The ship was launched, destined to become the center of a cartel of carnality, fueled for its maiden voyage. But there were few things that could be called maiden when applied to the pleasure-seeking wantons who seethed with vile hungers in their cabins, waiting for the ship to sail, waiting to take their frenzied freedoms on the open sea. For Jan, a nymphomaniac, the voyage was just another excuse to escape the feeble pawings of her husband, an excuse to renew her depraved life. And she liked men, but could not deny her perverted attraction for other women. The cruise was no less a game for Nick, a man whose life was made up of twisted lust and impotency. But Nick could never tell what man Jan would take next ... or what woman. Kenneth Walker and Peter Fletcher state, in their book Sex and Society: "In another human being, man or woman, we see our living image; another person who possesses an equal right to life, who claims the freedom we claim to make choices and decisions and to take action." Only Jan could not recognize the freedom of others....
CHAPTER ONE
THE SEAS AND THE OCEANS ARE HUGE, DANGEROUS places. In the middle of these lonely, dark waters, stretching to the horizon on all sides, there is a feeling of loneliness, aloneness, inadequacy amidst the calm, and complete helplessness in a storm, when the giant waves roll up and over and make a ship seem no more than a child's floating toy, tossed and beaten and tiny. Looking down into the water, black with depth, a man imagines all those miles below him, the strange life existing there, the great pressure, sunken Spanish treasure ships inhabited by giant monsters, men long dead to whom the ocean has become a tomb.
And yet man is the aggressor, man challenges the sea and conquers. The sea doesn't care, it takes its toll. But men challenge. Men are fearless. They explore and they exploit and they seek the mysteries and the treasures buried in and beneath the oceans. The Phoenicians, the Vikings, Columbus and Magellan went forth in their feeble ships. Later the British built an empire by sailing over the world. Submarines move far beneath the surface. Men skin-dive with air tanks for the thrill and the strange beauty.
But these are men who love the sea. Or hate the sea. Or seek revenge on the sea. Emotional men, who think of the sea as friend or enemy or obstacle.
There are others who sail and never think of the ocean as anything but a nuisance, as another road to traverse. These are the people with their own problems, their own goals and needs and errors. The ones who take luxury cruises and stay in the bar and never look at the water except perhaps in an effort to get a woman in a romantic mood. The moon on the sea is romantic. But the drinks in the bar are tax-free. And alcohol has aided full many a seduction as moonlight ever will. Men and women thrown together for days in the confines of a ship, each with individual needs and wants, playing them against each other. Humans are cruder to humans than the seas ever were. And many ships sail every day, so the combinations of passengers are many. Combinations which must result in tragedy must occur often. And in happiness, too. But some people can hurt more easily than they can give happiness, and when fate puts them together it is enough. Their own passions and efforts will do the rest. Fate can relax when dealing with men.
The S.S. Syndam sailed from New York at ten o'clock one windy March night, heading Northeast. The combination of passengers was one of the dangerous ones. Perhaps passions, like nuclear energy, await critical mass....
She rolled over on the bed in the dark room in lower Manhattan. A cool breeze from the window touched her hot, wet flesh pleasantly. The man lying next to her heard her stir and turned his face to look at her. He could see her partially out-lined by the light from the window, saw the back of her head, one ear, the line of her neck and shoulder and one naked breast jutting out, firm and upright. He didn't speak and didn't move, and after a while she turned to him.
"Ken?"
He said nothing.
"Ken? Are you awake, honey?"
"Yeah," he said.
"What time is it?"
"I can't see my watch. It's too dark."
"Turn on the light."
"No, I don't want the lights on."
There was a pause and she continued to stare at him. She spoke first.
"Ken, I hate to leave, you know that. But I must. It isn't going to do any good to act this way, or to try and postpone it. I just have to go and that's all and we'd better face up to it now. There's so little time, let's not argue."
He snapped the light on.
She blinked in the sudden glare. He looked at her with expressionless, tired eyes. She was sitting beside him, her knees raised and her arms clasped around them, looking sideways and down at him. Her breasts hung very slightly downward with their weight, and turned up again at the tips. Long, pointed breasts. Her legs were long, heavy-thighed but slender-ankled. Her stomach was rather flat but rose to a gentle, comfortable convex curve. She looked very pale in the sudden light, rather small and helpless, but her mouth was set with determination.
She had an oval face with regular features. Her nose was short and slightly turned up, and her gray eyes weren't too far apart. They were honest, straightforward eyes that were sometimes a warm, enveloping gray, and at other times were cold and piercing as the blade of a knife. Her mouth was rather small with a finely drawn upper lip and a slightly pouting lower one. When she was angry or disturbed over something, she would compress her mouth into a straight line that matched the straight line of her eyebrows. It was drawn into that position now, for she was disturbed. But determined.
The room was shabby, a few cracks ran through the plaster, the bed was an ancient brass type, a hot plate in one corner served as the kitchen. But from the window one saw the New York skyline, and even shabby one-room apartments in lower West Side Manhattan are all right with that view.
She had spent many a happy night there. They had been pleasureful, if not exactly happy. And not necessarily looking at the skyline.
Ken raised an arm and looked at his watch.
"Seven o'clock."
"I'd better be going, I guess."
"You've got three hours yet."
"I'm supposed to be aboard before ten. And I have to get my luggage there, too."
"There's plenty of time," he said. "I'll drive you to the pier in a little while."
"If you'd rather not...."
"I don't mind. But stay a little longer."
"All right. I'll stay until eight."
"All right," he said. He reached over and turned the light out again. In the dark he fumbled for his cigarettes on the bed stand, found them, lit two and held one out to her. She took it and the glare from its tip reddened as she inhaled.
"Don't leave, Jan," he said.
"I must."
"Do you love him?" She didn't answer. "Do you love me?"
"Yes," she said. Her cigarette glowed brighter, faded, made an arch of light away from her lips. "Do you love him more?"
"I ... he's my husband."
"Leave him."
"No. I can't."
"Why not?"
"I can't."
"Would you like to?" She said nothing. "Well?"
"No. No, I don't want to leave him. I love him. This is the last time that I'll ever be unfaithful to him. Ken. With you or anyone."
Ken exhaled. He smiled in the dark. "Well, at least that's a reason. I would have been sadder if I thought that you had gone back to him without a reason."
"It's a reason," she said.
They smoked silently, side by side.
"Ken?" she asked, after a while.
"Umm?"
"I wouldn't mind ... if you wanted to love me once more before I leave, it would be all right."
"A favor to me?"
"I want to, Ken."
"For the last time, huh?" he said, with a note of sarcasm in his voice.
"Please, Ken, don't act that way."
"Should I be happy, Jan?"
"Do you think I'm happy?"
"I hope not."
"Well, I'm not."
"But you really do love him?"
"Yes, damn it! Yes."
"All right," he said. "I'll make love to you."
Jan relaxed. Tension seemed to pour away. She leaned over him and crushed her cigarette out in the ash tray on the bed stand. As she did, her breasts hung down, brushed against his naked, hair-matted chest. The nipples began to harden at the contact, and she moved her body sideways a little so that they would rub with increased pressure.
"Don't go away," Ken said, as she started to sit up again. She remained where she was, bent over him. He butted his own cigarette, slowly, and she could feel his breathing quicken, his chest rise higher as he inhaled.
Then his hand cupped her breasts, squeezed gently. She rested one hand on him, palm down, and balanced above him. He pulled his hand downward, stretching her breast with it, and then her nipple was between his thumb and finger and he was rolling and squeezing it. It exploded into a tight little bullet in his hand.
"Let's make this good, Ken," she whispered. "Let's make the last time the best."
"The last time...." he said, and his voice trailed off into the darkness of the room. Jan didn't know what he was thinking, whether he was sad or wistful or sarcastic. She hoped that he wasn't being sarcastic. There had been last times before. But this was truly the last time. It had to be. And she didn't know if she was glad or not, but she did know that she was determined about it. When the ship sailed she would be on it, and if she had regrets later, then she would just have to suffer with them. She couldn't stop now. Too often there had been the last moment of indecision, the one more time that turned into one more day and then into one more week. Even into one more man and one more affair, although she didn't like to think about that. It is easier by far to think of oneself as an unfaithful wife than as a tramp. So she thought only of Ken. And, after all, it had lasted longest and it had been best with Ken, so it was only right to think of him and forget the others....
She was still bending over him. Her breast was in his hand, and she felt his other hand move along her side, just the fingers touching her, very lightly. She didn't move and tried to control her breathing, and waited. Right or wrong, it didn't matter now. It was only the first time that right or wrong came into it. It was only the first time with a man that she thought about the wrongness of infidelity. After that each time was only an extension of the same sin, and extensions were not nearly so bad. A sin was a sin, and the quality was not altered by the quantity. Or so she told herself.
Then his hand had moved sideways, across her middle, touching high on her thigh and then farther and holding her against his palm. Jan stopped thinking about sin, as she always stopped at this point, and thought only about what they were doing here, naked on the bed in the cheap room in lower Manhattan.
"Oh, Ken," she whispered, looking down at him although it was too dark to see his face. "Ken, let's make this time so good. We must remember each other by this, Ken ... it has to be good."
Ken only grunted.
But Jan knew that she wanted this to be the best, not only because she wanted it to be good for the moment, but because memories are longer than passion, and more important in the final tally. And this was definitely going to be the last time for her....
Her hand moved down and touched him, felt him leap at the touch. His breath rasped. She could feel his chest rise higher beneath her breasts. It was good to know that she could make him breathe harder, even now, even this last time, when he was angry and reluctant. But she had always been able to make Ken agitated. They had something very good between them, she and Ken, and now she was giving it up because she had to. Sacrificing it. It made her feel very noble and womanly-heroic and even very faithful as she caressed this man who was not her husband and felt the reaction move him.
Ken sat up and Jan moved slightly back. His arms went around her and then he bore her back onto the bed. His mouth found hers, and her lips parted. His tongue was a wedge. He was lying beside her as they kissed, and then he lifted a little, the length of their bodies together, and it seemed very unreal that this was the last time they would be together He was too concrete at the moment, his passion too tense.
She couldn't imagine him not being with her. She didn't try to. She let her knees move as his hand sought to caress her, so that his hand could move where it chose. She pushed herself forward, up from the bed, straining so that he would touch her more fully, more easily. She liked to be touched. She was proud of the rounded firmness of her tummy, so much better than the flat, hard middles that so many modern women strive for. Soft and rounded, a cushion for a man's head, for a man's desire....
She was thinking that this was the last time, thinking this in an objective way, because right then it was hard to believe that it really was, and so she thought of it as though she were merely an observer, a third party looking in on a woman who is making love with her lover for the last time, and she wondered how she, as a stranger, was going to act. How she should act. How the pleasure would be greatest and the pain least.
"Ken. Oh, I love you, Ken," she whispered.
But that wasn't right. There was pain in the intake of breath that followed. She could hear it. It wasn't right to speak, it had to be silent for a last time. There had been time enough for talking, and they had talked enough. Too much. Too much talking and not enough making love, she thought. That was what was wrong with a lot of things. The world, maybe. No, not the world. Just people. Were people the world? No, making love was the world, she thought, as his fingers tightened, brought her to readiness. No one had ever been able to bring her to awareness the way Ken did. Was that why she loved him? No, she didn't love him. She didn't think that she loved him, really. It was his hands, she thought. She loved his hands. They were what brought her to readiness. His long, thin, uncalloused hands. Artist's hands. And it was an art, at that, bringing a woman to readiness. A lost art. It was his hands that she would hate most to give up. But she would, and that made her feel very much like a martyr, as his hands caressed her.
She was prepared then. And he was ready, she could tell that by touching him. He was quivering, still caressing her and waiting for a sign. Considerate. Always willing to wait for her. She liked that.
"Love me, Ken," she whispered into his ear. She sank her teeth into his shoulder, not hard, just enough to let him know how willing she was.
He shifted his weight slightly, and she pulled him to her, showing him the way, placing him where his own hand had been moments before. He hesitated for a moment, tensed against her, and she raised as high as she could and pressed to him so that he became even more aware of her.
He moved then, just right, and Jan sighed.
It wasn't only his hands that she loved.
He clutched at her, and she helped him. Their bodies strained, falling into the same rhythm, building up at the same tempo so that, when their love was Strongest it would shake them to the depths.
Her arms clung around his shoulders, her nails digging into his back. His hands braced her hips from beneath. Their mouths ground together and her softness flattened against him. He loved her with a desperate strength and as the approaching red mist of her passion gripped her, her nails dug more deeply into his back.
She quivered. She was there, at the heights, hovering there and waiting for him. But he was a little too far behind, she couldn't wait, and ecstasy claimed her in waves of fulfillment. And then that was over, and she was aware of the room, and the Manhattan night out beyond the window, stretching away in all its electric splendor, and him, and his excitement, and the completeness of their sweating nakedness, and all the love that they had had. And mostly, she was aware that this was the last time for them.
But now, sated, she wasn't really sad about it. Sadness could wait for desire.
They were both half-asleep, in the exhausted fulfilled-dream world of post sex, side by side, Jan on her back, her legs askew, but the fires quenched that had scared them, Ken on his side with one forearm resting across her.
"What time is it now?" she asked, surprised at how loudly her voice sounded in the quiet room. She had thought that she was whispering.
He didn't answer. She thought that perhaps he was really asleep, and placed one hand on his shoulder. But she didn't shake him.
"Ken?" she asked. "Dram?"
"Honey, what time is it now?"
He moved his head over a few inches and kissed her breast, tenderly. She felt a very faint stirring within, and she didn't want that now. There was no time. He sat up and the stirring went away.
Jan got up and walked around the bed. She found the light and switched it on. Ken blinked up at her.
"I'm leaving now, Ken. Are you going to drive me to the pier or not?"
"All right," he said. He sat up on the edge of the bed. His hair was tousled and his eyes sleepy. He raised his wrist and stared at his watch, waiting while his eyes focused so that he could see the time.
"It's nearly nine," he said.
"We'll have to hurry," Jan said. She was already sorting out her clothing where it was piled on the chair in the corner, next to her luggage. Two battered suitcases. Ken waited another second, then he got up and began to put his clothing on, not making any effort to hurry, and looking at Jan. He wanted to see her body as she dressed, because it was definite now that he would never again see her naked. He was not going to argue any more, it was decided. Even if there had been a chance that she would change her mind, Ken wouldn't have argued. A man can argue just so much.
"Fasten this, will you, honey?" she asked.
Ken crossed over and fastened the clasp of her brassiere, being careful not to touch her. Then he moved away to finish dressing, and suddenly he was in as much of a hurry as she was. He finished first, before she had her dress pulled down, and waited for her. "Ready?"
"I guess so," she said.
"Have you got everything packed?"
Ken went over and lifted the suitcases. They weren't heavy. He started for the door. Jan followed, but she paused before closing it behind them.
"I want to take a last look at the room, honey," she said. "I love this room. We've been happy here."
He said nothing, and after a moment she closed the door. He didn't wait to see whether she had a womanly tear filling her eye, but went ahead to the elevator and got in. They didn't speak until they were down in the street, the suitcases loaded in the car.
Then she said, "I'm going to miss you, Ken."
He opened the door for her. She slid in, he closed the door and crossed in front of the car and got in on his side.
"Not very much," he said.
"Hmm?"
"You won't miss me very much."
"Ken, don't say that."
"It's true. It's not as though we had any big thing between us. I'm not your husband and I only happened to be the last in your succession of lovers. You won't miss me any more than you missed the rest of them."
"To hell with you, then," she said, and Ken start ed the ear and pulled away from the curb.
It's strange, she thought. I really will miss Ken. I love him more than the others. But he doesn't believe me. I can't blame him for not believing me, really. I'm not the type that should be believed. And I won't tell him now that I really mean it; that would only make it worse. We had a good thing, and now it's over and done with and we can never have it again, so we may as well cut it as clean and as crisp as possible. I don't want him to start asking me to stay again.
Hell, she thought, I guess maybe I didn't really love him at that. It was just his body, just physical. All of them were. Except my husband? No, he was too. I don't love John either, it was physical with him too.
I guess I'm not much good to anyone, she told herself, settling back in the seat as the car threaded downtown through the traffic. Except in bed. In bed I'm good. Now isn't that a helluva distinction for a woman? I guess it's as good as any. It counts as much as anything else.
But I'm not much good, she said, and stopped thinking about it and waited.
They arrived at the pier at nine-thirty. Ken pulled up to the unloading ramp and took the suitcases out from the back and set them down. Off to the right was the water, and looming above them was the prow of the ship. Jan walked down toward it, through the mud. Ken waited until a porter had loaded the suitcases on his cart, then he followed Jan down. She was standing on the edge of the dock, right at the pilings, close enough to the ship to christen it had she had a bottle of champagne and been foolish enough not to drink it, instead. She was wishing that she did have a bottle of champagne. Or bourbon. Or even a bottle of beer. It didn't seem right that they shouldn't have a farewell drink together. She wasn't at all sad, now, standing there beneath the great height of the ship, with the wind rippling the water and the soft mud beneath and around her shoes, and a few drops of March rain beginning to fall. It was too close, and she felt too keenly the excitement of new things to come. Sadness had to remain behind, with those who watched ships sail and airplanes fly and people go away forever.
"That's your ship," Ken said, leaning out and squinting to read the name.
"I know. It's exciting, isn't it."
"Sure," he said.
The rain began to come down a bit harder, and they could hear the heavy drops hit the water.
"You'd better get aboard," Ken said.
She nodded. She started back and he followed her again. They turned into the building and followed the signs to the gangway. Ken went through the visitors' gate and Jan stopped at the end of the line to have her passport and ticket checked. It only took a moment, but when she turned around Ken was gone and she thought that he had left. Well, maybe that was better, she thought, and she went up the ramp and into the ship. But Ken was waiting for her there. He took her arm but didn't look at her. He was looking around for signs.
"What deck is your cabin on?" he asked.
"Main deck," she said. She felt rather proud that she could remember this without looking at her ticket. After all, who could find their way around a boat?
Ken led her down the stairs one flight, following signs, and then down the narrow corridor with the handrail on one side and the fire extinguishers on the other, and the neat little containers of paper bags "pour mal de mer." He located the right cabin and opened the door for her, and Jan stepped in, immediately struck by claustrophobia as she thought of how many days she must live in the tiny space. Ken hesitated for a moment, then followed her in and closed the door.
"Well," he said, "I guess you're all set."
"I guess so."
"I'll be going now then."
"Don't rush off, Ken."
"Why not?"
"Well, there's no sense leaving that way. You can at least see me off."
"Shall I wave from the dock?"
"Why not?" she asked.
He shrugged. At the last moment she wanted to cling to him as long as possible. There was something very intimate about the tiny cabin, something very sensual about the gentle rocking of the ship. She put her arms around his neck and raised her lips to him, open slightly. Ken looked down at her, but her eyes were closed, and he started to kiss her. The cabin door opened.
"Excuse me," said the man in the white uniform.
Ken jumped, startled.
The steward looked rather sly, she thought. But it was only a trace of slyness, and vanished when he spoke again. Perhaps he had only been embarrassed.
"My name is Heng," he said. "I'm your cabin steward, Mrs. May. I'm sorry I ... interrupted you. I'll stop by later. If you want anything, the buzzer is here by the door." He pointed out the button with one hand, not looking where he pointed. Jan didn't answer him. She felt very annoyed at being interrupted. Ken looked embarrassed and Heng looked sly.
"Thank you," Ken said finally.
Heng bowed and went out. He closed the door behind him. Jan reached over and locked it, then turned back to Ken and raised her face again.
"There's no sense in getting excited now," he said.
"There's time, Ken."
"There's no time. We already had our final time, remember, Jan? I'd better go now."
"Once more. One more time to remember each other by, darling. Right here."
"One more last time?"
"To remember me by...."
"Send me a postcard," he said.
Jan pulled away. She went over and stood by the other wall, close to the bunks. There were two bunks, upper and lower. She said, "Well, get out then!" She felt frustrated and angry. She waited to hear the sound of the door opening, but instead Ken came over and his arms encircled her from behind, his hands cupping her breasts.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't want to part like this. We'll never see each other again."
Jan turned her face to the side, and he kissed her ear. His hands squeezed her.
"Ken," she whispered.
"Shall we get in the bunk?"
"No, right here. I want to stand and feel the boat moving beneath me."
He reached down and took the hem of her dress, pulled it up until it bunched at the waist. Jan stood still, one hand holding the edge of the upper bunk, the other resting against the wall. She felt him lift the elastic of her panties, tug at them as they slid down over her buttocks and then down her thighs. She lifted one foot out and let them remain on the other ankle, in a shapeless silken pool. Her knees were slightly bent, her feet apart, and she leaned forward to help him. She reached behind her and found his clothing.
Will all visitors leave the ship? blared a loudspeaker somewhere in the corridor. All visitors are requested to leave the ship.
"Hurry Ken," she said. She led him to her. His arms were around her, holding her thighs, crisscrossed over her middle. He didn't feel ready, but there was no time to wait, and she placed him against her and tried to settle back.
He wasn't ready. They couldn't! She wanted him desperately. The loudspeaker blared again outside, the last warning. The gangplanks were being brought up.
"Please, Ken," she begged. She suddenly felt that she had never needed him as badly as she did right then.
There was the sound of a key in the lock, stuck against the key which was still in the inside. A scraping, a pause, and then someone knocked at the door. A voice, female, called indistinctly through the door.
"Please, hurry, please...." she said.
But then Ken had moved away.
"I'm sorry," he said. "There's no time. Someone's at the door. I can't...."
"Damnit!" she cried, not moving, not looking at him.
"May I get in here, please?" called the girl in the hall. She knocked again. "I'd better go," Ken said. Jan said nothing.
"I ... hadn't (you better ... er ... arrange your clothes, or something? There's someone trying to get in."
"Oh, get out!" she said. She kicked her pants off, but let her skirt come down from her waist.
"Good-bye, Jan," he said. "Yeah," she said.
Ken unlocked the door. He opened it. The woman standing outside looked surprised.
"This is supposed to be my cabin," she stammered.
"I was visiting your cabin mate," he said. "Go on in, she'll be glad to meet you."
He walked off. The woman watched him go, wondering why the door had been locked.
Then she went on in.
Ken was the last visitor to leave the ship. All the gangplanks but one were up. He disembarked and moved over to the crowded rails, under shelter, to watch the ship pull away. He didn't expect that Jan would come up on deck, but it wasn't possible to be sure about her. He had never been sure about what she would do. He didn't think that she knew herself. She just let her life unravel itself, or ravel itself, whichever way it was that the thread of life worked. Maybe both ways.
He stood next to a group of bearded young men who were cheering for another bearded young man who had been successful enough to became a bearded expatriate (bearded young men are a dime a dozen, but expatriates are some thing else again, in certain circles) and looked up at the deck. It was raining harder now. Ken lit a cigarette. He couldn't see Jan on deck. She won't be there, he thought. I may as well go. But he stayed there and watched and smoked while the horns sounded and the last preparations were made.
He wondered whether Jan would forget him immediately. He didn't think so. He knew that he wouldn't forget her, although he had never really loved her. It would have been hard to really love Jan May. That would take a better (or lesser) man than Ken. But he had liked her and they had shared a good time together, and if it had never gotten beyond the physical, well so what? A great many things never get even that far. And so, since he was a fairly sentimental man, he wished that she would come up on deck and wave good-bye to him. That would be the way that he would choose to remember her. Or forget her.
She'll probably have a new lover before the damned ship goes out of the harbor, he thought. That would be like her. He didn't resent it, although he felt sorry for her husband. Poor John May, waiting for his wife to come to him at the airbase. Probably waiting impatiently, loving her. And not knowing ... or maybe he did now. Yes, he probably knew. It wouldn't be like Jan to keep any secrecy about her affairs. Poor Airman May probably knew what was going on in the States while he was gone. Maybe he even knew about Ken, his name, what he looked like. It would be like Jan to send him a photograph. Maybe that was why he had been so insistent that Jan join him.
But it wouldn't do any good, Ken knew. No matter how many resolutions Jan made, she wouldn't change. There would always be that "one more last time." She couldn't see that there had to be a final last time. There always was room for one more. One more time and one more resolution.
I wonder if it will be harder or easier on her husband to have her cheating on him where he can see it and where all his friends know about it than it was to have her cheating thousands of miles away where he could only imagine what she was doing at any moment? Probably harder, he thought. Especially when she cheats with his friends. And when she flaunts her infidelity, the way she will. When she tells him that she's going out and get loved, and he can't do anything about it. Maybe he'll beat her brains in. He should. Maybe he will, I don't know. I don't know the man. Poor Airman May.
Ken felt very sorry for John May, suddenly, although he had never seen him and although he had felt very angry when he took Jan from him, made her cross the ocean. And he felt very glad that he had refused Jan's offers to read John's letters for laughs. It might have been laughs at the time, but it would have made him feel badly now.
He flicked the cigarette butt out at the boat, but the wind and rain caught it and slammed it in a downdraught into the water. The ship had begun to move, slowly. It had moved quite a distance before he realized that it was in motion. To the right he could see the tug pushing on the ship, moving it away from the pilings. The bearded voyager was ten yards away by then, and the open deck was past. He could see the faces of passengers pressed against the glass of the closed promenade. Some of them looked pale, nervous. The bearded group on the dock was running along to keep abreast of their departing friend. Someone was holding a child up to wave. Faintly, very faintly, he could hear the ship's orchestra. They sounded very poor, playing lively music. One of the bearded group threw something, and Ken saw it flash end over end, saw their friend on deck reach out and grab it in midair, with one hand. It was a can of beer. Nice hands, should play basketball, Ken thought, watching the young man tip the can up.
Ken started to walk away, back into the building. He didn't know why he stopped to take one last look at the ship. He certainly didn't expect to see Jan.
But there she was.
She was at the very end of the closed section, leaning around to call to him, the wind catching her hair and tossing it to the side.
Ken raised his hand to her. He smiled. She said something, shouted it across the wet distance, but he couldn't hear what it was. He nodded and grinned, and she smiled back at him and waved, and he waved, and they stood there waving at each other mechanically until the ship was too far away and he could no longer see her. And it wasn't until then that he felt foolish with his hand stuck up in the air and his wrist flapping.
You just can't tell about her, he said, happy that the parting had been the way that it was, waving to one another until she was out of sight.
He lit another cigarette and went back to the car, where one of the porters told him that he shouldn't have left it there because it had been blocking traffic, but no one had given him a ticket so it didn't matter.
He got in and drove away as the rain started to come down really hard.
CHAPTER TWO
The Statue of Liberty glowed eerily green off to the right. Behind them the New York skyline was very narrow, very tall, very bright. It triangled out from the tip of Manhattan to become a long string of lights along the water. One or two small boats were passing, going in the other direction, running lights in white and red. Nothing could be seen but the lights; it was a very black night.
Two women stood at the starboard rail, on the open deck, despite the increasing rain. Everyone else had sought the shelter of the closed deck. One of these women, the younger was looking out at the Statue of Liberty, her excitement showing brightly in her eyes.
The other woman stood close beside her, and was looking at the girl's profile. This woman was older, and the Statue had lost its charm. She was interested in other things.
"Gee, it's exciting," said the young girl.
"Especially the first time," said the other woman. She smiled tolerantly.
"It makes me feel ... well, patriotic, almost. I mean, seeing New York like this, while we're sailing away. It's because there are so many lights, I guess. I think how each one of those lights represents some person using it, millions of people back there in New York ... gee...."
"Homesick already?"
"No. Oh, no. Just excited. I'm more worried about seasickness than homesickness."
The other woman smiled again.
"It was so wonderful of you to let me come with you, Miss Merrill. I wouldn't know what to do if I was making the trip all alone. I'd be terrified. But you know so much about what to do and how to act and all...."
"Oh, I'm sure you would have met some young man aboard who would be happy to show you the same things."
"Oh, it wouldn't be the same. Men are ... well, different. I mean, a girl can't have a man for a friend. There's always something different...."
"Yes," said the woman. She appeared to be rather thoughtful about this. She looked out over the water and the girl glanced up at her.
"Well, I was delighted to have you come with me," the woman said, after a while.
"I was so afraid that my father wouldn't let me go to Europe before I finished school."
"Your father is a wise man."
"It was because you talked with him, I'm sure, Miss Merrill. He could tell that you'd watch out for me and that everything would be all right."
"Please ... call me Louise. After all, I'm not your teacher now. We're traveling companions."
"Louise," said the girl, obediently.
"That's better. We're equals now, you know. And you have the advantage of youth and beauty. You will most likely be a greater advantage to me than I shall be to you ... meeting interesting young men, and all." While she said this, Louise Merrill looked closely at the girl.
The girl flushed, although it was impossible to tell this in the dark. She said nothing.
"You are interested in meeting the European men, aren't you, Denise?"
"I hadn't thought about it," Denise said.
Louise looked back out over the rail, her eyebrows raised curiously.
The Statue of Liberty was behind them now, still glowing. The Lights of Manhattan were far enough away to be blended into one blur of illumination. Perfectly black, the ocean stretched off the starboard bow. The ship's orchestra was getting excited, and the music was louder, if not better, and floated on the night air.
"We'd better go inside," Louise said. "There's nothing else to see now, and it's getting colder. We don't want to catch cold and make the trip miserable, do we?"
Denise agreed. The water was streaming down her face by now, and a few trickles had penetrated beneath the collar of her raincoat, making an uncomfortable dampness. She looked at Louise and saw the woman's glasses were steamed and that two strands of hair had escaped from beneath her scarf and were soaked to her forehead.
"Let's go to our cabin and change, and then we can come up to the lounge for a while. I'm sure that you'll want to look around at the ship and at the other passengers. I remember how excited I was on my first voyage."
"Do you go to Europe every year?"
"Oh, no. I don't want to have to skimp. I save up so that I can afford to do what I want and go every two or three years. After all, I don't have a father to indulge me," she said, with a friendly smile.
"I guess I'm lucky," Denise said.
"No, I'm the lucky one. It was so nice of you to agree to travel tourist class so that we could share a cabin. The extra hundred dollars or so for first class accommodations would have meant quite a bit to me. Of course, as I said, I don't like to have to skimp, and if there was an advantage to it I would travel first class. But I really believe that tourist class is preferable. That's the way that you meet people, especially on a small ship such as this. I had a look at the passenger list, and there are only about fifty people traveling first class."
"Oh, I agree. I've always thought that, too," said Denise, who had never thought anything about it one way or the other, but was used to first class travel.
Louise led the way and Denise followed. The ship was starting to roll more as they got out into open water, and they could hear the waves slapping at the hull, below them. But it was too dark to see.
They went under the covered deck, the promenade, and up past the deck chairs. Louise remembered that she had to see the cabin steward about renting chairs. But there was plenty of time for that. Plenty of time for everything. They would be at sea for seven days at least, a long voyage. And that was one of the main reasons that Louise had selected the Syndam, she wanted plenty of time. "There's no sense rushing through an experience like this, "Mr. Leatherby," she had told Denise's father, who had supposed that they would fly over. And he had agreed with her, and entrusted her with all the plans for the trip. A wise man, Mr. Leatherby, Louise had thought. He tried so hard to act wise. He had the image of wisdom as his self-concept. Men who made fortunes by luck and ruthlessness always liked to appear wise, she thought. Well, one could hardly blame them. They had to justify their good fortune in some way, especially in America where it isn't enough to have money, where one also has to be of some use to society, where money buys things, but the method of obtaining the money is the important thing when it comes to one's place in society.
Louise remembered Mr. Leatherby, florid-faced, sweating a little, behind his monstrosity of a desk (actually a fine, huge desk, turned into a monstrosity by the modern furniture that surrounded it) smoking a cigar and appearing wise (his idea of a wise look had never changed from the youthful concept of owls being wise).
"Why, yes," he had said, "I quite agree with you that this experience would be most useful to Denny now. Yes, yes. My first trip to Europe was at about her age. (Louise was sure that he had never been to Europe). And I'm sure that you'll take good care of her. A girl that age ... you know what I mean. You'll watch out for her?"
"Of course. I'm very fond of Denise," Louise had told him, in a crisp voice. A voice to impress a man who had made his fortune in the cold-blooded world and who had never acquired the finesse of the born rich, and never could. Their sons and their daughters might, but only through the money, never through the parents. Leatherby must have known this. Even with his millions he had been a bit shy with Louise because she had acted as though she were genteel. It made her smile, later, to think of him being impressed by a five thousand dollar a year instructress at a girls' school. But he had been happy to let Denise go to Europe with her, and that was the important thing. Yes, wise Mr. Leatherby.
Louise led the way in through the doors, past the Bamboo Court where the band was playing, and down the stairs to the main deck. They went to their cabin and took off the soaking wet raincoats.
"What should I wear tonight?" Denise asked.
"Oh, I think it would be best to dress casually," Louise said. "There's no sense being formal about this. It's better to be comfortable."
Louise opened her suitcase, which had been placed beside her bunk. Denise opened hers and began to sort through the clothing. She hoped that she had put the appropriate clothing in the suitcase which she had had placed in the room. It was hard to know about those things the first time one traveled on a ship. It was good that she was traveling with Louise, Louise would show her what to do.
Louise would show her many things.
Louise Merrill had been a teacher in the school which Denise had attended, preparatory to college. For some reason Louise had taken a special interest in Denise. Denise had no idea why, but had considered herself very fortunate. There were so many things that she didn't know, so many things that she had no idea how to cope with. The high society which her father's money had thrown her into was such a new thing to her ... not at all like her home life, which had not changed from the middle class type as the fortune grew. She had felt out of place, helpless, afraid that her manners, her conversation, her interests would be different from the others. But Miss Merrill had taken her under her wing, helped her, become more than a teacher. She had become a friend, and Denise appreciated it very much, and was very grateful to her. She couldn't see why some of the other girls laughed at Miss Merrill, behind her back. Why they made jokes (which Denise didn't understand) about her, and why they made comments about how friendly Denise was with the woman, and then laughed. She figured that they were jealous because she received special attention, or were looking down at Louise because she was not rich. Well, let them. Denise knew that Louise was a far better friend than she would find among the ranks of her classmates, and far more interesting than the look-alike natural-shoulder boys from the various colleges nearby with their sports cars and wealthy families and one-track minds. Denise had never cared much for boys, at least none that she had ever known. They all wanted the same thing. Her mother had warned her about that, and she had taken the message to heart, and probably to her subconscious, too. Of course, she didn't know that her mother had married her father for his money, and had regretted it ever since, and that her mother's opinion of men was not completely without prejudice. But she did know that Louise Merrill was her very good friend.
And Louise? Why did she make the effort to be come the special friend of Denise? Perhaps she saw a helpless innocence and naivety in the girl, perhaps she wanted to help her. Or maybe she too was lonely, and wanted a friend as much as Denise did. Perhaps she had her own reasons.
Denise was eighteen years old. A very pretty girl, if somewhat shy. There was an unspoiled freshness about her, a modest charm in the way she moved and carried herself. Her expression also was modest. She had never been overly expressive, and although she possessed a keen sense of humor, seldom laughed loudly-but would affect a secret sort of smile as though she saw more than was implied. This may have been due to her natural reticence and basic shyness, or it may have been that she wished to appear superior to the others who would laugh uproariously at an off-color joke or something of the sort. In any case, it was her smile and the sweetness of her expression which made her face the uncommonly pretty face it was.
She wore very little make-up, no lipstick and just a touch of gray eye shadow to accent her blue-gray eyes. She had warm, gentle eyes that seemed to see things sympathetically. Her lips were full and moist and sensitive. Her hair was brown with little golden lights that danced in the sun, and she wore it shoulder length and straight, with just the ends turned under. It was almost baby-fine, and appeared to be constantly moving even when she was sitting still.
She was standing still now, balanced gracefully on one foot while she took one shoe off. Louise, sitting on the lower bunk, watched her. Louise was thinking that Denise was very pretty, and very innocent, and that the girl was at the age when her life was starting to be formed, and that a strong influence, such as an older and more experienced woman, someone to whom Denise would look for guidance, would be able to form that life in nearly any way that she chose.
But I must be careful, she thought. I mustn't rush this. There's enough time and I mustn't ruin it by going too fast and frightening her. I must be careful and go slow and make her see it my way.
Denise glanced at her-saw that the woman was staring-smiled slightly. A flush crossed Louise's face and she flashed a quick, nearly embarrassed smile.
"I was just admiring how well you are built," she said. "You're a lucky young lady. I've always been on the skinny side, myself. The scarecrow type."
"Why, I think you look very fashionable. You know, like a model...."
"Perhaps. I try to dress the part. But it isn't the type of body that men care much for."
Denise said nothing. She knew the reason that men liked voluptuous bodies, and she knew what men wanted to do to a woman's body. She had had enough men trying to make love to her in the last few years, although she had seldom dated and had never encouraged them.
"That's probably why I'm an old maid," Louise said.
"I'll bet that you could have had any man you wanted, Louise," Denise said, a little embarrassed at the conversation.
Louise looked thoughtful. "Yes," she said, "I guess I could have had a few. I just never cared much for men. Never enough to marry."
"I feel that way, too," Denise told her, happy that this was a common feeling, a bond between them. "We seem to think the same about a lot of things, Miss ... Louise."
"I hope so," Louise said. Then she looked down at the floor for a moment. When she looked up all expression had been removed from her face.
"Let's hurry and dress," she said.
Louise, wearing panties and garter belt and nothing else, was selecting a dress from her suitcase and looking sideways at Denise. Denise was still undressing, in the process of pulling her dress over her head. It gave Louise a momentary chance to observe her without being seen, and she was looking intently at Denise's body. Very intently.
Denise was very well proportioned. Her waist was narrow, not thin but flat, so that it looked thin in profile. But from her waist she curved outward to wide hips and her lower middle rose in a soft, gentle curve, firm but rounded beneath the flimsy material of her panties. Her panties were brief and snug and nearly transparent, and hugged her hips lovingly, bulging gently over her firm flesh. They were brief enough so that the bottom curve of her buttocks could be seen beneath them. Panties of the kind which a shy girl would only wear when she was sure they would not be seen. At least by a member of the opposite sex. Or a stranger. But Louise was a good friend; she didn't have to be ashamed with her. And, after all, they were the kind of panties that all the girls at school wore.
Denise had full, heavy breasts, straining at her brassiere. They were bigger than her thirty-six-inch measurement would indicate, because she had a slender, graceful back. As she slid her dress off they rose with the material, and then, freed, fell with their weight.
Louise watched.
"What shall I wear?" Denise asked, looking at the clothes that she had laid out on the bed. "Everything gets so wrinkled in a suitcase, even for a little while."
Louise crossed the room to give advice. Standing next to Denise she was able to see both of them reflected in the full-length mirror, and she thought how remarkable was the contrast between them.
Denise was soft and full-bodied. Louise was thin, hard. Her breasts were flat and firm, her torso flat, her hips narrow and her thighs muscular. Her hair was worn short and she never used make-up, except a touch of lipstick at certain times, when she thought it advisable, such as when she was in class. She thought that it was rather hard to tell her from a man, at first glance, and was proud of this. Not, however, because fashion models are boyish.
"Let's see what you have," she said.
Denise turned gratefully to her, and for a second they were face to face, very close, and Louise was suddenly conscious of her naked breasts. Very conscious. She wished that Denise had taken her brassiere off too.
Better that she didn't, though, she thought. I might not be able to help myself. I'd want so badly to let my breasts touch hers that I might not be able to wait. And I mustn't go too fast.
But she couldn't help but look, her eyes running up and down over Denise's nearly naked body. And Denise noticed the glance, looked inquisitively at her.
"I was just admiring your figure again," Louise said.
"You'll make me self-conscious," Denise said.
"No. Proud. You should be proud."
"I never thought much about it."
"Well, you will. You're a woman now, Denise. There are many things that you'll start thinking about."
"I suppose so," said Denise, rather dubiously.
Denise began smoothing the wrinkles from the skirt of a blue dress. "Just look at this," she said woefully, holding it up. "I'd wear this, but it's too wrinkled."
Louise handed her a hanger, saying, "Let's put that one away for a while. Those full skirts wouldn't do you justice anyway. You need something like this." She picked up a pale orange sheath dress and held it against Denise. "Now, this is a lovely dress. Just the right color for you, too."
"I never liked that one very much," Denise protested. "It's an expensive dress, but I always feel so uncovered in it. I don't know why I bought it, really."
"Well, it's a good thing you did," Louise said. "I'll help you get into it and we'll see how you look."
"Well, if you think so," Denise said.
Louise held the hem up while Denise put it on over her head. It was quite tight and Louise tugged it down while Denise wriggled into it. The feel of warm flesh where Louise's hands accidentally came into contact with Denise's ripe body sent a thrill coursing through Louise that settled in the pit of her stomach. She concentrated on doing up the zipper at the back of the dress, trying to ignore the slight trembling of her hands.
When it was done, she stood back and looked appreciatively at Denise. "I was right. That color is good on you, almost makes your skin glow. And it fits beautifully."
It did. It clung to the contours of Denise's figure and revealed her smooth shoulders excitingly. For Louise. A pair of narrow straps slightly off-the-shoulder were only for effect, and actually did nothing toward holding the bodice up. Denise's full curves were the prime factors in that department, it was quite obvious.
She turned slowly around, looking over her shoulder at Louise. "It makes me feel so daring," she said. "You know, I really got this thing because I had to go to a party with the son of one of my father's business associates. Everybody else at the party had on dresses like this, but I felt just awful. And the fellow I was with kept trying to touch me, and I spent ail night going to the bathroom just to get away from him. The whole thing was so dismal. This is only the second time I've ever had this dress on. For some reason I feel better in it knowing I'll be with you."
"Well, you look beautiful," Louise said. "You can't hold it against a dress just because you had a miserable experience wearing it one time. Well have a good time tonight. You wait and see." She smiled encouragingly and began putting on her own clothes. She chose a gray faille outfit with a slim skirt and plain, short jacket to which she attached a silver pin in the shape of a feather. After she had fastened the skirt and put on the jacket, she stood back so that Denise could pass judgment on her costume. It was simple and well-fitted and would have been in faultless taste for a P.I.A. luncheon or a church supper.
"You look nice," Denise said, "but I think it needs something." She went to her suitcase and took out a wide silver bracelet. "Would you like to wear this? I think it would go nicely with your pin."
Louise put the bracelet on and held out her arm to look at it. "That's very nice of you, Denise. I'll love wearing your bracelet. It's beautiful. Like you."
Denise felt very happy that she had been able to do something for Louise.
They went up to the promenade deck. The Bamboo Court was at the top of the stairs, and they glanced in, but didn't enter. It was crowded and noisy, both from the orchestra and from the many people who were seated there.
"I think that we can avoid that room," Louise said. "All ships have a place like that, where the silly little games and amusements which are necessary to entertain the average person are held. We'll go down to the lounge where it should be more quiet."
"All right," Denise said, thinking how much Louise knew about everything.
They went out to the covered deck and walked down to the entrance to the lounge. From there they could see the open deck, and noticed the wind-whipped rain and the loud roar of the waves. The ship had begun to pitch and roll noticeably, too, and the air was cold.
"I hope it isn't too rough, especially until you get used to the rolling. I don't want you to get sick," Louise said. She held the door open and Denise entered. Louise closed the heavy door behind them, shutting out the sound of the wind and sea.
"The best preventative for seasickness is to have a few drinks, you know," she said.
"What a handy excuse," said Denise.
The lounge was not nearly as crowded as the Bamboo Court. It was a large room with white leather chairs and couches and mosaic-topped tables. There were two large windows looking out at the open deck and the ocean behind them. Louise led the way to a table and two chairs in one corner and they sat down and looked about the room. Louise took a pack of filter tip cigarettes from her bag and placed them on the table, arranging them in design with the mosaic tiles.
"This is a pleasant room," Denise said.
"It's comfortable," Louise said, obviously not impressed, and Denise decided that if anyone happened to ask her opinion of the lounge she would say that it was comfortable, in just that tone of voice.
"May I help you?" asked the lounge steward, standing beside the table.
"Why, yes," Louise said. "What will you have, Denise?"
Denise couldn't think of what she should order. She had seldom drunk much, and she had no idea of what would be appropriate to drink on a ship.
"Whatever you have," she said.
"I think we'll have Scotch," Louise said. "Scotch and water, please."
The steward went to get the drinks.
"I find that Scotch is most soothing," Louise said. "I get rather woozy and listless on a ship sometimes. Not really sick, but it's an annoying feeling. However, after a few drinks the feeling goes away. Possibly because it is somewhat akin to intoxication and is overpowered." She smiled, and Denise did the same, and in a moment their drinks had arrived. Two glasses of Scotch and ice, two bottles of water. Louise paid for them and poured half of the water in her glass.
Denise poured water into hers, trying to get the same amount as Louise. She sipped it, feeling very excited and happy about starting out into the world, and certain that she had the best possible teacher to show he:-about life.
They each drank three Scotches. Denise noticed that, as Louise had predicted, the roll of the ship became much less noticeable.
The weather, however, had not grown more calm. They could hear the wind, faintly, outside the window, and spray was being lashed across the deck. Denise saw three men walk across the open deck, their hair blowing wildly and their shoulders hunched against the wind. They disappeared beyond the window, and a moment later the door opened and the three came laughingly into the lounge. They crossed the floor, dripping water onto the carpet and shaking water from their hair. All three were young, not much older than Denise, she thought, and wondered if they were tourists.
As the three passed, one of them noticed Denise, and stopped. She realized that she had been staring, and looked down at her drink.
"Hello," he said.
Denise looked up again. He seemed friendly enough and pleasant, and after all, one was supposed to meet people on board a ship. She started to smile, but noticed that Louise was very studiously ignoring the young men. The other two had paused and all three were standing by the table.
"Aren't you friendly?" the first one asked.
Denise didn't answer. Louise would know when it was proper to be friendly.
"Guess she ain't," said the man, to his companions.
"Probably 'cause she's with her mother," one of the others said, with a shrug.
Denise could see the flash of color that showed how annoyed Louise was at this.
The three young men walked off. They were walking rather unsteadily, but Denise couldn't tell whether this was due to the roll of the ship or to the amount which they had drunk. They crossed the room and went into the bar.
"Typical men," Louise said.
Denise looked at her.
"I'm sure that you will meet far more interesting young men in Europe. All Americans ... like those three ... are so boorish, it seems. I'm glad that you showed no interest in them. I wouldn't want them to annoy us again."
Denise had thought that they were rather interesting-looking. But she said nothing.
"I'm not really old enough to be your mother, you know," Louise said. She said it jokingly, and Denise smiled, but she had noticed the coloring at Louise's cheeks when the comment had been made, and wondered if it had really bothered her. Was Louise afraid of growing old, or had something else in the comment annoyed her?
"Well, I think that it's time for bed," Louise said, setting her empty glass down. "It's been an exhausting day. Are you ready for bed?"
"Well ... all right, Louise. I'm a little too excited to get much sleep, though, I'm afraid."
"I'll tell you what ... I'll get a bottle of wine and we can have our own private celebration in our cabin."
"That sounds nice," Denise agreed, although she would rather have stayed in the lounge a while longer. It was still rather early, and more people had begun to come in, presumably driven from the Bamboo Court by the loud, annoying orchestra. There was a noticeable lack of young people, however. Most of the men were middle-aged, and quite a few were foreigners returning home. The three young men had been the only interesting ones that Denise had noticed. She mentioned to Louise that she had seen few young people.
"There probably aren't too many on this ship," the older woman agreed. "The younger set would probably stick more to the American lines. But don't worry, there'll be plenty of young men to meet in Paris. You'll have to settle for my company for the time. I'm not such terrible company, am I?"
"You're wonderful company."
Louise smiled. "Let's go have that little celebration now, shall we?" she asked, already standing up so that there was no question to be answered. Denise followed her out of the lounge, glancing in the open door of the bar as she passed and noticing the three young men drinking large schooners of beer and talking rather loudly. One of them, the one who had spoken to her, had a beard. She thought that beards were interesting, but this was probably because none of the wealthy young men that visited at school had ever had one. Louise undoubtedly was a better judge of people than she was, and she was willing to accept the older woman's judgment in such things.
In the cabin Louise rang for the steward. He came very quickly, and she told him to bring two bottles of Chablis. He said that he wasn't sure what wine they had, and Louise said, "Of course they have Chablis," in a bored voice. He went away and returned in a few minutes with the wine and an ice bucket. Denise thought that it was very cosmopolitan to know about wines and such things.
"Shall we get comfortable while the wine cools?" Louise suggested. "That's one of the beauties of a private celebration. One can get comfortable." She was already starting to unfasten her clothing.
Denise was looking out the porthole, wishing that she were able to see the Atlantic. But the night was too dark. She went over to her suitcase and found her nightgown, placed it on the bed, and began to undress.
"Maybe we should shower before we have the wine," Louise suggested. "I don't imagine that we will feel much like it after we have our party."
Denise agreed. She hadn't intended to shower. She took her clothes off and donned her bathrobe while Louise made an effort not to look too closely at her. Louise already had her robe on, and was waiting for her.
They went down the hall to the bathroom together. The showers were two-room affairs, one room to wash in and an adjacent room where one kept her robe, dried off, etc. There were several of these rooms in the bathroom, and Denise went in one and was surprised when Louise followed her in.
"I thought we could share one shower," she said, bolting the door behind them. "Others might want to shower. And we can wash each other's back. I'm never quite able to get the very center of my back."
"Neither am I," Denise said, thinking that it would be strange to shower with another woman. But she felt too close to Louise to let modesty gain a hand, and was glad that Louise felt close enough to her to share the shower with her. To show that she didn't mind, she took her robe off immediately and hung it up. Louise did the same, and naked they stood in the confines of the small tiled room.
Louise stepped into the shower stall and started the water. Denise waited, laughing at the faces Louise made to show that the water was too cold, then too hot. After a few minutes she said, "It's just right now," and Denise stepped into the room with her and they stood under the warm spray, their wet, slippery bodies touching casually.
"Here, let me soap your back," Louise said. She began to rub the soap in, starting in the middle and working down as far as she dared, fighting the temptation to move lower, to drop the soap and let her hands slide through the lather, down to Denise's hips, wet, slippery, then gently move to the insides of her thighs....
No, no, she told herself. She was sweating in the steam-filled room. No, I mustn't ruin things. Later. Lots of time later. Just touch her lightly now, just enough so that she feels me touch her, knows how gentle I am, just enough to start the excitement but not to let her know for sure. This is so important, I mustn't ruin it.
Denise was giggling.
"That tickles," she said. She moved away, turning around to let the shower rinse her back. She held out her hand for the soap.
"I'll scrub you now," she said.
Yes, thought Louise. Scrub me. Touch me. Run your hands over me, darling.
She handed over the soap and turned around. Denise began to scrub her back, more firmly than Louise had touched her. But Denise had nothing to hide.
Louise shut her eyes and waited. Denise's hands seemed so hot. It seemed impossible that her excitement didn't show, that it didn't radiate from her tense body. She knew that her nipples were taut and hard, and wondered if Denise would notice. She wanted her to notice. She wanted her to know how much effect her touch had.
"All right," Denise said.
Louise turned. They faced each other. Louise ran one hand very deliberately up to her breast and squeezed the nipple. She knew that Denise saw. That was enough, just a little sign. Just the beginning. "All clean?" Louise asked. "All clean."
"And our wine must be ice cold by now."
She turned off the water and they stepped out into the other room. Louise rubbed the rough bath towel over herself, feeling her breasts swell beneath it, watching Denise dry herself. Denise had one leg raised and was drying her thigh, and Louise was able to see her completely. She stared for a moment, the warmth of desire flooding her, and then moved a step closer, so that their hips touched. Denise made no effort to move away. Louise, under the pretense of drying herself, let her hip slide against the girl. Damp, they slid together easily. She almost turned to Denise's buttocks, fought to control the urge. She had to wait, to wait until there could be no mistake.
They were both dried and got into their robes.
"That was fun," Denise said. "Just like school days when I was a little girl and had to shower with the other girls, after gym class."
"Was that fun, then?"
"No, it was annoying then. But this was fun. Because it reminded me of the past, and because we're friends. It's much nicer with friends than with a whole class full of sweaty little girls."
Louise thought that a whole class full of sweaty little girls was a rather exciting prospect. But, of course, she said nothing about this.
"Let's go have our celebration," she said.
The room was warm. Louise wore only her robe, and Denise had put on her nightgown, a pretty, frilly thing with lace and bows. Louise was sitting in a chair and Denise was sitting on the lower bunk, her knees drawn up and her arms clasped around them. They each had a glass of wine, and the first bottle was nearly finished. Denise was, pleasantly enough, noticing the effects of the alcohol. It made her feel very sophisticated, and also rather talkative. Louise was content to watch and let Denise make the conversation, and Denise was babbling on about her past life and her hopes and plans for the future, knowing that she was talking too much, but seemingly unable to stop herself. Louise was such a good audience, so attentive, so interested ... as if she really cared.
"You know," Denise said. "You're my best friend, Louise. Really, you're the best friend that I've ever had."
"I'm glad," Louise said. "Well, it's true."
Louise reached over with the wine bottle, and Denise held out her empty glass to be refilled. The wine sparkled in, and the bottle was empty. Louise set it on the table and drew the second bottle from the ice bucket.
"Am I really your best friend?" Louise asked.
"Oh, yes."
"Counting boy friends, too?"
"I don't have any boy friends, Louise. Not really. I can't talk to boys the way that I can talk to you."
"Because I'm a woman?"
"No, because you're ... you. I don't have any girl friends, either. No true friends. Except you."
"Well, you're my best friend too, Denise."
"I want to be," Denise said. She felt very close to this woman. It was the first time that she had ever wanted to really confide in another person, the first time that she knew that someone would understand.
"I don't have many friends, either, you know," Louise said. She had succeeded in getting the cork out of the bottle and was filling her own glass. "I've never been really close to anyone. We seem to ... well, need each other."
Denise, smiling, held her glass out to be filled. She found that wine went down easily, and that she was drinking it faster and faster. The wine made her warm, and the feeling of having a friend and of being needed was a wonderful sensation, too. She had always wanted to be loved, and needed. In her dreams, of course, it had always been a tall, handsome man who needed her and loved her, but Denise had learned that dreams were not to be trusted. Of course, a woman was a friend and a man could be a lover, but Denise had never conceived of her man as a lover. Not in the sexual sense. Just as a friend whom she loved and who needed her. So it wasn't very hard to substitute this woman in her mind.
Louise filled her glass, and sat on the cot next to Denise instead of returning to her chair. Denise sipped the wine and turned to face Louise. Her knees were still raised, a generous stretch of white thigh exposed.
"Did you ever have a good friend before, Denise?" Louise asked. "I mean, a girl with whom you were very close? Someone you loved?"
"Never," Denise said, truthfully.
"Even when you were young? Most girls have special friends when they are young. Friends with whom they do everything, and discover about ... life ... together!"
"I didn't. Did you?"
Louise's eyes grew cloudy. Remembrance. She took a slow sip from her glass, looking thoughtfully beyond Denise, through her.
"Yes," she said, after a while. "Yes, I had a special friend. It was a friendship that changed my life, I suppose. Or is one destined? But we loved one another, a long time ago. It seems forever. She was a beautiful girl with golden hair and blue eyes, my own age. We were both ... oh, fifteen or sixteen at the time...." Her voice trailed off.
"What happened to her?" Denise asked.
"She-she fell in love ... with a man. They were married, raised a family. She lives in Boston. I suppose that she's happy. I wouldn't know. She doesn't write to me, of course. It's been ... years...." Louise stopped speaking. She seemed to return to the present. Denise was staring at her, amazed at the feeling which had been evident in her voice while she was speaking. There was obviously more in it than Denise had meant when she thought of friendship. And perhaps this was the first inkling that Denise had had of the true Louise.
Or perhaps, somewhere in her subconscious, she had sensed the strange desires before.
"But that was long ago," Louise said, smiling, her. voice normal now. She reached out and placed her hand gently on Denise's knee, squeezed. "That was long ago," she repeated. "I'd forgotten her. You're my only friend now, Denise."
"We'll be good friends, won't we?" Denise said, feeling even closer to Louise after the sudden insight into her depth of feeling about ... friendship?
"Very good friends, Denise. Very good. I'll be so good to you."
"Could I have some more wine?" Denise asked.
"Of course. We'll finish the wine and go to bed. Tomorrow will be a busy day. I 'm sure that you'll want to do a great many things."
"Oh, yes."
Louise filled Denise's glass. Her own glass was still full; she had been drinking very slowly.
"Do you want the bottom bunk?" Louise asked.
"I don't care," Denise said. "You can have whichever one you want."
"You take the bottom."
"All right."
"Is the wine good?"
"Yes. I like wine. I never had much wine before. Will I have a terrible hangover?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Good," Denise said, drinking. "I think that I'm getting pretty drunk."
"That's all right. Here, have some more," Louise told her, pouring into her glass. The second bottle was very nearly empty by now.
"It's so comfortable and cozy to drink here in our cabin," Louise said. "In our own little room. I wish that there was one big bed instead of the bunks. It would be so nice not to sleep alone for a change."
"I used to get .scared at night when I had to sleep alone in my room. When I was young."
"I still do," Louise said.
"Really?"
"Yes, I dread sleeping alone. Many nights I used to sit in a chair all night because I didn't want to get into bed alone. I suppose that's silly."
"No, it's not silly," Denise said. She was thinking that it was strange how you could know someone for a long while and never really understand them, never know what they were thinking, what they were afraid of and what they dreaded. Who would have suspected that worldly, self-assured, confident, intelligent Louise would be afraid to sleep alone.
"Could I ... no, I shouldn't ask."
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
"Could you sleep with me? Is that what you were going to ask me?"
"Yes. But that's all right. It would be too uncomfortable. These bunks are so small."
"I wouldn't mind, Louise. If you want to sleep with me it will be all right."
"You really don't mind? Honestly?"
"Really. It would be nice. Warm. I used to have a Teddy bear ... a great big fuzzy old thing, with the stuffing coming out his side and one eye gone ... that I slept with. When my mother decided I was too old for that sort of thing and took him away I didn't sleep for a week. I tried cuddling my pillow, but it wasn't the same at all. It was so cold, so awfully cold without my Teddy bear to hold against me."
"You can hold me, Denise."
Denise smiled.
"I'll be your Teddy bear," Louise said, softly. "That will be nice."
"Shall we go to bed now?"
"All right," Denise said. She finished the glass of wine and placed it, empty, beside the bunk. She rolled back in, under the covers.
"I-I usually sleep without a nightgown," Louise said. "Do you mind?"
"No. My Teddy bear didn't have a nightgown either."
"You won't mind cuddling me if I don't have any clothes on, will you?"
"No," Denise said. She lay back, her eyes closed, her hair framed around her face on the pure white background of the clean pillow. "No, I don't mind."
Louise stood up, slipping the bathrobe off, looking steadily at Denise. Am I rushing it? she wondered.
Does she realize, and want me, or doesn't she know? It must show on my face, in my body, in my eyes. I want her so badly. But she is so innocent, so young, maybe she really doesn't know. Maybe she'll be shocked, disgusted. Maybe she'll hate me. I must go slow, take it easy, wait until she wants me too.
Louise snapped off the light and crawled naked into the bunk. She rested on the very edge, not wanting to press too closely to Denise at first, afraid that the bunk would prove too small and that Denise would change her mind. But Denise rolled over to her, and Louise could feel the silken material of her nightgown brush along her body.
"You're so good to me, Louise," Denise said.
"That's because I love you."
"I'm so glad," Denise said.
Her arms went out, encircled Louise, held her close. Her face rested against Louise's shoulder.
"I'm sorry that I'm not soft like you, Denise ... darling. It would be more comfortable if I were soft. I'm built more like a man."
"Aren't men comfortable?"
"Don't you know, darling?"
"I've never slept with a man," Denise said.
"Neither have I," said Louise. "I've never wanted to sleep with a man. But I want to sleep with you."
Denise made a comfortable little noise as she coddled closer and shifted her weight.
"I'm glad that you've never slept with a man," Louise whispered into Denise's ear.
Denise said nothing. Louise wondered whether she had fallen asleep. "Denise?"
"Umm?"
"Are you sleeping?"
"No, Louise. I'm just so very comfortable. Tt was a wonderful idea to sleep together."
"I used to sleep like this with ... my other friend. We slept together every night."
"It's nice."
"Yes. But ... people talked. They thought that there was something wrong with it."
"People are fools."
"Yes. We know it isn't wrong, don't we? Anything so warm and comfortable can't be wrong."
"Umm."
"But people ... the girls at school ... talked. I suppose that you heard stories...."
"I never listened."
"They said that I was a Lesbian."
Denise shifted away just a bit, so that she could look up at Louise. Louise caught her breath, hoping that she had not gone too far.
"Are you a Lesbian, Louise?"
"I-I love you. You're so beautiful. Let me hold you close, Denise darling. Let me hold you all night."
"I don't mind."
"I love you."
"I don't care if you are a Lesbian, Louise. You're my friend."
"Lesbian ... is an ugly word. I'm just your friend, Denise. Your good friend."
"And you want to be my lover?"
"Yes," Louise whispered, holding Denise very close. Denise did not try to move away. She seemed to relax, even.
"I've never done anything...." Denise began. "You don't have to do anything, darling. Just let me hold you, love you. You don't mind?"
"No. This feels nice ... "
Louise felt the blood pounding in her veins, throbbing at her temples. She had not dared believe that Denise would consent, she had tried not to even hope. And now here they were, together, and Denise wanted her to....
"Just relax, darling. Let me make you feel good," she said, moving her hand down to the hem of Denise's gown. She pulled it gently up, past Denise's hips, above her waist, feeling the smooth flesh beneath her hand. Denise moved slightly, came closer to her. Her knees parted to let Louise's hand slide, then tightened on her. Louise squeezed gently, and Denise began to move slowly back and forth, grinding herself against Louise. Her arms were around the woman's body, holding her closely, and her face was pressed against Louise's breast. Denise seemed to be nearly asleep, in a trance. Louise moved very carefully so as not to disturb her, not to shock her out of the dream-like state. Her hand contracted, squeezed, re leased, and Denise's thighs tightened and released in the same rhythm. Louise, for a few moments, actually thought that Denise was sleeping.
But then Denise moved her face a few inches on Louise's breasts. Her lips opened and her tongue touched against Louise's taut flesh, flicked over it and she showered little kisses. Louise trembled.
"Is that right?" Denise whispered.
"Yes. Oh, God, yes! Do you like to do that for me, Denise? You don't have to...."
"I want to. I want you to be happy, Louise. I don't mind doing it."
Denise brought one hand around, cupped Louise's breast to her lips, rolled the nipple with her teeth. Louise frantically tugged Denise's gown up, exposing the length of her body, and pressed her own hard nakedness against the girl. They lay body to body, keenly aware of themselves.
"You can do everything to me," Denise whispered. "Everything that you want."
Louise rolled her over, onto her back. Denise's lips pulled reluctantly away from Louise. She smiled at the older woman, waiting.
"Denise...." Louise's voice quivered. She knelt above the girl. "I love you."
"Make me feel good, Louise."
"Let me touch you, darling. Let me love you."
Denise's knees parted, moved up. Louise moved toward her and her hips began to move, and Denise answered with the same motions. Louise lowered her face so that her lips could caress Denise's breasts, kissing passionately. Denise brought one hand down and clasped it against her.
"Shall I hold you like this?" she asked.
"Yes. Hold me. Oh, move your hand like that. Yes, that's right. That's right!"
Louise's hand came down to join Denise's. The tempo increased, slowly, both girls still moving as though in a dream. And then it was more than a dream, the thrill that began to course through them was reality. They loved fiercely, waiting for the thrill to reach the peak. Together they hovered at the top.
And then, together, they abandoned themselves to sensation.
They lay side by side, still holding each other, their lips almost touching on the pillow. Denise's eyes were closed, Louise was watching her, devotedly.
"Was it good for you?" she asked.
"Umm."
"Do you love me, Denise?"
"I ... think so."
"I love you."
"Umm."
"Do you like to have me touch you? Kiss you? Make love to you?"
"Yes."
"Do you ... like to touch me, too?"
"Yes."
"Do you like to kiss my breasts?"
"It's nice to do that."
"Do you like to caress me...?"
"Umm."
"I'll do anything for you, Denise. I'll do anything that you want me to do to you. I'll touch you everywhere, I'll kiss wherever you want...."
"I will for you, too, Louise."
Louise trembled with expectation. She lay looking at Denise's peaceful, relaxed expression. So beautiful, so young and innocent. Louise loved her very much.
And it was only the first night at sea. How many more nights of love, of bliss, of passion with this girl! Louise was very happy.
"I love you," she whispered again.
But Denise was asleep. She had never been fully awake. She slept in Louise's arms, very soundly, and the ship sailed on through a rough and windy sea.
CHAPTER THREE
Jan May had stood on the deck until Ken was no longer visible on the dock. She wasn't sure why she had come up, at the last moment, to wave good-bye to him. She still felt angry and frustrated. But she and Ken had had a good thing together, for a while, not a meaningful thing but a satisfying thing, and it seemed wrong to part like this, forever, without waving goodbye. But now he was gone, and she started back for her cabin. She paused for a moment to look at the lights of New York, wondering how many people in those innumerable lighted rooms were in love, or making love, at that precise moment in time. But she felt no real desire to watch the city left behind her. That was her past, and she was starting out into the future, and the future must always take precedent over the past. The future was the important, thing. The mistakes that one made in the past could be forgotten if one were resolved to start a new life. If a woman were going to meet her husband and try to be a good wife and be faithful to him, then what did it matter that she had been unfaithful in the past?
Yes, she knew that the future was more important than the past. But in the present, Jan was feeling very frustrated. And the present is most important of all.
Perhaps I should stop for a drink, she thought. The bar must be open now that we've left customs. It was a tempting thought, and she toyed with it. But that was no way to start her new life. It had been drinking that led her astray before. She thought of herself as not so much betrayed by her passions as irresponsible when drinking, and preferred that excuse. After all, if she hadn't stopped for a drink that night, not so long ago, she would never have met Ken. And it was at a party that she had met the man before Ken. And before him. No, she thought that she had better not stop in the bar. But damn Ken for failing her at the last moment!
She went back down to her cabin, resisting the impulse to take one last look at fading New York, one last glimpse of the past. She remembered that Lot's wife had been turned to a pillar of salt, and New York had been Sodom to her.
Her cabin mate was busily emptying her suitcase when Jan entered the cabin. She was a plump, round-faced girl, almost pretty except that her eyes were dull and unintelligent. She smiled at Jan.
"Do you have any preference as to which bed you want?" she asked.
"No," Jan said.
"My name's Alice," the other girl told her, looking as though she might want to shake hands. Jan ignored her, sat down on one of the bunks. She wished that she had a room by herself; she hadn't realized that one had to double up on a ship. Tourist class, at least.
"What's your name?" Alice asked.
"Jan."
"I'm Alice."
"Yeah, you said," Jan told her.
"Gee, aren't you excited about the trip?"
"No."
"Gee, I am. I've never been to Europe before. Have you been there?"
"No."
"I'm real excited about it. I'm going over for three months. I saved for two years to make the trip. It's what I've always wanted to do. It seems so glamorous to have been to Europe, you know?"
"I'm going to meet my husband," Jan said. "He's stationed in Germany. So there isn't going to be a helluva lot of glamour for me."
"Oh. Well you must be excited about seeing your husband then. I'm not married." Jan said nothing.
Alice, hanging a few dresses in the closet, said, "I guess you must be anxious to get over there, huh? I mean, for me, not being married and all, the boat trip will probably be half the fun. They say that people really have a good time on a ship. But I guess you must just be anxious to get over to your husband. Has it been a long time?"
"No." Not nearly long enough, Jan thought. But I mustn't think that way, now. It's just that Ken failed me at the last moment. Everything will be all right tomorrow. I just won't let myself think about men. Except John. That way I'll be anxious to see him and I won't get full of ideas in the meanwhile. But tonight will be bad; this will be the first time that I've slept alone in quite a while.
"I've got a steady boy friend back home," Alice was saying. "That's in Kansas. I'll probably get married when I get back. But I'm not going to let havin' a boy friend spoil this trip for me. Oh, I'll write him and all ... every day ... but if I meet any good-looking men in Paris ... like those French movie actors, you know? Well, I'll never have another chance to get to Paris...." Alice blushed and giggled.
Good God, thought Jan.
"I don't think goin' out with another man is so bad, really. Do you? I mean, it's not like I was married to Clem. He's just my boy friend, and that's not like bein' really married. And I wouldn't really do anything bad, of course...."
I wonder if it's possible to change cabins? Jan thought. I couldn't stand staying with this creature for the whole damned trip. Maybe I could get a man as a cabin mate. No, I mustn't think that way. It's all Ken's fault!
An idea seemed to strike Alice suddenly. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. She was a perfect pantomime, and Jan half expected to see a little light bulb appear suspended in the air above her head.
She said, "I thought that that was your boy friend seeing you off. The guy that left when I arrived. The door was locked and all, so I was afraid that maybe I was butting in or somethin'. But I guess that it couldn't have been anything like that, as long as you're married...."
Jan stood up. She had intended to start unpacking, but suddenly, as she stood there, she realized that she had to get away from her idiot cabin mate. Alice stood looking at her, expecting some sort of explanation why the door had been locked, perhaps.
"Yeah, we were doing naughty things," Jan said.
Alice half-giggled, not sure how to take Jan's statement. She blushed a little.
"I cheat on my husband," Jan said, whispering and leaning confidentially toward the woman.
"Ah ... un ... really?"
"Constantly."
"Ah ... I guess you must ... ah ... I don't suppose that it's wrong if you feel that way. I always thought that after I was married I wouldn't look at another man or anything. But I guess if you don't think that way...."
"I do more than look at men. I'm very carnal." Alice gulped.
"Well," Jan said, "I guess that I'll go up to the bar now and see if I can pick up a man. You don't mind if I bring a man down here later, do you? We'll try not to make too much noise ... unless he starts gettin' real good, you know? It's hard to stop from moanin' then...."
"Ah, no, I don't mind. I mean, if you don't feel, well, sort of modest about it...."
"No, you may watch if you like."
"Oh, I wouldn't watch!"
"Suit youself, roommate. I'm sure that we'll get along fine together."
Alice nodded, dumbly. "Well, see ya."
"Yeah. I'll ... see you," Alice said. Jan went out.
Alice stood looking at the closing door, wondering whether Jan had been pulling her leg. She knew that, for some reason, people frequently pulled her leg. Perhaps she looked like she had easily-stretched limbs. But Jan had sounded serious, and she didn't know how she should have reacted. Should she have acted shocked? Outraged? Or should she have pretended that it didn't phase her, that she was worldly and sophisticated? If someone had told her that back in Kansas, of course, she would have known how to act. But here, on a ship sailing for France, just having left fabulous New York City, it was hard to say. After all, she was dealing with sophisticated people, and she mustn't act like a clod. It was probably accepted among the worldly that some people were unfaithful. Alice had read books about that ... books that she had carefully hidden so that her mother wouldn't find them ... or Clem. Clem wouldn't have understood about such things, of course.
Alice loved Clem. She thought. She wasn't sure. But after seeing the world she would be able to make a more enlightened judgment on that. She would have a chance to meet different men, and compare them to Clem.
The one thing that annoyed her about Clem, although it was only in her infrequent moments of truthful introspection, was that he had never made any effort to do more than kiss her good night. And he was even bashful about that. And they had been going steady for nearly two years. Not that she would have let him do anything, but she thought that he should at least try ... men were supposed to try to seduce women. She knew that from the hidden books. And women were supposed to know that they were desirable because men did try. But not Clem. He had never even put his hand on her breasts, or anything. She might even have let him do that ... nothing more, but she wouldn't have minded if he touched her. After all, two years was a long time to go untouched.
Alice was a virgin. So was Clem, for that matter. He had never kissed anyone but Alice. But she had dated a few others before him, and she had let one of them touch her once. She had felt rather guilty the next day, but she had to admit that it had felt good.
Why, she had even tried to place Clem's hand on herself, the night before she left for New York. But he had pulled away, and she had acted as though it were an accident. But she had been a little angry ... felt a little as though Clem did not desire her enough, the way that a man should. The way that a French movie actor would. Yes, Alice was sure that she would let a French movie actor touch her.
Maybe even a little more.
She sat down on the bunk. She was thinking about what Jan had said, about bringing a man back to the cabin. She wondered whether she really would, and she wondered how she would act. She would pretend to be asleep, that was it. But the idea of watching while Jan let a man make love to her was very exciting. She knew that she would fake sleep and lie there with her eyes half open and watch. The very thought was getting her excited.
Alice let her hand fall to her leg, as though by accident, trying to deceive herself perhaps. But it was no accident that she cupped her hand against herself, squeezed gently. The way that a French actor would.
Her other hand came up to her plump, round breasts, ran over them, felt her breasts tighten beneath her palm.
It was her old escape, her daydreaming that had served her well enough the twenty-three innocent years of her life. She knew that what she thought about was wrong, but not too wrong ... not as wrong as letting a man do anything to her.
Alice got up and went over to the door. The key was in the lock, and she turned it. Just in case Jan returned. It would be very embarrassing to have the woman intrude on her thoughts. Very embarrassing. Even worse than her watching Jan with a man, she imagined.
She snapped the lights out and leaned back against the wall. She was sweating a little; perhaps the cabin was too warm. Her hand moved down to the hem of her skirt, beneath the skirt, up along the soft inner flesh of her ample thighs.
She could feel her desire invade her, and she let her fingers run along the wall behind her. Then up, to her middle-Her hand moved, slid.
Alice leaned against the wall, eyes closed, her imagination wandering.
Her hand searching. She imagined that her hand was Clem's hand, and Clem was telling her that he loved her and she was saying that he could do whatever he wanted to her.
And then, it was her again, caressing herself while she watched Jan making love with some stranger, some faceless man from the bar.
Then, best of all, it was the hand of a handsome Frenchman, in Paris. He was small, wiry, mustached. He was saying "Je t' aime beaucoup." And Alice was saying that he could do whatever he wanted. And unlike Clem, he was. It was no longer his caress that made her thighs tremble. She was no longer innocent. She didn't care, it was wonderful, she loved it. She was racing upward to the peak, hovering there in bliss. Then crashing down.
And now it was Alice again, still pure, leaning against the cabin wall and feeling the weakness creep into her legs. Feeling a little ashamed of her imagination, and a great deal ashamed of her desires.
She unlocked the door, smoothed, straightened her clothes, reached for the light, but she didn't snap it on. She didn't want the lights on just yet. She wanted to lie down, in the dark.
She went over to the bunk and stretched out. For a few moments she didn't move. She was thinking. Then she put her hand on her rounded middle, slid it along the contours, and dropped it to the mattress beneath her.
Once her mental wanderings used to be enough to satisfy her. But no more. It was taking more to drain her passions. More than once, more than Clem's goodnight kisses. There's no sense in feeling ashamed, she told herself. It's not really bad. Lots of girls vicariously find themselves. It's not nearly as bad as going out and looking for a man.
Then, justified, she did it again.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Boy, boats are great!"
It was the young man with the beard speaking, rather loudly, at the bar. His two companions grinned at the comment. They had just come in from the rain-washed deck to the bar, stopping in the futile attempt to pick up Denise, and discovered that the absence of a tax makes alcohol very economical on the open seas. They all raised the giant schooners of beer in toast to the bartender, who was eyeing them rather solemnly, and thinking that it might turn out to be a lively trip. They didn't look like sedate, quiet drinkers.
Jan, too, was looking at them, from the door. She smiled to herself, enjoying their exuberance, and went on into the bar.
It was very small, and quite dark. The walls were paneled with wood resembling mahogany and the floor carpeted with thick maroon rugs wall-to-wall. The bar itself was circular with high immovable stools riveted to the floor in front of it. Bottles were arranged in rows behind wooden slats which prevented them from upsetting when the boat was rocking badly. Above the bottles were a couple of round porthole-like windows which were painted over with huge magnolias and lighted from behind. There was also a mosaic of the infant Cupid holding a large green bow in one hand and a bunch of grapes in the other. The grapes conveniently covered Cupid, which was the purpose for which they were obviously intended, but the impression was more that Cupid was the possessor of enormous manly attributes. The mosaic was lighted from above, and since it was located behind the bar, was the first thing upon which one's eyes settled when entering the room. Along the back wall were a couple of low tables and comfortable looking chairs, maroon to match the carpet. The tables had mosaics of mermaids on them, but they were pretty nondescript and obviously not the work of the same person as the Cupid.
Jan looked around for a moment, then took a seat at one of the unoccupied tables. She put her cigarettes and lighter down and waited for the steward to take her order, wondering how much one should tip a bar steward, and whether it should be at the time of service or at the end of the voyage. Everyone wonders about such things on a first voyage. She wasn't particularly concerned, though. Jan had never had any trouble getting superior service from men, and it wasn't because she tipped well.
She ordered vodka, lit a cigarette, and leaned back in the comfortable seat, letting the smoke out through her nose, enjoying it. It was good to be sitting in the bar after the stuffy little cabin and the annoying cabin mate.
The vodka came, along with a bottle of mixer, and she paid for it without tipping. She smiled at the steward, though. That was just as good.
She sipped the drink, added a bit more mixer, then sipped again, and began to think. Jan had the type of mind that likes to get everything thought out and clarified and pigeon-holed, although it was only from some desire to have things mapped out and not because she wanted to order her life. She would usually act first, often irrationally, and then find a niche in which to categorize her actions. This was also a good way to rationalize and to minimize mistakes and sins. After they had been committed. The way to justify them before the act was, of course, to get drunk. That was her downfall, and what she was determined to avoid.
Jan, actually, had guilt feelings because she had cheated on her husband. She had cheated even before he was sent to Germany, but that hadn't been so bad. Then she had always been able to find a reason to make it seem less sinful. Perhaps they had had an argument for which he was to blame, or perhaps he had been too tired to satisfy her the night before, or ft perhaps he had been showing too much interest in some other woman. But with him far away it was hard to find those reasons, and the only one that she could think of was that he was probably cheating with some woman in Germany. But that was stretching it. John wasn't the unfaithful type. And other than that the only excuse was that she had been too drunk to realize.
And hence her resolutions to be faithful, and her decision to join him abroad. The last time, that one last time with Ken didn't count, of course. It was only the first time with a man that was wrong. That was the infidelity. The frequency didn't matter, didn't affect the degree of the sin. Whether she slept with a man once or one hundred times it was the same thing, the same degree of sin.
But now it was going to stop. Ken had been the last one, she would wait until she was with John now. It would have been easier if Ken had satisfied her once more, on the boat, but she would just have to bear it. It was better to be irritated than to feel a new guilt all over again, and to put her resolutions off for another day, another week.
Determined, she finished the drink and signaled for the steward with a smile and widening eyes.
He brought another drink. Jan noticed that the three men at the bar had noticed her. She was tempted to smile at them. It would be good for free drinks, at least. But it would only bring temptation that much closer. They were all good-looking men. She looked away from them, and from the corner of her eye saw the bearded man shrug and turn back to the bar. He had a wide back, nice broad shoulders.
No, I mustn't think about that, she said. After all, I'm not a nymphomaniac. I'm just irresponsible when I've been drinking, and I haven't drunk that much tonight. And I don't intend to.
She sipped her drink.
An hour later she had drunk considerably more. It was probably just as well, she thought, that the three young men had left the bar, in search of more lively territory. The man who had taken one of the seats looked much less formidable, and she didn't hesitate to smile at him when he looked her way. After all, a free drink was a free drink.
He came over and sat down at her table, with a polite and ridiculous little bow.
"How do you do?" he said, with a trace of an accent and a deep voice.
She smiled.
"May I introduce myself?"
"Of course. We're traveling on the same ship, we may as well get to know people."
He smiled then. "I am very pleased to meet you. My name is Nick. I'm Greek."
"I'm Jan," she said, wondering if every Greek was named Nick. She had never known one who wasn't.
"May I get you a drink?"
"All right."
He signaled for the steward, ordered a drink for Jan and brandy for himself. She noticed that he tipped the steward when he paid. But then, he didn't have a pretty smile. At least not like Jan's was pretty. It was rather pretty in a way, since he had gold teeth which he flashed quite proudly at her.
Nick was big, square headed, tight black hair in curls, a bit shifty of eye and his hands were ugly, the nails bitten to the quick. His hands were always shifting moving, playing with the ash tray or with the glass, or going in and out of his pockets. He had blunt fingers and full lips.
Jan didn't think that Nick would be much of a threat to her resolutions.
"Where are you headed?"
"Germany."
"You have relatives there, perhaps?" "My husband is there."
"Ah. You are married."
"Yeah, I'm married."
"I hope that I'm not annoying you ... disturbing your happy thoughts of your impending reunion with your husband, my dear."
"Married women can still have friends, can't they? Especially on a ship."
"By all means. Of course." His hands began drumming nervously on the table.
"Where are you going, Nick?" she asked, not because she gave a damn, but it was something to say. His finger-drumming was annoying.
"Oh, I live on the ship."
"Oh? You mean you're a member of the crew?"
"Oh, no. I just live here. I've found that it is much nicer than living in hotels. I have no family, just myself. So I just stay aboard, take round trips back and forth. It is even cheaper than living in some large cities ... New York, for instance. Cigarettes and alcohol are much cheaper, all meals are included in the fare, I get a ten per cent discount for the round trip...."
"How long have you lived on the ship?"
"Over two years now, back and forth. I enjoy it immensely."
"But you never disembark?"
"Oh, I often take a stroll on land while the ship is in port. But when she sails, I'm aboard. I really prefer life on a ship to life on land."
"How strange. Do other people do that, too?"
"Not that I know of. But who cares what other people do, hey? A person must do what he wants, not what everyone else does or what society thinks should be done. Don't you agree with that, Jan?"
"Of course," she said, thinking that perhaps Nick was not as boring as he had, at first glance, appeared. And perhaps a bit more dangerous to her.
"One meets the most interesting people on a ship, too," he said. "Interesting people visit other countries. That's why I selected this ship ... most of the passengers are tourists, not businessmen. Many young people too, as a rule. Although I haven't seen many this trip, so far. I always like to meet as many people as possible, and as soon, that's why I came over to your table."
"Well, I'm glad you did. I was starting to feel bored, sitting here alone."
"A lovely girl like you should never need feel bored, my dear. I'm sure that any man on board would welcome a chance to ... talk with you."
Jan smiled again, to show that she understood his slight pause before mentioning just what it was that any man on board would like to do with her, and to show that she was aware of such things.
"Shall we have another?"
"All right," Jan said. She was starting to feel very pleasant.
When the new drinks had arrived, Nick asked, "Do you have a satisfactory cabin?"
"Well ... I'm traveling tourist class. It's quite small. And I've been stuck with a cabin mate without a brain. Some silly girl from Kansas. I'm afraid that she'll drive me out of my mind."
Gold teeth flashed in a sympathetic smile. "Yes, I used to travel tourist class. I thought that it would enable ire to meet more people. But I soon found out that it wasn't satisfactory, I seemed to invariably get stuck with an unsuitable cabin mate. Either someone who got very drunk and came stumbling in while I was sleeping, or someone completely stupid, or once there was a homosexual. One must be careful about such things. You're lucky that you didn't have worse luck."
"I guess so," Jan said, wondering if a Lesbian was worse than a virgin from Kansas. She didn't know. She had never given the subject much thought, of course, and now that she considered it she didn't imagine that a Lesbian would be so bad. As long as she didn't try anything, or didn't wear men's clothing.
"I have a very nice cabin, now. I've been in the same one for quite some time. First class and private, that's the best part. That enables me to invite whomever I care to in, at any hour I choose."
"Yes, I can see that that must be a convenience," Jan said, looking wide-eyed and innocent.
"Yes, you can see that," said Nick, not so innocently and showing his gold mouth.
Jan, looking at him over the rim of the glass, thought that it was fun to get a man excited, to flirt and suggest. She hadn't forgotten her resolutions yet. Not exactly. They may have been fading, as the New York skyline had faded away a few hours before.
But Jan hadn't stayed on deck to watch that.
"Would you care to see my cabin?" Nick asked a few drinks later. "I have a bottle of fine cognac there. I always like to have a bottle of cognac to celebrate the start of another voyage, but I never drink alone."
"I'd like to see a first class accommodation," Jan said. "Not to mention the cognac."
"Shall we go up then?"
Jan nodded. Nick got up, took her arm. She felt a little unsteady when she stood, but that may have been from the rocking of the boat more than anything else. He continued to hold her arm as they went out, and the bartender watched them, and looked over at the steward, who looked back at him with his eyebrows arched.
They both were well acquainted with Nick. Neither of the men liked him, but he tipped well. Things like that were important to the crew of a ship.
Nick led the way down the closed promenade to the main staircase. This was opposite the Bamboo Court, and the three young men who had been in the bar were seated by the door. They saw Jan go up the stairs with Nick, looked at one another, and shrugged.
Jan didn't see them.
Nick led the way up to the boat deck and down the passageway to his room. He closed the door behind them and snapped on the lights. The cabin was much larger than Jan's, although it had only one bed. There was a private bath with shower. The room had obviously been lived in much longer than just that day. It had a sort of lived-in, homey atmosphere. Several paintings had been hung on the walls and the bookshelves were well stocked. There was even an expensive-looking hi-fi set and a rack of records. Nick had apparently been quite serious about actually living there.
"This is a lovely room," Jan said. "I wish I had traveled first class. Especially when I see the bed. A real bed! Those damn bunks must be terrible to sleep in."
"Why don't you sit on the bed? Relax. I'll open the cognac and put on some music."
"Okay," she said. She sat down, bouncing once or twice on the springs, and got her cigarettes out. Nick hurried over to light the cigarette, then returned to the task of opening the bottle. Jan watched him. He wasn't really as ugly as she had thought, she decided. And he was big and looked strong. And knowledgeable. He probably knew how to get the most out of life. Apparently had enough money so that he didn't have to worry about working, too.
"Would you like soda?" he asked.
"I never had cognac before," she said. "I'll drink it the same way you do."
He half filled two large brandy glasses, set them on the table and bent over to select a record. Jan tried to see the album cover, so that she would be able to name-drop when she heard the music, but it was hidden by Nick's body. Well, it didn't matter. A girl with a sexy smile didn't have to name-drop.
Nick came over, gave her one of the glasses, and pulled a chair close by the bed. He held his glass up to her, she used the sexy smile, and sipped the brandy. It didn't taste as good as gin, she thought, but she acted as though she liked it very much.
They drank and Nick talked about the ship, about some of the people whom he had met aboard, about the crew. He spoke as though he knew the captain quite well. After a while he began to tell her about brandy and explained how it should be drunk (inhaled, he said) and then about the different brands, and the best age, and finally about how good Metaxa was. Jan listened, not terribly interested but at least not bored, and drank, and whenever her glass was empty Nick filled it and she was getting quite drunk by the time that he switched the subject to men and women.
"Yes," he said, "It's strange how being aboard a ship affects a person. Especially a woman, I've noticed. I don't know quite what it is, perhaps the perpetual motion of the ship, or the feeling of confinement and intimacy, but at any rate a woman seems to lose a great deal of restraint aboard a ship. Either they feel more like themselves, or they feel less inhibited. Many a virgin has been seduced in a bunk at sea."
"Maybe you should seduce my innocent roommate from Kansas, Nick. It would probably do her good."
"Oh, not I. I never bother with sweet innocent girls."
"Oh? Did I look so hard when you approached me in the bar?"
"Oh, no. Not at all. But I was simply seeking a companion to talk with, not a young woman to seduce."
"I see. I was getting the idea that you might have had ulterior motives."
Nick grinned. "No," he said. "I never plan those things. They just sort of happen."
Yeah, that's the way that it happens with me, Jan thought. I'm not thinking about a man or any thing of the sort, and all of a sudden there I am loving away with some guy that I never saw before. Funny. Of course, I'm not going to do anything like that again. But Nick's kind of nice. It's too bad Ken didn't leave me feeling a little more satisfied. Then I wouldn't be thinking this way. I think that Nick is getting the idea that I'll sleep with him, too. Probably my own fault, I've been acting too friendly. But he is nice, and he knows a lot about things. I wonder if he knows a lot about making love? I've never slept with a Greek. He probably would be very good in bed. In this nice soft comfortable bed. Too bad I didn't meet him before. Before I decided to be a good girl. He could probably show me some things. He's been around. And they say Greeks are passionate, too.
Damn it! she thought. I'm going to get myself all worked up for nothing here. It'll just be all the harder to sleep alone tonight if I start thinking like that.
She finished the glass. Nick leaned over to refill it for her, leaning a little closer than necessary. She could smell his after shave lotion.
"I'm getting drunk," she said.
"Why not?" Nick said, spreading his hands, the bottle in one. A large ring flashed on his little finger, a gold ring. Like his teeth. Jan wondered which he thought prettier, his ring or his teeth. She had never kissed a man with gold teeth, she thought. I wonder if it makes any difference? Probably not. But he has very sensual lips, though. That would make a difference, full lips like that. A little too thick, maybe. But I've kissed worse, and been less excited when I did it. And less drunk. I'm really drunk now. I'll have the good old excuse to explain anything that I do. But I'll still feel bad in the morning. I mustn't start that again. I can't fool myself into thinking that this will be the last time again, because it'll only be the first time with Nick and I've never been able to stop after the first time. No reason to stop. No, I'd better get up and leave now, while I can.
She started to get up. Her legs felt very unsteady, and the room was rocking. It wasn't just her, she could see the towels swinging on their racks through the open door to the bathroom. She half-stood, swayed for a second, and sat back down.
"The sea is a little rough this evening," Nick said sitting next to her on the bed.
Here it comes, she thought. Here's where he makes his pitch. I wonder if it's true that the rocking of a ship makes a woman passionate? Maybe that's my trouble tonight. Maybe it's not all Ken's fault. Although if he had been able to make it once more....
If the ship's motion has anything to do with it, maybe it wouldn't be my fault. Couldn't blame myself in that case. But if that's true then it will happen every day, and all my resolutions will be shot. I have to resist the urge, I guess. But God, I'm ready! And drunk!
"Drink up, my dear," Nick was saying. "We have to finish the bottle. I never open a bottle of fine cognac when I don't intend to finish it." Jan took a large swallow. Nick refilled her glass.
"I don't think that I care for any more," she said, very conscious of the pitching and rolling of the room.
Nick placed a subtle hand lightly on her leg. His touch was against bare flesh, and she realized that her dress had hitched up. She set the glass carefully down on the floor and glanced sideways at Nick. His hand had started to move, in its usual motion, nervously.
But, she noticed, moving even higher on her thigh.
And, she noticed, it felt very nice.
"You have very soft legs," he whispered.
She had her eyes closed to stop the room from whirling. She heard the rustle of his clothing, felt the shifting of his weight on the mattress. Then he was touching her legs again, an unbelievable soft touch this time. It didn't seem possible that those large, blunt hands could touch her that way, and she opened her eyes and looked down.
It wasn't his hands.
Nick had slipped to the floor beside the bed and was bent over, his mouth caressing.
Jan placed one hand behind his head, fingers lost in the curling black hair.
Nick looked up at her, eyebrows arched inquisitively, without taking his kiss from her. She answered his mute question with her eyes, first. And then with the pressure of her hand, pulling his head to her. She knew what he wanted. It was a thing that she had always loved as a preparation. And Ken had never loved her that way, had only done it when she asked him to, and then only for a moment, never long enough But here was Nick, wanting her. Jan knew that she wasn't going to resist. She was drunk, and the ship was rolling, and it was something that she loved to have done for her, and Ken had never done it right. It was his fault after all, because he hadn't satisfied her in her cabin, and because he had never been willing to do this thing for her. Yeah, it was all Ken's fault, not hers. Tomorrow she could renew her resolutions.
Tonight she would be loved.
Nick was tugging at her clothing. She shifted her hips, so that the material could pass up, and he bunched her skirt at her waist. Then his hands came down to the elastic of her panties, pulled down. She raised her hips again, and he tugged the panties down, over her hips, along her rounded thighs, down to her feet. He took them off slowly, carefully, and placed them on the floor.
Jan kept her eyes open and watched, saw her own naked thighs tremble, saw her knees relax as though it were an involuntary act, saw Nick hovering there, his forehead dotted with sweat, his eyes glued to her flesh. His tongue ran over his lips, hungrily, and very slowly he leaned toward her. He was very close, but he moved slowly ... too slowly. Her hand pulled urgently at his head, her legs tingled, her middle pulsated and quivered....
And then she vibrated in frantic fascination as his mouth caressed her. It was so good, it felt so wonderful, and she knew that she would let him do it whenever he wanted. The hell with resolutions and reformations, this was too good to deny.
She leaned back, still watching, her emotions rising against her reluctance, her hand urging him to experiment farther still.
His hands slid under her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, lifting her to him. His tongue was hot, fiery, demanding. She had known that Nick was going to be very good.
And then it was time. She was ready for love. It was starting, sweeping through her body. She tried to pull Nick to her, wanting him to take her, but he remained crouched.
"Now, Nick! Now, baby!"
But he didn't move.
Except his hands....
And then it was too late-coursing through her, tearing her apart in its intensity. She lay back, eyes closed now, and gave herself up completely. She trembled and twisted tremulously, and he knew she was there.
"Oh, God," she sighed.
She sank back in relaxed tranquility.
Nick remained where he was for a while, gently tapering off his caresses. Then he moved up to lie beside her.
Jan put her hand on him, high up on his thigh, and smiled at him.
"Was that good?" he asked. "Wonderful."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Would you like me to love you again?"
"Not that. I couldn't stand that again. I'd like you to do the other ... to make love to me. That was so good, but now I want you even more."
He said nothing.
Jan let her hand come up to him. She was surprised to find that he was not excited. There was no passion.
"What's the matter, honey?" she asked. "Nothing."
"Don't you want to-?"
"I'm sorry, my dear. I ... am not so very young any more. I have ... difficulties."
Jan said nothing. She wanted him more than ever now.
"I'll be glad to do the other thing again, if you feel you want me to."
"I want you!"
"I'm sorry...."
"It will be all right after a while, won't it? If we wait?"
He said nothing.
"If I take all my clothes off and let you look at me, Nick?"
He shook his head. Sadly. Remembering better days that he had known.
"If I kiss you, Nick?"
"I'm afraid that nothing will help, Jan. I'm truly sorry. I haven't been able to make love for some time now. But if you...."
"Damn you! You get me here, you start loving me, get me ready ... and then you fizzle out!"
"I thought ... that the other would be enough."
"Damn it! It isn't."
"I'm sorry."
Jan stood up. She rocked with the boat, dizzily. But more sober now. She stepped into her panties and pulled them up, pushed her skirt down.
"Must you go?" Nick asked.
"There isn't much to stay for, is there?"
"Maybe ... after a while ... you will want me to do the same thing again."
"Not a chance," she said. "I'm going to find a real man, someone who can do what a man should."
Nick's eyes squinted, reddened. He stood up too. Jan started for the door.
"Don't be angry," he said, following her. But he didn't sound repentant now.
"You're nothing but a helpless old man," Jan said, rather surprised at her own vehemence. He had really angered her.
"Wait. There is one thing that excites me," Nick said, as she started to open the door.
Jan looked at him.
"If you really want to...."
"I really want to," she said.
"Come back to the bed."
Jan followed him back.
"Take off your clothes," he said.
She began to undress. She had no idea what he wanted, but she didn't think that anything would be too much if it got her what she desired.
Nick removed his clothes, kicked them off. He was still not excited, and watching Jan strip seemed to do no good.
Her dress was off, tossed carelessly on the bed. She pulled her panties down once more, moving her hips more than necessary because he was watching her. She thought that he looked very much like a great lizard, tongue flicking, eyes small.
She reached behind her and undid the clasp of her brassiere, let it fall to the floor, the cups retaining their rounded contours as it lay there. She posed for Nick, rounded thighs thrust forward.
"Well?" she asked.
"Pain excites me," he said. Softly.
"What?"
"Pain. Pressure." He stepped forward. Jan frowned at him, but did not move away.
He took her hand in his, and pressed it against himself. "Squeeze me," he said. "Hard. Hurt me. Dig your nails into me."
Jan hesitated.
"Do it!" It was a command, harsh, terse. Jan squeezed.
"Harder! There, right there!" He positioned her hand, rubbed against her.
Jan squeezed harder. She winced, thinking that she may have hurt him. But she felt him tremble to life in her fingers, and heard him moan.
"Claw me! Bite me! Hurt me!"
His shoulder was close to her face. Jan sunk her teeth into it, squeezed even harder with her hand. He urged her fingers into his soft flesh, and his flesh answered.
Jan was fascinated. She had never experienced such a strange, perverse excitement before. She felt herself grow ready once more, as ready as she had been from the caresses of his lips. She sank back on the bed, her fingers still tightened on him, the nails digging in pulling him after her. She pulled him, placed him against herself.
"No, not that! Hurt me!" he said.
His hands were on her breasts. He took both boobs between his fingers and twisted. Jan jumped in pain, her hand came away from him.
"Hurt me," he said, "Or I'll hurt you." He twisted the boobs half around, stretching them. Jan gasped. He took one hand away and his kiss replaced it, her globular breast between his teeth. Tightly. His teeth scissored on her and fire shot from her breast.
Nick grabbed her hand with his free hand, forced it back to him. She took him in her grasp.
"Don't hurt me," she pleaded.
He grunted. He squeezed her hand closed on him, squeezed tightly. His teeth loosened slightly. He was panting with passion now, and Jan could feel him pulsate and throb.
She crushed him, dug at him, tore at him. She wanted to hurt him now, the way that he had hurt her. He whimpered, squirmed, but his teeth remained on her quivering breast. Not hurting her now, just holding her there, his bulk next to her. She sank down into the soft bed, helpless.
It seemed unreal to her, a nightmare. She was smothered, stiffled, hurt. But then she could feel the reality starting, feel him tense to the limit, and she knew that his completion was there.
She dug even harder into him.
And, with a gasp of release, Nick sank his teeth deeply into her tender, rigid flesh.
Jan screamed. Not loudly. Her agony had tightened her throat.
Nick lay quivering, his passion irrevocably conclusive.
Jan crawled from the bed, her hand pressed to her breast. Sobs racked her. She knelt on the floor, holding her hand tightly to herself, and sobbed. She felt sick, unable to move. Nick was very still on the bed now. His trembling hand subsided and his breathing was becoming more regular. A tiny trickle of saliva ran down the side of his lower lip.
After what seemed a very long time to her, Jan got up. She didn't look at the great bulk on the bed. She grabbed her dress and pulled it on, ripping it in the process, hurting her injured breast as it slid over. She didn't bother to look for her panties or bra or shoes. With only the dress on, tears still streaming from her eyes, she crossed over to the door and went out, barefoot, into the passageway.
Nick, on the bed, turned his head slowly and watched her leave. He sighed Perhaps he had gotten carried away, but it was her fault. She shouldn't have called him a helpless old man. He had had to show her how powerful his passion could be, after that. Yes, she wouldn't insult him again. He was sure of that.
And besides, she had been so good.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was very distressing to see the girl go upstairs with the man with the golden teeth. The three young men in the Bamboo Court, having grown quite amorous in their present stage of intoxication, resented it.
"Just 'cause he's got gold teeth she likes him better'n she do us," said the bearded one, by way of summing up the situation. They had all noted, to their amusement and unsuppressed comments, the golden teeth earlier. Little did they expect the owner of such glorious teeth to steal a woman away from them, however. Not that Jan had ever given any indication that she would be theirs. It was just that they were at that certain stage of drink when possessiveness can easily carry away reality, and desire may blur facts.
"A foreigner, too," the second young man commented, equating non-Americans with the toothless of the world, with pure logic.
The third man shook his head, the tragedy of it too much for him. There was only one thing to do, and he raised his hand to do it. Namely, to order another round of beers.
Each of these three was young, the oldest being twenty-two. They shared the same cabin on A deck. The two clean-shaven men had come together, two young men out to see the world and seek their fortunes in the fine old tradition. They had left Los Angeles, hitchhiked across the States, and taken the first available passage. They had little money but much confidence, and planned to hitchhike around Europe until they were either destitute or had made fortunes in that mysterious way that will dance on the fringe of young and adventurous minds. Like the Saint used to do. Their names were Will and Bert. Will had short hair and wore glasses. Bert had wavy blond hair and an Irish tenor voice only displayed when drunk. He was the oldest and possibly the most stable. Stability was not a large factor in the group.
The bearded young man had, by chance, been placed in the same three-man cabin with the other two. It had been a fortunate arrangement, because they had found out within minutes that they were well suited in temperament and intemperance, and proceeded to go out and laugh at the storm and then to get drunk.
His name was Dean, and he was from New York. He had worked in an office, white collar job, five days a week. No one knew this. He hid and traveled incognito on the subway. When he appeared during his leisure hours he wore Levi's and I-shirts, amply smeared with oil paints (he didn't paint ... he had purchased three or four tubes and squirted the paint onto his beatnik clothing), and everyone in his social set believed that he was an artist. When he had saved enough money to go to Europe he told everyone that he had sold a painting for ten thousand dollars and they were all very jealous. But, because no one had ever seen his work, they didn't feel that it was completely unjust, and no one could actually say that "I paint better than Dean ... why in hell was he so lucky?" Quite a few of his friends had come to see him off, and they had drunk many cans of beer in defiance of the traditional champagne-on-nights-of-departure, scattering the empties about the deck, where two spinsters and a Belgian were to fall over them several hours later. It had been a nice farewell with a minimum of bitterness and jealousy.
Dean had all the appearances of a Stone Age man. His eyes were set deeply into their sockets and he glowered at the world from beneath drooping brows. His jutting jaw was further accentuated by a full, bristling, blond beard; and his lips, sensuous though they were, bore an expression of contemptuous boredom. His forehead was extremely long and sloping and formed a sort of cliff over his eyes. It was the sort of forehead which would intrigue anthropology students of the paleolithic period-a real Neanderthal brow. His corn-colored blond hair was perfectly straight and was combed without any sort of part, directly from the crown of his angular head, so that it appeared as if someone had just dumped a bucket of water over him and he had let it dry that way.
There was something only semi-civilized about the way he moved, too. He didn't walk or stride or swagger. He hulked. With his shoulders rounded and hunched, neck bent forward, powerful hands dangling at the ends of his long arms, he gave the impression of moving through another time, another age, when men hunted for their food with stone weapons and wore the skins of animals. A white shirt and tie did little to alter this impression except that it hampered his hunching.
When Dean had been gainfully employed he had combed his hair back, shaved daily, and although never looking quite normal or average, he had managed to pass for a young man on the way up during office hours. Now, with no one to answer to, he was rebelling even more than he had in his Greenwich Village leisure hours, and was a strange and striking figure. Interesting. , Very handsome, in a Viking-caveman combination. And large, strong, muscular ... the type that always interested pseudos and women who were hovering on the brink of change of life.
Bert called the steward over. The steward was small, mustached, square-headed. He looked none too friendly, and seemed to resent the fact that the three had been hailing him by shouting, "Young man!" He was at least fifty.
"Ah, there you are, young man," Will said.
"My name is Hubert," said the steward, balancing above the table.
"Hubert?"
"Hubert."
"Hubert," said Dean, testing the sound of it.
"I'd rather be called 'young man,' were I named Hubert," Bert said.
Hubert grunted. He was too small-chested to grunt well, and it was a rather gasp-like sound when it came out.
"Well, no matter. Bring us three beers, Hubert."
He shuffled off, grumbling.
"I doubt Hubert likes us," Bert said.
"Don't matter. He's but a servant."
"And wee," Will said.
They chuckled, and looked around for women. There seemed to be none both attractive and unattached in the Bamboo Court. The ship's orchestra had driven a goodly amount of people off, especially since the ship was rolling too badly to permit dancing. One couple made an attempt, a six-foot blonde girl and a five-foot Frenchman with well greased hair and wide lapels, but he fell and dragged her down and they rolled about for a while helplessly, like landed fish, and finally had to slither from the dance floor and hoist themselves with the aid of a pillar. Even so, the Frenchman had a terrible time of it, sliding back down the pillar twice and dragging the girl after him both times, in an effort to save himself. She finally succeeded in breaking away from him and leaving the scene of her humiliation. French chivalry and charm had lost a major battle there. But the ship's band played imperturbably on.
The Bamboo Court was the fun room of the ship. It was there that all the organized recreation took place, such as horse racing-the ship's favorite game which was a dice game, quite crooked and with four-to-one odds in the ship's favor; and children's parties; and passenger talent shows; and of course, the dubious dancing. But it was a cheerful room, in daylight, and a fine place for afternoon drinking.
From where they sat, by the door, the three commanded a good view of the room, and they scanned it now, in vain, in search of girls.
The room was constructed on two levels, an inner and an outer circle, separated by a low partition that was padded in plastic material to suggest woven straw matting. The inner circle was set about with round tables and low bamboo chairs that had brightly colored, if somewhat soiled, cushions on the seats and backs. These were arranged in two rows around the dance floor upon which several couples were attempting to do the Watusi at the moment, to an unmistakably Dutch march. The result was chaotic, at best, especially as one middle aged and rather portly gentleman, who was also quite drunk, kept falling down, accidentally on purpose, so that he could look up the skirt of a tall, willowy blonde, who stepped on his hand at one point. He was rescued in due time, by his wife, who was most agitated by his undignified behavior and hustled out the door with him in tow.
The outer circle of the Bamboo Court was furnished with bamboo couches which accommodated three thin people or two fat ones, as the occasion demanded. These were pretty well occupied by couples of the latter variety. The tables in front of these couches were oblong in shape and had large leaded bases to prevent them from tipping over. The table tops were of indestructible plastic-like material and bore motifs in red, yellow and green of life beneath the ocean. The walls behind the bandstand and at the opposite end of the room were painted with huge bilious green palm trees, but the rest of the room was casual and comfortable. But at the moment without benefit of eligible females.
"Maybe we ought to go back to the bar," Will suggested, when the scrutiny was over.
"Yeah. After this drink. Here comes Hubert."
Hubert set the beers down and took the money from Bert, looking very unhappy, as usual.
"What was that name again?" Dean asked.
"Hubert."
Dean laughed.
"This will have to be the last round here," Hubert said. "We're closing this pantry. You can get drinks at the bar until two o'clock."
"Ain't the bar open all night?" Dean asked, shaken by the prospect.
"We don't have a night bar," Hubert informed him in a gleeful voice.
"Why the hell not? Ain't no law you gotta close on the open seas."
"We found that some passengers, especially the younger ones, tend to get too rowdy."
"Aw, Hubert, old trout ... you must be kidding us."
"No, the bar closes, sir."
"Ain't that hell?" Will said.
Hubert went away, grinning to himself.
"I guess we gotta drink fast before two."
"We can probably get a bottle from the night steward in our cabin," Bert said. "We can bribe him."
"Yeah, that's an idea." Dean brightened at the thought. Nothing more discouraging than bars that closed.
"Let's pour these down and get into the bar," Bert suggested. He downed his glass in one breath, no mean task. They were huge glasses. Will and Dean poured theirs down and they trailed out of the Bamboo Court and headed through the library toward the bar, pausing to glance up the stairs to the first class cabins and curse at the gold-toothed man for having a woman while they had none. Dean suggested that they might give him the old heave overboard in revenge. He had a rather destructive nature, amplified by alcohol. The other two agreed to give the prospect due consideration, and they went on down to the bar.
They took seats and ordered beers. There were no free women there either.
"Is it true that the bar closes at two?" Will asked the barman.
"Yes."
"Can we get drinks in our cabins?"
"No."
"Can our steward be bribed?"
"I should doubt that."
"Can we buy a bottle here, now?"
"No, I can't sell it that way."
"This is a helluva ship!"
The barman shrugged.
"Can you be bribed?"
The barman didn't answer. He went down the bar to mix a cocktail for a ninety-seven-year-old Bavarian widow.
"This is a helluva ship," Will repeated.
Dean was eyeing the Bavarian widow dubiously. She was alone. But he decided that he would have to get much drunker before he could fall in love with her. It wasn't her age, so much. He didn't like Bavarians.
They drank fast, all eyes on the clock. There was another shock in store for them. They had passed a time zone and lost an hour. They moaned and protested as the clock was set ahead, but it was futile.
It was a helluva ship.
At one-forty-five the barman called for the last round, which had to be delivered to the lounge. With foresight, they ordered one hundred beers. But there were only forty glasses, and the bartender was tired, and he restricted them to four beers apiece. Dean vowed revenge, and wanted to chuck the barman overboard with the Greek.
At one-forty-six the Bavarian widow fell from her seat, stone drunk, and was carried away. Dean felt slightly jealous of the lounge steward, who carried her, and glared at him.
They went out and took seats in the lounge, by the large window, so they could look out at the storm. The steward brought the twelve beers, ignored the bribe offer, and went away. They vowed to chuck him, too.
At two minutes after two, Jan came into the lounge, looking rather pale although she had stopped at her cabin and fixed herself up as best she could. She hadn't been able to wear a bra over her injured breast. She came over and sat next to Dean and looked at him with no effort to hide her interest, and he smiled with his lips and glowered with his eyes and hoped that he was starting to get lucky.
She spoke first.
"Can I get a drink around here?" she asked. "I noticed the bar was closed."
"Can't get a drink no how. Can't even bribe the cruds. We're near to death from thirst already."
"So am I," she said. She really was. The brandy had made her throat very dry and hot, and she felt that she really needed a beer.
Dean looked about. He wanted to be gallant, but he only had one beer left and he didn't want to share that, although Jan was good-looking, and might well be worth it. A decision between a woman and a beer was always a difficult thing.
But then, as he looked about in an attempt to ignore her, he saw another beer, full and foamy, on the next table. The girl to which it apparently belonged was in conversation and was ignoring it. She was a skinny redhead and she was talking to a short, wide guy in a sweatshirt, about the merits of various folk singers. Dean studied the situation for a moment, then slid from his seat, walked sideways to the other table, and took the beer.
"For you," he said, holding it out to Jan. She hesitated, then took it with a smile.
The redhead said, "Hey, that's my beer! You took my beer! Ralph, he stole my beer!"
Dean smiled charmingly at her.
"You took my girl's beer, hey!" shouted Ralph.
"Hush up, little fellow," said Dean. "We had a thirsty woman here."
"I'm thirsty too, Ralph," whined the redhead.
"You give that beer back," Ralph said.
"Not likely," said Dean. He sat down next to Jan, smiling at her in a manner that would have been lecherous but for his tender years. A twenty-year-old can hardly be a dirty old man.
"You hear me?" snarled the sweatshirt.
"Perhaps you'd better let them have it back," Jan said, holding the beer out to Dean. "I appreciate the effort, but there's no sense starting trouble...."
"Ha! A beer is an excuse to start nuclear wars," Dean said. "Drink!"
Jan laughed, and drank.
"Ralph, that woman's drinking my beer," said the redhead, frantically.
Ralph stood up, determination creasing his wide brows, his jaw set. He wasn't going to take that. No one could steal his girl's beer. Ralph knew how to take care of this situation. . He was an athlete. (Witness the sweatshirt). He wasn't going to let anyone make a fool of him.
"Ah, sit down," Dean said.
"I want that beer!"
My true love has already sampled it, and she has all sorts of vile, communicable diseases. So it's too late to give it back now."
Ralph advanced. "You need a lesson learned ya," he said, sticking his jaw out further. "All you beatniks are just alike, think you can get away with anything. I'll teach ya that you gotta respect the rights of other people! You ain't alone in this world!"
"Oh my God," said Dean, sadly, in a tone that showed great pity for Ralph.
"Jump 'im, Ralph, honey! Go on, show 'im who's who aroun' here!" the redhead bawled.
Ralph hesitated. Will giggled. Bert clucked his tongue. Dean tried to kiss Jan on the cheek. The redhead began to gasp in frustration.
Having nothing else to do for it, Ralph made a flying leap at Dean. But he missed. His head cracked the edge of the table and he fell to the floor. His aim and reflexes hadn't been athletic in keeping with his sweatshirt. Dean casually reached out with one leg and stepped squarely on Ralph's wide nose. Bert, from the other side, took the cue and jumped with both heels into Ralph's stomach. Will kicked him in the shin, found it pleasant and kicked the other shin. Ralph rolled about, squealing in pain, and the others convulsed with laughter and drank their last beers. All but the redhead. Having no beer and no knight errant, she stole silently away from the lounge. Obviously a girl who rode with the winner.
And Jan looked sideways at Dean, and felt strangely happy, considering the events of an hour or so before.
When Jan had fled from Nick's cabin she had been in pain, frightened, disgusted, and sick.
She had gone directly to her own cabin. Alice was sleeping the sleep of the innocent, her face to the wall. If her hand happened to be cupped between her legs, and if she smiled and squirmed a little in her sleep, Jan was too concerned with herself to notice.
She had undressed and inspected her bruised boob. Nick's golden teeth had broken the skin and he'd severely bruised her. It felt like a burn, throbbing, and had already begun to turn purple.
Jan held a damp cloth against her breast and sat on the edge of the bed. She was sober. Her fear and pain had driven all intoxication from her. And she was disgusted with herself. Why had she gotten into that situation? Because of her own lust, she knew. If she hadn't let Nick touch her, or even if she had been content with what he did first, this wouldn't have happened. But no, she had to insult him and goad him to the point where he had lost restraint. She had deserved it. Nick, she knew, was sick, mad, perverted ... but she didn't consider herself much better. Where had all her resolutions gone to? Deserted her Drained to the bottom of an empty glass. The old excuse, the old rationalization, "I was drunk, I'm not responsible for what I did."
Yeah, sure, she was anxious, she wasn't responsible for what she did. Nymphomania is as good an excuse as alcoholism. But she had her pick, either or both. Yeah, I'm even more disgusting than Nick is, she thought.
But the knowledge wasn't the cure. Even as she sat there, with the damp cloth pressed to her breast, she knew that her resolutions were gone. The way that she felt about infidelity, the feeling that it was only wrong the first time with each man, that repetition with the same man didn't increase the sin ... she felt, to a lesser degree, about situations ... now that she had broken her resolutions once, it wouldn't be so bad to do it again. Not until she had made the resolutions over again. And she had no reason to make them now. That would have to wait for a change, a new situation. The broken resolutions had been made as she sailed from New York; the new ones would have to wait until she landed, until she was with her husband again.
Hell, she thought, that would have been the best time anyway. Then when I got to feeling like it, I would always have John. I should have waited until I was with him to start thinking about being faithful.
It was a mild shock to her to realize that, even then, she felt passionate. Very passionate. She had come so close to fulfillment with Nick, and yet ... He had made it, at her expense. She had had only the preliminaries. And she still wanted love.
I really am disgusting, she thought, sitting here with my breast all purple and swollen from the last time, and thinking about trying again. Ah, hell, why not? I can't sink much lower into degradation.
She had dressed once more, not wearing a brassiere because it rubbed too tightly against her injury, and applied make-up, brushed her hair, and gone up to the bar. She really needed a drink, at least.
Of course, the bar was closed, and the strange-looking young man with the beard was sitting in the lounge, and she couldn't get any more disgusting, anyway.
So Jan was sitting with Dean, drinking the purloined beer and feeling much better. If only she had met Dean first, instead of that damned Greek, she thought. But no, she had not responded to Dean's smile, because he had looked too dangerous. Nick had seemed harmless. You could never tell. And now she hoped that Dean would prove dangerous, in the seductive sense. She wanted to sleep with him, in a nice, normal manner ... perhaps have a brief (duration of the voyage) affair with him, even. If he was good in bed. Good to her. She stopped thinking about the right or wrong of it, and concentrated on the pleasure that could be had.
The four sat in the lounge for a few minutes after Ralph had stumbled off, muttering about men who didn't fight fair and redheads that deserted their protectors. But there was nothing to drink and it was boring.
"Let's go back on deck," Dean suggested.
"But it's raining," Jan said.
"Sure. Ain't no sense goin' on deck, it ain't rainin'. That's what makes it fun. Nothin' like a storm at sea to get that wild adventurer's spirit."
"All right, let's go," Jan said.
The four went out. Dean took her hand as they walked, and she squeezed his gently to show that she liked him, and was willing to be liked. They went out to the open deck at the stern and stood against the rail, looking out.
The wind was terrific, blowing them about, snarling Jan's hair, and Dean's, which was nearly as long as hers, and very nearly blowing Will's glasses out to a burial at sea. It whipped the rain and the sea against them with a force that stung, and made it hard to see anything with the spray filling their eyes. The water was solid black, the same as the sky. They couldn't tell which was which. The ship yawed and pitched and they slid along the wet deck, clutching at the rail.
"Looks cold out there," Will said.
The wind whipped his words out to sea, and no one heard them. It didn't matter, they were hardly informative.
Jan found it strangely fascinating. She wondered what it would be like to fall into that rolling, pitch black sea, to be in the water and see the ship's lights growing faint in the distance, to be left to drown. It would probably just be a frantic second, she thought. The sea would pull you right under and you'd never see the ship at all. Probably freeze instantly, or faint from the shock.
She flicked her cigarette over to see it go into the water, but the wind slammed it back against the side of the ship and it disappeared.
"Not supposed to do that," Bert shouted, over the noise. "They get sucked in the open portholes. Woman got burned on the rear by a cigar once, the booklet said."
"Yeah?" Dean said.
After that they spent a few minutes lighting cigarettes and throwing them overboard. Then someone realized that no portholes would be open because of the storm, and they stopped. It had been cheap enough. No cigarette tax on a ship.
"I'm soaked," Jan said.
"Yeah, let's go back," Bert said.
They began the fight along the deck, against the wind and the roll of the deck.
Then Dean sighted a life preserver, and his destructive instincts rose to the surface.
"Man overboard!" he shouted, running raggedly to the rail. The others followed, laughing, but not aware of what he was doing until they saw him raise the round white preserver and heave it over.
He looks very dramatic there, Jan thought, out-lined in black and white, his hair all wild, the sea turbulent behind him, the life preserver in the air....
Then there was no time to think about such things, except subconsciously, perhaps. The alarm bell went off; the flares on the preserver lit up, streaking away in the water as though a small boat were passing by; the sulphur spray covered them with the incriminating fumes.
"Suffering catfish!" Bert said.
"Why'd you do that?" Dean asked, innocently.
"Run!" Will said, which was the most valid suggestion in the situation.
They ran. Across the deck to the other side, and then up the closed promenade. They could hear the shouts as the crewmen rushed down the other side. They made it to the main stairway and rushed down, laughing, soaked, feeling very adventurous.
Jan didn't exactly remember how she got there, but they were all standing in a cabin, looking at one another with wide, hilarious eyes.
"I didn't know that they had lights and alarms and all that," Dean said.
"I wonder if they saw us?"
Dean shrugged. "Well say we thought that someone was in the water."
"What's that terrible smell?" Jan asked.
"Incrimination. I guess it sets a sulphur bomb or somethin' off when you toss the damn thing over, so they can tell who threw it."
"It was fun," Jan said. "It made me feel ... like a kid again. It's been a long time since I felt like a kid in this damned grown-up world."
"You're dead when you forget how to feel like a child," Dean said. "I spend all my spare time in not growing up. That's profound."
"Yeah, but what about these clothes?" said practical Bert. "We're all covered with that smell."
"Take 'em off. Shower."
That seemed sensible. Dean began to unbutton his shirt right away.
"Hey, what about me?" Jan asked.
"No time for modesty. They catch us, we walk the plank. You can wear my bathrobe."
"I think I'd better go down to my own room and change there," she said. But not too resolutely.
"I'll check the hall," Dean said. He peered out, with the door open only a crack, and then leaped back in.
"My God," he said, "The hall's crawling with them! Hurry and get your clothes off! This ship has a brig, you know. Even being caught in a bathrobe with three naked men is better than being a life preserver throwed overboard! Worse offense of all on the high seas. Strip, girl!"
Jan laughed. She didn't believe that a search was being made, of course. But the idea of having these three, especially Dean, see her undress was not unpleasant. It would have been better if it were only Dean, if she had been alone with him ... but perhaps Will and Bert would have the discretion to leave after they had changed clothing.
She might have hesitated, but Dean was undressing with absolutely no modesty, tearing his clothing off. He was smiling, obviously feeling more playful than nervous about being caught, but his approach to the game was catching. Will and Bert, too, had begun to strip.
Jan fingered the zipper at the side of her dress ... She hesitated. It was definitely not the lady-like thing to do. But what the hell, she thought. Why not?
She pulled the zipper down.
No one seemed to be paying her undue attention. That made it easier. Not in the spotlight. She wiggled out of the dress.
Dean looked at her. Her breasts rolled free, tapered at the tips, unrestrained. She returned his gaze and continued to strip. He was completely naked now, standing close to her, and she could see his excitement rise in proportion to the amount of clothing that she took off. It was good to see his capable passion after Nick's impotence, good to see a man react to the sight of her body. And Dean's reaction was strong. He took one step nearer....
Jan wore only her panties now. She played with the elastic band, but didn't pull them down. She was watching Dean, only idly aware that Will and Bert were standing to the side, naked, watching her. She could hear the heaviness of their breathing. But it was Dean in whom she was interested, Dean whom she wanted.
"Have I undressed enough?" she asked.
Dean reached out, his hand going around her waist and holding her close. He said, "I think that you'd better take everything off, just to make sure."
"But then I'd be naked," she teased.
"The same as I," he said.
And Jan was aware of how naked he was, standing there before her. He looked at her, and saw the purplish bruise on her boob.
"What happened?" he asked, gently raising her breast in his hand.
"An ... accident."
"Shall I kiss it and make it better?"
"That would be nice," she said.
Her breast was raised to him, full, ripe, narrowing at the tip, the bruise swollen and discolored. Dean bent slowly, soothing her gently with his kisses. Jan held his head to her with both hands and closed her eyes tightly, swaying.
"Is this better?" he asked.
"Umm."
His hands were under her panties then, pulling them down over her hips. She pressed herself forward and opened her knees. The panties slid to her feet. Dean, on his knees, took them off. Then he stood up again, letting the length of their bodies rub together. He felt very solid against her soft flesh, taut and ready, and Jan put her arms around his neck and pulled his lips to her. Her mouth met his violently, their mouths molded together by the fire of the embrace, by the urgency of their mutual desires.
Dean's hand slid down her slender back, down to her rounded hips, palm rubbing against her there.
"Dean, make them leave," she whispered.
"Umm."
"I want to be alone with you, Dean. Please, I want you to make love to me so badly ... "
"Don't let them stop you."
"I want to be alone."
"I can't make them leave. It's their cabin. Let them watch, what do we care?"
Will and Bert had moved closer. Bert was breathing heavily, holding himself, very close. Almost touching her. Jan's lips returned to Dean's; she ignored the others. She stood close to Dean, swaying with the roll of the ship, knees on either side of him, her weight partially supported by his hand as he supported her.
"Do you want me?" she asked, when their mouths drew apart a few inches.
Dean drew her toward the bed.
"I don't want them to watch...."
"Sure you do. All women like to be watched, admired.. You're lucky, baby. It's not every day that you get three men at once."
And Jan realized that it was true, that she didn't mind being watched. And even if she had, it wouldn't have mattered. She wanted love too badly to stop.
Dean pulled her down on the bunk. He stretched out beside her, and his lips touched against hers.
Jan spoke against his mouth, whispered, "They can watch, I don't care. Just watch. I don't want them to do anything. Just you, Dean. I just...."
Dean silenced her, grinding his mouth down on hers. He rolled her over to her back. She brought her knees up, pulled him over to her. She arched her back, frantically ready.
But Dean pulled away, twisted. Her hands sought him. Someone snapped off the lights and Jan reached out for him in the darkness, found that Dean had turned around, brought his legs up to the head of the bunk.
"Not yet, baby. Don't rush. I want to make this last a long time," he said.
Jan started to speak, then stopped. Dean's lips caressed her breasts again, then moved down to her abdomen. She lay still, tense, waiting. Dean moved, his leg came over, crossed above her.
"Do you know what I want?" he asked, his voice muffled.
"I ... yes," she said. There was no doubt about that.
"Will you do that for me?" Jan hesitated. "Will you, baby?"
Why not? she asked herself. It won't be the first time.
"Will you? Please?"
She saw him shift, dimly in the darkness, lower himself to her. She said nothing, but reached with one hand, embraced him. He seemed to leap at that touch. He moved closer to her, lower, and she raised her face to meet him, bringing him to herself with her hand. She could feel his whole body heave, feel the trembling in his thighs. Her lips touched against him again.
"Tell me first," he whispered. "I want you to tell me. Tell me what you're going to do." Jan told him.
Dean moved to her. Her lips moved to him. His fingers dug spasmodically into her hips, his hips began to move.
"Dean," she said, voice muffled. "Please ... make love to me now...."
He didn't change the position. He was working faster, and she knew that the finish was near.
"Not this way. Dean. I want you to love me...."
And suddenly there was someone touching her legs.
It wasn't Dean, but it was someone. It didn't matter, then ... anyone. Her legs trembled wildly. She heard him grunt as he took her, smooth and easy, starting to move in the same rhythm as he, not caring who or why or what just so there was someone making love to her....
Dean rolled savagely, one last motion, and Jan twisted, but he held her close. She was lost in the lust of her own body while she tried to move from Dean.
Then Dean was gone. The other man slid up along her. A third figure moved to the bunk, knelt beside her head, placed his hands on her. He urged her to take him.
And Jan had no resistance left.
Loved by two men, she jerked and slid, losing sight of all reality but that of her need. And it seemed a long time in arriving. And then, eventually, fulfillment began to creep down through her body, and she worked furiously to attain it.
It was almost there when the lights were snapped on and blinded her for a moment. Then she saw. Saw that Bert was against her, saw that Will was kneeling beside her, holding her face. Saw that Dean had snapped on the lights and was standing there, watching, waiting his turn again.
And grinning madly.
CHAPTER SIX
Denise Leatherby awoke the next day, naked, and with a vague remembrance of what had happened the night before. She lay in the twisted sheet, feeling chilly but not wanting to move, and recalled all that she could with a strange fascination. She had been very drunk ... but still, she knew that she had wanted Louise to make love to her. Had she known all along what Louise was? She wasn't sure. Would she want to do it again? She wasn't sure of that, either. About the only thing of which she was sure was that she felt chilly.
She rolled over and looked at the cabin. Louise, wearing a robe, was standing by the table, reading the daily activities sheet. When she saw Denise roll over she looked up and smiled at the girl. Denise didn't know whether or not to smile, and her lips flickered. How did one act with a woman who had gotten her drunk and seduced her? With a Lesbian? Am I a Lesbian now, too? she wondered.
"Good morning," Louise said.
"Good morning."
"It's a lovely day. The storm has stopped and the sun is out. It makes the water look so blue." Denise nodded.
Louise came over and sat beside her. Denise pulled the sheet up over her breasts. But Louise wasn't looking at her, she was studying the activities sheet. She held it out for Denise to see.
"There's a lecture on the Impressionist painters at four-thirty in the lounge," Louise said. "I thought that we might enjoy that. And then ... if you like ... there's
"I don't care. Whatever you want to do."
"Well, I want whatever you want," Louise said, without inflection in her voice. Denise said nothing.
"Well, come on. Get dressed and we'll go out on deck and look at the water," Louise said.
Denise hesitated. She didn't want to get out of bed naked with Louise there. Not after what had happened. It would seem a sort of confirmation of their relationship if she were to let Louise look at her.
On the other hand, it would seem foolishly modest not to. She had nothing that Louise had not already seen.
"Come on ... up!" Louise ordered, cheerfully. "What time is it?"
"Nearly time for lunch. You slept right through breakfast. I figured that the sleep would do you more good than eating, so I didn't wake you. Anyway, the breakfast, was terrible. But the sky is blue, so get up."
"Ah, Louise?"
Louise looked at her.
"I ... we ... I guess that we did some things last night. I mean ... well, we were drunk and all. But I guess we did some pretty foolish things...."
"Foolish?"
"Well ... like little girls do, you know? Silly ..
"Did I feel like a little girl, Denise?"
"No."
"Neither did you."
"But ... we were just drunk. You don't always want to do those things, do you?"
"With you, Denise."
"I never did anything like that before."
"I know. And I'm glad. Glad that I was the first woman to make love to you."
"But it was wrong, wasn't it?"
"Wrong? No, it wasn't wrong."
"It isn't normal."
"What is?"
"I don't know," Denise said.
"It was good last night, wasn't it?"
"I ... guess so."
"You know it was. Remember what you said, after? You said that you loved me, Denise. And you said that you wanted to do everything to me, too."
Denise didn't speak.
"Do you love me, Denise?"
"No. I don't know. I can't."
"You can. You have to."
"I'll have to think, Louise. I don't know."
"Just remember how that was."
"I don't remember. It was all so ... vague. Sleepy. I don't remember. I was drunk and nearly asleep."
"You remember. And you want to know that again."
"No."
"Shall I show you how it was, Denise?"
"No," she said. But she didn't really know if she wanted to or not. And Louise could see that she didn't really know, and smiled.
"Let the sheet fall away from you, Denise. I want to look at you."
Denise turned her face away, looked at the wall. Louise touched her lightly on the shoulder with the fingertips of one slender hand.
Still looking at the wall, Denise let the sheet drop from her hands, fall to her lap. She could feel her breasts rising, nipples growing taut under Louise's gaze, could feel Louise's breath, very warm, touching them.
Louise carefully pulled the sheet away from her lap, and Denise sat there, naked, staring at the wall and wondering what was going to happen to her....
Not at the moment. She knew that. But what was going to happen to her in the long run, in the future.
"Shall I touch you, Denise?" Louise asked.
Denise nodded.
"Will you touch me?"
Denise felt her hand move, as if by itself. Her hand slid inside Louise's robe, along the woman's flat middle. She still wasn't looking at her as Louise's thighs tightened.
I "That's nice, Denise," Louise whispered. "Just hold me like that. Let me move against you, honey."
Louise's hips moved, back, forward. Her lips caressed Denise's breasts.
"What shall I do for you, Denise?" she asked.
"I ... don't know."
"Shall ... I kiss you?"
"All right."
"Shall I kiss you ... here?" Denise shuddered. "Come on, Denise." She covered her eyes with her arm. Louise bent over her. With her lips only inches from her goal, she asked, "Will you do this for me, too?"
"Yes," Denise said.
And then, for the first time, she turned her face from the wall and looked at Louise. Louise smiled at her.
And then her smile was occupied.
It was mid-afternoon by the time that Denise and Louise dressed and went up to the deck. It was a blindingly bright day and the sun's reflection glared and flashed on the constantly rolling, swelling surface of the sea. The water was a brilliant blue-green and a stiff, cold wind was blowing up white caps. Deck chairs were set up in the sun, partly shielded from the wind by the ping-pong room, which was a square structure aft from the main section. A few hardy souls occupied the deck chairs, swathed in wool plaid blankets and wearing dark glasses. Two gulls were soaring and dipping down toward the water, following in the wake of the ship. Two men came out bearing pails of garbage which they dumped overboard. They disappeared with the empty pails and the sea gulls were left in the distance, skimming the surface for tidbits. Small groups of people hung at the rails, watching the unfathomable water foam and boil as the ship pushed through it. It left a winding, snake-like trail of froth as far as the eye could see. They would watch for a time, their scarves and hair blowing wildly, coats flapping around their legs, then they would move off and others take their places.
"It's magnificent, isn't it?" Louise asked.
Denise nodded, vaguely.
Louise took her hand and they stood together looking out over the water. After a while Louise turned her head to look at Denise, but Denise stared straight ahead. She was doing some very serious thinking.
Nick joined them at the railing, smiling and eyeing Denise.
"Lovely day," he said.
Denise turned a blank stare at him, and he flashed his gold teeth.
Louise curled her lip and studiously ignored him.
"My name is Nick," he said. "I thought perhaps you girls would care for some tea or coffee. I'll be glad to bring some out from the lounge. It's rather chilly standing here at the rail. Beautiful though. Certainly is beautiful. Sweeping. But chilly. A nice hot cup of tea...."
"Please stop bothering us," Louise said. "We aren't interested in meeting our traveling companions on this ship." She gave him an icy stare for a moment, and then turned away, squeezing Denise's hand.
Nick blinked, pursed his lips, glanced at Denise. Denise was blushing and frowning. Nick shook his head slowly, understanding the situation. Nick knew about such things. He shrugged and lumbered away. It was too bad, Denise was very pretty ... but he knew how some girls were. And, after all, he couldn't expect to have a new girl every day. All he had to charm them with, at first, was a golden smile.
Denise watched Nick lumber off. Now she understood Louise's attitude toward men, her reluctance to let Denise talk to anyone. That was why she had resented the interesting-looking young man with the beard the night before.
But Denise wanted to meet men. She had planned on it, before, as all girls her age plan on it, and with that particular freshness of outlook confined to the virgins of the world. And now, even more, she wanted it. Because she felt that only by meeting a man was she going to be able to break away from the sordid relationship which she had with Louise.
She had done things that morning which disgusted her, when she thought about them. Worse than the night before, even ... and sober at the time. They hadn't seemed disgusting when she did them, and they had even been enjoyable, but as she looked back on them she didn't understand how she could have, and yet she realized that she would do them again, alone with Louise and under the older woman's spell. The same way that she made no effort to take her hand from Louise's now, she knew that she would make no effort to take her body from Louise's body, later. And it frightened her. Denise did not want to become a confirmed Lesbian. She didn't want to ever do anything with a woman again. But Louise would talk to her, convince her, cast a spell or a charm, whatever it might be.
But if she met a man ... Denise thought. Someone to talk with, a companion, someone to spend time with other than Louise. Perhaps another woman would do, but she thought of a man, as the antithesis of Louise.
She wondered what it would be like to have a man make love to her, too. Was it much the same as with Louise? No, it had to be different. Was it better? She couldn't imagine ... she had to admit that it was good with Louise, that the woman knew exactly what she wanted, what felt best, and where. Would a man be able to know that as well? Or wasn't it necessary for a man to know, was it natural? She really had no idea.
Shall I sleep with a man and find out? she asked herself. And that was the first time that she had ever contemplated such an act. And now she thought seriously about it, which surprised her until she realized that, after letting a woman have her, it wouldn't be nearly so bad to give herself to a man. She had already committed the greater sin, and perhaps the lesser sin could keep her from repeating the greater ... it would be worth it, if it did.
Yes, she thought, I shall sleep with a man. If I knew someone aboard, if I had a boy friend, I'd go to his cabin right now. I'd ask him if he would make love to me, to save me from being a Lesbian. But I don't know anyone. I may have to wait until I get to Paris and meet someone there. I'm sure to meet a man in Paris. But will that be too late? I know what Louise can make me do, what she can make me want to do. And the more we love together, the harder it will be to stop, to be normal again. Maybe if I could meet a man on board, if I could get away from Louise long enough to meet someone....
"Disgusting," Louise said. .
"Pardon?"
"You haven't been listening."
"I'm sorry. I was thinking."
"I was saying how disgusting that man was with the gold teeth. And trying to start a conversation with us! Did you notice the way he looked at you?"
"No. I didn't."
"Disgusting. Men are filthy pigs, after just one thing. That's all they think a woman is made for. Just that, animals looking for a place to root...."
Denise looked away from the woman. She was recalling that morning, and thinking what an apt phrase rooting was to describe Louise, moaning and sighing and trembling ... and later, when they had changed places, when she had done the same thing for Louise....
Denise suddenly was very determined to never do that again.
And she decided that she would find a man.
Soon. As soon, in fact, as possible.
"Let's go in now, Louise," she said.
"If you like, honey." Louise started to walk beside her, holding her hand, but Denise pulled her hand away. Louise raised her eyebrows.
"You don't have to feel ashamed of what we are, Denise," she said softly. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. We're in love, that's all."
"No, Louise. I'm not in love. I don't know if you are, but not me. Now that we're out of that damned cabin, out in the air where I can think...." She stopped speaking. Louise waited patiently. After a few moments, Denise said, "I just don't want that ever again. That's all."
"Darling...."
"Let's not talk about it. I'm hungry, Louise. I'm going to dinner."
"It's rather early ... "
"You don't have to come."
Denise started walking away. Louise hurried to walk beside her. They passed Nick in the closed promenade, and he smiled at them.
Lovers' quarrel? he wondered, and continued to smile even after they had passed him by.
Nick had felt good all day, satisfied. Jan had been the first real thrill that he had felt in a long while. He would have liked to return the favor.
But that, of course, he could not do.
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the time Jan went wearily back to her cabin the sun was already up and the storm had turned into the bright cold of day. She had lain for a long time, sleeplessly but without the ambition to get up, in one of the bunks in Dean's cabin. She had lain alone. The three young men were soundly sleeping in the tangled remains of the orgy in the other bunk. Jan did not want to touch them, and staggered over to the unoccupied one. But although she was exhausted, she was not sleepy. And, strangely, she was not satisfied.
What the hell is the matter with me? she wondered, stretched out on her back, looking at the increasing light of morning at the porthole. I was just loved by three guys at once; before that, Nick worked on me.
What the hell does it take? I was never like this before. Is something wrong with me, or is it the situation, the men involved? Damn it, if only I'd stayed out of the bar ... if only Ken had loved me on the ship ... if only I had stuck to my resolutions ... if only Nick hadn't turned out to be a freak ... and if only I weren't a tramp.
She almost laughed, but there was no trace of humor in her mind. She felt very sad and very sick and very tired and, worst of all, very unsatisfied.
When the light was coming in and hitting the wall on the parallel, she got up and slowly, wearily, dressed. None of the men was awake. Dean was grinning in his sleep, Bert was face down, Will was snoring. Jan felt revulsion for them all, and for herself, and turned her back to the tangle of bodies as she finished dressing. Then she went quietly out and walked to the main stairway, passing the early risers as they came back from the deck, and went up to her own cabin.
"Oh, there you are," Alice said, as Jan entered. "Gee, I was worried about you. I thought maybe you fell overboard or somethin'. I didn't know what to do."
Jan looked at her. Alice was combing her hair by the mirror, wearing some atrocious flowered robe. She didn't have any make-up on yet, and looked somewhat like a fresh-baked loaf of bread.
"Don't you worry about me, honey," Jan said.
"Well, when you didn't come back...."
"I was busy. I got gang-loved by three men at once. How about that?"
Alice blushed and blinked.
"And now I'm going to take a shower and have a cup of coffee and then I'm going to bed, and if you make any noise all day I'll invite my three friends in to have a go at you. Hear?"
"I'll be quiet," Alice said.
"Yeah," said Jan.
Jan rang for the steward and began to undress again. It seems like that's all I've been doing for the last twenty-four hours, she thought. Taking my clothes off and putting them back on. With a few other little things in between.
She had donned her robe when the steward knocked. She opened the door, holding her gown loosely closed, and Heng bowed slightly and asked if she rang.
"Yeah. Bring me a pot of black coffee, hey? And four aspirins. And some seasick pills. And a chastity belt."
"Pardon, madame?"
"Ah, just bring the coffee and aspirin. And hurry it up, will you?"
"Right away," he said.
Heng went out. Jan closed the door behind him. She thought that she heard him chuckling in the passageway, but she wasn't sure.
"I'm goin' down to the shower," she told Alice. "I may drown myself. So if I ain't back in an hour you can drink the coffee." Alice giggled.
Jan went out and padded down the hall. She was thinking that, if it were possible to drown in a shower, she just might do it.
Alice sat at the mirror and idly brushed at her hair. I wonder if Jan really did have three men? she thought. Gee, I'd be so ashamed to do that, I guess. I don't know much about it. I'd like to ask Jan what it's like ... not three men, but just one. I wonder if she'd think I was being stupid and ignorant? I'd feel ashamed if I asked her. But I would like to know.
What I'd really like, she thought, with a rare flush of honesty, is to sleep with a man. It's time I did. I'd sleep with Clem, but he's so prudish. But it's really time that I started getting worldly. All the worldly people that I know have slept with men.
Her robe was open and she looked at her reflection in the glass. It wasn't a bad body. A few pounds too heavy maybe, but she could go on a diet. She could, if she had a reason, if some man was going to look at her body ... even the thought made her blush, but it thrilled her, too. The thought of having a man see her naked was suddenly almost an urgency with her. And seeing the man in return. She wished that Jan would bring the three men there, to her cabin, and that she would be able to watch them ... she could pretend that she was asleep, and watch ... and maybe one of the men would come over and look at her, maybe raise her nightgown and....
Alice was burning with the thought. Her hand crept down to her thighs. She watched in the mirror, fascinated by her body, as her own hand caressed herself. She leaned back so that she could see herself better, see exactly what she looked like.
Watching herself in the mirror, with straining thighs and arched back, caught up in herself and lost in the feeling, Alice didn't hear the knock at the door. It was a gentle knock. She didn't know that the steward had returned with the coffee until she saw him in the mirror, in fact, and then she froze, motionless in the position into which she had posed. Hei eyes fastened on his reflected face, saw his mouth hanging open, his eyes widening, the tray of coffee tipping at a dangerous angle in his hands, the whiteness of his skin, with red just starting to creep upward from his neck.
For a moment Alice thought that she would die of shame. For just one moment.
Then she did a strange thing. Something that she could never have conceived of doing. It seemed as though her body were moving on its own, of its own volition, and her mind was a distant observer, detached, disinterested, merely taking a casual unconcern.
Alice smiled at Heng in the mirror.
And then, slowly, she pivoted around, away from the mirror, around to face him. He didn't move. Perhaps his jaw came a bit farther open.
Alice turned until she was facing him, as she had faced the mirror, so that he could see everything, the same view she had seen reflected in the mirror.
And once again her hand began to move. But now, instead of watching herself, she watched the steward, watched the reaction begin in his body, watched the surprise and shock give way to the excitement and the passion.
Her hand caressed her flesh absently. Her other hand cupped her breasts for a moment, then slid down her body to join the first. Her flushed face disclosed every secret of her desires before his eyes.
When the finish arrived, it was the greatest thrill that Alice had ever known. At that time.
Much greater, in fact, than the shame that was to follow.
By the time that Jan returned from the shower, the steward had left.
Alice was naked on her bunk, smiling.
Jan paid her no attention. She had troubles of her own. The shower had cleaned her body only.
She drank two cups of black coffee and went to bed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
At six o'clock one of the dining room stewards wandered through the passageways playing bells. It was not the most modern ship in the world. The tourist class passengers began filing down to the dining room on A deck, some a bit green on their first day at sea, but determined not to miss a meal which was already paid for.
The dining room had two entrances, one on each side of the elevator, and two wide aisles running the length of the hall. The tables were arranged on both sides of the aisles, some of them with pink tablecloths, and some set with yellow ones. Serving stations, large cupboard-like contraptions with many shelves and shiny metal serving dishes arranged on top, were located every few feet and the stewards assigned to them were busy pottering around, straightening things up and making every thing ready for the oncoming, starving horde. The chairs were extra large, bulky things which were anchored beneath by a tension wire attached to the floor so that they could be moved, but would not fall over. The tables were set with goblets for water and wine, white paper napkins and more silverware than it seemed humanly possible to use at one meal. Trays of olives and assorted fresh vegetables were already in the center of all the tables, along with huge metal pitchers of water which took almost super-human strength to lift in one hand. There were portholes along both outer walls, but the curtains were drawn over them. The dining room was brightly lighted and looked inviting, although it smelled like a cafeteria on Forty-second Street.
Jan, somewhat red-eyed, would have much preferred a dark little cafe. There are few things worse than enforced sumptuousness while dining. But she was hungry, slightly hung over, and a little sick, and so she found her way to the table assigned her on her meal ticket. The tables seated four. Alice was sitting there already, and smiled at her as Jan sat down. There were two women opposite them. Jan didn't know them, and didn't much care to. They were Denise and Louise, who had arrived early and were working on their third martinis.
"Isn't this great?" Alice asked.
Jan grunted noncommittally.
"Mrs. May?" asked the waiter.
She held out the ticket. He glanced at it, and said, "You didn't come to breakfast or lunch, madame?"
"Probably never will," she said.
He blinked. Waiters on ships are very concerned about the passengers. If one doesn't eat then one might not feel obliged to tip well at the end of the voyage. Then he shrugged and handed Jan the menu. She looked at it indifferently, not caring what she ate.
Jan looked up just as the waiter was setting the soup in front of her.
"You'll have the soup, madame?"
"No. No soup."
"No soup?"
"No soup."
He looked hurt. He took the soup away from in front of her. He tried a friendly smile. "Will you have the chopped steak Westmoreland?"
"I don't know what the hell it is."
"Ah ... it's, well, hamburger."
"Oh. Hamburger." Jan smiled to herself. "Can't I just have a hamburger? You know, with catsup and onion?"
"Well, I'm afraid...."
"Oh, all right ... just bring me whatever there is then," she said, giving up. The waiter beamed. This was what he liked, conformity. He took the soup back to the serving station. Alice was finishing her soup, her spoon clicking on the empty soup dish. The two women across the table had ignored theirs, but were finishing their cocktails. The waiter pottered about for a few moments, then came back for the other dishes.
"I'd like a drink," Jan said.
"I'll send the wine steward over, madame."
"I don't want wine. I want a drink."
"Yes, madame. I'll send him right over."
The waiter left the table.
"Gee, the food is wonderful," Alice said. "I'm glad I decided to take a ship. I was going to fly, but then I thought that the trip should be half the fun. You know? I'm glad that I didn't fly. I never had food like this back home."
"Neither did I. Thank God. All I want is a hamburger and a drink."
"Gee, you oughta enjoy it. After all, it's all paid for," Alice said.
A hell of a way to decide what one eats, Jan thought. But let her enjoy it while she can. I guess there isn't much in life but food to a virgin who doesn't drink.
"Madame?" an oily voice said. Jan looked up at the broad expanse of smiling wine steward. Heavy, pink faced, his hands clasped together, his hair straight and well greased, swept neatly back. Tiny nose, thick lips, head carried at an arrogant angle. He placed the wine list on the table and waited. Jan didn't bother to look at it.
"I'd like a double shot of gin," she said.
"Gin? Very good. And with it?"
"Just gin."
He nodded, started to leave. Louise motioned him over and said, "We'd like some wine with our meal, please."
"Ah, yes." He placed the wine list before her. She didn't bother to look at it either. "Niersteiner Goldener Adler," she said. He bowed appreciatively. " '55 or '59, madame?"
"'59."
"Karaf-Pichet?"
"No, a fles, I think."
"Very good, madame."
He waddled off, happy to serve someone who knew about wine. The name at least. Better a name-dropper than a straight gin drinker, he thought.
Louise looked at Denise. She said, "A very excellent wine, my dear."
Denise glanced at her, said nothing. Their eyes locked for a moment. But determination showed in Denise's stare. She was saying mutely, that she would drink but that it wouldn't matter ... Louise was not going to get her way again. And, in fact, Louise looked away first. She looked across the table, caught Jan watching her, smiled. Jan flickered one corner of her mouth as a reply. She thought that she knew what Louise was. She knew about such things, and Louise, to one who knew, was fairly obvious.
Alice was talking. She said, "Gee I'd like something to drink, too, I think. But I don't know what to ask for. What do you think I would like, Jan? I don't know anything about wine and things like that...." Jan shrugged.
"Pardon me," Louise said, turning her smile on Alice. "We're having a bottle. If you would care to try a glass, you can judge for yourself...."
"Well ... gee, thank you. I don't know much about wine. I'd appreciate it...."
"I'm sure that you'll like this. An excellent wine. I've been on this ship before, and I can recommend it without reservation."
Gee, thought Alice, what a nice woman. So ... gee, worldly, I guess.
Yeah, thought Jan. A Lez.
The waiter brought the main course, which turned out to be giant balls of meat which looked more like athletic implements than edibles. Louise ignored hers, Denise toyed with hers, Jan stared dubiously at hers, Alice fell to with gusto, attacking with knife and fork. The waiter served the variety of vegetables, potatoes and salad very correctly, expertly avoiding Alice's stabbing fork as he heaped her plate. She beamed at him. Alice thought that table stewards were romantic.
"Looks like a basketball," Jan said.
The waiter smiled nervously.
The wine steward returned with the gin and wine. He set the gin before Jan without ado, but showed Louise the label and raised his eyebrows for her acceptance. She nodded. His eyebrows were thinly penciled. He poured wine for Louise and Denise, and then, at Louise's request, for Alice. Alice smiled at him. Wine stewards were even more romantic than table stewards. Even with penciled eyebrows. He put two checks discreetly down and moved away.
"Gee, this is good," Alice said, gulping a mouthful of wine to wash down her chopped steak.
Louise smiled tolerantly, and sipped her own.
Alice ate everything. Jan nibbled a few bits, gave it up, had coffee and cheese. There isn't much that can be done to make a piece of cheese romantic and fancy, so that was all right. Alice had one more glass of wine and began to get slightly drunk.
Denise left the table first. She didn't wait for coffee, stood up suddenly, excusing herself. Louise looked up inquisitively. Demise said, "Don't rush, Louise. I just want to get some fresh air. You stay and have your coffee."
"Shan I come?"
"No, no ... please stay."
Louise looked down at her wine, swirling the glass in a circle. "All right," she said. "I'll see you in the cabin, later."
"I imagine so," Denise said. She left the dining room. Louise watched her go, watched the motion of her hips and wondered what had suddenly gone wrong, wondered if it could be made right again. She thought so. Hoped so, anyway. The first, and hardest, barrier was down, now it might be nothing more than a case of Denise playing hard to get. The harder they are to get, the harder they go down, she thought.
She smiled to herself and sipped the wine.
Alice didn't drink coffee. She was very full. She talked to Jan, who didn't listen, and to Louise, who did. Louise was looking at Jan, however. Alice was thinking how wonderful it would be when she was worldly and would be able to order wine by name and speak French and talk about the men that she had met in Paris. She wasn't sure if she would ever want to go back to Clem after that. Poor Clem.
Dean stopped by the table as he was leaving the dining room. He was drunk again. Jan looked sideways at him, with a rather dismissing glance.
"How are you today?" he asked.
"Sober," she said.
"I didn't hear you leave last night."
"You were asleep. You snore."
"That must have been one of the other guys."
"It was you."
He shrugged.
"It doesn't matter," Jan said.
"You coming up to the bar now?"
"I may. I don't know."
"I'll be up there."
"I won't be coming to see you."
"Why not?"
"Why?"
He smiled. It was very nearly a smirk. He said, "Will and Bert will be there, too."
"I'd imagine so. I know that you never leave their sides. It must make you feel more secure."
"Just companionship," he said. "Nothing wrong with sharing with friends, is there?"
"I couldn't care less," Jan told him.
"Will you be around?"
"We'll see."
"Okay. I'll see you later." She shrugged.
Dean went away, listing slightly.
Alice watched him go, just beginning to realize what the conversation had meant, and that this was one of the men that Jan had slept with. It excited her. Dean was very fascinating looking, although he didn't exactly look worldly. Like the Frenchmen that she would meet. But still, three of them at the same time. That made Jan pretty worldly, or a tramp. If there's a difference. Alice wasn't thinking about that, she was thinking about the physical aspects instead of the moral. Her morality wasn't quite up to her image of romance and sophistication. But she was determined to get there. She had already taken the first step, and as she remembered what she had done, how she had let the cabin steward see her naked, and see what she had been doing to herself, she blushed. She didn't think that she would ever be able to face him again. And she knew that he had probably told all the other stewards and crew, too. She knew that men shared those secrets. That made her blush worse, and she looked around to see if any of the waiters were staring at her. It seemed as though they ail were. She tried to look innocent, so that they would think that it had been a different girl, or that the steward had lied, but the effort only made her redden more. But, although embarrassing, it was still exciting to recall the moment. She didn't exactly regret it.
Jan, seeing Alice blush, said, "Yeah, that's one of my friends."
"He's ... handsome," Alice said.
"He's a little boy," Jan said.
"Well, he's good looking."
Jan shrugged. "You want to meet him?" she asked.
"I ... gee, I wouldn't mind," Alice said. "I mean, if you're not ... you don't mind ... if there's nothing between you two...."
"Don't be silly," Jan said. "I told you, he's a little boy."
"But didn't he...?"
"Sure. But he had help."
"I wouldn't want ... more than ... I mean just him. I never did ... oh...."
"You trying to tell me that you want to sleep with a man?"
"Oh! No, gee. I just wanted to ... meet him, maybe. I wouldn't ... I mean, I don't think it's wrong. Don't think that I think it's wrong, if you do things like ... that. But for me ... well, I just never did anything...."
"Well, suit yourself. I'm sure that Dean and his cronies won't mind showing you about it."
Alice blushed even more, and thought about it, wondering vaguely how she could innocently get a chance to let Dean look at her the way that the steward had.
And Louise listening to the conversation without appearing to be interested, was very interested indeed. A tramp and a virgin. Which one would she prefer? Alice's plump innocence, or Jan's hard experience? She thought that Alice would be better ... there would be the doubts later, the soul-searching and wondering and Louise would be able to deal with that, to convince the girl that it was right, and that they should do it again. With Jan it would most likely be one fling, she would have to do all the work and Jan would just lie back and get what satisfaction she could. Women like Jan were never very much fun, never willing to give their all, never willing to talk about love. They were the physical people. But Alice was ripe for the plucking. She wasn't Denise ... Louise loved Denise ... but she was the same type. Even more innocent, and much more stupid. Not the type to love, but certainly the type to seduce.
"More wine?" she asked, offering the bottle.
"Oh, gee ... no, I guess I've had enough. I'm starting to feel it. It feels good, though."
"Well, help me finish this bottle."
"I'd better not. I ... think I'll go back to the cabin now. Thank you very much for the wine ... I'll be glad to help pay for it...."
Louise dismissed the notion with a motion of the hand, and poured the last of the wine into her own goblet.
"Well, thank you...."
"Of course. I'll see you at lunch tomorrow."
"Yes, that's right." Alice got up. The ship rolled and she almost fell. She giggled. "Well, we'll see you. And I'll see you later, Jan."
"Uh-huh"
"Ah ... maybe I will have you introduce me to that person I don't know."
"You think about it," Jan said, patronizingly.
"Yes, I will. Well, see you."
Alice wandered out. She was feeling very excited again, and hurried back to the cabin. She wanted to stand before the mirror again and admire herself. She didn't think about resisting the impulse. Looking at herself made her feel good. Not as good as with the steward watching her, but a girl can't have everything.
This time she thought of Dean.
"A charming girl," Louise said. "So ... fresh and innocent. I take it you're traveling with her?"
"We share a cabin. I'm traveling alone."
"Oh? I'm with the young lady who was sitting here with us. She is rather fresh and innocent too."
"You don't say?"
"Yes. The virgin type, you know."
"I wouldn't have thought it. I imagine that she is ... a good friend of yours?"
Their eyes met, exchanged knowledge of what they both realized. Louise relaxed slightly and raised her glass. It was always so much easier after the fact was known, when she could stop beating around the bush, when she didn't have to worry about frightening the other woman.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
"New York."
"A ... big city."
"Yeah. Everything happens there."
"I don't imagine that much shocks a girl who has lived in New York?"
"Not much."
"One gets so tired of talking to the innocent type. It's so hard for a ... woman ... to express herself, when she fears offending another woman's morals."
"I'd never thought about it."
"You seem to be the ... outspoken type."
"I don't have secrets."
"I suppose that's best."
Jan shrugged. "Not always," she said. "There's no sense wearing a label on your arm, is there? Although we often do, if one knows how to read them."
"I don't read any label on you."
"Oh, it's there. It says, 'Tramp!'"
Louise smiled. Jan shrugged.
"What does my label say?"
Jan looked at her. "I think that we both realize what your label is."
"But you don't mind?"
"I'm ... indifferent"
"Many women are shocked at that."
"New York, remember?"
"Yes. New York. Are there many there with my label? That you know, I mean?"
"Not friends of mine."
"You never had a friend like me?"
"No."
The waiter was hovering nearby, anxious to get the table cleared for the next setting. Jan looked around, saw that they were among the last people in the dining room.
"We'd better move, I guess," she said. "Shall we go up to the lounge? Have a drink?"
"All right. The lounge is as good as any place, I guess. For conversation."
"Yes," Louise said.
Jan finished the last sip of gin. Louise left some wine in the bottom of the glass. They both left money on the checks, and left.
"Tomorrow at eight," said the waiter. He couldn't believe that they would not be there for breakfast.
They went up the main staircase and down the promenade to the lounge. Louise hoped that Denise would be there, to see her with the other woman. To see that Louise could make new friends if she chose. But Denise wasn't in the lounge or bar.
"Shall we sit here?"
Jan sat. Louise sat opposite, looking about for the lounge steward. "What will you drink?" she asked. "Gin, Straight."
"Do you often drink that?"
"Often. I like to drink. I like to get drunk, as a matter-of-fact."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I feel better drunk. Things are more easily justified. And I do lots of things that I have to justify afterward. Especially drunk.
The steward at the table. Louise ordered a double gin and Scotch for herself. She got out some money. Jan made no effort to get her own, which was understood. When the waiter brought the drinks, Louise paid.
The lounge was nearly empty. Everyone had gone down to the Bamboo Court to gamble. Jan leaned back comfortably and swallowed about half the gin. She crossed her legs and adjusted the hem of her skirt.
"What sort of things?" Louise asked.
"What?"
"What sort of things do you do when you get drunk? The things that you must justify?"
Jan smiled. "Just about everything," she said.
"Oh? But you said that you never had a friend ... Eke me. Would you have to justify that?"
"I suppose so. If I ever did it."
"Haven't you ever thought about it?"
"Not much."
"You should ... if you really enjoy ... ah ... pleasure."
"I don't really enjoy pleasure. I just get drunk and do things."
"Are you getting drunk now?"
"I intend to."
Louise nodded thoughtfully.
"I haven't had much pleasure on this damned ship ... except getting drunk. I should have stayed sober. But it's too late for that now."
"Getting drunk is a method of preventing sea sickness, you know."
"That's the justification," Jan said. She smiled.
Louise looked over the rim of her glass. "Aren't you afraid that you'll get drunk with me? I mean, you know what I am. And if you get drunk...."
"You think I'll want to go with you?"
Louise shrugged.
"Who knows?" Jan said. She wasn't drunk yet. But she was going to get very drunk. At the moment she felt only that she didn't give much of a damn about anything else.
"Who knows, at that?" said Louise.
She motioned to the steward.
CHAPTER NINE
In the Bamboo Court the horse races were in full strike. It was a simple game, wooden horses (moved by volunteers among the passengers) with their advance governed by the roll of the dice. The assistant chief steward, a thin man with thin hair and a waxed moustache, rolled the dice. It was rumored that he cheated. But that doesn't really matter, because the ship paid two to one odds on an eight to one chance. Just a little method of supplementing their income. Passengers, with cheerful disregard of the odds, fought to get their bets placed for each race. Man's need to gamble. It may be crooked, but it's the only game in town.
Dean, Will and Bert, enterprisingly, were making nook on their own and paying four to one. Twice the house odds, and still two to one in their favor. But the passengers tended to trust the house more, and business wasn't going too well. But the three were drunk and didn't really care. The assistant chief steward bristled his moustache at them, and glared, but they sneered back and shouted out the odds that they were giving. A few passengers (Englishmen accustomed to off track betting) placed bets with them. Enough to buy more drinks and stay happy.
Nick was wandering around. He was bored. He knew better than to gamble with the crew, and he hated the times when all the passengers were occupied with such nonsense. It was nearly impossible to meet people when they were gambling. In fact, it was only possible for Nick to meet people on a ship. On land, he was an introvert, self-conscious and timid. There everything was equal. But on the ship he felt a natural advantage, he lived there, he knew more about it than the passengers, he had nothing to fear from them.
But not when gambling fever had them.
Nick placed a few bets with the boy-bookmakers and lost a little. He tried to start a conversation, but they were too busy seeking customers. He wandered off to the corner and leaned against a simulated bamboo tree to watch the crowd and think about how boring land lubbers were en mass. They had to be separated, divided and conquered (befriended). Nick liked to make at least one acquaintance a day. An acquaintance was a friend to him. No one liked him very well, but he worked hard at befriending. It was his avocation. He was a befriender. Also a sadist and a masochist, but that was different. He considered Jan a friend, even.
From where he stood he could see the door, and he saw Denise enter, looking somewhat lost in the crowd. He headed toward her, ready to volunteer any information she might want, perform any service in the name of friendship. As long as the other woman wasn't with her. Nick knew what she was. He wasn't the least bit tolerant of perversions of that sort, although they excited him a great deal.
Denise didn't notice Nick following her. She had spotted Dean and was wandering toward him, wondering how and if she could meet him. She regretted the way that Louise had snubbed him the night before, and hoped that he wouldn't hold it against her.
She stood nearby and watched as the three took bets and wrote names and numbers down. Dean looked her way once, but he didn't seem to notice her. She moved up and asked, "May I make a bet?"
"Sure," he said, scribbling the last bet down. Business was picking up. Denise gave him a dollar, and said, "What do I bet on?"
"Pick a horse."
"I don't know their names."
Dean looked up. He recognized her, and grinned. "Momma let you out alone," he said.
"I'm traveling alone," she told him. "Oh? I thought the old witch was your mother."
"Just a ... the woman with whom I share a cabin."
"Glad to hear it. Yeah. Maybe I'll see you around the bar later."
"Maybe."
"You wanna bet? Just pick a number, one to eight. There are eight horses. We pay four to one."
"Six."
Dean pulled a sheet of paper in front of him. "What's your name?"
"Denise Leatherby."
He scribbled Denise on the paper, wrote the number six after it, then put one dollar. He said, "Okay. If six wins, you get four back." He put her dollar in the box in the center of the table.
Denise stood there for a moment, saw that the conversation was terminated, and moved away. Someone else came up to bet. She turned and looked for a seat, a little perturbed that he thought more about the silly game than about talking to her.
"May I find you a seat?" Nick asked, coming up behind her silently, smiling his golden smile.
"Please," she said.
He directed her to two seats at one of the tables, and when Denise had slid in he sat down next to her.
"Where's your friend?" he asked.
"My friend? Oh, Miss Merrill, I wouldn't know."
"I'm surprised that she has let you out of her sight. She seemed rather ... possessive."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, jealous. Not wanting you to talk to anyone. For example, on deck...."
"Why should she be jealous?"
"Why ... perhaps you don't realize ... of course, I may be wrong, but ... she is rather obviously a ... what does one say? Lesbienne?"
Denise flushed.
"I'm sorry ... I thought that you two were ... if she is a friend of yours, I meant no insult."
"No, no. It's just that ... she's not a friend of mine. I hardly know the woman."
"Ah. I am glad. It did seem to be such a waste of young beauty."
Denise looked away. God, she thought. Can it be possible? Is Louise that obvious? Does everyone think ... know ... what she is, what we've been doing? I never realized, before last night. I don't think that I did. How does he know? And he thought that I was her ... lover. Knew that I was. And I am. Was. Never again. How could I have been such a fool. Everyone must know, the same way that everyone at school knew. Everyone but me. And my father. Father thought that she was so nice. Father is a fool. She took us both in, but she took me in worse. As badly as it could have been, and I let her. I even enjoyed it, and did things myself ... what a fool I am! Why couldn't I see what she was, like everyone else?
"I'm sorry if I've offended you," Nick was saying.
"You haven't."
"You are ... you look angry."
"It's not you. I must thank you for telling me about that woman. I didn't know."
"I'm glad."
"I must be careful to avoid her."
"I should advise that."
"I ... didn't know anyone else. I was just talking to her out on the deck. I knew her because she is sharing a cabin with me...." she paused, flushed again. Nick was smiling the golden smile. "Of course, now that I know ... I'll change cabins as soon as possible."
"That might be best. I'm rather surprised that she didn't try ... anything ... last night. I would expect it of her. Now that I know she isn't your friend, I can tell you that I've seen her before. On this ship, in fact. She had another young lady with her that time. Oh, it must have been two years ago. That young lady wasn't so sensible as you, however. I'm afraid that the woman managed to ... well...." He stopped speaking, threw up his hands in a gesture of "What does one say?"
"I hope that you will be able to find other accommodations," he said. "I believe that all the tourist class cabins are filled. Perhaps you might switch to first class, I know that there are several vacancies on my deck."
"I'll do that," she said, looking over at Dean, remembering how strangely he had smiled, wondering U he, too, realized what Louise was. Was smirking at her.
"I think I'll get some air," she said. "May I accompany you?"
"Please do."
They got up and left the crowded, stuffy Bamboo Court without waiting to see how the race came out. Number six horse won, and Dean pocketed Denise's winnings, not telling the others that she didn't collect. After all, friendship is one thing but gambling is quite another.
"Perhaps you would care to see the first class accommodations?" asked Nick, as they paused by the elevator. "I could show you my cabin, and you could see whether that would be satisfactory for you. It's no trouble."
Denise hesitated. She wondered if Nick was trying to lure her to his cabin with seduction in mind. She also wondered if he really thought she was a Lesbian, and was testing her to satisfy his curiosity. She felt no fear of him. After all, he was just a friendly Greek with gold teeth. A man like that couldn't very well be dangerous.
"Shall we go up?" he asked.
"All right. Although anything would be better than sharing a cabin with that woman. Even sleeping in a deck chair. If only I'd known."
Nick smiled meaninglessly and rang for the elevator.
They went up to the boat deck and down to his cabin. He said, "I have a single, so you'll be able to see just what they are like. Much better than tourist class. Of course, you may not be able to get another cabin for this evening, you may have to wait until tomorrow."
"Well, I'm not going to spend another night with that woman."
"If I may offer ... I wouldn't mind staying in the lounge for the night, if you would care to sleep in my cabin."
"Oh, I couldn't do that," she said.
They were at his door, and he opened it and let her enter first. He followed, closed the door, and snapped on the lights.
"It wouldn't be an inconvenience. I often stay up all night anyway. To watch the sunrise. Whenever the weather forecast is favorable. So if you would care to sleep here, don't worry about me."
Denise was looking around. "It's very nice," she said. "Much nicer than tourist class. I'll try to make arrangements first thing in the morning."
"And you'll stay here this evening?"
"I couldn't do that."
"I wish you would. I hate to think of you staying with her. Anything ... even if you were to stay in my cabin with me ... would be better than that. You wouldn't want anyone to think that you...." He gave the expressive gesture of hands and shoulders once more.
"Well, I don't know...."
"Consider it Please."
"I shall."
"While we are here," he said, crossing the room. He found a bottle, unopened, and returned with it. "I happen to have a bottle of fine cognac. I've been saving it until I had someone to drink with. If you would care to share it with me I would be ever so pleased." Without waiting for her to answer, he began to open the bottle. "I never drink alone," he said, "And you are my first guest this trip."
Denise sat down on the edge of the bed. The room was arranged so that that was the most convenient seat. Nick poured her a large drink, and sat in the chair nearest the bed.
"Have you noticed the rocking of the ship? Unpleasantly, I mean?"
"No, not really. I haven't been sick."
"A few drinks will help one to avoid sea sickness."
"So I've heard," she said.
"You know," he said, "There is something about the motion of a ship that affects women strangely. I'm not sure just what it is, but many women do things on a ship that they would never do on land. It seems to excite them. I don't know if you've noticed it, but it really is a fact. It's a good thing that I warned you about your cabin mate in time. There's no telling what might have happened for which you wouldn't be responsible ... between her and the motion of the ship, and a few drinks...."
Nick leaned forward to refill her glass, and looking down her caught a glimpse of thigh. His first glimpse. He smiled, goldenly.
Denise was wondering whether he was going to try and seduce her.
And wondering what love would be like with a man.
CHAPTER TEN
Jan and Louise were on deck. Jan had wanted some fresh air and Louise had obediently followed. They had gone out to the open deck and stood at the rail. It wasn't as rough as it had been the night before, but now that the sun was down the weather had turned gray. It was getting quite cold.
"It would be much more pleasant in my cabin," Louise suggested. "We could get a bottle of gin, and have a long conversation."
Jan looked sideways at her, and made an unlady-like snorting noise. "I want to stay out here for a while. You don't have to wait."
"I don't mind," Louise said.
Jan walked back to the stern rail, looked out for a while. Below them, raised above the level of the main deck but not up to the promenade deck, was the area where the swimming pool was set up during warmer weather. It was the closest to the water that one could get, on deck, and Jan went down the stairs to that level and looked over. Even that close, however, she could see nothing. The night was too black. She came away from the rail and sat in the deck chair against the wall, too close to be seen from above. She crossed her legs and lit a cigarette.
Louise followed her over and sat on the arm of the chair. They were sheltered from the wind there, and the cold wasn't so biting. It was also quiet enough to speak without using an overly loud voice.
"You know that I want you?" she said.
"Sure. What else?"
"And you're leading me on."
"No. I'm just talking to you. I haven't led you on at all. Just because I know what you want doesn't mean that talking to you is the same as consenting."
"Are we going to get together?"
Jan blew smoke. She said, "I don't know. Look, I've got nothing against getting my kicks anyway I can. But I never thought it would be much kick with another woman."
"I can show you differently."
"Maybe you can. If I let you. But look, I'm not going to do anything myself. That doesn't appeal to me at all. If I let you, you have to do it all."
"Of course."
Jan inhaled deeply, held the smoke, looked out over the black sea.
"Does that mean that you're going to let me ... make love to you?"
"I suppose so," Jan said. Smoke twisted from her lips. "Hell," she said, "Why not? Everybody else on the boat has, you might as well too."
"I hope that I'll bring you a little more pleasure than the others."
"You couldn't very well bring less. Last night I was with three boys who didn't have the slightest idea of pleasure between them."
Louise said nothing. She knew that success was due to acquired technique, not physical capability.
"And before that some damned freak nearly bit my boob off."
"Really?"
"And I've been ready as hell ever since the damned ship left New York. So why not?"
Louise smiled and shifted closer.
"Why don't we go to my cabin?" she asked.
"Why bother? Your bunk is just as hard as mine, and that's damn near unbearable," Jan snapped peevishly.
"Well, I just thought we might be a bit more comfortable there. And, of course, it would be a lot more private."
"Private? What do I care about privacy. Besides, I hate those stuffy, airless little cubicles. Makes me think of the psycho section of a charity hospital, stinking of armpits and feet. Besides I get claustrophobic."
"My cabin has a porthole, if that helps any. Really, I'd rather go there unless you prefer your cabin."
Louise had always been the master of the situation in all her affairs with women, but this time she felt almost afraid. Jan was so erratic. She had seemed so friendly at first, and willing, and now it was as if she were daring Louise to make the move, possibly a wrong one. It was like sitting next to a time bomb, she thought, and she didn't want it to explode right in public. So she smiled patiently, and waited, not knowing quite what to do.
"Well?" Jan demanded. "Any port in a storm? Isn't that the way it goes? How many ports have you seen? I bet you've got a girl in every one, too, hey?" Jan crossed her legs but left her skirt where it was. She settled back in the deck chair and leaned her head against the back of it, thoughtfully regarding the sky which was without moon or stars. Her voice was a whisper, "Well, are you just going to sit there?"
Louise slipped her arm around Jan's shoulder. "Do you mind?" she said. "You know, people have talked about me, I know, but no one has ever talked to me that way before. I suppose it's true, what you said about any port in a storm, but I don't have a girl in every one. It gets pretty lonely, sometimes, when a person is the way I am. There's so much hatred in the world. I don't know why people can't understand. I've given up worrying about it. I hope we can have a nice time together, just for a little while."
"Oh, we'll have a jolly old time together," Jan said quite loudly. "A great, glorious, helluva breathtaking time together." Then she said softly, slyly, "Do you think we'll fall in love?"
"I'm sorry," Louise said evenly. "I thought you were someone who could understand. I don't enjoy being made fun of, you know."
"Oh, knock it off," Jan said impatiently. "You don't have to appeal to my sympathies. They're all dried up anyway, used up on myself."
Louise watched in fascination as Jan stood up and lifted her skirt. She could see Jan's white panties stretched to the limit between her legs so that the material was pulled tight. She glanced briefly at Jan's long slim legs, but the panties were the center of her interest. She drew a breath that was almost painful, and swallowed hard.
"You're lovely," she said harshly. "You're beautiful, and I want you, I want to show you how beautiful I think you are."
"Well, that's nice," Jan said matter-of-factly. "I'm a little used, a lot used is more like it, but there's plenty left."
She unfastened the button at the top of the skirt and worked the zipper down with some difficulty. "Would you like me to stand up, or lie down?" she asked with indifference. "It doesn't matter to me, real ly. We're all of us pigs in this world, whether we stand up or lie in the mud. You're no different, are you. Oh, what the hell."
She had been trying to undo the buttons of her blouse, but gave up and ripped it down the front in a savage movement. She dropped it on the deck chair and stood before Louise in her panties and bra, stockings and high heels, in the rising March wind. It whipped her hair over her face momentarily, but she brushed it back.
"The forces of nature are embarrassed. Tried to hide my face," she said lightly. "What's the matter with you. Don't you know it's too damned cold to be out here with nothing on? Get going or something before I perish."
Louise had already taken her jacket off, but was hesitant about removing any more of her clothing for fear of someone coming upon them, seeing them both naked. And besides, it was cold. But Louise had forgotten about the cold as she watched Jan stripping her clothes off with such desperate abandon. She was held in a sort of trance as her passion built higher and higher, boiling and foaming like the sea water under the ship where the huge propellers churned endlessly. She pulled her sweater over her head, dropped it on the chair, and removed her skirt. She wore no brassiere and her small nipples immediately grew hard as the wind struck them. She pulled off her panties and held out her arms to Jan.
"Come here, Baby, I'll keep you warm. Let me warm you with the heat of my body. Let me feel you against me."
Jan didn't move. She stood in the middle of the deck, legs apart, arms behind her back taking off her bra. She got the hooks undone and pulled it from her breasts, letting the wind catch it like a flag before she let it fly out to sea. She held her hands under her breasts, forcing them out even farther, fingers working on the nipples, making them big and hard.
"You want this?" she said, moving a step toward Louise, holding out her breasts. "Come and get it."
"Come on over here before somebody sees you," Louise said in a harsh whisper. "I want you so bad. Oh, hurry."
"You're going to have to come and get it," Jan said gaily, moving her fingers against the white silk of her panties. "You want me bad? That's good, because I want you "to come to me right now, but I won't come to you, you're not a man. You come to me." She began slowly pulling the panties over her hips and thighs and down her legs.
Louise could stand it no longer. With a rush she ran to Jan and tried to pull her back near the wall. Jan tripped and fell, hobbled by her panties. Louise fell on top of her, and for a moment Jan struggled to get up, but soon lay quietly as Louise's kiss began its journey over her body, starting at her breasts. Jan felt the warmth pour through her as Louise gently kissed her firm breasts, her hands caressing her body. The deck was cold and bone-chilling, but Jan was oblivious to all discomfort, and didn't in fact even feel the splintery boards of the deck beneath her back. The only thing she was aware of was Louise's lips on her body, leaving stinging circles of blind sensation wherever they went, thrilling her to her utmost depths.
"Oh, don't stop," she breathed through clenched teeth. "So good, don't stop now. Oh, baby, do you love me? Lie next to me." She began moving her body in spasmodic jerks, shivering from the passion building up within her and from the cold she couldn't feel.
Louise lifted her head from Jan's middle. "I love you," she said, her voice shaking unsteadily, her hands digging deeply into Jan's hips with an almost masculine strength.
"Then lie close to me," Jan commanded urgently. "Kiss me, crush me, violate me. Love me." Her voice rose piercingly. "God, somebody love me!"
Louise got halfway up on her knees, then threw herself onto Jan's prostrate form and kissed her violently on the mouth.
"Oh, love me now," Jan moaned. "Give me love. I need it. Oh, you haven't got what I need. Do something. Help me, will you?" Her back arched and Louise put her hand on Jan's legs. Jan thrashed madly, swearing and gasping, demanding more.
She sobbed, "That's what I want. Oh please, give me."
Louise tried to move down, but Jan's legs held her too tightly around the waist. "I can't," she pleaded desperately. "I can't move."
"But you promised," Jan cried. "You've got to."
With great effort, Louise inched down until she was where Jan wanted her and where she wanted to be. Jan was pulling her, smothering her with the force of her need. Louise hoisted herself to her knees, pulling Jan up with her, until Jan was lying with only her shoulders and head on the deck. Louise put her arms around Jan's middle, holding her up while she kissed furiously.
"That's it," Jan rasped. "Only I want more. Give me more."
Louise executed a sustained move while Jan beat herself against the other woman frantically. Her own passion was boiling like molten lava. She had to have release.
Without relaxing her hold on Jan's body, she swung herself around and pressed herself to Jan's face. "Kiss me," she said, and Jan did.
Together they rolled and thrashed, each seeking to attain the peak. "I'm there," Jan said, her voice muffled and inaudible to Louise. But Louise knew without hearing, and worked faster and faster until Jan's body grew rigid for a moment, then relaxed slowly. She herself was as yet unfulfilled when Jan heaved her over onto the deck and started to get up.
"No, not yet," Louise hissed. "I'm not through. Don't go and leave me like this." She caught Jan's hand and pressed it to herself. "You can't leave me now."
"What do you want me to do?" Jan said.
"Just lie beside me for a few minutes. Just a few minutes," she said urgently.
Jan lay beside her, her hand captive between Louise's thighs, as the other woman moved slowly back and forth. Jan suddenly seemed overwhelmed with passion and compassion and put her arms around Louise, holding her close. She felt the pressure on her hand and knew that Louise was finished, that she had satisfied her craving. Louise lay perfectly still beside her as Jan inched up and held Louise's head against her naked breasts, rubbing them across Louise's mouth. Nothing happened. She touched Louise, rubbing her hand the way she had just a few minutes before. Again nothing happened. There was no response.
She rolled Louise over on her back and lay full length on her. Louise looked at her happily, contentedly, and remained inert.
"Thank you," Louise said. "I enjoyed that."
"Let's try again," Jan said, her eyes smoldering.
"I can't," Louise said.
"There are a lot of things you can't do," Jan said accusingly, sitting astride Louise's stomach, forcing her whole weight down upon Louise's soft midsection. "Like satisfy me. You can't satisfy me."
"But I did," Louise said helplessly. "I know I did."
"'
"You did not," Jan snapped.
"But I know I did. And I'm sorry, I just don't feel like it again."
"You ... promised ... me," Jan said very slowly and evenly.
"I'm sorry," was Louise's reply. "Let me up now and let's get our things on before we freeze to death out here."
"You said you could make me enjoy loving more than the others," Jan said, pushing her weight down harder. Louise coughed and struggled to get up. Jan slapped her once across the mouth as hard as she could. It hurt her hand. She slapped Louise again with the other one. Louise turned her head as far sideways as she could, eyes tight shut and tears beginning to come out from under the lids.
"Don't hit me," she choked. "Why did you hit me?"
"Because you're not a man," Jan said dispassionately.
"I wish I were. I really wish I were," Louise said sadly.
"God, so do I," said Jan.
Jan got up, and moved back to the shelter of the wall. After a moment Louise followed her, and began to put her clothes back on. Jan sat down in the deck chair, still naked, not noticing the cold.
"I'm sorry," Louise said. "If we had been in my cabin ... I was so nervous out here. And cold. If you would come to my cabin I'd be good to you. I could show you how good it would be there...."
"Get the hell away from me," Jan said. She didn't seem angry, just indifferent. She didn't want to be bothered. "Leave me alone."
"You'd better get dressed," Louise said. "You'll freeze to death out here. And someone might come...."
"What do I care? I don't think there's a person on this ship that hasn't seen me naked. And I can't freeze. I'm too damned hot ... always. That's my trouble."
Louise looked at her for a moment. She could think of nothing to say. She started to go up the steps, and paused halfway to the promenade deck to look back. Jan was very white and very naked against the dark deck and the black sky. She really didn't look cold. She was smoking a cigarette and looking blankly at the sea. Louise turned and went up the steps slowly, then hurried down the deck and into the passageway.
She found that she had begun to shiver.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JAN SAT QUIETLY, VAGUELY AWARE THAT SHE SHOULD be cold, but that she wasn't. And she didn't want to put her clothes on. That was the thing, half her life had been wasted in taking her clothes off and then putting them back on. And nothing that had happened in the naked intervals had been worth the effort. She didn't think that she had ever been satisfied, and she was positive that she never would. Certainly not with her husband. And she had tried everything else.
Her cigarette had burned down to her fingers. She let it drop and heard it sizzle on the wet deck. She took another one from her pack and lit it. She was wondering whether she should just sit there all night, thinking about nothing, and whether she would freeze to death or not ... and who would discover her first, and whether they would be excited by a naked, frozen body.
It's too bad that I'm not drunk, she thought. I have absolutely no justification for what I do now ... for what I did with Louise. Not that I need it. I've gone too far now, I can't even fool myself.
Well, I've got to do something, I suppose. What'll it be? Shall I let a man seduce me? Or seduce a man? Maybe I can sleep with the captain. I've never done that. Or maybe the whole crew, one after the other or all at once. No, that's nothing new either. I guess I'll either have to run naked through the halls until they lock me up for a lunatic, or else jump overboard.
Or else jump overboard ... her thoughts repeated. What a joke that would be. Ready and willing, up and at 'em, take 'em off and lay down Jan, bothered enough by her conscience to commit suicide ... a big joke. Wouldn't everyone be surprised.
They'd probably think that I jumped in to seduce a damned shark, she thought. Hell, a fish is about the only thing that I haven't had the last couple days.
Rather mechanically, she got up and walked over to the rail. She looked down at the water. She could see a little white in the wake of the boat, but it was pure black at the sides. Cold and deep. Miles and miles of water down there.
I wonder if sharks make love like people? she asked herself. She laughed. A shark might not be bad at that. What's the difference if a girl gets bitten by a shark or a Greek? By a fish or by Louise?
Her laughter sounded very loud in her own ears, although the wind whipped it away from the ship. The same wind was carrying the sound of music and laughter and conversation out from the Bamboo Court. It sounded very distant. Jan looked, but she couldn't see the court, she was too low to see the deck. But she could hear the sounds. It was lonely, being out there naked and cold and to hear music come from the interior. How much lonelier it would be to be in that black water and hear the music fade away, see the lights dim as the ship sailed off. But it might be better to be lonely at that, she thought. Better than having to put my clothes back on and go in and meet someone and have to take them back off. And that's just what I'd wind up doing. First the bar, a few shots of gin. Just to get warm, of course, after being out here without anything on. Then after I was warm I'd find that I was getting a little too warm. Hot, in fact. And I'd need to get myself cooled off. And taking my clothes off wouldn't do the trick, I'd need someone to help me. Man, woman or shark. Ha ha. So I'd find someone and we'd begin again.
Yeah, it might be better to be lonely at that.
Jan didn't realize how really lonely she was.
Or how insane.
No one was looking down at the swimming deck area. That was a shame, perhaps. They would have seen a strange sight, perhaps even beautiful to one who admires wild and unpatterned beauty. But no one was there to see Jan lean out over the rail, her flesh milk white, the sea and sky black, one slender trail of white foam behind the ship, Jan's hair caught by the wind and twisted off to one side. The ship rolled, the black sea billowed up toward her magnetically, she leaned out farther and laughed into the wind, holding on with one hand, one thigh hooked over the top railing. The music and noise from the Bamboo Court faintly drifting by was rather mild background music to the scene. They should have played "The Ride of the Valkyries."
Whether she jumped, or fell, doesn't really matter. She made no sound, and her body arched out away from the side of the ship, turning half over, flashing white. Then she hit the water, soundlessly, as one falling into soft black velvet, and a little spot of white foam marked the disturbance for a moment.
She hadn't realized how cold it would be, and how terrible the sensation of having nothing under her but miles and miles of water. It shocked her, and she screamed then and even tried to swim back toward the ship.
She stayed alive long enough to see the lights fade away into the night.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Louise was sitting in her cabin, a book in her hand. But she wasn't reading. She was contemplating and wondering and planning. And hoping that she would be able to make Denise see how much she loved her. The savage and strange moments with Jan had only affirmed that love, and Louise knew that she must have a gentle lover, an innocent lover. And yet there had been a strange thrill with Jan ... perhaps because she realized that the woman was mad. There would be a fascination in that. Not love, not tenderness, but just pure passion. She wouldn't have minded being with Jan again. In better circumstances. In a warm, private place.
Louise hated to leave Jan unsatisfied with her, she had a certain amount of pride in her particular perversion.
Denise came in, then. Her eyes were red and she looked as though she had been crying. She threw herself down on her bunk, face down.
"What's the matter, honey?" Louise asked, getting up and approaching her.
"Just leave me alone," Denise said.
"But, what's happened?"
"Please get out!"
Louise stepped back. That was the second time that evening that she had been told that.
Denise spoke, her voice softer now. "Louise, I have to think. Please, leave me alone. I have to be alone."
"To think about ... us?"
After a moment, Denise said, "Yes," very softly, her face pressed against the pillow. Louise went out.
Alice had made a decision. She had decided to meet a man and let nature take its course. She was a little vague about what that course would be, but she had ideas, and she knew that it would be better than the self-satisfaction that had grown so frequent in the last few days. It seemed as though all she did was to go to meals and pleasure herself. So she decided that it was time to get someone else to help her. It was a remarkably simple and logical decision for a Kansas virgin to make.
The trouble was, she wasn't sure how to go about meeting a man. They couldn't very well ask her for a date on a ship, and that was the only way that she had ever met a man. Looking as pretty as possible and waiting to get asked for a date.
She was pondering this problem when there was a knock at the door.
It was Louise.
"Hello," she said. "I was wondering if Jan happened to be in yet?"
"No, she isn't," Alice said. "I don't really know where she is. But won't you come in?"
Louise stepped in.
"I really don't see much of Jan," Alice said. "I guess that she's pretty popular...."
"I should imagine," Louise said.
"I didn't know that you two knew each other."
"We just met this evening. We had a few drinks together in the lounge."
"Oh. Well, I haven't seen her since dinner, so I guess that you might have a better idea than I have where she is."
"Yes," Louise said. "I have an idea." She was thinking of her last glimpse of Jan, naked on the deck. But she couldn't still be there, Louise reasoned. Even a person as mentally disturbed as Jan had seemed would get cold. She was probably in the lounge or bar, getting drunk and looking for a man.
"Won't you sit down?"
Louise looked around for a seat. Alice pulled a chair away from the desk and set it by her. She sat nearby.
"I can still feel the wine that you shared with me at dinner," she said. "It made me dizzy. But I enjoyed it very much. It was the first wine I ever had."
"It was good wine."
"Oh, yes," Alice said, nodding her head vigorously. "It must be nice to know about wine and traveling and all that. I don't know much of anything. I never know what to order or how to act. Everything is so much different than at home."
"Where is home?"
"Kansas."
"Oh. Yes." .
"I don't think that I'll ever want to go back there after this trip, though."
"You must have someone waiting for you."
"Well, there's Clem, but he's so ... well, he's just not worldly enough for me. I mean, after I see Paris and all, I bet he'll be boring to me. If Paris is like they say it is, anvway. It must be fabulous."
"Paris? It's nice."
"Have you been there?"
"Many times."
"Gee, what's it like?"
"It's just Paris. You can't tell someone about it, it has to be seen."
"I bet I'll feel just lost there. I was lost in New York, even ... and I can't speak French at all. But I want to see Paris so badly, even though I'm scared...."
"You need someone to show you around. That's the only way to get to know a city."
"Well, I could take the tours ... and hire a guide maybe."
Louise couldn't help but laugh. Alice looked quizzically at her, with a tentative smile. She didn't understand what was funny.
"You really are naive, aren't you?" Louise said.
"I guess so."
"You'll have to be careful. Lots of things happen to girls in Paris."
Alice looked nervous.
"I'm going to Paris myself," Louise said. "Perhaps I could help you get around for a few days."
"Gee, that would be swell."
"You're traveling alone?"
"Yes. I wouldn't want to be any trouble to you...."
"Not at all."
"Well, it would sure be swell. I really admire you, the way you seem to be so ... well, sophisticated, I guess." Alice looked embarrassed, but continued, "I always wanted to be just like you, Louise."
"Did you?"
"Oh yes."
"You can be, you know."
"I don't know...."
"I could show you how to be like me."
"But you shouldn't go to all that trouble for me, Louise. Why, we hardly know each other."
Louise shrugged. "New friendships are as good as old, and a great deal more interesting."
Alice's smile quivered again. The thought of having a sophisticated friend to show her how to act was delightful. And she felt that she could confide in Louise. There were so many things that she wanted to ask another woman. She had wanted to ask Jan, but she was afraid that Jan would laugh at her, or lie to her for fun. But Louise ... she was so nice, and she seemed to be understanding.
"I hope I meet some men in Paris," she said tentatively. Louise showed no reaction. "I never knew many men back home. Just Clem, and he was ... different."
"I'm afraid that men in Paris will be rather demanding. There are things that you've probably never heard of."
"I-I've done more than kiss a man."
Louise looked interested.
"But lately ... well, I've been thinking that maybe it was only normal to-to have a man love you. You know? I don't suppose that that shocks you, but I get embarrassed when I talk about it."
"Men are ... can be ... brutal. Cruel. They can hurt you and not give you any pleasure. Especially some young, naive type like you. You'll only get hurt if you begin to fool around with men."
Alice was surprised by Louise's bitterness.
"Why do you want a man? Really? You can tell me the truth about it."
"Well ... I just feel ... like I need a man. Something."
"Do you satisfy yourself?" Alice blushed.
"You do, don't you? Don't be shy; please tell me if you do understand about these things. I often do that, too."
Alice nodded.
"But there's something lacking, huh?"
"Yes."
"You think that it would be better to have another person pleasing you?"
"It would. Oh, I know it would."
"But men won't. They'll just satisfy themselves and leave you and you'll still have to go about satisfying yourself."
"But ... what do women do?"
"Some women suffer with it. Others find something better."
"Better?"
"Someone who will help them. Tenderly. Someone they love, and want to make happy too. Then they can help each other. Then the two of them can be happy together."
"I-I'm not sure that I understand."
A smile played about Louise's thin lips. She reached out and placed her hand on Alice's knee. Alice smiled back, not understanding.
"You are naive, aren't you?" Louise asked. "You remind me of a friend I once had. A wonderful friend. I loved her." She paused. Alice didn't know what to say.
"We'll be very good friends, won't we?" Louise said.
