Her arms crept about him, fervently, without apprehension, and she felt descending onto the seat. Her blood was a live thing catapulting itself through her veins....There were no moments of hesitation or regret....His hands warm under her blouse....This was the way it should be!
CHAPTER ONE
Lorelei would always remember that night. She would remember the cold lights of the city in the valley below, its patterns dancing like bewildered fireflies in the autumn air. She would remember the songs on the car radio, the liquid warmth of the heater caressing her. She would remember Dean's arm around her, tenderly firm, his gentle murmurs of love and undying affection. She would remember the swift, sure motions with which he pushed her back on the front seat of the car and the things that he did with his hands and with his body.
It didn't matter that her Aunt Louise would be shocked at what she was doing. It didn't matter that she'd never done these things before. There were no other people in the world at that moment but her and Dean, and all that mattered was that she was a woman and he was a man, that she wanted him and he wanted her, and there was nothing, no one, that could keep them apart....
It was like Fate, the way it had happened. She was walking down Genesee Street with Sally Mealor, and it was about five o'clock. Lorelei had just come from a law office a few blocks away, where she'd gone for a job interview and, not having had any experience, was turned down.
"How do they expect you to get any experience," Sally Mealor wanted to know, "if nobody will hire you in the first place?"
"I know," Lorelei said. It was a common complaint, but it was even more common with Sally, who was gangly and awkward and really not very pretty. Even though she had not been hired on any of the jobs, Lorelei was aware of the interviewers' looking at her slim legs, the rounded portions of her body, the full breasts. It had made her nervous at first, but then she told herself that these men were really no different from the boys at school, that they were merely older, but they still liked the same things. And so she relaxed, and she could see that she impressed them. Unfortunately, she still had no experience, but she had become increasingly aware that she did have some things that experience could not replace, and this was a consolation.
The Harvey Theater loomed before them, its marquee proclaiming "THE GOLDEN WEB, Starring Muriel Hayden.-Last Three Days."
Sally grimaced. "Funny name for a play. I don't care much for plays, though. Mom said she'd like to see it. Muriel Hayden used to be in the movies, she said, but it was before my time. Dad wouldn't take her, though. He said we could see Muriel Hayden on television on the late, late show and it wouldn't cost us any money."
Lorelei smiled politely, but she didn't think it was funny. Someday, she was going to get married, and if she wanted to go out and see a play she'd want her husband to take her. She walked toward the foyer.
Sally glanced at her wristwatch. "We'll miss our bus."
"I want to look at the pictures," Lorelei said. "You go ahead, if you want."
Sally looked uncertain. "No, I'll wait," she said.
Behind glassed compartments the size of windows were signs telling the cast of characters, the people who wrote, directed, and produced THE GOLDEN WEB, and underneath the posters were eight-by-ten glossy photographs of members of the cast, carefully posed portraits and scenes from the play.
"That's Muriel Hayden," Sally said, pointing.
A black-haired woman stared at them from the picture. Her hair was swept upward into a neat arrangement, her eyebrows were precise lines, her teeth even and white, her skin flawless. She was smiling, but her eyes were tired.
"She looks quite young," Lorelei said.
"Mother says she was in silent pictures, so she can't be as young as she looks. Probably makeup."
But Lorelei was not listening. Her gaze had drifted to the other pictures in the group. The one to the right and the one directly beneath Muriel Hayden's ageless portrait were scenes from the play. The picture remaining took her attention.
A blonde young man smiled at her from that picture, and for some reason Lorelei caught her breath and then looked quickly at Sally to see if she'd noticed. But Sally had wandered off to inspect the other pictures, so Lorelei returned to her study of the young man, who seemed to be studying her in return. His hair was closely cropped, neatly parted to one side. He had clear eyes, blue probably, and a very nice smile. He was quite good-looking, and she couldn't recall ever having seen him before. Perhaps he was just starting out in the theater, she decided.
Sally was beside her. "We'd better go, Lorelei, or we will miss our bus."
"I'm going to stay downtown," Lorelei decided aloud. "I'd like to see the play." The decision, strangely enough, did not surprise her. "Why don't you join me? We can eat at the Chinese Restaurant, and then-"
Sally shook her head. "I can't. Besides, I don't really care for plays, as I guess I told you, and tonight's a good television night." She hesitated. "Your aunt wouldn't like you to stay out anyway, would she?"
"No," Lorelei thought, and that clinched her decision, "she wouldn't. You go ahead, and I'll call you tomorrow and let you know how it went."
"Okay," Sally said. "Maybe we can get together."
"Sure," Lorelei said.
Sally made her way down the street. It was getting dark now, and the streetlights flared into being. Lorelei turned her attention to the young man in the picture. His face looked somehow familiar now, and he was still smiling at her in that same way he had the first time they'd looked at each other. Lorelei felt that same emotion spark into life within her, and she smiled back at the young man in the picture.
Then she went to the box office and inquired what time the play started, and then she used most of her lunch money for that week to buy a ticket in the balcony.
She tried to sound casual. "By the way," she asked the bored, middle-aged, female ticket seller, "who's the actor in the picture there?"
She pointed, and the ticket seller craned her neck in annoyance to look. "That's Dean Richards," she said, without enthusiasm.
"I don't think I've ever heard of him," Lorelei said.
The ticket seller shrugged non-committally. "I heard he's a protege of Miss Hayden's."
"Oh," Lorelei said. It was obvious the ticket seller was not interested in discussing the matter further. "Thank you."
She put the ticket carefully in her purse and with a last glance at Dean Richard's picture she walked down to the corner, and waited for the light to change. Chinese food was no fun, really, unless you were with someone. It would be a functional meal at the drugstore across the street; besides, she didn't have much money left after having bought the ticket.
The light changed, she walked across the street to the drugstore, hopped aboard a stool and ordered an egg salad sandwich and a cherry-coke. She waited while the young fellow behind the counter rattled glass and spoon in a spray of seltzer water, and she thought of telephoning Aunt Louise. She didn't like to do it, for the woman would give her a lecture and probably insist that she come home immediately. But if she didn't, Aunt Louise would call up Sally and some of the other girls and maybe even the police station to find out where her wayward niece had gone.
Lorelei sighed defeat and slipped off the stool. Two telephone booths huddled together in one corner. One of these was occupied by a fat woman who had crowded herself in with all her packages and was busy talking very earnestly into the mouthpiece. Lorelei sat in the other one and closed the door, trying to ignore the woman's insistent voice filtering through the thin partition. Her dime went clanging into the machine, and she dialed the number. The phone rang once and it was picked up.
"Hello, Aunt Louise, this is Lorelei."
"Lorelei," her aunt's voice came over the phone. "I was worried about you. You should have been home a half hour ago. I called Sally Mealor's house, but she wasn't in either. Where are you?"
"Everything's all right," Lorelei said. "I'm with Sally right now, as a matter-of-fact. We're having a sandwich at the drugstore, and then we're going over to the library."
"Oh," Aunt Louise said. "Well, you could have called me."
"I am calling you," Lorelei pointed out. "We'll be all right, don't you worry. I'll see you later."
"Well, be careful, dear."
"I will. Goodbye."
Lorelei hung up. Sometimes it almost seemed as though Aunt Louise were actually disappointed that nothing happened to her niece. It ruined her philosophy that no young girl was safe on the streets anymore, and that if she were not home on schedule and safely in her own bed by nine-thirty, dreadful things would surely happen.
Lorelei returned to the counter and found waiting for her an egg-salad sandwich, a cherry-coke, and a counter-check. The boy in white was busy washing out some dishes, and he smiled at her as she sat down.
He had braces on his teeth, and his face was covered with pimples. The white cap was pushed back on his head so that his long blond hair could be swept up before it in several complicated arcs. Lorelei did not return the smile. She just wasn't in the mood. She slowly munched her soggy sandwich and wondered if she ever would find a job in this city.
She was eighteen years old and three months out of Attica Free Academy; Lorelei Goodwin, pretty, intelligent, but not voted the girl most likely to do or be anything. She took a commercial course in high school, but the only jobs she held were during summer vacations as a salesgirl in the department stores. She knew how to type fifty words a minute with reasonable accuracy and had a working knowledge of the English language. And there were no jobs available just then.
Perhaps, she thought, she should leave Attica.
It was not the center of the universe, as some of her relatives seemed to think; it was not even the center of New York State. It just missed the lists of cities in the United States of 100,000 and over. Perhaps, she should leave and go to New York City, perhaps get a job in advertising like a couple of the girls she knew did, but the thought of being in the big city frightened her, and surely Aunt Louise could think of a million reasons why she should stay.
And she would, of course. Tomorrow, she would go back to the employment office and try again. It was depressing, this business of job hunting. A career in the business world didn't seem to be her fate. If there were only some romantic young man-like the man in the picture across the street-who would rescue her from the humdrum existence, from this dull environment surrounded by invisible bars.
She was sucking the remains of the cherry-coke through her straw when she looked up to find the pimply-faced youth staring self-consciously at her.
"Hi," he said.
"Hello," Lorelei said, without enthusiasm. "I'm new in town," he said. "My name's Lenny Prinz."
Lorelei smiled politely. She got up from the stool, reaching for her check.
"I-I thought maybe-" the boy hesitated, then rushed on, "I was wondering if you'd go out with me Saturday night." He seemed so relieved to have it said, Lorelei had to restrain herself from laughing.
"Thank you," she said, "but I already have a date."
She walked to the cashier and paid the older man there. She looked back, and Lenny Prinz smiled and waved at her. She nodded, and walked from the store into the street.
This, she thought dejectedly, is what I have to look forward to. The Lenny Prinzs' of the local world as potential husbands, a job in a department store, Aunt Louise to keep me out of mischief. It was depressing.
She glanced at her watch. Six o'clock, an hour and a half before the play started. Genesee Street was full of cars hurrying home.
Perhaps I will go to the library, she thought. She walked slowly up the street. It had gotten cold, and she pulled her jacket closely around her. There were few store windows to look into, so she arrived at the library sooner than she'd expected. She walked up the library steps, recalling how she used to visit the place in the evenings to do her homework. Besides, it had been a good place to meet boys she knew, so they could take her out for a coke or maybe ask for a later date for a movie.
Trouble was, they all wanted to go park up at the Eagle, and not for the view of the city either. They were interested in other views. Despite Aunt Louise, Lorelei was no prude. But despite the efforts of a number of eager young men, she was also a virgin. The idea of sex was certainly not repulsive to her. She'd kissed in different ways, and she'd petted and allowed a few boys she liked to fondle her gently, but she'd never gone all the way, like some of the girls did. Someday, perhaps, she would, but it would have to be with the right man, and so far the right man had not come along.
She walked into the library, her shoes making echoing scuffling sounds among the marble walls and pillars. She glanced upward at the huge chandelier filled with lighted bulbs and long diamonds of glass to refract the light. It never failed to fascinate her. It had the look of hugeness, of costliness. If she were ever wealthy and had a large house, she'd like a chandelier just like that.
There was no one in the library she knew. A few older people were sitting in the reference room reading local newspapers. She chose a quiet corner and volume I of the Encyclopedia Britannica and sat down at a deserted table. She had looked at all the pictures of "Aeroplanes" and was browsing among the photographs of Africa, when she became aware of someone seating himself beside her. She looked up.
"Hi," he said.
"Don," Lorelei said. It was merely a word of recognition, emotionless. She had liked Don Whitehead once, but somehow there was something lacking in their relationship. In fact, she had let Don go farther with her than she had any other boy. But it was just no good any more.
"You've been avoiding me," he said.
He didn't look at her, but under the table their legs were touching ever so slightly.
"I've been busy," she said, "looking for a job."
"So I've heard. I'm going to Princeton in another month. I may get back on weekends, though, once in a while."
"That would be nice."
"I telephoned you at home. Your aunt said you were at the library."
"So you came over to see me," she said.
"Yes," he said, uncertainly. She felt his hand on her leg, under the table, an apparently casual gesture as he leaned toward her, but she could tell by his breathing that he was aware of the position his hand took. She could feel it moving awkwardly along the outside of her dress. "Want-want to take a ride?" His voice was husky.
"No, thanks," she said sharply. "I have a date."
She pushed back her chair and pushed his hand from her. She got up, gathered the volume from the table and returned it to its place on the shelf.
"Lorelei," he said, under his breath. "Please!"
Lorelei smiled coldly at him and shook her head no. Then she walked from the room, not looking back, and through the chandeliered main room and the heavy front doors to the outside.
She almost felt sorry for him. Don Whitehead wasn't a bad guy, but in a car he was a clumsy octopus. There may be a time and a place for being pawed by an adolescent, but now was not it.
She glanced at her watch and was pleasantly surprised to find that she would have to walk steadily if she were to make the seven-thirty deadline. So she walked steadily and arrived at the theater in time to find her seat just before the house lights dimmed and the play began. The play would be over by about nine-thirty, she considered. The library closed at nine. It would be a perfect excuse. She got out of the library when it closed, walked down to catch a bus downtown rather than waiting for one from which she'd have to transfer.
It was the first professional play Lorelei had ever seen. Muriel Hayden, she decided, was a good actress, but not good enough to pretend to be the young romantic woman she tried to portray. The hair was too black, the teeth too even, the voice too faded. To have her matched with Dean Richards was ridiculous.
The story, despite Miss Hayden, was one of young true love, with all the misunderstandings, the heartbreaks, normally associated with true love. Muriel Hayden and Dean Richards were very much in love with each other, but they were from different sides of the tracks. She was from a rich family, he was from a poor, and she spun her golden web about him, and finally, through a series of motivationless scenes, the two lovers were united and lived happily ever after. For Lorelei, Dean stole every scene. She paid scant attention to the story and the others in the cast. For her, Dean alone stood on the stage, mouthing golden words in his rich baritone voice.
There was intermission, there was the continuation of the play, and then it was all over, the curtains folded, the house lights went back on, and Lorelei felt sad that she would never again see this young man who had affected her so.
She waited until most of the people had left the theater, and then she went outside in the foyer to look at his picture. Somehow, more than ever, it seemed that he was smiling at her. Of course, she thought, pleased with her sudden plan, she'd wait and ask him for his autograph. Actually, autograph collecting was okay for high school kids, but when you're eighteen and out of school and looking for a job, you don't go in for that sort of thing anymore. But she did want to see him, so she waited, pretending to look at the signs announcing the next feature coming in a few days, looking up anxiously each time the theater doors opened to erupt someone.
Muriel Hayden came through, arguing with a bald-headed man about percentages and bookings. "So help me, Sid, you put me in another turkey," she threatened, "and we'll have you at Thanksgiving with an apple stuffed in your mouth!" They went off down the street arguing, with Sid looking around for a taxi.
Lights in the theater lobby were going out, and Lorelei wondered if Dean had gone out some other exit. She looked at her watch. Ten o'clock. When she looked up again, he was coming through the swinging doors, pulling his coat up around his neck against the unseasonably chilly night.
She force herself to not change her mind at the last minute. She wasn't sure, then or afterward, what it was she said, but she blurted out something.
He smiled, and her heart went trampolining. It was just like in the photograph, except he was here in person, actually smiling at her.
He seemed genuinely pleased. "You want my autograph?" he said, in a way that made her feel happy and embarrassed. "Look, I'm going across the street to get some coffee. C'mon along, and we'll talk. You look like a swell conversationalist."
"Well," she hesitated, knowing she shouldn't because Aunt Louise was quite firm about the time she should be home and in bed and it was already after ten, but an opportunity to have coffee with a movie star didn't come every day, so she said, "All right, I'd love to."
"Swell," he said, "there's a place down the street here a ways."
He took her arm in his and they walked down the street. Lorelei felt the blood coursing through her veins as it never had before. All she'd hoped for was an autograph, and perhaps a smile. Now, he was actually taking her out, holding onto her arm.
"Sure is brisk weather for this time of year," he said. "Oh, by the way, you didn't tell me your name."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Lorelei Goodwin."
He nodded, repeating it as though tasting each syllable. "That's a nice name. I like it. It's got class. Anyway, I'm very glad to meet you, Lorelei. My name's Dean Richards."
"I know," Lorelei said. "That's a nice name, too."
He grinned at her. "Isn't it, though. It's not my real name, though-but I won't tell you that until we know each other better. It's too horrible."
Dean guided her across the intersection to the White Tower, where they ordered hot chocolate and hamburgers and Lorelei busied herself wondering what everyone would think if they knew she was out on a date with a real, live actor. She wished someone would come in that she knew, but no one did.
"I liked you very much in the play," Lorelei said.
"Thanks." He sighed. "Too bad about the play, though. I feel sorry for Muriel-Miss Hay-den-she's trying to make a comeback, and all she's doing is laying an egg."
"Why didn't she get another play?"
"Because her boyfriend wrote only one play, a stinker called THE GOLDEN WEB, and Muriel put a lot of her money in it because she had faith in the guy."
"I heard her tonight in the lobby," Lorelei confided. "I think she's losing faith."
"She'll be okay. I like Muriel. She'll come out smelling like a rose."
"And what about you?" She tried to keep the concern from her voice.
"Me?" he said, smiling. "I'll be glad to get back to Hollywood. It's a great little place. Lots of fun and excitement. I'm sorry I left, but I though the stage experience would do me some good."
"You've been in movies?" Lorelei said.
"A few roles in some B pictures," he said, and named a couple she had never heard of. Then, he said, he'd done some clothes modeling for magazines, and all sorts of odd non-acting jobs to keep going. "You've got to play the angles," he said, "and maybe someday, with a lot of hard work and some good luck, you'll make it."
While he talked, she glanced secretly at the tousled blond hair-she'd love to run her fingers through that hair-the strong jaw, the blue eyes, the classic nose. If Dean Richards put his hand on her leg, she thought unashamedly, she wouldn't mind the least bit.
"This is the first time I've been in Attica," he said. "I'd heard about it, but until now it was just a small city in upstate New York." He looked at her intensely. "How old are you, Lorelei?"
"Eighteen," she said, automatically.
She realized her mistake even as she said it. Dean was probably about twenty-five, and she should have told him she was older, perhaps twenty or even twenty-one, so he would think she was a child. She could have gotten away with it, too. Certainly, she looked older. Her face and figure were undoubtedly a woman's. But the damage, if any, was done.
"Of course, I'm going on nineteen," she added quickly.
He smiled at that. "You're very pretty," he said, sincerely.
She was embarrassed, but strangely she didn't mind being embarrassed. "Thank you," she managed to stammer, not knowing what else to say.
"I'll bet you have a lot of boyfriends."
"A few," she said. "Actually, my aunt is very strict about such things. She'd die if she knew I was with you tonight."
"We won't tell her then. I'd hate to be the cause of the poor woman's death!"
He reached across the counter and squeezed her hand as he said that. The movement was friendly-intentioned, but it made Lorelei feel as though she were about to jump out of her shoes. It was a strange feeling, but it was also strangely wonderful. She felt a warm, restless yearning stirring deep inside her. When he removed his hand from hers a second later, she felt the loss as a personal thing.
"My aunt isn't really mean about it," she said, in an effort to make conversation and to cover her disappointment. "It's just that she's worried about me."
"I don't blame her," he said. "Would she mind if you went out with me tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?" Lorelei said, the meaning of his words not really sinking in.
"Sure. Nothing elaborate. You could show me the sights."
"Well," she said, suddenly realizing that he was asking her for a date, a legitimate one. "Well, there aren't really any sights, but-"
"You can take me around to some of your historic landmarks," he suggested. "You know, the statues of Baron Von Steuben, old Indian trails, the Eagle, and so forth. Suppose I pick you up after the show, say about ten?"
Lorelei was thinking about how Aunt Louise would react to her going out with a man she'd just met, and an actor at that! But she thought also that the show was closing in a few days and Dean would be in another city and perhaps she'd never see him again. And she remembered the gentle touch of his hand and how it had affected her.
"I'll-I'll meet you at the theater," she said, trying to think of a plausible reason for doing so.
"Swell!" he said, unquestioning. "I'll be looking forward to it."
They made small conversation, talking about things like the weather, with Dean carrying much of the conversational load. Actually, it would have been big conversation to Lorelei, who liked the strong masculine quality to his voice, but her thoughts were diverging into two other separate streams, and it was all she could do to take care of those.
With one portion of her mind she was thinking that she would have to lie to Aunt Louise about tomorrow night-as she would undoubtedly have to lie about tonight-and maybe tell her she would be staying late at Sally Mealor's house. It was the sort of thing you read about in books, something like having an illicit love affair, complete with secret rendezvous. And yet in the other portion of her mind, her thoughts were romping gaily with the knowledge that she had finally met someone as handsome and as completely wonderful as Dean-and what's more, that he seemed to like her.
After all, she reasoned, he had only just met her, and for all he knew she could be a terrible pill, and he'd have himself a terrible time. He was probably taking more a chance than she was, especially since he was used to taking glamour queens around the night spots of Hollywood. In fact, the more she thought about it the more she was terribly afraid she might be acting more like a child with a crush on a movie actor, than like an eighteen-(going on nineteen)-year-old girl she was.
More importantly, though, he would be gone in a few days, when the play ended, and she might never see him again. The thought of that was very sad. Of course, she hoped he would miss her, maybe just a little, and perhaps even write, but she couldn't hope for that. No, things like that happened only in the movies, and not to an un-glamorous eighteen year old girl named Lorelei Goodwin who lived in Attica, New York.
He had told her she was pretty, and she was. She had known that for a long time and saw no reason to be ashamed of the fact. What's more, she had a good figure. The boys whistled at her constantly, even though Aunt Louise never allowed her to wear any of the flattering clothes she wanted to wear. Yet in the summertime she wore shorts to the Parkway tennis courts, and she basked in the warm glances given her by the boys who came to watch. And in school, sometimes when she sat down she managed to hike her dress up to her knees, because after all it was showing off even less than the shorts, so what harm could it do. Besides, it made her feel good to know she was the object of such attention, and she felt a warm glow way down deep inside her thinking about it.
And in the secret of her bedroom, she would undress slowly before a mirror, watching her firm, youthful body as it was revealed, languorously slipping the under clothing from her high-tipped breasts and down around the slim waist and rounded hips. It made her feel deliciously wicked to do this and then to stand there, naked, stretching like a lazy cat. But sometimes it made her feel guilty, too, and once Aunt Louise had burst in upon her, and she'd pretended to be getting ready for bed, though it wasn't time and she could feel her face turn scarlet and her aunt had looked at her strangely.
She had seen photographs of naked girls in the men's magazines at the drugstore, where she went and pretended to look at the movie magazines, and she was sure that her figure was certainly as good as many of them. Better, in some cases. Of course, she wouldn't want to have to earn a living that way. And yet she wondered what it would be like, undressing before a man....
"... and then," Dean was saying, "I landed a part in THE TEN COMMANDMENTS-"
"You were in the THE TEN COMMANDMENTS?" Lorelei said, excitedly.
"A very small part," he said modestly. "Do you remember that mob scene where-"
He described one of the scenes where the screen was filled with a thousand people. Lorelei didn't remember it, but she nodded anyway, in an effort to please him.
"It wasn't much," Dean admitted, "but it was good experience and it paid the rent for awhile."
Lorelei suddenly felt a wave of compassion. Poor Dean, she thought. He was working so hard to get his Big Break. It would come, of course, but not until after more years of heartbreak and sorrow. She had never realized before how difficult acting was. She wished that somehow she could help.
"I think it's wonderful that you were in THE TEN COMMANDMENTS," she said earnestly, and she reached out and put a comforting hand on his before she realized what she was doing. With anyone else it would not have embarrassed her, but Dean was not anyone else. She withdrew her hand quickly, flustered, but he pretended not to notice.
He glanced at his wristwatch. "It's getting late. I'd better take you home."
"There's a bus going right past my house," she said.
"It's no trouble. My car's just around the corner."
"I'd-I'd rather you didn't. Tonight, I mean." She hoped he'd understand.
"Sure," he said. He grinned at her in that maddeningly boyish way he had. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow," she said.
"Goodnight, Lorelei."
"Goodnight-Dean."
The night was unseasonably chilly, but Lorelei took no notice. She walked down Genesee Street to the bus stop, her heart warm. On the bus, the driver had turned on the heater, and for some reason the bus was alternately too warm and too cold, but she took no notice of that either. She was remembering how Dean had looked as he trudged off down the street to his car, lonely and alone. He'd go to his hotel room and would he think of her, she wondered, as she would think of him? She hoped so.
She felt a familiar restless yearning as she thought of him, and she knew even before she put the thoughts into words that she had decided. Tomorrow, she and Dean would go out in his car. They would park. And she would let him do anything he wanted to with her. Anything at all.
The thought was not the least bit frightening.
CHAPTER TWO
It was close to midnight when Lorelei let herself in through the front door. Aunt Louise was up, waiting for her. It was no surprise.
"Lorelei!" It was both a command and a reproach.
Aunt Louise was sitting in a chair in the living room, a magazine folded open in her lap. Once a pretty woman, her features had grown hard over the years. Lorelei had often thought that if the woman fixed herself up, she could still catch a man, but of course she never notced this.
"Yes, Aunt Louise?"
"Do you know what time it is?"
Lorelei glanced at her watch. "It's eleven forty-six," she said.
"Is that all you have to say?"
"I saw the play at the Harvey and had a hamburger at the White Tower afterward. Sorry I'm so late."
"I didn't know you were interested in plays. If I had known that, I might have taken you myself. Girls should not be on the streets alone this late at night."
I wasn't alone on the streets, Lorelei thought at her; I was with a sweet, wonderful boy I'm going to let make love to me tomorrow night. But she said nothing.
"You could have at least phoned me," Aunt Louise complained. "I was worried sick about you. I telephoned the Mealor girl-"
"She didn't want to see the play," Lorelei said. "I did."
"I didn't know what might have happened. It's a shame but a young girl isn't safe on the streets anymore, with these young hoodlums wandering loose with-with Lord knows what on their minds."
"I got on the bus and came right home from the White Tower," Lorelei said.
"Yes, but something might have happened," Aunt Louise insisted. "I don't want you to do that again, Lorelei, you hear?"
Wearily, Lorelei nodded. "I hear," she said, turning to go. But she thought: I'm also eighteen years old, and I'm going to do what I please. "Good night."
Aunt Louise hesitated, frowned, then said, "Good night," reluctantly, as though she were not satisfied with ending the conversation at that point. She muttered something else, which Lorelei didn't hear and didn't care to, for she was tired and wanted to get to bed. Besides, the sooner she got to bed, the sooner she'd fall asleep and it would be tomorrow, the day she and Dean had the date.
In the quiet of her room, she undressed before the mirror, smiling as each shred of clothing dropped to her feet. She tried to imagine Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling his boyish smile, watching her with eyes of adoration. And then, as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, she quickly pulled on her pajamas, turned out the light, and hopped into bed.
The door opened, and a crack of hallway light spilled across the bedclothes as Aunt Louise looked in. Lorelei pretended she was asleep, and after a few seconds, the woman went away and the light clicked out.
Lorelei popped open her eyes and stared at the dark ceiling. She would tell Aunt Louise that she was going to spend the night at Sally's place. Sally was her best friend and she loved intrigue, especially since she had experienced so little of it herself. And wouldn't Sally be envious of Lorelei going out with Dean? Wouldn't she, though!
Thoughts of Dean made her angry with herself for wasting precious moments thinking of Sally, so she turned her full attention to the actor, closing her eyes, pursing her lips, pretending he was there beside her, bending over her, his lips brushing her cheeks, his hands wandering about her waiting, anxious, trembling body....
Lorelei wanted to scream. It was a dream and yet it was more than a dream: it was memory.
At first there was Dean, handsome and gentle with her, and then suddenly it was a familiar monster of a man. He was a large man, lean and muscular from long years of working in a paper mill, but he was tending to paunchiness. He had obviously once been handsome in a sharp, angular sort of way, but the years had not been kind. He was a crude man, with a crude sense of humor. He was her mother's second husband.
Her real father had worked in a paper mill, too, where he was killed one day when Lorelei was nine years old. He fell into an open hole that led to a steaming, flowing river of pulp paper and hot liquid, and when they discovered his body it was like something that had never been human.
In her dream, she was twelve years old again, and her stepfather was hovering over her, reaching out, his huge arms encircling her, his sweaty hands roughly grabbing her buttocks and her ripening breasts and her legs. He held her close and rubbed his face against hers, laughing in delight at her discomfort as the wiry whiskers irritated her face and the rancid smell of beer from his mouth passed over her and made her sick. She squirmed from his grasp and darted away.
"Stop what you're doing with Lorelei," her mother said.
"I ain't doing nothing with her," he said, "but playing. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"Well, I know what you're thinking," mother said, "and I don't like it. She's growing up. She's getting curves on her. But remember, she's your daughter."
He laughed. "She's not my real daughter. She's Sam's daughter. That makes it different."
"You stay away from her, Tom Goodwin," mother said, seriously, "or I'll kill you."
"Sure. Why, sure I will, Ruthie. I was just teasing you. And I was just playing with her, is all. Just having a little innocent fun. Besides, she'll never be half the woman you are."
He reached out and pulled the woman to him, planting a wet kiss on her mouth, reaching his hand between the buttons in the front of her house dress.
Lorelei wanted to look away, but she watched, fascinated by the strange spell this man wove about her mother. He had been her real father's best friend, the one who had been with him at the time of the accident, and perhaps once he had charm. Yet even now, Ruth Goodwin seemed to have an emotional dependence on the crude, unshaven man who was her husband, and all arguments ended with them going to bed. In her dream, Lorelei lay awake in the night on the studio couch where she slept and listened to the loveplay, the thrashing about on the mattress, the words of pain and pleasure, the obscenities.
"Don't!" her mother said, as he shouted out a word. "The child!"
"Damn it, she's old enough to know what them words mean," he said. "She probably uses them herself at school. Oh, okay, okay."
And finally there was labored breathing, and silence, and the sound of someone snoring and someone crying gently in the night....
Lorelei was fourteen now. Her mother had gone to the store, and Lorelei was taking a bath when her stepfather came home from work. She was stepping from the tub, reaching for the towel, when he opened the door. She stood still, petrified, her naked skin feeling cold with the wetness but colder at the sight of him standing there in the doorway staring at her. She felt fear snake through her like a live thing as she saw the look in his eyes, the way he wet his lips uncertainly, the way he smiled at his discovery.
The front door slammed with her mother's return, breaking the silence. Lorelei grabbed the towel from the rack and put it in front of her.
He grinned unpleasantly. "You sure have growed," he said, pleased.
At approaching footsteps, he closed the door quickly. Lorelei went to the door and slipped the lock into place. She ignored the sounds of voices arguing in the kitchen. She felt cold. Her body trembled uncontrollably. She sat down on the toilet seat and felt sick.
Suppertime. Her stepfather looking at her with renewed interest.
"I-I don't feel like eating," she heard her voice saying. "May I be excused? I'll go study."
She felt naked beneath his gaze, which in one look managed to undress and caress her with rough hands.
"What's wrong with Lorelei?" her mother said, when she'd gone from the room.
"How should I know?" he said.
"You haven't been trying anything?"
"Of course not. She's starting her period, or something."
Darkness. The sounds of lovemaking. Lorelei put her pillow over her head to blot out the sounds, but it didn't work. Finally, they were silent, and there was only the darkness, and she fell asleep.
It must have been hours later when she felt a rough hand on her breast, and she woke with a start and tried to sit up and scream. Another hand covered her mouth, and the first hand withdrew itself from her.
"Quiet!" Tom Goodwin said.
She was fourteen, and frightened. In the dim light coming in through the windows, she could see him smiling. He was naked, and her thrashing hand came in contact with him and recoiled in horror. He was not only naked-he was aroused. She had seen him once like that, a time he was after her mother, and he was like a hairy animal.
"Don't be afraid," he said, in what was supposed to be a soothing tone. "I ain't going to hurt you, Lorelei honey. I just want us to have ourselves a little fun, that's all. That's it, just a little fun."
He ran his free hand across the outside of her pajamas, along the breasts, then down over her stomach. She felt herself shiver-with fear, but also with something else, an emotion she had never felt before. Her skin tingled beneath his touch.
"Yes, sir," he breathed, admiringly, "you sure have growed."
Suddenly, he thrust his hand under the elastic at the bottom part of her pajamas. The movement surprised more than hurt her, and she tore her mouth from his grasp and cried out.
"Damn you!" he said, under his breath, and without taking his hand from under her pajamas he swung the other hand across her cheek. It made a sharp sound in the darkness, and it stung her face numb, but she didn't cry out. He put a warning finger beneath her nose. "You make another sound, and I'll give you a beating you'll never forget."
He turned apologetic, and his fingers massaged her gently, trying to make up. "Now, Lorelei, I said I didn't want to hurt you. I don't. I just want to be your friend. We can have ourselves a lot of fun together, you and I." He winked at her. "A lot of fun."
Lorelei lay petrified. She felt tremors of fearful anticipation dart from secret places in her body. His free hand undid the buttons on her pajama top, and the material rustled aside. He stared at her exposed breasts, fascinated, and then covered one with his hand. His breathing was heavier, hoarse.
She could sense his eagerness, and she wanted to scream at what he was doing, at what he was thinking of doing. Stark terror numbed her, even as his desperation rose and he took his hand from her, swept aside the blankets and fumbled awkwardly at her pajama bottoms. And yet she could feel her own breathing becoming heavy, feel the blood pounding through her veins and against her temple. Impatiently he gathered the thin material in his fist and ripped it from her.
"Don't be afraid, Lorelei," he said. "I won't hurt you."
He was making an effort to be calm and to calm her, but his voice was raw with a passion that made him tremble. He stood over her, a great hairy, sweating animal rigid with anticipation, staring hungrily at her as she lay naked and frightened, unable to move.
He wet his lips. "You're-you're as pretty as your mother was, when she was young. Prettier.
You're the very image of Ruth when that bastard Sam took her away from me!"
Lorelei wanted to cry out, she wanted to roll from the couch and run from the room. More than anything else she wanted to get away from this man-thing that stood lusting over her, his eyes drinking in her nakedness, his hands and body mentally touching and bruising her with his compulsive and unquenchable need.
She felt weak. It was like a dream in which she was paralyzed and could do nothing but watch in helpless terror as he moved toward her.
She managed to find her voice. "Don't!" she said weakly. "Please don't!"
In desperation, Lorelei clenched her fists and struck out at him. She tore her mouth from his and opened it to scream. The scream stuck in her throat.
Over his shoulder, in the darkness of the living room, she saw her mother's face, grim, purposeful. There was a flash of metal.
She felt the blow through his body. He straightened, screeched in sudden agony and, releasing her, rose back, his face distorting with fear and pain. Then he fell sideways from her to the floor. Instinctively, Lorelei allowed her gaze to follow his descent. He lay face down on the carpet, not moving. The handle of a butcher knife extended from his back.
Lorelei looked up into the face of her mother. The ordinarily calm face was livid with rage. "The bastard," her mother said, "the dirty bastard!"
But Lorelei wasn't listening to her mother. She was listening to someone screaming, a fourteen year old girl who could not understand why one person would hurt another to find love, or why another person would have to kill to keep a love from being violated.
It wasn't until much later that she realized that she was the one who was screaming.
CHAPTER THREE
In the morning, Lorelei felt exhausted. The nightmare of her stepfather attacking her had seemed so real she could almost feel the bruises his hands and body had made on her, and she felt unclean. No amount of showering would take away the memory of him, though he had been dead four years.
Sometimes, she found herself not blaming him for what he had done, for what he had tried to do. It was a natural thing for him, as natural as eating and sleeping. And sometimes she blamed herself. There was something about her, some subtle something perhaps in her face, that made men look at her in a very special way.
She had noticed it with the boys she'd gone out with, strangers on the street who turned to look at her, the prospective employers who interviewed her. They were all men, and it seemed somehow as though for that moment she had become the personification of Woman. She should feel embarrassed, she knew, and yet she didn't feel embarrassed at all. It was only natural that this was the way it should be. "Lorelei!"
Her aunt's voice came up the hallway from downstairs. Lorelei glanced at the clock on the dresser. Eight-forty-five. She must have slept right through the alarm, or perhaps she hadn't bothered to set it last night. She had had other things on her mind. She stretched, extending her toes to the foot of the bed, and then sank deeper under the covers.
"Lorelei! Are you up? It's nearly nine o'clock."
"Yes, Aunt Louise," she called back.
Sighing, she flipped back the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Not only was she tired, but every bone in her body seemed to ache. It was the psychological aftermath of a dream of rape, but psychological or not, it was very real. She must look a fright, if her feelings indicated her appearance. And she had a date with Dean tonight, too!
She got up and leaned forward on the dresser to look at her face in the mirror. For some reason she couldn't see the lines and wrinkles and bloodshot eyes she was sure would be there.
"Lorelei, your breakfast is getting cold."
"Okay," Lorelei said, closing her eyes and gripping the edge of the dresser, "so I'll eat a cold breakfast. Just leave me alone, will you?" But she said to herself. Aloud, she called, "I'm coming."
She put on her robe and descended the stairs, whirled around the corner into the kitchen, and sat down at the table opposite her aunt.
"I called you four times this morning, Lorelei," Aunt Louise said, reproachfully.
"I'm sorry," Lorelei said. But she thought: if you'd been through what I went through, you'd want to stay in bed. She almost giggled aloud, but caught herself in time as she thought further: you'd want to stay in bed to get more.
But it wasn't really funny, even after all these years, and Aunt Louise wouldn't think it was funny either. Lorelei wondered if the woman had ever had a man. Certainly she didn't make a provocative sight in the mornings without even the barest bit of makeup she wore to put color into her face, and with her body enclosed in bathrobe and heavy folds of nightgown. A man would have to hack his way through a jungle of cloth to get to her.
Lorelei wondered if a man would consider the struggle worthwhile. She had never seen her aunt in the nude or in a bathing suit or in any clothing designed to show off her figure. She may as well have carried a sign: NO MAN'S LAND. She had never married, and for as long as Lorelei had known her she never had men visitors. In a way, it was sad. I'll never be like that, Lorelei promised herself.
"Do you have any job interviews today, dear?" Aunt Louise wanted to know.
Lorelei busied herself with her eggs and bacon. "No," she said. "I thought I might try the Department of Employment this afternoon. I feel sort of tired this morning."
A look of alarm flashed across her aunt's face, a look that said: Oh, no; morning sickness! Lorelei thought this was funny, but she buried her nose in her glass of orange juice until the tendency to laugh escaped.
"You're-you're not sick, are you?" Aunt Louise said, testily. "You feel dizzy, nauseous?"
"I'm not sick," Lorelei explained. "I had a bad dream last night and didn't get much sleep. I'm tired is all."
Aunt Louise wet her lips. "What kind of dream?" she asked anxiously.
Lorelei shrugged. "I don't remember, really. Just a dream." She got up, pushed the chair back. "I'd better get some sleep this morning, though, so I can look all right in case there are some jobs to go see about." And for Dean tonight, she added mentally.
"All right, dear. Anytime you want me to call you?"
"I'll set the clock," Lorelei said, climbing the stairs.
She closed her bedroom door, removed her bathrobe, and sank into the bed, pulling the covers over her. She felt much better now, after having eaten, and secure in the knowledge that she could remain in bed most of the morning, resting, getting her beauty sleep. It was important that she look her best tonight. Perhaps she would never see Dean again after this first date of theirs, and yet miracles sometimes happened.
She dozed, half-listening to her aunt downstairs making kitchen noises, and then she fell asleep and rested dreamlessly.
Instead of going to the Department of Employment, she went to see Sally Mealor. She swore Sally to secrecy, knowing the girl would not be able to keep the secret and would tell everyone she knew, swearing them all first to secrecy, of course. That's what girl friends were for. Sally was as excited as Lorelei was.
"A real live movie star," Sally gushed. "Wow!"
"I told you, you should have gone to the play with me."
"I'd have been a fifth wheel," Sally said, glumly. "He might never have asked you out."
Lorelei realized the truth of this. "He could have a friend," she said, not too hopefully.
"Not for me," Sally said. There was no bitterness in her voice, only resignation. "Besides, I'm not aiming for any glamour guy. A plain, ordinary fellow who loves me will be good enough for me."
Lorelei touched her arm gently. "Someday, the right fellow will come along, and you'll know it."
She hoped so. Sally was no beauty. All freckles and gawky, she was busy trying to outlive a phase that should have passed and didn't, but she was a nice person. Even makeup and selective clothing didn't make much of a difference. One thing was certain: when a boy married Sally, he would be in love with her!
Meanwhile, Sally would be only too happy to enter into the intrigue. As far as Aunt Louise was concerned, Lorelei would be with Sally tonight, and Sally would be staying at another friend's house.
Aunt Louise agreed grudgingly that as long as the girls were together it would be all right, and it was certainly primitive of people to not have a telephone these days, especially when they had a teenage daughter.
"Don't worry, Aunt Louise," Lorelei said happily. "I'll be in good hands."
Dean's, she thought exultantly.
The day never passed so slowly, but finally it was ten o'clock and she was waiting in the foyer, anxiously watching people drift through the theater door.
"Well," he said, grinning, "you are here." Her heart leaped happily. "Of course," she said.
"I thought you might have been a mirage last night," he said taking her arm. "Where'll we go?"
"First," she told him, "we'll take a look at the city."
"Sounds like a great idea," he said.
Dean had parked his car, a large black Mercury, just around the corner from the theater. They climbed aboard, and Dean punched the button that made the motor roar into life.
"You're the guide," he said. "Which way?"
"Up Genesee Street."
He swung the car from the curb, drifted through a green-lighted intersection, and drove along the brightly-lighted street. Lorelei pointed out some of the landmarks-the Proctor Institute, the Public Library, the Soldiers' Monument in the Square-and he nodded and pretended interest.
Lorelei wondered how anyone could really be interested in such things. Certainly not a person like Dean. He had traveled all around the country, seen things which were much more impressive than the buildings and statutes she was pointing out to him. And yet he was nice enough to pretend interest.
They turned off at the Square and started the slow climb upward through less densely lighted areas. Lorelei edged over beside him on the seat, and he put his arm around her. His arm was strong, and she felt secure and confident within its circle. She hoped he wasn't just doing it to be conventional. She wondered if the nearness of her excited him as much as his nearness excited her. It was like the excitement of her first date at the Eagle, but without its frightening quality.
She laughed to herself as she thought of that time, so many years ago. She had gone up there early in the evening with some boy whose name she couldn't even recall now. She had kissed boys before and been kissed by them, but never in the way that boy wanted to kiss her. The idea seemed unsanitary and gave her a strange feeling, and she'd become terrified and gotten out of the car and walked all the way down the hill past the cemetery to the bus stop. Funny she couldn't remember the boy's name, but then it seemed to her that now all boys ceased to exist except Dean.
"Left, here," she told him.
Effortlessly, he swung the Mercury onto the lonely curving road, the lights punching twin cones of brilliance in the night. Lorelei watched the trees sweep by, splashed with sudden illumination soon lost to darkness. She nestled against him, half-listening to the soft, romantic strains of music from the radio turned low. The warmth of the heater drifted sleepily over her.
The car climbed, and the city lights sank farther into the valley behind them. To their right an iron-fenced cemetery drifted past, the tombstones milk-white in the light of the full moon. Feathery wisps of clouds hurried aimlessly through the black sky.
Her head was resting lightly on his shoulder and she delighted in the masculine smells about him. The subtle aftershave lotion, the strong odor of his tweed jacket, even the delicate bodysweat. His arm tightened about her as with the other hand he expertly swung the car up the road.
She wondered how she could appear so outwardly calm, when her emotions were like whirlpools within her. How envious the other girls would be when they knew. And they would know, because Sally would tell them. And if for some reason Sally didn't tell them, Lorelei would. She was proud to be going out with Dean.
"There's a place up here called the Eagle," she told him. "You can get a good view of the city from up here."
It wasn't really too impressive, but it was romantic, and a favorite spot for a lot of the kids who went up there to neck. She felt guilty thinking this, and pleasantly wicked. She recalled her decision to let Dean do anything with her he wanted. That covered a lot of territory, and she was not really as certain now that she would let him do anything.
After all, he was a stranger actually, though it seemed as though she'd known him for years and years. Besides, he would probably be too much of a gentleman to try anything on a first date. They would kiss, and he would hold her close to him, and perhaps later she would let him touch her in secret places.
She remembered seeing it happen in the movies once, with the hero and the heroine parking just as she and Dean would park. Casually, she would lean close to him to point out some landmark among the lights below, so that his lips brushed her cheek and her perfume drifted over him.
It was a perfume she'd received one Christmas from a sophisticated cousin (a sinful one, her Aunt Louise used to say) who lived in New York City, and the odor was very effective. In fact, the first time she'd worn it was the time she and Don Moorehead went up to the Eagle to park and he tried to get her to go all the way by forcing her legs apart with his thrusting body so that he bruised her.
She brushed aside these thoughts. Don Moorehead was a crude child. Not like Dean at all. From beneath the security of his arm, Lorelei glanced surreptitiously at him, and as though sensing her glance, he looked down at her, grinning boyishly, and his arm tightened about her.
Her heart seemed to stop suddenly and her breath caught, and then both resumed but at a much faster pace. She felt a familiar yearning erupt within her, but it was a natural thing and she was not afraid. This, she thought, is what love is like. She looked away at the trees rushing past, wishing she could say something to him, wondering what she could say.
Dean Richards, she thought. What a nice name. Lorelei Richards, she thought next. That was a nice name, too. Perhaps Dean was from a small town himself, and perhaps even among the glamour sirens of Hollywood what he really wanted was a small town girl to share his life with. It was like something out of the movies-and yet things like that happened. Occasionally.
But she had to be practical. Why should anything like that happen to her? They were just out on a date, that's all. She was just a nice girl in a small town he was passing through, and in a few days he would be gone, leaving only his memory. It made her sad to think that. When you're a child in school, you can afford the luxury of daydreams. But when you're eighteen and grown up you discover that dreams and reality are not always the same.
The car leveled off in its steep ascent, and Dean slowed the car as they approached a road that horseshoed to the left.
"This is the place," Lorelei told him. "Better turn off your bright lights so we won't startle anyone."
He switched to his parking lights and turned off the main road. A dozen cars were parked along the crest of the hill. A large bronze eagle poised on a concrete perch, watching sightlessly. Dean pulled alongside the chain link fence, cut the motor and turned off his parking lights. A few heads bobbed up in nearby cars and then sank from sight again.
Suddenly, in the dark quiet, with only the soft night sounds, it seemed as though they were alone, really alone, for the first time. It was as though the car were a separate world in which only they lived, and anything outside it was unreal.
And yet she could see the lights of the city winking in the valley below and moving car lights tracing meaningless patterns on the cool August night. The city hall was down there, tall and erect, and she turned her face toward Dean to tell him it was there.
But she knew with a woman's instinct that he didn't really care to see the city and that she didn't really want to show it to him. His lips brushed her upturned cheek. Her breath caught and then made a wistful sound in her throat, and she moved closer to him, aware suddenly of a liquid warmth creeping through her body.
His free hand lifted her cheek, turned her face to his. She could feel her heart beating swiftly. His lips closed on hers, firmly, gently. His arms encircled her, pulling her close, and she found herself returning his kiss with an ardor that surprised her. Her arms crept about him, fervently, without apprehension, and she felt herself descending onto the seat, with his body insinuating itself against hers. Her blood was a live thing catapulting itself through her veins. She became aware of great empty need as her body writhed under his weight.
There were no moments of hesitation or regret. This was love the way love should be, eager, fresh. His searching hands were warm under her blouse, and she thrust her breasts into them. She felt her nipples grow taut beneath his caresses, and she pressed firmer against him, trying somehow to still the fire that had begun to rage within her.
His mouth closed on hers with increasing passion, his tongue forcing her lips apart, darting swiftly. His hands were upon himself briefly and then upon her, and she trembled with anticipation.
Automatically, she arched her body to meet him, crying out in combined pain and pleasure, pulling him frantically to her, wanting him to be nearer and nearer, knowing there was only one way to finally, irrevocably satisfy the immediate, onrushing need he had aroused....
His body shuddered against her, and hers against his, and suddenly it was over. The hot tides of desire and longing subsided, and Lorelei knew the cool stillness of the night, the gentle aftermath of satisfaction.
For a long moment they clung together. Dean kissed her again, reverently, then retreated to the farthest side of the seat. Lorelei sat up and adjusted her clothing. With a small portion of her mind, she knew she should feel ashamed, but she also knew that she was not. If it had been Don Moorehead or one of the other fellows who had tried and had succeeded, she might feel badly. With Dean, it was different. She was in love with him, more in love than she had ever known she could be. Her only regret was that it was over so soon.
But there would be other times. Perhaps tomorrow, and the day after that. Surely, he must know how she felt about him, especially after this.
He turned on the radio, sought dance music on the dial, found it. He looked at her uncertainly, grinned and reached out a protecting arm. She smiled reassurance and nestled beside him, feeling warm and secure and wanted.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked.
"Yes," she said.
"You know something, Lorelei," Dean said, "I like you very much."
"I thought you might," she said, t was a start.
CHAPTER FOUR
October came, and leaves turned colors of fire as cold settled into New York State. The air grew crisp and wonderful with the onset of Indian Summer. Soon the leaves would turn brown, curl, die and settle to the ground, and the skeleton trees would lift bare limbs into a gray sky and await the first snow.
For the second month, Lorelei had missed her period.
She hadn't told anyone about it, of course, not even Sally. In fact, especially Sally, who had confided their secret to some mutual friends. The other girls were all envious, naturally, and it made Lorelei feel proud of her distinction. But having an affair with a movie star one thing, and getting pregnant by him was another. Besides, there was the possibility she might not be pregnant after all.
She went to the library and read books and articles about pregnancy, and so she knew that her menstrual routine could merely be upset because she was emotionally disturbed due to her meeting Dean and losing her virginity to him. But it could also be that she was pregnant with his child.
She had some money in the bank from her mother's insurance, and she drew some of this out and on the pretense of going to visit a girl , friend in nearby Ilion, Lorelei took the eleven mile bus ride, bought a cheap wedding ring in a local five-and-ten cent store and visited a doctor, calling herself "Mrs. Richards."
She was extremely nervous in the office, and she thought that somehow both the doctor and his nurse knew she wasn't really married. They were kind enough, and they gave no outward indication that they knew, but Lorelei could sense that they were aware of her status. But it was the only way, and she had to find out.
Preliminary tests indicated that she was pregnant, all right, the doctor told her, but it would be three days before he could erase any doubts. Lorelei said she would come back in three days. If she were pregnant, she didn't know what she'd do, but she would have to do something. She couldn't stay in Attica, that was certain. Not and live with Aunt Louise, who would watch her grow large with the sin-seed that had been planted within her.
She was not sorry she'd had intercourse with Dean that night at the Eagle. Nor the second night, at his hotel room at the Tremaine Hotel on Court Street.
They'd made a second date, and this time they were going out on the town. She would show him some of the night spots, and they'd dance and have fun. It all sounded so marvelous, and Lorelei was looking forward to being with and being seen with Dean.
Aunt Louise was her usual problem. "I don't like you being out so late at night, Lorelei," she said. "It's not safe. Girls can get into all sorts of trouble, just by walking the streets."
"I won't be walking the streets," Lorelei said patiently. "Besides, I'll be with some other girls. We're forming a club and having get-togethers, is all. And I can always stay at Sally's house."
And finally, Aunt Louise grudgingly gave in. Not that it mattered, really. Lorelei felt she was old enough to take care of herself, to make her own decisions. What's more, she wanted to see Dean again. The memory of the previous night was still with her, and she felt spasms of pleasure just thinking of it.
The Tightness or wrongness of it was not a consideration. Certainly, something so pleasurable could not be wrong. Besides, she loved Dean very much, and she was sure he loved her. If nothing else, that made it all right.
She waited for him again in the foyer of the theater. TWO MORE DAYS, the marquee said in black letters. Lorelei tried not to think about that. She thought of all the places she and Dean could go. There was that place, THE PIANO BAR, on Devereaux Street, where they could sit quietly in some corner and hold hands and listen to the music. But it might be best to save that for later in the evening, after they'd gone to one or two of the places that featured dancing. It would be nice to hold Dean and to have him holding her close.
He came through the theater doors, grinning. "Hi," he said.
"Hi," she said back at him.
They linked arms, and he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Lorelei gripped his arm tightly and felt very happy. They walked silently to his car parked around the corner, and he held the door open for her and got in on the other side. She slid over to him and waited patiently while he started the car and then nestled under his arm.
"I forgot my wallet," he said apologetically.
"I'll have to stop off at my hotel. I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not," she said. She thought how nice he was, asking her. It was as though he really cared for her and about what she thought and felt about things.
They drove through the lighted streets, and Lorelei was only vaguely aware of their direction. Street-lamps passed overhead, one by one, and then a hotel sign loomed into view: TREMAINE HOTEL. They passed the entrance and parked in the street a short distance away.
Dean hesitated. "I'd invite you up," he said, "but I guess your aunt wouldn't like it."
"My aunt isn't the one who has to like it," Lorelei said indignantly.
"No, but-well, if you're afraid-"
She squeezed his arm. "I trust you, Dean. What's more, I'd love to see your room."
"Okay, then, I'll show it to you. But don't expect to be impressed."
He guided her out of the car and up to the hotel entrance. It was not one of the better hotels. Miss Muriel Hayden probably stayed at the HOTEL ATTICA, close to the theater, but then she could afford to. The desk clerk glanced up disinterestedly from his magazine, then returned to reading, as they went past to the elevator. The self-service elevator took them to the fourth floor and deposited them before a carpeted hallway lined with somber-looking doors. Dean led her down the hallway, fished a large key with a tag on it from his pocket and stopped before a door marked 47. He inserted key into lock and threw open the door.
"Home, sweet home," he announced.
Lorelei preceded him into the darkness. There was a click, and the room was flooded with light from a fixture overhead. Dean closed the door behind them.
"It's no honeymoon cottage," he said, "but it serves its purpose."
"It's really very nice," Lorelei said.
Actually, it wasn't too bad. It was certainly more functional than decorative, though. The main piece of furniture was a bed, with a many-colored quilt covering it. There was a padded rocking chair in one corner of the room, a writing table and a lamp against one wall, a large picture of horses stampeding over the table. An open door nearby revealed the porcelain base of a toilet.
She felt Dean's hands on her shoulders, rubbing them gently, and then the soft pressure of his body against her back. His face burrowed through her hair, and his lips found her neck and kissed it. She felt a familiar surge of anticipation at his touch, and she turned within the circle of his arms and raised her face to his and pressed her body against him. His lips closed on hers, and his hands swept down the arch of her back and pressed her toward him until she could feel the evidence of his passion through the layers of cloth separating them.
She could feel her own passion rising within her like a volcano starting to erupt, and her arms went around him, pulling him eagerly toward her, closer, closer. Her breath had all but stopped, but her heartbeats made up for it. Their mouths and tongues were frantic things, their hands were alive, their bodies worked against each other.
She had to have him. Lorelei knew this. She had to have Dean, and quickly, or she would surely go crazy with the desire that was almost agonizing in its unfulfillment.
She tore her lips away and pulled him toward the bed.
"Hurry!" she begged him. "Hurry!"
Desire was raging through her now, touching her with lips of fire. She reached out to help him, but he needed none. She leaned back on the bed, taking the weight of his body, absorbing his movements with her own. Together, they moved with the rhythm of the ages, increasing in tempo with incredible and ecstatic swiftness, their arms and legs and lips and bodies locked fervently, frantically attempting to weld themselves into one.
Lorelei felt as though the world were spinning crazily and she were being carried aloft on a great cloud of longing and desire. Higher and higher she went, soaring to the highest ecstasy she had dreamed of. And then she felt her body shuddering, and she felt Dean's body shuddering in answer.
She had never known love could be this way. They lay still a moment afterward, Dean in her arms, she holding onto him gently, lovingly. She didn't want to let him go. She wanted to enclose him, to keep him a part of her forever.
But that was impractical. They drew apart and lay on the bed looking at each other.
Dean looked away. "I-I hadn't meant for this to happen, Lorelei. Honestly."
She smiled. "I wanted it to happen. I love you, Dean."
"I really did intend to take you out tonight," he said. "But-"
She nodded. "I know," she said, reaching out to touch his arm. "We're only human."
He grinned at her and bent toward her to kiss her on the tip of her nose. "And you're a very pretty human. We can still go out, if you'd like."
"I'd like that."
"Or we could stay right here," he suggested. "I could get some booze and we could have ourselves a ball."
Despite herself, Lorelei frowned. She didn't like to think of some of the implications of what he'd said. Of course, it could merely mean that he wanted to be with her alone, rather than share her with a crowd of people. But now that she thought of it, she wondered why the desk clerk hadn't paid any attention when she and Dean went into the elevator together. Was this the sort of hotel that allowed such things? And worse, had Dean brought other girls up to his room? She forced the last thought from her mind.
"I-I'd rather we went out," she said, "if you don't mind."
"Anything you say, Lorelei," he said, bouncing up off the bed. "You're the boss!"
He helped her off the bed and went to comb his hair in the bathroom while she arranged her clothing. Then they went out into the corridor and down the self-service elevator to the hotel lobby. Lorelei dreaded seeing the desk clerk again. What would the man think? If he smirked knowingly at her, she'd feeling like sinking right through the floor.
But the desk clerk was not there, there was no one in the lobby, and when Dean opened the front door for her and guided her into the street, she breathed a sigh of relief that no one had seen them. Not that she was ashamed of what had happened, but sometimes people could make nasty comments, and this was something Lorelei wanted to avoid. Her love for Dean was something good, and clean, and wonderful.
In the car, she gave him directions to THE SILVER PHEASANT, a place on the outskirts of Attica that featured a twelve piece orchestra for dancing. She nestled snugly beside him as he drove, and once in a while, he would bend his head and kiss her lightly on the forehead.
The parking lot was nearly full, and all the good tables up close to the orchestra were taken. They sat in a distant corner.
"I'm glad they didn't try to give us a table up front," Dean said. "I like to be able to listen to the music without having my ears blasted off."
"Me, too," Lorelei said.
Lorelei regretted that she was so unsophisticated about alcoholic drinks. She told Dean she would have whatever he had, and when the waitress came, he ordered dry martinis for both of them.
"Care to dance?"
"Love to."
Dean took her hand and threaded their way among the tables to the floor. The orchestra was playing a standard in four-quarter time. Dean was an excellent dancer, and it was easy for Lorelei to follow him. He held her very close as they moved about, as though their bodies were synchronized to each other and to the beat of the music.
When they returned to their table, two slender-stemmed drinks awaited them. Lorelei sipped at hers, and made a desperate effort to not cough. It was the strongest drink she'd ever had.
Dean nodded appreciatively. "Not bad," he said. "They make a pretty good martini here. Let's have another one."
Lorelei hurried through hers to accommodate him. The second round came, and it was easier for her to drink it. The third was no problem at all.
The evening alternated between dancing and drinking. Lorelei felt happy and strangely giddy, but she didn't mind because it was a wonderful, wonderful feeling.
The place was closing as Dean guided her out the door to the parking lot. Her world had become fuzzy and somewhat uncertain, but she felt a warm glow and Dean's protecting arm about her. She had had more to drink this night, she realized, than she had had on all previous dates combined. But then, she had more to celebrate. Her Aunt Louise would surely be shocked, but then her Aunt Louise would never know, and besides Lorelei was much too happy to care.
She returned to her favorite nestling spot under Dean's arm as he drove back to the city. The world was still unsteady. Closing her eyes helped, but not very much. She felt herself dozing, only vaguely aware that the car was stopping, that a door was opening, that Dean was helping her to her feet. She held onto him as he walked with her up a flight of steps and through a door, across a lobby. Another door closed, she felt a movement upward. A door opened, and he walked her down a carpeted hallway, and paused to take a key from his pocket.
The hotel room door opened, the light clicked on, the door closed behind them. Gently, he lowered her onto the bed. She opened her eyes briefly, to look at him and smile. He was so kind, so thoughtful. She closed her eyes again, and distantly heard him moving about the room.
She was nearly asleep now on the soft bed. She felt Dean undoing the buttons on her blouse. She felt him raise her shoulders to remove the blouse and to unhook the bra. It felt good to be unfettered, to have her breasts free. He placed her head on the pillow and moved his hands down to her skirt. The button parted from its hole, the zipper snicked open, her skirt was pulled down over her hips and legs. He removed her shoes next, and then her garter belt, and her panties.
A moment later, she felt him beside her on the bed, his naked flesh like fire against her skin. She tried to open her heavy-lidded eyes to see him, but they refused to cooperate. She reached out blindly and touched his bare shoulder. His mouth brushed her cheek, her neck, lingered upon her breast. His hands were busy tracing the curves of her back and the adjacent contours of her young body.
Lorelei wished desperately that she were fully awake, so she might please him more and be fully aware herself of the pleasures he would give her, but her world was rapidly becoming less certain. She fought to keep conscious.
Dean was preparing her. He was so wonderful, so gentle and yet so firm, doing the right thing, sure of himself. And then his-body was a live thing pressing in against her. Instinctively, she moved her body to accommodate him and at the same time felt the delicious liquid fire within her rushing to meet its counterpart....
When she fell asleep, many minutes later, it was the sweet, dreamless sleep of satisfaction. This is the way it would be with Dean, she thought-forever and ever.
CHAPTER FIVE
The idea of being pregnant scared her. Lorelei had always thought that someday she would get married and have children, but she hadn't thought it would be quite so soon.
She would return to the doctor in Ilion in three days, and three days never seemed to go so slowly. It appeared as though Aunt Louise must certainly know, the way the woman looked at her so intensely, wanting to say something and yet hesitant to do so, perhaps fearing what Lorelei's answer might be.
Occasionally, Lorelei undressed before her mirror just to look for signs of her pregnancy. Gingerly, she felt along her stomach from just below the breasts, along the smooth, flat belly and below. But, even so, she knew it was too early for signs. She was still slim, still curved the way she should be, and only three days and a rabbit would tell her for sure.
Somehow, the three days passed. She returned to Ilion, and the doctor told her. There was no mistake about it: she was pregnant. He wanted to arrange prenatal care for her, but she fled his office, frightened.
On the bus, she calmed enough to think about it rationally. Having babies wasn't anything new. Girls had them all the time. She would have hers. Hers and Dean's. She would get big and awkward with the weight growing within her, and she'd need new clothes, and then she'd go to the hospital and there would be pain, and suddenly a new life would be born into the world. She wondered if it would be a boy or a girl and if it would look like Dean. She hoped so. He was so handsome.
She wondered what he'd say when she told him. He'd been gone for six weeks, and she hadn't heard from him. On the third night, they were together for only a period of time long enough to exchange kisses and promises to write. She had given him her address, but he might have lost it.
Besides, he'd said he would be traveling around a lot and maybe he wouldn't have time to write her, but he'd think of her constantly, and he'd send her his address as soon as he got back to Hollywood and took an apartment.
She knew she would miss him terribly, and she thought they might even have time to make love. But while they were kissing in his hotel room, a knock came at the door, and the desk clerk told Dean there was a phone call for him.
He came back a few minutes later. "It was Muriel Hayden," he said, "the star of the show. She wants to see me."
"Right now?" Lorelei said, disappointed. She couldn't keep the tone from her voice.
Dean shrugged. "She's a temperamental woman. I owe her my job." He grinned and patted her arm reassuringly. "There'll be other times. Don't worry."
Yes, she thought, there would be other times. It would be nice living in Hollywood. Out in California, it would be warm the year around, with no snow except in the mountains in case you wanted to go skiing. She wasn't naive enough to think that every back yard had a swimming pool, but a lot of them did.
Of course, life wouldn't be all play. She'd have to brush up on her cooking and sewing, so she wouldn't be a burden to Dean, and after the baby was born she could find a job herself to help out.
It was a wonderful dream, and Lorelei basked radiantly in its sunshine. Don Moorehead called a few times asking for dates, but of course she refused. A child's pawing was not the same as true love.
And then one day the letter came.
Aunt Louise gathered in the morning mail and peered intensely at one letter in particular. Lorelei stood anxiously by, as she had every other morning since Dean left, but this time she knew the letter was from him.
"Do you know anyone in Dallas, Texas?" Aunt Louise said.
"Oh, that must be Peg Johnston," Lorelei cried, voicing the lie she'd prepared. "She's visiting some relatives there."
She seized the letter and rushed up to her room, leaving her stunned aunt to watch her retreat open-mouthed. In her bedroom, she slammed the door shut and flopped herself across the bed, tearing open the envelope.
It was a short letter, written in a masculine scrawl:
Dear Lorelei, it said. You're a very nice girl, and I like you a lot, which is why I'm writing you this letter. I wasn't going to write at all, but I thought you'd appreciate knowing how I felt about you and about the things we did. It was a lot of fun, but that was it. I got the impression you thought it was a lot more, but you're wrong. As far as I'm concerned, you were a young, attractive girl; you were willing, and I was in the mood. I didn't count on you being a virgin, but that's life. Besides, now you don't have anything to save, and you can relax and have yourself a ball. You'll never see me again, except maybe in the movies if I can outlive the memory of that idiot play I was in, but please try to think well of me. Marry some nice guy in Attica, and forget anything you might have thought about us getting together again. The letter was unsigned.
Lorelei lay on the bed, frowning, wondering if she had read the letter correctly. It was obviously from Dean, and he was saying that not only did he not love her, he never wanted to see her again. It didn't make sense.
She read the letter again, slowly, this time each word stinging her eyes so that the tears came. Then she crumpled the letter angrily, refusing to believe it. It was a horrid, practical joke. Sally or somebody else must have done this. But even as she thought it, she knew that it was not a joke-except on her for being so gullible to think a movie star might want her for herself alone and not merely as a receptacle for his lust.
She heard Aunt Louise coming up the stairs, calling her name, and quickly she dried her tears and sat on the edge of the bed. A hesitant knock sounded, and the door opened.
"Lorelei?" her aunt said. "I was calling you. That boy Don Moorehead is on the phone. I think it might be nice if you at least talked with him. He seems like such a nice, harmless boy."
Lorelei made a face. "Tell him-" she began, and at a sudden thought, "No, wait." She scrambled from the bed. "I'll talk to him myself."
Dean Richards wasn't the only fellow in the world, Lorelei thought as she went stamping down the stairs to the living room-although he probably thought he was. Well, as far as she was concerned, he was just a two-bit actor, and she'd show him.
"Hello, Don," she said into the phone.
"Lorelei?" The boy's voice sounded uncertain. "Gosh, I've been trying to get in touch with you for weeks. You're always out."
"I've been busy," Lorelei told him. "Is there something you wanted?"
"I wondered if you're going to be busy Saturday night? There's going to be a swell movie at the Olympic, and I thought-"
Lorelei could feel her aunt's eyes on her back. "Look, Don, I'm going over to the library at seven tonight. Why don't you pick me up and take me over there. We can talk about it."
"Swell!" he said enthusiastically. "Seven, huh? Okay. I'll pick you up at seven, then."
Lorelei hung up the phone and smiled patiently. Don was really such a child. Not like Dean at all. Dean-Furious with herself, she cut off the thought right there. Dean was a louse for leading her on the way he had. At least Don was a nice guy.
Aunt Louise cleared her throat. "I do hope you're not planning on staying out late again," she said.
Lorelei forced a smile. "Just going to the library," she said, knowing it was a lie. And don't you wish you had a boyfriend to go out with, she thought at her aunt. It was a mean thought and she felt a twinge of guilt thinking it, but she knew it was true, just the same.
She went back to her bedroom and read Dean's letter again, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and fury rising in her. And then she shredded the letter into a wastebasket, letting the pieces drop through her fingers like snow that would melt and become memory, soon to be forgotten.
Promptly at seven o'clock, Don Moorehead's blue 1950 Chevy club coupe rolled up to the curb outside her house.
"There's Don now," Lorelei announced, opening the door to leave. "I'll be home early."
She left before her aunt could say anything. Don, smiling and looking embarrassed for some reason, had the door open for her. She slipped in and sat beside him.
"Did you forget your books?"
"I don't have any. Besides, I thought we might go up to the Eagle first."
He gulped and looked at her uncertainly. "The-the Eagle? Now?"
"Sure. Why not?" She pressed her leg against him casually and rubbed his arm. "We'd have it all to ourselves now." She pouted. "That is, if you don't mind."
"Mind?" He laughed raggedly. "No, of course not, it's just that-well-no, I think it's a swell idea!" He started the car. "Gee, this is just like old times."
Lorelei tried not to think of the old times. She recalled vaguely that she had thought she was having fun during those occasions, but now looking back on it all, it seemed silly and childish. Don was working in his father's bank, so she said, "How're you doing at the bank?"
The ride to the Eagle was a nightmare. Don tried to keep the conversation flowing by telling her how they performed certain operations at the bank and how his father thought they would be able to work him into a real responsible position if he stayed there, but what he really wanted to do was go away to school and be a dentist. Lorelei almost screamed at him to shut up and take her up on the hill and make love to her.
She calmed herself, and found her thoughts drifting to Dean, how gentle, practiced, sure of himself he was. Of course he was sure of himself, she thought bitterly. He'd probably seduced dozens of innocent small town girls like herself and thought nothing of any of them. If she ever saw him again, she'd kill him the way her mother had killed her stepfather. He deserved it.
They stopped for a traffic light, and Lorelei saw they were at the foot of the hill leading to the Eagle. Involuntarily, her pulse quickened, and she felt uneasy. The light changed, and Don made the turn and threw the gear into second to meet the challenge of the hill.
It was dark, and the sky was clear and sprinkled with stars. Trees swept by as they climbed upward to the peak of the hill. The Eagle rose into view, and Don swung the car into the curved path and stopped, switching off the lights and the motor. The silence of the night descended upon them.
"You were right," Don said. "We're the only ones here."
Lorelei nestled to him and turned her face to his.
Don hesitated noticeably, then put his arms around her and placed his lips on hers. His mouth was tight, unemotional, uninquiring. She worked her lips against him, opening her own lips so that her tongue protruded.
He broke away, bewildered by the maneuver, and stared at her.
She forced herself to smile at him. "We've grown up, Don," she said.
She took one of his hands-it was warm, sweaty, trembling-and placed it over her blouse.
"Yes," he said, staring at the hand and its place on her.
She entered the circle of his arms again and brought her face to his. Their mouths met, and this time he didn't resist the pressure of her exploring tongue. His hand worked feverishly, clumsily at her blouse, and the hand slipped between the parted material and encircled her breast. She could feel the nipple harden beneath his touch, and she felt an unexpected warmth and excitement flood her.
It was a wild, wonderful feeling. It was as though she were with Dean again, and he was a man and she a woman, and no matter what happened they had to have each other. Together, they were without personality; they were Male and Female. Her need was becoming too great, the frantic pleasurable agonies pulsing through body had to be answered.
"Lorelei," Don gasped, his voice hoarse. "Lorelei-"
She shook her head impatiently. "The back seat," she said.
They tilted the front seat and crawled awkwardly across it into the back of the car.
"Lorelei-"
She was slipping down her panties. "No," she said, "don't talk. Hold me."
She reached for his hand again, and this time pressed it against the hot flesh of her bare legs. She put her arms around him, placed her mouth over his, and lowered herself backward, pulling him down on her.
He pulled his lips away, frantically. "Lorelei, for God's sake-"
For my sake, she almost screamed at him. Do it! Nowl Now! Now!
She pushed her legs around him. He kissed her wetly, burying his face in her hair, roughly squeezing her breasts, making sounds of mounting passion.
"Lorelei," he said, straightening in sudden alarm.
No! Lorelei thought. Not yet!
His excitement climaxed, inches and seconds from where it should have been, and he fell limp against her, sobbing.
They lay still for awhile, letting the cold night return. After a few minutes of dreadful silence, they sat up and arranged themselves, not looking at each other. He tilted the front seat forward and opened the door so that she could get back in the front seat.
On the way home, Lorelei sat by the opposite door. They didn't speak. Lorelei felt sorry for him. But she felt sorrier for herself. He stopped the car in front of her house.
He turned to her, searching for words. "Lorelei, I'm sorry. I-I was thinking of you. I didn't have any-any protection."
She couldn't help saying it. "With your luck, Don, you don't need any!"
She hated herself for the words, but the fire was still burning deep in her loins, waiting in vain.
His knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel. "Will I see you again?" he said.
She opened the car door. "I don't know," she said, sincerely. "I really don't. Good night, Don."
She closed the car door and walked up the sidewalk to her front steps. She let herself in as the Chevy angrily pulled away from the curb.
Aunt Louise was in the living room reading. "Back so soon, dear?" She frowned, and her eyes narrowed. "Is-is everything all right?"
"We didn't go to the library," Lorelei said. "We-we just talked." She managed a wan smile. "And, yes, everything's all right."
She wondered if she looked mussed up and decided that she didn't care. She went upstairs to her bedroom, closed the door securely and examined herself in the mirror. One of the buttons on her blouse was torn, and there were white stains on her skirt.
And worse, so much worse, there was that great unsatisfied hunger way down deep within her, crying out in desperation for its own special food.
CHAPTER SIX
The bus from New York was on schedule. When it arrived at 11:15 P.M., Lorelei gave her suitcase to the driver to store in the baggage compartment, and kept her small vanity case with her as she climbed the stairs and found her way down the darkened aisle. She found an empty seat near the rear of the bus, next to someone who had tilted his own seat back and had his eyes closed. Being careful to not disturb him, she put her case in the open compartment directly above, then settled herself in the seat, glancing impatiently at her watch.
The bus would stay at the Attica bus terminal for fifteen minutes before pulling out on a three-day trip that would deliver her to Los Angeles, California, three thousand miles away. She hoped Aunt Louise would sleep through the night and not peek in on her and discover the note she'd left. It would be better for her to find Lorelei gone in the morning, when many miles separated them.
The note had been hastily scribbled, before Lorelei could change her mind.
Dear Aunt Louise, it read. I'm going away for awhile to visit some friends in another city. Please don't worry. I'm eighteen years old now and can take care of myself. It's nothing you've done. You've been swell, like another mother to me, and I want you to know that I'm grateful. Please don't try to find me, because I'll be all right. Much love, Lorelei.
And she'd added a P.S.: I'll write when I have a chance.
She felt sad, now that she was practically on her way. She'd been born and raised in Attica, and she liked the city, and all her friends were here. But she couldn't face them all, pregnant and unmarried, and Aunt Louise would surely be ashamed. No, it was better that she leave so no one would know. Besides, she'd always wanted to see California, and she could get a job out there until the baby came.
And perhaps she would meet Dean there. The thought occurred to her (with regular frequency) that he might be ashamed for what he'd done, and he was letting her go for what he thought was her own good. It would be just like him to do such a thing.
The bus driver came back to check her ticket and to welcome her on board. Lorelei felt a warm glow as he smiled and tipped his hat. It made her feel she was wanted, even though she knew that it was his job to be polite. He was a young fellow, about twenty-two, with curly blond hair protruding from under his driver's cap, and when she looked into his eyes, even in the dim light she thought she could read something there that was more than politeness. Her pulse quickened and she felt herself turning red beneath his searching gaze.
"Thank you," she stammered.
The driver retreated down the aisle, and the man beside Lorelei stirred at her words and flung a hand across her. He sat up in surprise, blinking.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss," he said, "I must have been dozing."
"That's all right," Lorelei said. "I should get some rest myself. How do you adjust these seats?"
He reached across her to show her, his arm resting in her lap. She felt a twinge of uneasiness as he moved his arm in manipulating the seat lever. He was about fifty, with brown, grey-flecked hair combed back and a bristly brown mustache under a long nose. His face was covered with wrinkles. She wasn't sure she liked him or not. He was-funny-looking. The seat tilted back, and she was relieved to discover that an arm rest separated the two seats.
"There," he said, satisfied, "just like a double bed. Are you going all the way?"
Another twinge of uneasiness pervaded her. "All the way" meant sexual intercourse to the high school crowd. But she searched his face, seeking some meaning hidden behind the wrinkled smile, and found none.
"To Los Angeles, yes," she said.
"I'm getting off in Chicago," he said. "We get there early in the morning. That doesn't leave us much time to get acquainted, does it?"
She'd decided she didn't like the man and was happy to learn she wouldn't have to put up with his company for long.
"Well," he said, turning away, "pleasant dreams."
"Good night."
The bus was moving slowly up the highway, gathering speed. Lorelei lay with her eyes toward the window, watching familiar signs race past. The stores, then the office buildings, the post office, the private homes, the drive-in theater, and then the countryside full of trees, empty fields and darkness.
She turned her head away, feeling her eyes becoming moist, trying not to remember the friends she was leaving behind. She would write to them, though, perhaps call them on the phone once in a while. And she'd come back for a visit sometime. Sure, she would.
Yet she felt more alone and unwanted than she ever had in her entire life. She put her hands over her face to muffle her quiet sobs, and finally, exhausted, fell asleep.
She dreamed of Mr. Cameron. She didn't know why-she hadn't even thought of him in so long-but there he was suddenly in her dream just as he was that night four years ago when that horrible thing happened while she was babysitting for him and Mrs. Cameron.
Jimmy Cameron was nine years old, and Lorelei was his parents' favorite babysitter. She took such good care of Jimmy, even to washing him when he was dirty before putting him to bed. Lorelei didn't mind. Despite the five year difference in their ages, they were pals. And she didn't mind giving him a bath; in fact, she sort of enjoyed it, watching his slow embarrassment as she slowly undressed him in the bathroom and he stood fidgeting at his nakedness.
She liked to fill the tub with warm water and put him in and then take a washcloth heavy with soap and scrub him down all over. It would amuse her how he'd blush when she washed certain places of him, and it surprised her to discover that even at his age, Jimmy could respond visibly to her touch.
That particular night, it was so cute she hugged him on impulse and got her dress all wet, so she decided it would probably be best if she got undressed herself and took him into the stall shower to finish the bath. She removed her clothes, and Jimmy watched her intently, fixing his gaze at certain places of her body that did not correspond to his.
She lifted him from the tub and carried him in her arms to the shower, where she turned on the warm water and hugged him, laughing, to her breasts. They took turns soaping each other and then clung together to let the shower spray pelt their naked bodies and carry the soap down the gurgling drain.
They toweled each other vigorously, and Jimmy snapped his towel at Lorelei, who chased him into the bedroom, caught him on the bed and sat on his stomach, holding his hands down. They looked at each other, grinning and panting.
"You'd better get dressed for bed, Jimmy," Lorelei said authoritatively, and she returned to the bathroom for her own clothing.
She looked up at a sudden noise and saw Mr. Cameron standing in the living room looking at her. Behind him, Mrs. Cameron was closing the door. Lorelei pushed the bathroom door closed, and heart pounding, her brain trying to concoct an excuse for her nakedness, she pulled on her clothing.
"Lorelei?" a female voice called gently. "Oh, Jimmy, ready for bed I see. Where's Lorelei?"
"She's probably in the bathroom," her husband offered. "The door's closed."
When she was fully dressed, Lorelei opened the bathroom door and went out. "Hi," she said, trying to smile. "Home so early?" She avoided Mr. Cameron's eyes.
"It was a frightful picture," Mrs. Cameron complained. "I don't see why Frank Sinatra insists on making war movies when he can sing so nicely, don't you, Fred?"
"I haven't really given it much thought," Fred Cameron admitted. "You ready to go home, Lorelei?"
"Yes," she said.
She still didn't look at him. She could say simply that she'd taken a shower, if he asked, though she wouldn't admit she was not alone in the shower. Even so, it wasn't as though she were trying to do anything with Jimmy.
She put on her coat, and Mr. Cameron held the door open for her.
"I'll be right back," he yelled to his wife, who mumbled something back at him.
In silence they went out to the car, and he held the door open for her instead of letting her do it herself the way he generally did. He started the car, pulled out in the street.
"Did Jimmy behave himself tonight?"
Lorelei wet her lips. "Yes," she said. "He was fine." And despite herself, she went on, "He got dirty, so I gave him a bath and then he got me dirty so I decided to take a shower."
He looked at her and smiled in a way he'd never smiled at her before. A few minutes later, he parked the car in the street a few houses away from hers, although there was plenty of parking space directly in front of her house, and he cut the motor and the lights.
She hesitated. "I-I hope you're not angry with me, Mr. Cameron," she said, uncertainly, "for anything, I mean. In fact, if you don't want me to babysit anymore-"
"Nonsense," he said, and he smiled reassuringly.
He placed a gentle hand on her thigh. Through the thin summer dress, his hand felt warm, and Lorelei felt her skin tingle. He moved closer to her on the seat.
"I-I've always admired you, Lorelei," he said softly. "I think you're a fine girl. A mature girl, not a child like some of the others. I understand these things, believe me. I want very much for us to be friends. Good friends."
Carefully, deliberately, he put his other hand on her waist, high up, under her ripening breast, as though gauging its weight with his hand.
"A lot of people don't understand how a young girl feels," he said sympathetically. "How she needs attention, how she wants someone to like her, to need her."
Their legs were touching. His hands were moving over her. Lorelei felt her vocal chords go numb under the insistent demands rising in her young body. Her breasts rose and fell beneath his touch.
"I-I hope you don't think I-I was trying anything with Jimmy," she said. "I mean-"
"Of course not, Lorelei," he said. He buried his face in her hair and his hand moved down toward the hem of her skirt. "A young, attractive girl like you is certainly adult enough to know that if you want love and affection-"
"No!" Lorelei screamed, pulling away from his eagerly exploring hands.
He stared at her, surprised and angry. "What do you mean 'no', you little tramp," he said. "You try to fool around with my little boy, and then when a man tries to give you what you want, you yell 'no'. What the hell are you after anyway?"
Lorelei tried to hold back the tears. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't mean anything. Honest."
He reached for his wallet, extracted a five-dollar bill from it, thrust it at her. "Here," he said grimly, and reached across her, "take this and get out. I won't tell on you, though I probably should, but you'll never babysit for us again!"
Lorelei scrambled from the car. The door slammed shut after her, and the car roared away into the night. Lorelei stared after it, thinking: it's like a nightmare....
And now, as the bus whirred up the highway toward Chicago and Los Angeles, for some reason she thought of Mr. Cameron, and she imagined she could even feel his hands on her and his warm breath close to her face.
She opened her eyes in sudden alarm into a wrinkled face inches from hers. She opened her mouth to scream, but the man clamped a hard hand over it and shook his head in grim warning.
From his seat beside her he leaned across her and put his face up close to hers so that his mustache touched her skin, and he said, "Do as I say, or I'll kill you!"
Without relaxing his grip on her face, he took his other hand from her body and reached into his coat pocket. He withdrew a straight razor with a handle of mother-of-pearl that glinted in the weak light. Expertly, he flicked open the gleaming blade and placed it against her throat.
"One sound, one false movement," he whispered, "and you're dead!"
Frantically, Lorelei looked around her, trying to detect some signs that someone was awake and had heard the threat. But all she heard were quiet and sounds of gentle snoring. She was hunched uncomfortably in the seat, but she dared not move, for she could feel the knife blade pressing sharply against her throat, and she knew the man meant what he said about killing her.
He was crazy! she thought. Crazy! The knowledge didn't help any.
"I'm going to take my hand from your mouth," the man said, "but remember, any outcry you make will be your last!"
He released his grip on her face, and her jaw felt numb, but she said nothing. He fumbled briefly with his clothing. Lorelei gasped in horror and he hissed a warning at her; she felt the razor pricking sharply at her neck, blocking retreat.
She felt sick with what was happening to her, and the world was rotating very rapidly in the darkness.
She had to escape this madman. She reached out for his hand, the one with the razor, and without really knowing what she was doing she grabbed his wrist and with all her strength forced the razor savagely into his lap.
His scream seemed far away and unreal, and he straightened in agony, releasing her. Lorelei scrambled from her seat, falling into the aisle. She was aware that people were awakening around her, that the bus was stopping with the screech of brakes. She got to her feet and ran into the arms of the bus driver.
"What happened?" he wanted to know. "What's wrong?"
She shook her head and clapped her hands over her ears, sobbing hysterically. She didn't care what had happened. Not now, even though she felt sicker and more ashamed than she ever had in her life. All she wanted now was for that funny little man with the mustache to stop screaming.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"You had a bad time of it," the blond bus driver said, smiling sympathetically. "This sort of thing doesn't happen often. I'm sorry it had to happen to you."
Lorelei shivered at the memory. She and the bus driver-his name was Bryan-were sitting at the counter in the Chicago bus terminal coffee shop. The excitement had died down fast, with the bus officials not wanting this kind of publicity. An ambulance had arrived and taken the man to the hospital. They would save his life, but some damage had been done to him which could not be undone.
The police were there, and they questioned Lorelei, who didn't tell them the entire truth either. Not only was it too horrible to describe, but she didn't want to become involved. There would be publicity, perhaps even her name or picture in the newspaper, and Aunt Louise or someone she knew might hear of it. She said merely that she had awakened to find the man slashing himself and screaming.
"I think it was smart of you to not tell the police what happened," Bryan said.
She looked over her coffee cup at him, wondering how he knew. "I did tell them what happened," she said.
"No, you didn't," he said certainly. "Many and devious are the ways of love, Lorelei." He shrugged. "But we won't argue about it. The poor fellow's got enough troubles now without having a rape charge against him."
Lorelei smiled to herself. So that's what he thought. And yet he'd also said that the ways of love are many. Well, she decided reluctantly, it might be considered a sort of rape. She remembered some of the more experienced girls in high school talking about it as a form of lovemaking, either by itself or as a preliminary to going all the way. At the time, she had thought of it with distaste, secure in the knowledge that this was one experience she would forego. It had been a frightening experience, and yet under other circumstances it might even have been pleasant.
"Your bus won't be leaving for another four hours," he said. "Would you like me to show you our city?"
"That would be nice," Lorelei said, more eagerly than she'd anticipated.
She looked at Bryan carefully. He was very good looking, a little like Dean really, except his features were softer and more boyish and his hair was worn long and curly. She felt a warm glow inside her as he smiled, and she smiled back. He was nice. She liked him, and she knew that if he asked her to his apartment she'd go with him.
She was surprised that the thought came to her so naturally, and pleased with herself that she was beginning to accept sex as a necessary part of life. Besides, there was certainly no danger of her getting pregnant by him, and after what had happened to her on the bus, she could use the affection of someone who was gentle to her and who was normal.
Impulsively, she sought his hand. "I'd love to have you show me the city," she said.
He arose, looking strangely embarrassed, and removed his hand from her grasp to search his pockets for change. She felt that warm inward glow again. How strong looking he was, yet how gentle and shy.
Together, they walked from the coffee shop and out into the busy terminal. Lorelei wanted to take hold of his arm, but she realized it would only embarrass him again, and she didn't want to do that. Strange how a grown man could be so shy. Perhaps, for all his good looks, he hadn't taken out many girls. She determined to be patient with him and be just as nice to him as she possibly could.
He took her by taxi to a central section of the city. She was careful to not sit too close to him, because in the close confines of the taxi with her he seemed nervous and ill-at-ease. They got out at a busy intersection, and he paid the cabbie.
"Do you live in the city?" she asked him.
He nodded. "I have an apartment near here."
"I'd love to see it."
He hesitated. "It's not really an apartment," he said, apologetically. "It's actually just a room, with an adjoining bath and a small pantry with a hotplate."
"It's probably very nice," she said.
"We try to make out," he said.
"We?" The thought of his being married hadn't occurred to her.
"My roommate and I," he said.
"Would your roommate be there now?"
He glanced at his watch. "I-I don't think so. But-"
"Swell. We can go to your room, then."
He seemed helpless and bewildered. "But-"
She took his hand, held on to it. "We have only a few hours left," she said, "and then I'll be gone and you'll never see me again. Please take me to see your room."
"All right," he said. "Come on."
He tore his hand from hers and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, walking as though into a cold wind.
"It's only a few blocks from here. I guess maybe-" He tried to laugh, but the sound caught in his throat, "-maybe I thought you might want to see it."
They walked among the tall buildings that gave quickly to short, squat constructions housing stores and rooming houses.
"In here," he said, turning up a flight of stairs resting against the walk.
She followed him up the stone steps, through the heavy, old-looking doors. An unshaded light was burning in the hallway, lighting the brown walls and the stairway twisting along one wall.
Silently, Lorelei followed him up the stairs, listening to the creaks which seemed explosive in the silence.
Now that she was so close, she was beginning to feel apprehensive. What in the world was she doing? She was actually picking up a stranger, going to his room with him. What would her aunt say? she wondered, and in the same thought she knew exactly what her aunt would say. She forced these thoughts from her mind.
Way down deep within her she knew what was happening. She felt the excitement of new adventure. She felt the familiar desire welling inside her again, not strong and erupting yet, but like a lava flow just under the surface, waiting.
He stopped at the second landing and walked down the hall to a door that was like the other doors bordering the hall except for its number, which was 7. He took out a key and paused as though listening for sounds inside. Then he fitted the key to the lock and turned the knob and pushed the door inward.
His letting out of breath revealed his relief. Of course, Lorelei thought, he would be too shy to ask his roommate to leave while he was entertaining a guest. She was glad the roommate was not there. It was one obstacle she would not have to overcome.
He stepped aside for her to enter and then he followed her and closed the door behind them. It was an uninspiring, bleakly functional room dominated by a double bed. There was a dresser with a mirror over it against one wall. A faded picture limped on one of the dirty flowered walls. A single unwashed window grudgingly let in murky rays of daylight. There was a door to one side that surely led to the bathroom, and another open one through which Lorelei could see shelves sparsely populated with canned goods, a small, portable refrigerator, and a hotplate with the cord dangling over the shelf.
So this was bachelor life in the big city, Lorelei thought sadly. It was depressing. She had a momentary urge to open the door and run back to the bus station as fast as she could go, to get back to the fresh, clean air she knew. But, she thought, if it depressed her when she first saw it, how it affect poor Bryan who had to live here all the time. She had never felt sorrier for him than she did at that instant. He needed cheering up, and she was just the person to help him.
He attempted a wan smile. "It's not much, is it?" he said, as though saying he wouldn't really blame her if she didn't want to stay.
"I think it's charming," she lied, smiling and skirting the bed to look out through the window. She was prepared to exclaim, "What a marvelous view," but the view was of another building a few yards away, and the lie stuck in her throat.
The light clicked on behind her, and she turned to find him standing in the center of the room, with the bare-bulbed light swinging gently from its chain, casting shadows that darted one way and then the next.
"We have to keep the light on most of the day," he said. "It's pretty dark in here. Would you like some coffee?"
"No, thanks," she said. She walked close to him and looked into his eyes, seriously. "I want you to make love to me, Bryan."
He averted his eyes from her and moved to sit down on the bed, clasping his hands as though not knowing what to do with them.
"I-I thought you would," he said.
Lorelei forced herself to laugh. "Am I that bad?" she said.
He looked up quickly. "No, no, of course not. But-but-" He looked at her helplessly, imploringly.
She walked slowly to him, sat herself on the bed, reached out and rubbed her hand along the inside of his leg. He shivered beneath her touch.
"You've never had a girl, have you?" she said, quietly.
He didn't look at her. He shook his head no, trying to find his voice. "I-I guess I've led a pretty sheltered life. I just don't know what to do. I mean-"
She put a finger to his lips. "It's all right," she said. "I'll show you."
It gave her a thrill to think that she would be teaching someone the ways of love. He was like a small boy, like a Jimmy Cameron, she though unashamedly, looking for her guidance along the intricate pathways of love.
"You'll like me," she promised. "Wait and see."
"I already like you," he said. "I like you as a person. You're sweet and warm and wonderful, but-"
With a swift, certain motion, Lorelei reached under her dress and pulled off her panties. He watched, smiling more with satisfaction than embarrassment.
"They're pretty," he said, watching the undergarments in her hand.
"Thanks," Lorelei said.
His remark puzzled her. At first, she'd been pleased with it, thinking he'd meant her legs, visible as the skirt was raised. But he was staring at her panties. She felt suddenly nervous, alone with this overgrown boy who refused to act the way he should, the way she wanted him to.
She turned on him savagely, pushing him back on the bed, forcing her lips against his. But his lips were tight and afraid, and he tried to force his head away, and his hands thrust against her, not seeking and caressing, but pushing away.
"What's the matter," Lorelei cried. "What's wrong?"
Behind them, the door opened. Lorelei stopped struggling with Bryan and looked up, then hurried to straighten her skirt. In the doorway stood a thin boy about Bryan's age, but with long straight black hair and a sullen expression. He was holding a paper bag in one arm. He entered the room, closed the door behind him, walked to the pantry without a word.
Bryan scrambled from the bed,-his face white with fear. He stood in the pantry doorway, watching his roommate take cans from the paper bag and stack them on the open cupboard.
"Keith," Bryan said desperately, "I can explain."
Keith smiled humorlessly. "Where did she pick you up?" he said, indicating Lorelei with a glance. Lorelei stood up indignantly. "See here-"
"Shut up!" Keith said to her. He sighed. "I've tried to be patient with you Bryan, but if you insist on trying the seer-experiments-" He shrugged.
Bryan wrung his hands. "Don't leave me, Keith. I'd be lost without you. I'm sorry. I must have been out of my head. I'll do anything you want."
"Get rid of her," Keith said.
"But-"
"Look, Bryan baby," Keith said in a soothing tone, "we've had a good relationship up till now, haven't we? Sure, we have. We understand each other. At least, I thought we did."
"We do, we do," Bryan assured him hastily.
"Well, if you want us to continue-" He made a gesture at Lorelei standing helpless and confused in the center of the room-"we can't have this sort of nonsense."
"I'll-I'll get rid of her, Keith," Bryan promised. "Honest, I will. And then everything'll be okay between us again?"
"We'll see," Keith said, but he patted Bryan's arm reassuringly.
Bryan turned toward Lorelei, but he didn't look into her face. "You'll have to go," he said to her.
She looked at him, uncomprehending. A moment ago he was a small boy in her arms, shy and yet willing, and now he was a stranger. She looked beyond him at the dark haired youth standing in the pantry looking at her triumphantly.
Strange and devious are the ways of love, he had told her. She suddenly realized with shock and horror that he was talking about himself as well as her. She felt sick again. But not here, not here, she prayed. Not here in this barren room with the two boys that were not men and never would be. There was already too much sickness in this room.
She put on her panties quickly, fighting back the tears of disappointment and anger stinging her eyes.
"Lorelei," Bryan said helplessly, fists clenching. "Lorelei, I'm sorry."
She brushed past him to the door, opened it, slammed it behind her. She clutched the rickety railing of the stairs and stumbled down the ancient hallway to the front door. The cool Chicago air swept over her, and it seemed like the cleanest air she had ever breathed in her life. She wondered if Bryan were upstairs thinking of her, of what he'd lost, and the price he'd paid. And then she put Bryan out of her mind.
She walked swiftly, half-running in her eagerness to get away, and saw a taxi cruising the next block. She hurried into the street, waving. The taxi stopped and the cabbie twisted in the seat, grinning, and opened the door for her. She got in and closed the door behind her.
He leered appreciatively at her legs, then unself-consciously looked at her face. "Where to, lady?"
"The bus terminal," she said.
He nodded, turned, and the car roared away. Lorelei sat hunched down in the back seat, not looking at the houses hurrying past. It was all a nightmare. The man on the bus, then Bryan. And worse, desire still flowed in her, unsatisfied.
Almost angrily, she forced the thoughts from her mind by concentrating on a picture on the back of the seat in front of her. It was a picture of the taxi driver, on his license. An ugly man, with large wet lips, a crooked nose, who always looking at the houses hurrying past. It was all a and though his teeth were uneven, the smile was honest.
If this man were with her in a hotel room, Lorelei thought, he wouldn't ask her to leave. She wouldn't have a chance of leaving. At least, not until both of them had been satisfied.
She realized she should be ashamed thinking these thoughts, but in the same instant she realized that she wasn't ashamed and that she didn't care. Too much had happened in too short a time for her to be ashamed or even shocked at anything. And she found herself thinking how it would be with this ugly taxi driver, found herself wishing that she were alone with him and that his hairy hands were upon her....
She looked up to his rearview mirror to see him staring at her. He met her eyes unflinchingly, and she felt her loins aching for him.
"Wait," she said, "I-I don't want to go to the bus terminal. At least not right away."
"No?" he said quietly. "And where would you like to go?"
She waved a hand in a vague gesture. "Anyplace. I'd just like to talk." She tried to smile. "You pick a spot."
"Sure," he said.
He turned at the next intersection. They were silent as dark houses fled past, giving way to silent warehouses and unmoving boxcars. He stopped the car, turned off the motor, and the lights. Silence crept over them.
He turned in the seat, resting his chin across an arm. "Now," he said, "what was it you wanted to talk about?"
She wondered if he were toying with her. She hesitated, trying to see what emotions lay in his face, but it was too dark to tell.
"Are you married?" she asked him.
He nodded slowly. "Got two kids. Why?"
She avoided his eyes. "I was just wondering, that's all."
He was so near, Lorelei thought, just a few feet away. She could reach out and touch him. But the seat separated them, and all they were doing was talking. Her loins began to ache with the fires simmering there, unquenched.
"Anything else you'd like to talk about, Miss?" he said.
Lorelei wanted to cry. She wanted to curse. Damn the man! He was unmerciful. He must know what she wanted. She didn't bring him here to talk. He was an ugly man, a stranger, but at least he was a man. Yet he just sat there and taunted her. She could feel the beginnings of tears sting her eyes.
"Just what was it you wanted, Miss?"
Her need had become a dull, throbbing ache within her. Lorelei looked at the man, suddenly unafraid, and she told him what she wanted. She told him, using a word she had never used before, a word he could understand. It was a four letter word that sounded not a bit like "love" and she'd seen it scribbled on sidewalks and on walls and even heard some of the boys and some of the bolder girls use it in conversation. But up until now it had been a dirty, nasty word.
"How old are you?" the cabbie said. His voice was hoarse.
"Eighteen," she said. "I am, I am, I'm eighteen!"
"I've got a daughter almost your age," he said. "I'd kill her if she ever said something like that. And I'd kill the bastard that did it to her, too."
"Please," Lorelei said, putting a hand on his arm. "Please."
"But I could understand how he felt," the cabbie said. "Just the way I feel right now."
He climbed over the seat separating them, and during the moments that followed, he was rough with her in a knowing, certain way that no one had ever been rough with her.
Lorelei felt the liquid fires of desire gushing hotly within her, rushing to be extinguished, and she found herself unashamedly saying that dirty, nasty word over and over again, until it seemed in that fiery wave of blazing passion that engulfed them both that it was somehow the only word that could adequately describe what she and an ugly stranger were doing very beautifully in the back seat of his cab in an otherwise strange and unfriendly city.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Talent?" the blonde girl said, confidentially. "Don't kid yourself, honey. The way to be a success in Hollywood is to know which people to sleep with. You sleep with the wrong people, it gets you nothing but a little fun and a lot of heartache. But get in with the right crowd, you've got it made."
Lorelei nodded politely and turned to stare wistfully at the Arizona landscape moving swiftly past the bus window. She was getting used to the frank statements the blonde girl was making, but she did wish the girl wouldn't voice them so loudly. For a nice girl, Lorelei had decided, sex should be a private, personal, perhaps even sacred, thing.
Yet the girl's honesty was somewhat refreshing. So much had happened lately and her emotions had led her into so many paths she had never before explored, that Lorelei really couldn't be certain any more what was socially acceptable and what was not. Certainly, environment had a great deal to do with it. If Crystal Jennings had had an Aunt Louise, perhaps she'd have had a more subdued attitude.
Crystal had gotten on the bus at Tulsa, Oklahoma. She was an actress-or at least she was going to Hollywood to be one. Her philosophy on doing so was as apparent as her figure in the tight knit dress she wore. She wasn't a real platinum blonde, she admitted candidly, but she looked better in blonde hair than she did in her natural color, which was a sort of mousy brown, and hair color was certainly just as important as wearing a tight dress to show off her figure. Which, she confided in a not too confidential voice, was an honest 39-24-36!
For some reason which she could not immediately define, Lorelei liked the girl. Perhaps it was her honesty. Crystal knew what she had and she knew what she was going to do with it. She didn't kid herself-or anyone-about that.
She was obviously very proud of her figure and of her hair, so Lorelei made a point of exclaiming how nice both were.
"I've had lots of compliments on it," Jayne said. "The hair's not my real color, like I said, but my figure's my own. I was even voted Miss Tulsa Press Club, and my picture was in all the papers in a bikini that showed everything but the kitchen sink.
"In fact," she went on, "that's how I got the idea of going to Hollywood. There was this producer, a fellow named Walter Hancock, who saw my picture and one day while he was in town on business he dropped by to see me and suggested if I was ever in Hollywood to look him up, he might be able to do me some good. So I figured, why not? I was waiting on tables in a hash house and spending all my forty bucks a week on liniment to put on pinch spots, so what did I have to lose except a few black and blue marks. I said to myself, 'Crystal, you've got the looks and the accessories to go places. So go!' So here I am, going."
Lorelei smiled to herself. Crystal's philosophy of success was so simple, and yet there was surely more to it than that. There were probably thousands of girls in Hollywood who were as willing to sell themselves for the chance to get ahead, and probably many of them were as well-endowed and as pretty as Crystal. And Lorelei was not as certain that talent played so small a part in it.
And what, she thought, of the men in Hollywood. Were there female producers who exacted the same price? She smiled again as she thought of that, and then the smile faded as she thought of Dean. Dean did have talent, and he would go places. But the thought of him made her sad. She wondered if the sight of her would bring back old memories, rekindle the love that had surely been there that night at the Eagle? Surely he couldn't have meant all those nasty things he said to her in his letter. He was obviously saying them because he thought he had taken advantage of her and wanted to protect her from it happening again.
"Where are you staying in LA?" Crystal was asking.
"What? Oh, I don't know. A hotel maybe."
"It's a big place for a young girl to go wandering around in. Especially with those Hollywood wolves. A girl can't be too careful who she associates with."
"I'll be all right," Lorelei said. "Actually, I do have a friend there. An actor."
Crystal sat up and looked interested. "An actor?"
"He's just starting out. His name's Dean Richards, and he's very good-looking and very talented. He was in a play with Muriel Hayden; that's how I got to know him. We're very good friends."
"Gee, I'd like to meet him," Crystal said. "Is he meeting you at the bus station?"
"He doesn't know I'm coming," Lorelei said, truthfully. "I wanted it to be a surprise."
"You don't have to worry about me stealing him away from you," Crystal said. "It's the producers and directors I'm aiming at. They're the ones who can make you or break you." She grinned at her pun. "You'll excuse the expression."
"I don't even know where he's living," Lorelei said thoughtfully, then by way of explanation: "He was on the road when I met him and didn't have an apartment. But I'll find him."
"Say," Crystal said, "maybe we can get a room together for a couple days until I can find Walter and you can find Dean."
"That would be nice," Lorelei said. It would be nice to have a friend in a strange city. "Yes, I'd like that!"
"Good. Then, it's settled. I wrote Walter a letter, telling him I was coming out and I'd call him when I arrived. Walter's very nice; you'll like him." She thought a moment, then giggled. She hesitated, then leaned toward Lorelei. "Have you ever done it in a shower?"
Lorelei blinked puzzlement at her. "Done it?"
Crystal frowned impatiently. "Sure, you know, done it?"
Despite herself, Lorelei blushed at the realization of what Crystal meant. Quickly, she shook her head no.
"You should try it sometime," Crystal advised. "It's-well, it's pretty interesting. The way it happened, we had a date and I was in the shower and Walter was in the living room, waiting I thought, when he came into the bathroom and wanted to know if there was anything he could do, like scrub my back or something. That Walter's a card."
"And you let him?"
"Well, he's a Hollywood producer, and I was determined to be nice to him because there are probably a lot of blonde backs in Hollywood he could scrub instead of mine." She shrugged. "So I let him."
"You let him scrub your back," Lorelei said, determined to get the story straight.
Crystal looked at her strangely. "Honestly, honey, sometimes I can't tell whether you're kidding or not, and I pride myself on being a very good judge of character. I know. The trouble with you, I'll bet, is that you're still a virgin." Lorelei laughed. "How did you guess?"
"Oh, I can tell," Crystal said, tapping a long-nailed finger against her forehead. "You've got that virgin look. Don't get me wrong, honey, it's not that I think there's anything wrong with being a virgin. For some girls it's great, and you're probably smart to wait for the right guy. But if you do find him, be sure you let him have it."
"I'll try to remember that," Lorelei said, thinking of Dean, suddenly becoming restless, yearning for him more than ever.
"I nearly did it in the bathtub once," Crystal reminisced. She made a wry face. "At least, I thought I was going to."
Lorelei could feel embarrassment starting redly in her. "Really, Crystal,-"
"There was this artist fellow I met who had an exhibit in one of the local galleries. He did those strange globs of color that looked like something bad got spilled, and he had a beard. I figured him for just another bum on the make, until he started talking, and then he seemed like a real intelligent guy. Okay, so I don't know modern art from pork and beans, but I thought maybe he just might make something of himself one of these days, and besides I was feeling in sort of a mood and you can't wait forever for a movie producer to come along. So when he asked could he come up to my apartment, I thought he had his burner going. Do you know what he did?"
"No," Lorelei said, and the way the conversation was going, she wasn't sure she wanted to know, "but-"
"Well sir," Crystal said in an indignant voice, "he made me take off my clothes and sit down in the bathtub. I was getting pretty hot and bothered by this time, but how do you think he put out the flame?" She grunted.
Lorelei tried not to listen, but the words came through. She felt sick.
"....When I got through spluttering, I tossed the damn pervert out on his ear. Imagine that, will you?"
CHAPTER NINE
It was seven o'clock in the evening and raining steadily when the bus pulled into the terminal in downtown Los Angeles.
"Sunny California," Crystal muttered, wrinkling her nose.
"It's the rainy season," Lorelei said tolerantly. "It's better than snow."
"And sunshine's better than rain," Crystal persisted. "Anyway, it's California, and this is where the producers are."
And where Dean is, Lorelei thought, peering through the rain-streaked window at the bright lights reflecting wetly on the damp pavement. Somewhere out there was Dean, and she wondered if he missed her as much as she missed him.
Originally, she'd told herself she was going to the West Coast to be away from the tongues that would wag when her pregnancy was discovered, and because she'd always wanted to see California. Both reasons were true enough, but the fundamental reason for her trip was Dean. In her heart she'd known that from the start, and she knew it now. As the bus pulled out of the rain into the terminal building and stopped before an unloading platform and she realized that she had finally arrived, she wasn't surprised to find her heart beating with a wild expectancy.
The lights in the bus flared into brightness, and the door clicked open.
"Watch your step," the bus driver warned.
"That's good advice in this part of the country," Crystal muttered. "I hope Walter hasn't moved since he gave me his address and phone number."
Lorelei wished she had a phone number she could call. Perhaps Dean wasn't listed in the phone book, though. He might not even be in the area, she thought further; he could be wandering around the country in another play. She tried to still the panic rising in her.
She gathered up her vanity case and followed Crystal from the bus. The air was damp but not cold.
"We can pick up our baggage later," Crystal said, glancing at her watch. "I'd better call Walter."
In her hand, Crystal clutched a piece of paper that had an address and phone number on it. She was obviously trying to keep her voice calm, but the excitement crept through. Lorelei smiled to herself. For all her worldly talk about producers and sleeping with anyone who would do her career the most good, Crystal really liked Walter Hancock.
They threaded their way among the passengers and headed toward the doors marked EXIT. Lorelei scanned the faces in the crowd, but not a one was familiar. In the main room, long lines of people waited behind doors that would allow them to file into buses, or they sat on the hard wooden benches in the center of the room. Ticket windows took up one corner of the room, a candy and magazine stand another. A windowed coffee shop was visible on the opposite side of the room. Near them was a shoe shine stand, and beside it a trio of telephone booths.
"I'll just be a minute," Crystal said.
She put down the case she was carrying and struggled into one of the phone booths, pulling the door shut behind her. Lorelei stood and watched the people standing in line. Most of them looked forlorn, and she wondered if they had problems, too. She felt tired, and she must look an awful fright. It would be better to go to a hotel, take a warm shower and get a good night's rest before seeing Dean. She wanted to look her best when she first saw him again.
Her gaze fell upon a row of phone books in a stand beside the telephone booths. There were five books of different colors and a yellow one that was larger and labeled CLASSIFIED SECTION. The one marked CENTRAL contained the Hollywood area, the front cover map told her, so she spread it open on the stand and looked for the R's.
In the phone booth beside her, she could hear Crystal talking very animatedly, but she couldn't make out the words. Her heart leaped as she spotted the name RICHARDS in the middle of a column, and she ran an anxious finger down the first names. She halted, frowning, at the F's, then retraced the names back up. There was not only not a Dean Richards listed, there was not even a D. Richards. Disappointed, she replaced the phone book in its slot and stared at the others, thinking perhaps he wasn't living in Hollywood, after all, but in one of the surrounding cities.
Crystal came beaming from the telephone booth. "Wonderful news," she said. "Walter's coming down from Westchester to pick us up."
"Us?"
"Of course. You don't think I'd leave you all alone here, do you?"
"But where'll we stay?"
"Oh, Walter's got plenty of room at his place. You can sack out on the couch."
"Oh, I couldn't do that."
"Sure, you could. No trouble at all. Walter says he'll be here in about twenty minutes. Let's put on a new face and go pick up our bags."
Well, Lorelei thought, at least Crystal was happy now. That was nice.
They went into the restroom, where they washed the stains of travel from their faces and applied fresh makeup. Crystal took great pains to arch her eyebrows just right, to apply the correct amount of lipstick. She was like a girl getting ready for a date. Lorelei tried to feel happy for Crystal, but she only succeeded in feeling sorry for herself.
They went to the baggage room and claimed their belongings. Each of them had two small suitcases, which they carried to the front door and out into the street alongside the building.
"Walter said he'd pick us up right here in front," Crystal said.
Lorelei smiled. The way Crystal said Walter, it was as though she said Life, or Love, or Happiness. It was, Lorelei reflected, the way she would say Dean.
The rain had stopped. Traffic swept through the wet, neon-streaked streets. An occasional taxi driver wanted to know if they wanted a ride.
"Oh," Crystal cried excitedly, "there's Walter now!"
A late-model Ford glided in toward the curb, and Crystal hurried to meet it. Lorelei strained to see the driver, but the lights glaring on his windshield prevented her. Crystal opened the door, as the driver, smiling, slid across the seat and stood up beside the car.
Lorelei blinked. For some reason she had expected more. Perhaps not an Adonis, but certainly not this. He was a small, thin man with a bald head and a garish sport shirt worn on the outside of his trousers in an effort to conceal a paunch. Even his face was too angular, too beady-eyed, too double-chinned, to be handsome.
But he and Crystal were clinging to each other, their lips and bodies pressed together in a fervent embrace, oblivious to the passersby.
"Crystal, baby," he said, in a squeaky voice, when they came up for air, "it's good to see you."
She took his hand and pulled him over in Lorelei's direction.
"My car," he protested, "I can't leave it parked here for long, or-"
"Walter," Crystal said, "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Lorelei Goodwin. Lorelei, this is Walter Hancock." She looked at him and sighed. "Isn't he everything I told you about him?"
It was an obviously rhetorical question, and Lorelei was not prepared to answer it anyway. The only descriptions Crystal had given her were of objects which Walter did not make visible in public. Lorelei had asumed the rest of him had matched, and she was surprised to discover it did not.
"Glad to meet you, Miss Goodwin," he said, glancing briefly at her. "Well, let's get your bags aboard, Crystal." He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "I can't wait to show you my apartment.
"These are mine," Crystal said, indicating them on the sidewalk. "And these are Lorelei's."
He hesitated, an uncertain look crossing his face. "Lorelei's?"
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Crystal said apologetically. "Lorelei has no place to stay. I thought you could put her up, too."
"Well-" he said uncertainly.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you something," Lorelei said quickly to Crystal. "While you were telephoning, I looked up Dean's number and called him. He's going to pick me up in a few minutes."
Walter smiled his relief. "Fine," he said, "that's settled." He busied himself loading Crystal's bags into the car.
Crystal looked Lorelei in the eye. "You're a lousy liar, honey."
"If Dean were picking me up," Lorelei said, "I'd want to be alone with him. I wouldn't want another female along to chaperone." She forced a smile on her face, "Besides, it won't hurt me to stay at a hotel for a night. I can get in touch with Dean tomorrow."
Crystal touched Lorelei's arm affectionately, and pressed the scrap of paper containing Walter Hancock's address and telephone number into her hand.
"You're a real doll," Crystal said. "Call me up tomorrow, will you? We'll get together and find your man for you?"
"Crystal, come on," Walter's impatient voice came from the car.
Lorelei nodded. "I'll give you a call," she promised.
Crystal waved, then somehow ran in her tight skirt to the car and got in and snuggled up to the driver. The car moved off, and Lorelei stood on the curb watching it until it disappeared. She had never felt more alone.
"Taxi, Miss?" a cabbie asked her.
Lorelei sighed. "Do you know of an inexpensive hotel I could stay at tonight."
He looked at her. "There's a Women's Hotel about ten blocks from here. A young girl like you might like it better than a regular hotel."
"I'd like to go there then," Lorelei said. She could use some companionship.
The cabbie held the door open for her, and then put her bags in the trunk. He returned to the front seat, and guided the taxi down the street. Lorelei pressed her face close to the window beside her and tried to develop an interest in watching the buildings fly past.
She was disappointed. She had expected her first real glimpse of Los Angeles to be a tropical view filled with banana trees and palms. There were no trees in sight, only tall buildings containing offices and department stores. It might have been a large city in New York state, city in New York state.
Wearily, she slumped back against the seat. She would be glad when tomorrow came. Tonight, there would be time for thinking of Dean, longing for him, missing him so much that it hurt her physically to think of him. Tomorrow, she could go out and look for him, let him know that she was here, that she understood his true motives in refusing her.
She closed her eyes and tried to picture their reunion. He would see her from a distance at first, uncertain as to whether it was really she or not, and then they would hurry toward each other, arms outstretched, faces and bodies eager-
"Here we are, Miss," the taxi driver said.
Lorelei opened her eyes, startled to find the cabbie's face so close to hers. He had a pleasant, middle-aged face, and he was smiling at her the way an uncle smiles at a favorite niece. The cab had stopped, he was holding the door open for her, and her bags were already deposited on the sidewalk.
She got out, paid him-she was sorry in a way to see him go, he had such a nice smile-and as the taxi roared off, she stood looking up at the building to which she'd been taken. It was tall, with a light-bulbed sign along one vertical edge that said LOS ANGELES WOMEN'S HOTEL.
Lorelei picked up her bags and went up the stone steps and through the heavy glassed doors into the lobby. Couches were scattered around the edges of the room, and there were girls on them, some talking, some reading. Potted palms stood straight and erect in each corner. In the center of the room, a square marble counter squatted, commandeered by a matronly woman efficiently making entries in a ledger.
Lorelei approached the counter. The woman finished the entry she was making and then designed to look up.
"I'd like a room for the night," Lorelei said.
The woman sniffed and x-rayed her through slit eyes. "Just one night?"
"Yes."
"That'll be one dollar twenty-five," the woman said, and fished in a drawer for a key. "It allows all privileges, of course, including gymnasium, swimming pool and showers. No undue noise after ten o'clock. Checkout time is eleven o'clock in the morning." She placed a large-tagged key on the counter. "Room 607, on the sixth floor. Your roommate is a very nice girl; I'm sure you'll like her."
"My-my roommate? But I wanted a single room."
"We don't have singles. You'll have to share. We're all sisters under the skin here at the Los Angles Women's Hotel. Surely, you don't mind?"
"Well," Lorelei said uncertainly. "No, I guess not." After all, it was only for a night, and she was too tired to go looking for another hotel. As long as the girl didn't have leprosy, she'd probably be all right.
Lorelei picked up her key and her bags and made her way to the elevator. She was conscious of stares from some of the girls sitting on the couches, and she hurried as much as she could without appearing to. She wondered what they were looking at. Perhaps the cut of her Eastern clothing. Most of the girls in the lobby seemed to be wearing dungarees and plaid shirts pulled over them. Maybe that was the latest California fashion; she'd have to get herself an outfit like that.
She put her bags in the elevator and pushed the button for the sixth floor. The doors snapped shut, and the car responded by rising. The doors snapped open again to reveal a carpeted corridor lined with closed doors.
The one numbered 607 was at the end of the corridor across from a door marked BATHROOM. Lorelei fitted her key to the lock, turned the knob and went in. She found the light switch, clicked it on, and closed the door behind her.
The room was bigger than a breadbox but smaller than her own bedroom back in Attica. It contained two narrow beds, a wardrobe cabinet, and a dressing table with a stool and a large circular mirror. One of the beds was mussed. A pack of cigarettes and a full ash tray decorated the top of the dressing table.
Lorelei sighed. It wasn't the homiest room she'd ever seen, but at least it looked clean. She wondered what kind of apartment Dean would have. Perhaps tomorrow at this time she'd know.
Carefully, she unpacked her suitcases, hanging the dresses and skirts and blouses in the wardrobe cabinet on the empty hangers in the hope that gravity would straighten the wrinkles from them. Much of the wardrobe space was occupied by her roommate's clothing, most of which apparently consisted of oversize shirts and trousers. When she finished, she felt weary. A warm shower, she decided, and a good night's rest would make her feel like a new woman. She wanted to look her best when she saw Dean. It was important that she look as fresh and as pretty as the first time he saw her.
She undressed and put on her bathrobe. It felt strange undressing in a strange place, even with the window curtain drawn, so she did it quickly, not even glancing at herself in the dresser mirror. She laid out her pajamas on the unmussed bed and went across the hall to the bathroom.
It contained the standard fixtures, with a curtained stall shower next to the bathtub. She washed her face carefully, then got in the shower, soaped up, and turned on the water. The liquid bathed her body with delicious streams of soothing warmth, washing away the tensions of travel and making her feel even sleepier.
She stepped from the shower, toweled briskly, and then slipped the robe around her. She crossed the corridor, entered her room and closed the door before she even realized someone was on one of the beds. Involuntarily, Lorelei gasped.
"Hi," the girl said, around the cigarette dangling from unpainted lips. "You must be Lorelei Goodwin. Miss Prentice told me about you. I'm your roommate, Bobby Bartlett."
Lorelei nodded. "I'm glad to meet you, Bobby," she said, although she wasn't certain this was true. "The-bathroom's available, if you want to use it."
Bobby shook her head, and not one hair of her lacquered short-cropped hair fell out of place. She took a long drag on her cigarette and stretched her chunky figure in the baggy pajamas.
"I'm not going to take a shower, at least not right away," she said. Then, she grinned. "You can go ahead and undress, honey. After all, I'm a girl, too."
Lorelei blushed. She'd hoped her embarrassment wasn't that obvious, but apparently it was. It was foolish, but Bobby made her feel very uncomfortable. She wished the girl had taken the hint to leave, or that she had thought to take her pajamas with her to the shower.
She fidgeted with the cord of her robe and then, deciding it was silly to delay the inevitable, turned away and took off the covering completely. She could feel Bobby's eyes boring into her back, making her feel more naked than she was. She picked up her pajamas quickly, bent to put them on, and dropped them again as she felt a touch.
Bobby laughed. She was sitting on the edge of the bed nearest Lorelei. "Don't be so jumpy, honey," she said. "I was just being playful."
"You startled me," Lorelei said. But she was more than startled. This girl was beginning to terrify her.
"I didn't mean to," the girl said. She was staring. "You have a very lovely body, Lorelei. Your skin is so soft, so beautiful."
"Thank you."
"May I touch it? Your skin, I mean. After all, it's not as though anything is wrong, because we're both girls. But you do have such nice skin. Soft-looking. And your hair-" She reached out.
"Don't!" Lorelei snatched her pajamas from the bed, held them in front of her, and shrank away, her heart pounding with the fear in her.
Bobby frowned, then forced a smile. "What's wrong, honey. I'm not going to bite you."
Lorelei fought to be calm, but the fright issued with her voice. "I think you'd better get out of here," she said, "before I call Miss Prentice."
Bobby grunted. "That old dike? What could she do to you that I couldn't do better?" She Hoped back on the bed. "Besides, it's partly my room, and I'll stay here as long as I want."
"Then I'm leaving," Lorelei announced, pulling on her pajamas.
Her decision came as a relief. Even a lonely hotel room would be better than this.
"Oh, okay, don't get hysterical," Bobby said. "I'll go to the bathroom until you're finished dressing."
She swung her legs from the bed, rose and paused at the door. "Honey, if you want to make out in this crowd, you've got to shape up."
She closed the door behind her and whistled her way into the bathroom. Lorelei hastily pulled on her pajamas and went to the door to listen. She heard running water from the room across the hall. One thing was certain. She wasn't going to let that girl-or whatever it was-paw her.
The dressing table was a heavy old thing, but she managed to push and pull it across the floor until it was against the door, and then she twisted it slightly to that it wedged between the wardrobe cabinet and the doorknob. Then she turned off the lights, lay down on the bed and waited.
A few minutes later, the running water stopped, the bathroom door opened and closed, and footsteps pattered across the hallway. The doorknob turned. Lorelei held her breath as the door strained inward.
Outside the door, Bobby paused. "Lorelei," she said. "It's me. Bobby. Let me in."
"No," Lorelei said.
"It's my room," Bobby said angrily. "I was here before you were."
"Get another room," Lorelei said obstinately.
"Look, you dumb-"
"Go away," Lorelei cried, "or I'll call the police."
Bobby hesitated. "No, look, Lorelei, be reasonable, honey. All I want to do is get some sleep. I won't bother you if you don't want me to. Honest."
"I told you to go away," Lorelei said. "I'll call the police if you don't. I mean it."
"Miss Prentice is going to hear of this," Bobby muttered through the barricaded door.
Lorelei listened to the footsteps retreat angrily down the hallway, followed by the soft whir of the elevator. It wasn't warm in the room, but she discovered her pajamas were soaked with sweat and the material clung uncomfortably to her. She wished she could have another shower, but she was determined not to remove the dresser from the door until morning.
She stayed awake, listening to the silence of the night and to the occasional sound of someone moving through the hallway and into the nearby rooms, and soon there was no sound at all. Bobby had had plenty of time to complain to Miss Prentice, but of course the older woman had seen what Bobby was up to and told her not to bother Lorelei.
Relieved, Lorelei climbed from the bed and went to the window, where she raised the curtain. There should be a good view of the city from the sixth floor. Except the view was not of the city. It was of the courtyard in the center of the building. Lights were on in many of the rooms perimetering the courtyard, and some of the shades were up. Despite herself, Lorelei found herself looking into some of the rooms.
There was a girl lying on a bed, reading. Another was combing her hair. And there were two girls, who-
Lorelei gasped and averted her eyes and then closed them tight, trying to blot out the memory. She threw herself on the bed, feeling her stomach churn. She wished Dean knew where she was, so he could come and take her away from this terrible place.
Those two girls were lying on the bed, totally nude, and it looked like they were wrestling-except they weren't wrestling.
One of the girls was Bobby.
The other was Miss Prentice!
CHAPTER TEN
If you're looking for a movie star, Lorelei reasoned, the logical place to look for him is Hollywood.
After a restless night in her room at the Women's Hotel, Lorelei had awakened to the light of morning cascading through her window. Remembering what had happened the night before, she rose quickly, dressed, and repacked her belongings, eager to get away.
She moved the barricade from the door and peered cautiously into the empty corridor. Then, suitcases in hand, she took the elevator to the lobby, hoping she wouldn't see Bobby or Miss Prentice; she had the feeling she wouldn't be able to face either one of them without becoming ill. She hated to even think of it. So she tried to put the memory from her mind as she walked across the lobby, looking neither to right nor to left, and through the heavy glass doors and out into the street.
The morning air was clear and crisp, and she'd been sure it was going to be wonderful day and that she was going to find Dean.
She took a taxi back to the bus terminal, where she ate breakfast in the coffee shop. She felt a momentary twinge of homesickness as she saw a bus marked NEW YORK. It brought back the pleasant memories associated with home, the friends she had. She hoped Aunt Louise was not too worried about her; she'd have to write to her, of course, and let her know she was safe. But Lorelei was determined to find Dean first. She knew that if she and Dean were able to get together again, no power on Earth would be able to separate them.
She purchased a ticket and boarded the HOLLYWOOD bus, which proceeded to take her across the freeways at a terrifying pace. Lorelei pressed her face against the window and watched the tall palm trees march past like silent sen-tinals guarding the road. Sportscars swooped down upon the bus, drifted to the side, and then accelerated out of sight. A blonde fellow, hair flying, waved to her, and she waved back and smiled.
The bus decelerated up a ramp and made a left turn where a large sign said HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD. She felt a wave of excitement flood her. She was actually in Hollywood. There was even a sign on a nearby mountain that agreed with her: Hollywood, it said, and Lorelei repeated the name.
She looked for movie stars. They passed the PANTAGES Theater, where workmen were setting up arc lights for a premiere. Office buildings, nightclubs, and stores went past.
"Hollywood and Vine," the bus driver called out, as the bus swooped toward the corner.
Lorelei got off the bus, lugging her bags with her. After the bus had pulled off with a whoosh, she stood for a moment drinking in the magic of the famous intersection, and then she crossed the street to the drugstore.
The drugstore had the usual array of colored telephone books, but even a patient search of these failed to reveal the name Dean Richards. She called the Information Operator, who sympathized with her but was unable to help.
And how, perched forlornly on a fountain stool, Lorelei sat sipping a cherry-coke and wondering if she would ever find Dean. Sometimes it seemed so hopeless that it made her want to cry. Of course, she hadn't even tried the studios yet, but if she met defeat there also, then where would she try?
"Pardon me, young lady," someone said.
Lorelei looked up. A small thin man with a bristly blonde crew cut and a homely face had seated himself on the stool beside her and was busy thrusting a smal white card in her direction. She took the card from him. It said:
STANLEY DOBKIN TALENT SCOUT
Lorelei blinked at the card, then at its owner, who had stuck an unloaded cigarette holder into his mouth and was busy sucking on it.
"I'm very glad to meet you Mr. Dobkin," Lorelei said, "but I don't understand what you want from me."
Stanley Dobkin smiled tolerantly, removed the cigarette holder from his mouth and used it to scratch his button nose. "I want to make you," he said, "another Marilyn Monroe."
Lorelei looked at him, astonished.
He shrugged, reached forward and patted her arm. "I can't promise it, of course. You might only become a famous Hollywood model, but you could get into the movies."
Lorelei sat up straight on her stool and let the thought overwhelm her. She had figured that Dean was the one in the family with the talent to be in show business, and she would be content to be his homemaker. But if both of them were in the movies, they would have something in common. Why, they might even star in the same picture.
"But why me?" she said. "What have I got?"
He grinned at her. "If you don't know by this time what you've got, doll, then you've never undressed in front of a mirror."
"But-"
Stanley Dobkin held up a restraining hand. "I know what you're going to say, doll. You're going to say, okay, so you're young, you're pretty, you got a figure with curves that don't stop-but you got no experience in modeling." He took a firm grip on her arm this time. "Well, don't worry your pretty little head about it. Old Stanley will teach you everything you need to know, and he'll pay you five dollars an hour while you're learning, too."
Wouldn't Dean be proud of her, Lorelei thought, if she were a famous model. And five dollars an hour wasn't to be sniffed at either. There were people in Attica who didn't make that much money. Of course, she wasn't so naive as to think that a printed card made a man a talent scout. She sipped thoughtfully at her cherry-coke, wishing Dean were here to help her decide.
"Look," Stanley Dobkin said. "Obviously, you've just arrived in Hollywood and you don't have a job. I can tell by the suitcases. I'm a pretty good judge of talent, and you've got it, doll. I mean, you've got that inner something." He shook his head sadly. "It would be a shame to waste it."
"I don't know," Lorelei mused. The idea was certainly tempting. Wouldn't Sally Mealor and the rest of the girls be envious of her if she became a model. "What kind of posing would I be doing?"
"I've got a job lined up this afternoon, modeling bathing suits for television."
"Bathing suits?" Lorelei said. She knew she looked good in a bathing suit, but the idea of parading around-
"On television," Stanley Dobkin reminded. "The television people are very strict. They wouldn't let us do anything that wasn't on the up and up."
"That's true," Lorelei admitted. "Okay, Mr. Dobkin, I'll try out your job."
"Swell," he said, patting her on the leg, "what's your name, doll?"
She told him, and he helped her with her bags out to a nearby taxi stand, where they climbed aboard a cab and hurried over to Western Avenue. All the way over, Stanley Dobkin was busy studying her legs.
He nodded certainly. "Lorelei, you got nice legs," he said.
"Thank you," Lorelei said, not knowing what else to say.
His gaze shifted, and he opened his mouth to say something else, then thought better of it. The taxi deposited them in front of a brick building that housed a laundry, variety store, and a draperied enclosure that had STAR STUDIOS printed in gold block letters across the windowed j front of it.
"Here we are," Stanley Dobkin announced exuberantly, carrying one of Lorelei's suitcases into Star Studios. Lorelei followed him.
They were in a reception room. A pony-tailed blonde girl in a tight-fitting sweater was seated behind a desk; she was drinking a coke and looking at a magazine. She looked up and grinned.
"Hiya, Dobky," she said. "When's the show go on?"
Stanley Dobkin frowned. "Don't call me Dobky," he said. "And the show goes on in an hour." He jerked a finger over his shoulder. "This here's Lorelei. She's going to try out. I want you to tell her what to do, Gayle."
Gayle looked at Lorelei and nodded. "You want me to tell her anything else?"
"Just what she's supposed to do, that's all."
As he marched off into the other room, Gayle said, "You can leave your bags here, if you'd like. You just get in town?"
Lorelei nodded.
"Dobky's a fast worker, all right. He knows just where to lay in wait."
"He seems very nice," Lorelei said.
Gayle shrugged, got up from behind the desk. She was wearing a tight skirt, and Lorelei could swear there was nothing on under it.
"Well, come on, I'll show you what to do."
She led Lorelei into a long room banked with unlit lights. What appeared to be a television camera lurked in one corner.
"This is where you'll do your modeling. You walk from the dressing room over here-" she illustrated "-turn, walk back to the dressing room and change into another bathing suit."
"That's all?" Lorelei said, surprised and pleased.
"That's all," Gayle agreed. "There'll be three of us this afternoon. Juanita should be here any minute. Care for a coke?"
"I'd love one."
They sat in the reception room, drinking cokes and talking. Stanley Dobkin, Talent Scout, had discovered Gayle in the bus terminal downtown. She'd been young and starry-eyed and gullible then, she said, and didn't know any better.
"Well, at least you're on television," Lorelei said.
Gayle grunted. "Honey,-" Stanley Dobkin thrust his head into the room. "Juanita here yet?"
"Not yet," Gayle said.
"We'd better start without her," he decided. He nodded at Lorelei. "You kids can go into the dressing room any time."
"Like lambs to the slaughter," Gayle said, getting up. "C'mon, Lorelei, our public awaits."
They went through the long room again to the dressing room. Gayle threw open the door, and a great blaze of lights blinded Lorelei, who blinked and stood back.
"You'll get used to it," Gayle promised.
Lorelei followed her into the room and closed the door behind them. A wooden bench bordered one wall, and the opposite wall was completely mirrored. Large banks of flourescent lights covered the ceiling, dispelling shadows from secret corners. A box on the bench was packed with bathing suits.
"It's time for a change," Gayle announced. She tried to sound cheerful, but there was weariness in her voice.
Smiling, she stood up, and slowly began pulling the sweater over her head. Flesh appeared and a white bra enclosing more flesh. She unzipped her skirt, stepped out of it. She was wearing panties, but the thinnest, scantiest Lorelei had ever seen. She stretched, swaying before the mirror, as though she were playing before an audience.
She reached behind her to unhook the bra, which fell from her breasts. They were large breasts, but they were firm and hardly in need of support. Lorelei watched, fascinated, wishing she had breasts like that. Her own breasts were well-formed, but nothing like Gayle's. In front of this girl, Lorelei felt less like a woman, and yet she couldn't help but admire her figure.
Gayle bent to pull her brief panties down over her hips, down her thighs. She steped out of them, tossed them aside, and stood stretching languorously in the middle of the room, moving her hips softly. She was not ashamed being naked; in fact, she loved every delicious moment of it. Perhaps, Lorelei thought with sudden insight, the girl were imagining she was with a man, the way Lorelei had when she was home in the secret enclosure of her bedroom.
Gayle selected a one-piece bathing suit from the box, slowly pulled it on, moving as though in time to some inaudible music. She hooked the straps and went to the door.
"You'd better start changing," she advised.
The closing of the door shook Lorelei from her trance. Hurriedly, she began removing her blouse, and then her skirt. She hesitated at the bra, and then in sudden determination unhooked it and released her breasts. She pulled down her panties and tossed them on the bench.
Only then did she look up into the large mirror at herself. It reminded her of the old days at home when she used to undress before a mirror. What was it Stanley Dobkin had said? "If you don't know what you've got, you haven't undressed in front of a mirror in a long time." It did seem like a long time. And even looking at her figure objectively, she could see what he was talking about.
She had not the proportions of a Gayle, but her figure was youthful, well-formed. The high-tipped breasts stood out straight and firm and slipped in a smooth, swift arc down to her tapered waist, flaring out just in time at the hips. She stood sideways before the mirror and was pleased at the flatness of her stomach, and she tried not to think that perhaps in a month that part of her anatomy would start to bulge.
She forced the thought from her mind. That was a month from now. Now, she was a pretty young girl with a very good figure. How was it that Gayle had moved her hips? Like this? she thought, moving them, swaying toward the mirror.
The door opened and Gayle walked in. Lorelei tried to stop a sway in mid-cycle and nearly fell over. Gayle laughed pleasantly.
"You're doing very we'll," she said. She looked at Lorelei and nodded approval. "You've got a very fine figure."
"Thank you," Lorelei said.
It didn't bother her that Gayle was looking at her. Gayle's interest was purely academic. She quickly selected a bathing suit and pulled it on. "I-I hope I'm not late."
"You're okay," Gayle assured her. "Just take your time."
Lorelei made sure all straps were secure before she opened the door. It was a modest one-piece bathing suit, a trifle too small in places, but this she was sure only emphasized her figure the more. The bright lights were on in the room, and Mr. Dobkin was behind his camera smiling at her.
She walked slowly across the room, her carriage as erect as she could manage it, her body moving at what she hoped was a proper undulation. She wondered if the people back east would ever see her on television like this. She didn't really mind, because there wasn't anything wrong with what she was doing. They would probably be quite envious of her. Wait until she wrote to Sally Mealor and told her she had a job modeling on television!
She reached one end of the room, turned, looked at the camera. Behind the machine, Mr. Dobkin raised his hand so that the index finger and thumb were touching in an O. Lorelei smiled at that, for it meant that she was doing all right.
And then her heart leaped. There was another man beside Mr. Dobkin, and she strained to see him. He was very handsome and distinguished-looking, with black hair flecked with grey and a neat mustache. It couldn't be, she thought, and yet it looked like Tony Rennick, the movie star!
She walked toward the camera in an effort to get a closer look at him, but he moved away out of sight. Disappointed, she tried not to let the feelings show on her face. She entered the dressing room and closed the door behind her. Gayle was putting on a two-piece bikini.
"Gayle," Lorelei said, excited, "gues who I just saw?"
Gayle grinned. "Who?"
"Tony Rennick. At least, I'd swear it was Tony Rennick."
The smile faded. "You saw Tony Rennick? Where?"
Lorelei gestured over her shoulder. "Out there. He was standing talking to Mr. Dobkin."
Gayle grimaced. "The dirty bastard! And here I was practically breaking my back in here for him."
Lorelei stared at her, uncomprehending.
"What?"
The door opened and a slim, pretty Mexican girl came in.
"Hiya, kids," she said, "sorry I'm late."
"Juanita, this is Lorelei," Gayle said. "Do me a favor and tell her the facts of life, will you? You express yourself so much better than I?"
Gayle walked angrily to the door, slammed it behind her.
"Glad to meet you, kid," Juanita said, sitting down on the bench and starting to undress. "What is it you'd like to know?"
"I'm not sure," Lorelei said, undoing the strap on her bathing suit. "I just mentioned I thought I saw Tony Rennick, and Gayle just stormed out of here."
Juanita laughed. She had her blouse off and was removing the bra to reveal her small, perfectly shaped breasts. "Gayle has been trying for months to climb into the sack with Tony Rennick, but except for the show she puts on for him, he ignores her."
"She does know him, then," Lorelei said, pulling the bathing suit down over her hips and stepping out of it.
"Sure. We all do. I'll introduce you, if you'd like."
Juanita unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall in a circle around her feet. She was wearing nothing but a garter belt, stockings and high heels. Lorelei stood before the mirror and watched their reflections. Juanita's figure was very similar to her own, except darker-complected, and there were subtle differences in the sweep of the curves, the slope of indentations.
"Gayle was just sore," Juanita said, "that Tony was not in here watching her, that he'd rather be out there watching you in a bathing suit than her in the nude."
Lorelei felt cold paralyze her. "In here, watching her?" she said slowly.
Juanita looked at her, puzzled, then she frowned. "You mean, you don't know? That no good Dobkin. He'd do this to his mother if he had the chance."
"Do what?" Lorelei said.
Juanita shrugged. "I may as well tell you," she said. "You're not really on television. The camera out there is an old prop that hasn't worked in years. The real show is in here. Tony Rennick likes to look at girls, and he pays Dobkin well to let him look at them. Right now, at this very instant, he's in a room behind that one-way looking glass watching us and having his kicks. Funny, huh?"
Lorelei felt her skin grown ice cold, and she began to tremble. She should put on her clothing and run. Instead, she slowly raised her eyes to the mirror. It looked like an ordinary mirror, reflecting images of two nude women. But she knew that Juanita was telling the truth. It was a one-way mirror, and behind it was a man who had been watching her dress and undress, lusting at each motion she made with her body, gazing at the secret parts of her she had meant only for Dean.
She felt sick with shame and horror. But strangely, it was not the shame and horror of being such a fool to be taken in by Stanley Dobkin, Talent Scout, or to be used in this manner. She was troubled by her emotions. She should be angry, she should pick up something heavy and smash the mirror into fragments.
Instead, she felt a warm glow permeate her, a familiar longing creeping along her legs and into her body. And suddenly she felt more alive than she ever had. Gayle had a perfect body, yet Tony Rennick refused to go to bed with her. She'd done all she could to interest him, yet he had gone outside to watch Lorelei in a bathing suit.
It was a wonderful feeling, to be wanted.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The sportscar accelerated fiercely along the freeway as Tony Rennick expertly swung the Austin-Healey in among the traffic. Lorelei held on to the handle in front of her with both hands, felt the seat belt press in against her as the car changed lanes. The wind whipped about her, taking her breath away.
She glanced at Tony, at his long black and grey hair flying. He did look so dashing, just like in his pictures. He grinned at her and tromped on the accelerator, and the car responded.
"How do you like it?" he called above the roar of the motor.
"It's marvelous," she said.
She had never ridden in a sportscar before, and she felt as though she had never really lived. The rides at the amusement parks were nothing compared to this.
He turned off the freeway and decelerated up the ramp to a stop sign.
"My apartment's just a few miles from here," he said.
Lorelei felt guilty when he said that. Somehow, it didn't seem fair to Dean that she was going to a strange man's apartment. And yet it was because of Dean that she was doing it. Besides, they weren't going to make love or anything. She was sure Dean would understand. He seemed closer now, more than ever. Perhaps she would even see him tonight.
They drove through a heavily-trafficked street, then cut off on a side street that led to a series of apartment buildings that were trying to outdo each other in modern design and fantastic tropical shrubbery. Tony accelerated into a carport at the side of one, cut the motor, and grinned at her.
"Homesweet home," he announced.
They got out of the car, and he removed her suitcases from the trunk and led the way up a sidewalk to a pair of thick glass doors imbedded in the wall ol the apartment "building. Beyond the doors, Lorelei could see an open area with a swimming pool and people splashing in it.
They walked up a curving flight of stairs to a railing that fronted the apartments circling the swimming pool. A voluptuous redhead in a brie two-piece bathing suit who was sunning herself looked up, smiled, and was about to wave, when she noticed Lorelei. She frowned and turned her head away, feigning interest in something else. Tony tried to suppress a chuckle and failed.
"I hope I won't get you into trouble, I mean with my being here," Lorelei said.
"Lorelei," he said, "you're a sweet, naive, innocent child. You go with a notorious wolf to his bachelor apartment, and you worry about his reputation." He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "You're a remarkable girl."
She recognized it as a compliment. "I meant I thought your other girl friends might be angry with you."
"Like Gwen?" he said, nodding toward the redhead.
"And Gayle," Lorelei supplied. "She's in love with you, you know."
He shook his head. "She's in love with the idea of me. There's a difference."
He stopped in front of a door bordered by draperied picture windows. Number 7, the door was labeled. Lucky seven, Lorelei thought; perhaps it will be. Tony fitted the key to the lock, opened the door and stood aside for Lorelei to enter.
She took one last look over her shoulder at the swimming pool. Gwen was glaring hatred at her, but Lorelei shrugged it off and walked into Tony Rennick's apartment. He followed her and closed the door, shutting out sounds of the outside.
Lorelei stood drinking in the magnificence of the room. The carpeting was white and wall to wall, and her feet almost seemed to bury themselves in the material. A large modern chandelier hung over a gold and oak bar. Expensive paintings were set flush against the walls. A heavy couch curved along two walls, and a matching chair rested nearby, with a large circular coffee-table with a marble top between them.
Lorelei nodded slowly, certainly to herself. This was the way a Hollywood bachelor should live.
"Do you like it?" he said, behind her.
She whirled excitedly. "I love it," she cried. "May I see the rest of it?"
"Of course," he smiled. "But first-"
He drew her to him, placed his arms around her, kissed her gently. She didn't resist. She didn't want to, and she was sure she couldn't have if she had wanted to. It was all so marvelous. He was so marvelous.
"I'm glad you're not angry with me about the one-way mirror trick," he said, still holding onto her. "It's just that I like to see girls in the nude. I like to see them dress and undress."
"They'd do that for you in your apartment," Lorelei said, "if you'd let them."
"I suppose so," he admitted, "but it wouldn't be the same. When I'm behind the mirror, I feel like I'm a Peeping Tom. It's a pleasantly guilty feeling, and this way I can avoid the risks a regular peeping Tom might run."
"I understand," Lorelei said, although she didn't, really. She imagined that men would want to do much more than peep at a girl. Of course, when you've had as many girls as Tony Rennick had in his lifetime, perhaps sex had lost some of its thrill.
Yet even as she thought of it, Lorelei could not imagine it. As he held her close, she felt the stirrings of desire again, and she wondered if she would be able to bring back new excitement into Tony's life.
He kissed her on the nose. "Why don't you go on the grand tour, and I'll mix us a couple of drinks."
She wandered off down the hallway, while he went to the bar and made drink-mixing sounds. She peered into the bathroom and the bedroom and the den. Although she realized he probably had a maid come in, Lorelei was amazed that a bachelor apartment could be so neat. It seemed almost unnatural that it should be so.
When she returned to the living room, she found him on the couch, his shoes off, his feet stretched out into the carpeting, a pair of ice-cubed drinks on the coffee table. She joined him, kicking off her shoes. She snuggled up against him, allowed him to put his arm around her, twisted her toes in the soft, springy carpeting.
She giggled at a sudden thought.
"What?" he said.
"I was just wondering-it's a personal thing, and you don't have to answer it, of course-but the carpet feels so nice on my bare feet, I was wondering if you'd ever been completely naked and rolled on the rug."
He grinned at her. "I've never felt the urge."
"I didn't mean alone," she said.
"Are you suggesting we try it?"
She hesitated only an instant. "Yes," she said.
He removed his arm from her shoulder, picked up the two drinks from the coffeetable and handed her one.
"I'm afraid your boyfriend wouldn't appreciate a scene like that," he said quietly.
"No," Lorelei admitted, "I suppose he wouldn't."
But he's not here, she wanted to cry out at him, and you are, and I need someone now, now, now! She sipped her drink, but it failed to put out the slow fire that was burning in her. It was a shame. Here she was with a handsome, sexy movie star in his apartment-and he refused to seduce her because he had principles. She wondered how many girls Dean had made love to since Attica.
She wondered, but she didn't really care. It was the nature of man to love, just as it was the nature of woman. When she and Dean got together again, she would never let him out of her sight.
And perhaps tonight, she thought, would be the night. She could not have gotten angry with Tony at the Star Studio. He was so charming, so apologetic. And suddenly, she thought maybe he knows Dean. He didn't, but he did know Muriel Hay-den.
"In fact," he said, "she's giving a party tonight at her place. Why don't you come along with me, and we'll ask her what became of your wandering friend?"
Lorelei thought that was a fine idea, and when he offered to let her use his apartment to relax and clean up and change her clothes, she accepted. She had even thought that he might have made love to her. Unfortunately, he was too much of a gentleman to do anything to another man's girl.
It was commendable, Lorelei thought-but awfully frustrating.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Muriel Hayden's house was probably not larger than Grand Central Station. It just seemed that way. It was a large, colonial-looking house you had to go through a guarded gate and travel a long road to get to. As the Austin-Healey accelerated up the paved road toward the house, Lorelei was impressed.
"She must have a lot of money to be able to live in a place like this."
"She does," Tony agreed. "She made a lot of money in silent pictures and invested a lot of it. She doesn't have to worry about where her next Cadillac comes from."
"Then why is she trying to make a comeback? Surely not to make more money?"
"Not with the turkeys she's been investing in. Career-wise, it's done her more harm than good. But all she needs is some young fellow to tell her she isn't as old as she really is, and she'll buy his play or she'll give him a star role in a movie or play with her. Her driving force is ego. She was once a glamour girl, the center of attraction wherever she went. Then, one day, she looked into her mirror and saw an unattractive, unglamourous fifty-some year old woman."
"The poor woman," Lorelei thought aloud. "It must be terrible for her."
"There are a lot of things that money, unfortunately, can't buy," Tony said.
Lorelei frowned at his words. Was it her imagination, or was he intending the statement for himself as well as for Muriel Hayden? No, that was ridiculous. Tonny Rennick had everything a man could possibly want and still be a bachelor. Good looks. A sufficient amount of money. Success in his chosen field. Woman throwing themselves at him. She put the thought from her mind.
Apparently, Muriel Hayden liked to throw parties. To the immediate left of the big house there was a parking lot, which was already crowded with cars, shiny late models of the expensive kind. Tony glided the sportscar into a spot between a I Cadillac and a Lincoln Continental.
It was only ten o'clock, but the party was in full swing. Sounds of an orchestra drifted out to them over the night air as they got out of the sportscar and made their way, arm in arm, to the house.
"What'll I do?" Lorelei said in rising panic. "How should I act?"
Tony grinned at her. "Just be your normal, sweet self," he said, leaning to kiss her on the cheek, "and everyone'll be wild about you, just ' as I am."
Lorelei felt happy. She knew that in his own way Tony meant it. But it was in his own special way, and she must be careful not to interpret it by other standards. He looked so handsome, so distinguished, in his white jacket, and she was proud to be with him. If Dean were there, she might even make him a bit jealous.
Of course, she was no slouch either. She'd moaned that she had (literally) nothing to wear to a swank Hollywood party.
"You'll be a sensation," Tony had said.
"No, really," Lorelei said. "All I have are plain, ordinary dresses. You can't get a formal in a suitcase this size, unless you don't have anything else to take along."
The problem was easily solved. They went shopping, and Tony bought her a gown that cost a hundred and twenty-five dollars. She didn't want to accept it at first, but he insisted that it would make him very happy, so she let him. She wished he would let her pay him back, especially since she found she was swiftly developing a yearning for this wonderful man who refused to take advantage of her even when she wanted him to.
The interior of the house bore some resemblance to Grand Central Station, except it was much livelier. The orchestra in a far corner of the room was playing a cha-cha-cha and people were milling about, sipping drinks and making conversation. They entered the crowd and were soon lost to it. A few people turned to nod at Tony, and Lorelei was pleased to note that several of the males turned to look at her with undisguised admiration.
She knew that she did look very good. The dress was an important factor. It was ballerina length, flaring black net with silver sequins, off the shoulder and almost off the breasts, being designed to show off a generous amount of cleavage. Fortunately, Lorelei had a generous amount to show off.
"Wait here," Tony said. "I'll get us some drinks, then I'll introduce you around."
He wandered off, and Lorelei scanned the crowd for a familiar face. There weren't any. A chunky young man was making his way through the crowd toward her. There was something familiar about his face: it cried wolf in a loud, clear voice.
"Hello, there," he said. "I don't believe we've met. My name's Dwight Latour."
"Lorelei Goodwin," she supplied.
"Glad to meet you, Lorelei. Can I get you a drink?"
"Thanks," she said, "but Tony is getting me one."
"Tony?"
"Tony Rennick. You've probably heard of him."
Dwight laughed. "Yes," he said, "I have. Tell me, what's a young chick like you doing with that old duffer?"
Lorelei stared at him. Instead of being impressed, he was actually insulting. "Now, look here-"
"Sorry," Dwight said, backing off in mock terror. "He's probably a doll. I only know what I've heard."
"That he's a wolf?" Lorelei said. "Well, he's been very nice to me, and I like him a lot." She hesitated. "What have you heard?"
"You'd have to see it to believe it," Dwight said. "Besides, let's not argue. Nobody ever argues at a Muriel Hayden party. They just get drunk and go off into one of the million rooms upstairs to sleep it off."
"Where is Muriel?" Lorelei said.
Dwight pointed. "She's the center of attraction in that circle of paid admirers over there."
Lorelei followed the line of his finger. On the other side of the room, a woman was standing rather unsteadily. She was an older woman, with too much makeup on her face in an effort to hide the years. She was surrounded by young men who smiled and joked with her. She leaned forward with a cigarette for one of them to light, and automatically he reached in his pocket and pulled out a lighter. As he did so, he looked over in Lorelei's direction.
Her heart stopped suddenly. It was Dean!
Apparently, he hadn't seen her, for he had returned to his task of lighting Muriel Hayden's cigarette for her.
"Disgusting, isn't it?" Dwight said. "Playing up to an old hag like that."
"I notice you're drinking her liquor!" Lorelei snapped. "Please excuse me."
She stamped off, threading her way among the groups of people between her and Dean. What would he say to her? she wondered. Would he take her in his arms right then and there, or would he take her to some secluded spot so they could talk over old times? His back was toward her, and she marveled at how big and strong he looked all dressed up. Her heartbeat increased its staccato beat as she neared him.
And then, when she was close enough to touch him, she said softly, "Dean."
He turned slowly to face her, but there was no emotion on his face. "Hello, Lorelei," he said.
"How've you been?"
"Fine," he said. "And you?"
"Oh, all right, I guess. Aren't you surprised to see me?"
"Yes, I am."
Despite herself, Lorelei frowned. Why? she thought. Why were the two of them standing there talking nonsense as though they had never meant anything to each other?
"Can't we go someplace to talk?" Lorelei asked.
Dean hesitated. "I-I suppose so," he said. He turned back to the group he was with. "Excuse me a minute," he said to them; "I'll be right back."
"Which way?"
"Over here," he said, nodding toward some French doors. "There's a garden out here."
She sought his hand, but he eluded her. He opened the doors and they passed through into the cool night of the outside. The garden was not unoccupied. Couples were necking in and out of the furniture scattered about the tropical plants and trees.
"This is about as private as we can get," Dean said, "but I'm sure none of these people are going to notice us."
"It reminds me of the Eagle," Lorelei said.
Dean frowned and didn't look at her. "Did you get my letter?"
"Yes. But I knew you couldn't mean all those things you said in it, Dean. It's different between us. You've had other girls and I've had other boys, but it's not the same."
He shook his head impatiently. "No, you don't understand. It's not any different between us. I meant what I said in the letter, Lorelei. The best thing you can do is go home."
She could feel the tears welling, but she fought them back. "You can't mean it, Dean, you can't!" She tried to press against him, but he pulled away.
"Please don't make a scene," he said. "As far as I'm concerned, our affair is settled. Oh, hell, what does that bitch want now?"
Someone was calling his name from inside in a drunken female voice. The French doors burst open, and Muriel Hayden stood silhouetted in the doorway, glaring.
"There you are, Dean dear," she said. "I've been looking all over for you. My cigarette needs a light, and you're the only one who knows just how to do it for me."
"Don't go, Dean," Lorelei said. "Please, don't!"
"I'm sorry, Lorelei," Dean said. "Goodbye."
He brushed past her and joined Muriel at the doorway.
"I was worried about you, baby," Muriel gushed, leaning against him.
"I was just talking to an old friend," Dean told her.
Lorelei turned away, the tears smarting her eyes. It was like some horrible nightmare. She had traveled across the entire country, experiencing all sorts of terrible adventures, to find Dean-only to discover he didn't want her. A sudden thought: perhaps if he knew she was going to have his child-No! He must want her for herself alone, not because of any sense of obligation.
"Like I said," a male voice said beside her, "it's disgusting. Imagine making love to that powdered crone when he could have a beautiful young chick like you. A career isn't worth it."
Lorelei looked up into the smug face of Dwight Latour. "Oh, shut up!" she said, and slapped him hard across the face.
Then she hurried back into the main room, not looking back. She was sorry she'd hit him, but she was in no mood to apologize. She wanted to find Tony.
She found him in a group of people animatedly discussing the plays of George Bernard Shaw.
"Tony, could I see you for a minute?"
"Sure," he said, exuberantly. "Excuse me, people, but beauty calls," and as she led him away, "Now, what is it and where in the devil were you? I wanted to show you off to my friends."
"I'd like to see what's upstairs," Lorelei said.
He waved a hand inconsequentially. "Nothing but bedrooms and closets."
"I'd like to see it, though. Please?"
He grinned at her. "Okay," he said. "How can I resist you when you look at me with those great big beautiful eyes. Hey, that's a great title for a song, wonder why nobody ever thought of it."
His walk was none too steady, so she put one of his arms over her shoulder and walked toward a stairway in one corner. No one seemed to pay them any attention; apparently no one was sober enough. Even the orchestra was beginning to sound liquid around the edges.
They walked up the stairway to the second floor, the sounds of the main room getting dimmer as they ascended. A wide carpeted hallway led from the balcony to a series of doors. Lorelei opened the first door.
"Hey, what the hell!" an indignant male voice said, and there was a ruffling of bedclothes, the sound of bedsprings protesting.
Hastily, Lorelei closed the door, stammering an apology.
"Nothing up here but bedrooms and closets," Tony muttered thickly, as she led him to the next door.
This room was empty. She led him into the darkness and bolted the door behind them. A large window set into one wall gave light from a sky full of stars. She let his weight carry him onto the bed, and then she picked up his feet and put them level with the rest of his body. She lay down beside him. He didn't stir.
She smiled and stroked his hair with loving care. "Poor Tony," she thought aloud. "How many girls would like to be where I am now. Too bad I had to let you get drunk and then take advantage of you. But you don't have to worry about Dean any more. Dean doesn't love me. He never did. I was a fool." She bit her lip in an effort to keep the tremor from her voice. "But I'm not going to be a fool any longer."
Her hand was on his cheek, and he stirred beneath her touch, and she bent over him and covered his mouth with her own. His eyes opened, and he tried to rise.
"It's all right, it's all right, my darling," she said soothingly, and he closed his eyes again and breathed heavily.
She settled herself beside him, took his hand and placed it over her breast, outside the dress, and automatically the hand closed and the fingers searched. She could feel a familiar emotion flooding her. It had been a long time, it seemed, since she had let someone she loved make love to her, and now that it was finally happening again, she felt the stirrings of desire even more strongly than before.
She took his other hand and placed it on her leg. Her skin crawled in delightful anticipation as his fingers moved along her flesh. She fumbled with his clothing to help him.
She waited, doing what she could, while the painful fires seethed inside her. Perhaps it was the alcohol, she thought. Her movements became more insistent, almost frantic. She had to have him. He couldn't fail her now, not now when she needed him most.
"Lorelei!" he cried suddenly, and rolled away from her onto the floor.
He struggled to his feet, trembling, and looked down at her and then at himself. He arranged himself.
"Now, you know," he said.
She looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Now you know why I never let Gayle visit me," he said. "Or Gwen, or the others. And why I refused you when you wanted me to. I wanted to very much, so very much it was a painful thing. But I can't any more." His voice came like a sob. "I'm impotent. Are you satisfied now that you've found out? I can't have sexual relations with a woman." His voice had become a shout. He weaved slightly, put a weary hand to his forehead. "I need a drink."
He went untseadily toward the door. Lorelei started to rise, but he waved her away.
"I'll be okay," he said. "Just feeling sorry for myself, is all. I want to be alone for awhile."
He unbolted the door and walked into the hallway. Sounds of music and revelry slipped through the crack. Lorelei put her head on the bed and sobbed uncontrollably. Of all the people in the world she hadn't wanted to hurt, Tony was number one on the list.
Behind her, the door opened some more and she turned to find someone standing in the doorway.
"Hi," Dwight Latour said pleasantly. He held aloft a bottle. "I thought you and I might have ourselves a private party up here."
"Not with me!" Lorelei said indignantly. She leaped from the bed and started to go past him, but he kicked the door shut and with a free hand caught her around the waist and threw her back on the bed.
"Chick," he said, "there's an old saying that if rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy yourself. Well, believe me, right at the moment it's as inevitable as anything is ever likely to be."
"I'll scream for help," she said.
"Go ahead," he said, smiling unconcernedly. "The orchestra will drown out anything. Besides, everybody's too drunk to care."
He sat down on the bed beside her, put his hand around her waist, offered her the bottle. "Relax, chick, have a drink of some of Muriel Hayden's finest champagne."
She tried to squirm away, but he pushed her down on the bed and forced his weight upon her.
"I offered you a drink, chick. It's not polite to refuse."
He shoved the bottleneck between her lips, and she felt the liquid churn into her mouth. She tried to twist her head aside, but his hand on her face was like a vice, and she had to swallow to keep from choking. He lifted the bottle, carefully placed it on the floor beside the bed.
"More of that later," he promised, "but right now-"
He mashed his lips cruelly against hers, biting her lips to open them so his tongue could insinuate its way into her mouth. His hands were alive and eager under her dress. She felt giddy, and despite her wishes the unsatisfied longing began within her as a dull aching throb.
"That's the girl," Dwight said soothingly. "Relax. Just relax and don't tighten up on me, and we'll both have ourselves a grand old time, I promise you."
Dean, Lorelei thought desperately, where are you? Why have you left me? We could have had a wonderful life together, such a wonderful life together.
She began to cry, softly.
"That's it, chick," Dwight said understandingly, "just get it out of your system; it'll do you good. And let's get some of these clothes out of our way."
He fumbled with the zipper and then slid it down its track. He removed his weight-from her in order to take off her dress, which he tossed on the floor.
"Very nice," he said, kneeling back on the bed to look at her.
Lorelei was remembering where Dean was. He was with Muriel Hayden, lighting her cigarettes, smiling at her jokes, doing anything and everything she wanted him to do so he could get ahead in show business. Is it worth it, Dean? she wondered; I hope so, for your sake.
She sat up on the bed and wiped a remnant of a tear from her eye. "I'm thirsty," she said. "Do you have any of that champagne left?"
"That's more like it, chick," Dwight said eagerly. He scooped the bottle from the floor, passed it to her. "Drink hearty."
Lorelei lifted the bottle to her lips and drank thirstily. She was beginning to feel better already. Dwight's face loomed before her, and she took the bottle and swung it at him, but he grabbed her arm and wrested the bottle from her. Then he pressed her tightly to him and forced her back on the bed.
Fire was racing through her veins and she felt the throb of desire pulsing in her body. To hell with Dean, she thought. If he didn't want her, at least Dwight did. Dwight was more a man than any of them. At least he knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.
She squirmed her body under his and wriggled out of her panties. Her bra went next onto the pile of clothing on the floor. His hands, his mouth, his entire body was activated, and she joined him willingly, gladly. It was the age old game of man and woman, and he played it well though roughly, bruising her so she cried out and sighed in mingled pain and pleasure.
When they were through, he lifted his weight from her, and she sank back onto the soft bed, relaxed and at peace with the world. It could still be a wonderful world, she thought, perhaps with her and Dwight. Perhaps in time she could forget Dean and what he had done to her. Dwight had taken her forcefully, but he had chosen her and maybe it could be the first kindlings of love.
"Don't go away," he said softly to her. "I'll be right back."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For a long time there was the bliss of darkness, of silence, of nonentity. And then, slowly, awareness came. Awareness of rays of sunlight stabbing painfully at closed eyelids, of a dull, throbbing ache in every bone and muscle in her body, of a great fuzzy alcoholic wedge trying to split her head apart.
For Lorelei, consciousness became a horrible thing.
She was aware that she was in a bed. She knew that she was alive, but she wasn't certain this was a good thing. She tried to relax and go back to sleep, but consciousness persisted.
She tried to remember what had happened the previous night. She had finally found Dean, she recalled, but he had preferred his career with an aging actress, so she had gone upstairs to seduce Tony, except that Tony was not capable of being seduced. Then there was Dwight, and after him four of his friends, and then darkness. The only good thing was the darkness, but that was fast leaving.
Experimentally, she opened one eye, then closed it quickly as the needles of light lacerated her eyeball, stinging it. She shielded her eyes from the sunlight and slitted them to see the room she was in. Her first gaze fell on an empty chair, and a man's tie draped over the end of it.
A man's tie! She sat up quickly in alarm and the darkness closed in. She put out a hand on the bed to steady herself. What have I done? she wondered. Who took me home last night?
The sunlight was glinting off an open window, through which a sea breeze came. The bedroom was not one she recognized. It had the usual bedroom furnishings and the unmistakable signs of male occupancy.
Lorelei lowered herself gently on the bed and tried to think of a plan of action. Someone had undressed her and put a pair of men's pajamas on her. Whoever had done it would probably return before long, and it would probably be best if she leave before that person-whoever he was-returned. But where were her clothes?
She was trying to decide where to look when the bedroom door opened.
"Well," the girl in the doorway said, "it's about time you woke up. Honey, when you go on a drunk, you really tie one on, don't you?"
"Crystal Jennings," Lorelei cried happily. She leaped out of bed and ran into Crystal's arms. "Crystal, you'll never know how glad I am to see you. Is this your apartment?"
"It's Walter's. He's been kind enough to let me stay here until we get married."
"Married? Why, that's wonderful. But what about your career?"
Crystal shrugged, and her dressing gown shrugged along with her. "Who needs a career when it's true love. And it is, too, even if he isn't a producer."
"He isn't a Hollywood producer."
"No. He's a-would you believe it-a traveling salesman! He said he's sorry he lied, but he was afraid he wouldn't get to first base if he told me the truth. Now, of course, it doesn't matter, because I want him always right at home plate. By the way, there's a friend of yours waiting to see you in the living room." She winked. "A male."
"Oh dear," Lorelei said. "I must look a fright, too. My hairs not combed, I haven't got any lipstick on."
Crystal laughed. "You look swell, honey, believe me. Just go out and see the fellow. He acts like he's got something to tell you. If it's what I think it is, he's not going to worry that you're not dressed for a cocktail party."
Lorelei glanced at herself in the dresser mirror. She really shouldn't see Dean this way. She should shower and get herself fixed up. But she didn't want to take the chance that he might not stay.
Crystal opened the door. "Walter, you come in here and let the young people be by themselves."
Walter, in a pair of multicolored pajamas, came into the bedroom, nodding at Lorelei, who brushed past him eagerly into the living room.
"Dean!" she cried, then stopped, disappointment flooding her.
Don Moorehead got up from the couch. He was all dressed up in his best suit, and he seemed awkward and ill at ease. "Hi Lorelei," he said.
"Don," she said, puzzled. "What are you doing in California?"
"I came out to see you," he said. "I missed you. Very much. I want you to come back with me."
Stunned, she sat herself in a chair while he returned to the couch.
"Did my aunt send you after me?"
"Sort of. She thought I might be more persuasive with you."
"How is she?"
"She misses you, of course, but other than that she's all right. By the way, a friend of yours is getting married. Sally Mealor."
"For goodness sakes. Sally getting married. To whom?"
"Some new guy in town. Fellow named Lenny Prinz. You probably don't know him."
The boy in the drugstore, Lorelei thought. For every man there's a woman. She wondered what Dean was doing this morning.
"I-I want you to marry me, Lorelei," Don said.
Lorelei looked at him, uncomprehending at first, letting the words sink in slowly.
"There's something I think you should know, Don," she said, after awhile. "I'm pregnant."
"We thought you might be," he said. "But I'm willing to forgive and forget. We just want you to be happy."
"We?"
He seemed startled by the question. "Your aunt and I, of course. We were both very concerned about you."
"I see. How did you know where to look for me, Don?"
Don laughed. "It was like something out of a detective story. After you left, your aunt and I pieced together a letter you'd torn up in your wastebasket. That's where we learned about this actor fellow in the Hayden play, and we figured you'd probably try to follow him to California. We even checked the bus station with your description. We were going to head you off by flying, but there weren't any cancellations and the flights were booked."
Lorelei nodded. "That was pretty clever of you, Don. You're quite smart."
"Actually, your aunt was the brains behind it all. Anyway, I came out here and checked with Muriel Hayden to see where this Dean Richards fellow was living. When I talked with him-"
"You talked with Dean?" Lorelei said.
"When?"
"Early this morning. I don't care much for the morals of this crowd you're running around with, Lorelei. Apparently, Richards had been living in the same house with this older woman. He looked like he'd been in a fight. He said he'd taken you to this address last night, so I came here. I knew you'd want to get away as soon as you could."
Lorelei rose. "Goodbye, Don."
He stared at her. "Goodbye?"
"I'm not going with you. Tell Aunt Louise I'll write."
Don stood up, confused. "Maybe you didn't hear me before," he said. "I offered to marry you, to be a father to your child."
"Funny, I didn't hear any mention of love," she said. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to marry you, Don, but thanks for the offer."
He seemed relieved by her decision. "Well, at least I can tell your aunt I tried." He fidgeted. "Well, goodbye."
She closed the door behind his escaping figure, and bolted it. The phone rang. She picked it up.
"Hello."
"Lorelei?" It was Dean's voice.
She tried to keep the emotion from her tone. "Yes, Dean."
"Lorelei," he said desperately. "You can't marry that idiot from Attica."
"I can't," she said. "Why not?"
He hesitated. "Because you've got to marry me. I felt like a heel walking out on you last night, but it made me realize how much I really wanted you. Muriel's getting herself a new boy from here on in. No career is worth it. I love you very much, Lorelei. I guess I always have, but I had the idea you'd be better off without me."
"You were wrong," she said.
"I know I haven't much to offer-"
"Only everything I want," she said.
"I love you, Lorelei."
"I love you, Dean."
"Why are we wasting all this time telephoning?" he said suddenly. "I'll be right over."
"I'll be waiting," she promised.
Lorelei smiled to herself. Sometimes miracles do happen, but sometimes you've got to give them a little help.
