say, you've got your week ends. And you do manage to keep busy the rest of the week."
What was Lee doing, baiting her? She was saying innocent enough things, to be sure, but there was something in the way she said them that gave them a meaning that disturbed Louise. Nevertheless, Louise was a diplomatic neighbor and did her best to keep up her end of the amenities.
"There's a lot to do around the house this time of year," she said. "We have to change over from winter to summer and that takes work."
"I know. I'm glad I don't have that trouble. I just shut off my water so it doesn't freeze and that's that. However, I am thinking of staying up here all year around."
"And you'll commute into New York every day?"
"Why not? Lots of people do it. It's less than an hour's ride and I'm within walking distance of Penn Station."
"Well, it'll be nice to have you here," Louise said brightly.
"Will it, Louise?"
Lee's tone was low and meaningful. Louise shook her head dumbly, refusing to believe the meaning. Lee was leaving it up to her whether it would be nice or not.
"It does get kind of lonely all winter long, not having anybody next door." Louise tried hard to keep the conversation on an impersonal level. She wished that Lee would leave her alone, wished that she wouldn't move in for the winter, wished that she hadn't called her, wished...
"I thought you said you weren't lonely, dear," Lee's voice cut into her desperate thoughts. "But I understand, believe me I do." Lee laughed lightly. "We women are nothing but a study in contradictions, aren't we? But that's our prerogative."
Louise was confused. She felt she was being drawn into a trap, but a trap so silken, so subtle that there was no way in which she could fight it, no way of protesting to Lee that she was putting the wrong implications to things.
But what things? Lee hadn't said anything wrong, actually. Again was this all in her mind? Was she imagining that Lee was suggesting things that would lead to ... What? Facing the issue, Louise came close to dropping the phone.
She had almost said it aloud. She had almost used the phrase Lesbian love. Lee had said nothing; she was just being neighborly and discussing ordinary things with her. Why. couldn't she, Louise, do the same thing? She had to, in order to prove to herself that she was not being the aggressor in an affair. She had to be neighborly, and nice, and ordinary. She had to do the right thing.
And the best way to do that was to beard the lion in his den, so to speak. "Lee, how about having a drink with me at The Breakers?" she said. There! It was done! Now, what could be more neighborly than that?
"I'd be delighted," said Lee. "Just give me a minute to get ready and I'll come by and pick you up."
She put down the phone, a smile on her lips, looking deep into the secrecy of her soul, into the knowledge of what was to be. This was like playing with putty. She had known Louise for years and never had there been an extended phone talk between them. Certainly never one like this. She had purposely said the things she had said to feed Louise, to disturb her and shake her so that she would be thrown off the trail completely.
And it had worked with Louise inviting her out for a drink. If it had been a more sophisticated person, she would have asked Lee to her place for a drink. But with Louise it had to be a public place, of course.
That way there would be no suggestion that this was anything more than a friendly date between two neighbors and old friends.
Not the first time, probably not the second. But it would happen. It always did.
For that time of season, The Breakers was unusually busy when Lee and Louise walked in at mid-after-noon. The heat had driven people out of their homes to look for cool refreshments and the beer spigots were going full blast. Ben was pouring and Ida served the tables.
Many of the customers were strangers to the area but there were a few neighbors. Belle, Lill and Gwen were there, seated at one end of the bar, and Lee and Louise joined them.
The drinks kept coming, most of it beer, although Lee stuck to bourbon on the rocks. It made her squirm to see Louise hoist her mugs like a truck driver and smack her lips with each swallow. Belle noticed this as she studied Lee and Louise. She saw Lee's observation of Louise and recognized the nature of her interest.
"What are you two up to?" Belle sotto voced into Louise's ear.
Louise had drunk up a few beers. It had made her bolder, to herself and to Belle, now that the question was asked.
"I'm going to prove something, Belle."
"Oh? And what's that?"
Lee was at the juke box, glass in hand, picking out tunes.
"I'm going to prove that you're wrong in what you said."
Belle was afraid to continue this, fearful of what she would hear, but there was no stopping. She too had drunk a bit. "And what did I say, Louise?"
Louise leaned toward Belle on the bar. "You said that Lee was homosexual. I don't think she is. So I'm going to take your advice." She took a huge swallow of the beer. It gave her courage and it gave her anger and purpose. It made everything she said and did seem right, and what she said now was just right. "I'm going to flirt with Lee Sherman and show you that she's as normal as anybody."
Belle frowned. She had not expected her suggestion to be taken seriously. And Louise was too clumsy to handle such a situation tactfully. Lee was returning to join them and Belle said hastily, "Come to the powder room with me, Louise."
Her friend giggled. "That wouldn't look very nice, would it?"
"Shut up and come with me," Belle hissed.
She rose but it was too late. Lee strode over with long steps, held her arms out to Louise and said, 'Let's dance."
"I don't know if I can anymore," Louise laughed. "Buff and I haven't danced in years."
"That's what I figured so I picked out a nice, slow number." Lee took Louise's hands and pulled her off the stool. "I'll lead; you just follow. It'll be easy, you'll see."
"Yeah" Ida cried, picking up the idea. "Let's everybody dance!" She reached for Lill. "Come on, Lill! We all better practice up for Saturday night, then your husbands'll be here to dance with! Let's go!"
The spirit caught them all and in a moment the floor was a mass of whirling dancers, men and women partners, and women dancing together for lack of male partners. So it was not unusual for Lee and Louise to waltz together.
They moved slowly, the music soft and enchanting. It was odd to Louise to have her hands on a woman's body rather than on that of a man like her husband. The soft curves yielded to her and Lee's perfume assailed her senses, making the music even more dreamy. Lee led perfectly, her right arm in a gentle but firm grasp of Louise's waist, guiding her into the steps and turns to the music.
Belle could not look. She turned her back on the dancers and said to Ben, "A double scotch, Ben, please." And to herself she added, "Oh, Christ! I hope I haven't started anything!"
Ida, carried away by the mood of the music and dancing, flicked off the main lights and the room was flooded in blue and red, soft like the tone of twilight.
"Don't anybody put on none of them jazz records" she called. "This is dreamtime music!"
Lee waited. She danced the first number straight with Louise, holding her inches away, just allowing their bodies to touch lightly once in a while. Knowing this was strange to her partner, she did not urge the point but kept it light. , They did not speak during the dance. Lee wanted Louise to use her imagination, her dreams and desires to awaken by themselves without interference.
It would work; Lee knew it would work. Louise, she knew, was too tense, too aware of the light contact of hands on bodies, too carried away by the mood of this unusual moment, not to have things work out...
Everyone else was busy, either dancing or in conversation. A quick, practiced look around told Lee that no one was paying attention to them. Even Belle, wise, experienced Belle, had her back to them, absorbed in studying the drink before her. Lee smiled and closed her eyes. This was better than trying to make it with a Greenwich Village girl or with any of the others who needed only to be tapped to have the spring of desire come to life.
The first record ended. Lee and Louise stood together in the center of the floor in silence, waiting. Their hands were at their sides, not touching. As the record was replaced by another, there seemed to be a tacit agreement between them, a knowledge that they were waiting for the next bit of music for reality to begin.
And it began. This time as the record played, Lee held Louise closer. There was a boldness here now that seemed called for and Louise allowed herself to melt against the body of her partner.
Their breasts pressed together, their thighs moved in unison, their stomachs were molded as one. Lee was slightly taller than Louise and her mouth was in her partner's hair, the perfume of it inhaled with every breath.
And Louise knew once again the excitement of years ago, the thrill she had thought would only come once. There was nothing here of the hard, crude strength of the male, there was no force, no feeling of being dominated or brutalized. There was only softness and gentleness, the pliable, unresistant tenderness of a cloud floating in space.
She felt Lee's arm draw her tighter, closer as they moved gently across the floor to the strains of the music. A soft, pleasant dizziness took hold of her and she gave herself up entirely to Lee's guidance.
There was no one else in the room they were alone. And she closed her eyes, wanting this moment to last forever.
Her mouth pressed to Louise's ear, Lee whispered, "Darling..."
It sent a shiver through Louise's body and Lee held her closer. That was enough, that was all that had to be said, and it was done, the die was cast. Lee mouthed Louise's oar, kissed it and bit gently into it. Louise could have drawn away but she did not. She let it happen to her as Lee knew she would.
They were in a corner now, away from the others. Lee's tongue probed Louise's ear, her fingers worked the softness of her partner's waist, she pressed her lower body in tightly against the other and swayed gently from side to side.
Louise gasped and held Lee tighter. She wanted the music to go on and on so that this would never end, but she wanted it to stop too, as she could not endure it much longer.
But the record did come to an end. The two women released each other slowly, reluctantly. "I'm leaving in a few minutes," Lee said softly. "I'll be home. Come."
Louise did not reply. She couldn't. She kept her eyes down, afraid to look at anyone, more afraid to look at Lee. She nodded slightly and Lee caught it.
They had to pass the ladies' room on the way back to the bar. Louise glanced up, saw the door, and, needing to get away from Lee for a moment and not up to facing the others just then, she entered, leaving Lee to go back alone.
"Hello, Lee."
Lee heard the male voice and stopped still. It had come from a table as she went past on her way to the bar. The voice was familiar but it still struck her as being out of place here. It belonged somewhere else, was her immediate impression, not here in Lindenhurst at a bar on Siesta Drive.
Still dazed from being with Louise, she looked down and saw Quentin Howard. He held a highball glass up to her in a toast and said, "Will you join me, Lee? Let me buy you a drink."
Shaking her head in disbelief, Lee sat down and asked, "What in God's name are you doing here, away from Manhattan?"
"I came because I wanted to talk to you. I've been doing a good deal of thinking about you and me. Can we go someplace else? It's slightly crowded here."
"I'm with someone, Quen."
"I saw you were. I was a little startled. She doesn't seem to be quite your type."
Lee frowned. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that.
What's up, anyway? Something wrong at the office?"
"I said it was about you and me." He tossed a five-dollar bill on the table. "Come on, Lee. You can see your friend some other time. This is very important."
Lee looked at the door of the ladies' room. With Quentin around, it would be impossible to rendezvous with Louise. He was a serious person and only a serious reason would have brought him out to Lindenhurst to see her. Louise woidd wait. She had been titillated enough to hold for another day.
Lee got to her feet. "All right, Quen. I know a quiet place. Let's go."
The only one who saw them leave was Belle. She let out a deep sigh of relief seeing Lee go. The incident on the dance floor had not escaped Belle. She had watched them surreptitiously, not wanting the others to notice anything, and she had become fearful of the subtle approaches of Lee and the acquiescence of Louise, knowing that Louise had fallen into the trap.
Belle did not know who the man was, but she was glad that he had showed up and had enough influence on Lee to take her away with him. She heard the Jaguar start up and take off and now she felt even more relieved as she reached for her drink.
"It won't happen," she told herself, "tonight. Pray God it never happens."
But when she saw Louise come out of the rest room, saw the expression in her face, the swift way she looked around the room for Lee, the secret twist to her lips, she knew that, barring a miracle, it would happen.
10
It was dark when Lee and Quentin left The Breakers, much to Lee's surprise, as she had no idea that the time inside had passed so quickly. Quen had come out by train and then had taken a taxi from the station to her house, so they used Lee's car.
"When I didn't find you home," Quen said, "I took a chance and walked down the street to the tavern. By the way, what happened to your porch window? It's all smashed."
Lee smiled as she swung the car right on the parkways. "I received the ultimate honor, Quen. A boy tried to rape me and I had to throw a lamp through the window to scare him off."
"My God!" Quen was pale. "Were you hurt? What happened?"
"Nothing happened, really, and I wasn't hurt. The boy took off like the proverbial bat out of hell, though. Quen, it was funny and ridiculous, and my fault, too. I made the mistake of being nice to him and gave him a lift."
"You should know better than to do a thing like that."
"I was drunk, that's all. But about you? What's up?"
"Not until we settle down in a quiet place with tall, cool drinks," Quen said. "New York was hot, the train was stuffy, and I can't say too much for that place called The Breakers, either. I need to cool off a bit before I say what I have to say to you."
"It sounds ominous."
Quentin disregarded this. "That woman you were dancing with, Lee. Is that the latest?"
"That, my dear inquisitive one, remains to be seen. Look, I've got a nice place where we can go. It's Italian and it has outdoor tables in a garden, just the thing for a night like this."
"I prefer air-conditioning to mosquitoes, but if you like the joint, it's okay with me."
The Villa Etna was in Sayville on the main road, a large, vine-covered house converted into a restaurant. The outdoors, stretching out behind the main building, was terraced and arched with grape vines formed into arbors covering the tables and chairs.
"My God!" Lee exclaimed as they seated themselves, "It just came to me I haven't eaten dinner yet."
"You're a little tipsy now; I wish you'd stay that way. It'll make you more amenable to what I have to say."
"You know me better than that, Quen. I'm just as dippy sober as I am drunk. I feel like some linguini and sausage. How about you?"
It was during coffee and brandy after the meal that Quen, lighting cigarettes for himself and Lee, said, "I wanted you to get away so that I could escape from you, but it hasn't worked."
"Please, Quen. I've been having a good time. Don't spoil it."
"I don't think you were having a good time. That's just the idea, Lee. You're wasting your life. I think that you've got the capacity within yourself to really be happy, but it's not in the way you've been living."
"What is this, Quen? Have you come all the way out here to deliver a lecture?"
"No." Quen took her hand. "I've come all the way out here to tell you that I love you."
Lee withdrew her hand quickly. "That's impossible. You know that."
"I know nothing of the kind. Sure, it sounds impossible, but it's not. True, there are a lot of things in the way."
She threw back her head in a soundless laugh. "Yes. like your wife, for one thing. And, for another, the fact that you'd be a fool for loving a Lesbian."
"I don't love my wife, Lee. I guess you know that; everybody does, including her. I've had grounds for divorce for a long time but I've never had the guts to think of getting one until now."
"If I'm the reason for your guts, forget it, Quen. I'll never do you any good."
"I'm going to tell you something that I know you won't believe. But I believe it with all my heart. I'm sure, Lee, that you can be normal again. I'm positive."
Lee looked up at him with a strange, expectant light in her eyes. She was like a child seeing a Christmas tree for the first time. But it was only for an instant, and then the look was gone, replaced by a sardonic gaze.
"You'd like to believe me, wouldn't you?" Quentin pressed on urgently.
"Of course I'd like to believe you, you damned fool. But it'd be like believing in Santa Claus. It's wonderful, but it's impossible."
"Lee, I thought that facing the truth about my wife and me was also impossible. But I've faced it, and it's easy. I want to divorce her and marry you..."
"Marry!" Lee looked startled.
"Yes. Marry. I want to marry you even if you are what you are. I'm willing to take the chance that you'll come around, once you see that all men aren't like your first."
Lee bit her lower lip. "It's too late, Quen!" she protested. "The damage is already done. I'm committed to a way of life."
"No you're not. You turned Lesbian because of your sordid experience with one man, and you can turn normal, through a happy experience with another. That's how I feel about it and nothing you can say will change it."
"Do you mean to say you'd marry me, Quen, on the chance that I might come around?" Quen nodded. Lee shook her head in bewilderment. "And suppose we did marry, don't you know that I'd still be fooling around with women, having affairs, getting you sick, disgusted with me?"
"I know you'd have affairs, Lee, but I don't think I'd be disgusted. I would understand. And I would wait."
Lee snickered. "Job would have nothing on you, my darling."
"I'm willing to take that chance. And it would give you a chance to find out about yourself."
There was a silence for a long while. Quentin kept his eyes on Lee, watching every inflection of her expression, seeking clues to her thinking and her feelings. She was lost in the newness of what he had said and offered, grateful to the point of tears for the love she knew he felt for her.
"Quen..." She spoke softly, tenderly.
"Yes, Lee." His reply was a whisper.
"You'd do this for me?"
"I'd do nothing less. I wish I could do more."
She drew herself up. "It would be wonderful if it did work, wouldn't it?"
He fought the temptation to take her in his arms. "It would, Lee, for both of us. My motives aren't exactly unselfish, you know." He laughed lightly. "They're based on the fact that you are a beautiful and desirable woman and I love you. That's what I see in you, Lee a woman, beautiful, desirable. And as such, you're not a Lesbian. You're meant for man."
"It would be tragic for you if you were wrong." Now he took her hand again. "I'm willing to take that chance. Are you?"
And before she realized fully that there were strong doubts in her soul, she answered, "Yes."
So in that moment in a small arbor, with the softness of a hot spring night surrounding them and enveloping their mutual loneliness, Lee and Quentin groped desperately for a way of life that would bring meaning to both of them.
They clasped hands and looked into each other's eyes. Each recognized the need and the illness in the other, and each held respect for the conditions that had brought them to this point.
"Yes," Lee whispered. "We will do it because you believe we can. As long as we are both forewarned, that's all I ask, out of fairness to us both."
"I know what I'm getting into," Quentin replied. "I'm a grown up man with no illusions. I've been hurt and I know I'll be hurt again. But not by you, Lee, because I'm prepared for that. And I promise you that I won't hurt you."
"You're going to make me cry." Lee stood up. "I'm going into the powder room. Then please take me home, darling."
He looked after her as she walked, tall and fre limbed, across the room, proud of her and proud of himself. He would move out of his apartment that very night, he told himself, and start divorce proceedings the next day. If his wife wanted, she could go to Reno and get it over that much sooner. It was time for the masquerade to end and for life to begin.
On the way back to Lindenhurst, he told this to Lee. "The speed of it depends on Caroline. If it's Reno, then it's fast. If not, hell, I'll go there or to Mexico. I'll know how she feels when I talk to her tonight."
"Will you tell her about me?" Lee asked. "Why not? In any case, I'll call you in the morning and our life will begin."
He kissed her good night at the railroad station, gently, without emotion. "Thank you," Lee breathed, "for having faith in me."
"Thank you for having faith in me," he said. "The next time I see you, things will be different."
"I know."
Lee got home tired and happy. Maybe, just maybe, it would work out. At least she would have a good man to try it with. No one else but Quen would do, and she had been lucky enough to draw an ace in this tremendous gamble. It would take a long time, there would be many trials and errors, and heartbreak, too. But they both knew what they were doing and, with luck, a miracle could happen.
She entered her house, making a mental note to have the smashed window fixed in the morning. She smiled, remembering the confidence of the boy who was sure that he could not be resisted. And then, recalling the sight of him with his open trousers and his frightened face, she felt sorry for him and hoped that his next adventure would be more productive and fruitful.
There was some ham in the refrigerator and she made a sandwich, hungry again after the drive. She poured some milk and took everything into the living room to relax and think.
"I've got to help Quen in this," she told herself. "If there is one chance for it to work, I've got to give it a chance, too. Maybe nothing will happen, but it won't be for lack of trying."
She felt good and warm for having been with Quentin, unlike the feeling of running and fencing that she had with women. And that business with Louise it had been so obvious, so pat, so routine. She could call all the plays on that one, knew exactly how it would go, and it would be boring.
Only her senses would be stimulated, and they had been aroused so many times in that way. So there would be nothing really new to it; it would be a momentary thing where she would be lost in sensation and then tired and bored until the next time.
She bit heartily into her sandwich. It could work! It seemed more so with each passing moment, with the sound of Quen's voice still in her ear, the touch of his lips still on her mouth. God, let it work! Of all the deviates like herself she knew, not one had ever gone straight, but that didn't mean she couldn't do it, especially with a man like Quentin to help.
It was just past midnight when the phone rang. Lee was so absorbed in thought that she jumped inwardly at the sound.
It was Louise, angry and drunk.
"What are you trying to do, make a fool out of me?" she demanded, her voice a growl.
"Louise, what's the matter?"
"I'm home. I want to talk to you and I'm coming right over."
"It's rather late, Louise. I'd like to go to sleep..."
But Louise had hung up and there was only the buzz of a dead phone. Lee shrugged and turned on the porch light so that Louise could see her way in the dark. Of course she knew that she had made a date with Louise and not kept it. But they had both been drinking and a woman like Louise should have shrugged it off and gone to bed.
Her neighbor was mussy-haired and heavy-eyed when she came in and plunked herself down on an easy chair, her legs sprawled out listlessly. Lee remained standing, not wanting Louise to stay around too long.
She decided to take the initiative herself so that it would be gotten over with quickly. She had handled these things before and with skill and dispatch. Louise would be simple.
"I'm sorry about tonight," she said. "I thought we'd have a nightcap together and so I invited you over. But my employer showed up at The Breakers, of all people, and I went out to dinner with him...."
"You bitch!" Louise growled.
"Careful, now, Louise. You've been drinking and you're tired. You don't mean that."
Louise glowered at her with lowered head. "You dirty bitch," she said harshly. "That's all you are, do you know that?"
"Took, this is silly, Louise. Let's talk this over in the morning. You'll feel different about it then."
"You told me you'd meet me here and you didn't."
"I know. And I explained what happened. I also said I'm sorry."
"I came here and you weren't home. I waited outside, and waited and waited." Louise gripped the arms of the chair, her knuckles whitened by the strain. "Then I went home and waited for you."
"Louise! It was only a date for a drink!"
Louise got to her feet and confronted Lee. Her lips were trembling and tears formed on her eyelids. "It was not," she said softly. "You know it wasn't that, Lee."
Lee turned away, clasping her hands together. "I ... I don't understand." she said weakly. Here it was, the moment she had planned, the issue faced at last, and she did not want it ... not now, not tonight ... not right after Quentin and what he meant to her and what she meant to him.
But Louise was right behind her, her breath rustling Lee's hair. "You do understand, Lee. We danced together, remember? And you held me a certain way. And you said things to me. And then you told me to come here."
Lee closed her eyes, gripping herself. "You misunderstood somehow." She tried to keep her voice as even as possible but it trembled. "If I did anything or said anything, it was the drink doing it."
"I don't believe you. Look at me. Turn around and look at me, Lee. Then tell me that I misunderstood."
There was nothing else to do. Lee had to face Louise and repeat her denial, even though it would be a lie. And Lee was afraid because she had never lied in her life, not about something as important as this.
Her skill in handling love-struck women such as Myrna was gone in the face of this directness from Louise. But it had to be done, she had to confront Louise and deny that she had made advances to her.
She turned. Louise was only inches away from her, her face flushed and tearful, her chest rising and falling. This close, the nearness of Louise engulfed Lee. All she had to do was reach out her arms and Louise would fall into them, the two mouths would crush together, the two bodies would know the secret ecstasy of women in the act of love with each other.
"Louise..." she began haltingly.-
"Go ahead, Lee. Say it. Say you didn't mean the way you held me tonight. Say you felt nothing for me..."
"I ... I didn't know you were ... like that," Lee stammered.
"Are ycu?" Louise cried.
"Yes! Yes, God help me. I am!"
And Lee sank slowly to her knees, sobbing helplessly before Louise, her face crushed against Louise's thighs.
And Louise grasped Lee's bowed head, held it to her, whispering softly, so softly that Lee could not hear, "Kitty ... Kitty..."
11
Morning brought no relief from the overbearing heat. The sky was dark and heavy and the water of the canal roiled slowly in seething upheaval. Nothing moved, not the blossom-sprinkled branches of the trees lining the streets and canals, not the ducks seeking protection under overhanging shrubbery, not even those few people who got into cars and drove to town on business or to the station; they seemed to float slowly, afraid to strain themselves against the oppression of the heaviness that engulfed them.
The ringing of the phone was a strange, alien sound in Lee's consciousness. It came from the distance of a black void, as far off as anything she had ever known, and it would not go away although she was sure that if she paid no attention to it, it would vanish into the limbo from which it came.
But it only became more insistent, like a thing alive and demanding; and then Lee became aware of other things: a weight upon her thigh, another across her chest ... and the heat.
She opened her eyes and the glare of the hazy morning hit her and burned her eyelids. And then she was looking straight into the face of Louise Wagner.
"Oh, my God!" Lee murmured in horror. "Oh, sweet Jesus!"
It was the weight of her neighbor's naked leg that lay across her thigh, and the pressure of her arm across her chest. They were on the floor, their clothes thrown about recklessly as mute evidence of the abandon they had reached in the night.
It had been like a wild nightmare then, but now it was the terror of reality as Lee realized that it had all been true, it had all actually happened. Louise's eyes were closed in deep sleep, her mouth partly open as she turned toward Lee, content now in the aftermath of rapture.
Lee shuddered and drew away from Louise. The leg fell away and then the arm, and still Louise did not stir. The tanned body, listless, all apparent life gone from it, lay naked and exposed in every detail, and the excitement it had held during the night was now hidden somewhere in that dormancy, and Lee shuddered once more, wondering what there had been about that body that had caused her to forget everything, forget scruples, promises, vows, consequences.
And the phone ... it had not stopped. She knew it would not let up until she answered. She got up, keeping her eyes away from Louise, not wanting to look at her, saw her skirt piled on the floor and put it on, covering her nakedness. She found her blouse, wrinkled and crumpled, and threw that about her shoulders, and went into the bedroom on unsteady legs.
Her voice into the phone was a harsh croak as she answered it.
"Lee, this is Quen," replied the voice that seemed from another world. "Were you asleep?"
"Yes ... I was asleep," she stammered as consciousness grew stronger within her. "What is it, Quen?"
His voice was excited, filled with wonder and happiness. "I told my wife last night, Lee. It's all settled. She won't give me any trouble about the divorce, and..."
"Slower, Quen, please. Remember I'm not awake yet."
Lee looked around hungrily and found a battered pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. She said. "Just a second, Quen," put down the phone, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the coarseness of the smoke into her lungs. It stung her and awakened her more and now she felt more ready to talk and listen.
When she picked up the phone up again, she said, "No, Quen. You have to listen to me. I..."
"She won't file suit herself,'" Quen cut in. "She said that if I wanted it, I would have to do it all myself. She won't stir a foot."
"Wait, please. I've got something to tell you..."
He charged on ahead, unhealing. "So I'm going to Reno myself. I'm flying out this morning, in fact. I've got to stay there for six weeks to establish residence, and it'll be all over. Then you and I can..."
"Quen, for God's sake, will you listen to me!" It was a cry, a wail, lost and desperate and pleading.
Quentin was silent for a moment and then he said, gently, "Yes, Lee."
"Quen, I..." She stumbled with her words, then plunged on, "You can't do it, not for me. It's impossible. Believe me, it's no use."
Quentin laughed. "Oh! It's the morning after, isn't it? It's the cold light of morning and you hate yourself..."
"Please! Don't laugh at me! Stop joking..."
His voice became sober immediately. "I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to joke. But I know how you feel about this, Lee. I know you don't believe it can work. But I'm still going ahead with it, do you hear me?"
Lee shook her head. "Yes, I hear you. And I also believed you last night. But that was last night, Quen..." Her voice broke into a sob and she could not go on.
"Lee ... Lee..." Quen was tender, calm, trying to reach her through the phone, to soothe her with his voice. "It's all right, Lee. Believe me, it's all right."
Then, through the blur of tears, Lee saw a form at the doorway, a dim, shimmering figure standing there. She blinked her eyes and the vision became sharper, focusing into Louise, naked, blatant, looking at her.
And, looking at her, Lee shouted into the phone, "It's not all right, damn it all to hell It's worse than it's ever been! Oh, Quen, don't you understand? Do you want me to spell it out for you in detail?"
"Wait, Lee!" His voice was sharp and commanding. And when he had halted her flow of words, when there was only the gentle sobbing, in itself more terrible than outright hysteria, he said, "I understand, Lee. It happened again last night, didn't it? That woman you were with at The Breakers?"
Louise was looking directly at Lee, capturing her eyes in her gaze, as Lee nodded. "Yes, Quen. It happened."
"Lee. that's all right, too. It had to happen, don't you think I know that?"
And with Quen's words in her ear, Lee, seated tensely on the edge of the bed, saw Louise walk slowly toward her and kneel at her feet, her eyes filled with a soft fire, her lips trembling.
"No, Quen, no!" Lee stared at Louise in fascination as the hot hands reached out and touched her.
"And I'm still going to Reno," Quen went on. "I'm getting that divorce and I'm coming back for you. And I don't give a damn how many women you go to bed with, Lee. I told you that I knew what I was getting into. I still believe that you'll change."
Louise's lips were on Lee's throat, nibbling, breathing hotly. Lee closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
"Go away!" she breathed tightly. "Oh, for the love of God, go away."
"Yes," Quen said. "I'll go away."
"No!" Lee cried, her eyes open and wild, shouting into the phone. "I'm not talking to you, Quen!"
"What?"
She wanted to spear him, to make him feel all the pain that was hers, let him know every small agony of it. "It's her! Do you hear me? She's right here naked at my feet! And she's making love to me at this very moment as you talk to me! And I can't make her go away! I don't want her to, do you hear me, Quen?"
She halted, gasping, waiting for the pain to be expressed by Quen. She waited for the curses, for the sounds of horror and disgust. She waited as Louise pressed her heated body against her, as the clammy hands reached into her blouse and mauled her breasts, as the teeth bit into her throat.
There was a long moment of silence from Quen. Then, through a sigh, he said gently, "I'll be back, Lee. I'll come back for you." And he hung up.
Lee dropped the phone back on its cradle and pushed the fervent Louise away. "Don't," she whispered. "Not now."
Louise rose, unabashed, proud in her nakedness. "I'll make some coffee. We could both stand some."
"Please," sighed Lee, closing her eyes in pain.
They spoke very little during coffee. They were both dressed now, Lee having showered and made up while the pot was heating. When Louise saw her fully clothed, she dressed, too, and they sat together tiredly, letting the coffee do its beneficial work.
Lee refused to think. She tried to make her mind a blank, wanting her natural intuition to work for her instead, depending on it to bring her some sort of sanity, some measure of rationality. She believed in time as a cure, as a means of finding a way. Minutes would pass, then hours, and then days. And horror would recede further and further into the background and, pray God, it would vanish and die.
She didn't even think of Quentin's grand gesture, of his profound patience and understanding, of his word that, knowing exactly what had taken place, he would still come back for her after his divorce, feeling as he said he did about her and wanting to continue with her as he had promised. "No," she told herself. "I don't want to think about that."
But Louise, though she was silent, evaded nothing. Her gaze into Lee's eyes was steady and penetrating as she relived the night before, as her look told of the secrecy between them, of the sensuality they had shared.
"We're in trouble," Lee said after her second cup of coffee.
Louise nodded. "But I'm glad it happened. Aren't you?"
"I don't know anything at this point, Louise. I guess I was glad at the time, but I'm not sure now."
Louise reached for one of Lee's cigarettes and held it to her mouth, waiting for Lee to light it. But Lee stared at her cup and Louise lit it herself.
"This has happened to you before, hasn't it?" Lee asked.
Louise nodded. "When I was very young. But this is the first time since," she said hastily.
"Don't worry," Lee sighed, "I didn't think that it was a way of life with you. In fact, I don't think it is now."
"What do you mean?"
"It's an old story, dear. A girl or a boy has a homosexual experience just once, and then wonders about it during the years that follow, wonders if it was as exciting or as awful as she, or he, remembered it. Then searches for a repetition. Just as you did, Louise."
Louise's eyes narrowed. "I didn't start it, Lee. You did."
"Perhaps. But it's a moot point, isn't it? If you were not ready to receive them, my advances wouldn't have worked, would they?"
They looked at each other, Lee calmly, Louise going through changes from defiance, to anger and then to acceptance as she broke and lowered her eyes. "Maybe not," she admitted. "As I said, it happened to me once before."
"And then you grew up and got married and had regular sex with a man. And that's what you'll do now, Louise."
"I don't understand you, Lee."
Lee closed her eyes, maintaining patience. "I mean you'll grow up again and go back to your husband and have regular sex."
There was a pause as Louise bit her lip and tried to look through the calmness of Lee. Then she snapped, "That's not the way, Lee. I can't go back."
"Oh, for God's sake!" Lee's patience was gone, "I tell you that you don't know what you're talking about. Put it down as an interlude, Louise. It was something you were curious about and now you've satisfied that curiosity. Go back to your own life and for the love of God, let me go back to mine. And let's hope that what we did doesn't show."
"All right." Louise stood up, her head bowed. "You are chasing me out. I'll go."
"Louise, think what this would mean if we kept it up. We'd be bound to be found out. It'd damage your husband beyond repair. He's not the kind of man who could take something like this." Lee paused, thinking of the wonder of Quen, and then went on, "I won't even mention what your friends would say."
"Who would find out?" Louise asked, defiantly.
"Belle Harvey. She'd know."
Louise's eyes narrowed. She hadn't thought about
Belle. But Lee was right. Belle would know, the way she knew most things like this. It was she who had put the finger on Lee, she who had correctly stated Lee's deviation; even she who, sensing the nature of Louise's curiosity, had told her to flirt with Lee and find out for herself what she wanted to know.
And, remembering, Louise shivered in fear.
"You're right," she said softly and moved to the door. She paused there, a defeated, limp figure, returning to the day to day humdrum of waiting for a husband who went to sleep.
Then, her back still turned to Lee, she whispered, "I love you."
The poignancy of the simple statement, the humility and defeat of the woman at the door, stirred a turmoil within Lee's breast. Maybe, she thought, this was really it the perfection she had been seeking. This could be the ideal, and here she was, telling it to go. And all for the sake of a husband who simply took her for granted and because of neighbors who didn't matter anyway.
This was Louise's life, not theirs. And it was Lee's life, too.
Quentin? An unhappy, dissatisfied male who wanted to leave one sick woman for another, even sicker. The greatest thing she could do for him was make it absolutely impossible for them to get together as he wanted.
The moment was important. The moment had always been important to Lee. Tomorrow was a dream, and why waste time on dreams?
"Louise!" Her call was a clarion.
The woman at the door turned quickly, her eyes sparkling, teeth gleaming in an expectant smile.
"Did you mean what you said, Louise?"
"I love you," Louise repeated simply.
"Are you willing to face the trouble you'll have?"
"I'm willing. It'll be worth it."
Lee held out her arms. "Come to me."
12
So the die was cast and Lee Sherman committed herself. She and Louise stayed together the rest of that day and, like two whispering, secret things, made their plans, detailed how they would survive, outlined their procedure in the face of this new way of life for Louise.
They would go on as they had begun, they decided. They would not flaunt their love but they would not conceal their association, either. They would try to all intents and purposes to maintain their position as neighbors and good friends, go shopping together, attend matinee movies, visit The Breakers, have each other in for afternoon coffee, and do all the many things that women in their position would do.
And they would make love. Whenever the need and the opportunity came, they would meet and act as lovers. It would not be too difficult, seeing each other like this. And they could spend nights together, too, as long as they managed it discreetly.
Only Belle would be dangerous. She knew about such things and could spotlight them with her keen sense of observation. But neither would Belle reveal such a relationship to anyone; not if it would hurt people, people, say, like Buff Wagner.
"But if it does come out in the open, Louise," Lee said, "I won't stand for your denying it. not even to Buff. You've got to be honest about it. I am honest; this way of life is no game with me. It's life itself."
"I know." Louise's gaze was frank and direct. "That's how I feel, too. And when the time does come to tell Buff, I will, don't worry." She gathered Lee into her arms and breathed into the fragrance of her hair. "Oh, this is the only way for me, my darling! Why have I waited so long!"
Now that she had rejected the idea of Quen's proposal, Lee felt more like herself. Quen had confused her by trying to show her a false light, one which she could never really see. It was the sort of trouble with which she could not cope, this business of accepting the love of a male.
But this torn with turmoil and sordid consequences though it would be this was something she knew how to handle. It was, in effect, her defiance of the brute male that she was exhibiting once more. By taking Louise away from Buff, she was taking herself away from the boy who had battered her with his awkwardness. And because of this need, she would be able to face the scorn and the curses of Buff Wagner and her neighbors once they discovered what was going on.
She wasn't too worried about how Louise would react, so long as she reacted. Louise was a simple, sensuous woman, and she could escape into their bed where Lee could show her a hundred and one ways of the varieties of love, enough to shut out the screams and maledictions that were sure to descend upon her.
Lee told her all of this and Louise shook her head merrily. "I don't care" she cried through laughing lips. "Look, Lee, I want to do something wild with you! Name it! Tell my anything you want to do with me and I'll show you! I'll do it!"
The woman's willful mood caught Lee up in the vortex. She laughed, too, and they laughed together in mischief. Their brains churned with a thousand images of how they could shock their neighbors, watch the expressions on their faces as they saw the two women, Lee and Louise, embrace and kiss, not as two friends, but as lovers, breasts crushed by avid hands, tongues slipping into mouths in deep, unabashed passion.
Then their laughter subsided and they were both lost in thought, Louise eager for a way to prove her love, Lee wanting to see proof, just for die sheer hell of it.
Lee snapped her fingers, her eyes bright with a thought.
"I've got it!" she cried. "Saturday night the night of the open house and The Breakers! Will Buff be there?"
"Not Buff, especially not on Saturday night."
"Well, it doesn't matter. It would be better if he were there. However, you go and I'll wait till everybody gets good and drunk and come and get you..."
"Huh?" Louise was laughing weakly now, not understanding.
"Well, what I'll do is hail you and cry out to you, "Come, Louise! Your gondola awaits to take you to Fire Island!"
"Fire Island!" Louise exploded in laughter. The name of Fire Island meant only one thing to the good folk of Siesta Drive. It was the gamboling area of homosexuals. They always made fun of the island and its strange habituees in a sort of comic-tolerant manner, forgetting, of course, that the deviates occupied only one section of the place, albeit the loudest.
They'll think we're joking, of course. Oh, maybe Belle won't, but that doesn't matter. The rest'll be too drunk to think and won't do any more than wave merrily at us and wish us luck."
Lee grasped Louise's shoulders, sinking her nails deeply into the flesh. "Then you and I will go to Fire Island, Louise. I'll have my boat readied. And we'll make love where all good daughters of Sappho should love, on the shores of modem Lesbos..."
"Oh, I don't know what you're talking about, but we'll do it! We'll do it!"
"You are game, then." Lee's gaze was serious.
"Of course I am. Come and get me Saturday night and I'll show you."
And then, holding each other tightly, they laughed at the great joke they would pull on their friends.
Out of Lee's mind vanished Quen, already in flight to Reno, gone was any thought of problems that could be solved by love between man and woman.
There was only the mad, wonderful world with Louise, so filled with daring and danger, so charged with excitement and challenge, so defiant of the brutal world of men. Here in the arms of this ordinary woman, then, Lee would find the answer to all that she had been seeking, and she could laugh at the standards of men, at the vain foolishness of then-wives, at all the conventions that said she could not be happy in this, her way of life.
"Imagine!" she exulted. "Those who think that I'm a Lesbian for sure will wonder if I've really seduced you! And those who only suspect I'm queer will laugh at the thought of the same idea, thinking it's a gag we're pulling you, a respectable, everyday housewife suddenly going for a woman! And then there are those who don't suspect about me; they'll just think that what we're doing is making fun of the Fire Islanders!"
Louise's laugh was again a little weak; she wasn't sure that Lee was not ridiculing her in her reference to her as respectable and everyday. Neither was she sure of the depth of the joke, if it was a joke. But this was Lee's idea of how Louise could prove her love, so she forced a stronger laugh, pretending to understand.
"And do you know what none of those prosaic people will suspect, my Louise?" Lee went on, rumpling Louise's thick hair. "That you and I are really, truly, honestly in love!"
And now Louise's laugh was real; this last was something she could understand. Watching Lee, touching her, listening to her, being close to her, Louise felt this was the way, this was the only way. Everything else was nonsense.
"I'll have Bennie get my boat in shape," said Lee. "All that has to be done is tune the outboard and attach it and it'll be ready. Do you like the idea, Louise?"
"Love it! It's so much like you, Lee; exciting and beautiful and different!"
"Ah, baby," Lee murmured. "You ain't seen nothing yet.
And she gathered the pliant, soft Louise into her arms.
When she called the owner of Rennie's Boat Yard and told him to get her 19-foot runabout in shape by Saturday, he told her he didn't have much time but he would do the best he could..
"But the weather doesn't look good, Miss Sherman," he continued. "It's awful muggy and they're expecting a storm. You're not planning to go boatin' Saturday, are you?"
"I might, Rennie. Oh, and make sure my lights are all right, too."
"Always do that, Miss Sherman. By the way, you gonna be at The Breakers party?"
"You bet your sweet life I am, Rennie! With bells on!"
Belle, at her window, looked out at the darkness of the day and the murky waters in the canal as she talked to Jason on the phone. "What the hell, dear, we might as well go. We've got nothing else to do anyway, have we?"
"No," Jason said. "But the idea of spending an evening at that draggy place! Besides, the weather's lousy, too."
"What difference does that make? The Breakers is only down the street on the other side of the canal."
"Oh, all right. Maybe we'll get to see some of our old friends, anyway. Anybody new come up recently?"
"Not that I know of." Belle paused, hesitatingly. Then she said, "Jason, something is bothering me, though."
"Oh? What is it?"
"Remember the other night, when Lee Sherman had some kind of trouble at her place? Well, Louise went over to see her. She stayed quite a while, Jason. And then, when they were dancing together at The Breakers, I didn't like what was going on."
"Look, Belle, are you letting your imagination run away with you again?" Jason laughed. "I'm going to take your Stekel and Krafft-Ebing books away from you."
"To tell you the truth, Jason, I'm very worried. If anything untoward does happen between Lee and Louise, I'll feel responsible. I'm ashamed to say it, but I planted a bee in Louise's bonnet about Lee. She annoyed me by talking constantly about Lee's sex life, refusing to believe that she's a Lesbian..."
"Now what on earth would Louise know about Lesbians?"
"That's just it, Jason. I told her that she ought to flirt with Lee and clear the question up for herself."
"And that's what's bugging you?" Jason laughed. "She's probably forgotten all about it by now, so why don't you?"
"You didn't see them dancing together as I did."
"Watch it! There goes that imagination again. Look, just get ready for Saturday night and I promise you that I'll try to enjoy myself, darling."
But when she hung up. Belle was still apprehensive. And the weather didn't help, either. It was as gloomy and as ominous as she felt. Looking across the canal, she could see Lee's house and that of Louise, both silent, both standard structures that anyone would pass by without a thought as to what might have been going on inside.
She saw Rennie come down the canal in his repair boat and load the large outboard motor onto Lee's boat. Idly, she watched him as he started the motor, tested it and then shut it off. It would be about time to get work started on her boat, she decided. She would talk to Jason about it when he came home. Very soon now summer was coming, as soon as this strange, overhanging weather broke up and made things normal once more.
Rennie finished and walked to Lee's front porch and rang the bell. There was no answer and he wrote a note on a card and stuck it into the door. Then he left on his repair boat as Belle watched. "Well," she said to herself, "he left a note for Lee telling her what he'd done to her outboard. Funny she has the work done now; she usually waits till much later in the season."
Then her heart skipped a beat as a car came down the street and pulled into the Wagner driveway. It was Buff, home early on Friday afternoon rather than later toward evening. "Oh, gosh! I hope Louise is home and not..."
But she heaved her chest in relief as she saw Louise open the door and greet Buff. Buff was a big blonde man and he gathered his small wife in his muscular arms, laughing so loudly Belle could hear him across the canal. Louise squealed as he embraced her, and then they disappeared into tlx; house.
Belle waited at the window until she saw the Jaguar drive up. Lee got out, glanced at the Buick in the driveway next door and Belle strained to catch her expression. But it was too far away, and Lee's back was to her. She could see, however, that Lee's head was turned toward Louise's house as she walked up the path.
Then Lee saw the card stuck in her door, read it, and turned around to look at her boat at the bulkhead along the canal. Now she smiled; Belle could see that, and she turned her head to look at the house next door, the smile still on her lips.
Then with a toss of her head, she turned and went into the house. Belle drew back from her window, her heart beating like a trip hammer, afraid, wishing she had never moved to Lindenhurst, wishing that she was a thousand miles away from it, from Louise, from Lee...
Buff half-carried, half-dragged Louise into the house, laughing, chortling, biting her neck as she squealed, screamed joyously and tried to bite back at him. He threw her onto the couch where she lay with laughing abandon, looking up at him, bright-eyed, wonderingly.
"Buff! What on earth's got into you, Buff?"
He ripped off his leather jacket and his shirt, tearing some of the buttons, and stood there, bare chested, the broad expanse of muscularity heaving, his hands on his hips.
"God, you're a grand hunk of woman!" he growled. "Hurry up and get that damned dress off unless you want me to tear it off you!"
She clutched the bosom of her dress in mock horror, still laughing. "You're home early, Buff? Why'? "
He unzipped the levis and dropped them down, working the tight material off his sturdy, work-tensed legs. "Cause I couldn't wait to get to you, that's why. I dunno, Louise, baby..." He was down to his shorts now and he fell to his knees beside her. "It was hot as hell today and all of a sudden I was thinking of you and me and the way it was when we were back home. In the fields. Remember, Louise, honey?"
The excitement swelled her breasts as she sensed the odor of sweat and heat and earth that came from him. Yes, that's the way it was back in Iowa when they had been very young and so much like animals. When he was like a sleek bull, wild and demanding, and he had taken her so many times like this, home from the fields, smelling like this, tasting like this...
"Tear it off, Buff," she whispered weakly. "Tear it off."
He leaned still closer to her, bringing his chest to her mouth. Ask me again. Beg me..."
Her eyes closed, unable to bear the crush of his flesh against her mouth, she mumbled, "Please, Buff! Please!"
He ripped her dress off and away, the tear-sound-blending with her gasp. And then he took her, there on the couch, full of the heat and fury of the day and his reawakened lust for her. And she melted in his fervent embrace, shuddering as she felt his manhood plunging her into a heaven that was like nothing on earth and there was only Buff and Louise in all the universe, one now, tossed and tumbled through infinity.
"You and me!" Buff cried suddenly as he gave her the fullness of his love. "Just you and me!"
"Yes!" she cried into his ear. "Yes ... Yes ... Yes!"
13
"Orrie, now you listen to me and listen good. Everybody's gettin' pretty drunk now and pretty soon we can get out and nobody'll notice. You hear me, Orrie?"
It wasn't easy for Orrie to hear Ida. They were out in back of The Breakers, protected from the pelting rain only by the tin roof that covered the enclosure where the extra beer was kept. The downpour, which had started early in the evening to break the hot spell, thundered on the tin and Ida had to shout to make herself heard. Orrie struggled with a case of beer and nodded. "Yeah, I hear you. But I'm awful thirsty."
"Don't worry about that. I'll make sure you get a bottle, Orrie. Now here's the way we work it. Lee Sherman's front porch's got a broken window. Soon's she comes in tonight, you scoot right over there, get in the window, and wait for me on the front porch. You hear, Orrie? We can have our fun there."
"Yes, all right. But just make sure you bring something."
Ida patted him on the chest and then scurried back into the bar room, hiding from the rain under a raincoat held over her head. The place was packed, despite the weather. The open house idea had attracted people through the rain and wind that turned the canal into a churning volcano.
Ben was behind the bar pouring beer as fast as he-could manage it. The keg was almost empty and he was waiting for Orrie to bring in cases of bottled beer.
Ida sidled up to him. "See, Ben? I told you they'd pack the place. It's a real ball."
"Well, I hope the heavy drinkers start ordering the real stuff soon. This is costing us money."
And as if in answer, Buff, one heavy arm around Louise, pushed his way up to the bar and ordered two whiskies. "It's like a welcome home party, Ben," he cried. "Ain't it, honey doll?"
"You bet it is!" Louise laughed back. Both were very drunk and very happy, their arms constantly about each other, kissing ears, cheeks and fingertips, waiting for the party to end so they could go home again.
Belle, at a table with Jason and Gwen and her husband, watched Louise and enjoyed herself because of the relief she felt at the sight of the happiness of the Wagners. Lee, she noted, had not come in yet, but that was not unusual. It was Lee's practice to indulge in home-mixed cocktails before going out to a bar in order to be able to face the beer drinkers. She would come in when she was ready, when she was courageous enough.
The door swung open at a little before eleven, letting in a howling gust of wind, a spray of rain, and Lee Sherman. Her face and hair were soaked with rain but her face was flushed with excitement and Martinis.
"Hi, everybody!" she shouted happily. "How goes the orgy?"
The others greeted her and waved her in and she stepped forward with her long strides, her hair streaking down the sides of her face, her arms swinging. She was a wild thing to the people in the barroom, a strange thing, a thing of unreal beauty, and they stopped talking and laughing to look at her.
She paused in the middle of the floor and looked around, her waist a pivot for her swinging torso. "Where's Louise?" she cried. "Where's the Lorelei of Siesta Drive?"
Belle gasped, her eyes wide in horror. But Jason didn't notice. Neither did anyone else. All eyes were on Lee. And then she saw Louise standing at the bar. "Oh, there you are, you lovely thing!" Lee cried. "Come! You and I are going to the haven of all beautiful women to Fire Island!"
Louise did not move. Beside her, Buff stepped forward, his body stiff and tense, all laughter gone from him. "What is this, Lee?" he demanded.
And then Lee saw him, her dancing eyes shifting from Louise to Buff. "Oh, you're back, Buff! Having fun? Booze up, fellow! I'll have your wife back in time to meet the milkman!" She moved to Louise and reached for her hand. "Come on, baby! This is it!"
Louise pulled her hand away. Her body was trembling and her eyes refused to meet those of Lee. "What do you want, Lee? Have you gone crazy? I'm not going anyplace with you." She slipped her arm around Buff's waist and held him tightly. "I want another drink, dear."
Lee glared at her, her mouth set in a thin line, her small fists clenched tightly against her thighs. The room reeled about her and Louise's face blended with Buffs, with Ben's with Ida's. And suddenly all the wisdom, all the tact, all the patience and skill she had accumulated through the years vanished, caught in a vortex of rage flaring up against hypocrisy, false sensuality and against the latent deviates who indulged in rapture only when it suited them.
"Then why?" she exploded, her face inches away from that of Louise. "Why did you lead me on?" It was a cry, a long, mournful wail of anguish and bitterness.
The room was frozen into silence, everyone set in a tableau of terror at sights and sounds they had never imagined could take place between two women. Only Belle shuddered, her breath caught in her throat.
Louise was rigid with fear, her eyes still on the ground. Suddenly Buff nudged her heavily and roared, "Answer her, God damn it! Do you hear me? Answer her!"
Louise opened her mouth but she was speechless. She tried again, and now the words came out, only a whisper, but sounding like thunder in that room. "I
... I just wanted to find out, that's all. I was just ... curious!" She broke into a sob and covered her face with her hands.
Buff wrenched them away, his hands on her wrists. "Wait a minute. What happened, Louise? Did you and her fool around?"
"Fool around!" Lee's cry split the air. "My god, man!"
And she turned and ran out of the room, back through the door and into the storm of the night. There was only the sound of Louise's sobs now as Buff released her hands and drew away from her, his lips curled in scom, glaring at her in disbelief and loathing.
Belle, heavy and broken, pulled herself to her feet. "Come, Jason. Let's go. I want to find Lee. I've got to talk to her."
But before he could reply, Orrie burst into the doorway, drenched, more haggard than usual, his gumless mouth agape, his eyes darting madly. "Help, somebody!" he screamed. "It's Lee Sherman! She's taken her boat out! She can't last ten minutes out there! Help!" And the husk of a man dropped to the floor in a puddle of rainwater, crying helplessly.
Some of the men stepped over and past him to run to the door and they peered into the night, into the canal opening into the bay right at the foot of The Breakers property. "Can't see anything out there!" someone yelled. "It's black as hell!"
"Maybe the old drunk imagined it!" another cried.
"He couldn't imagine it," Jason said. "You saw how mad she was. We'd better call the Coast Goard fast."
They went back inside and the storm closed in tightly on The Breakers and its people, the heavy, many-coursed rain sweeping down relentlessly, the wind tossing the waves over the bulkheads, flooding the lower lands, the same rain, wind and waves that chased Lee Sherman in a fury as she steered her runabout along the channel that led to Fire Island Inlet.
Her face was in the brunt of the rain and wind, heT eyes blinded by the torrent as she bent to the steering wheel, driving the outboard on in the teeth of the storm, laughing, cursing, spitting out the rain that drove into her screaming mouth.
The guide lines leading from the outboard along the sides of the boat and to the wheel strained and creaked even above the mad howl of the wind. Waves lashed the sides, hit them and broke over the deck inundating Lee, drenching her with the savage wet and cold.
And still she went on. She knew the way, and although the sea was much higher that she had ever known it to be in the bay, she knew by instinct and timing when and how to turn and when to stay on as straight a course as she could manage against the onrush of the storm.
"Fire Island!" she screamed. "I'm going there, damn them all! The hell with the Quens and the Louises and the Myrnas! There's only Lee Sherman and she docs what she wants!"
She was alone now, and felt safer and more secure than she had even been. There was no one around to try to persuade her to their way of life, to use her to satisfy some sick need in themselves. There was only herself and the storm, both clean, both mad with fury, both wanting no more than the expression of their pent-up energies, and heaven help whoever and whatever got in their way.
A powerful wave slashed the boat, lifting it and hurling it toward one of the stanchions marking the route of the channel. She twisted heavily on the wheel to set the boat straight again. The guide lines creaked and strained with the effort, the angry sea holding the rudder to one course and refusing to give up to Lee's efforts to counteract it.
"Damn it!" she screamed. "Come around!"
Another wave, rougher, bigger, caught her up again and, plunging her back, set her in the center of the channel once more. Now she was straight on, now she would keep going straight ahead and there would be no stopping her.
And then, ahead of her, through the vast opening of the inlet, she saw the full fury of the storm. The waves plunged high overhead, vast churnings far more terrible than the waters of the bay. And her small boat plunged toward it, driven by the wind and the sea. And at that moment, with disaster facing her, she thought of one person and one name.
"Quen!" She screamed the name into the raging storm. "Help me!"
Quen wanted to help her once, maybe he could help her now. But she had to go back, she had to get to him so that he could help her. He was her only hope, the only person on earth who had any faith in her.
She grasped the steering' wheel, fighting to keep her wet, slippery hands on the handles, and wrenched at it to turn it about. But it was fast, as though welded tightly, immovable against the force of the current that controlled it.
Lee gritted her teeth, her eyes half-closed against the force of the wind and the rain cutting at her face like a thousand knives. She braced her feet, slippery on the soaked boards, found a brace against the side, and pulled hard at the wheel.
Then, suddenly, the wheel was free in her hands and she cried out in joy and triumph, having won the battle. But the wheel spun crazily and uselessly, free of the broken guide lines.
"Oh, my good God!" she breathed.
The boat plunged and bobbed aimlessly, buffeted about atop and beneath the huge waves. Lee abandoned the useless steering wheel, balancing herself against the seats spreading across the boat. There was only one way now to try to control it; she had to get back to the outboard, seize the handle, fight the surge of the sea with it and her own body, and escape the storm's wrath by getting back to shore and to Quentin Howard.
She crawled on her hands and knees, over the seats one by one, three rows of them, drenched, lashed by the waves that plunged into the boat, tilted first to one side and then the other, a careening, uncontrolled and flimsy thing here in the center of the storm.
Her hands reached out, the outboard handle only inches away. And at that instant a wave, great and powerful, picked up the small craft, lifted it high, holding it aloft for a long, wind lashed moment, and then flung it away in majestic disdain.
Lee saw the sea beneath her, saw the boat away to one side, turning over and over, and then the sea rushed up and took her.
And she welcomed it as it welcomed her, laughing aloud, sinking into the embrace of the deep green waters, feeling the current possess her, sinking deeper and deeper into an ecstasy beyond all ecstasy.
And then she could endure no more and her lungs burst with the sheer joy of the lifetime that had lasted only an instant.
14
Belle saw the dawn the next morning. Sitting at her window the entire night, she had watched the storm fade out at last just before dawn and the rising sun break the heavy formation of clouds in the distance, and now came the day, bright and warm and promising.
She felt a heavy sadness looking at the wet road and grass below, as if it had all been drenched with the tears of the storm. The waters of the canal were now peaceful, the surface smooth as oil, the violence spent. Across the canal on West Siesta Drive, the houses of Lee Sherman and the Wagners stood dripping the remnants of the rain from the roofs. Belle felt, looking at the houses, that they were like monuments to tragedy, here in the prosaic area of the
Lindenhurst waterfront, a touch of Greek drama among a community of commuters.
Jason's Pontiac came down the street slowly, laboriously, and parked before her window. A tired, haggard Jason got out of the car and saw her at the window, and shook his head, his face a mask of pain.
"The Coast Guard found her boat, Belle," he said. "Totally wrecked. But she's gone..."
He hung his head and entered the house. Belle did not move from the window but waited for him where she was. When he came into the room, Jason flung himself into a chair, his legs sprawled out, his chin on his chest.
"I can't understand it, Belle. You had an idea of something happening, didn't you?"
Belle didn't reply. He raised his eyes and looked at her, still as a statue against the glare of light through the window. "It's as much my fault as it is yours, I guess," he went on wearily. "You tried to tell me but I wouldn't listen. I refused to be my sister's keeper. Belle, I'm sorry."
She hung her head and whispered, "Jason, put the house up for sale. I want to move back to New York as soon as possible."
Jason rose, stepped to Belle and put his arms around her. "Of course, darling. I don't know how you got the idea you did about Lee and Louise, and I don't want to know. What I saw and heard last night, in addition to what happened to Lee, was all anyone need know. And, like you, I don't want to live in a place where a thing such as this has happened."
"Jason." Belle turned and faced him squarely, her eyes dry now and steady. "If anyone was to blame for this, I was. I was bored and I fed Louise, intrigued her, titillated her, and so amused myself ... I thought. You say you're sorry? Jason, I'm ashamed, ashamed!"
"I know. Our brand of sophistication can go too far. Do you know what I'm wondering now? What's going to happen to Buff and Louise?"
Belle clutched him and buried her head in his chest. "I don't want to know," she moaned. "I just don't want to know."
"Buff was out with us all night. We were out in one of Rennie's heavy duty boats, helping the Coast Guard. He didn't say a word, Belle, all the while. He manned one of the searchlights and he didn't let up for a second. After we got word that Lee's boat had been found, he wouldn't give up looking for her, either. He's still out there, searching the small islets, hoping she's been washed ashore, hoping she's still alive."
"Poor Buff," Belle said softly. "And poor Louise. After you men left, she got into a corner and just sat there, staring at the floor. And do you know the strangest thing, Jason? None of the girls would talk to her. No, I don't mean that. They couldn't talk to her. She was like some kind of a leper and they couldn't bring themselves to come close to her."
She tugged at Jason's lapels. "And it wasn't because of her having an affair with Lee, either, Jason! That's the marvelous, awful part of it. It was because she had played with the sincerity that was so much a part of Lee. Do you understand?"
"I think I do," Jason replied. "At least I can understand as much as any man can understand something that is strictly within the province of women."
"They were wonderful, my women neighbors, Jason. I'm proud of them for not condemning Lee."
"But they were wrong in condemning Louise, however. She didn't know what she was doing."
"She knew." Belle drew away from Jason and looked out across the canal. "And it's a horrible shame that a weak creature like Louise was the instrument that would destroy a strong person like Lee."
"Don't you want to go to bed now? We haven't slept all night."
"No. I want to wait until Buff comes back. You go to sleep."
"I'll wait too, darling."
Others also waited. The people of Siesta Drive lined the bulkheads, looking out to the bay, standing there mute and still, waiting. Others were on the shores of the bay itself, as silent as the soft-lapping waters now a hushed echo of the night's turbulence.
Ben and Ida, both hollow-eyed and pale, watched from the verandah of The Breakers. They disregarded the chairs and stood side by side, straining to see against the glare of the morning sun that blended sea and sky into one phosphorescent haze.
But it was Orrie who saw Rennie's boat first. Standing at the point of land reaching furthest out, bent over and squinting his narrowed eyes picked out the shape of the boat coming down the channel past the guide posts marking the deep waters. He wasn't sure at first, but when the boat swung around and headed directly toward the Lindenhurst canals, he recognized the broad beam and cried out, "Here they come!"
The word was picked up and carried up the canals in hushed tones. The people stepped forward a bit, but no more than that as they continued waiting. They saw the boat come to the head of the canal at last and then it turned, gliding smoothly and powerfully into the canal itself.
Rennie was at the helm, tall, thin, his thin shoulders peaked, his eyes and mouth set. But all eyes were on Buff who stood at the rear of the boat, his heavy body braced with legs set wide apart, his hands at his sides, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
At his feet, placed on a boat-wide seat, was a long, low object. It was covered with a sheet of oil cloth, wrinkled and bunched up, and pitifully small.
As the boat came slowly up the canal there was a movement at the Wagner house. The door opened and Louise came out to stand on the front porch. She seemed about half her actual size as she stood there, shrunken with weariness, bracing her shoulder against one of the posts and watching bleakly as the boat came closer.
The wake of the boat was smooth and billowing, the waters softly lapping the bulkheads like trembling whispers. A gull swooped up the canal, carrying itself on the flow of air, arched downward toward the slowly moving boat, and then lifted again to go back to sea.
The boat passed The Breakers, followed by the steady gazes of Ida, Ben and Orrie, and then moved on, gliding by the homes of Gwen and Lill, past houses that were still closed, waiting for the flow of summer life.
And then Rennie killed the motor, just before reaching the Sherman house and dock. The boat swerved smoothly toward the dock in silence. When it bumped against the rubber tires, Rennie tossed a rope expertly and made the boat fast. Then, when all was secure, he leaned wearily against the steering wheel.
There was not a sound as Buff reached down and lifted the oil cloth before him, clearing it and dropping it to one side. Lee Sherman lay limply and flatly on the seat, her blonde hair streaking downward, its strands glinting in the sunlight. Her arms hung down the sides of the seat, the backs of the hands floating in the water that had caught in the boat bottom.
Louise took a deep gasping breath and stepped back into the shadows of the porch, her hands clasped together at her bosom. Then out of her mouth came a soft, low, long, unearthly moan as Buff picked the limp figure up in his arms and stepped onto the dock.
The big, strong figure made the burden he carried seem frail and light. His eyes fixed on Louise, he plodded slowly along the boards of the bulkhead and toward her. unwaveringly.
Louise could not move. She was frozen, her eyes staring at the body in her husband's arms. Lee's hair was all that moved as Buff carried her, swaying with each step, a strand catching in the open mouth and then falling free again.
Buff carried Lee up the steps of the porch and laid her at Louise's feet. He straightened up and, without looking back, turned, went back down the steps and to his car in the driveway. In another moment he was gone.
Louise could not bring herself to look down at the body at her feet. She stared at the car as it vanished up the road, and even after it was gone, she kept looking in that direction. Suddenly, as if to run after Buff, she started to move forward, her toes touched Lee's body, she looked down as if seeing it for the first time, stopped and opened her mouth in a long, ear-piercing scream.
And she could not be stopped until others carried her into the house, mad with hysteria, fighting off her friends, scratching, biting, screaming, crying out, "Kitty! Kitty!"
15
It is summer once again in Lindenhurst. Most of the houses are wide open and thronged with vacationers and guests. Boats move up and down the canals, toward the sea and back again, loaded with tanned fishermen and laughing children waving at those on shore, relaxing on the docks.
There is much traffic on Siesta Drive now on both sides. The lethargy of winter is gone, replaced by the excitement and the flow of the sun-drenched heat of summer.
The Breakers, too, is activated. The beer flows and the kitchen is busy as the newcomers enter to renew friendships that have been dormant since last summer. Ben is very busy behind the bar and Ida carries trays of beer and sandwiches to the crowded, noisy tables, asking after their health, laughing at their attempts at humor.
It is a good time, a happy time, a wonderful interval in the lives of city-bound people who now want to forget the crowds of Manhattan, the workaday world, and the confines of city living. And Ida and Ben are there to help them forget. It is a time of storing up energy to endure the winter to come.
"Hey, Ida!" calls Bert Porter, big, fat and hearty. "Come over here a minute, will ya?" He is sitting with his wife, his sister and his brother-in-law, and the latter two are introduced to the proprietress of The Breakers with all the ceremony due a person of import.
"Ida knows everything there's to know around here, right, Ida?" booms Bert.
"If I don't know it, it ain't worth knowing!" laughs Ida and the others echo her cheer.
"Well, Steve, my brother-in-law here,--likes Lindenhurst and he's thinking of buying. I told him that you'd know of any good buys around. How about it, Ida?"
"Well." Ida leans on the table heavily with both hands. "There are a couple, Steve. In fact, there are some that are terrific buys. Folks moved out in kind of a hurry and you can get 'em cheap."
"See?" exclaims Bert. "What'd I tell ya? Name 'em off, Ida."
"Well, there's the Harvey place. One of the best places along the canals, too. Folks moved out just this spring. Mrs. Harvey Belle decided she wanted to go back to the city. Her husband's work, you know. But it's expensive. They want thirty-five thousand for it."
"That's out," says Bert's sister. "What else is there?"
"Buff Wagner has his house up for sale. Decided he wanted to live where he worked, out on a farm around here."
"Wagner?" asks Bert's wife. "Didn't his wife get sick or something like that?"
Ida nods. Bert's wife turns to Steve's wife. "You don't want that place, Wilma. I know how you feel about crazy people..."
"Crazy people?" echoes Wilma. "Was the wife crazy, the one who lived there?"
"Not while she lived there," Ida says. "They took her away when it happened."
Wilma shivers. "Oooh! I couldn't live there. It'd be like haunted. I've got a terrible imagination."
"That place is out, Ida," says Bert.
"Well, there's one more place. You can get it cheap, almost for the taxes on it," says Ida.
Bert's eyes narrow shrewdly. "How come? What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing at all. It's a very good house, right on the water."
"Got to be something wrong with it if it's so cheap," Bert observes. "What house is it?"
Ida looks at her hands down on the table. "Used to belong to a girl named Lee Sherman."
Bert rises quickly, his face drawn with anger. "Come on, folks. Let's get outta here. She's talking about the house that belonged to that woman faggot who got drowned."
The others get up, following his lead, also looking angrily at Ida. "But there's nothing wrong with the house," she pleads. "And a house is what you're looking for, ain't it? You asked me and I told you."
But the Bert Porter party is already on its way out. And Ida, remembering, regretting, shouts after them, "Well, she was a hell of a lot better than you smudge pots!"
"Anything wrong?" asks Bert when Ida goes back to the bar.
"No. It's okay ... Hey! Where's Orrie going?"
Orrie is at the door of the kitchen, a small, battered suitcase in his fist. He wears a worn jacket in addition to the baggy pants now, and this is most unusual for the little man.
"Ben, you got my pay?" he says. "I'm leavin'. "
"But why, Orrie?" asks Ida.
Orrie does not reply. He waits quietly, looking down at his toes. Ben looks from him to Ida and then rings up the cash register, takes out some bills and gives them to Orrie.
Orrie stuffs the money into his pocket and moves around to the side door, now open for the summer.
Ida calls after him, "You didn't tell us why, Orrie!"
"Let him go," says Ben. "You'll have to find yourself another boy, Ida."
Ida looks at him quickly but Ben is busy pouring more beer and he avoids her eyes. When she looks around again, Orrie is gone. A strange emptiness grips Ida's chest and she walks slowly, heavily back into the kitchen, feeling suddenly very, very old.
Orrie walked up West Siesta Drive, looking around at the houses and the canal, saying goodbye in silence. He had been many places in his life and this was just another one to him. He had wanted to leave much earlier, right after they found Lee's body, but he had stayed out of a sense of loyalty to Ben. Ben had been good to him and had taken him in when he needed a place. He had worked through into the summer, readying The Breakers, but now it was time to be off again, to surround himself with new places and new people.
And out of all those he had seen the year he had been here, there was only one he would miss. It was the tall, free-limbed, always laughing girl with the sadness to her eyes. That was how he thought of her, alive and looking around eagerly, not as the lifeless, limp, thin figure that Buff Wagner had carried up to lay at Louise's feet on that terrible day that was the aftermath to the spring storm.
He did not pause as he passed the houses that he knew so well. But he wanted to stop for just a moment before Lee's. Then he saw a man standing there before the house, a tall man with the same sadness in his eyes that Lee had had.
The man had just gotten out of his car and was looking at the house, his hands folded at his waist. Orrie stopped and looked at him. The man closed his eyes and bowed his head. It was as though he was saying a prayer.
Then, opening his eyes, he moved slowly up the walk to the porch. He put his hand on the door, caressing it tenderly, running his fingers across the knob, touching the bell, the panes of glass. And this was as though he was seeking contact with something that was no longer there.
He turned around and saw Orrie at the foot of the walk. The two men looked at each other for a moment. The stranger started to say something and then stopped, one hand out.
And Orrie said, "Did you know her?"
The man nodded and moved toward Orrie. This . close, Orrie saw tears in his eyes and his mouth was tight, clenched against his teeth.
"I seen her," Orrie said. "I seen her get into her boat that night. I coulda stopped her. If I'd been strong, I coulda stopped her. But I was sick." He looked up savagely at the stranger. "No! I wasn't sick! I was drunk!" He stopped, choking on his words, lost, looking about wildly for escape.
The man put his hand on Orrie's thin shoulder. "It's all right," he said. "I know how you feel. I could have stopped her, too. But I didn't. I let her stay here and face things out all by herself. And I wasn't even drunk."
He looked at Orrie's suitcase. "Are you going away?"
"Yes. I'm going away. And the next time I can help somebody, if Got! gives me the chance, I'm gonna be well enough to help."
"So am I, if I get the chance, too. I'm going to New York; are you going that far?"
"Farther," said Orrie.
The two men got into Quentin's car and soon Lindenhurst, the canals, Siesta Drive, The Breakers, and everything else was behind them.
