ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Though new to the list of outstanding Gold Star authors, Scott O'Neill is not a newcomer to the field of writing. He has over one hundred books to his credit plus hundreds of magazine articles and stories. A native of San Francisco, he now lives in Southern California with his wife and four children. A second work for Gold Star Books is now in progress.
"Come in, come in," the john greeted them. "My buddy isn't here yet. Listen, let's have a drink, hey? How about that, girls, a little drinkie-winkie to kind of loosen us all up?"
"Yes," Sandy said, "well, there's just one thing. Let's have the ... gift first, shall we? It's sort of a custom with us."
"Oh, sure. Sure. Just a minute." He disappeared into the bedroom, came back with two envelopes, handed one to each of the girls. "Open it and count it if you like. It's all there. And I slipped an extra twenty in each. Give us a good show tonight and there'll be a little more. My buddy's never seen anything like this before."
CHAPTER ONE
The steam on the windows obscured the view of a barren, wind-swept and snow-covered campus from the students in Miss Pyne's English Composition classroom. It was late February. The unseen sky was an icy-blue, frosted with dollops of white clouds propelled across it by the impatient winds.
Miss Walters stood behind her desk at the head of the room. She was English; she looked and dressed it. The expensive tweed suit she wore did an efficient job of disguising what was left of her figure, and her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back from her face in strict enough fashion to almost eradicate her sex.
There were seventeen girls in the room. Sixteen of them wore their cashmere sweaters, soft woolen skirts, single strand of pearls and ponytails as though wearing a uniform. They sat moodily in their straight-backed chairs, looking bored, disinterested and discontented. The seventeenth girl was different. She was Diedre Ryan. She wore a tailored dress of inexpensive green flannel. Instead of the inevitable pearls around her neck, she wore a bright green orlon scarf tied into a rakish bow. Her copper hair was an unruly mass of natural curls which she consistently refused to tie back in a restraining ponytail. She, alone among the girls, was listening with interest and appreciation to the words of Miss Walters.
"Norden," the harsh voice of the teacher directed itself to one of the obviously "in" girls seated before her, "give me the name, author and publication date of the first known English novella." There was no answer. It was obvious to Miss Walters, and to Deedee, that Carol Norden was paying no attention whatsoever to the words of her instructor.
"Norden," the harsh voice barked loudly, jolting the girls from their individual reveries. The inattentive culprit was at a loss to answer a question she hadn't heard, so took the easy way out by claiming a lack of knowledge rather than asking Miss Walters to repeat herself.
"Why don't you know? Haven't you studied the assignment?"
"I forgot to take the book to my room. I left it here." The sullen-mouthed blonde, who was also Deedee Ryans' roommate, was saved from further inquisition by the sound of the buzzer which indicated dismissal of the class. She didn't, however, fail to note the flash of anger in the teacher's eyes, and mentally made a note to devote her entire evening to a study of the project for tomorrow.
In less than a second the seventeen girls were on their feet, books scrambled together, pushing toward the door, out of the room. Once in the corridor, little groups gathered together, laughing, calling to members of other little groups. Deedee Ryan was not included in any of them. She walked slowly down the corridor toward the steps. She walked alone. How she hated these arrogant girls. They might have all the money in the world; they might have old New England families behind them; they might be everything superior they thought they were. But most of them had thick ankles, and their expensive cashmeres and natural pearl strands couldn't disguise their innate dullness and stupidity. Deedee thought of their soft, pleasant voices which so succinctly managed to put her down every time one of them deigned to speak to her. And she wished she could rid herself of the envy she felt. Why, she asked herself-as she had asked herself time and again since she'd arrived at the exclusive woman's college-why had she ever let her parents talk her into attending the Edith Pyne Seminary? She didn't belong, she could never hope to force them to accept her. As she walked slowly down the stairs she remembered, as though from a century ago, the fun and laughter that had colored her high school days. How different it had been.
Almost eighty years ago, Edith Pyne's Seminary had been an old saltbox house on the outskirts of Providence, Rhode Island. Its students consisted of thirty girls selected from the most elite of the many elite New England families. Edith Pyne herself, had been a member of one of those families. She treasured that heritage and, in view of the fact that her complete lack of beauty and feminine appeal had made marriage an impossible goal for her, had turned her life's effort toward sustaining it. Snob appeal failed to occur to her, although it was the firm basis for building her school. When she finally passed away, the Edith Pyne Seminary was established among the elite throughout New England. And although time lowered some of the standards originally set, they were lowered only to those with enough money to make up for the insult. It had remained the school of the Eastern United States Coast, and Diedre Ryan had been wiser than her middle-class Irish parents when she fought against their decision to ignore the class barriers and enroll her. She had given in to them only after a lengthy recitation from both, outlining in detail the sacrifices they had made throughout their married life so that she could have this advantage.
From the very first day, Deedee had known it wouldn't work. She made the effort only because she couldn't bear the thought of her parents' disappointment should she quit. Deedee wrapped her cloth coat tightly about her as she stepped out of the building and started down the walk toward the dormitory. (She was the only girl at the school without at least one fur coat.) She looked back in her memory to that late September day full of sunshine and clean blue air when she'd entered the school, filled with hesitation but somehow still hoping that her parents had been right and she'd been wrong. Crazy, she thought. I must have been crazy to even hope.
The girls hadn't been too distant, right at the beginning. That is, she reminded herself, the new girls hadn't been. But that was before the others had had the chance to tell them she was nobody. Daughter of an Irish upstart without very much money, no family background. If she hadn't had such a fantastic scholastic record she could never have been accepted. Even with it, she shouldn't have been. And within a week Deedee Ryan had been put in her place at Edith Pyne's, as neatly as a piece of carved turkey. With a resigned sense of frustration she accepted the fact as all she should ever have expected. For a while, when Carol Norden agreed to become her roommate, she knew hope again. It was much later when she learned that Carol hadn't really agreed. Someone had to take her in, and the decision had been made-not through any sense of heart or sympathy, but through the time-tested method of flipping cards. But Deedee wasn't to learn this until too late.
Carol Norden, on her side of the fence, treated Deedee with an off-handed casualness and sometimes almost friendship. It usually depended upon the mood she was in. But no matter, she was the closest-in fact the only-"friend" Deedee had. She made the most of it.
When time for mid-terms arrived, Carol discovered she'd been luckier than she'd thought getting Deedee for a roomie. While the others in her group crammed their small minds with memorized tidbits of information; spent hours preparing their varied methods of carrying help into the test rooms with them; and for a few weeks, at least, were sleepless with worry-Carol, with the help of Deedee Ryan, was catching up on an education she'd ignored during the earlier part of the semester. Deedee had no worries about the exams. The learning part of Edith Pyne's establishment had been, so far, the easiest part of the school for her. She now devoted her time to helping her blond roommate cover the most important phases of her courses. At least, thought Deedee as she forced a few facts into Carol's blond head, she'll be able to pass the tests. It would be to much to ask for good grades.
That morning the March winds showed no signs of letting up as they roared angrily about Pyne Hall. It was the smallest and the most exclusive of the dormitories at the school, and Deedee still couldn't believe her luck in getting to live there. The wind was unusually cold and strong, even for Rhode Island. Within the ivy-covered walls of the old building Deedee awakened to the scream of the wind and, although warm, began to shiver. She had always been possessed of a vivid imagination. She looked across the room toward Carol's bed and nodded a silent reply to the request mirrored in the wide-opened eyes peering over the top of the blanket. Carol took a deep breath and threw off her covers, running rapidly across the short space between the two beds, jumping into the narrow space made ready for her by Deedee. The two girls snuggled closely together, sharing their warmth and giggling softly at their attempt to defeat the cold.
As their mutual body heats joined to stave off the chill rapidly permeating the room, they both watched the hands of the large alarm clock ticking away beside them. In less than ten minutes, Mrs. Frank, their dorm-mother would come sweeping in to uproot her charges. By that time they would have to be up and about, readying themselves for another day of education in their female-populated world. The Mrs. Pyne who headed the college now was a descendant of the original Edith Pyne. She knew how strict her lady ancestor had been about any kind of unusual relationship between her charges, and in her own rather limited fashion was determined to keep any such lesbian attachments from soiling the impeccable reputation of the Seminary. Her determination might have proved more effective had she bothered to acquire more than a surface knowledge of such liaisons. As it was, she remained completely unaware that she was sitting on top of a powder keg of feminine frustrations and that her outdated regulations regarding male instructors and male visitors was a fuse to ignite it. She also remained unaware that her equally outdated, although systematic, methods of checking on the dormitories were quite well known to every girl in the school. All of the many lesbian activities were easily timed to avoid discovery.
Deedee Ryan was one of the few who hadn't tried this way of curing the loneliness and natural impulses which were aroused instead of repressed by the lack of male companionship. She was also a full-blooded, rebellious and passionate young woman. Not only the cold-shoulder treatment she suffered at the hands of the other students, but the thoughtless, misdirected restrictions were proving almost unbearable to her. While still a virgin, she was rapidly approaching the point of taking proper action against the deplorable fact.
Carol Norden had succumbed easily to the blandishments of the first girl to offer her this "out." Since the recent change in her relationship with Deedee she'd begun to think about bringing her around to this new way of thinking. This morning, however, she decided as she looked at the clock again, was not the right time to start her campaign.
"Come on, Deedee. We'd better get up. Prissy Frank-face is due any minute now." Carol crawled out of the warm bed as she spoke and patted the pillow she'd so recently pressured. The movement was made softly, almost regretfully,, but it managed to eliminate all signs of her recent occupation.
"I wonder ... I really wonder, if she's ever missed one of her rounds. No-" Carol chuckled softly-"that would be far too much to expect. But I can wonder, maybe even hope, that she either has been or will be late!" Then she thought to herself that she was being foolish. She should know better than to waste her time in hoping for or wondering such a thing. Any slight change in the strictly regimented world of the Edith Pyne Seminary would automatically become fuel for the guesswork conversations of its many "prisoners." The once or twice such variations had occurred in the past-and those were very far past-were events to be still relished and discussed. Those mistakes might have been the errors of long-forgotten watchdogs, but they were remembered by the faculty. They were all aware their predecessors had become practically legendary, and those kinds of legends were hopefully avoided.
When the much-maligned Mrs. Frank finally arrived (on the dot) to check her young charges, Carol was already singing loudly over the sounds of the shower. Deedee, wrapped in a huge, figure-disguising bathrobe, was selecting her dress for her day. Despite the newfound friendship with Carol, Deedee hadn't adopted the cashmere, pearl and pleated skirt uniform. It was more than the lack of money that kept her from it. Her innate rebellion helped also.
"Everything all right, Diedre?" asked the elderly Mrs. Frank as she entered the room. Her smile was but dimly visible through a mass of worry-wrinkles which had been deeply etched upon her face by the ravages of time.
Although she asked the same question each morning, for some reason it managed to irritate the lithe, young Deedee this time. She turned a rebellious face to her dorm-mother, snapping: "And what could possibly be wrong, Mrs. Frank? In this, the most perfect of all perfect schools?"
The Frank mouth fell wide-open in amazement at this sharp retort. She'd have to call this insolence to the attention of Mrs. Pyne, she thought. She hastily pushed back her second emotion-the knowledge that it could only have come from a young upstart such as Diedre Ryan, who really had no business in such a lovely school. After all, she reasoned, this girl's attitude could be contagious. It had to be stopped before it took hold-although it was quite un-likely the better-bred girls would go along with the Ryan girl. Mrs. Frank closed her mouth in a narrow, pinched moue of annoyance, managed to ignore the expectant expression on Deedee's face. Turning angrily, she swept out of the room without even asking about Carol Norden.
Deedee laughed out loud as she left. She knew she would be in trouble, but the expression she'd raised on Mrs. Frank's face had been worth it. When Carol came bouncing out of the bathroom, red and filled with energy, Deedee didn't mention the exchange of words. But Carol was not unwise and spotted the mood of her roomie immediately. She wished, urgently, that she could take full advantage of it. Later, she reluctantly decided, not now, but soon. It's just about the right time to make the first move. She avoided Deedee's eyes as she started to dress. She also began to plan.
Later that day the two girls sat in a small teashop adjacent to the seminary, nibbling on fig newtons and sipping hot chocolate. The first time they'd been there together a stunned silence had descended upon the other girls. Carol Norden, actually socializing with the outcast Ryan girl! By now, though, the association was tolerated, although none of the other young women joined the new twosome. Deedee, at first quite self-conscious, had grown accustomed to her small taste of "popularity" and usually glowed inwardly when at the teashop. Today, however, her mood of the morning had progressed throughout classes. The rebellion was about to explode. Carol sat quietly, watching the young redhead, knowing an explosion of some sort was imminent, hoping she could maneuver it to her own desires.
"You started at E. P. before I did, Carol." Deedee was speaking softly, her words covered in a shimmer of desperation. "How have you kept from going utterly mad?"
"What in the world are you talking about, Dee?" Carol asked in reply.
"Oh, don't be such a kook!" Deedee snapped back at her. "You know what I'm talking about. I feel as though I'm in a woman's prison instead of a college. Oh, I know it's one of the best." Bitterly she added, "Or at least my parents certainly think so. According to them every sacrifice they've made since I was first born was to get the money to send me here. Their last, and to me biggest, sacrifice was little me." She sipped her cooling chocolate thoughtfully. Almost to herself she added, "But they made one mistake. One great big mistake."
"What was that?" Carol prodded gently. She thought she knew what the answer would be. She did.
"They sent me to a public high school. One of those 'awful places' where it seems fun to dance with another sex. Frankly, it bores hell out of me to have a girl for a partner. It was also, to my earthy way of thinking, fun to date men. Frankly-" and she turned a suddenly bitter gaze upon Carol-"I even enjoyed the necking sessions those dates usually involved. Probably because that was another hobby that involved another sex! I don't think I'd really dig the one-sided bit that seems to go on around this place."
"Have you bothered to give it a try?" Carol's voice was gentle.
Deedee glanced at her in surprise. "You've got to be kidding," she said, laughing.
Once more the gentle, now soft and insinuating voice said, "Not necessarily, Carol. Even Antoinette said, 'if they don't have bread, let 'em eat cake.' As the beats probably say, 'if you ain't tried it you can't knock it.' "
Deedee felt a faint stirring within her loins. Her eyes felt heavy-lidded as she turned them to stare in amazement at Carol. She wasn't at all sure what was happening to her, but the excitement within was one of the first pleasurable sensations she'd known since her arrival at Edith Pyne. "Have you-" she stuttered slightly over the words-"that is ... well, have you tried it?"
"Ummm," murmured Carol, neither admitting nor denying. "Let's not talk about it any more for now. Maybe later tonight, hm?"
Deedee hesitated. Her hesitation told Carol she'd come very close to winning the all-important first round. "You'll have to admit, Dee, anything's bound to be better than no sex life at all."
Deedee remained silent for another couple of seconds, then raised her eyes to look at her roommate once again. The naked desire she saw sent a new thrill tingling down her spine. "That-" and her voice was strange to her own ears-"might well be true." She tried to shake off this new mood, without immediate success. "Well, as you said, we'll talk about it again-later."
"It's a date," Carol replied, mentally adding and ifs going to be my pleasure. She then hastened to change the subject before Deedee would fully realize the implications of the conversation and decide to back out before she got started. Carol knew better than to talk the thing to death; knew well enough to let imagination and loneliness work their wonders on her friend. She'd be ready to take up where they had left off.
Before that night ended the newly found fire for friendship that had sprung up between Carol and Deedee had died a quick death. Carol was used to the good clothes, the delectable compliments which accompanied their wearing, the business of being thought entertaining and fairly well above reproach. She had no past upon which to build a memory, or a character, and no present upon which to face her own wrongs. She had been quite happy as the center of her own group at the Edith Pyne Seminary; quite sure of herself when she ignored them to do the "good deed" of allowing Diedre Ryan to help her; quite confidant that her own quick answer to the sex problem in a girl's school would be accepted, yes even adopted, by the lucky recipient of her affections.
Carol hadn't known Deedee. When she finally came down from her private ivory tower it was to find herself despised by a person she had always thought of as beneath her. She felt foolish. The Irish girl's sense of degradation from the scene made Carol feel ashamed. From that morning on, Carol Norden felt something missing. She hated it and she vowed to make Deedee pay.
For Deedee, the reaction was completely different. She despised herself for the momentary weakness which had allowed the ugliness to blossom. She despised, with a sense of shame for the emotion, Carol Norden for having let her down so much. She was sleepless throughout the night, and in her sleeplessness gave birth to a small, hard core of hatred for her own sex. It had been her mother, she remembered, who had wanted her to come to this den of horror. It had been the "den-mother" who had started the morning which had ended in such an ugly, perverted way. It had been all of the females in the place who had let her feel so lonely that she was open, willing, but obviously not quite ready for the lesbian pitch.
Deedee got up the next morning with a meek face and strangely mild manner. Both belied the red hair and rebellious body. Before the buzzer ended her first class, she had decided to skip out of the dorm that night, make her way-somehow-into the neighboring fishing village.
Deedee was aching to live in a man-woman world.
CHAPTER TWO
Diedre left the seminary after her third class. She knew full well the risk she was taking in cutting an entire afternoon, but by this time she didn't care too much. The classrooms, the entire atmosphere of the school, were closing in on her so rapidly that to have stayed would have been intolerable.
As she walked past the orchard behind Pyne Hall she felt her self-consciousness begin to slip away. The morning was still young and fine. She strolled casually, following her first outburst of energetic walking, and began to forget this spring in which her life had become so lonely, unhappy and almost frightening. She tried to pretend she was still a child, not a young woman odd and different from her contemporaries at the Seminary. She tried to forget the hopelessness she'd known the past few months-hopeless of ever being loved, of ever being popular, of ever being anything other than a red-headed Irish outsider. She remembered the lonely, secret happiness she had known before the girls had impressed her with its meaninglessness.
As she reached a rise in the hill, she looked back at the Seminary, stern and forbidding even in the bright April sunlight. From this distance she tried to pretend it was a gay, happy place; a place to which she'd want to return after the day's adventure. She sighed softly, and turned to walk up the white, stony road that led to the village of Hartmann.
As she neared the little village she noticed, as though for the first time, the well-kept fields, the soft hills, the river beds and swamp that stretched around her. She felt alert, aware and all of the tensions were running out of her. Then she saw the men, and almost at once her relaxation departed and she was filled with fear. Not so much of them as of herself.
There were three of them, all in their early twenties and, from the rough but serviceable clothes they wore, obvious natives of the fishing town. They spotted Deedee at the same instant and began to laugh jovially among themselves. As they drew nearer the tallest of the group called out to her.
"Hello, there. Looks like the school lost one of its lovelier inmates to the weather."
She didn't answer, but clenched her fingers within her gloves and forced herself to go on walking, looking neither to right nor left.
"Oh, come on now. It's not gonna kill you to speak to one of the 'townies,' you know."
"Let her alone, Bud," a second of the trio spoke out. "If she wanted to talk to us she would. If she's a snob, that's her privilege."
Deedee couldn't resist turning to look at the man who thought her timidity was snobbishness. Lord knows, she thought to herself, I've been snubbed so much the past few months it's the last thing Vd want to do to anyone-even a fisherman's son. She hated herself for the thought, and by way of apology flashed a brilliant smile at the second speaker. "Thanks for the privilege, but it's one I want no part of."
He laughed merrily. "You can't be from the Seminary then. I understand it's one of the most important of all qualifications."
"You understand the truth, stranger. But even the great EPS isn't infallible. They goofed when they let me in."
Deedee liked this man already. Somehow he seemed different than the other two, and his accent was not that of New England. He was tall but almost girlishly slender, dark enough to indicate that his ancestors had been of Latin blood, and he moved with an air of repressed energy that matched the rebellion so familiar to her.
"Pat Aniel's my name, and I never thought I'd see an Edith Pyne girl I could like. I have a feeling I'm going to end up glad that they finally goofed."
"I'm Deedee Ryan," she said, laughing back at him, "and I have a feeling you're absolutely right. Tell me," she added, forgetting all of her subconscious fears and scruples, as well as what might happen if the school ever heard about this, "do you know Hartmann? I mean you don't speak like a native, but I'd like to sight-see this beautiful afternoon, and I've never really-"
"Say no more, Deedee. You have yourself an escort. You don't mind, I trust, if we leave our two friends here behind?"
The girl looked shyly at the two men who'd been witness to the pickup. Both faces were filled with simple, warm friendliness. Why, she thought, they act as though they like me. She smiled, and addressed her next words to the tallest one who had started the conversation in the first place. "You don't mind if I steal your buddy for the rest of the day, do you?"
"Be my guest, Deedee. We didn't have any special plans so you're not interrupting a thing. Plus which, Pat knows the village and its sights better than any of us natives. Have fun, both of you." With a quick bow and a friendly wink, he latched his arm in his other friend's arm and they walked jauntily down the stony road.
Later that afternoon Pat and Deedee sat in a small but picturesque little tavern. He sipped on a mug of hot rum as he watched her add a second dash of cream to her coffee.
"It's been such a wonderful day, Pat. You really do know this little place. You know-" she leaned forward confidentially-"I just realized that I've been so busy asking questions about Hartmann that I know little or nothing about my escort. How is it that you know so much about the place? Your friend said you weren't a native."
"I'm an artist. I was raised in Washington, D.C., but since my first day in art school I've wanted to live in New England. I don't know ... there's just something about the place-its coastline, its rocky farms, its magnificent scenery and seasons. I can't think of a more perfect place for an artist."
"What do you paint?"
"I'm still too enthused to be a specialist, so I paint anything and everything that comes to mind. I have a studio on the Old Rhode Island Road. Would you like to see some of my stuff?
Deedee looked at him quickly, disappointed at the obvious invitation. But the expression in his eyes was not that of a wolf on the prowl. She was, once again, ashamed of her own distrust. "I'd love to, Pat. It won't take too long, will it? I hate to say so but I'm going to have to go back to jail soon."
He chuckled sympathetically. "Poor kid. That place must really be a drag. Come on, we can walk it in five minutes."
Pat's studio was a big, bare and messy barn of a place with canvases stacked carelessly against the walls and one long, high table cluttered with tubes of paint and brushes. He showed her his pictures with a sharp impatience, almost snatching one from her hands in his hurry to show her a second. Deedee was confused by them, slightly awed by the power in some of them and frightened by the brutality of others. She sat back on the old couch and watched him move among the paintings; listened to him talk in a hurried, passionate voice about his work. She became so immersed in the drama of it that she lost track of the passing hours and was almost shocked when he abruptly stacked the last one back against the wall and said: "Christ, Deedee, it's about to get dark. We'd better get you back to school or you'll be either kicked out or locked in!"
She jumped up from the couch and almost tripped over an easel in her hurry to get her coat. "You don't have to go with me, Pat. I know the way. And thanks for the most perfect day I've had since I entered E.P. As a matter-of-fact, just about the most perfect day in my life!"
"I'll walk you to the orchard, Dee. And don't thank me. I'm the one who had all the fun." As he opened the door of his studio he looked down at the beautiful redhead. "Can you get out again soon, Deedee? Without any trouble? I've just found you, and I'd hate to lose you to that place."
"I'll get out, Pat. As soon as I can. You have no phone, though. How can I let you know?" She bit her lower Up as she fell into the delightful pattern of deception which was to be her life for the rest of her days at the Seminary.
"Leave a message at the tavern. I'm there at some time everyday." He grinned at her. "I'll probably become an alcoholic now, if you keep me waiting too long."
As they walked out of the studio Deedee suddenly knew that she'd fallen terribly in love.
It was the second Saturday in May before Deedee managed to get her first overnight pass from the Seminary. The pass was accomplished by much planning and one fake phone call plus one forged letter. Deedee felt as though she'd just won a medal. She and Pat had planned to drive into Providence and have one of the famous Shore Dinners, then go dancing until the clubs closed. Pat had made separate reservations for them, even going so far as to have them in separate hotels just in case they were seen.
It was after sundown when she arrived at his studio, the first time she'd ever seen it at night. The glow from the fireplace softened the big room, and everything took on an aura of warmth. As she walked in they both began to laugh happily. At long last they could look forward to an evening of fun without the fear of the "den-mother" setting up an alarm for a missing student. Deedee flopped upon the old couch and took a cigarette from her purse. As Pat leaned over to light it their eyes met. He pushed the cigarette away and, lifting Deedee gently, pressed his firm lips against hers. She tried to push him away, a weak effort that failed.
"Don't try to stop me, darling," he murmured the words as if talking in. his sleep. "My darling, beautiful Diedre. My lovely little girl with the copper-colored curls, the soft, soft girl-flesh...."
She could feel his hands moving searchingly about her body as he kissed her once again with a hard urgency. He was leaning her back toward the couch, kissing her neck, then her lips again, lost in his desire. All of Deedee's nature was fighting against her, drawn up into a hard core of desire to give herself completely to this dear person.
Somehow, she managed to defeat it and, twisting herself swiftly from his embrace, knocked him back onto the couch and walked impatiently to the fireplace. As she stared at the flames, she felt shattered and shocked by the emptiness she already knew; the loneliness she'd found in that short walk across the room. Her entire being yearned toward him, needed him, insisted upon having him. Something entirely alien from her thoughts propelled her back across the room to her man. She sat softly beside him and leaned her cheek against his.
"I love you, Pat. I've loved you since the day I met you. If you want me, I'm yours. Go to the tavern and call Providence. Cancel our reservations. We'll stay here."
"Oh, baby, baby, baby. I didn't mean this to happen tonight. You mustn't think this is why I asked you to get the pass. We'll go to the city. And after the evening's over-if you still want to-we'll come back here. All right?"
"All right, Pat. But we don't have to wait-" His lips closed over hers to end the sentence. They never did get to Providence.
CHAPTER THREE
Carol Norden had been at a total loss during those weeks when Deedee was first meeting with Pat. By all rights she should have been able to drive her roommate from the school. She had explained away her brief friendship with Deedee by telling the other girls she'd pretended to like her only to get the much-needed help for her mid-terms. She became outright rude and insulting to her during the days immediately following the unsuccessful attempt to seduce Deedee. In the past the young redhead had been almost pathetically grateful for even a small crumb of friendship from Carol. But since that night she'd managed to ignore her completely. Every attempted insult was unnoticed; silence was ignored; cattiness was passed off without any visible reaction.
It hadn't actually occurred to Carol that Deedee might have formed a liaison away from the school. True, she was frequently away from the premises, but Carol had believed her own opinion of Deedee and didn't give her credit for either imagination or appeal. She's probably just taking long walks because she has no one to talk to around here, Carol assured herself. Or spending more than the necessary amount of time in the library. What a dull, stodgy person she'd turned out to be.
So, the one person who could have put her finger on Deedee's affair, thus causing her to be expelled, didn't do it.
Deedee had been happy during her first days with Pat Aniel. Following their Saturday night together, she was all but delirious with joy. Her every waking hour was spent in waiting to be with him. Her every sleeping hour was rilled with dreams about him. They became insatiable lovers. Gone, the days of long, dreamy walks through the New England forests; gone, the afternoons of laughing exploration of the rugged coastline; gone, the cozy chats before the fireplace of their favorite little tavern. They were unable to keep their hands off each other. No matter how many plans they made for picnics or hikes, within minutes of meeting their bodies would be molded together in a mad, passionate aching they seemed unable to cease. Pat's studio echoed with the sounds of their mutual cries of passion, and every nook and cranny in it held a sexual memory of stimulation.
Deedee's young body, already curved and lovely, blossomed beautifully. Her skin seemed to glow with love and sweetness, and her eyes sparkled with the flames of her desire for Pat. Even Carol finally noticed the difference, and for the first time gave serious consideration to the fact that Deedee might just have found an answer for the situation at the Seminary; an answer Carol has missed. She decided to watch the girl more closely. She might find the weapon she'd been searching out-a way to rid herself of the presence of the one person who'd ever put her down.
Deedee was oblivious to everything but Pat. The morning she first realized she was over a week late with her monthly, Deedee knew no fear. She felt a quiet elation, an instinctive happiness at this most natural result of their love. She wanted to race to Pat's studio and tell him the news. Her only hesitation was the lack of certainty. After all, she warned herself, it's too soon to know for sure, and it would be wrong to get Pat all excited and then find out it was a false alarm. She decided to wait a couple of weeks, then maybe go into the city and visit a doctor unknown to her teachers or classmates. But the glow in her eyes matured and deepened. Even Pat was amazed by her surging beauty.
"My lovely darling, my beautiful girl," he murmured as they lay side by side, clothes in a rumpled heap on the floor beside them. "This must be insanity. I've had other women. I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't, and you'd be a fool to believe me. But nothing was ever this perfect. It's as if-as if-"
"I know, dearest," and Deedee pressed her soft lips against the nape of his neck. "It's as if we were the first two people on the earth, as if we'd been made for each other, as if I was only half a person, and you were only half a person. Then, when we're together, we're a whole-complete."
"Oh, Deedee," Pat groaned and turned to possess her once again.
They fell swiftly and easily into the rhythm that was part of their love for each other. He giving, she receiving; the walls of the room fading into nothingness, all of the sunlight and moonlight and starlight of the universe joining in their love song. As they reached the ultimate goal once again, Deedee screamed aloud from pure enjoyment and the triumph of a woman fulfilled.
Afterward they lay back in exhaustion. Pat finally stirred enough to reach out for two cigarettes, lighting both of them and handing one to Deedee. She took a long drag and, without knowing that she was going to do so, began to tell him about their baby. She failed to notice his sudden tenseness, and talked on, filling the air with the sounds of her plans for the child.
"It will be a boy, I know that. After all-" she laughed softly-"with a man like you for a father, I would have to make a son. He'll look like you, only ... only, if you don't mind, I hope he'll have red hair." She turned to look at her lover, and watched in unbelieving dismay as he suddenly bolted up from the bed, grabbed a robe and walked over to pick up a bottle of rum from his paint table. He poured a stiff drink, drank it in one quick gulp, then turned to face her.
"Good God, Deedee. How long have you known? How far gone are you? Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not going to let you down. I'll see if I can't line up a doctor in Providence right away. We'll get it taken care of in a hurry, and from now on we'll be a lot more careful."
"Patrick! What in the world are you saying? You're not thinking about an abortionist, are you?" Deedee's voice was thick with unshed sobs as she asked the question. At the moment she felt a sudden rush of desperate homesickness. She felt more alone than she'd ever been in her short life. She was in the midst of a nightmare, and she couldn't force herself awake. She looked at Pat with loathing and despair. He was a stranger. He was dark and cruel and she had been insane, diseased, to even dream of wanting him-or his child. She slowly pulled herself up to a sitting position and reached for the clothes on the floor. Her movements were those of an old, tired woman.
Patrick looked at her with concern. "Now, wait a minute, Deedee. Don't look at me like that. It isn't such an awful thing, you know. I imagine more than a few of your snobbish classmates have had one. And I'll pay for it. I'll take you there, wait for you and bring you back. Please, Deedee, understand."
"Oh, but I do understand. You're right, of course. It was stupid of me to think you'd want a child-or a wife. But please don't worry about me. I'll take care of it myself. I wouldn't want to bother you." She had been dressing as she spoke, still moving in the old, tired way. Pat watched her with growing discomfort and fear.
"What kind of gunk is that-not bother me. For Christ's sweet sake, Deedee, I love you. You know I love you. But how could we bring a kid up in a place like this," his arms moved in a sweeping gesture encompassing the large, barn-like room. "And I've just begun to hit my stride in art. To break it now-well, I might never get it back again."
"I know, Pat. Believe me, I understand. If you don't mind, I think I'll leave now. I guess the first reaction I had made me a little sick."
"You'll be back?"
"Oh, don't worry, Pat. I'll be back. I'll always be back, lover." Her last word was vitriolic and bitter. Pat stepped away as though fending off a blow.
"But Deedee-"
The slam of the door cut off his sentence. It was not, he thought wryly, nearly so nice an interruption as the earlier kiss.
It was a week later that Pat Aniel finally became so concerned about his mistress that he inquired about her at the Seminary. For the first couple of days he accepted her failure to appear as a woman's way of punishing a recalcitrant lover. By the third day, anger colored his thinking to such an extent that he firmly convinced himself he wouldn't see her if she should come to him. That lasted him through a few days, and then the fear set in. He'd certainly have heard about it if she'd done anything desperate, he tried to tell himself. Anyhow, Deedee wasn't the suicide type. She couldn't have gone to the city and made arrangements alone. He knew she had very little money. If something wasn't done soon, though, it would be too late. He loved Deedee, this he knew was truth. If she could only be forced to understand his position. His inheritance had been enough to cover his expenses for five years. He had to make his niche in the world of art during that time or he'd have to get a nine-to-five job which would pay the rent but kill his creativity.
Maybe, he thought, maybe she is angry because she thinks I'll never marry her. I should have made it clear. I want her-I want her to be my wife. But not right now. Not until I find myself. Not until I can take care of her.
Pat realized he was taking a chance of getting Deedee into trouble with the Seminary authorities by trying to contact her. There was a strict taboo at Edith Pyne's establishment against her students mingling with the townies. He'd have to pretend to be a visiting cousin, or the friend of a friend. I'll just say whatever comes to mind, he muttered beneath his breath. If I rehearse a story I might goof it.
As it turned out, he saved time which would have been wasted.
"Diedre Ryan," the stern voice of the elderly Mrs. Pyne informed him coldly, "is no longer a student at our Seminary. She has been expelled."
"But why? When? Where is she now?" Pat spoke so rapidly the words tumbled over one another.
"Who is this calling, please?" the stern voice said by way of reply.
"Patrick-Mister Aniel. I'm a friend of her-"
"As for the why, that information will be given only to qualified callers, Mister Aniel. We expelled Miss Ryan one week ago today. And as for the where, not only do I not know, but-" and the voice took on an edge of bitter disdain-"I also hope I don't find out!" Anger overcame the usually discreet Mrs. Pyne as she added: "The girl should never have been accepted. It's just as well we found out exactly what type of influence she was during her first year. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mister Aniel, I'm quite busy."
The click of the phone was quite definite. Pat stared at the black instrument in utter disbelief. Tears forced their way into his eyes as he hung up, and he felt a wrench of unbelievable agony force its way into his heart. "Oh, Deedee," he cried, leaning his head against the cold metal of the coinbox. "Oh, Diedre, my beautiful little love. Where are you?"
CHAPTER FOUR
That afternoon when Deedee had left Pat she thought of nothing but returning to the sanctuary of her small room at Pyne Hall. As she walked, ran, and all but stumbled through the orchard whose knowing leaves had watched so many frantic kisses pass between herself and her lover, she felt the sickness grow more and more acute. If she didn't get to the room almost immediately, she realized, she would fall down in the middle of the path and throw up. Forcing herself to push back the nausea and slow down her frantic pace, she emerged from the orchard, pale, but to the casual onlooker, quite cool and composed.
She managed to maintain that surface composure until she entered the room shared by herself and Carol Norden. She didn't even notice her startled roommate's expression, but ran desperately across the room, into their cluttered bathroom and, throwing herself onto the floor before the toilet bowl, began to retch violently. The other girl rose from her bed, walked quietly and swiftly to the opened bathroom door and watched Deedee in malevolent silence. It never occurred to her that the girl was ill for one of many obvious reasons-tainted food; too much sunlight; overexertion or what have you. Carol had the mind of a small-town bigot. To her, there could be but one reason for such uncontrollable nausea in an otherwise healthy young woman.
Pregnancy!
This, then, she thought with vicious triumph, was the reason behind Deedee's many absences. She should have known a little tramp like this would take the obvious escape from a manless world. She should have followed her, trapped her, reported her when it first began. Silently she pulled the bathroom door half closed and returned to sit on the edge of her bed. Once there she began to hum a happy little tune, secure in the knowledge that within a matter of moments she'd have this roommate of hers-this dull, dim, unpopular person who'd dared refuse Carol Norden's favors-on the floor begging that her secret be kept.
Swinging her nylon-clad leg in rhythm with the tune she was humming, she lost herself in the pictures she was mentally drawing. First, Deedee asking, Carol considering. Then, Carol righteously refusing. Then, Deedee begging. Again, Carol considering. Then (and she stopped humming as she bit her full lower lip in anticipatory pleasure) Deedee offering to make the scene she'd rejected last spring. She was mulling this picture over when she suddenly became aware that the noise from the bathroom had stopped. Looking up, she saw Deedee standing in the doorway, staring at her, a question in her reddened eyes.
Carol smiled, ever-so-sweetly. "Yes, Deedee. I heard you. As a matter-of-fact, I was on the bed when you came in. You were, I think, a little too much in a hurry to see me!"
"I-I-" Deedee walked weavingly toward her bed. "I guess I must have eaten something bad."
"Do you really think so?" Just the right tone of voice, Carol complimented herself. She doesn't know which way the wind is blowing. What a smash this will be. "I don't recall hearing about any of the other kids getting so sick ... oh, but that's right!" Innocently she brought the full force of her eyes upon Deedee. "You haven't been eating with us much lately. Have you?"
The question hung in midair between the two, and Deedee knew without another note of warning that Carol was deliberately needling her. Her Irish pride came to her aid, without being beckoned.
"No, Carol. As a matter-of-fact, I haven't." She smiled, with the same false innocence Carol had shown a moment earlier as she went on with her answer. "But then, I was beginning to find the food-as well as the company-more dull and unappetizing than my tastes could take."
Carol gasped at the insolence of the reply. As Deedee turned away from her and started to walk the short space across to her bed, Carol jumped up, grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her about.
"What do you think I am, Deedee Ryan, some kind of a kook or something? And who, I might add, do you think you are to call me dull and unappetizing?" Her fists clenched as the fire in Deedee's eyes challenged her to continue. "Even old Frank-face would know you've gotten yourself in the oldest of all possible jams. You're pregnant, and you know it! Of course-" and she almost spit the last words at Deedee-"I'm not at all sure you know who the lucky daddy might be!"
Deedee was far too furious to ignore the remark, and in her fury lost the last measure of control which might have helped her keep her secret for a few vitally important weeks. She glanced down at the clenched hands of her roommate, then back up and straight into her angry eyes. "At least, Carol," she said, the words dripping with the acid of disgust, "it has a father! That's more than you can ever hope to say you'll be able to come up with." And as Deedee spoke, she clenched her own fist and swung with it, hitting her shocked roommate full in the face.
Carol went down; bounced up immediately, and bounced up madder than any Edith Pyne student had a right to be. "You dirty little bitch, you'll pay for that! I'm going to the Dean's office. I'll be there in no time flat.
And when I come out, you'll be out! All the way out! You've had it. Believe me, you've really had it."
Carol swung about, ready to start out the room when the sound of Deedee's laughter stopped her as suddenly as a clout on the head might have. What the devil has she to laugh about? Carol was asking herself as she hesitated.
"You're not quite right, Norden. What, by the way, do your lesbian lovers call you instead of Carol? Perhaps, Cal?" Deedee laughed again, and a more experienced listener would have realized she was on the narrow edge of hysteria. 'When you come out of the Dean's office, I'll be waiting to go in-to go in and report on the esteemed Carol Norden, the mistress of every bull dyke at Edith Pyne, and the procuress for most of them. She should enjoy hearing the story of our night together, Carol. And the names you reeled off to me when you thought you had me. How would the old lady phrase it-'Falling under your evil spell? Let's go down together, shall we? I won't mind waiting. I have a strong feeling the wait will be worth my while!"
Carol listened in horror. Good God, she thought, she's just square enough to pull something like that. Even if the Dean didn't believe her, the suspicion would be there and they'd watch me like a hawk. I've got to get away from here. Think of some way to get her out without giving her a chance to ruin the rest of my time here. She went into her act as she was thinking. Head lowered, eyes avoiding Deedee, she shrugged her shoulders in a very good imitation of defeat. "If you don't mind, let's just both forget it. Sorry if I goofed. It won't happen again."
Deedee heard her with a deep sense of relief, and as she watched her walk out of the door, closing it softly behind her, she felt the tears begin to break through the barrier she'd built against them.
Deedee should have known better.
Carol walked down the stairs, across the campus and into the library. The student in charge almost fainted at the sight, for Carol was notoriously lax in her student efforts and her fairly high standing at mid-terms had been fully accredited to her roommate's tutoring job. Motioning aside the offer of help, Carol walked over to a small corner table, sat down and, putting her hands over her eyes, began to think. Her thoughts were those of a rat terrier planning to destroy his oldest and smartest rat-foe. She sat there for almost a half-hour before she lowered her hands. Perfect, she thought. Absolutely perfect. And thank you, Deedee Ryan. She made a mock gesture of salute. I never would have done it alone. Without a word she walked past the still-stunned student, out the front door, and turned in the direction of the home of the elder Mrs. Pyne, descended from the founding Edith Pyne, Dean of the Seminary, and about-to-be scourge of one Diedre Ryan.
When Carol left their room, Deedee had fallen weakly upon her bed, still faintly nauseous, and very thoroughly disgusted at the scene. That she had stopped Carol Norden, she was certain. She was also certain this was only a temporary relief. It would be but a few weeks before her pregnancy would become obvious, and she had to find some means of escape before that happened. She fought the exhaustion which was beginning to overcome her. Finally she succumbed and fell into a deep but restless sleep. Two hours later, as she began to awaken, she recognized the nausea which had remained with her throughout her nap. She braced herself against it, and was beginning to win the battle when Mrs. Frank walked into the room. The very stance of her overly plump figure told Deedee she was in trouble.
"Mrs. Pyne is waiting to see you, Diedre," and the dorm-mother's voice was edged with icicles. "I think you'd better wash your face, and comb your hair first. But hurry up. She doesn't like to be kept waiting."
As Deedee went into the bathroom to follow the instructions she wondered what would happen at this meeting. Carol couldn't have gone to the old woman. She had too much to lose. Maybe they'd discovered her absences. Maybe one of the faculty had seen her in Hartmann. She'd find out soon enough. She braced herself to return to the dubious care of Mrs. Frank. Obviously, she thought to herself, she wasn't to be trusted to take the walk from her dormitory to the Dean's home alone.
As she was ushered into the cold, almost sterile living room in which Dean Pyne was waiting, Deedee appeared calm and collected. Beneath the surface coolness however fear, anger and doubt fought each other for the best seat at the execution. The slender, aristocratic woman sitting behind a coffee table, which somehow looked like the first step to the guillotine, nodded sternly to the young girl, and pointed an arrogant finger toward a straight-backed chair directly across the room. "Please," she murmured in a voice tinged with distaste.
"Diedre-" an involuntary shiver swept Deedee at the utter lack of humanity in the voice-"before I go into the details of this rather unwelcome meeting with you, I want to warn you not to try to use your disgusting idea of blackmailing Carol Norden. Oh-" and she lifted her slender, vein-ridged hand to protest against Deedee's gasp of dismay-"I know the entire story. So don't waste your time trying to sell it to me for the truth. How a student of the Edith Pyne Seminary could even dream up such an ugly accusation is beyond me. For heaven's sake, girl, if you had to sneak around and get yourself in trouble, couldn't you at least have done so without trying to involve your best friend?" Mrs. Pyne leaned over the coffee table, staring at Deedee as if she were some strange animal in a cage.
"But, Mrs. Pyne, I don't-"
"I'll brook no interruptions from you, Diedre Ryan.
You are here to listen to me, young la-woman! I shall do all of the talking that's to be done."
"Yes, Mrs. Pyne." Deedee knew she'd been defeated before she had been given a chance to fight. What, she wondered, what in hell did Carol tell her?
"The Pynes did not build this seminary, nor its enviable reputation, by allowing either tarts or perverted women among its students! Most of our young ladies do not even know the meaning of the word 'lesbian,' yet someone such as yourself would dare to instigate a rumor-and again, what horror would have you think of this in connection with your roommate and friend-that lesbianism runs rampant in the school. Carol told me how you forced her to refrain from reporting your many absences by saying you'd tell me she'd 'made a pass' at you. She also told me, Miss Ryan, about your pregnancy; how you tried to borrow money from her for an abortion; how, when she refused, you said it was either give her the money or you'd come to me with stories about her, and even about other of her friends! What an ugly mind you must have, Diedre! What a very unwholesome person you are!"
The tears that ran scaldingly down Deedee's face were completely ignored by the angry old married virgin, as she continued her tirade.
"I'm expelling you, young woman. You will leave these grounds tomorrow morning, and I suggest you never use the Seminary as a source of reference. One thing more. Not that I really care, but do you know just who the father of your bastard is?"
Deedee jumped wildly to her feet, and had Mrs. Pyne not been so furious she would have been frightened at the expression on the girl's face. Deedee was halfway across the room, and had the full intention of physically whipping some of the arrogance from this ugly old woman. The next words stopped her cold.
"Your parents will be here in the morning to take you away."
"My-my parents!"
"Yes, Diedre. I called them and told them the story before I sent for you. I wanted to make sure they got you out of the area before you made a spectacle of yourself in Hartmann. Edith Pyne Seminary will suffer enough from your lack of morals. I don't intend to give you the chance to besmirch our reputation any further."
"My parents?"
"Oh, of course your father was furious. And your mother wept, but then most mothers do on such an occasion. I suggest you have a name to give them. I don't think your father will settle for anything less than-I believe the colloquial phrase is-a shotgun wedding. After that, you'd better just hope they'll have something to do with you. If," she added venomously, "you were my child, I think I'd never want to see you again. But, that's their problem-and yours."
Deedee's mind was a turmoil of boiling thoughts. Her poor, ordinary, overworked parents. Those misunderstanding loves who'd put all of their hopes and dreams in their daughter. If only she could have told them it would have been different. But, and she shuddered as she thought of that unheard conversation with the aristocratic Mrs. Pyne, they must have received the worst possible picture, far worse, actually, than the simple truth. She knew, at that moment, she'd never be able to face them again. Suddenly she realized that Mrs. Pyne was speaking again, had been, as a matter-of-fact, for a few minutes. "I-I beg your pardon. I wasn't really listening."
"One of your minor faults, Diedre. You never have listened, or you might not be in the jam you're in now. I was saying, I've given Carol Norden permission to stay at another dormitory tonight. She's fearfully frightened of you, and from the story she told me-"
"It isn't true, you know."
"You are pregnant, aren't you?"
"Yes. But the rest of it-"
"As I said earlier, Diedre. I simply don't care to discuss it with you. If Carol told the truth about the most important thing, she certainly told the truth about the others. She'd have no reason to do anything else."
"But, if you'll just let me explain-"
"As you admitted, you are pregnant. Nothing else matters at this point. Truly, it doesn't." Mrs. Pyne got up regally from the rose-colored sofa, stepped out from behind the coffee table, and walked toward the closed door. "Mrs. Frank is in the hallway, waiting to take you back to your room. I suggest you wait until morning to pack. Your parents will not be here until about eleven o'clock. Naturally, you shall not be attending classes in the morning. And-" it was spoken almost as an afterthought, but had obviously been planned as the crowning insult-"Mrs. Frank will help you with your packing. We wouldn't want any of Carol's things to disappear, by mistake, would we?"
Deedee was too numb to react. She turned, and walked toward the doorway, opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway to meet her guard-of-honor. For the rest of her life she had nightmares about that walk, that silent, oppressive walk from the Pyne home to her dormitory.
Mrs. Frank obviously knew the story. Just as obviously, she was planning to do a good job as Deedee's jailer. When they reached the small room, she carefully checked all of the windows, made an obvious count of Carol's clothes in her closet, and the sweaters folded neatly in her drawer. Then, without another word, the erstwhile room-mother literally wheeled about, left the room, noisily locking the door behind her.
Deedee had to fight back the hysteria rising within as she heard the key turn in the lock. Carol Norden had forgotten one thing in her well-woven tale as told to the Pyne woman: There wasn't a single member of the student body at the Seminary who hadn't, within the first week, secured a duplicate key to her room. The lockup system was, and had been for years, a laugh.
Moving swiftly, Deedee began to pack, taking only the clothes and accessories which she urgently needed. She dug beneath a pile of Orion sweaters (someday, the errant thought forced its way into her mind, I'll wear only cashmere) and pulled out the small blue bank book. She'd hurt her parents in every other way, she thought as she tucked it into the zippered compartment of her purse, she might as well swing with the tuition and allowance money they'd so recently decided to let her handle for herself. For Deedee had no intention whatsoever of being at the school the next day when her parents arrived. A grim sense of humor gave vent to laughter as she imagined the chagrin of both Pyne and Frank when they discovered their well-hidden scandal had escaped.
I hope, she thought angrily, my parents have enough guts to make a scene about it. I hope they force it out into the open. It can't hurt them or me any more, but it would certainly knock some of the snob-appeal off the ivy-covered walls of Pyne Hall.
Pushing her suitcase beneath the bed and removing her blouse, Deedee Ryan climbed into bed to await the final bed-check. When Mrs. Frank unlocked the door and peered in at her charge, the red curls were toused about on the pillow, and one arm was out of the covers, in an oddly awkward position. As the housemother relocked the door and left the premises, she wondered how such a girl could sleep so peacefully.
Half an hour later, Deedee Ryan was on her way to Hartmann. Once there, she planned to either hitchhike to Providence or, if the traffic was too light, she'd wait in the small whistle-stop station and catch the early train. She had no intention of trying to see Pat Aniel. If she'd been given time to think, to plan, she may have turned to him for help. But Deedee was cornered and fighting her way out in the only way she knew how-by doing everything for herself.
Thank God, she reminded herself, Mom and Dad won't be here until late in the morning. I'll get to the bank as soon as it opens, get the money out, and just disappear.
A wry little smile crossed her face as she spoke softly to herself. "Miss Ryan is going south!"
CHAPTER FIVE
"FORT MEADE," Pat answered the rugged-looking bartender's question. "Fort George frigging Meade. Wonderful place," he added. "I found me a home in the service. I'll have another double of that purple-label rum, old buddy. Have a drink yourself, and we'll make it a toast to good old General Meade. George F. Meade."
It was quite early, and it was Aniel's first pass off the post, and he was very, very drunk, although his speech remained quite flawless.
"Hittin' it a little hard, ain't you, soldier? Long day ahead of you, and Charles Street is already crawlin' with M.P.'s. This is the weekend, ya' know."
Pat nodded wisely. "Gonna be a long day. And it's already been a long three weeks. Couple of more months to go yet before I even finish the basic training bit."
The bartender looked properly sympathetic as he set Pat's drink before him. "Drafted, huh? That's tough."
"Drafted, hell. I enlisted." He didn't offer any additional information, sat moodily on the bar stool staring at the double shot of rum. The bartender shrugged, went back to cleaning the mirrors.
It was a small bar, open practically around the clock, and it was a clip joint. It was also posted as "Off Limits" for servicemen, but the sign was tacked to the door, and when the door was opened inward, you couldn't see the sign. Not that anyone paid a hell of a lot of attention to it anyway, except maybe on a Saturday night when the M. P. 's and S. P. 's made their regular rounds. Even then, when they caught a serviceman on the premises, they were more likely to turn him loose, after checking his pass and I. D., with nothing more than a stern warning. That is, unless the man was either sloppily or belligerently drunk. Things have changed since the Second World War.
The place smelled of stale urine and tobacco smoke, and had a generally indescribable mustiness to it, generated by its many years of operation.
Pat finished his drink, pointed meaningfully to his empty glass and went back to the mens' room, owlishly staring at the scrawled obscenities above the urinal. He wrinkled his nose at the odor. Whatever the joint was, whatever its virtues, he reflected, cleanliness certainly wasn't one of them.
The bartender took advantage of his absence to make a telephone call-to him, an important telephone call.
Pat returned for his drink. The rum, he realized, was finally getting to him, but not with the desired result. Instead of numbing his brain, it was stirring memories, some pleasant, some unpleasant-all painful. Deedee ... the feel of her cool, smooth body pressed tightly against him ... the sound of her laughter ... her face when he'd told her he'd "arrange" everything for an abortion. He squeezed his eyes tightly. Soldiers don't cry.
Me, Pat Aniel, and my big career! Some career I ended up with. A hitch in the service. Don't cry, boy. You brought it all on yourself. It's all your fault, no one else to blame. No one but Pat Aniel, boy genius, boy artist.
A young woman came into the bar, sat down a few stools away. "Hi, Charley," she greeted the bartender. "How's tricks?"
"Hey, lookie here," the bartender said jovially, winking and nodding toward Pat. "Good old Millie. Long time no see!"
"Too long, right?" she agreed. "Well, me and my boy friend, we broke up, so here I am, on the scene again and hot to trot. Who's your friend here, Charley? Hey, trooper, you're kinda cute. First pass, hey?" Her shrewd eyes took in the ill-fitting uniform, the not-yet-grown-out haircut, the lack of shoulder-patch or stripes.
"Yeah. How'd you guess? First pass," Pat replied, amused. She was so obvious, it had to be amusing.
The bartender set up a drink in front of the girl. "First drink's on the house, Millie," he exclaimed. "By God, let's lock up the front door and have us an orgy! What d'ya say to that, huh, soldier?"
"Pat. My name's Pat."
"Pat, meet Millie. Great little gal. Millie, meet good old Pat. Pat here, he's taking his basic out at Meade."
"I already figured it, Charley. Cheer up, Pat. It can't last forever. Nothin' does. Here, let me buy a little drinkie for good old Pat."
Pat shook his head, dazedly.
"No? Okay, I'll tell you what. You buy me a drink, lover. Hey, if this is really your first pass off the post I bet you'd be a hell of a lover at that! Right? Right! You think I'm pretty?"
Aniel looked at her critically, drunkenly. At that particular moment he felt very drunk.
"You have a certain charm," he said, nodding sagely. "Yes, a very certain charm."
"Charm? The hell with that stuff. Look at me. Look at my legs." She swung around on the bar stool, hiking her skirt so that a few inches of thigh showed above her gartered stockings. "That's nice, huh?"
Pat turned back to the bartender. "Set the bottle up on the bar," he ordered.
"Sorry, I can't do that. Against the house rules. Against the law, for that matter. I wouldn't dare do that."
Pat reached in his pocket, hauled out a sheaf of bills, riffled through them. Twenties and tens. The experienced eyes of both the bartender and Millie estimated the roll to be at least two hundred bucks, more like two fifty or three hundred.
"All right," the bartender said, breathing a little heavily and winking at the girl. "Because we're all friends, I'm gonna make an exception to the rule. But just for you! It comes off if somebody else walks in that door." He stooped over, brought up the bottle of rum, set it on the bar top between Millie and Aniel. "There y'are. Now what's the story?"
Pat jerked his head toward Millie. "Give her a shot glass. She drinks rum with me, or she don't drink with my bankroll. That should be simple enough to understand." He knew he was being set up, and he was amused at the thought. It didn't really matter, he thought, and drunk as he was it would be a godsend to get rolled, then go back to the post and sleep it off. But let 'em work for it!
Millie looked doubtfully at the bartender. He nodded his encouragement. Hell, he grinned inwardly, she had a hollow leg anyway, and this G. I. patsy of his was on the narrow edge of passing out.
Charley laid a sheet of paper on the bar, placing a stubby pencil beside it. "You kids go ahead and have fun," he said. "We'll keep score on this. Want me to hold some of that money for you until you get around to soberin' up, Pat?"
"No, thanks, buddy. I'll be all right." Thinking to himself: the hell you will.
"I only meant, you know-like when a guy gets too smashed and all, it's nice to have a little tucked away safe with a friend. But you know how it is."
"Yeah, I know how it is. But like I said, I'll be all right." Pat gravely measured a drink into his glass, then poured an equal amount into Millie's glass and set the bottle down. "Skoal," he gave the toast.
She picked up her shot glass, looked at it rather dubiously, then clicked it against his and they both chug-a-lugged. He picked up the bottle and refilled both of their glasses almost immediately.
"Hey, not so fast there, baby," she protested. "But man, you're a real swinger. You're my type of guy, know that? A guy who can hold his liquor. But how come you're hittin' it so hard, Pat? You got troubles?"
He didn't answer her question but raised his shot glass once again. "Skoal!" he cried.
"Skoal," she echoed with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. They drank. She looked doubtfully at the bartender, half hoping he'd call off the whole deal. He ignored her unspoken plea and winked at her encouragingly.
Pat noticed the wink and was again amused.
"Seriously, Pat," the girl said, "you in some kind of big trouble? AWOL or something like that? Jesus, I don't want to get in no jam with the M. P.'s. You can bet your sweet life on that."
"No," Pat answered her this time. "I'm in no trouble." As he spoke his brain whirled. Suddenly he was talking, not to the whore nor to the bartender, but he was talking to himself. "But I'm guilty of a hell of a worse thing than just going AWOL. Sweet Pat, boy-soldier and rum-drinker par excellence, is guilty of taking a girl's life and smashing it into tiny little pieces!"
"Knock it off, Pat," Millie cried, pretended an interest she was very far from feeling. "I don't believe it. A nice little fella like you? Knock it off!"
"I have ruined a girl's life," Pat continued as if there'd been no interruption. "A beautiful, wonderful girl's life." The rum was smoking his thought. "Wonderful girl," he repeated the words, licking his parched lips, staring unseeingly at the mirror. "When I realized what I'd done, I tried to find her. God, you'll never know how hard I tried to find her." The tears began to course down his cheeks. "But it was too late. Too frigging late. She'd disappeared. Gone-just like that!" He tried to snap his fingers, but the necessary co-ordination was lacking. "I wanted to marry her. I was going to make everything clean and good for us, like it should have been. But she'd disappeared-gone-just like that!" He sat at the bar brooding, lost.
The whore sighed, although it would be difficult to say why. "So, what did you do?" she asked.
He looked around at Millie, as if for the first time. "Do?" he asked. "What's to do?" He picked up the bottle of rum, poured each of them another drink. "Skoal!"
She sighed, and this time it was a sigh of resignation. "Skoal," she said wearily. But when she'd downed her drink, she suddenly began to feel much better. The hot rum was warming her stomach, and she felt a pleasant glow.
"Do?" he echoed. "I joined the frigging Army. Put in for overseas duty. Wanted to get as far away as I could get. So what happens? I'm taking my basic training at Fort George frigging Meade, that's what happens!" Suddenly his empty stomach revolted against the raw rum and he felt the churning and nausea grab him. He slipped from his bar stool, stumbling in his hurry to get back to the toilet. The pair at the bar watched him as he fell across the room. The door swung closed behind him, but not before they heard the beginning of his retching.
"Well," Millie remarked with some bitterness, "that tears it. The bastard'll sober up now. And after me drinkin' this lousy damned rum."
The bartender laughed grimly. "I'll fix it, baby. Don't you worry about that. One more drink for that tin soldier and we're in." He opened a drawer in the back bar, took out a small bottle filled with a colorless liquid. He carefully measured three drops into the soldier's glass, then filled both shot glasses with rum. "Wait until he knocks this back! We'll split the loot, Millie."
She smiled at him in pleased agreement.
In the mens' room, the last of the mm finally came up, accompanied by stomach bile. Panting, Pat washed his face with cold water, cupped a handful of the liquid and rinsed out his mouth with it. He felt weak and faintly silly as he leaned against the wall fishing into a shirt pocket and pulling out a cigarette.
You certainly proved a point that time, he laughed grimly to himself. What point, I don't know, but you must have proved something.
After a few drags on the cigarette he felt better. Of course, they'll know, he thought. They must have heard you, and they'll know you're rid of the package you were carrying. So this'll have to be the one they set you up on. The next drink will have the knockout drops in it. He laughed again, grimly. He was as certain of this fact as he was of his name, rank and serial number. So what? he asked himself. Don't be a jerk all your life. All you have to do, Aniel, is just walk out, pay your tab and take off. You don't have to have another drink here, do you? No, he answered his own question. Of course you don't.
But some perverse desire decided him to play out the comedy their way. It was almost like a burlesque blackout. He grinned, feeling quite sober and ready for the game in front of him. He washed his mouth once again and went back to the bar.
"Better, honey?" Millie asked, false concern etched upon her hard face.
He sat beside her, nodding. "Some." He noted the bartender walking to the other end of the bar, whistling elaborately. Very funny. Pat reached for the glass of water he'd been using as a chaser, leaned toward Millie. "Know something? You're a real swingin' chick. You and me, baby-let's do the town, huh? I got plenty of money. I'll bet we could have a ball."
Her eyes gazed into his with earnest insincerity. As she started to answer he carefully poured some of the water into her lap. She jumped to her feet as she felt the cold moisture seeping through her dress. She began to curse and brush her skirt furiously. Pat quickly switched their glasses. Just like a burlesque blackout, he told himself, gleefully.
"Christ, say I'm sorry," he apologized. "But it's just water. There's no harm done."
She started to make a snarling reply, then thought better of it. After all, she was just one short drink away from a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty dollars. She smiled at him. "Sure. No harm down. Let's drink to that," she went on in an eager rush of words, reaching for her glass.
"Let's, baby. Skoal."
"Skoal!" she cried happily, as they drank their drinks. She watched him covertly, unable to conceal the animal-like anticipation in her eyes. He watched her gravely. Charley stayed at the other end of the bar, supposedly absorbed in a racing form.
"Say," she exclaimed, "you and me ... we're going to have a real ball." A strange expression came over her face. "Yes, soldier, a real-" She crumpled to the floor.
Pat looked down at her for a moment, then turned on his bar stool and thoughtfully picked up the sheet of paper and pencil. He turned the paper over and, with a few deft strokes sketched the girl as she lay crumpled on the floor.
"Charley," Pat called the bartender, who hadn't noticed the action in his eagerness to play his role to the hilt. He came up behind the bar.
"Now what the hell-" The bartender was unable to conceal his amazement.
Pat smiled at him. "She can't hold her liquor very well, I guess. How much do I owe you?"
The bartender calculated swiftly, still trying to figure out what had happened. "Eighteen bucks, soldier."
Aniel peeled off a twenty, waited for his change. "Here," he said, sliding the sketch across the bar. "Hang on to that. It might be worth a small fortune some day. Later." He waved a quick good-bye and left, wondering what other delightful surprises the day held for him.
Charley looked at the drawing critically. Hell of a tip this was! Then he studied it more closely. Not bad. Not bad at all. By God, the guy was quite an artist! Whistling tunelessly, he taped the sketch up on the mirror behind the bar. Might be worth a couple of bucks from some drunk before the day was over. Hell, Millie might even buy it when she came to. That reminded him. He jumped over the bar, grasped the whore under her arms and dragged her back to a booth to sleep it off. She snored gently, and Charley went back to the bar. He leaned there, glancing from time to time at the sketch on the mirror.
It was the first thing Deedee saw when she reported to work that night.
CHAPTER SIX
Deedee's journey from the exclusive Edith Pyne Seminary near Providence, Rhode Island, to the off-limits "Blue Swan" cocktail lounge on Charles Street in Baltimore, Maryland, had been a devious but very well-planned trip.
She was well aware that once her absence had been discovered, both parents and school officials would instigate a search to locate their errant girl. She was also well aware that she had no intentions of being found.
Her first impulse, once she had withdrawn the tuition money from the Providence Bank of Merchants and Farmers had been to by some kind of a ticket-any kind of a ticket-and go someplace, anyplace. This, she immediately realized, would leave an open trail for her followers. Checking into the local YWCA (the last place anyone would think of when seeking a pregnant girl), she decided it would take at least a week before all points of exit could be thoroughly checked. And then, just as they decided to look for her in Providence, that was when she would leave.
As she sat on the edge of her narrow bed, Deedee's mind was whirling. One thing was of the utmost importance: She had to earn some money, and she had to earn it while her pregnancy was still unnoticeable. She'd purchased a local newspaper before she'd come to the Y and had gone through the classified section with growing dismay. Most of the jobs called for references, so, most of them were immediately discarded as possibilities. How, her smooth brow furrowed in concentration, could she raise some money without leaving a wide-open trail to her whereabouts. On the long walk from the school to Hartmann she'd decided she would have to make more each day than it cost her to live. She'd have to build up a bankroll to carry her through the difficult days ahead.
Sales work? No. It might pay well, but you had to make an investment, time-wise, in the best of selling jobs, and time was a commodity of which she was very short.
Waitress? Yes, but then again, no. True, you got your meals, a small salary, and certainly, if you were any good, enough tips to build up the kitty. But all the good places, the spots where there was money to be made, would require references. Wait a minute, she told herself. Just wait an ever-lovin' minute. Why bother about the "good spots." All of them were frequented by parents and friends of the Edith Pyne group. Any of them would represent the possibility of discovery. But now was no time to be proud. What about the lower-class joints? The spots where everyone-employees, employers and customers-had something to hide. She stood up and looked at herself in the cheap mirror covering the bathroom door. Turning to one side she pulled her skirt as tightly about her stomach as she could. Not a sign of her condition. She had, and she knew it quite well, a most flamboyant figure. That, combined with the naming red hair, should make her a welcome addition to such a spot. Even if the tips were small, there ought to be a lot of them. And, most important of all, she wouldn't need references; almost as important, when she left they wouldn't come looking for her. If she could line up something like this in Providence, she could work at it for the week, save every cotton-picking tip and have enough money to leave town without touching her precious bankroll.
Deedee was a girl of impetuosity. Before the day was over, she had a job to go to that night. And before the week was over she had enough new money to buy a ticket for Boston. She knew the danger of discovery in actually going to the destination named on a ticket. She also knew that inasmuch as most hunted people don't do this she might stand a chance of getting away with it.
In Boston she found a job near the waterfront. Within ten days she had enough money to buy another ticket-this time she could afford a false destination. She smiled sweetly at the warped little man behind the bars of his cage.
"Coach, please. To Washington. D. C."
Wearily he reeled off the timetable, departure and arrival times, stop-offs, carriers. Deedee wasn't to be ignored, however. She wanted to be noticed.
"Sweetie," she almost drawled the words, in the pseudosexy manner she'd picked up during her short hiatus as a cocktail waitress and B-girl. The man looked up sharply, for once forced out of his long-time retreat. The shapely redhead standing on the other side of his cage was smiling with obvious invitation. The twisted little man felt a sense of outraged shock. Who, he asked himself, was this strange, sinful tart to interrupt his tight, safe world?
"Sweetie," she drawled again. "Do you know very much about Washington? I'm going there as a stranger, and a girl can get very lonely in a strange town. Know what I mean?" She arched an eyebrow, made a quick little movement of her body, and there could be no doubt as to exactly what she meant. The man shifted uneasily, glad of the bars separating him from this (and he actually called her the term, to himself) "painted woman." Roughly, he pushed a ticket through the slot towards her and counted out the change from the bills she'd given him.
"Don't know nobody down there. Sinful town. For sinful people." Shocked at giving this much information he turned away and began counting his bank. Deedee laughed with actual mirth as she walked, hips swinging with arrogance, away from his window. He stared after her as she left. This man, Deedee told herself, is going to be a great witness for me.
She stayed on the train all the way to the capital city. Once there she took a quick job at one of the more notorious bars in the southwest area, near Anacostia and the naval station. She worked it for three days, telling everyone she met and worked with of her plans to leave soon for Florida. The morning of the fourth day Deedee was on her way to Baltimore. Let them, she thought with sad satisfaction, find me here.
When she first hit the Blue Swan, Charley tried to discourage her. The boss wasn't around, and as coarse and evil as he'd become Charley still knew a nice gal from a bum. Deedee, he spotted the minute she walked in the front door, was a nice gal. She might have picked up the B-girl's walk, the lingo used by them in every joint in the States, the air of sexual phoniness; still, she wasn't one of them. Deedee was not to be dissuaded. She had only a few weeks left to play this game. So far, she'd managed to keep her original bankroll intact. She'd lived, traveled, and even saved a little of her earnings. Not, she told herself several times daily, nearly enough. The few low-cut, tight-fitting gowns she'd purchased in bargain basements as a part of her disguise, were already becoming too tight even for this work. She had to locate quickly and save every cent. She knew where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do. She knew also, she had to get the money for it now. While Charley was still trying to talk her out of working the Blue Swan, Angelo, the owner, walked in. Charley at once gave up his attempt at decency, knowing she'd be the icing on the cake for his perverted boss.
"Hi, Ange." He indicated Deedee with a quick nod of his huge head. "Broad here lookin' for work. Says she knows the ropes." Charley couldn't resist one last dig at her obvious superiority to these surroundings. Angelo didn't notice. He was giving Deedee the slow, sweeping study that went out with the early George Raft movies; eyes moving not from head to toe, but vice versa-and stopping to linger at all the obvious places.
"Where you worked, doll?" the sexual tones of his deep voice were so studied Deedee almost burst out laughing. A quick glance at Charley changed her mind.
"No place in this town, but you can check me out in half the joints from Boston to D. C." Deedee knew there'd be no checking; however she refrained from mentioning any points farther north than Boston.
"Ya got any kind of specialty?"
"Two of them. The just twenty-ones and the over fifties-they both seem to dig my type. The in-betweens go for the more mature dollies. But-" She shrugged.
"I see whatcha mean. Well, we get plenty of all kinds in the Blue Swan." The coarse man sat down on a bar stool, one leg on the brass rail, the other stretched out behind him. He motioned for Deedee to sit, and ordered himself a shot of bourbon. He didn't ask her if she wanted anything, nor did he order for her. "You lookin' for straight B-work, or you wanta' cover it a little by waitin' table?"
"It's not a matter of cover, Mister-?"
"Call me Angelo. Everybody else does."
"Well, it's not a matter of covering up, Angelo. I like the doubt bit because I can make more money at it."
"More money?"
"Yes. I've never worked a joint yet that hasn't had slow nights as far as John's were concerned. If you're on a straight B-girl basis, and the lonely one's don't show up, you can't make a dime. But if you're waiting tables those nights, you at least pick up something in salary, and a few tips. Also-" and she looked intently at the brutish face of her possible employer-"I don't like to leave with the boys. Keeping them company and drinking with them for a percentage of my drinks is one thing. Going home with them another. If you're looking for a straight hooker, count me out. If you're looking for a girl who can bring customers back to your bar to spend their good money, I'm the girl for the job." Deedee had found out the difference in her first week away from school. The lesson had been an ugly one, and had come close to costing her more than just her job. She'd made the point clear from then on out. A B-girl she might be, she'd tell herself every night as she dressed for work, a whore, she was not.
Angelo's drink was tossed down in one quick gulp, and he nodded to Charley to fill his glass again. "You want a drink? A Coke, or something?" he asked the lovely young girl. She knew she had the job.
In her first two weeks at the Blue Swan, Deedee became the queen of the bar. Young servicemen from nearby Fort Meade began to swam to the place, practically standing in line to buy the lovely redhead the colored water they thought was booze. Her lilting laughter could be heard above the noise of the jukebox, and night after night she collected a fair hunk of loot with her dancing lessons in both the Twist and the newer Watusi. When the servicemen cleared out to return to the base, the older men moved in. She'd listen to their stories, become fatuous over the pictures of their grandchildren, and accept their fumbling tips gratefully.
Charley watched in amazement as this young girl out maneuvered her more experienced competitors time and time again. She had, he figured, walked out of the joint with at least a couple of bills each week. And she'd stuck to her word. She never walked out with a customer. She never met one elsewhere either. This was one of the favorite games of a B-girl, trying to knock a bartender out of his share of her loot. It seldom worked because the victims usually came screaming into the bar the next day, trying to get their money back-or bragging about their prowess with women. Charley's original doubt of Deedee was replaced by a definite and very strong sense of respect. This little gal, he told himself, was going places. At the rate she was earning the buckniks, she wouldn't be around the Blue Swan very long. Charley was glad for her. It was a different story with Angelo, the boss.
Night after night he'd watched the new girl, flaunting her charms before his customers, making money for him as well as for herself. Angelo had always made it a policy to separate business and pleasure. He was finding it difficult to stick to this policy when it came to Deedee. He found himself wanting to get rid of the jerks lined up around her, wanting to buy her drinks (and her company) for himself. He found himself unable to keep his eyes off the lithe young body, the flaming hair, the full warm lips. He faced the fact that he was getting hung up on her body. He refused to face the fact that he was very close to falling in love for the first time in his life.
Charley was aware of what was happening to his boss, and it struck him as funny.
Deedee was aware of what was happening to her boss, and it struck her as meaning trouble. Sooner or later he was going to make a play for her. She'd never be able to say "no" to him and keep her job. In just two more weeks she'd have more than enough money put away to take her to the Coast and keep her in shelter and clothing until the child was born. But she needed those two weeks.
So the game between the two became a desperate struggle for time on Deedee's part; a struggle for possession on Angelo's part.
Getting dressed that Saturday afternoon, Deedee had thought to herself that tonight would probably be her last night at the Swan. She'd used every trick she knew, and many she'd not known before, but Angelo's patience had worn thin. Charley had acted as a kind of buffer between the two, but he was running scared. He'd actually told Deedee the night before that she'd have to go it on her own from then on.
"I like you, Red. I like you a lot. But I like my little old job better. Ange's gettin' hip to my interference in his chase. I either step to one side or I'm gonna get kicked out. So, I'm steppin' to one side."
"It's okay, Charley. I can't blame you, and gosh knows you've helped me tremendously, up till now. I'll see if I can't finish out the week, then I'll take off. But don't say anything about it to him. Promise?"
"You know it, kid." Charley said a silent prayer that she'd get away with her plan. Angelo, he knew full well, was far from stupid. If he had the slightest suspicion she was planning to skip, she didn't have a chance.
That was the situation at the Blue Swan when Deedee walked in and saw the sketch behind the bar. Pat's sketch.
She reacted immediately, try though she might to hide it. Angelo, seated in the darker side of the barroom watched her. Although he did not connect her recoiling stance with the small sketch on the bar, he did connect it with her hatred of his place of business. He watched her move forward, and his face assumed a mask of ferocious intensity. Damn the bitch! Damn her superior attitude! Damn her elusiveness! He'd had just about enough of them. Tonight he intended to have her, instead.
He stood up and walked, smiling, across the room toward Deedee. He was holding his desire in deep reserve. None of the pigs in this room should see it. He wanted to make quick, urgent, insatiable love to this redheaded child; he wanted to keep the desire a secret between them. It was, he thought meanly, too good for the other beasts in his bar!
Deedee hadn't noticed his approach. From the minute she saw Pat's sketch, all of her wariness had left her. She saw nothing but the hands she loved. She reasoned without reason. She told herself there could be but one explanation behind that picture. Pat had come after her. Pat had traced her. He had found her and would take her out of this hellish excuse for a life she'd been living. All of her defenses fell. Deedee was a young girl in love, and was waiting for her lover. Her beloved lover, she thought as she walked weakly toward the bar. Charley was staring at her in amazement. What, he asked himself, had happened to this ball-of-fire? Suddenly, she looked like one of the little college kids he was always eighty-sixing.
Angelo hit the bar just as Deedee sat down. He was possessed by his desire for her. He wanted to hurry her back to his office, hurry her through her undressing, hold her, shake her, pull her close to him, and then abandon himself to the physical beauty of her surrender. His slit-eyes disclosed none of his thoughts. He ordered a drink from Charley and dreamed about taking Deedee right there, on the bar, in front of the whole room full of customer. He tossed the drink down, glanced moodily about the almost empty room, and turned to Deedee.
"You look funny, tonight, kid. Got troubles, or somethin'?"
Deedee, still aware only of Pat's sketch, still unable to realize the beauty that would be once again, was far from ready to fight the never-ending battle. She should have been frightened at Angelo's words, the tone of his voice. She was too happy to be frightened, and too intrigued with her dreams to heed the warning in Charley's eyes.
"I asked-you got troubles, or somethin'?" Angelo reached for her arm as he repeated his question.
She continued to stare at the sketch on the mirror. She wore a feminine, almost virtuous air.
Angelo lost his temper. "I said, you got-forget what I said! Come into the office with me, baby. We got some things to talk about. I can't talk to you with all these characters listenin' in on the whole bit." He stood up, grabbed her arm, and pulled her bodily from the bar stool. "Come on, Red. We've got a few matters to dig into."
Deedee followed him without protest. Pat, she thought to herself. Pat is coming after me. Everything is going to be all right. We belong together. I'll be near him. He'll be near me. I'll never have to be cold again.
Angelo slammed the door behind them and, without turning on a light, jerked her around to face him. He didn't say a word, just stared down at her. She began to tremble. He pressed his thick lips against hers and, as she began to struggle-finally realizing where and with whom she was-he pushed her fiercely to the floor. In the heat of his desire he said nothing, asked nothing, but began tearing at Deedee's clothes, answering her first moaned protests with a vicious slap across her mouth. She began to utter obscenities he hadn't believed she would know, but as his fumbling fingers reached the womenly hooks and zippers, he told himself that women liked to fight this way. They were created to protest, and to love at the same time. He dug his lips into her soft flesh, ignoring every sound and movement she made.
As he felt his fingers touch the filmy lace of her most intimate apparel he became confident and possessive. It was the last emotion he had before the searing pain swept over him as Deedee's knee hit his groin. He fell back sweating, agony covering and subduing his passion completely. Through the bloody haze across his eyes he watched the furious-but still lovely-young girl pull back her curvaceous leg and kick him once again.
"I should have let you rape me, you bastard! I should have let you get started and then called the cops. You'd be put away for the rest of what other people call a natural life. You, and your big-time bar! Well, Angelo, for your future good-never hire yourself a gal that's as underaged as I am! And no matter how old they are, rape is still a dirty word. You're gonna' get up from that floor, Angelo! And you're going to give me a week's pay-plus my percentage of the take I've been bringing in. You're going to give me the cash out of the till. And you're going to do it right now!"
Angelo, still in an agonized heap of defeated manhood, began to shake his head in negation.
"Don't say no, Angelo. Not if you want to keep your license. I'll cry wolf, baby. And when my family-you did know I have a good family, didn't you?-joins me in howling, you'll have nothing left. Well?"
"Get dressed, Redhead," Angelo croaked. "I'll buzz Charley to give you the loot. But get dressed, and get out of here before I kill you! You might have a good family, baby, but they've got themselves a real bitch on their hands!"
Deedee left. She didn't argue the point. But she took the picture with her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Everyone must have a breaking point. Luckily for Deedee, she managed to get through that night, and the miserable months ahead without reaching hers. Some people never seem to reach that unfortunate point of desperation that means the end of the road for them-or, at the very least, the end of the road they're traveling at that particular time. Others, the less fortunate ones, reach their end gradually, taking blow after blow without visibly flinching. Then, one sudden period of stress and they go all the way. And there are a few who seem to swing along with no trouble at all, until, without warning, they are suddenly catapulted out their safe little cocoons, and come face to face with the uglier facts of life.
Deedee fit into none of these categories. Even her love affair with Pat Aniel and its subsequent consequences seemed to fit into a certain unique pattern. She'd always known how she wanted to live, where she wanted to go. She'd always known what she would do, once she reached that destination. When she'd walked into the Blue Swan and seen Pat's sketch taped to the mirror behind the bar the pattern had seemed to waver a bit. But she knew that even if he failed to find her this time she'd go on with her plans. She also knew that sooner or later he would find her-waiting for him and still loving him.
Angelo's attempt at rape had forced the next move, and, in all probability delayed her reunion with Pat. This she knew, but the temporary setback didn't change the ultimate goal. She was a bit shocked, but pleased in spite of it, that she'd managed to turn the rape scene to her advantage. She hadn't realized before that point that she'd changed enough to fight back when it was necessary. It was only after she'd collected her money from Charley and left the bar that the fear began to set in. Angelo was definitely a brute. His entire background and his kind of action were a new, strange thing to Deedee. If he'd come after her-and how far he'd come if he moved at all, she had no way of knowing. She recognized the fear she felt for what it was. Momentarily panicked, she almost immediately caught hold of herself and decided to continue moving as she had planned.
She began to pack hastily, her mind as busy as her hands. She had decided to quit Angelo's this weekend, so that much hadn't changed. But she'd intended to be several hundred miles away from Baltimore before the avaricious and overly amorous Angelo discovered her absence.
She walked into the small bathroom and opened the cracked mirror which served as the door of her medicine chest. She began to take out the few small bottles, vitamin pills, aspirin, non-prescription-type tranquilizers and deodorant-all she'd managed to accumulate during her short stay in the grimy little apartment. To hell with Angelo, she told herself as she wrapped the bottles in miscellaneous bits of lingerie and drip-dry hankies, stuffing them at odd angles down into the sides of her two small suitcases. Let him try to find me. As Uncle Tim used to tell Mom when he was on a binge, "They can kill me, Mary, but by God, they can't eat me!"
Back in her narrow bed-living room, she began a methodical check of the drawers and two tiny closets. It wasn't that she had very much to be forgotten, but that she needed everything she had. The smallest item, left behind, would mean an expenditure she could not afford. Finished, she picked up an almost empty half pint of liquor from the poorly painted dresser and poured the remains of its contents into the jelly glass she'd laughingly christened her "snifter." She sat down on the sagging couch and began to sip the warm, iceless drink.
The next bus didn't leave for another two hours, and she didn't relish the idea of sitting around the huge barn of a bus station waiting for it. She fell into a sad-happy kind of reverie. When she went to the hospital, she'd tell them she was a war widow-a Vietnamese war widow, maybe? She giggled, with just a touch of hysteria. She didn't even know if any Americans had been killed in that silly war. She could only hope whatever hospital she ended up in would be equally uninformed. After all, it was the only war going on these days! Maybe, she told herself, just maybe, Fat will have found me by then. Maybe I won't have to lie my way in and out of the maternity ward. Whatever, I shouldn't be sitting here brooding about it. We'll face that little goodie when we come to it.
Without another thought, she got up from the old couch, put the jelly glass firmly down upon the dresser and, picking up the two suitcases, walked out of the apartment. She'd go to the bus station, check her luggage and treat herself to a drink at a nearby bar. A Bon Voyage drink, she told herself. We can't afford it, but we can't afford this solitary brooding either. She didn't look back at the old building as she hailed a cab.
The bus ride from Baltimore to Los Angeles was a nightmare for Deedee. She was so exhausted, sick and discouraged when the huge conveyance finally pulled into the palm-lined station on Vine Street, that she didn't even feel relief in the knowledge the trip had finally ended. She all but fell out of the bus, managed to fight back her nausea until she'd claimed her bags. Then she walked wearily toward one of the waiting cabs and all but fell into it. The hell with my budget, she told herself.
I've got to get to a decent hotel and get a good night's sleep under my belt. Tomorrow I can worry about money-not tonight!
"A hotel, driver. Any nice hotel in the neighborhood. And I don't know your town, so I'll just have to take your word for it."
"You want a commercial place, or more like a residential pad, honey?" the cab driver asked, pleased at being given her trust, and anxious to please her in return. "The Plaza's nice-just a few blocks up Vine-but it's more or less a businessman's hotel."
"The Plaza will be fine, thank you. I'll look for something more 'homey' tomorrow. Right now all I want is a hot shower and a nice soft bed to flop on!" Deedee leaned wearily back against the cold leather upholstery.
"No sooner said than done!" the cheery voice, meant to help Deedee, only made her more depressed. The short ride was driven in silence. Deedee checked in, was whisked promptly up to a large, air-conditioned room on the fifth floor, had taken her shower and gone to bed before she realized she hadn't even asked the price. Tomorrow, she told herself, as she felt sleep begin to overtake her. Tomorrow, I'll worry about everything.
Before the next day was over she'd gotten a job doing some part-time typing from an employment agency just across the street from her hotel. The woman who'd interviewed her knew the neighborhood completely and not only lined Deedee up with a job, but sent her to a small apartment building, just three blocks north on Hollywood Boulevard. The rent was cheap, the building clean, and Deedee moved in immediately.
Evenings, she'd watch TV or go to an occasional movie. She tried reading, studying, taking long walks up the gaudy, world-famed boulevard, but time still hung heavy on her hands. Some nights she'd walk so far that when she returned to her tiny home she was too tired to think. She was grateful for the exhaustion. The pain of her last meeting with Pat; the knowledge that her parents must be heart-broken, the awareness of the dark days ahead-all of them hurt terribly. She frequently woke in the morning with tears in her eyes, unable to recall which dream had put them there. At least, she'd assure herself at such times, at least I'll have the baby. When Pat finally gets here, I'll have his child for him.
She was in her fifth month, and feeling life within her, when she made her first California friend. She'd stayed late at the office that night, typing some stencils that could easily have waited until the next morning. She didn't, however, feel much like taking one of the long walks; this was one of the more "dead" nights on television, and she'd seen every movie on the boulevard. As she typed she was suddenly aware of a draft from the doorway behind her desk. Turning in surprise, she saw a young Mexican girl standing behind her, feather-duster in hand.
"Buenos noches, senorita," the dark-haired girl greeted her. "I didn't know anyone would be working this late. I hope it won't disturb you if I clean the office while you're here."
"Oh-why, no. Of course not. Actually, I shouldn't be here, but I was kind of blue-" Deedee never understood why she'd suddenly felt like confiding in the girl. "I didn't have anything to do at home and-" The hot tears began to well into her eyes and she turned her head in mortification. Quick sympathy sprang into the eyes of the young Latin.
"I know what you mean, senorita. I, too, get very lonely. I sometimes wish I could earn enough money to return to Mexico. But then, I remember how bad things were when I left and-" She heaved a sigh, filled with the memory of past days-"and I pull back my shoulders and finish my work. My work!" She looked bitterly at the duster in her hands. "If only there weren't so many Mexicans in Los Angeles. If only the gringos would realize we can do something besides this!" She looked away in embarrassment as Deedee turned to stare at her. "Sorry, senorita. Sometimes I talk too much."
"What's your name?" Deedee's question was almost an order.
"Maria. Maria Feliz. Why?"
"How long does it take you to finish up here? Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Diedre Ryan-and I must sound rude. But it just occurred to me that we both 'talk too much.' Probably because we're both strangers in a strange town. I thought maybe, if you'd like to, we could have a sandwich or something after you've finished. Maybe we could become friends." Deedee felt the words pouring out, and couldn't have held them back had she wished.
The next week the two girls moved into an apartment together. By pooling their resources they managed to get a fairly nice place with the California status symbol of a heated swimming pool. They became the closest of friends, and Maria was with Deedee when the child was born.
During those final months, Maria learned the full story of Deedee's troubles. She gave her sympathy, warmth and understanding. There was no condemnation of her loving surrender to Pat; no bigotry in her acceptance of Deedee's determination to give birth to the child, most importantly of all, to Deedee, there was complete acceptance of her plan to continue her education in California. Both girls knew it was an almost impossible dream, one that would mean fantastic hardships for Deedee. To take care of a child, a fatherless child, would be difficult enough. To do so and put oneself through college at the same time tripled the problem.
"I must get my degree, Maria. I absolutely must! You know the problem you have finding decent work. You say it's because you're Mexican. But believe me, without a college education these days, in this country, you haven't a chance in the world of earning a decent living. I don't intend to have my child grow up in a poor, hand-me-down kind of world. The only way I can do anything about it is to put myself in the kind of income bracket I deserve. Oh, I know it's going to be rough. And I don't know quite how I'll pull it off. But believe me, no matter what, I'm going to finish school!"
Maria believed Deedee. She offered her help. Financially, she could do nothing, but at least she could take care of the baby while Deedee was at school. Between the two of them, she assured her new friend, they'd make it. She could get jobs covering those hours Deedee would be free, and stay with the child while she was away.
Before Deedee went to the hospital, everything was set. She'd been accepted by Blue Harbour University, a small but good college near the ocean. She and Maria had both banked every extra penny they had, and the first tuition had been paid.
When the child was born, Deedee called her Maria.
CHAPTER EIGHT
At first, taking the gifts from men was a kind of a game for Deedee. She realized, of course, that it was wrong. She even sensed where it might lead if she didn't play the game with great care.
She'd managed to get through her first year at Blue Harbour and take care of little Maria, but only by the most arduous scheduling of both time and money. Her entire life had become wrapped in the gray threads of duty. There was, first of all, her duty to her child. Then, her duty to herself, the duty to keep her promise to herself. There was the duty of her obligation to the grown Maria, without whose help the entire situation would have been impossible. Even the plans and dreams for the future were surrounded by this haze of grim duty.
So, when she began her new game, it seemed an almost harmless method of escape from her duty-bound world. As such it held more than a small amount of charm for her. Not only did it ease the desperate financial situation, but it was also fun guessing how far she could push the men. It was fun to meet a new man, to arouse his interest in her, and then to try for the jackpot-gift-wise that was. She began to learn just how far she'd have to go to increase the value of the gift, even one tiny notch. She learned quickly that these tiny notches frequently meant the difference between a gift that was "hockable" and one that was "non-hockable." So, Deedee played the game and enjoyed herself. She'd been playing it for several months, several times each week, and so far she remained the winner. She'd never had to go all the way.
And the tens, twenties and fifties she picked up at the pawnshop bought a lot of books, paid a lot of rent, and put some darling clothes on her daughter's soft back.
It was a soft spring day, when she met the man who was to be her biggest pigeon. He was, as it happened, a friend of a friend of hers. Fortyish, immensely wealthy, and just beginning to realize that his youth had passed him by. From Chicago, he'd come to Los Angeles for a business meeting, and had driven out to Blue Harbour to visit the son of one of his executives. He'd been bored with the idea of the visit but was unable to come up with a suitable excuse for not making it. As the older man and the college student stood beside the rent-a-car Lincoln, Deedee swung up the path on her way to the library. Ralph Colman one of the few male friends she'd made on campus, called out a cheery greeting as his father's friend stared in open-mouthed appreciation of the young coed.
"They certainly didn't look like that when I was in school," Jim Bradley spoke admiringly. "Who is she, Ralph? A friend of yours, I hope."
"Deedee Ryan, Mister Bradley, a swell gal. And if you mean 'buddy' when you say 'friend,' you're right. She's a real gas."
"Well, now. Aren't you going to introduce your dad's boss to the young lady? It's been a long time since I've had a chance to talk with anything that gorgeous."
"You asked for it, Mister B," Ralph replied, half serious, half mocking. "Hey, Irish!" he hollered, knowing she would reply in kind. She did.
Bradley hadn't planned on any extracurricular activities during his business trip, but five minutes of conversation with Deedee Ryan changed all of that. She hit his already oversized ego with all the impact of a wounded rhino on the attack. He realized he might be making a fool of himself in front of Ralph Colman, but was completely unable to refrain from so doing.
"You two kids must be ready for a break in the old grind, no?" he asked by way of leading up to a dinner-invitation. "What do you say you take a night off from all this studying and join me in L. A. for dinner? We'll hit one of the better places. Say, Perino's?" He issued the invitation to both students. Both of them knew he meant it for just the girl.
"I think Deedee should accept, Mr. Bradley. She's the kid that does all the boning up on this campus. Me, I've got a date with my roommate's girl friend's girl friend. You know how it is?"
"Would you care to join me ... Deedee?" the older man asked, his relief at Ralph's obvious excuse quite evident.
This old cat, Deedee was thinking to herself, could be good for half of next year's tuition-if I play it right. She smiled up at the fatuous middle-aged man, and accepted his dinner bid. "It sounds like a ball. And I'd love to get away from the grind for a night." Yes ma'am, she added silently. We'll have a ball, but it's going to cost him plenty! "Pick me up at my place, about sevenish?" She gave him her address and a brief set of instructions as to how to reach the place. Then, waving merrily, and with a glance of promise toward Bradley, she continued up the path toward the library.
Jim rang her bell promptly at seven. Maria answered, invited him in and introduced herself and the baby. Deedee wasn't quite ready. While he waited, Jim was filled in on her background. The oft-told tale of Deedee's widowhood, by now embellished with all sorts of little niceties through its months of development, served to build within him a sense of sympathy and pity for the girls. It had been planned for just that purpose.
Deedee looked like a dream when she came into the living room-red curls pulled back into an impudent little ponytail, tied with an equally impudent green bow; her lithe young body encased in a dinner dress of sea green, which managed to accentuate each curve without being too obvious about it; eyes dancing in anticipation. Jim Bradley soaked in her beauty and said a silent prayer of thanks to the executive who had insisted upon his visit to Blue Harbour.
They dined at Perino's, and Jim was aware of the envious eyes upon him as almost every man in the room drank in the loveliness of his dinner partner. He'd called and ordered their dinner in advance, but even the superb cosmopolitan cuisine couldn't take his thoughts off of Deedee. For all his appreciation of the many subtle tastes, he might as well have ordered chili and beans. Deedee was fully aware of her effect upon him, and delighted in playing her flirtatious game.
Now she leaned forward to accept a light for her cigarette, soft breast brushing casually against his sleeve. Then she withdrew, a warm blush flowing across her face, making it quite obvious to the stunned victim of her attentions that she had realized the small intimacy. By the time their after-dinner brandies were served, Jim Bradley was hooked.
As they left the swank restaurant, Deedee suggested they take a short walk before the attendant delivered the car. The weather, she added, was so lovely, the breeze, almost like a caress. Her words were chosen carefully, and had the intended effect. The area was loaded with expensive shops, and Deedee would stop to gaze into their display windows, wide-eyed at the beauty and cost of their contents. She, seemingly, failed to notice Jim's reaction to the awe she showed at a lovely silver-mink stole, draped carelessly over a marble table in one of the windows. She'd said nothing about it. Poor girl, Jim thought to himself. She's probably never known the touch of fur.
They turned back to Perino's to get the car. As they drove out Wilshire Boulevard, Jim decided to risk the all-important question. It's too soon, I know, he argued with himself, but I can't help myself. All she can do is say "no."
"I'm expecting a rather important long-distance call, Deedee. Would you mind stopping by the hotel with me while I take it?" He glanced sideways at her, amazed at the importance her answer held for him. "We could have a drink in my suite. If, of course, you don't object?" He waited, with bated breath, for her reply.
"But, why should I object, Jim? After all, the days of the spider and the fly bit are long gone." She turned toward him, a teasing smile upon her lips. "I'm quite sure your intentions are-what is the colloquial phrase?-honorable." She reached over and patted his hand as she spoke. He almost side-swiped a parked car.
In the hotel room, Jim poured two fairly stiff glasses of brandy and, handing one of them to Deedee, picked up the phone to tell the operator he was in his room if a long-distance call came in. He was not, he added, to be disturbed for a local call. He hung up the phone and started to sit beside Deedee. Something made him change his mind, and he began to pace the floor instead.
Gradually, he began to talk to her. Without knowing why, he began to tell her about the kind of life he'd known as a child and his growth into manhood. How he'd struck out on his own and almost immediately begun to make more money than he knew what to do with. He told her about the unhappy marriage of his parents-a father who came and went as he pleased and who always had more than enough women on the side; a mother who had steadfastly refused a divorce but became more and more bitter, until there wasn't even any sweetness or love left for her son. He told her of the many women in his life, and he told her of his marriage. How much hope, how many dreams he'd put into it, all in vain. All of a sudden he seemed to wind down as quickly as he'd wound up in the beginning. He finally sat on the couch beside Deedee. Taking her soft hand in his, he looked soberly into her eyes.
"Deedee, I think, perhaps, I'm falling in love with you. I'm not sure, but I think I am. I know that when I asked you to come up here with me, I didn't actually have 'honorable' intentions. But you seem so young, so trusting. I need you desperately, but I can't take advantage of you, darling."
Deedee didn't actually hear all of his words. This was a turn she hadn't expected, and her main thought at the moment was that it was a turn which could cost her an expensive gift if she left it stand.
She moved closer to Jim and opened her arms. He went into them. Nothing could have kept him back. Their first kiss was a short one, but it burned a searing scar across his face. It was, he thought, almost as though they were meant to be part of one another. She raised her face for a second kiss, almost melting against him. They set one another on fire. He drew her closer into his arms, his hands searching restlessly, her fingertips caressing him frantically.
For Deedee, it ceased to be a game. Suddenly she remembered the glory and wild passion she'd known with Pat. Suddenly she realized how long she'd been alone. She'd started out to tease Jim Bradley into buying her a gift. Now, she wanted him. She needed to be possessed, completely and fiercely. Her loins ached with desire. Her needs communicated themselves to Jim, and he picked her up, carrying her blindly toward the large bed.
She helped him disrobe her, hands fumbling at the restraining hooks and zippers. He gasped in agony as her full breasts burst from the bond of the sea green dress, pink nipples swollen in anticipation of his lips. He answered their greedy call, and heard, as though from a great distance, the sobbing moans of passion issuing from Deedee's feverish lips. As she opened to receive him, Jim felt a tidal wave of emotion engulf him. The pent-up frustrations of Deedee flowed outward and covered the man. With no other woman had he known such beauty.
He didn't realize the passion was not for him, that it was compounded as much of hidden fears, unfulfilled desires of long duration, and a kind of play-acting in which he was not Jim Bradley, but a remembered lover. He lost himself with Deedee. He found himself with her. He called upon unknown fountains of strength to give her all she demanded. And when they reached the ultimate goal, he fell back in complete masculine exhaustion. Deedee lay in his arms, fulfilled, replete, yet strangely near tears.
They didn't speak a word for many minutes. Then Jim removed his arms from her precious body, got up and lit a cigarette for each of them. As he handed one to her, he tried to tell her how he felt. Deedee hushed him, taking a long drag on her cigarette and staring blindly at the ceiling. She jammed the still-long cigarette into the ash tray on the end table beside the bed and, without a word, stood up and walked into the bathroom. Jim laid back with deep contentment as he listened to the sounds of the rushing water. If only, he thought, he'd known Deedee earlier. Then he remembered the expression in her eyes as she stared at the mink stole in the window. And he recalled the sad tale of woe Maria had told him earlier as he waited for his beautiful "dinner date."
Getting up quickly from the bed, he went to the chair that held his crumpled trousers. Taking out his wallet, he extracted two fifty-dollar bills. Folding them carefully, he walked across the room to the coffee table, picked up Deedee's purse and tucked the money securely down in the satin-lined compartment meant to hold a mirror.
Deedee didn't find it until the next morning. By then, she'd already received the silver mink and Jim's note. It wasn't, she told herself, that I did it for money. But I can't say I'm sorry I picked on a rich man.
Deedee was on her way.
CHAPTER NINE
The next time Jim got to California Deedee met him at his hotel. The same teasing, half-serious, half-laughing start of romance, ending up in the same blistering act of love. Jim had managed to persuade himself into believing that his imagination accounted for most of the difference between his sexual relationship with Deedee and the same relationship with other women. Within a few short, passion-filled moments, his defenses were down again.
Look, Deedee," he said, afterward, "we've got to get you a place of your own. We both know we can't marry. My wife would never consent to a divorce. But she'd love to have grounds for a legal separation-a very expensive separation, I might add." He lit a cigarette. Taking a long drag he turned to face Deedee. "What we have together, honey, is wonderful. We both need it. I don't know about you, but I can't give it up."
Deedee couldn't face the honest emotion pictured upon his face. Lowering her eyes, she nodded in meek assent. "I know, Jim. I understand."
"If word got back to her that I had a friend here on the Coast-and word can leak out from the most discreetly managed of hotels-there'd be hell to pay. And we can't get together at your place. At least I couldn't. Not with Maria and your little girl. I think, Deedee-" he reached out a hand and lifted her chin so that she had to look at him-"you'd better take another apartment. Tell Maria you have to be closer to the university. If you can't think of anything else to tell her, tell her I'm lending you the money to help you through school. You won't have to live there all of the time. But stay there some of the times I'm away so Maria won't suspect anything when I'm in town. Naturally, I'll pay for it."
Deedee twisted her chin out of his hand and nodded her head again. The glimmer of an idea was being born in her mind, taking a definite shape-the shape of assurance tha she'd manage to complete her schooling and take care o her child, both without too much hard work.
At first, Deedee found it difficult to get "clients." She didn't want to expose herself to gossip on the campus, so she automatically eliminated the possibility of selling her "wares" to any of the students. She began to frequent a cocktail lounge near her new love nest, making friend with the owner and bartender, and using some of her almost forgotten B-girl techniques to meet some of the customers. Within a short time she had been able to bulk up a fairly lucrative group of "Johns"-all wealthy, and all intrigued by this campus call girl.
Deedee never discussed her school with her customers but actress that she was, she was still unable to disguise her youth, nor remove all of the collegiate phrases from her conversation. It wasn't long before she realized her school background was of titillating value to her new profession. Men who would ordinarily refrain from contact with paid mistresses got a real kick out of helping a girl work her way through school in such a novel fashion. She began to play up the theme; almost immediately her tips increased and she began to get calls from an ever-widening circle of men.
It was inevitable that she made the acquaintance of other girls in the same profession, and from time to time would go out on a double call with some of them. To disguise her activities from her original benefactor, Deedee subscribed to an answering service. It was this number she gave her customers, never the number of her apartment phone-the number known only to Jim and Maria. Despite the fact that her apartment was modern, comfortable, and complete with two private entrances, she never brought a customer home. This place was reserved for Jim Bradley. Deedee had enough native intelligence to keep it that way. She didn't have to worry about gossip from the other tenants or the landlord reaching Jim's ears; stories that might have aroused his suspicion. It behooved him to remain as aloof as possible from everyone that knew Deedee. Despite their precautions, and the safety of their arrangements, Jim still worried about his wife. That she was curious about his increased number of trips to the Coast was natural. He intended to keep the reason behind those trips to himself.
One problem Deedee did have was that of clothes. She had to maintain a certain kind of wardrobe for her work, and it was not the wardrobe of a student. She couldn't store those clothes with Maria without arousing her suspicions, and she couldn't keep them at the place she shared with Jim without arousing his. One of her newfound girl friends solved her dilemma by letting her store her finery in her apartment in exchange for the occasional loan of a dress or fur. The elaborate lingerie she now wore was explained away to Jim as a luxury designed for his pleasure.
"You've done so much for me, Jimmie dear-spent so much money on me." She nestled close to the big man, caressing his cheek, then his ear, with a soft, well-manicured finger. "The least I .can do is spend some of the money on things that will-well, you know-sort of knock you out...."
"Baby, baby, baby," Jim almost moaned the words, "you don't need satin and lace to knock this old man out. You don't need a thing. You've got it all!"
"Still," she murmured softly, between kisses, "I feel better when I look sexy for you." Her tiny tongue explored his lips, and the discussion was never finished. When he left that time, Jim gave Deedee an extra fifty bucks to buy more satin and lace.
Deedee didn't need it. She used the money to pay for her monthly medical checkup instead. As careful as she was about her selection of clients, she was taking no chances on either venereal disease or pregnancy. Her doctor was quite aware of her profession. He charged for his services accordingly. To Deedee, he was worth the money.
One expense item that bothered her friends in the business was that of police protection. Deedee ignored it. After all, she had the address with Maria and her child. Everyone in that building knew her as a hard worker, good mother, and ambitious student. She never turned any tricks in the apartment she shared with Jim, so there was no one there who knew her business. Her calls were all carefully screened. She wouldn't go on a call to a stranger, so she felt quite safe in her carefully protected world.
Deedee had been wrong before.
There was another extra expense shared by most of her friends, but unknown to Deedee. She had no "sweet daddy"-no pimp. Whereas most of the other girls in her field gave a large percentage of their income to such men, Deedee's income went to a growing bank account, to Blue Harbour University, to campus bookstores, and to a trust fund for her daughter. Jim was around enough to keep her company, but not so much as to interfere with her activities. As far as Deedee was concerned, she had it made.
"Deedee?" the soft drawl of the voice at the other end of the phone connection was immediately recognizable as Sandy, Deedee's friend and keeper of her clothes.
"Yes, Sandy? Jim's been in town this week. That's why I haven't been around."
"I figured as much. When's he leaving, honey?"
"Tomorrow. Morning, I think. But sometimes he gets carried away and doesn't make the early flight!"
"Knowin' you, I can't imagine why." Sandy chuckled softly into the phone. "How'd you like to go out on a trick with me tomorrow night. There's a lot of bread in it, Dee."
"What's it involve, Sandy? You know, there're some things I don't dig-not for any amount of bread."
"Oh, nothin' like that, sweetie. It's one of my regulars. He heard one of his buddies talkin' about some party he'd made. A couple of gals in the trade got together, and everybody had a ball just watchin'. He wants to try it for kicks."
Deedee's brow furrowed as she tried to think of the best way to turn down the offer. She knew it wasn't an unusual one, but so far she'd managed to steer clear of such jobs. Still, she didn't want to get Sandy against her. That clothes gig was very important.
"It'd just be him and us, Deedee. I know you don't go in for twosies, but my usual buddy is out sick this week. He's an awful good John, Dee. I'd hate to let him down, ya' know?"
"Well-" Deedee spoke hesitantly, "I've never-"
"Nothin' to it, doll. I'll fill you in while you're dressin'. And he's gonna' give us each a bill. Plus which, if he has fun, he always makes with a good tote."
"Okay, Sandy." Deedee spoke with sudden decision. Jim's unusually long visit had cut her income for the week sharply. This date would at least assure her of some loot, before the week was gone completely. "What time shall I come over?"
"He wants to see us about nine-thirty. So why don't you make it around eight. That'll give us time to go over everything." The soft drawling voice trickled into a sensuous little laugh. "Maybe we can even get in a little practice. Okay?"
"I'll see you about eight tomorrow night, Sandy." Deedee almost snapped the reply. She was already sorry she'd said yes.
CHAPTER TEN
Between classes the next day, Deedee looked back upon her experience of the night before. It hadn't really been so bad, she mused, although she knew full well it wasn't the kind of thing she'd have sought out for herself-nor, she added mentally, the kind of thing she'd have gone out on with someone strange. Then too, she added defensively, she'd made money. The John had given both of them a good tip on top of the promised fee. It beat giving her body to a strange man. Still, she couldn't remove from her thoughts the sense of having been violated.
She reached the top of the path and looked out at the blue Pacific Ocean. It always had a calming effect on Deedee, and when her conscience began to bother her she usually managed to find time to go to it. She spread her bright jacket on the grass beside the path and sat down on it, staring out at the bright vista before her. I've been watching all the angles, she assured herself. It hasn't been easy, but I've managed to keep my off-campus life a secret from the other Blue Harbour students. You've got to keep that way, Deedee Ryan, she spoke the words softly, to herself.
Suddenly she laughed, an almost bitter sound. An errant thought had forced its way into her mind; one she had been fighting quite often the past few months. She wondered just why she was bothering to continue with college; the original purpose was to get herself into an income group that would allow her to give the baby the best of care. Well, she was in a big-income group, and an education had nothing to do with it. I must be turning it into some kind of a monster, she thought. It's not the end result that matters now. It's getting that college education, come hell or high water!
The ocean failed to have its usual therapeutic value that day.
Almost a week passed, during which time Deedee's call service failed to receive any messages for her. She was beginning to wonder if her short, happy career as a campus call girl had reached an early end when she received the next message from Sandy. She returned the call immediately.
"Hi, Deedee, baby. How's it goin'?"
"Not too good," Deedee confessed quickly. "No action at all the past few days. Has sex gone out of style, or is it me?"
Sandy laughed. "There's a slack period in every business Dee. Don't worry about it. But look, remember that john we did the bit for? He's hot to buy it again. Has a friend he wants to come in and watch with him, and is givin' us double the fee. Okay for tomorrow night?"
"Well," Deedee hesitated, knowing as she did so that she'd give in before the conversation ended, "I don't know. It wasn't exactly the kind of action I-"
"Don't be such a little jerk. The money spends. And I do bathe regularly, you know. Well, Deedee? Yes or nor? In or out? Personally, I don't see how you can pass up the loot unless all that jazz you've been giving me about needing money for the kid and your education was somethin' you just dreamed up. Look, there are plenty of other girls who'd be only too-"
Deedee interrupted her. "Okay, okay, Sandy. I'll make it. What time shall I come over?"
"Make it fairly early. I think our guys are going out on the town after we get them in the mood. See you tomorrow. And sweet dreams."
"The same." Deedee put down the telephone slowly. This his sort of life wasn't nearly so easy as she'd thought it would be when she started. She lit a cigarette, looking slowly around the apartment she was paying for with her favors. She sighed and vaguely wondered how the child was tonight. It had been almost a week since she'd seen her. Walking over to the small desk, she picked up her English Lit assignment for the weekend and, returning to the couch, sat down and started to read. So many things moved before her eyes, shadowing the mimeographed page.
Little Maria. Would she ever find out that her mother was-No, of course not. That would all be over long before the child was old enough to know or understand. And her plans called for moving a long way from the West Coast once she had that all-important piece of parchment in her hands.
Pat. Her brow furrowed at the thought of him. After the birth of her child, after the first year of her schooling, particularly after her entry into this old-old profession, she had consciously tried to force the memory of him from her mind. She had not been very successful. The thought of him often came unbidden to her mind. Was she destroying herself? Was her plan, this wild, impossible dream of hers driving her toward an early end? She shook her head, wearily, trying to dispel the shadowy half-glimpsed thoughts.
In sudden disgust, she shoved the paperwork away from her, went to the kitchen, poured a drink from the bottle that Bradley kept in the cupboard, drank it down and shuddered only a little bit. She had, she realized, been drinking more and more lately. Still, she poured another drink, held the bottle to the light. Judiciously, she turned on the tap and ran a few ounces of water into the bottle of whiskey. Jim would never know. He drank his liquor mixed with soda anyway. She drank the second drink, went into the bathroom, shook two Nembutal capsules from the bottle and popped them into her mouth, then washed them down with a sip of water from the glass she kept there.
She went to bed, her stomach warmed by the whiskey, her head already a little muzzy from the sleeping capsules. In the morning, she thought sleepily, I'll have to take a couple of bennies to get awake in time for my first class. She lit a cigarette, took only a few puffs, and snuffed it out securely. Then Deedee reached up and turned off the lamp. Even with the whiskey and the sleeping pills, it took her almost an hour to get to sleep.
After her last class the next day she hurried home, determined to get a nap before the evening rolled around. She was hungry but couldn't think of anything that sounded tempting to eat. Her mouth felt hot and dry. Finally she poured herself a glass of cold milk, ate a couple of crackers. Sipping the milk, she made her way back into the living room where she decided to nap on the sofa. She kicked off her shoes, drank the last of her milk, and lay back. She'd hardly settled herself when the telephone rang. She picked it up, half-hoping it was Maria needing her presence at the old apartment. It would be a perfect excuse to get out of the call with Sandy. She felt bone-tired.
It was Bradley. "Hello, honey," the rich, whiskey baritone said. "It's the old man. Listen, I'm calling from Santa Barbara. Got a little business to finish up here, then I'm driving on down. I was going to surprise you, then decided it would be better if you could be ready when I get there. So take a beauty nap for a little while, huh? We'll go to one of those fancy sea-food places tonight and live it up a little, hey? How'd you like that? And wear one of your green dresses. They always do me in!"
She thought rapidly. "Good Lord, Jim. I didn't expect you in until sometime next week."
His voice chuckled, heartily and with confidence. "The old man surprised you, huh? I jazzed things up a little, rushed a couple of problems through to give me a reason for leaving Chicago again so soon. Figured we'd have a little more time together this way."
"That's wonderful, Jim. But darling, listen. I have to go to a stupid tea party at the home of one of the faculty members tonight. I'm sorry, but it's a command performance. Think your little girl's in line for some kind of scholarship, and this is their swinging way of breaking the news. I'm sorry it's going to mess us up a little, but it's better than flunksville, no? I don't think I'll be very late, Jimmie. Probably about tennish. I've no classes tomorrow, so if you don't mind having a kind of late date with me, I'll tell you what you do." All the time she was speaking, Deedee's thoughts were one step ahead of her voice. Thank God, she thought. Thank God, he called first! "You have dinner there, then drive on down. You should be getting here about ten, and if you're not too tired we'll go out for a few drinks, maybe a little dancing, and then a late supper somewhere. Okay, darling?" She crossed her fingers as she spoke, an unconscious mannerism left over from an almost forgotten childhood.
"Well," Bradley sounded like a disappointed little boy, "Sure. I guess so. Okay. Only I had kind of hoped that ... well, the hell with it. And I'm proud of the good news from school." He managed to add a touch of cheerfulness to his next words. "Okay, baby doll! We'll have a late date. You and me. By God, we'll make a night of it. But don't drink too much tea. I want you to have some room left for Martinis, kid! I'll teach you how to bend your elbow tonight! See you at ten. And, Deedee...."
"Yes, Jim?"
"You know I love you? Me, the fat old bastard who's old enough to be your father? And isn't that a laugh! See you at ten." He hung up without waiting for her goodbye.
She looked at the receiver long and thoughtfully. Poor Jim Bradley. He deserved a lot better than he was getting. She hung up the telephone and lay back for her nap.
She reached Sandy's pad shortly before seven. As she dressed, Sandy chattered along. "Hey, these early sessions are all right, you know? I got a late trick tonight, too. Maybe even a double-header. Want me to check it out? Maybe you could make that scene with me, too? Ought to be good for at least fifty."
Deedee shook her head as she smoothed down the hip-hugging satin of her cocktail gown. "No. I can't. Jim's coming in tonight at ten, so I'll have to go straight home."
Sandy took a quick look at her as she turned off the overhead light and started toward the door. "I don't get it, kid. Are you hung up on him or something? Hell, I thought you had to make enough money for your kid. And what're you screwing around that college for, anyway? You got all the education and equipment you'll ever need for your line of work. Hell, us whores don't have to-"
Deedee interrupted angrily. "Pm not a whore!"
Sandy barked a short laugh. "You could have fooled me, honey. You do it for money, don't you? What else would you call it?"
They reached Sandy's small convertible, and drove off in silence. Deedee's anger was still simmering. But, she had to admit to herself, what else could you call it? The only thing she knew was that if you didn't talk about it, it wasn't exactly the same. Hot tears rose to her eyes. She opened her purse and dabbed at the tears with a piece of tissue.
Sandy tapped her on the thigh. "I know what you mean, kid. I get pretty disgusted with myself sometimes. Listen, don't pay any attention to me. You keep right on with that college bit. Someday you'll have enough education to get out of this lousy racket. If I had the brains, maybe I'd do the same thing." She laughed again. "Me," she said, with an edge of bitterness to the words, "Me, the dumb Polack from the South. I didn't even get out of my first year in high school!" Deedee smiled a tearful thanks.
"Hey," Sandy said, "you know somethin'? I think maybe I'm a lesbian, by God! I kind of like this action we're doin' tonight. It might be real kicks if we didn't have those Johns watching. How about you?"
The car pulled to a halt before the house where the assignation was to be held. Deedee put her hand on the door handle. "Nothing," she replied flatly. "It does nothing for me at all. I get more kicks scratching my back."
Their eyes met and held. Sandy grinned first. "Just so I'll understand, huh?"
"Just so you'll understand. Now, let's get this show on the road."
They got out of the car, walked to the door and rang the bell for number seven. The door clicked and they entered, went up to the large, luxuriously furnished apartment where they were to put on their "show" for the edification of the John and his buddy. Two weirdos.
"Come in, come in," the John greeted them. "My buddy isn't here yet. Listen, let's have a drink, hey? How about that girls, a little drinkie-winkie to kind of loosen us all up?"
"Yes," Sandy said, "well, there's just one thing. Let's have the ... gift first, shall we? It's sort of a custom with us."
"Oh, sure. Sure. Just a minute." He disappeared into the bedroom, came back with two envelopes, handed one to each of the girls. "Open it and count it if you like. It's all there. And I slipped an extra twenty in each. Give us a good show tonight, and there'll be a little more. My buddy's never seen anything like it before."
Deedee tucked her envelope into her purse without examining it. "What do you boys do after we leave?" she asked, innocently. "Go to bed together?"
The man flushed, not answering. Deedee made "tsk-tsk" sounds, half-amusedly, then wandered over to the elaborate and well-stocked bar, almost outsized in the apartment. She stood, looking at the many bottles and thought lightly that it might help her get through the evening's performance if she could get a little tipsy first. She poured half a highball glass full of bonded bourbon and downed it in two gulps, poured a bit of water in the glass and chased it. Then she lit a cigarette and sat back, letting the bourbon warm her, soothe her, comfort her.
Sandy and the John were laughing at some private joke, then they came over and joined at her the bar. He stepped behind the bar, rubbing his hands, winking good-humoredly at both girls. "Now for that drinkie-winkie," he said. "Who wants what?"
As Deedee looked up to reply, a bit of anticipatory spittle rolled down the chin of their sponsor. Suddenly she knew that she was going to get very, very drunk.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Neither of the two, the John nor Sandy, noticed the sudden tenseness which had overtaken Deedee. "Scotch and soda for me," Sandy answered her host, "but don't make it too stiff for now."
Deedee slid her glass across the bar, indicating the halfway mark as she did so. "Bourbon," she called out, "right up to there."
Sandy's eyes widened. "Oh? Oh, hey, Deedee. Guess what Junior here was just telling me. His buddy thinks this is a double date, a straight one. How's that for a kick in the fanny? Junior can't wait to surprise him."
"Junior" gave the girls their drinks, mixing himself a brandy and soda. He licked his lips nervously. "Yeah," he said, "we can make this a lot of fun, y'know? We'll have a couple more drinks, get kind of loosened up before he gets here. Then you girls get out of some of that finery you're draped in, like we're really having an orgy, you know? We'll get him all steamed up and ready for the bedroom, then you girls can go into your act. Got it?" He laughed, an oily, unpleasant, lascivious laughter. "We'll shake the hell out of him."
Sandy drank half her Scotch and soda at one gulp. "You're the boss, Junior," was her only reply.
Deedee downed all of her whiskey at one gulp and slid the glass back across the bar for a refill. She was starting to feel the effects already, and that was exactly what she wanted. Junior poured another stiff drink for her, watching her with both amusement and a certain speculation. She sipped her drink more slowly this time. She felt warm, though, and without thinking took off her blouse. Junior licked his lips. "The brassiere, too," he suggested. She shrugged, turned her back, and with trembling, eager fingers he unsnapped the offending garment. She draped it around his neck, and he chortled. Little bubbles appeared, rather unpleasantly, at the corners of his mouth.
"Say," he said, gaily, "this is fun, huh? How about you, Sandy? Come to the party, babe!"
"Better top this drink, Junior," Sandy said after a careful scrutiny of Deedee. "Looks like we're all gonna end up plastered tonight!" She slipped out of her dress, stepped out of her half-slip, and stood at the bar wearing only nylons, garter belt and filmy panties. She neither needed nor wore a bra. Junior was beside himself with ecstasy, prancing and snorting, drinking heavily himself and urging more and more drinks upon the girls.
The buzzer sounded. Junior got to his feet from the sofa to which the trio had finally repaired. Deedee was, by now, quite drunk, almost numb. Her thoughts were confused, but as real to her as this "party." She wondered, vaguely, what she was doing here. Then she wondered where "here" might be. Was this a bad dream? She shook her head, trying to clear it. Sandy was nearly as drunk as her friend, and after putting on a record was in the center of the room doing bumps and grinds to the sensual music, when Junior returned with his guest.
It was Ralph Colman. Deedee peered from half-open eyes at her college friend. She knew he shouldn't be here, but here he was. She giggled. An expression of shock, almost of anguish, crossed his features. Deedee recognized neither emotion. In fact, she giggled again, as the young man stood there staring at her in horror.
Junior, in his role of overanxious host, fixed a round of drinks for everyone, and from there on out, things were a complete loss to Deedee. She was aware of hot hands, girl's hands, on her body at one stage of the evening, but she didn't really feel them. Neither did she feel Sandy's lips.
She wakened sometime before dawn, in her own bed, in the apartment she shared with Jim Bradley. She had a throbbing headache, and no idea at all as to how she'd gotten home. For a few minutes she lay there trying to recall something very important but it wouldn't come to her. She sighed heavily, got out of bed to get a drink of water. Jim was awake, troubled, pacing the living room. He looked at her as she entered, a puzzled frown upon his face. "Some tea party!"
Tea party? Deedee fished into her mind. Oh, the faculty thing she'd told him she was attending. "What-what time did I get home?" she asked meekly.
He shrugged. "You can search me. I got in from Santa Barbara about ten-thirty. You were passed out on the sofa. I took you into the bedroom, undressed you and managed to get you in bed. Who, by the way, is Junior?"
She ran a trembling hand across her clammy forehead. "God, Jim, I don't know what happened or what hit me. I swear, I just had about three Martinis-you know I can't drunk very much. I blanked out. "I guess the fact that I was waiting to eat with you didn't help me handle the Martinis either. I'd sort of planned a different evening, Jim. Are you mad at me?"
He tried to frown again, but was unable to maintain his anger. Laughing, he patted her bare fanny. "Hell no, Deedee. It's happened to me too many times. Anyhow, whoever Junior was, you must have given him a bad time. You sure were fightin' him off! I couldn't convince you I was me. Now, why don't you go take a shower and get dressed? We'll go into Hollywood and grab a big breakfast. I'd say you could use some food. Then we can come back here and I'll get some shut-eye while you do the shopping for the weekend. We'll have our party tonight." He laughed again, wagging his head. "I mean, those professors and their Blue Harbour tea parties!"
Dear Jim, she thought, feeling a wave of tenderness. He does deserve so much better than he's getting. She kissed him on the forehead, careful not to let him smell her breath which she was sure must be terrible. Then she went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She turned on the shower and, while she was waiting for it to adjust itself, brushed her teeth, then gargled long and carefully. She slipped on a shower cap, stepped into the glass-enclosed tub, gasping as the cool water shocked her back to normality.
Suddenly, she froze, with the washcloth half lifted. Ralph Colman! That was the important thing she'd been trying to remember.
Deedee's world suddenly shattered into little pieces. What would he do or say? Would he report her to the school administration? She narrowed her eyes, trying to encompass all the possibilities. Hardly. He could get himself into trouble by doing that. What, then? They'd been close friends, the best of "good buddies." It was all but inconceivable that he'd do nothing. She recalled, all too vividly, now that the shower had completely sobered her, his look of stunned hurt and amazement when he'd first seen her last night. Deedee soaped herself as she thought, scrubbing thoroughly. Damn, she thought, I knew I shouldn't have gone on that trick with Sandy. Well, she finally decided, there's nothing I can do about it now until Monday. Something told her, however, that she hadn't heard the last of that night. Her luck had never run that way. There was certainly no reason for it to change now.
She and Jim had a fairly good time Saturday and Sunday. While Deedee had to put on a good act, Jim bought it in its entirety, and she began to have fun despite her fears. Jim was still a good lover, a fact he proved repeatedly Sunday morning as they lay late in bed.
"How long will you be here this time, Jim?" she asked him.
"I had planned on staying the week, but I've got a goddamned funny bug in my mind that something's gone wrong. I think I'd better get back and stop it before it gets too far. I have hunches, you know, Deedee, and they're usually right. I don't know what's wrong, but I damned well know something is. So I think I'll cut out tonight. You've got exams coming up soon anyhow, haven't you, baby?" She nodded. "So, I'll go on home, check the reports, listen to my 'ever-loving' wife nag and whine. I'll try to get back in the next couple of weeks." He got out of bed, padded over to the dresser, picked up his wallet and riffled through it. "Rent's due soon, isn't it, honey?"
"Next week."
"Damn. I don't have too much cash with me right now, and I still don't like to cash checks when I'm on the road. If I leave you a bill and a half do you think you can get by until I get back?"
"Oh, Jim, you don't have to leave yourself short. I've still got some of the last you-"
"Hush, child. Here." He took three fifty-dollar bills out of his wallet, opened the top dresser drawer, tossed them in carefully. "You got anything left over, buy yourself something pretty. Well, we still got the day ahead of us. The evening, too. What'll we do? Hey, you know what I'd like to do? Let's go out to Marineland. I always did want to see those goddamned big fish go through their tricks. Okay?"
Deedee laughed. Jim was like a big kid in a lot of ways, with his complete trust, his inherent goodness, his wide-eyed appreciation of a world that was made for his pleasure and enjoyment. "Okay. First, though, come here and give us a kiss!"
Later in the afternoon, while Jim waited patiently in a little bar around the corner, Deedee went to visit her little girl. Almost two years old now, the child was an adorable miniature of Pat Aniel. She did have Deedee's vivid red hair, however, and a personality that captured the hearts of every adult she met. Deedee stayed for almost an hour, discussing school and finances with her Mexican friend, and playing, touching and smelling the sweet cleanness of her daughter. It seemed to make everything worth-while, even the sordid way she was living.
She'd almost forgotten about the disastrous Friday night party until Jim kissed her good-bye. Taking her chin firmly in his hand, he lifted her small, heart-shaped face. "Diedre," he spoke with soft understanding, "I realize your life is filled with work, with worry, and even, in spite of our love, with loneliness. But please, baby, take good care of yourself. And if you don't have enough money to buy a good dress-" Deedee's eyes widened in amazement; what, she wondered, had brought this on-"please ask me for it. That thing you wore to the faculty party, Deedee-it was cheap. You didn't look like the nice person you are in it. Forgive me, darling, if I'm hurting you, but you don't need tight, low-cut clothes. They truly don't become you."
Deedee lowered her eyes, and nodded a humble assent.
On Monday, what Deedee had figured might happen, did happen. Ralph Colman was waiting for her on the sidewalk when she came out of her English Lit class. He fell into step beside her "Nice party the other night," he said with an edge.
She glanced up, said nothing. He grasped her by the shoulder, moving her off the sidewalk under a tree. She leaned back, inhaling the fresh air, closing her eyes, waiting.
"What a stupid jerk I've been," he went on. "Look at me. How you must have laughed when you heard me defending your virtue. You, the-the untouchable war widow! You hear me?"
Without opening her eyes, she murmured, "I hear you."
"You had me fooled, all right. You had the whole school fooled. Well, you can keep right on fooling the whole school. I got a few buddies, though, at the house, and they're going to move in on the action-with me! Oh, don't worry. I'm not blackmailing you, Miss Ryan. I wouldn't expect you to do anything for us you wouldn't do for somebody else."
"No," she agreed, "you wouldn't expect that."
"Of course, we can't afford to pay you quite as much, maybe. But you'd give an 'old friend' a discount, wouldn't you? We can chip in. There won't be any freebies, if that's what you're thinking."
"Did you sleep with him after?" Deedee asked.
"What?"
"Junior," she explained, patiently. "Did you sleep with him after the ... show the other night? Was it fun? Did he give you a tip?"
"Why, you-what I do is none of your business, you understand? But you're going to co-operate with me, or the whole school's going to know all about you. That you're a dyke, a lesbian, a-a whore! So just clam up about Junior. Now, Wednesday night, you got a date with me and my buddy-a double date. Twenty bucks. Okay?"
"Who's the other girl?"
Ralph laughed mockingly. "What other girl? With all your talents, you ought to be able to handle a couple of innocent young college boys!"
He laughed mockingly and walked away.
Deedee stood against the tree for several minutes. I should feel ashamed, she thought. I should. But he's just as bad as I am, if not worse. I'm only doing what I have do, that's all.
She went on to her next class. A partition dropped into place before the less savory aspects of her life, leaving her mind free to concentrate on her school work. And twenty dollars was just another twenty dollars for her fund. She smiled, got out a pencil and pad, started making notes. Then she remembered that Ralph Colman had introduced her to Jim.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The rest of Monday, all of Tuesday, and the full sunlit hours of Wednesday were bad ones for Deedee. Over and over again, she tried to think of some way in which to stop the ugliness that was set to begin Wednesday evening. And over and over again, she was forced to give it up as a hopeless project.
By the time she returned home Wednesday, she was ready for nothing more than a light dinner, a good book, and more than the ordinary amount of sleeping pills. Maybe a miracle will happen, she told herself. She had just finished a rather skimpy, unenjoyed dinner, when the telephone rang. She was deadly tired, still praying for an "out" to the situation. Tomorrows, she thought, are becoming more and more difficult to face.
She let the water run, churning up the soap suds into a somewhat modern semblance of a fluffy cloud, as she listened to the phone. It didn't stop ringing. With a deep sigh, she turned the water off, walked into the living room to answer the call. Only then, did of occur to her that this call shouldn't have come in on this number. It was Ralph, of course. Ralph Colman.
"Deedee? We'll pick you up tonight, about eight o'clock. Okay?"
"Oh." She thought for a moment. "Then you really meant what you said Monday? You're really intending to go through with this-this-oh, Ralph...."
He laughed shortly, bitterly. "You are ever-loving damned right I meant it. Kicks are what count-to you, and just about everybody else, aren't they, Deedee? And you're going through with this, war bride. Twenty bucks on the line. The discount pays for old friendship, remember? You just take very good care of me and my good buddy, Bill Coberly. Good care of us tonight! It's that or, you can believe me, Dee, I'll smash you. I'll wreck you. Be in front of your apartment or don't be at school tomorrow. Eight o'clock." He hung up.
Blindly, Deedee replaced the receiver. One more step, she thought dully. One more step in the wrong direction-like down. She went back to the kitchen, finished the few dishes left from her skimpy dinner and tried not to think.
Promptly at eight-showered, perfumed, and deliberately wearing a cashmere sweater, pleated skirt and single strand of pearls (plus having had a few drinks of bourbon inside her for fortification against the humiliating experience in line for tonight)-Deedee closed the door of her apartment and walked out front to wait. The customers for this ugly evening roared around the corner in Ralph Colman's convertible, top down, radio at full blast, pulled up and made a screeching stop. Ralph got out, ran around the curb side, opened the door and bowed gallantry. The smile on his face, however, seemed slightly twisted to Deedee. "Your carriage awaits, madame." Both his stance and his voice were bitterly mocking.
Coberly, Ralph's buddy and fraternity brother, licked his lips in anticipatory appraisal. He slid out,, and indicated that Deedee should get in the front seat between both of them.
He and Deedee made some rather desultory small talk as Ralph drove to a nearby bar. He had nothing to say. His silence seemed to infect his friend, and by the time they parked and went into the place, no one was talking. For the next few drinks, the only words spoken amongst them were the orders given to the bartender. Suddenly, Deedee felt Bill's hand caressing her thigh. It seemed completely impersonal to her, as if she were standing at one side of the bar and watching a rather vulgar couple. It was, she decided, the effects of the drinks she'd had. She became impatient. Let's, she thought to herself, have done with this stupid charade, this blithering mess of nothingness. Oh hell, she thought, trying to hear herself out of the mood, it's a typically undergraduate bit, and I've gone way past it. I want it over and done with. And now!
"Shall we cut out of here and make the scene, men?" she asked, breaking the prolonged silence.
Coberly licked his lips again. "Well, now, little dolly. I'm all for that. Great idea. How about you, Ralph, old buddy?"
Ralph finished his drink in one gulp. "Yeah, Bill. Yeah, sure." He seemed somewhat less than enthused.
The trio left the bar and headed back to the convertible. Ralph made an illegal turn in the middle of the block, and headed his car in the direction of a suburban area, rather well known for its many unrestricted motels. As they drove, Bill put his arm around Deedee's shoulder and began to whisper into her ear. He whispered obscenities concerned with what he was going to do to her, and what he wanted her to do to him. She leaned against him provocatively, but heard hardly a word he was saying. The bourbon, she thought, is working just fine. Thank God for booze, she added-a final Amen. The great pacifier. The great anesthesia. Give little Deedee enough booze and she won't feel anything. Nothing will hurt her, nothing will cut the inner part of her-that part that you buried way down deep, to keep the world away. All this other-everything-was all nothing. This friend of a friend of hers (and Deedee giggled unconsciously) was nothing but a dirty little boy, spilling his dirty sex on her. But he wasn't important. Perhaps a momentary annoyance, a small discomfort. But not important, really.
Nothing, and she tried to hold back the hot tears, nothing really like Pat. Not like the times with-the tears began to scald her eyes. She tossed her head defiantly into the windstream, letting the cool breeze dry her traitorous eyes. Think of the baby, she told herself. Think of Maria. Think of the reason you're doing this. It's more reason than these bastards have. It isn't enough to excuse it, but it's better than no reason at all!
They pulled up in front of a fairly isolated motel.
"I see you know how to find the hot blanket, joints," Bill said laughing. "They turn these beds over three, four times a night. And they never ask any questions. Let me register, Ralph. I've never made this scene before. Mr. and Mrs. Coberly, and their son, Ralph. Now, how's that grab ya'?" He laughed again, and the bubbles showing unpleasantly around his mouth reminded Deedee of Junior. "Man, this is gonna be a ball! You said no holds barred, remember? Me, I got some great ideas!" He jumped from the car, went up and rang the bell marked "manager."
While Coberly was gone, Ralph turned to Deedee. He swallowed, started to say something, then changed his mind. She was aware of his discomfort, but only vaguely. The bourbon was close to taking over completely, and she didn't give a damn for anything. She began to hum a tuneless song under her breath.
Finally, Ralph cleared his throat again. "Sure you want to go through with this, Deedee?"
She was just sober enough to realize, at that point, that she didn't have to go through with it if she didn't want to, but she felt a strange need to shame this ex-friend who'd done such a good job of shaming her.
"What's the difference, Ralph? Two guys tonight, twenty tomorrow night. It's all the same. As long as I get paid, it's all the same. Speaking of which, I believe you said twenty? Give." She wriggeld her fingers, laughing inwardly at his obvious discomfort.
Blushing, he reached for his wallet, handed her two ten-dollar bills. She glanced at them carelessly before she thrust them into her purse. "That's better. Now, I'm all yours. Doesn't that give you a great big kick? Here you just bought and paid for little old Deedee's lily-white body. Who's going first, you or your boy friend?"
Colman made a retching sound in his throat. "Look, Deedee. I said you don't have to go through with it. The hell with it. We can just turn the car around and go home. I don't know what's been the matter with me. I guess I went off my rocker when I saw you the other night. That's all I can think of."
"But aren't you forgetting your fraternity brother?" she asked, wickedly. "After all, Bill trusted you. He believed in you, and he's in there right now looking forward to a big night with a call girl-one he can tell all the other frat boys about. That's good advertising in my trade, you know."
"Then you intend to go through with this?"
Now, perversely, she was determined. "Yes. Of course I am. You named my fee, you paid it. You also stated your conditions. And you told me what the penalty would be, just in case I refused. Now, who's going first, Ralph-you or Coberly? Or are you going to watch each other? I almost forgot, you're kind of a voyeur, aren't you?"
"Deedee, I swear I thought that was just a double date. Anyhow, that's what the rat-bastard told me. And I'm not going to do anything with you tonight. Forget it. I'm sorry I started this dirty mess."
She unsnapped her purse. "Oh? Well, then, you'd better take back ten dollars of this. If you're going to 'pimp' for me, you sure don't have to spend your own money. I'm supposed to pay you, you know, for fixing me up with dates."
He thrust the ten dollars angrily into his pocket.
Coberly was returning to the car, waving a key triumphantly, and grinning. "You are going to pimp for me, aren't you, Ralphie?" Her whisper was vicious. "Because if you don't get me some good action off the campus, I'll swear you are setting up the deals for me. I'll swear it to the kids, and I'll swear it to the dean. I'll spread the word all over Blue Harbour. So get busy, sweet daddy. I'll cut you in for a good piece of the action-if you play your cards right!"
She opened the door, swung out, looked down at him and laughed. His face was angry, flushed, set.
"Hey, baby," Coberly greeted her, taking her by the arm. "Let's go swing. Ralphie, boy, coming along? Or you gonna' wait?"
Deedee laughed again, walking away with Bill. "He won't be in tonight. He's got a bad case of the guilties."
"Guilties? Hell, I ain't had a dose of them since I was about ten!"
They entered the motel room together. Ralph climbed out of his car and vomited.
Ralph didn't talk about that night, but Bill Coberly did. Within the matter of days Deedee found herself with more action than she could hope to handle. Religiously, she called Ralph before turning each trick, and asked him if she knew the student. Ralph almost always hung up in angered frustration. Just as religiously, Deedee would send him twenty-five per cent of her earnings, along with a detailed report of her activities. Where, with whom, how long, action involved, and payment received.
When Ralph failed to return the money it gave Deedee a kind of grim satisfaction.
She wasn't prepared, however, for the coolness which suddenly greeted her everywhere on the campus. Of course, she thought. I should have realized the story's too good for these punks to keep to themselves. Speedily, the situation became worse than it had ever been at the Edith Pyne Seminary.
Nor was she prepared for the visit Ralph paid her on the following Tuesday. Unannounced, he arrived at her apartment, the hideaway she shared with Jim Bradley. She didn't want to let him in, but could see no way of getting around it. As she admitted him, he coolly surveyed the living room. "Pretty lush setup," he said. "So this is what the wages of sin look like."
Deedee poured herself a drink, lit a cigarette and peered at him through narrowed eyes. "You've made your little observation," she said coldly. "Now, if you have anything else on your mind, let's have it. Then you can get the hell out of here."
Ralph grinned crookedly, sat down without an invitation. "Pretty rough for you on the campus now, isn't it?"
Deedee nodded, not speaking.
"Yeah. It's got to reach the dean sooner or later. Ever think of that?"
Deedee flushed. "You didn't come up here today to bring me fresh news. You've got some kind of an angle. What is it?"
Ralph settled back comfortably, crossing his legs. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"
"Let's hear the pitch, buster. Forget the drink."
"Oh? All right. I won't pretend the-the tokens of your esteem you've been sending me from day to day haven't been quite helpful. They have been. I like the feel of money, Deedee."
"That figures."
He refused to let her make him angry. "So. If you get tossed off campus, or if it gets so bad the boys can't afford to be seen with you-well, bang goes my extra income, and bang goes all of yours. So, I've got an idea which can help us both."
"Oh?" She tried to conceal an interest she couldn't help feeling.
"Sure." He leaned forward, earnestly. "See, I'll pin you. That means we're engaged, at least semi-officially. Okay. We won't be able to stand much action on campus, probably none at all. But there are a hell of a lot of conventions in this town, baby, and I hear those guys are big spenders. Junior tells me they go for fifty, a hundred bucks a session. Sometimes, even more. I got plenty of spare time, now that I don't have to work nights, see? I can hit the hotels, grease up a few bell captains and night room-clerks. Baby, we can double or triple our income."
Deedee looked at him without expression. Without expression, she started to speak. "I was trying to shame you when I sent you those few lousy bucks. I had thought of you as a friend, and I was trying to make you see how wrong you were about things. But I can see it didn't work. You're really a pimp at heart, Ralphie-boy. Well, pimp, I don't need you. I've got all the connections I need, and you're a little out of your depth.
"Want me to tell you something, pimp? Every trick I went out with, I told him that part of my earnings went to you-that you were pimping for me. I don't suppose you've heard that, yet. You will, don't worry-when they ask you to resign from the frat. You see, along with a few extra bucks, you've also picked up a stinking reputation. Ask around, see if I'm lying."
Ralph got to his feet, white-faced in anger. "Why, you cheap little whore. You'd dare to-to-"
"To tell the truth about you? Sure. God knows I haven't any reputation left. Why should you? I did all the dirty work, you know. You just sat back and collected. What are your plans now? Beat me up? Go ahead. Try it. You mark me up so I can't work, and a few of my friends in totim won't like it very much. You won't be able to have much fun with a couple of broken legs!" It was a lie, but he was forced to believe her.
"Deedee, I-"
She opened the door. "Out, pimp. You four-bit punk. You're not even a good pimp!"
"But, Deedee-"
"Out!" She held the door as he half stumbled into the hall, then she slammed it on his retreating figure. To her surprise, she found she was trembling. She called Sandy, just to have someone to talk to while she tried to calm herself.
"Got a real live one tonight, Dee. Want in on it?"
"No, Sandy, but thanks. Jim's coming home tomorrow night and I want to be fresh this trip. I almost got nailed last time, remember?"
"Do I ever? It was Stonesville that night. Well, give me a call when you can get back in action."
Deedee tried to watch television but her thoughts kept getting in the way. What kind of a mess had she gotten into? She felt as if she were in quicksand, slowly being sucked under. She drank several more drinks, took a pair of sleeping pills, but neither sleep nor rest would come to her. She tossed fitfully all night, finally dropping off into an uneasy slumber, just before daylight. The alarm woke her two hours later, and she dragged her way to the shower. She felt as if she'd just run the four-minute mile.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Deedee fought awakening the next morning. When the alarm insisted upon her attention, she gave in reluctantly. Once awake, she took the next giant step in a hurry.
Jim was coming home today! Jim, the always patient, always sweet, always nice guy. Jim, the guy who'd showed her the road, without knowing he was doing it. Jim, the guy she'd been playing for the big Suckersville-without his knowing she was doing it.
Listlessly, she showered, brushed her naming red locks, dressed in the once-hated, now rather oddly appropriate style of coed attire, and started out for her morning classes. Despite the fact her native intelligence told her to forget him, she couldn't manage to force herself from thinking about the ugly scene with Ralph. She managed to make it through her morning classes, aware that she was constantly on the lookout for her former friend. When she broke free from the mood encompassing her, she made a call to her private apartment. She called from Student Union Hall, and it wasn't until Jim answered that she got the guilty feeling. Despite that, she did feel sort of relieved. Jim Bradley was back. Ralph Colman hadn't bitched that up, along with everything else!
"Jim," she breathed. "How nice to know you're back again."
"I've been sitting here thinking the same thing, and just waiting to hear you make an echo. I need to see you, Deedee. As soon as possible, It's-well, I don't want to talk about it on the phone-but really, doll, it's awfully important."
"But Jim, what-"
"Like I said, doll. I can't talk about it over the phone. But I have something I have to talk to you about. Actually, a question I have to ask you."
She knew one quick moment of fear. Had he heard from Ralph? No, he couldn't have. Anyhow, she breathed a sigh of relief, it was wonderful to hear a voice that sounded friendly. "I'll cut the rest of my classes, Jim. I'll be with you in about a half-hour."
"I'll be waiting, Deedee," he assured her. "Would you mind if I hit the bar? Just for a couple? It's a pretty important step I'm about to take."
Deedee was puzzled. She decided the worry of the past weeks had disturbed her usually good mental facilities. "No, Jim. No, of course not. Be my guest. Knock your brains out, honey, but hurry it up. Because I'll be there in place of that bar just as soon as I can. Like I said, half-hour. No longer."
"I'll be waiting. Second bar stool from the left."
She couldn't help laughing as she hung up.
She wasn't laughing by the time she reached the student parking lot and got behind the wheel of her car. As she guided the serviceable convertible out of .the parking lot and up Veteran Boulevard, she ran through her mind, seeking the reason behind Jim's strange necessity, his unusual need and demand to speak to her at once. Unable to find an obvious excuse, or easy answer, she finally shrugged, and decided to wait and see. There was actually, little else she could do, in as much as she was trapped by the overflow of traffic on the boulevard.
She waited her way through the stop lights, stop signs and other traffic hazards; thinking her way along. The "thing" with Ralph Colman came frequently to her mind. Forgetting Jim, it still hurt. He'd kind of reminded her of Pat, and she put the thought out of her mind once more.
By the time she'd reached her apartment, parked the car, and walked through the patio to the entrance, she'd forced all such thoughts to the back of her mind. As she opened the front door, she smiled at the older man.
Jim grinned back as she entered. He wanted to hug her, but restrained himself. She was such a darling child.
"Drink?" he invited, holding his own glass high. She saw that he'd had more than his usual amount. She shook her head, once again the worry came back. "Not right now. Go on, though, you have another."
He crossed the room swiftly, kissed her tenderly on an eyelid, the softest of kisses. "How's my kitten?"
She couldn't bring herself to smile brilliantly. Her answer was accompanied by a smile of wanness. "All right, I guess. What are we-or you-celebrating?"
He laughed, in sheer animal joy. Then he sank to the sofa, patted the cushion beside him, and laughed again. She shook her head, and stood, wide-stanced before him, her purse behind her back, almost as if she were on trial. What, she thought frantically-what in the hell is he getting at?
He took a gulp of his drink, hiccuped gravely, then began to laugh still more. This time Deedee laughed with him. "But what is it?" she demanded at the same time.
"Brace yourself, Deedee honey. Do you love this old man?"
It was a good question. And she did, in a way. "Yes."
"Think you could stand me around the joint a little more than I've been hanging around recently?"
A warning bell went off in Deedee's mind. She bit her lip, her brow furrowing. "I think so. But why?"
He placed his glass on the coffee table, gravely. He looked up at her, a plea in his eyes. "Well, I'll lay it right on you, honey. I've asked my wife for a divorce. I want to marry you."
Deedee dropped her purse to the floor, feeling her knees begin to buckle. She ran to the bathroom, closed the door behind her, tried desperately to stop the hot tears. This past week had been disastrous. Everything had gone wrong. Nothing was as it had been. Why did it all happen at the same time? She'd been relatively happy, not delirious with joy, but at least not hurting anyone but herself. Now, look at the mess!
There was only one thing she could do. Tough it out, tell Jim the truth. At least she could still live with herself. She ran cold water over the washcloth, dabbed at her eyes, patted her face dry. The truth. Oh, wow! But it had to be the truth-nothing else would work. She walked out of the bathroom, walked up to a very puzzled Jim. She felt like a little girl about to recite the alphabet her very first time.
"No."
Jim grinned cheerfully, and she knew she had a difficult job on her hands. "No, what?"
"No, I can't do it. I can't marry you."
"Honey, I know I'm ... older, and getting a little too heavy." The words seemed to hurt him, and she felt a pang of sympathy. "But, honest to God, you'll never find another man who loves you more than I do. I realize you're young, full of life and juice. But we're good together, you know. And all right, I'm not even asking you to be faithful to me, for Christ's sake." He stopped for a moment, his face screwed up in an agony of self-sacrifice. "I'll be on the road much of the time. Just as long as-" he sought desperately for the right phrase-"just as long as you don't rub my nose in it." He laughed, this time a hollow laughter. "After all, who am I to think I can give a wonderful kid like you all the good times you want and need? But I'll be nice to you, baby. I'll work hard for you, and for your little girl. Yes, and when I kick off, I'll be in a position to leave you enough to take care of both of you. Deedee, don't make me crawl! I can make life good for you. Please, baby." He searched her face for some sign of relenting. "I want to have you for my wife. I'm not all that old. You've been like a breath of fresh air to me, Deedee, and I need you to live."
Deedee shook her head, helplessly. "But my daughter-"
"I know. I had you checked out pretty thoroughly. I can't afford to take any chances, you know. I hope you will forgive me for that. Well, I'll give Maria a real home. I'll legally adopt her. See what I want to do, darling? I want to make this all fine and legal and legitimate. Know what I mean? Why should we have to hide? We'll do this thing the right way."
Face it, Deedee was saying to herself. Admit it. It's a very tempting offer. And if you take him up on it, you can go on for the rest of your life, destroying everyone who tries to be nice to you. Level with him, girl. He sure deserves a lot better than you.
"About checking me out," she said, straight-faced. "How far did you go?"
He put his shoes back on, limped to the bar, poured himself a drink before he answered. "I know your maiden name," he said, flatly. "I know your child's name. And I know the name of the father of your child. I also know you're not really a widow. And I know that you worked as a waitress and a B-girl in Baltimore. Okay. But that's all past, right? From here on out, Deedee, it can be you and me. I'll treat you like a princess. I'll give you everything you want, or need. I won't hold a tight leash on you, either. Well, what do you say? Oh, look. I know this has been kind of sudden for you." He barked a short, unhappy laugh. "It's been kind of sudden for me, too. I just spoke to my wife about it yesterday. I'll tell you what, Deedee. Don't answer me now. Just remember what I've said, what I've offered you. I know I'm not everything you want, but maybe I'm what you need. Think about it. Let me know your answer tomorrow, or the next day. I'll tell you. Let's get dressed and go out on the town. I'm trying to learn the Watusi. Can you imagine an old goat like me learning the Watusi?"
I can't do it to him, Deedee said to herself. He's too fine, too honest. She felt less than nothing, but she knew she had to perform a service or never be able to look at herself in a mirror again. "Jim," she said quietly. "You said you checked me out. Did you learn anything else?"
"What's to learn? So you got off to a bad start, but it was no fault of yours. So now you're knocking your brain out going to school, trying to get an education, trying to make something of yourself so your little girl can grow up decently. I say, God love you for it."
She nodded, took a deep breath, and plunged in. "Jim. How can I say it nicely? I don't think there is a nice way. Well-I'm a call girl, Jim, a whore."
He flushed. "Don't talk about our relationship like that, honey. I've never thought of it that way at all. You're a good kid, I love you, and I'm doing my damnedest to marry you. What we've done hasn't been bad or ugly or anything like that. Not to me. Why? Have people been talking? Some of your college chums?"
God! "Jim, I'm trying to tell you the truth. Don't make it any more difficult than it already is. I am a whore. I sell myself to the highest bidder. Ten, twenty, fifty bucks a trick. Four and five nights a week. That's it. There's no other way to say it. I'm sorry to have to break the news to you like this, but that's the way it is."
He looked at her, unbelievingly. "You're kidding?"
She shook her head, unable to speak.
Jim started to button his collar. Pulling his tie up, he got to his feet. "You-you're actually ... selling yourself?"
"Yes."
He let out a long sigh, a sound of utter defeat and confusion. "I guess I've been sort of a patsy, huh?" She didn't speak, and he went on. "Well, maybe it's been worth it. See, I had a lot of trouble at the house, then I met you, and this was like a real home to me. I thought I could make it clean and beautiful, and all that." He put on his coat. As an afterthought, he took out his wallet, thumbed through it, put two fifty-dollar bills on the desk. "For you," he said gravely, politely, with little inflection in his voice. "For you, until you can make other ... arrangements."
Jim walked to the door. "I've got a few things here, Deedee. Robe, slippers, a couple of pair of slacks and some sports shirts. I ... won't be sending for them. Throw them out, all right?" He seemed to collapse inward upon himself, suddenly several sizes smaller.
Deedee watched in silence as he went out the door.
Thursday fit neatly into the pattern, being no bargain either. Deedee, sick from the scene with Jim, wakened, struggled gamely to her feet, showered, and with a fuzzy mind went to her first class. As it ended she received the expected (and dreaded) call to the dean's office.
Crossing the campus, she resigned herself to the action she was sure awaited her. Mentally she began to count her resources, interrupting that chain of thought long enough to wonder who it was that had finally gotten to the dean. She hated to think it had been Ralph, and refused to think Jim might have taken such action. She returned to her original line of thought. Expulsion, she was positive, would be facing her. Perhaps she could get a transfer. Then she realized it would be out of the question. She went over her financial situation. If she could get into another school immediately-and that, she realized, was a very big "if"-she already had enough money salted away to make it through graduation, providing, of course, she lived carefully.
She swung in off the sidewalk up to the main door of the Administration Building, steeled herself and walked quietly down the echoing marble corridor to the office of the dean. There was his name, neatly lettered in gold on a mahogany plaque-Dean Norman R. Rusk. She took a deep shuddering breath, swung the door open.
"Miss Ryan," she announced herself to the secretary-receptionist. Was that a knowing smirk on the girl's face? "Dean Rusk called for me."
"Yes, of course. One moment, Miss Ryan." The girl pressed an intercom, whispered something into it in a muffled tone. "Go right in," she instructed, indicating a door behind her desk. "The dean is waiting for you."
She opened the door and stepped inside. She'd seen the dean only once before. He was a handsome, leonine-looking man, with a shaggy haircut, prominent features. He smoked a pipe, wore tweed suits, mostly baggy. He was the very picture of a college administrator.
"Miss Ryan?" he greeted her, stepping around from behind his desk. "Won't you please sit here?" He indicated a chair opposite his. "Sorry to call you from early classes, but it seems to me to be a rather important matter I must discuss-important for you, and for the university."
Deedee sat down nervously, crossing her slender legs. She cleared her throat. Dean Rusk went back behind the desk, studied a pile of papers that were before him. Finally he looked up. "Yes. Now then. Miss Ryan, I have some rather ... distressing information regarding you, and your conduct, both on, and off the campus."
Deedee's face reddened. "Is this information signed with anyone's name, or is it anonymous?"
"I don't feel that's of any importance. What is important is the truth or falsity of these-these accusations. Yes. Definitely. We can't afford to just ignore them, can we? No. Definitely not." He looked up at her over his glasses. "No point beating about the bush, eh? Some names named here," he added, patting the sheaf of papers. "Some names, dates, places. Miss Ryan, I must tell you, in all fairness, that I'd heard rumors of some of this ... er ... misconduct, before it was brought to my attention forcibly. Frankly, this document states categorically that you are a prostitute, a call girl. In short, that you have sold your favors for money both on and off the campus. It's signed-"and here he held the papers up for her to see-" by virtually an entire fraternity house: Delta. I can hardly ignore that, now, can I? I hope you can refute their accusation, naturally, but I do have to ask. Well?"
"He said he'd do it, and he-" she murmured, half to herself.
"What? What? Speak up."
She shook her head in resigned surrender. "It's-it's true, I suppose."
Dean Rusk looked at her in astonishment. "You don't want to refute this? Make a statement in your own defense?"
She bit her lip, stared steadily at the burnished desk top. "No. What's the use? It's probably exaggerated, but it's substantially correct, I'm sure."
Rusk shoved the papers back, lit his pipe, leaned back in his chair and looked at her paternally. "Really? A shame. You're a very attractive young lady, I should say. All the ... er ... physical attributes. Care to tell me how it got started?"
"You're going to expel me, Dean Rusk. So why do we have to go any further with this? I can't even say that I'm sorry. It was a necessary thing for me to do, so I did it. I'm not proud of it, but I did it. You see, I wanted a college degree more than anything in the world. So, now it's over and done with."
"Urn. Unfortunate, most unfortunate. You realize that we can't keep you on here? Unfortunately, there's this ... ah ... 'round-robin' type of letter. If it hadn't been for that, perhaps we could have worked out something, but I must take appropriate action now. Well, you can see where I stand, can't you? Nothing, really, I can do. Still, let me think." He looked at her appraisingly. "How are you set financially?"
"I have enough money to finish school," she said, dully.
"Capital, capital. I might be able to arrange a transfer for you. State. How does that sound?"
She looked up, a ray of hope in her glance. "State? Can you really do it?"
"Hmmm." His fingers drummed on the edge of the polished desk. "I might. I just might. Of course, I'd be putting myself in a terrible spot over there if you didn't ... well ... reform."
"Anything. Anything, just so I can finish my education, get my degree!"
"Ah. Just so. Well." He looked slightly embarrassed. "We'll have to talk about this. At length. You live alone?"
"Yes." Why, Deedee wondered, would he ask me that?
"Capital. Here, write down your address." He shoved a pad and pencil at her. "I'll stop by this evening, and we'll see what can be worked out."
Deedee, writing, looked up. "Oh?" she said, very softly.
"Just so." He beamed, with another fatherly look. "Shall we say about eight o'clock. We can discuss it in greater detail, away from these surroundings which, quite frankly, my dear, I find a bit too ... academic. Surroundings in which we can do some really constructive thinking, that is. I'm sure we can work out everything satisfactorily. I find you an extremely attractive young woman. You might call it a weakness of mine. You do understand though, don't you?"
Deedee pushed the pad back at him, her address clearly printed on it. "I understand," she answered gravely. "I understand perfectly. But Dean Rusk...."
"Yes, my dear?"
"Once. Just once. I'm willing to pay my transfer, but I'll only pay once?"
He smiled, inserting a tongue between his lips. "Just so. I find ... just once is enough at my age. Thank you for being so understanding."
"You guarantee the transfer, of course?"
"I'll get on it today and have the signed papers with me this evening. We'll each keep our end of the bargain. Just so." He rose from his desk, dismissing her. "Well, my dear. Au revoir. Until tonight, that is. I'm so glad we worked out everything. We're going to miss you, however, here at Blue Harbour."
Deedee, too, rose. She picked up her purse and a school book. "Yes. I'm sure you will. Well, until tonight."
She thought the receptionist had a smirk on her face as she left, going straight home to her apartment to pack. What pigs men really are!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
State was a huge, vast, enormous, almost overwhelming institution of learning. Thousands of students trod its campus, most of them not knowing, or even caring to know each other. While the story of Deedee's past was common knowledge to many of them, the school had the air of a busy metropolis, and Deedee sank gratefully into the welcome arms of anonymity. The talk, for the few days it lasted, never reached her ears. Then, as day followed day, with little to mark the change, Blue Harbour seemed an eon past and thousands of miles away.
She felt herself snug in the cocoon of learning without interference. She regretted, when she allowed herself to think about it, the prostitution that had placed her in this position, but she didn't for one second regret the comfortable fact of a bank account which would see her through school, provide for her daughter, and still hold a nest egg to tide them over while she looked for a good position, once her schooling was complete. Romance, love-neither of these were for her. Since the distasteful episode with Dean Rusk, she'd had no use for the male sex, and was quick to fend off the inevitable approaches from the male students at State.
She talked to the girls, when it was impossible to maintain a silence without seeming like a freak-but only then. Still, the only flaw in her new-found contentment was the lack of friendship. Maria, the best friend anyone could want, wasn't of the college group, and Deedee's innate warmness called out for the friendships which mean so much during the school years.
In a World Banking class, entailing knowledge of rates of exchange, methods and systems of banking, and the like-a rourse she'd entered with thoughts of the positions it would open to her-she struck up a speaking acquaintance with Mona Barnsdall, an attractive brunette who was a serious as well as a straight "A" student. Their tenuous friendship consisted mainly of malts at the Student Union, some rather desultory chats about classes and classwork, and very little else, for the first few weeks. One day when they met after the mutually shared class Mona went one step further. "Hey, Deedee, you don't go out much, do you? Funny, you're a real jolly Josephine."
"No. I like to ball it up and everything, but I have to spend most of my time studying. After all, I have to keep up with major-league geniuses like you."
Mona laughed. "You can knock that off. Well, anyway, what I really meant was, I'm having a little party in my pad tomorrow night. I have a real fun-type place, all my own, you know."
Deedee hadn't known, and was more than a bit surprised. "I thought you were a sorority girl."
"No indeedy. That's not for me. I don't mind carrying the burden of my own sins, but I don't need thirty or forty sinning sisters to cover up for. Anyhow, will you come?"
Deedee's instincts warned her against accepting the invitation, but the long-felt loneliness ran interference. She squeezed Mona's arm. "Sure. Sure I will, Mona. I think I'd love it. How many are going to be there?"
"Just a handful, that's all. Like, I don't dig mob scenes, you know? And I don't pick up on a lot of booze. We'll have a few cans of beer, some sandwiches, my record collection, some good conversation, and that's about it."
"What about the sex bit?" Deedee hadn't realized she would say it, although the thought had been with her since Mona began.
"Absolutely no sex. It's my pad, and the guests go by my rule or they go, period! Look, Deedee, my sex life is my own business, but just to set the record straight-like it can wait until I finish school. I know most of the kids make out one way or another, but it's not for me. Nothing bothers me that bad, and I don't want to let anything start. Not yet. Besides, I'm saving everything for the right guy. God help him!" She laughed at her own words.
Deedee joined in. "I'll be there. What time? Eightish?"
"Wonderful. Wait, let me write down my address. Here." She held out a slip of notebook paper.
They touched palms, told each other "good-bye" until later.
Deedee felt almost young, almost innocent, and strangely rejuvenated.
By the next day, the combination of the forthcoming party (her first, at college) and the crisp autumn air made Deedee feel about six years old. She cut classes at noon to visit Maria and the little Maria. As she told the Mexican girl about the party, her mood shifted suddenly, and she felt the need for self-castigation. After all, how could she accept an invitation from a nice girl like Mona-a girl who would probably never know, even after marriage, half of the worldly tricks Deedee had learned the agonizingly hard way?
"You know, Maria," she spoke as she fed her daughter, "I think maybe I shouldn't go. You know how bad I've been. You told me your people would call me a puta." She still remembered the shock on Maria's face the night she'd first told her the truth about her sexual activity for money.
Maria shrugged, hardly looking up from the dress she was ironing for her namesake. "You aren't doing that any more, Diedrecita, and what you did, you did because you had to."
"But, what if Mona should hear about it? She'd be so shocked."
"So, she would be shocked. But you did it for little Maria, no? The little one should have the first thought, true? Our little pobrecito." She hung up the ruffly dress and took another dampened garment from the towel. "You have made for her the pesos. You are getting an education so that she will be proud of her mother. But you must also have some friends, Diedre. Some nice friends. That is just as important to the baby as the money and the school. True?"
Deedee made a small grimace. "It should be true, but I'm not so sure. After what I did-"
Maria shook her head fiercely. "You are a woman. You had much trouble and no man to help you. So you had to do what you could do with the only weapons you had. Verdad, you fought a good battle, a most difficult battle. The war is over though now. You must not go back to it, Diedre! You must go forward, and you can only go forward if you forget the past! This Mona ... she likes you, or she would not have invited you to her party. How do you know she had done nothing bad? You said you would go to her party. You like her, or you would not have done so. To make a new friend is a good thing, and you will be a good friend to her. You have been one to me. Because, in spite of what you might think, Diedre, you are a good girl! Now, let's not even talk it over any longer. You are going to that party, and you are going to have a good time. It is now, it is not the past. And you, Diedre Ryan, must begin to live now, not in the past."
Deedee gulped something in reply, turned and left the small apartment. She walked for long blocks smelling the fragrance of her child, a fragrance like a newly washed violet. Clean, fresh, and-as Maria had said-good.
She arrived at Mona's apartment shortly after eight. Five or six people were there, two of whom she recognized from the campus of State. Mona came over to her, speaking loudly to make herself heard above the music from the record player and the hum of conversation.
"Glad you could make it, Deedee. Sandwiches are out in the kitchen. When you get hungry, just go out and help yourself. Do' the same on the beer. It's in the refrigerator. My home is your home, so you'll have to help yourself. And don't be modest about it. Oh, do you know everyone here? Shall I introduce you around, or do you just want to wait for nature to take its course?"
"Let's wait. And go ahead with what you were doing. I won't feel the least bit neglected."
Mona patted her arm. "Go get a beer. We'll have some more talk when the rest of the gang gets here." She trotted off, happily humming to herself. Deedee felt curious eyes upon her as she crossed through the room toward the kitchen. She opened a can of beer and looked for the glasses. They were in the cupboard, but too high for her reach, so she got a kitchen stool and climbed on that. She reached for a glass, got it, and felt the stool teeter beneath her. As she struggled to regain her balance a man's voice said: "Whoops! Hold it!" Firm hands grasped her. "Thought we'd lost you there for a moment." Strong arms swung her lightly to the floor. She turned to face him, and felt her knees dissolve into nothingness. It was Pat. Pat Aniel!
His face whitened. "Deedee-oh my God, Deedee!"
"Pat!" she spoke his name as if in prayer.
They stood there silently, devouring each other with their eyes. There was so much to say, to ask. There was too much. Wordlessly, Deedee went into his arms. Wordlessly, he held her tight.
Then, "You'll never go away from me again," Pat said.
"No."
Mona walked in on the scene. "Well, I see you two have met, and really, I-" She stopped, realizing that there was a great deal more to their embrace than the obvious. "Pardon me," she added. "I came in for a beer." She took one from the refrigerator, opened it and, looking over her shoulder at the frozen tableau, went back into the living room and the party.
"We have to go somewhere and talk," Pat said.
Deedee nodded. "Yes. We'll go to my place. It's just a short walk."
Holding hands, they went through the party and out the door.
"Well," Mona spoke to their departing backs. "Well, what do you know? I've got to find out all about that. Tomorrow."
Deedee felt purged of all wrongdoing. She was safe, loved, warm and very secure in Pat's arms. She'd given herself to him without question, completely, fully, and as if their last togetherness had been but yesterday. She was protected from the slings and arrows of the world. She pulled his head tighter to her breast, felt the slight dampness of his curls. He was, somehow, like a very dear little boy. She kissed his neck, lightly, held him even closer. Pat murmured something in his exhausted sleep. The child, she thought. It was a moment of panic. Will he accept her? His baby? He must. She would make him do so. She looked down at his sleeping form, at every dear inch of his body. Pat must love his own daughter. That was that. She flipped on the bedside switch, glanced quickly at the clock, turned the light off again and, with a sigh of complete contentment, snuggled back under the covers. Smelling the man-aroma of Pat, she slept more soundly than she'd slept in years.
This morning, she drowsily told herself. This morning I'll tell him about his daughter. And I'll fix him eggs and bacon. She paused in her imaginings, tried to think exactly what she had in the refrigerator. Canteloupe. Bacon. Eggs. Ah, I'll take care of my man when he wakes up, she thought. She drifted off to sleep, her nose tucked in somewhere between his shoulder blades. Pat snored. She held him so closely, hands touching his chest, his belly. So dear. So sweet. So good.
She cried out just once in her sleep. "My man!" No one heard her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"WE'LL get married," Pat told her, after his second cup of coffee. "And then we're going to start raising a family. I'll be able to take fine arts on the side, try and make a name for myself. Meanwhile, though, I'm going into commercial art. I'm picking up some pointers here, and I've got a darned decent assignment as soon as I get out of school. Matter of a couple of months. All right, it won't be a fortune, but we can make it. And raise children, darling. I'll want about a dozen."
Now was the time. Deedee gripped her napkin. "We have a start on that, you know."
Pat put down his coffee cup. "What?"
"That's right. We have a daughter. Your little girl, and mine." Dear God, let him accept Maria, their child.
He jumped to his feet. "Oh Lord, honey! You went through with it! You saved my baby for me! Where is she? Can we see her? Today? Oh, Deedee, Deedee, I don't know hoiv you did it, but thank God you did!"
Deedee had momentarily forgotten just how she had done it. In the spell of his enthusiasm she could only think how many bad things were rolling out of her life. "She's in town, silly. I have a friend taking care of her. But we can see her sometime today. When are your classes?"
"Class. I have just one. It's at ten."
"My important stuff is in the morning, too. All right, Papa. We'll go take a look at your daughter right after noon. I'll meet you at the Student Union for lunch."
"And I'll walk you to your first class. Hand in hand. My God, Deedee. I didn't know there was this much happiness in the world. Thank God I found you again.
Here, don't you do that. Let me wash those dishes!"
"Don't start off giving me bad habits, lover!"
Pat and Deedee drove to the University together, and walked hand in hand from the .parking area to her first class. They tried to catch up on so much of their missed years, they succeeded in catching up on almost none of them. Pat waved to several people as they walked, and Deedee was proud that he appeared so popular. At the entrance hall, he gave her hand a last squeeze.
"Noon," he said.
"Noon," Deedee responded. "At the Student Union."
"Then we'll see our baby, and make our plans. Right?"
She reached over and kissed him on the tip of his nose. "Right." She reached the first of her classes in a sort of a glow. By the third, it was a rosy glow.
Shortly before noon, Deedee walked into the busy Student Union cafeteria, got a cup of coffee and took a seat near the door to wait for her Pat.
She left the room, shortly after two o'clock, puzzled, worried, and a bit angry. She thought there might be a message for her at home, but there was nothing. Something had happened, but she would have heard about it if it was bad news. She decided to call Maria and have her bring her daughter to the apartment. Pat had been held up unavoidably. But he'd be sure to come here as soon as he was free, and she'd have his daughter waiting to see him. That was what she must do. Call Maria, then sit back and wait. Be calm, and wait for Pat.
At his art class that same morning, Pat was greeted by a fellow student, a transfer from Blue Harbour, named Ben Carters. Pat nodded genially when Ben came over. "I see you've met Deedee Ryan already," Ben said. "Quite a girl, isn't she?"
Pat looked at him curiously. "Yes," he said slowly. "She's quite a girl."
"Known her very long?"
Aniel shrugged. "Depends on how long 'long' is."
"Yeah," Carters chuckled. "I don't guess it's very 'long' in this case. I knew her at Blue Harbour. Before she got bounced."
"Deedee? Expelled? But why?"
Carters shrugged. "Why else? Selling it, man. Selling it. No less than twenty bucks a copy. Frankly, I didn't think it was worth it, but a helluva lot of the other guys did I hear she knows all the cute little tricks, man! Knows them good!"
Pat snarled, "You filthy bastard!" and swung at the older, bigger man. Carters slipped the blow, grinned thinly and slapped Pat open-handed, contemptuously.
"What's the matter with you, boy?" he was saying as other students moved in to break up the fracas. "Don't tell me you're hung up on her? Not on a whore!"
Pat turned and ran from the room, the echo of the other's mocking laughter ringing stridently in his ears. His first impulse was to go straight to Deedee and confront her with the ugly statement. It had to be a lie, and she should know about it.
He got in his car and drove into Hollywood. There, he went into a garish, but comfortably strange cocktail lounge. I need some time to think, he told himself. Over his first drink, he formed mental images of other men possessing her body, of Deedee acting like an animal with them, and he made himself violently ill. He drank a second, to subdue the nausea, then a third to sharpen his thinking. As he drank more and more the whiskey became fuel to his anger and disgust. She knew all the cute little tricks! He remembered that statement, had a few more drinks while he thought about it. In the course of the afternoon he got quietly, then belligerently drunk. Finally he was escorted out of the lounge by its bored bartender. He was told to stay out.
Fine, he thought. That's just fine with me. Now I can do what I should have done this afternoon. Blearily, he started his car and drove to Deedee's place, parking across the street. With great cunning, he decided to wait there and see who came in and out. He'd find out what kind of tricks Deedee knew! He peered owlishly at his wrist watch. Seven o'clock. The sun was about to go down. He lit a cigarette and prepared for a long vigil.
Shortly before eight a girl came out of the building, holding a little girl by her hand. He peered intently, making out her features. She was Mexican. Maria had been named for Deedee's Mexican friend, and Maria should be just about the age of this little girl. It was them. It had to be them. He watched as she climbed into a car and drove out into the street. If nothing else, Pat decided, Mr. Aniel was going to see his daughter tonight. He pulled away from the curb, following them.
He followed the other car for some twenty minutes. He was still intoxicated, but sober enough to keep it in view until it parked on a quiet, middle-class residential street of unpretentious apartment buildings. Getting out of his car, he followed the Mexican girl and the child into one of the apartment buildings. She was starting up a flight of stairs when he opened the lobby door and called softly.
She turned, looking at him without expression. Finally, she nodded,' indicating that he was to follow her. She unlocked the door to her apartment, motioned him in, carried the now-sleeping child to the sofa and laying her gently down. She turned to face Pat.
"You know who I am?" he asked.
She nodded. "Si. You are Maria's father. The resemblance is noticeable, but also I have heard much about you from her mother. But, why are you here? Why did you not meet Diedre today, as you had promised?"
He bit his lip. Something about this calm, warm, lovely Mexican woman pushed its way through his still-alcoholic daze. "I-I heard something today. At school. Something very bad."
"About Deidrecita?"
"Yes. About Deedee."
"You are very borracho-drunk, I think?"
He flushed. "A little, perhaps. Not very."
"Yes. But still, not a good time to make judgment."
"Judgment? You will make me laugh." He chuckled mirthlessly, as if to prove his words. "I judge not. But I heard today that Deedee was a-a-"
"A puta, perhaps? That she has sold her body for money? Yes. I can see that this is what you have heard. You think it's true, yes? And, if it is true, what will you do? Will you call the authorities, perhaps? Try to take the child away from her?"
He looked down at the sleeping child. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think."
"You love her?"
"Yes, but-My God, she had no right to sell herself!"
"But what else, senor? You were not around to pay for the birth of your child, to buy her food, clothes, medicine."
He sank into a chair, held his head in his hands. "But she could have gotten a job. To sell her body for a few miserable dollars-oh, God!"
She indicated the little girl. "It takes many dollars to feed and clothe a little one. And other dollars to pay someone to watch them while you work-someone who doesn't even love them. It takes still more dollars to acquire an education, so that the little one may be properly cared for as she grows. Your Diedre did what she had to do. She found it ugly. She was ashamed. But she did not kill the child before it was born, as you would have had her do. You call her bad because she sinned. She sinned for a reason. What, senor-" and the older Maria's eyes filled with flame-"what reason did you have for wanting to murder?" She began to pace the small room. "I do not think it is for you to judge, unless you are, by now, ready to be judged."
"I don't know what to do." He shook his head in hurt bafflement. "I just don't know what to do."
"Perhaps, you should ask Diedre if she can forgive you. If so, then would be the time to find out if your heart is so good as hers."
"Tonight?"
"No, Patrick. She may not wish to see you tonight. She was hurt and a little bitter when I left her."
"You're right. Besides, as you said, I am borracho. But I will go to her in the morning. She'll be all right until then?"
"She'll be all right. She will be sad. She will wonder once more why she loves you when you have failed her so much. But she will be all right."
"I promise you, Maria, I'll never fail her again."
"You love her so much? Enough?"
"Enough, indeed." He stooped over, kissed his daughter's silken-soft cheek. Straightening, he went to the door. "Good night, Maria," he said gently. "And thank you very much. Thank God Deedee found a friend like you. Thank you for letting me in, for letting me see my little girl, for helping me to understand. Muchissimo gracias."
"Por nada" Maria said to his retreating figure. She sighed, and crossed herself as the door closed behind him.
Pat drove straight back to Hollywood, found a still-opened jeweler and bought a wedding set.
Deedee was still dressing for school when he rang her bell the next morning. She opened the door a cautious crack, gasped in amazement and tried to close it in his face. He pushed his way in, put a finger over her lips, and spoke cheerfully.
"Before you tell my beads about yesterday, let me explain everything." And he pulled her head back to force acceptance of his kiss of greeting. He grinned at her resistance.
"Where have you been, Pat Aniel?" she demanded.
"Off making a damned fool out of myself. Not a new line for me, as you know only too well. I think the only solution is to get married and have my wife keep me straightened out. How about it? Want to take the chance with a real, first-class jerk? We'll leave for Las Vegas right now!"
"Oh, Pat-darling! You know how much I want to, but when you didn't show yesterday-well, I had a lot of time to think. And now I just don't know. You see, there's a lot about me that you don't know. A lot-"
He put a protecting finger over her lips again. "Hush, girl. I know all about you-all I need to know. I've finally discovered just how much I do love you. We're going to have a fine life, a lot of children, and live to a ripe old age. Hell, we'll have so many kids we won't have to work after we hit forty. They can take care of us."
He picked her up and kissed her firmly. He smacked her on the bottom. "Now," he ordered sternly, "you get! Put something pretty on, and we're off for a honeymoon! "
"Don't you want some breakfast first?"
"No, I don't want some breakfast first," he mocked her. "We'll eat on the way. Come on, honey, we've waited far too long. Let's get started!"
They sat side by side, closely, as the miles hummed away beneath the car. Suddenly, she clapped a hand to her mouth. "Good Lord, Pat. Maria! We didn't even call her."
"We'll call from the next town."
"I hope she isn't worried. Last night when she-"
"Don't get all shook. She knows I was coming to claim you this morning." He removed his left hand from the steering wheel, fished in his pocket. "Here," he held out the velvet jeweler's box. "See how you like it."
"Oh, Pat, darling, it's beautiful!" In her excitement over the rings Deedee forgot her confusion about Maria.
"I'll slip the engagement ring on in the next town. But you'll have to wait for Vegas to get the wedding band. Hey, why are you crossing your fingers?"
"Just hoping that nothing happens this time! Or, if I'm dreaming, that I'll never wake up."
"It won't, and you aren't. This is for real, and for keeps."
They pulled into a little town on the California-Nevada border, and Deedee called Maria. But not before Pat slipped the solitaire onto her finger. "What do you know?" he exclaimed in honest amazement. "It fits."
She laughed, tears of gladness springing quickly to her eyes.
They ate a leisurely breakfast. Over the second cup of coffee, Deedee grinned at Pat. "About that honeymoon," she started.
"What about it?"
"I hope you won't mind if it waits a little while. I've got finals coming up, and I want to stay at the top of my class. Don't forget, I graduate in a few weeks. So, we'll just have to start our honeymoon on campus."
He chuckled. "Man, we're not even married yet, and she's taking over as boss already. Do I feel hen-pecked? And, I might ask, my soon-to-be-bride, what are you going to do with all that education? I plan on keeping you barefoot and pregnant for the next ten years at least!"
She got to her feet, planted a kiss on his nose. "I'll find something to do with it, husband-soon-to-be. I worked hard enough for the damned thing. Come on, we've got a long trip ahead of us."
"You know it, darling. And we've got a whole lifetime to make it in!"
Laughing, they walked hand-in-hand to the car. Deedee never looked back.
