She thought of the man watching her from his apartment across the way, of his coming over and boldly climbing into bed with her and taking such intimacies. She felt sick and ashamed and began to cry.
"There, there, baby, cry if you want to." Suddenly Flo was beside her on the bed, enclosing her with gentle female arms, kissing her cheek with warm, moist lips. "Men are beasts. They don't know how to treat a young girl."
She became aware that Flo's eyes were roving over her succulent nude body, and that cool fingers were moving across her bare shoulder, the fingertips teasing the surface of the creamy skin.
"You ... you've got such soft skin," Flo said huskily.
She felt strangely excited by Flo's touch as the girl caressed her flesh and then dipped lower, to the flat belly and the golden flanks that were trembling with a growing passion.
"Don't worry, baby, I'll take care of you," Flo promised. "We're going to have a wonderful time together, just you and me."
CHAPTER ONE
"Baby," he said admiringly, letting his hands roam freely over her squirming body, "you're really stacked!"
"Don't," Cindy said. "Please, Joey, not here."
"Don't be silly," he laughed. "That's what the back seats of cars are for."
Cindy closed her eyes and tried to marshal her thoughts. Her mind whirled with the emotional fluids that were seeping hotly through her eighteen-year-old body as Joey touched her, caressed her, as his lips and tongue burned against her neck. He pulled her close to him in the narrow confines of his car, and his hands were alive under her dress, along her itching thighs.
"You've got me so hot I can't stand it," he said. "C'mon."
His lips covered hers, and she felt the fiery tip of his tongue slip between his teeth. He worked at the buttons of her blouse, which fell open, and then he reached in and found one marvelously soft white breast, pushing aside the bra that restrained it. She moaned in a sudden burst of ecstacy as his fingers kneaded and fondled the breast, and she lay back.
Her brain was filled with a frenzy of thought. She knew she shouldn't let him; he was almost a complete stranger passing through town. Yet she'd been lonely, so she let him pick her up and take her for a ride. She felt so miserable she didn't resist when he kissed her. And then suddenly, without warning, he was going further.
"You want me, don't you?" he said.
A lie came to her lips, but she left it unvoiced. The fires of passion coursed through her, denying the thought. Wordlessly, she nodded.
Encouraged, he touched her more intimately. She trembled and gasped. Her heart beat wildly as he removed her panties, peeling them down over her hips and thighs and legs. Her breath came short and hard.
All thought was gone. Now there was only sensation. Their lips blended, the tongues exploring deeply. His hands seemed to be all over her at once, searing hot pathways where they touched the sensitive skin. Automatically, Cindy felt her hips writhe in unison with his, and her hands reached behind him to pull him closer.
"Oh, hurry," she begged. "Please hurry!"
The pleasure was excruciatingly beautiful. It rose in a crescendo of growing passion that was almost painful to her. Hi? body became frantic. Her legs churned the air; her torso twisted and squirmed to meet his movements.
The steaming hot tidal wave gripped her suddenly, sent her skyward in a great sensual explosion of hot lava in an eruption that made her cry out in a whimper of excitement and release. Then she fell back, limp and exhausted, settling to Earth.
For a moment there was only silence; the dark night; the sticky heat. Then he raised himself on one elbow.
"Pretty great, huh?" he said, grinning.
She nodded. It had been wonderful, but now a feeling of shame was beginning to creep over her. She had just met Joey. It reminded her of the things her stepfather told her about her mother, about how the woman used to sleep with everything in pants. She thrust the thought from her mind.
"Do you really have to go back to Florida?" she asked him wistfully. "Couldn't you stay a few days more?"
He sighed. "I sure wish I could. But duty calls." He glanced at his watch. "Say, I'd better get you back home."
She straightened her disarrayed clothing and put her panties on. As they drove down the dark road, she said, "Will I see you tomorrow?"
He squeezed her leg affectionately. "I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world, baby."
He gave her a look that made her frown. It made her feel like the kind of woman her stepfather said her mother was.
She didn't believe any of those stories, of course; but she couldn't help but wonder if nymphomania could be inherited.
CHAPTER TWO
Cindy Drucker stood in the doorway, holding the screen door open, watching a pair of dusty children scamper in the hot Texas sun. The children ran, laughing and shouting along the dirt road and rounded a ramshackle building, out of sight.
She smiled wearily and reached to rearrange a strand of golden hair that clung wetly to her sweaty forehead, remembering the happy carefree days of her childhood. It was hot, nearly a hundred degrees, but then summer days were always hot in Hurley, Texas-hot and dusty. The heat seemed to hang in the still air like a shimmering screen. Her thin cotton dress was soaked with sweat. Too hot for underwear, the garment clung to her young lush body, outlining her full breasts that required no bra to make them stand out; and to her woman's hips, her sturdy thighs.
She looked out at the weatherbeaten frame houses and beyond to the tall blue mountains on the horizon. The highway led right through town, and often Cindy would lie awake at night, unable to sleep, and listen to the sounds of the cars speeding, passing through Hurley as though it didn't exist.
But Hurley was her world, practically all she had ever known in her eighteen years of life-and she hated it. Often she had thought of running away, to find out what life was like on the other side of that mountain. In her fantasies, she would wait until her stepfather was asleep on the couch, and she'd take a few belongings and tiptoe through the house, gently ease open the front door, and find someone to take her away-to California, or Florida, or New York City.
She would leave him a note, of course-that was the least she could do. After all, he had taken care of her since her mother ran away. But she wouldn't tell him where she was going, or he might follow her and try to bring her back. She didn't want to live it in a small, dirty desert town.
It would be no trouble finding people going to distant places. Practically everybody coming to Hurley was just passing through on their way to somewhere else. Or else they came to visit the Prairie Flower Saloon which sold more than the beer its sign advertised.
She looked up suddenly at the crunch of gravel, her reverie broken. Quickly she closed the screen door and hurried to the kitchen where she busied herself with the dishes. In the front of the house, the door opened and closed. Her step-father's heavy footsteps came closer, then stopped.
She forced herself not to turn around. She could hear his heavy breathing and knew he was angry with her again. She hoped he wouldn't spank her.
"Is ... is that you, father?" she managed, finally.
"Who the hell were you expecting?" Fred Drucker said.
He was right behind her, and the loudness of his voice made her start. She turned and gave him a wan smile. His lean face was flushed with anger. He pointed an accusing finger at her.
"You miserable little whore!" he said.
She winced at the words, but she kept the smile on her face. Fred Drucker was standing in the doorway. He was wearing a white shirt and bowtie he wore at his job in the hotel. The shirt was dirty at the collar and stained by sweat. His blue slacks and loafers were covered with dust. His face was dark with anger as he clenched his fists and glared at her.
"You thought I wouldn't find out about you, Cindy Drucker," he said, daring her to deny it.
Cindy wet her lips which were suddenly dry. "Find out about, ... what?"
"About you and this-this boy you saw last night."
"Who told you about that?"
"Never mind who told me-I got friends around this town. I nearly sank through the floor with shame when I heard what you and he did."
It was a bluff. "I didn't do anything wrong," she said defensively.
He laughed harshly. "Didn't do anything wrong? You were seen driving out of town in the direction of the gravel pit. You think it's nothing wrong to park in a car and let some dirty boy put his hands all over you?"
"We were just talking, that's all," she lied.
He took a beligerent step toward her. "Don't you lie to me, Cindy Drucker. You're a rotten slut, just like your mother. All you can think about is what she always thought about-sex! Sex with as many men as she could find, in as many ways as she knew how."
"That's not true!" Cindy said. She fought to hold back the tears of anger and frustration starting to sting her eyes.
Fred Drucker stared at her, and his gaze wandered across her body, lingering where the wet dress was pulled tight by the dampness across her breasts and stomach and thighs.
His look frightened her, and she backed away.
His face softened, turned pleading. "Tell me about it, baby. About what really happened, I mean. I'm your father, remember. I'll understand."
"We had a soda at the drugstore," she said, "and then we took a ride because it was so hot, and we parked and talked for a while."
"Did he kiss you?"
"Yes," she said. "And what else?"
"Nothing else!"
"He must have done more than that," her stepfather persisted. "Did he put his hand on your breasts."
"No," she lied.
"Under your skirt?" he said, moving toward her.
"No, no, no."
"You're lying!" Fred Drucker shouted.
He reached out suddenly and caught the top of her dress. His lean, hard fingers closed about the material and pulled. His knuckles felt rough against the smooth skin of her breasts. Instinctively she pulled away and the dress tore.
For a moment she stood there, not comprehending what had happened, and then she looked down at herself, at the huge rip in the front of her dress which had fallen away to the navel, spilling her large, firm white breasts into the open. Quickly she put her hands in front of her.
Fred Drucker stared at her. "Beautiful," he murmured. He took a tentative step toward her. He wet his lips. "You're just like your mother, Mamie, was when I married her."
Cindy felt cold fear grip her. She had seen her stepfather this way before, looking at her in a way that made her skin crawl.
"Cindy," he said. His voice was hoarse.
He reached out toward her, and she shrank back from his eager hands. The dress fell open again, but her mind was too filled with terror to cover herself again. His fingers contacted her skin.
She screamed.
He recoiled, blinking in surprise. Then his face became angry again. "So," he said harshly, "you'll let some stranger paw you in the back seat of a car-but you won't even let your father touch you. Young lady, you need a lesson."
"No, please;" she begged. "I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as you're going to be," he promised.
His fingers closed on the remaining material of the dress and pulled. The dress tore further, dragging a cry of hurt from her. She felt too numb with terror to do anything but stand there before him, trembling, naked, crying. Her breasts quivered as her body shook. Roughly he pulled her to him and sat quickly on a kitchen chair, dragging her across his lap.
"Remember, I'm still your father, and you ain't too old for a whipping," he said.
She opened her mouth to protest, but his hand came down smartly on her behind, forcing a cry of pain from her. His hand rose and fell again and again, until her cries took on a whimpering quality. Her eyes were blinded with tears of shame, hurt and humiliation. The sharp crack of his palm was loud in her ears. She felt his other hand move along her leg. She knew from her position across his lap and the hard masculine feel of him that he was very excited.
Finally, he stood up, dumping her off his lap.
"There, that should teach you a lesson," he said.
She sat on the floor, not looking up at him. What he was thinking was physically obvious. She scrambled to her feet, ran across the room to the bathroom, and locked the door .His mocking laugh followed her.
A moment later, he said, "I'm going out. You be here when I get back."
He didn't wait for an answer. The screen door opened and slammed shut. Cindy waited for a moment, then opened the bathroom door. Naked, she peered out into the empty room. Her behind was still sore where he'd spanked her, and by twisting around she could see that it was quite red.
She knew where Fred Drucker was going. To the Prairie Flower Saloon, to the bedrooms upstairs where the "barmaids" would do anything a man wanted for five dollars.
Despite the heat of day, Cindy felt cold. It was only a matter of time before her stepfather decided to save himself five dollars by getting something just as good or better-right in his own home-his stepdaughter Cindy!
CHAPTER THREE
When her mother ran away to the East Coast six years ago, Cindy was only twelve years old; a scrawny, homely child. Everyone in the town of Hurley, Texas felt sorry for Fred Drucker being stuck with raising a child that wasn't even his own.
For a while, her stepfather forgot his troubles by drinking and by visiting the girls at the Prairie Flower. When he came home sometimes he beat the girl in a rage, as though taking out the evils of the mother upon the daughter.
And then, quite suddenly it seemed, she started to change. Her chest which had always been flat took on new dimensions, as breasts started to bud and blossom. Her waist and hips began to develop curves, and her legs grew lithe and slim and shapely.
Also, quite suddenly, Fred Drucker began looking at her in a different way. He began to stay home more often, and he took a renewed interest in helping her on and off with her clothes. He especially liked to give her a bath. Sometimes he even took a bath with her himself.
Cindy was surprised at first that he was different from her-physically. But she came to accept this fact as he explained to her that men and women were built differently from each other. They made a sort of game out of it. First he would take a rag and soap and scrub her all over until her body glistened, and then it would be her turn. She thought it was funny what happened to him when she washed him, but she didn't laugh for fear he would get angry with her and think she was making fun of him.
She thought it was strange the way he reacted to taking a bath with her. After a while his breath would come sharp and ragged, and he seemed to be controlling himself. Cindy thought it was an odd way for a person to act who was taking a bath. It wasn't until much later when her girl friend Rosalie West explained that it wasn't the bath that inspired Fred Drucker so.
She remembered then the other things that had happened when her stepfather had hugged her close to him in a fit of passion and held his breath, while his naked maleness rumbled against her. He'd always seemed embarrassed whenever that happened, and he was gruff with her afterwards.
"Remember," he cautioned her, "don't ever take a bath with anyone else, understand. It's all right with me because I'm your father, and I want to protect you so you won't grow up like your mother!"
Cindy didn't understand what he meant by that. She always remembered her mother as a friendly, fun-loving woman who had held her when she needed comforting, sang her to sleep when she was tired, and kissed her hurts when she fell and injured herself. Fred Drucker kept no pictures of her in the house, but Cindy remembered the woman as slim and curvy, with dark hair and a pretty face that was full of expression.
She had run off, according to her stepfather, with a truck driver and gone to Florida to live. He spoke of it bitterly, as though it were a cruel joke played purposely on him. Whenever he talked about her it was with hatred. He would clench his fists and scowl, and Cindy would be afraid. But he didn't hurt her, not at first. He became more and more attentive, and even overpossessive. He wouldn't let her leave the house at night to play with the other kids; and he was suspicious of anyone who talked to her.
Once a man in a car stopped to ask her directions, and as the man was leaving, her stepfather came running up, his face livid with rage.
"Who was that? What did he want?"
"You're-you're hurting me."
"I asked you a question, and I want an answer, and it better be the truth."
She told him the truth.
"Did he ask you to take a ride with him?"
"No."
"Or to meet him later someplace?"
"No."
"I told you never to talk to strangers. Don't let me ever see you doing that again. Understand?"
She understood, and she marveled at how different Rosalie West's parents were. They didn't seem to mind if Rosalie talked with strangers. In fact Rosalie, two years older than Cindy, bragged about it.
"They're fun to talk to," Rosalie said. "And they buy me things."
Cindy's eyes widened with interest. "They buy you things? Oh, like what?"
"Like anything Sodas. Candy. Costume jewelry."
"Jewelry!" Cindy said, amazed. "Just for talking with them?"
Rosalie laughed. "Don't be a ninny. Of course not for just talking."
"For what, then?" Cindy pursued.
"Oh, they give me a ride in their car, or maybe I stop off at their hotel room and let them fool around a little-you know, put their hands Under my blouse and under my skirt. One fellow even gave me ten dollars to take some pictures of me without my panties on."
Cindy hesitated. "You don't...."
"Go all the way?" Rosalie said. "Of course not. I'm not a whore."
Cindy blushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...."
"That's okay. Do you know where your stepfather is tonight?"
"At the hotel, I suppose, working."
Rosalie smirked with a secret knowledge. "That's what you think." She leaned forward and whispered in a confidential tone, "Let's you and me sneak up behind the Prairie Flower and peek in the windows."
"I don't know." The invitation had been offered at other times but then, just as now, Cindy was afraid of being caught. If her stepfather knew...."
"Come on, don't be chicken!" Rosalie persisted.
"All right," Cindy said decisively.
It had always bothered her that she wasn't as worldly as Rosalie. This was her chance to make it up. But they'd have to make it fast. Sometimes her stepfather would walk swiftly home during his break from the hotel desk. He'd purposely make it late, "to make sure she got into bed at a reasonable hour," he said, but Cindy knew that it was an excuse to watch her undress from his vantage point in the bathroom where he sat with the door not completely closed.
"You won't regret it," Rosalie said. "You can learn more about life by peeking in a window than parents can tell you in a million years."
The Texas night was warm and clear, with the heavens sprinkled with stars. The only streetlights in the town were on the half dozen blocks of Main Street that was part of the highway leading elsewhere.
The Prairie Flower Saloon was at the edge of town, with an illuminated sign that went on and off. As they approached the building, Cindy heard the sound of a juke box blaring and the sounds of laughter. On the second floor windows were lighted and shades drawn.
"There's a fire escape around in back," Rosalie said. "C'mon."
Cindy held back. "Suppose we're caught."
"We won't be," Rosalie said. She disappeared into the darkness beside the building.
Cindy followed her. She knew if she chickened out now, she'd hate herself, and Rosalie would think she was a child, scared of the dark and of trying anything adventurous. Rosalie went knowingly through the darkened alley, with Cindy close behind her, and led the way to a fire escape that clung to the rear of the building.
"Be careful," Rosalie warned. "The metal is rusted."
She started up the fire escape, moving quickly, quietly. Cindy gripped the metal rungs and followed her upward into the darkness. Rosalie reached the second floor ledge and crouched before a lighted, shadedrawn window, and helped Cindy beside her.
"Good," Rosalie said. "The shade isn't drawn all the way."
Cindy saw this was true. There was a full inch of space between the bottom of the shade and the window sill. Both girls looked through the opening.
From the main piece of furniture in the room, a bed, it was obvious this was one of the rooms upstairs that a man would rent if he wanted to be alone for a while with one of the girls. There was a night stand beside the bed, on which stood a pitcher, a basin, a bar of soap, a washcloth and towels.
Cindy felt a thrill of excitement course through her. It was exciting peeking into someone's bedroom, when no one knew you were there. She heard the door open and renewed her attention to the room. A thin woman in a cheap cotton dress and too much makeup on her lean face came into the room. A man followed her and closed the door behind them.
Cindy gasped at the sight. It was Fred Drucker!
Rosalie, eyes still glued to the opening, motioned her to be quiet.
Cindy felt guilt flood her. "We can't watch like this," she whispered.
"The hell we can't," Rosalie said. "He watches you, doesn't he? Now it's your turn. Now be quiet or they'll hear us."
Cindy fell silent. She had no desire to be caught eavesdropping. Her father would really beat her up if he knew. She applied her. eyes once more to the opening under the curtain.
Her father and the woman were embracing and fondling each other. Then the woman stepped back and held out her hand. Fred Drucker took out his wallet and gave her a five dollar bill, which she placed on the nearby dresser.
"Okay, Fred," she said in a high-pitched voice, "ready?"
"What do you think?" he told her grinning.
She laughed mechanically. "You're a real lecher, honey, but I like you."
Her hands slipped inside his shirt and began massaging his chest. Fingers toyed with the buttons, undoing them.
Cindy looked self-consciously away and tugged at Rosalie's sleeve. "I ... I think we'd batter go," she whispered.
Rosalie pulled her arm away and glared. "You leave if you want to chicken out. I'm staying to watch this." She returned her attention to the window and managed to suppress a giggle.
Cindy hesitated; she stared down the dark fire escape. Well, as long as she was already up here....
She peered once again under the shade, and a blush crept into her cheeks. Fred Drucker had stripped naked and was standing beside the bed.
"Well, I see you're ready, all right," the woman said, admiringly.
She unzipped her dress in back, and the garment fell into a puddle of cloth at her feet. She stepped out of it and draped it across a chair beside the bed. She was wearing no underwear. Her breasts were small, like lemons, her waist narrow, the hips a little too large for the thin legs and thighs. An appendicitis scar stood out whitely on her bulging stomach.
She led him to the washbasin, poured water from the enameled pitcher into the basin and put soap on the washcloth.
Cindy frowned in annoyance at Rosalie's suppressed giggle at what was happening next, but she didn't take her eyes from the scene before her.
The woman then guided Fred Drucker onto the bed. Then she lay down beside him and began kissing him on the chest and moaning softly. An intense smile on his face, he grasped and fondled her. The woman ground her hips up tight against him and clamped her legs around his back. They rolled and heaved on the ancient bed. The two girls on the ledge could hear the creaking of the protesting springs.
Cindy watched in horrified fascination what was happening.
The woman kept kissing him and moaning, her eyes closed, and her stepfather kept running his hands across her breasts and thighs. Suddenly, he closed his eyes and straightened, shuddering as a spasm of intense pleasure shook him, and Cindy could hear the ecstatic moan of fulfillment echo in the room.
"Well," the woman said, after a while, "that was quick."
"I was kind of worked up before I got here, "Fred Drucker said.
Cindy felt someone tugging at her sleeve.
"We'd better get home," Rosalie whispered.
Cindy nodded wordlessly and silently followed the other girl down the fire escape.
"Well," Rosalie said, pleased, "wasn't that something?"
"Yes," said Cindy thoughtfully, "it was something, all right."
She understood what had happened, but not fully. She felt more than a little confused by it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cindy Drucker thought about how it had once been, many years ago, when her mother had been living with them. Her step father had seemed much happier then. He talked a lot about the future, about what the three of them would do together.
Once they had lived in San Francisco for a time. She remembered vaguely her mother taking her down to the ocean to see the Golden Gate Bridge and all the boats and ships that sailed like clouds through the blue waters.
They had moved because Fred Drucker got himself in some kind of trouble. Cindy didn't know what the trouble was, but the three of them left town suddenly and went East-toward New York City. The car broke down in Hurley, Texas, and they were broke. Fred rented a small house and got a job as hotel clerk in the town's only hotel. It was a small town, hot and dusty, and Cindy didn't like it. The nearest school was miles away and a long hot ride on a bus. Cindy lost interest and quit when she reached sixteen.
"We ain't staying here forever," Fred Drucker promised. "Someday, when we've got enough money, we're going to New York."
Finally Mamie Drucker got tired of waiting. One day, without a word to anyone, she left Texas with another man who was heading for Florida and the coast. She was never heard from again.
Rosalie West had run away to Miami two years ago. Cindy wished she'd gone along with her. Life with Fred Drucker was getting more and more unpleasant and the looks he gave her as his eyes roamed over her body made her increasingly nervous.
She had to get out-before it was too late!
She wanted to go out with boys, have them make love to her if and when she wanted it, and perhaps get married one day if she found the right person. Living with her stepfather, she knew this was impossible.
Rosalie West had written her once from Miami, but Fred Drucker had found the letter and torn it up in a fury.
"Don't let me catch you sending letters to that slut!" he warned, "or I'll really paddle your behind."
Cindy had managed to fish the letter out of the trash and keep the address on the outside of the envelope, just in case. Rosalie had saved enough money to take a bus to Miami, and she said it was like a paradise, with warm weather and palm trees and the ocean. She was sharing a small apartment with a girl named Flo Stanley, and there was probably enough room there for a third girl.
Cindy's eyes misted as she thought about it. It would be like old times, seeing Rosalie again. Besides, her mother was out there.
She would like very much to see her mother again. Mamie Drucker had never written-unless Fred Drucker intercepted the letter-but Cindy bore the woman no ill will. She remembered her as a sweet, kind, generous person filled with the joy of living, and it was understandable why she had run away. Fred Drucker had promised a lot of things and delivered very few.
Cindy went into the bathroom and turned on the water in the tub. She wanted to get away as soon as she could, but she must make her plans carefully. If her stepfather ever knew what she was planning, who knows what he would do to her. Besides, she had a long way to go to get to Florida and very little money.
She took off her bra and panties and stood in front of the full length door mirror gazing at herself. She was no Rosalie West when it came to breasts, but her bosom was firm and smooth, standing out with no need of bra. The stomach was flat and the waist narrow, the hips flaring. Her legs were long graceful curves that made many a male turn around for a second look.
She stood there, smiling, running her hands along her body, remembering how comforting Joey's hands had been-comforting and exciting. Suddenly, the front door opened, and she froze in panic. She paused, holding her breath, listening as she heard her stepfather's footsteps advancing toward the bathroom. Quickly, she reached out and latched the lock.
He paused outside the door. "Cindy?" The water was splashing into the tub from the faucet.
"Cindy?" he said again. The doorknob turned slowly. "Are you in there?"
"I'm taking a bath," she said.
He hesitated. "Can I come in for a minute?"
She felt cold at the thought of letting him in to see her. "I can't. I'm in the tub. I'll be through in a few minutes."
He hesitated again. "All right," he said.
He moved away. She heard the squeak of springs from the living room couch. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped into the tub, sat down and let the warm water cover her. The water was like a soft caress upon her skin, along her legs and thighs and breasts, and she thought of the boy, Joey Stanford, who had made love to her.
But she knew she should feel ashamed of what she'd done, but was only a pleasant memory with her. They'd met in the coffee shop adjoining the Hurley Hotel. She thought he was very god looking, with his long blonde hair and blue eyes, and when he asked her to go with him for a ride, she couldn't refuse.
And later, when her passions took over, she discovered she couldn't refuse him anything .
.
"Cindy?" Her stepfather again, outside the bathroom door. "What say we go over to the coffee shop and eat tonight?"
"All right," she said. "I'll be right out."
"It's nearly five o'clock now. I've got to get to work by six."
She soaped herself and rinsed, trying not to think of Joey. People came and went in Hurley. Few ever stayed. Perhaps Joey had already gone back to Miami, where he probably wouldn't ever think of her again.
She stepped out of the tub and dried herself with a long towel, rubbing her body briskly. She wished she'd had the presence of mind to bring fresh underwear into the bathroom with her. She wrapped the towel around her and opened the door. The curtains separating the bedrom from the living room were open, and Fred Drucker, sitting on the couch, looked up and smiled at her.
"Don't mind me," he said, picking up a magazine from a nearby rack, "just go ahead and get yourself ready."
Cindy nodded. She hated to dress in front of him, but it seemed there was no choice. She walked to the chest of drawers and dropped the towel in order to search for fresh underwear. She was conscious of his eyes on her, but she didn't look back at him. If she looked, she knew she'd scream at the raw hunger of his gaze.
"I didn't realize it was so late," she said, apologetically.
She dressed hurriedly, pulling on her panties and bra, wriggling into her sweater and blue jeans.
"Actually, we've got plenty of time," he said. "No need to rush."
But she was already dressed.
A moment later they walked together along the dusty street. The heat around them was oppressive.
I've get to get out of here, Cindy thought, before it's too late.
In the sky above them a lonely eagle moved slowly across the grey sky. A car roared past them on the highway, not stopping, heading East. The sun was low on the horizon. In a few hours the darkness would come, the few blocks of the downtown area would light up with eager neon, and The Prairie Flower Saloon would open its doors.
They reached the coffeeshop adjacent to the Hurley Hotel, where they sat in a booth and ate hamburgers and drank milkshakes.
"About this boy you were out with," Fred Drucker began.
"He was very nice," Cindy said quickly, heading him off.
"I know I acted rough with you, Cindy," he said, apologetically. "But I was just looking out for your own good. Since your mother ran away I've had to be both mother and father to you."
"I understand," Cindy said. "I just wanted to know whether this boy was a real gentleman or not." He forced a grin. "I know you wouldn't do anything bad, anything to make your father regret having sacrificed all these years for you. But sometimes a boy goes out with a girl and he wants to feel her up; you know, put his hand up under her dress and things like that. You've got to be very careful, especially if you don't know the boy."
"I'll be careful," Cindy promised. "Good girl," Fred Drucker said, squeezing her leg under the table.
Cindy forced a smile and looked up into the grinning face of Joey Stanford seated at the counter, half turned to face her. She gasped.
"Something wrong?" her father said.
She looked away quickly, so her stepfather's gaze wouldn't follow hers to the blond youth. "No," she said. "Your touch startled me."
"Oh," he said, removing his hand a little self-consciously.
She glanced toward the counter at Joey, and she felt her heart pounding wildly at the mere sight of him. She was glad he hadn't gone back to Florida.
Fred Drucker glanced at his wristwatch. "Well, I've got to get to work. You take your time here, but go right home afterward. Okay? I'll stop by at my break later."
"All right," she said. "I've got some things to do." Like packing to get out of this town and away from you, she thought.
He went up to pay the cashier, then waved and left to go to his job as desk clerk at the Hurley Hotel. Cindy looked up at the counter to see Joey sliding off the stool.
Quickly she shook her head no and nodded outside. He gave her a tight smile and returned to his perch.
Cindy finished the last of her malt and got up, not looking at him. She walked into the street and past the hotel. Her stepfather was standing just inside the glass doors looking out at her. She waved to him and he waved back. She walked steadily down the street and didn't pause until she had turned a corner.
A moment later Joey caught up with her. "Hi," he said. "Can I walk you home?"
"Sure," she said, glad he wanted to. "I didn't mean to be anti-social in there, but
"But your stepfather was with you and there was no point in asking for trouble," he finished.
Impulsively, she took his hand and squeezed it, grateful for his understanding.
"When are you leaving?" she asked.
"I thought I'd get an early start tomorrow morning," he said. "I was hoping I could see you tonight."
She hesitated, not looking at him as they walked along. "Can you leave tonight?"
He stared at her, puzzled. "I suppose I could." His face turned angry. "You mean you don't want to see me tonight?"
"I mean," she said, "that I want you to take me to Florida with you!"
They paused in front of her house. "You ... you want me to take you to Florida with me?" he repeated incredulously. "But...."
She laughed at his sudden embarassment. "Oh I don't mean for marriage or anything like that. I want to go there to see a friend of mine." She thought of her mother, and added, "Two friends of mine, in fact."
He rubbed his chin. "Gee, I don't know, Cindy...."
"I don't have much money," she said, "but...."
"It's not that," he said. "But what about your stepfather?"
"I'll leave him a note."
He looked at her, his gaze sweeping her body. "I don't know. I'd like to, but ... but suppose your father notifies the police and we're picked up. I could go to jail."
"He doesn't even know you, and I won't tell him where I'm going," she persisted. "Please. Besides, my mother is in Florida. I want to live with her."
He made his mind up. "All right. When can you be ready?"
"In an hour," she said. She put her arms around him and kissed him strongly on the lips. "Thanks, Joey."....
"My pleasure," he said, grinning at her. "I'll pick you up in an hour, then."
He walked away and out of sight. Cindy went inside the house, excitedly. At last, she was getting out of Hurley, going off to Florida in pursuit of adventure-and her mother.
"My pleasure," he'd said. Well, they'd probably stop at a motel to rest before continuing their journey in the morning. Cindy was grateful to Joey for taking her away from all the bad memories contained in this house and this town. She would make sure that it would indeed be his pleasure, when they were together in the motel bed snuggling up to each other. She was sure it would be her pleasure, too.
CHAPTER FIVE
CABINS, the neon sign said, blinking on and off for emphasis.
Joey pulled the car onto the brightly lighted gravel path in front of the front cabin labeled OFFICE.
"I'll be right back," he said, getting out.
The land had flown swiftly past, and it was now midnight and they were within a few hours' drive of Miami. But Cindy Drucker wasn't thinking of that; her thoughts were of the more immediate future, when she and Joey got in the cabin together.
She began to feel frightened of what she had done-of what she was doing and now, especially, of what she was going to do. She liked Joey, but she hardly knew him. True, she'd already given in to him once-but running off with him like this was all too reminiscent of what her mother had done many years ago.
Fred Drucker had called his wife a no-good tramp for what she'd done. Would he call his stepdaughter the same?
Well, it was too late to think of that. The die had been cast. Tomorrow she'd see her mother, perhaps, and find out a lot of answers to what really happened.
Joey came back to the car. "We're in lucky seven," he announced.
He started the car and drove along the narrow path to the cabin with the huge seven painted on its side.
"What name did you give the man?" Cindy asked him.
"What?"
"When you registered us, what name did you give?"
Joey laughed. "I signed us in as 'Mr. and Mrs. Fred Drucker'."
Cindy wished she could join him in his laughter, for it did seem funny, but the laugh died in her throat. She wondered why he hadn't given his real name? Was it because he was ashamed to admit he was going to sleep with a strange woman? Or was this merely part of the game, standard practice when it came to motels and people who weren't married? She couldn't help but wonder how much experience Joey had in such matters.
He stopped the car beside the cabin, and they got out. Joey carried his suitcase and her small bag from the trunk. He opened the door and switched on the light.
The cabin was a single room lighted by a tall floor lamp beside the double bed which dominated the room. The walls were lined with plasterboard, and on one of them hung a large print of wild stallions. An open door at one corner of the room revealed a bathroom.
"Our honeymoon cottage," Joey said lightly, closing the door behind them.
The door clicked shut behind her, and she felt a sudden trapped sensation. She tried to calm herself but panic rose like ice water in her veins. Back home in Hurley it had not seemed so bad but now she was miles from home, in a strange town, in a locked room with a man she didn't know.
Cindy stared at Joey's face as he went past her, carrying their suitcases. It was a good face, nice-looking. But Joey was a male animal-he'd already proved that and she knew what he must be thinking: what fun it was going to be to make love to this eighteen-year-old girl!
Cindy had dreamed of a white knight in armor coming to Hurley, taking her away from the heat and dust of Texas. The romantic movies she'd seen in the local theater strengthened this resolve in her. But it was not to have been like this-sneaking away with a strange man to shack up in some motel by the side of the road.
"Hey," Joey said, "you look like you've lost your last friend."
"I hope not, Joey," she said. "I don't have very many."
"Well, you have me," he said.
He was beside her, reaching out and pulling her to him. Meekly, she let him draw her close, allowed his arms to surround her.
His lips closed upon hers, and his hands swept down the slope of her back to clutch her rounded buttocks and pull her closer to him.
She felt a momentary panic, and then her natural female instincts anticiptaed the maleness of him. His lips were alive on her lips, his tongue darting hotly into her mouth. He kissed her cheeks, her neck. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the female smell of her, as his hands moved hotly over her blouse. His breath was short and hard, and she could feel his heart pounding to match hers.
His voice was hoarse in her ear. "Come on, baby. I can't wait any longer."
"Joey, no ... please, let's wait...."
Impatiently he shook his head. "You've got me so hot I can't stand still."
He grabbed her, pushed her down on the bed and threw himself beside her. His fingers busied themselves on her blouse, and the buttons parted. He forced the blouse from her body and with a deft, certain movement unhooked the bra. Her breasts fell free and he moved back for a moment to stare in wonder and appreciation at them.
"You've got a great pair of knockers, baby," he said.
Cindy was more annoyed with him than angry. He was moving too fast for her, and her head was swimming. "Joey, listen
"We can have conversations later, baby," he said. "Right now, mouths were made for more important things."
Quickly, he unzipped her jeans and worked them down over her hips, snagging the panties along the way and pulling them over her thighs and legs. He freed them from her squirming legs and threw them down beside the bed.
"Wow!" he said. "Everything about you is nice. Legs, hips, thighs. Everything"
Cindy blushed. She'd expected this to happen, of course. It would have been a miracle if it hadn't-but she wished he wouldn't be so fast about it. Take it slow and easy. And yet there was a seething undercurrent of emotion flowing through her which she couldn't still.
Joey was busy removing his clothes, kicking off the shoes in his eagerness, tossing his shirt aside, pulling down his trousers and letting them lie in a puddle of cloth on the floor. In a moment he was nude, standing by the bed.
Cindy looked at him in wonder. The mechanics of the male body had always fascinated her; she didn't know how it worked, but she was always amazed that it did. Joey had a good physique, almost beautiful, like a blonde Adonis. As he lay down beside her, she felt a shuddering anticipation. Her heart was pounding in her ribcage, and her blood was rushing hotly through her veins.
He pulled her to him.
"Oh, Joey," she murmured.
He covered her mouth with his, holding her face in his hands, and his tongue danced across her teeth into her warm mouth, darting in and out, across her lips, sending flames of desire shooting through her.
His hand moved down along her breasts, past the smooth, flat stomach, tracing a tingling pathway with his fingers. She closed her eyes and smiled happily, secure in the warmth flowing through her, excited with the tingling sensations caused by his probing. Her breathing steadied, became slow, rhythmic, matching his. A growing sence of urgency throbbed inside her, as he made love to her with his lips, his tongue, his practiced fingers, his entire male body. The pleasure of his touch was so great she wanted to cry out.
On impluse her arms went around him, pulling him eagerly to her, pressing the complete length of her twisting, tensing body tightly to him, delirious with the pleasure of his male body responding to her.
"Joey, Joey, Joey...." she found herself murmuring his name over and over and over.
She loved him, she knew that, and there was nothing wrong with the two of them being here together like this, man and woman, doing things that man and woman have done together since the beginnings of time.
His fingers gripped her shoulders and she cried out in pain as he buried his face in her hair and stiffened in a sudden spasm. An explosion of flesh began deep within her and slowly spread as she felt her female body responding in its own special way.
Afterward, he relaxed limp against her for a moment. Then he placed his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.
"Oh, Joey, you were wonderful," she said.
He grinned his pleasure. "Thanks. You were pretty great yourself. I hope I can see you once in a while when we get to Miami."
"I hope so, Joey, I really do," she said.
"You could be habit forming," he said.
She smiled at him, and her heart felt light and gay. She'd thought way back in her mind that maybe he was just taking advantage of her the way some men did with a young girl who didn't know any better. But he did want to see her again. That was a start.
Perhaps her knight in armor had arrived, after all.
CHAPTER SIX
Cindy closed her eyes and listened to the soft hum of the tires on the road. In an hour they would be in Miami. She would go to Rosalie's address and maybe stay with the girl. Then, later in the day or possibly tomorrow she could go see her mother.
The thought of seeing the woman again after so many years brought tears to her eyes. It would be nice seeing her again. There was much to talk about, and a lot of time to make up for.
"A penny for your thoughts," Joey said.
Cindy opened her eyes, favored him with a smile. "I was thinking of the future," she said. "From here on in, everything's coming up roses."
Joey laughed. "That's a good attitude to take."
"What do you do in Miami?" she asked him. "Your job, I mean."
"I'm an insurance investigator."
"Oh, that sounds interesting."
"It is, sometimes. By the way, we're always needing typists at the office. Maybe I could put in a word for you."
"That's very nice of you, Joey. Only one trouble. I can't type."
"That is a problem. Well, don't worry. With a body like yours you won't starve."
Cindy felt the color rush to her cheeks. She began angrily, "If you think...."
"I didn't mean it that way," he said. "There are a lot of jobs, like a waitress or a car hop, for example, where a good face and figure help."
Cindy fell silent, wondering at her outburst. She was aware that she was suddenly very sensitive about using her sex. She had tried to act casual about it, but way down deep inside her she knew it bothered her to have run away as she did, as her mother had many years ago. Perhaps it was a case of like mother, like daughter.
They reached the Miami city limits. "You say this girl friend of yours-Rosalie West-lives where?" Joey asked her.
"345 Finley Drive. Do you know where that is?"
"No, but I can find it," he said.
She was sure he could. He seemed so sure of himself in a lot of ways, and apparently making love was only one of them.
It was nearly five-thirty before they pulled up before the apartment house on Finley Drive. It was a short, narrow street off a boulevard, and most of the apartment buildings along the street seemed shabby. Lawns were untended, and tropical foliage grew wild.
"I'd better wait for you until you make sure it's okay," Joey said.
"Why not come in with me. I'd like you to meet Rosalie; I'm sure you'd like her."
"Maybe some other time. It might look funny, me giving you a ride like that."
"All right. I'll be right back."
Cindy walked up the concrete sidewalk to the apartment house. There were four apartments in the one building, labeled 343, 345, 347 and 349. 345 was upstairs at the top of a twisting stairway.
There was no name on the door, only the number 345. From inside came the sound of a phonograph playing rock and roll. Cindy took a deep breath and knocked. Wouldn't Rosalie be surprised!
The music kept on playing, and there were no other sounds, so she knocked again, louder this time. There were other sounds this time, a body getting up off a protesting couch, the patter of bare feet on the floor. The door opened.
But the girl standing there wasn't Rosalie. It was a girl in her early twenties, very blonde, pretty in a hard sort of way. She was wearing a halter and tight shorts.
"Yeah, what is it?" she wanted to know.
"I was looking for Rosalie West," Cindy said.
"Oh?" the girl said non-commitally, looking her over.
"I'm Cindy Drucker, from Hurley, Texas."
"She doesn't live here any more," the girl said. Her tone wasn't friendly. "She was here only a week. Then she moved out."
Cindy felt her disappointment deepening. "Do you know where she's staying?"
The girl shook her head. The way she was staring made Cindy uncomfortable.
"You just arrive in town?"
"Yes," Cindy said. "I thought Rosalie might know of a place where I can stay."
"You look like a pretty clean kid to me. Why don't you stay here tonight. You can make other arrangements tomorrow."
"That's very kind of you, but I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble...."
"Don't be silly. Any friend of Rosalie's is a friend of mine. Besides, I got the room." She hesitated. "By the way, did Rosalie ever say anything about me?"
"She mentioned you in her letter, that's all."
"Well, come on in, and we'll get you squared away for the night."
"I've got a taxi waiting. I'll be right back."
"Okay," the girl said. "I'll put the coffee on."
Cindy went back down the stairs. She hadn't wanted the girl-Flo Stanley was her name-to think she had a boyfriend waiting. It wouldn't look right.
Joey was glancing at his watch when she came back. The air was growing cool with the deepening twilight, and the sun was a big red ball against the horizon.
Rosalie isn't here, but her ex-roommate is. She invited me to stay the night."
"Great," he said. "Like me to help you with your suitcase?"
"I can manage," she said. "Do you have a phone at your place?"
"Sure," he said. He rummaged through the glove compartment, came up with a scrap of paper on which he scribbled a number. "I'm not going to be around home much though, for a while. Maybe I'd better just call you sometime around the end of the week."
He started the car, and leaned out to kiss her.
"Let's get together as soon as we can, Joey."
"Sure thing, Cindy."
The car accelerated down the street. For a moment Cindy stood and watched it, then she picked up the suitcase and walked back to the apartment house and up the steps. The door was open, and rock and roll music torrented forth into the hallway. Flo was in the center of the room doing the twist.
"C'mon in," she said above the music, not stopping her gyrations, "make yourself at home."
Cindy walked in and closed the door behind her.
"There's some coffee on the stove," Flo said, "and some doughnuts in the refrigerator. You can put your suitcase in the bedroom if you like."
"Thanks," Cindy said.
The living room had wall-to-wall carpeting, Utrillo prints on the walls and plastic furniture. Cindy walked across it to the bedroom and put her suitcase down beside the mussed up double bed.
. She came back to the living room. "Nice place you have here."
Flo was too out of breath to do more than nod, but her rhythm continued. Cindy went into the small white kitchen, where a coffee pot was percolating. She turned it off.
"Pour me a cup, will you?" Flo called. "Black."
Cindy got two cups from a cupboard above the sink filled with dirty dishes and poured two cups of black hot coffee. From the refrigerator she took a box of plain doughnuts , which she placed under one arm so she could carry the two cups of coffee into the living room.
She placed the food on the coffee table and sat down on the plastic couch. She wondered what her stepfather had done when he discovered she was gone. He was probably furious with her, and in a way she didn't blame him. She was sure, though, he could find a girl at The Prairie Flower to console him.
She thrust the thought from her mind, sipped at the black coffee and watched Flo Stanley twist to the fast music. Flo had a buxom figure, and as she moved her large breasts threatened to spill out of the halter. Her rounded buttocks seemed poured into the tight short shorts, and she didn't seem to be wearing any underwear.
The record spun to a close, the machine turned itself off, and Flo staggered over to the couch and flopped onto it, breathing heavily.
"You like to twist, honey?" Flo said breathlessly.
"I don't know how," Cindy said.
"It's fun," Flo said. "They've got some late dances, like the frug, but I think the twist is more fun."
"The frug?"
"Yeah," Flo said with a laugh. "It sounds sorta like a dirty word, doesn't it."
"Sort of," Cindy said, laughing too.
Cindy took one of the doughnuts, which was hard as a rock, and dunked it in her coffee.
"The doughnuts are a little stale, I'm afraid," Flo apologized. "I eat out a lot."
"What sort of work do you do, Flo?" Cindy said, conversationally.
"I work as a waitress downtown. Just a hash house, but it pays the rent. Say, you look bushed. Why don't you finish the doughnut and sack out." .
"Thanks," Cindy said. "I think I will."
Flo checked her watch. "In fact, I think I'll turn in myself. It's been a rough day and I've got to get up early."
Cindy finished her doughnut and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She straightened the bedclothes and then began to undress. As she removed her blouse an uneasy feeling stole over her. She looked around, but she was alone in the room, and the door was closed. She shrugged off the feeling, unzipped her jeans and stepped out of them. The bra and panties followed. From her suitcase she removed her pajamas and put them on.
She opened the door. Flo was stretched out on the couch with her long, suntanned legs before her.
"Goodnight," Cindy said.
"Goodnight," Flo said. "By the way, I may take a fast run down to the corner store, so don't be alarmed if I'm not here."
"All right," Cindy said.
She turned out the light and climbed into bed. Suddenly, she felt very weary and grateful for the comfortable mattress. It was chilly in the room, and she pulled the covers over her. Too bad Joey wasn't there to warm her up. She liked Joey, and wondered if he really liked her. She hoped he didn't think of her only as a pickup, just someone to shack up with in return for free transportation.
No, Joey didn't seem like that.
She dozed off in the silence and the darkness. After awhile she was aware of someone moving about in the room. She didn't open her eyes. It was probably only Flo, getting ready for bed. She heard the soft whisper of clothing, felt the bed sag beneath the weight of a body. She closed her eyes tighter, drifting off again.
And a naked body thrust itself against her.
So Flo liked to sleep in the raw, did she? Cindy moved away, but the body followed her, and hands reached out and moved under her blouse to fondle and caress her breasts. Cindy frowned her annoyance and reached out to push the other girl away.
She recoiled and her eyes opened wide into the darkness of the room. It wasn't Flo in bed with her. It was a naked man!
"C'mon baby, don't be coy!" the man said, reaching for her again.
"No, get away," Cindy screamed, moving away from him.
But the man only laughed and pulled her roughly to him. He held her close to his body and kissed her wetly on the mouth, while his hands explored the secret regions under her pajamas. She screamed again and he struck her full across the face with his palm.
"Shut up," he said angrily. "You want to wake the neighbors."
She touched a hand to her numbing cheek. "What ... what do you want?"
He laughed ."You know what I want, baby. Look, I'm all hot and bothered and I'm not in the mood to play games. So let's cut out the nonsense, huh?"
Involuntarily, she stiffened as he undid the buttons on her pajama tops. She heard him suck in his breath sharply as his fingers discovered her breasts once more. She winced as his fingers drove sharply under the elastic of her pajama bottoms, pulling the material down over her legs.
"No, please."
She wanted' to scream again, but terror numbed her as he peeled the night clothing from her body.
"Don't be scared, baby," he said. "Just be a good girl and co-operate and we'll have ourselves some fun."
His voice seemed harsher now. In the dim light she couldn't see his face, but she could smell alcohol on his breath and feel his maleness tremble against her. She felt weak and helpless.
He reached for her, taking her hips in his hands and moved his naked body onto hers. She felt the breath crushed out of her with the weight of him. His hands were everywhere on her body, squeezing, touching. It was like a nightmare from which she couldn't awaken. She heard someone moving in the living room, and in desperation she screamed.
The door burst inward, and Flo Stanley stood in the shaft of light coming from the living room. There was a click, and the overhead lights went on.
"What the hell's going on here?" Flo demanded.
Cindy stared at the man sitting upright in the bed with her. He was paunchy, bald and quite homely.
"Harvey," Flo said to the man, "what's the big idea?"
Harvey looked at Flo, then at Cindy, then back at Flo. "I thought it was you in bed," he said lamely.
"The hell you did!" Flo said. "You were probably in your apartment next door watching-" Cindy noticed that the shades hadn't been drawn in the bedroom " ... and you decided to sneak over here while I went out and take advantage of this poor girl."
"No, honestly, Flo, I...." Flo jerked her finger. "Never mind, just get the hell out of here and don't come back."
"Sure,. Flo, sure," Harvey said. He scrambled quickly out of bed, picked up his clothing and scurried from the room.
Flo turned and watched him out the front door. She sighed. To Cindy, she said, "I'm sorry, baby."
Cindy thought of the man watching her from his apartment, of his coming over and climbing into bed wtih her and taking such intimacies. She felt sick and ashamed and began to cry.
Suddenly Flo was beside her on the bed, her arms warm and comforting. Flo's lips were gentle against her cheek.
"There, there, baby, cry if you want to. Men are beasts. They don't know how to treat a woman."
Cindy felt at ease with Flo and was grateful for her understanding. She became suddenly aware that Flo's eyes were roving over the exciting contours of Cindy's succulent nude body. Then Flo raised one hand and smoothed cool fingers across Cindy's bare shoulder, allowing her fingertips to tease the surface of the other girl's creamy skin.
"You ... you've got such soft skin," Flo said huskily.
Cindy started at the touch, but Flo said, "Don't talk, just relax," and her hand slid along the edge of Cindy's breast and then over it, while her moist tongue traced a tingling pathway over her neck.
"Flo...." she said wonderingly.
But Flo shook her head sharply and continued her soft caresses. Cindy felt strangely excited by the touch of this blonde girl. It was not at all like the roughness of the man called Harvey. Besides, Flo was a girl-and there was no harm in letting another girl touch you, was there?
Flo caressed the soft firm mounds of womanflesh, and then her hands dipped lower, moving across the flat round belly and along the golden flanks that were now trembling with a growing passion.
"Don't worry, baby, I'll take care of you," Flo promised.
Flo reached out and drew them closer together. Their lips met, fused hotly, and Cindy felt an unaccustomed sensation of pleasure gush through her. She began trembling and moaning with an uncontrollable passion that swept through her like a fiery whirlwind. In a series of quick movements, Flo pulled off her shorts and halter and then quickly renewed her attack, growling.
In a moment they were locked together in a fury of arms and legs, flailing with passion. Cindy's mind was a hurricane of jumbled thought. She wasn't aware of what she was doing, only of the sensations that were sweeping through her.
Suddenly Flo tensed, and Cindy responded, became rigid and trembled. And then it was over.
Flo kissed her. "We're going to have a wonderful time together, honey," she said. "Just you and me."
Cindy didn't answer. Now that it was over and her passions had ceased clouding her mind, she felt ashamed at what had happened. She'd heard of women like Flo-lesbians, they were called-but this was the first time she'd ever met one. And this one had actually seduced her.
But that wasn't the terrible thing.
The terrible thing was that she had enjoyed it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning when Cindy awakened, Flo was up puttering about the kitchen. The sounds of eggs frying and the smell of hot coffee came floating through the apartment.
Cindy got up out of bed and stood for a moment in the window, watching the traffic scurry up the street in front of the building. Warm sunlight gleamed on white buildings and palm trees trembled in a breeze.
"Hello, there," Flo called from the kitchen. "How are you?"
"Fine," Cindy said. Actually her body was stiff and aching from what had happened the previous night.
Flo appeared in the doorway. "I've got to go to work," she said. "I'd take the day off, but it would be pushing my luck."
"That's okay," Cindy said, "I'll be all right."
Flo was dressed in a tight white blouse that showed off her huge breasts and a flaring skirt. She was wearing dark nylons on her curved legs and a pair of white low-heeled shoes. Her hair was arranged in blonde waves and she had a contented smile on her face.
"I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook, but I did fry us some eggs. Want some."
"Yes," Cindy said. "I'm starving."
"Good."
Flo went into the kitchen. Cindy thought of changing her clothing, but the possibility of Flo looking in on her suddenly made her feel ill at ease. She still hadn't thought much of their intimacy of the previous night and didn't want to analyze her feelings just then.
They sat at the kitchen table and ate. The eggs were scrambled hard and the coffee was too strong. Flo glanced at her watch and rose. "Got to run," she said, gulping at her coffee. "You just treat this as your home, Cindy."
"Do you have any idea where Rosalie is?"
"I told you I didn't," Flo said in obvious annoyance. Then her face softened and she bent to kiss Cindy, who averted her face slightly so the girl's lips would touch her cheek rather than her lips. "I'll be back around five o'clock."
"All right," Cindy said.
Flo hesitated, then turned and went out the front door. A moment later a car started outside and roared down the street. Cindy latched the front door and breathed a sigh of relief. It made her feel more secure now to know that she was alone and the door was locked so no one could get in or watch her. She took off her pajamas, went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water faucet in the tub. It was while she was looking around through the linen closet for a clean towel that she came across the objects.
There was a long rubber object with straps on it. Cindy giggled when she first saw it because it looked like alike and then she dropped it quickly, realizing suddenly that's what it was supposed to look like.
The other object was not nearly so exotic. It was an address book. Without hesitation she opened the book, flipped through it to the W's, until she found the entry that read "Rosalie West," followed by a phone number. She found a pencil and a piece of paper and wrote down the number, then looked through the address book for other names she might recognize. Her mother's name was not listed. There was another fact about the book that didn't surprise her. All of the people listed were women!
Excitedly, she went to the phone and dialed a number. Miles away a phone rang, then clicked and a female voice said, "Hello."
"Rosalie?" Cindy said.
"Yes," the female voice admitted, "but ... it can't be...."
"It's Cindy. Cindy Drucker."
"Cindy!" Rosalie said. "How are you. How are things in Hurley? I meant to write to tell you all the news, but...."
"I'm not much at writing letters either," Cindy admitted. "I ran away from home, Rosalie, I arrived in Miami last night."
"Golly, Cindy, this is great. We can get together, just like old times. It's a good thing you left your stepfather, That was a bad scene. Where are you staying?"
"I stayed with Flo Stanley last night, but ... but I think I'd better leave as soon as I can."
"I know what you mean," Rosalie said sympathetically. "As soon as I got there, she had some guy from next door come over and try to rape me, just so she could make up to me afterwards. She didn't try anything like that with you, did she?"
Cindy felt her cheeks burn with sudden embarrassment. "No," she said.
"Look, Cindy, I'd pick you up, but Johnny takes the car to work...."
"Johnny?"
"I'm married now, didn't I tell you? Got one child with another on the way. How's that for being domestic?"
"I'm very happy for you, Rosalie, Cindy said seriously, "We can talk when you get here. Take a taxi and I'll pay for it."
"I only have one suitcase. I could take a bus."
"All right." Rosalie told her how to get to her house. "It's near Biscayne Park. You can't miss it. It'll be good to see you again, Cindy."
"It'll be good to see you again, too, Rosalie." She hesitated. "Do you know where my mother is staying out here?"
It was Rosalie's turn to hesitate. "We can talk when you get here. Okay?"
"Okay," Cindy said.
She hung up, puzzled. Why didn't Rosalie want to talk about Mamie Drucker?
She repacked her suitcase, put on a fresh blouse and skirt and low heels. She left a note for Flo thanking her for everything, then left, making sure the door was locked behind her.
The sun was very warm and bright as Cindy walked down to the main street searching for the bus stop Rosalie had told her about. She found it and sat down to wait.
She tried to lose her thoughts in the traffic that scurried past, but inevitably her thoughts turned to what had hapepned last night. First there was that terrible man who apparently had been put up to what he had done by Flo, and there had been Flo herself, consoling, touching her tenderly, caressing, massaging, becoming more and more intimate-
Cindy thrust the thoughts from her mind and turned her attention to wondering again why Rosalie had been reluctant to discuss Mamie Drucker. Apparently the girl knew something about the woman and was unwilling to talk about it.
The bus came and she got on it. It accelerated swiftly along Miami streets, past tall white buildings and stores and houses. At once point the ocean came into view, then the bus started inland. Fifteen minutes later, Cindy was standing in front of a green stucco whose front lawn needed cutting. She walked up the front steps onto the concrete porch and rang the doorbell. The door opened.
"Cindy Drucker!!" Rosalie cried, delightedly.
Cindy went in and the two girls hugged each other, both talking at the same time. Then they laughed.
"How about some coffee?" Rosalie said. "We can sit down and you can tell me all the gossip."
"Fine," Cindy said. She put her suitcase near the door, while Rosalie went into the kitchen, and sat down on the white plastic couch. "Nice place you have here."
"Thanks," Rosalie said from the kitchen. "Gee, it's good to see you, Cindy. You haven't changed a bit."
"Neither have you," Cindy said, though it wasn't true. Rosalie had gained a lot of weight, a fact accentuated by her pregnancy, and the brightly colored shift didn't make her look any thinner. Also, her hair 'was a bright yellow. "I like your hair," she said, though she really didn't.
"Thanks," Rosalie said, coming back with two cups of coffee. She sat down on the couch with Cindy and put the cups on the coffee table. "I wanted to find out if blondes really have more fun."
"Do they?"
"Well, I'm pregnant," Rosalie said. "By the way, my name is Rosalie Cooper now. Johnny's a real great guy. He's an insurance adjuster. I met him while I was working in the same office. You'll meet him when he comes home from work later."
"I'd like that, but I've got to find a place to stay."
"Not today you don't. You're staying the night with us."
"I couldn't put you to any trouble, Rosalie."
"Don't be silly. Johnny won't mind. We've got a folding bed out in the garage we can bring in."
"That's very nice of you, Rosalie, but I was hoping I could stay with my mother. I haven't seen her for a long time, you know."
Rosalie fell silent and sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "Tell me about Hurley," she said after a while.
"Suppose you tell me about my mother," Cindy said, determinedly.
Rosalie sighed. "When I first came to Florida I didn't have any friends here, you know. I met Flo, but of course we didn't have much in common. Then I remembered your telling me your mother had come out here, so I started looking for her. I finally found her, by accident as it turned out."
"Why didn't you write me about it?" Cindy wanted to know.
"I ... I didn't want you to worry about it."
"About what?"
"Your mother has changed, Cindy. I thought it better you didn't know."
Cindy felt cold. "Changed? In what way?"
Rosalie hesitated. "It might be better if you just remembered her as she was."
"For goodness sakes, Rosalie," Cindy said in growing annoyance, "what's the big mystery. She's my mother, and I want to see her."
Rosalie sighed. "You're right, of course, Cindy. I just hate to see you hurt, that's all."
"Tell me," Cindy insisted.
"I've a better idea. I'll let you see for yourself." She got up, went from the room. A moment later she returned with a piece of paper with an address written on it. "This is where she's living. I'm sorry I held out on you. I was just trying to keep you from being disappointed."
"That's okay, Rosalie, I understand," Cindy said, though she didn't.
"Now, what's been happening back in Hurley since I've been gone?"
Cindy told her about their home town, telling about the various people they knew and what they were doing, but with a small part of her mind she was wondering in what ways Mamie Drucker had changed.
"Does my mother have a phone?" she asked suddenly.
"No," Rosalie said. "Look, I'll drive Johnny to work tomorrow, so we'll have the car. Then I can give you a lift down to see your mother."
Cindy rose. "Thanks, Rosalie, but I think I'd better see her alone."
"You're not going now?"
Cindy nodded. "I have to. I've been waiting a long time to ask my mother some questions."
"Can't it wait one more day?"
"No, not when I'm this close."
"I hope you're not angry with me, Cindy," Rosalie asked.
"No, of course not. I know you meant well."
"Give me a call tomorrow, huh? Maybe we can get together."
"Sure, if mother doesn't have any other plans." She picked up her suitcase and headed for the door. "Thanks, Rosalie."
Cindy walked down the street toward the bus stop, suitcase in hand, wondering whether she liked Rosalie Cooper any more or less than Rosalie West. In any event, Rosalie had changed, and it was more than the blonde hair. She had become a plump housewife far different from the girl she once was.
Back in Hurley, Texas, she'd been a wild one, and the townspeople had predicted she would wind up as one of the girls in the Prairie Flower, or come to some equally sordid, disreputable end. Apparently marriage and pregnancy had taken the spirit out of her. It was a little discouraging to think about it. Cindy always used to be the one who held back, too shy to go out adventuring in the world, and she'd hoped that when she and Rosalie got together they'd have themselves a lot of fun. It seemed out of the question now. Rosalie's idea of a good time now was probably having some coffee and home-made cake and watching the late show on television.
The address Rosalie had given her was very close to the ocean. The bus passed weatherbeaten houses hunched together in the sand. The number turned out to be a trailer court, with trailers of varying sizes bordering a concrete U-shaped drive. There was the sound of babies crying, the rattle of dishes, the sounds of afternoon television programs.
She went up to the dirty screen door of the trailer and tried to look inside without appearing to, but it was too dark. She couldn't find a doorbell, so she knocked on the wood beside the door. A male voice swore, and Cindy felt like turning and running away.
Perhaps her mother had gotten a divorce and remarried, she thought. She knocked again.
"All right!" a male voice said, annoyed.
The screen door opened and a young, muscular man in a crew cut and a towel across his middle looked out at her.
"Yeah?" he said.
"I ... I was looking for Mamie Drucker," Cindy said.
There was a movement in the trailer behind him, and a woman appeared. She was about forty years old, very slim, and she was pulling a halter over her lemon breasts.
"Who is it, Jay?" she wanted to know. Cindy felt her breath catch at the sound of that voice, familiar even after so many years.
"Some chick to see you, Mamie," the young man said.
The woman came closer, squinting out into the sunlight. She smiled. "No. It can't be," she said, in disbelief.
Cindy nodded happily. "I'm your daughter, Cindy," she said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The two women fell into each other's arms, laughing and sobbing all at once, while the young male with the blond crew cut clutched the towel about him and looked ill at ease.
"Here, let me look at you," Mamie Drucker said, holding the younger girl at arm's length. "My, how you've grown. You were just a little tyke when I saw you last, and now you're a woman." She turned. "How about that, Jay. Bet you didn't think I was old enough to have a daughter, did you?"
"I never woulda suspected it, Mamie," Jay said obediently.
Cindy felt his eyes on her and she felt uncomfortable. She tried not to notice the towel which clung tightly to him, outlining his masculinity.
"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything," Cindy said.
"Of course not," Mamie said. "Don't mind Jay, honey, he's a good friend of mine. He was just leaving, weren't you, Jay."
Jay gave her a sour look. "Yeah," he said. "Let me get my pants on, and I'll leave."
Mamie ignored the sarcasm. As Jay went into another room and closed the door, she turned back to Cindy. "Goodness, I can't get over how big you are. You know, I've been meaning to write to you. I wanted to send you some money to come live with me, but I was afraid Fred Drucker would get it and not tell you."
"I thought it might be something like that," Cindy said.
"Anyway I ran away. I just had to see you again."
"You did right, honey," Mamie said, hugging the younger girl to her.
Jay came out of the bedroom of the narrow trailer, wearing a tee shirt and Levis, and a pair of worn leather moccasins.
"Let me know when you're through talking over old times," he said.
Jay leaned to kiss her, but Mamie drew back. "Jay, behave yourself!" she said playfully.
Jay gave her a strange look, shrugged and went out through the screen door without saying a word to Cindy.
"Is he angry with me?" Cindy asked.
"No, of course he isn't, honey. He's just the sullen type. You may have noticed, he's got a crush on me."
"I noticed all right," Cindy said, "and it's easy to see why."
Mamie laughed and gave her a little hug. "You're going to be all right, Cindy. We can have a lot of fun together. How about something to eat, then we'll go out and paint the town."
"That sounds fine."
"Good. You just make yourself comfortable and I'll get us some food."
Cindy sat in a nearby chair, while her mother bustled around the tiny kitchen in the trailer. For a woman her age, Mamie Drucker still had a good figure. A little too slim perhaps in the legs, the stomach a little too rounded maybe, the breasts beginning to sag-but generally she looked quite sexy in the shorts and halter. She didn't blame Jay for being interested in her.
"I hope my being here won't bother you-or your boyfriends," she said.
"Don't be silly, honey. It's not every day a daughter of mine comes for a visit. My home is your home, remember that."
Cindy got up to survey her new home. It was a narrow trailer, with a single bedroom, a toilet just off the bedroom, a small kitchen lined with cupboards ,and the "living room" that had a chair and a couch.
"It ain't much," Mamie said, "but at least it's a roof over my head."
"I think it's just fine," Cindy said, trying to sound cheerful.
Mamie laughed. "Glad you approve. How about a drink before dinner?"
"Sure. Why not."
Mamie stopped what she was doing to get a half-gallon bottle from a shelf. It was half filled with a red liquid and had no label on it.
"This is some real good wine," she said with a wink. "Got it from a friend of mine."
She got two glasses from the cupboard, filled them both and handed one to Cindy.
"Well, here's to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," she said with a guffaw, and drank down all the wine in her glass.
Cindy sipped at hers. The liquid tasted sour and she made a face.
"Not used to drinking, huh?" Mamie said. "Well, we can change all that, make a real woman of the world out of you. I don't suppose you smoke either, do you?"
Strangely enough, Cindy felt ashamed that this was true.
Mamie shook her head and clucked. "I'll bet you're a virgin, too."
A lie came to Cindy's lips, but she couldn't voice it. The lie would be too obvious. "No," she said, "I'm not a virgin."
"Well, thank goodness for something," Mamie said, relieved.
"At least you've done something worth while. Fred didn't do it, did he?"
"No," Cindy said.
"I know a lot of fathers do it to their daughters," Mamie said, getting up to pour herself another glass of wine, "but it never seemed right to me."
The older woman put hamburgers into the sizzling frying pan and got buns ready. Cindy sipped thoughtfully at her drink and watched her mother. Apparently this was what Rosalie had meant when she said her mother had changed. Not physically, for she appeared much the same as Cindy remembered her, except possibly a bit older. She seemed to have a healthy respect for having fun and for not taking things too seriously. It was probably Rosalie who had changed, and become "respectable" and stuffy.
Mamie slid the hamburgers into buns and poured catsup on them. They sat in the living room eating, drinking the sour wine. Through the dusty window Cindy saw the orange sun settling toward the horizon.
Finally, Cindy asked, "Why did you leave us back in Hurley?"
Mamie took a healthy gulp of wine to wash down the hamburger. If the question fazed her, she gave no indication of it. "Why did I leave? Well, I was in love with Fred Drucker once, Cindy. It was wonderful while it lasted, and I believed all the stories he told me about what a great life we'd all have together. Then I woke up one morning in a small, dusty town nobody ever heard of, without any future to look forward to-and I felt like I was going to go out of my mind if I didn't get out of there fast.
"Then along came opportunity. I met a fellow named Moose Warren who had the hots for me. He wasn't good looking or very bright, but I didn't have much choice. He looked like an ex-football player who'd turned into a teddy bear. Anyway, I saw this was my big chance to break out, since Moose was just stopping there for the night on his way to Miami. I sneaked over to his hotel room and went inside and started fooling around. I got him so hot and bothered he couldn't sit still. The poor guy was practically climbing the walls, but I wouldn't give in until he promised to take me along with him.
"Believe me, Cindy, I'd had it. I couldn't take another day of the dust or the heat or Fred Drucker. I was sorry to leave you behind, of course,, but I knew you would be safe with Fred. Besides, I was planning on getting a good job and sending for you." She shrugged helplessly. "But things were rougher than I expected."
"I understand," Cindy said.
"Moose and I split up after we got here, but we still date once in a while. He runs a nightclub not far from here, The Crazy Cockatoo. I thought we might drop over there later for a drink."
"I'd like that," Cindy said.
"Moose is a lot of fun, you'll like him," Mamie said. She hesitated. "I hope you don't mind if I introduce you as my baby sister."
"Of course not. I think we could easily pass for sisters."
"Good. And you can call me Mamie, okay?"
"Okay."
Mamie drained the contents of her glass and stared thoughtfully at her daughter. "This fellow who made out with you, did you love him?"
The question took Cindy off guard. "Yes," she said.
"That's too bad. You've got a lot to learn yet, honey. Love is a mistake. I made that mistake with Fred Orucker. Romantic notions belong in soap operas. Pay attention to your natural juices, not your heart."
Cindy looked at her mother, puzzled.
"Love," Mamie Drucker said sagely, "can get you into a lot of trouble, but sex makes the world go 'round."
CHAPTER NINE
It was ten o'clock at night, and Cindy and her mother sat at the bar of The Crazy Cockatoo drinking martinis and staring out the big picture window at waves breaking on the shore below. At the other end of the room, beyond the forest of tables, a young man was strumming a guitar and singing.
Cindy was not used to drinking, but now that she had had several martinis she decided she'd been missing out on quite a lot. Her head swam with the excitement of the soft lighting of the club and the people milling about the bar, and the sound and sight of the Atlantic Ocean rushing in great swirls of luminescent foam just outside.
"This isn't much like Hurley, Texas, is it, honey?" Mamie said.
"No," Cindy said, laughing, "thank goodness."
Her thoughts returned to Hurley, of the only movie in town, the single ice cream place,-and the secret visits she and Rosalie had made to The Prairie Flower Saloon to peek through the back windows. She giggled, thinking of the time she saw her stepfather in the bedroom with the skinny prostitute. It hadn't seemed funny then, but now it did. She must tell her mother about it later.
Cindy drank the last of her martini, "I'd like another of these," she said, smacking her lips.
Mamie gulped her drink. "Me, too, Fletcher," she said to the bartender, "let's have another round."
"You bet, Mamie," Fletcher said.
"How you doing, kid sister," Mamie asked Cindy, giving her a nudge.
"Fine," Cindy said, "just fine, mo ... Mamie, I mean. I feel like I'm walking on air."
"Good," Mamie said approvingly. "But you ain't seen nothing yet. There are ways to have fun you never dreamed of."
The bartender brought them two drinks. "Two martinis for the prettiest girls in the place," he announced. "One for you, Mamie my love. And one for your lovely kid sister, Cindy."
"You've got big eyes, Fletcher," Mamie said, "but I'm saving Cindy for bigger things."
Fletcher shrugged. "The story of my life."
Cindy sipped at her drink and stared thoughtfully at her mother. In the dim lighting of the nightclub, Mamie Drucker could pass for her sister. The indirect lighting softened the lines around the eyes and neck, and her relaxed pose made her seem like a serene schoolgirl. Cindy felt giddy. All the excitement of the club, of finding her mother after so many years-that, combined with the alcohol, was beginning to affect her.
"Mamie," she said, holding onto the bar to steady herself, "I think you're wonderful. I want to be just like you, and I want you to teach me everything you know."
Mamie smiled. "That's just what I had in mind, honey. I'll teach you everything I know. And believe me, that's a lot."
"I wouldn't doubt it," Cindy said seriously.
"Say," Mamie said suddenly, getting off the barstool, "you haven't met my friend Mike yet."
She took Cindy's hand and guided her through the tables to where the guitar player was playing and singing. He was tall, well-built, with clear grey eyes and long black hair parted at one side. He was singing a sad song, one that Cindy had never heard before.
Mamie waited until he'd finished, then she said to him, "Mike, I'd like you to meet my kid sister, Cindy. Cindy, this is Mike Bradbury."
"Happy to meet you, Cindy," Mike said, flashing her a smile and taking her hand gently in his.
"Stop over later if you have a chance," Mamie invited.
Mike nodded, and Mamie seized Cindy's hand again and flew back to the bar with her, where she ordered two more martinis.
"I'm beginning to feel dizzy," Cindy said.
"It takes a while to get used to it, honey," Mamie said. "Oh, there's Moose now."
Cindy focused her eyes on a man coming through the doorway. Dressed in grey business suit, he was a man in his late forties, with narrow shoulders and a chest that had slipped below his belt. He came over to the bar and put an arm around Mamie.
"Mamie," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "It's been a long time."
"Long time, huh?" Mamie said wtih a smirk. "I saw you yesterday, you lecherous bastard!"
"Well, it seems like a long time," he said. "Who's your friend?"
"My kid sister Cindy, just in town from Texas," Mamie said.
"Cindy, I'd like you to meet Moose Warren."
"Well, well," Moose said warmly, looking Cindy up and down, "I can see good looks runs in your family, Mamie."
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Warren," Cindy said.
"Call me Moose, all my friends do," Moose said, putting an affectionate arm around her. "Let's find ourselves a booth in back where we can talk."
"Good idea," Mamie agreed, sliding off her stool. "C'mon, Cindy."
"Here, let me help you," Moose offered.
He put his hands on Cindy's waist, high up under the breasts, and lifted her from the stool, his fingers lingering for a moment as though testing the flesh. "Thank you," Cindy said.
"My pleasure," Moose said with a big grin.
"I'll bet it is," Mamie said, grinning back at him.
Moose led the way among tables toward a darkened leather-lined booth set in one corner of the room away from the bar, the bright lights, and Mike Bradbury who was still strumming his guitar and singing.
Mamie dropped back slightly and took hold of Cindy's arm. "Be extra special nice to Moose, Cindy. He's a real prince of a fellow. Besides, he's got money. He owns this place and a couple of others. He could do you a lot of good."
Cindy nodded dutifully, though she didn't see how he could do her a lot of good. Ahead of them, Moose was taking a RESERVED sign off the booth table.
"Here we are. You in first, Cindy."
Cindy sat down and slid across the leather seat, aware suddenly that her dress had slid up over her knees. Moose was staring at them admiringly, but she didn't mind. She had nice legs, and it was only natural that a man should like to look at them.
Moose slid in next to her. "Not every day I get the chance to sit between two lovely young girls," he said. "What'll you have?"
Mamie slid in next to Moose, and when the waitress came over she said, "I think I'll try a gimlet."
"Me, too," Cindy said, though she didn't know what a gimlet was.
Moose went along with that, and when the drinks arrived he raised his glass. "Let's have a toast," he said, "to Florida's latest acquisition, Miss Cindy Drucker."
Cindy smiled, pleased by the attention, and drank with them. She became aware that Moose's hand was under the table on her leg, which he was squeezing affectionately, but she didn't mind. He was just being friendly. Besides, she was having a good time, thanks to her mother and the atmosphere and all the martinis she'd consumed.
"I expect to see a lot more of you, Cindy," Moose said, "a lot more."
"That," Mamie said slowly, "could be arranged. As a matter-of-fact, I thought we might get together at my apartment later for some fun and games."
"I'd like hat," Moose said enthusiastically. "Sounds like fun, doesn't it, Cindy?"
"Yeah," Cindy said enthusiastically, "sounds like fun."
Moose turned his attention to Mamie, and while the two of them were whispering conspiratorially together, Cindy sipped at her drink and tried to focus her attention on the singer, Mike Bradbury, and the words of the song he was playing. It was a slow, sad ballad of unrequited love, and Cindy wondered why the man didn't sing any happy songs.
Vaguely she heard her mother and Moose arguing, but she paid it no mind.
"Be reasonable, Mamie," Moose said in an annoyed voice. "Five hundred bucks is a lot of money."
Mamie shrugged. "Where else can you get a virgin so cheap?"
"Look," he said, "set it up and I'll give you a hundred dollars."
Mamie drained the fluid from her glass and stood up. "C'mon, Cindy. There's another place I want to show you. I've got friends there, too."
Dtuifully, Cindy drank the remainder of her gimlet and started to slide out of the seat. Moose's hand was still on her leg, this time under the skirt, moving slowly, his fingers caressing the soft flesh of her thighs. Reluctantly, he moved away and stood up.
To Mamie he said "Two-fifty," in a desperate tone.
Mamie ignored him. She took Cindy's arm. "Come on, Cindy." To Moose, she said, "If you change your mind, we'll be at The Store. But I guarantee we won't be there for long."
Mamie took her hand and led Cindy through the crowd. Mike looked up, smiled and waved. Cindy smiled and waved back. He seemed like such a nice fellow. In fact, the entire world seemed to be getting better all the time.
They walked out into the cool Florida night, got into Mamie's ancient car and drove along the coast.
"What were you and Mr. Warren talking about?" Cindy asked.
"Just some business," Mamie said. "Did you like him?"
"I guess so," Cindy replied, though she hadn't actually thought about it. She giggled. "He had his hand on my leg."
"That's because he likes you, honey," Mamie said, pleased. "And I don't blame him, because you're a chip off the old block."
Cindy was pleased. She wanted to be just like her mother, forever young and popular, and she wanted her mother's friends to like her too.
"How are you feeling?" Mamie asked
"Fine, just fine," Cindy said, sliding down in the seat.
They drove along in silence and Cindy dozed. She awakened as Mamie shook her by the shoulder and sat up startled, to find the car parked on a busy street lined with bars and nightclubs.
"We're here," Mamie announced.
They got out and started walking along the street, among the crowd of people. From the open doors came a cacophony of sound, intermingling music, laughter, the sounds of dancing. The sidewalk people were dressed casually in flowery sport shirts, slacks, pedal pushers, and there was a carnival atmosphere prevalent.
At one end of the block was The Store. It had obviously once actually been a store. Now the large windows were painted black, and only a small sign indicated that the place was a coffeehouse. The room was long and dark, the only illumination being tiny candles burning feebly at each table. In a far corner, bathed in blue light, two girls dressed in tight black outfits were playing bongo drums and a flute.
"Bet you never saw anything like this back in Hurley?" Mamie said proudly.
Wordlessly, Cindy nodded agreement Her mother led her through the maze of darkened tables and found an empty one against the wall. She peered intensely to penetrate the gloom. In the flickering candlelight she could see an occasional face, generally bearded.
"Wait here," Mamie said, and got up.
A moment later she returned with two glasses of wine. Cindy sipped at hers and made a face.
Mamie laughed. "You'll get used to it. In fact, you'll get used to a lot of things. One thing you've got to remember is that you're not in a small town any more. You've got to act like a sophisicated woman of the world."
"I'll try," Cindy said, seriously.
Mamie patted her hand. "I'm sure you won't disappoint me, honey. You must'nt be alarmed by anything someone does in a friendly fashion. Like Moose, I mean. If he wants to put his hand on your leg, well, so why not?"
"Why not!" Cindy agreed, sipping her drink.
"Remember that's what makes the world go 'round," Mamie went on. "A little affection between a man and a woman won't do anybody any harm, now will it?"
"No harm at all," Cindy agreed. Now that she'd gotten over the shock of the initial taste, the wine didn't seem too bad. Of course, she had the cocktails to help numb her tastebuds first, so that helped.
She felt a warm, rosy glow deep inside her and felt it creep through her entire body the more she drank the red wine. She was more relaxed than she had ever been in her life, and she found herself tapping her fingers in time to the strange music.
Mamie rose. "I'm going to call that guy and see why he's not here," she said, annoyed. She disappeared into the darkness.
A moment later, the bartender appeared before her with two fresh glasses of red wine.
"Compliments of the management," he said. "You a friend of Mamie's?"
"Yes," Cindy said, trying in vain to focus her eyes on him.
"So am I," the bartender said. "In fact, I've been very close to her on a couple of occasions. You new around here?"
The bartender looked her over. "Is it true what they say about Texas girls?"
"I don't know, what do they say?"......
"They say the're tall in the saddle," he said, guffawing, while Cindy looked at him, puzzled, wondering what the joke was. "Look, we've got a hot party lined up after closing. How about going with me?"
"That's very nice of you, Mr. ... er
"Just call me Carlo."
"... Mr. Carlo, but I already have a party lined up."
"Lucky fellow," Carlo said wistfully. "Maybe another time."
He disappeared, and Mamie appeared an instant later. "I found him," she said.
"Who?"
"Jay. The fellow who was over at my place when you arrived. He said he'd meet us there later."
"Oh," Cindy said. She didn't like Jay, but if he was her mother's friend, she determined to be nice to him.
"By the way," Mamie said, "I noticed Carlo was over here. He ... uh ... didn't say anything to you, did he?"
Cindy stared at her.
"Anything about him and me, I mean."
"He said you two were close friends, that's all."
"He would," Mamie said, grimacing. "Sometimes he gets pretty damn smug." She glanced at the clock over the bar. 12:30. "I wish Moose would hurry up."
"Maybe he won't be here," Cindy said hopefully. She was beginning to get very sleepy.
"He'll be along, all right. Moose has his pride. He doesn't want to miss out on a good thing even if it costs him money. He won't miss the party, especially with you there, honey."
Cindy had forgotten about the party, and the reminder made her feel even more exhausted. It would be rude of her to suggest that she go to bed while the others were up enjoying themselves, but she was feeling very tired, and things weren't as bright and clear as they'd once been.
"Well, it's about time," Mamie said.
Cindy looked up to see Moose Warren making his way through the crowd toward them. He gave Mamie a half-hearted grin. "You drive a hard bargain, Mamie."
Mamie smiled, pleased with herself. "I know what the market value is for good merchandise, Moose honey. Do you have the money with you?"
He nodded. "Five hundred in cash, like you wanted."
"Good." Mamie held out her hand. "Let's have it."
"Uh-uh," Moose said, unsmiling.
"When I get delivery."
"Okay," Mamie said with a shrug. She stood up. "C'mon, Cindy, we're going home."
With Mamie leading the way and Moose in the rear, they threaded their way among the candle-lit tables of the coffeehouse. Cindy glanced up as they passed the bar, and Carlo the bartender winked at her.
The night air was cool. It partially awakened Cindy, but it also gave her a headache.
"I hate to be a party-pooper," she said, "but would you two mind if I went right to bed?"
"Of course not dear," Mamie said. "In fact," Moose said, "I'll insist on it."
The two of them laughed at some private joke, but Cindy took no notice of it. Once inside the car she began feeling sleepy again, and she was only vaguely aware of Moose's hands eagerly reaching up under her dress.
CHAPTER TEN
All the way home Cindy sat between her mother and Moose on the front seat. While Mamie drove, Moose had his arm around Cindy and held her close and was running his hands over her.
Cindy felt uncomfortable beneath the hot caresses, but she was too sleepy and exhausted to put up a struggle. Lulled by the alcohol she'd been consuming all evening, she thought his frantic gropings and heavy breathing were funny. He was a grown man, old enough to be her father, yet he was behaving like a high school boy on his first date.
What was it her mother had said? "Be extra special nice to Moose, Cindy. If he wants to put his hand on your leg, well, why not?"
Cindy was beginning to wonder how far she was supposed to go in being nice. Moose was putting his hand not only on her leg, but in lots of other places, too.
They arrived in front of Mamie's trailer, and the car engine coughed and died. Cindy tried to get out gracefully, but she felt unsteady, and as she swung her legs out, the skirt shot up over her knees, a sight which brought a gasp of joy from Moose. As she went unsteadily past him to the trailer, she felt his hot hand pat her gently on the buttocks.
Mamie brushed past them to open the door and switch on the lights in the tiny living room. Cindy stumbled and would have fallen if Moose hadn't put his hands around her breasts and held her.
"Take it easy, baby," he said. "Let's not damage the merchandise."
He kept holding her, fondling her breasts, and she felt annoyed by her mother's apparent lack of interest in what the man was doing. She shrugged off his hands.
Mamie turned on an ancient table radio. "Make yourself comfy," she said, "I'll get us some booze."
She went into the small kitchen alcove, and suddenly Cindy felt unprotected. She sensed Moose behind her. She could hear his heavy breathing, then there was the touch of his body pressing against her from behind, and his hands reached out under her arms and found her breasts again.
She trembled and almost screamed, and he said, "You look tired, baby," and kissed her wetly on the neck. "Maybe you'd better go into the bedroom and lie down."
"Yes," she said, pulling away, "yes, that's a good idea."
She was beginning to be afraid of Moose, and of what he wanted to do to her. She was tired and the room was very warm, and she felt very dizzy. There was a growing queasiness in her stomach.
"I ... I'm sorry. I don't feel well...."
"I understand, baby," Moose said soothingly. He was beside her once more, holding her close, kissing her wetly on the cheek. "You'll feel better if you lie down for a while."
Moose helped her across the living room, past the kitchen alcove, to the darkened bedroom. He didn't turn on the light, but seemed to know exactly where the bed was. Cindy sat down on the edge of the bed. It felt so soft, so comfortable. She lay back, vaguely aware that Moose had lifted her feet onto the bed. She smiled to herself. Perhaps she was wrong about the man.
She closed her eyes, and immediately sleep began closing in. She heard a car stop outside, the sound of voices, the screen door open and close. Closer, in the bedroom itself, she heard someone moving, and then the bedsprings squeaked as another body joined her. There was a hot whiskey breath close to her face.
Someone began tugging at the zipper of her dress, pulling it down. An eager hand reached in the opening of her blouse, forcing fingers under her bra to grasp her breasts. Another hand whipped the skirt up over her hips and pulled at the panties, while a masculine body thrust itself against her and wet lips covered hers.
She opened her eyes in sudden panic, coming awake all at once. In the dim light she recognized Moose Warren, now naked and aroused, on the bed with her, kissing, fondling, trying to pull her panties down over her squirming hips.
"No," she screamed. "No!"
"Come on, baby, come on, come on," he said.
She lashed out at him frantically, striking him on the face. She bit his hand as hard as she could, drawing blood.
He laughed loudly. "That's the girl," he cried, delighted. "Fight me, claw me, bite me. Make me take it away from you."
With a small portion of her mind, Cindy wondered where her mother was. Surely the woman could hear what was happening in the bedroom-the thrashing about of bodies, the protesting squeaks of the ancient bedsprings, the animal grunts of Moose Warren, Cindy's own shouts.
It was the kind of nightmare she would have experienced at the hands of her stepfather, back in Hurley, Texas.
The thought gave her greater impetus, and when Moose tried to straddle her, she shifted her weight suddenly and pushed. The man said
"Hey!" waving his hands wildly, and then toppled over onto the floor. Before he could recover, Cindy leaped off the bed and staggered to the doorway.
"Mother," she cried. Her heart was beating rapidly, and her voice was hoarse with fear. "Mother...."
Cindy paused in astonishment, momentarily stunned with shock. She saw why her mother had paid no attention to her cries for help. Mamie Drucker was lying on her back on the couch, her skirt pushed up to her navel and her legs flailing wildly in the air while the sullen young man named Jay was making love to her.
"That's it honey, that's it, that's it, that's it!" she kept crying over and over again, eyes closed, not paying any attention to Cindy.
Or to Mike Bradbury who sat quietly in a nearby chair sipping a cup of coffee!
Cindy almost laughed at the ludicrous scene. Mike looked up and nodded pleasantly at her.
Then Moose grabbed her roughly from behind. "Look, you little slut," he said, angrily pulling her close to him, "I paid your mother five hundred clams to climb into the sack with you, and I'm going to get my money's worth, see?"
His hand leaped out and stung her cheek. But more painful than that was the knowledge that her mother had sold her. Tears burned her eyes, and she felt sick and ashamed. Her stepfather had been right. Mamie Drucker was a tramp!
Moose pulled at her, his hand reaching out for her intimately, and she shrank back from his touch.
"Mike," she cried. "Mike, help me!"
She clenched her fists and pummeled Moose's naked body, to no effect. Relentlessly, like a man with one thought in mind, he dragged her toward the bed.
"Hold it!" Mike said from the doorway.
Moose turned angrily. "Get the hell out of here, Bradbury. If you get your kicks out of watching, go into the living room."
"Cindy asked me to help her," Mike said calmly, "and that's just what I intend to do."
Moose released Cindy and took a belligerent step forward. "Listen, you broken down folk singer, if you're not out of here in two seconds, you're fired. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal," Mike said with a grim smile.
He swung a fist through the air, connected with Moose Warren's chin. Moose's head snapped back, he groaned feebly and dropped onto the floor in a heap.
Cindy got up and ran to Mike, who put a protecting arm around her. "Take me out of here, Mike, Please."
"Sure," he said, simply.
He led her into the living room. Cindy didn't look at what was happening on the couch, but she heard her mother giggling drunkenly. Mike held the screen door open to her and led the way to his car parked nearby.
As they drove away, Cindy was wide awake, feeling very sober but also sick and ashamed of everything that had happened. All along her mother had been setting her up for Moose Warren.
"Feeling better?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"I'm sorry about what happened back there. People don't always confide in me, and I thought you knew about your mother and the deal with Moose. That's why I didn't interfere. I thought you were in on it."
"Thanks for helping me, anyway," she said. Then, at a sudden thought, "you'll lose your job."
He shrugged. "I was getting pretty bored with the Crazy Cockatoo, anyway." He laughed. "Besides, how can you tell anyone you work at a place with a name like that."
His laugh was infectious. She found herself laughing along with him.
He turned serious. "But what about you? What are you going to do now?"
"I wish I knew."
She didn't want to go back to Rosalie now; the two of them had nothing in common any more. And Flo, of course, was out of the question.
"I hope you won't be too hard on your mother, Cindy," he said.
"You know she's my mother?"
"That's what you called her in the trailer."
"That's right. I forgot."
"It doesn't matter. It didn't fool anybody. Everybody goes along with the gag, because they really like Mamie. She's a good woman, Cindy. Her morals aren't the highest, but at least she sleeps only with people she knows."
"Some recommendation!" Cindy said wryly.
"She's not getting any younger," Mike said seriously, "and she's all too aware of it. Every day she gets a day older, and there's a new wrinkle or grey hair to worry about. She's been all alone in the world for a long time, and she has to prove to herself she's still an attractive, desirable woman. Without that, she doesn't have very much to live for."
He grinned self-consciously. "Well, so much for philosophy. Now we've got to find a place for you to spend the night. Do you have any girl friends you could stay with?"
"No."
"I wouldn't advise your going back to your mother's-at least not tonight, while you're upset. Maybe we'd better just get you a motel room."
"Take me home with you," Cindy said, impulsively.
He laughed. "That's the best offer I've had all day."
"I'm serious."
"You're drunk," he said. "A gentleman doesn't take advantage of a girl who's been drinking. And unfortunately I'm a gentleman."
"I could sleep on your couch," she said. "You don't have to take advantage of me."
He laughed again. "You've got more faith in me than I have. No, Cindy, I'm just too human. I'd make a pass at you and then we'd both hate ourselves and each other in the morning."
"But I don't care," Cindy said, "I want you to make a pass at me. I want to go to bed with you and have you make love to me."
"To get even with your mother and Moose? By giving me free what they couldn't buy?"
"No, of course not," she said. His reasoning annoyed her. "At least, I don't think so. Oh, what diffeernce does it make?"
"It does, believe me," he said.
But she didn't believe him. She didn't understand him either. She sank into the seat and tried to figure him out. Here she was, a young, desirable girl offering herself to this man, and he'd refused her. It was more than annoying. It was insulting.
"I think," she said after a while, "that you're some kind of a nut...."
"You're absolutely right."...." but I like you, Mike."
"And I like you too. Believe me, Cindy, you 're the liveliest girl I've ever seen, and when I leave you I'll regret it. But you're still intoxicated, and you're still angry with your mother and her boy friends and grateful to me for saving you from them. When I go to bed with you it's going to be with no strings attached."
He drove off the road suddenly, and she sat up and saw they were parked in front of a motel.
"I'll make the arrangements for you. Wait here," he said.
She waited, sulking, while he went into the office. While Mike was signing the register, Cindy looked up to see the night clerk, a young, tousled hair fellow, leering out the picture window at her. She turned away, feeling ill at ease and self-conscious. She wondered what the night clerk would think when Mike didn't register in with her.
Well, it didn't matter what he thought or what Mike Bradbury thought either. She'd stay in the motel this night because she didn't have much choice. But tomorrow she'd leave early, before Mike got there.
He opened the car door. "You've got number five," he said.
He took her arm in a firm grip and led her to the door, inserted the key in the lock, opened the door and switched on the light. Cindy went in, and Mike followed her, closing the door behind him. It looked very much like the motel room where she and Joey had stayed. If Joey were in the room with her, he wouldn't leave.
She turned suddenly and threw her arms around Mike's neck, pressing her body against him. "Stay with me, Mike. I'll feel so lonely without you."
"I know," he said sadly, "which is precisely why I can't. You're lonely. Your mother has kicked you in the teeth. You want to do something to punish yourself."
"Oh, you sound like an amateur psychologist!" she said, very much annoyed with him.
"I am an amateur psychologist," he said. "And believe me, Cindy, you need a good night's rest more than you need a session in bed with some guy you've never seen before." He sighed. "I hate to be so noble, but that's the kind of guy I am." He kissed her on the forehead and moved to the door. "See you in the morning."
The door closed behind him, and for a moment Cindy stood staring at it, unbelievingly. She heard the car start, heard it move out into the street, and away into the night.
"Damn him!" she said aloud. Why did he have to be so damned noble.
She turned to the room and began undressing. When she was nude, she stood before the dresser mirror looking at herself and nodding in satisfaction. It was a good woman's body, with firm, high, full breasts, narrow waist, wide hips made for making love. The twin mounds of flesh stood out proudly, aching with a need to be caressed. She ran her hands along them, then down the tapering waist to the hips, trying to pretend they were Mike's hands. and turned from the mirror. There was no point But it was no sse. She shook her head sadly in thinking of it. It was only torture. Besides, she did feel tired and somewhat unsteady from all the alcohol she'd had. She turned out the lights and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over her naked body.
She wondered what her father was doing now. He pas probably up at the Prairie Flower having some woman work him over for money. He probably missed her only because he liked to watch her undress-but it would only be a matter of time before he forgot her as he'd forgotten his wife Mamie who'd run from him.
And Mamie-she was too drunk and having too good a time to worry about her "little sister" Cindy.
She heard the motel door next to hers open and close. The walls were paper thin. She even heard the light switch on. She tried not to listen, but the sounds came just the same. A woman giggled.
"Beth, wait a minute," the woman said.
"Sally, I've been waiting all night for this," the other woman said. "C'mere, you sexy bitch."
"Beth, please, not so rough," Sally said.
There was a squeal, the crash of two bodies falling on the bed, followed by a silence filled with soft murmurings.
"There," the woman called Beth said, "can your husband kiss like that?"
"Well, ... no, now that you mention it. But it's not right us doing this."
"Don't be silly, of course it's right. I knew you were my type just as soon as I saw you at the party tonight. You've got a real treat in store for you, honey. You never had it so good, believe me."
"Hey, that tickles. Please, Beth, I'm not a lesbian!"
"Of course you're not, Sally honey. Neither am I. But it's nice to have some kicks in different ways. After all, it's not as though you're cheating on your husband if you do it with another woman."
"That's right. I never thought of that."
"But you have thought how it would be with a woman, haven't you? Go on, admit it!"
"Well...."
"I thought so," Beth cried triumphantly. "Well, I'm going to show you, like you've never been shown before, how sex can really be."
Sally giggled some more. "Ooooh, that tickles," she said, thrashing on the bed. She sighed. "It tickles, but it feels so good."
A sudden silence brought Cindy to realize she'd been eavesdropping without meaning to. She felt guilty, yet there was no avoiding it. The walls were thin, and in their enthusiasm, the couple next door were making no effort to keep their voices down.
"Oh, I couldn't do that," Sally said suddenly. Why not?"
"Because it's ... well, its' dirty, that's why."
"Oh, for goodness sakes, Sally, have you ever tried it?"
"No, but...."
"Then don't knock it. Look, I'll show you ... "
"No, please...."...." and you'll see how good it feels and then...."
"Oh, don't do that. Really, I don't like it. It feels so strange...."
"So good, you mean?"
"Yes, it's heavenly, heavenly."
The bedsprings creaked and groaned beneath the combined tossing weight on the bed next door. Cindy pulled the covers over her head and buried her head in the pillow. She didn't want to hear what was going on in that room. It wasn't love or anything close to it. It was something unnatural, nothing at all like it could have been between her and Mike.
An hour later, she heard subdued voices from the room next door.
"We'll have to come here again when we have more time," Beth said.
Laughing happily, the two women left the room, and silence returned.
Cindy lay beneath the covers, her naked body hot and flushed, trembling, wracked with desire. Desperately, she craved someone's hands on her, probing, caressing, quenching the fires that were burning savagely within her. Her mind was in turmoil, and sleep was impossible. Unless--
She remembered the leer the young tousle-haired fellow had given her. Determinedly, she rose, walked across the room to the telephone. She picked up the phone, and a sleepy voice answered, "Yes?"
She hesitated only briefly. "I need some room service," she said....
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next morning, as Mike had predicted, Cindy hated herself. Unfortunately, it was not because she had gone to bed with Mike, however. Fortunately, she also had a headache and a hangover and not too much recollection of what had happened when the young night clerk came to her room.
There was a pounding on the door to match the pounding in her skull. Experimentally, she opened her eyes and then closed them again quickly, wincing at the sunlight filtering brightly through the draperied window.
"Cindy, wake up, it's me, Mike Bradbury," a voice said.
Cindy closed her eyes tightly and pulled the blankets over her head. "Go away," she muttered.
He tried the door, and it opened. He peered in. "How do you feel?"
"Terrible," she said. There was a dry, cottony taste in her mouth, and her stomach was rolling uneasily.
He laughed. "What you need is some food to settle your stomach."
She groaned. "I don't even want to think about it."
"Besides, I thought you might want to have breakfast with your one true love."
She raised her eyes above the blanket and looked at him. "Who's that?"
"Why me, of course. Michael Scott Bradbury, in the-you'll excuse the expression-flesh. And as an extra incentive, I've managed to locate this jerk you think you like, what'shisname? Joey Stanford."
"He's not a jerk!" Cindy said defensively.
"Of course he is, for staying away from you so long."
"How'd you find out where he is?"
"Elementary, my pet. During your drunken slobberings last night you told me his name and occupation and even his phone number. I called up and it turned out to be the place where he works, the Durant Insurance Company."
She caught the look on his face. "Oh, Mike, I'm sorry. So that's why you wouldn't go to bed with me."
"I guess I'm just a sensitive folk singer," he said. "But all's well that ends well. We'll have ourselves a bite of breakfast, then I'll drop you off to see the gentleman." He glanced at his watch. "Now, I'll give you exactly five minutes to come out of there-or you're in bad trouble."
The door closed, and she heard him moving out to wait by the car. Cindy shook her head. She just couldn't figure him out. She was beginning to remember vaguely a rambling on of her experiences to him. Now he was even delivering her to the doorstep of his rival. Why?
She got out of bed and went into the bathroom to take a shower. The warm water felt good against her tired body. She massaged soap into her weary muscles, allowed the water to caress her with gentle fingers. She turned on the COLD knob, and icy streams needled her, making her skin tingle. She stepped from the shower and toweled herself briskly.
She dressed quickly and went out to the car. , "My, you do look wholesome in the morning," he said.
"Thanks," she said. She certainly didn't feel it. She felt like a first class female heel. But then it wasn't her fault that Mike wanted to behave like a pure, white knight, was it? Didn't he realize that wasn't in style any more?
They went into a coffee shop and had breakfast of eggs, orange juice and coffee.
"Do you have any other talents," he asked her, "besides trying to lead potentially wayward folk singers down the primrose path?"
"You mean like my hopes, my dreams, my ambitions?"
"Why not?"
She sighed. "Because I don't really have any," she said, suddenly realizing it for the first time.
She told him how she'd been living in Hurley, Texas.
"Where the skies are not cloudy all day, but I imagine the opportunities are quite limited," he said sympathetically.
"That's for sure," she agreed.
She went on to tell him about her home life. She hadn't intended to do more than mention her stepfather, but she found herself pouring out her past troubles into his sympathetic ear.
Mike listened carefully, his face turning dark with anger as he heard her story. "You were right in running away, Cindy."
"But now look. I come to Florida to find my mother isn't really any better."
"Don't forget that Mamie was living with Fred Drucker too, and she was forced to run away, just as you did. She needed love, and she took it where and how she could-and sometimes, like all of us, we make mistakes. The object of the game is to make fewer of them as you go along."
Cindy smiled and pressed Mike's hand gratefully. There was no way she could stay angry with him. He was so understanding, so tolerant of. the faults of others.
"You know," she said, "you're a very nice person."
He grinned self-consciously. "Sure," he said wryly, "I'm a pal." He glanced at his watch. "Well, we'd better get you over to the Durant Insurance Company before the lunch hour and your one true love takes off."
He tried to make his tone light, but she could tell he wasn't fully pleased with her seeing another man. They went out to the car and drove into a downtown area. Cindy wondered what Joey would think when he first saw her. Perhaps he'd be so happy he'd kiss her right then and there. She hoped so.
They stopped in front of a large building in a crowded downtown section. He reached across her lap and opened the door for her. She turned to face him.
"Mike, why are you doing this?"
"Because you've got to get this guy out of your system, Cindy," he said seriously, "and you'll never do it unless you see him again. And the sooner the better."
"Suppose I don't," she said, "Get him out of my system, I mean? Suppose I really love him and he really loves me? What then?"
"Then," he said, with a wan grin, "I've added another sad chapter to the story of my life."
She squeezed his hand. "Thanks for everything, Mike. I hope I'll see you again."
"Oh, I'll be around," he promised.
She stood by the curb as his car roared away into the traffic. Then she turned and walked into the building. The large clock in the lobby said a few minutes after noon, and people were beginning to come out of elevators for lunch. Her heart leaped as one of the elevator doors opened, and she saw Joey talking animatedly to a pretty blonde girl. He was laughing until suddenly he looked up and saw her and then the smile froze and slowly faded. He said something quickly to the girl as they stepped from the elevator. The blonde girl waited near the wall, while Joey came over to where she was.
"Cindy," he said. "What in the world are you doing here?"
"Looking for you, Joey," she said.
Her heart was beating very fast at the sight of him. It had been only a couple of days, but now it seemed as though it had been forever.
"Can we ... can we go someplace and talk?" she suggested.
"Well, I'd like to," he said with a helpless shrug, "but...."
"The blonde girl?" Cindy's voice was flat.
"Oh, her? She's my boss. We were going to discuss some new projects together over lunch."
Cindy pressed close to him. "Please, Joey," she said. Impulsively, she moved her hands over him.
She could tell she was affecting him by his suddenly ragged breathing, by the nervous way kept glancing across the lobby to see if anyone were watching. She didn't understand why he was being so difficult. It annoyed her. When you're in love with someone, you want to be with that person. She wasn't very proud of the way she was achieving her ends-it was something Mamie Drucker would have done-but it was working, and right then that was all that mattered.
"Not here," he said, moving away.
"Where, then?" she insisted.
He gazed at her, at the dress stretching tightly across her breasts and hips, at the narrow waist, the slim legs. He licked his lips in anticipation.
"How about my apartment. Right after work."
"No," she said firmly, with a determined shake of her head. "I want you right now, Joey."
He looked around nervously. The blonde was glancing at her watch in annoyance.
"Okay. Wait here a minute."
She smiled happily at her triumph as he walked swiftly over to where the blonde was standing. The blonde was smiling, but the smile disappeared as Joey talked to her, and then she turned on her heel and stamped out the front door.
"I hope I didn't get your boss sore at you," Cindy said, when he came back.
"She'll get over it. Come on, we don't have much time."
He guided her from the building out a back way that led to a parking lot. She snuggled close to him as he drove swiftly through the city streets into a residential area filled with apartment buildings.
"I've missed you, Joey," she said.
"I've missed you, too," he said. "I was going to call you as soon as I caught up on some of the work."
He swung the car off the street into a vacant carport beside a new-looking apartment building. Together they walked up concrete steps to a landing at the second floor, where he fitted a key into a door lock, opened the door and stood aside for her to enter.
He followed her into the room and closed the door securely behind them. He seemed relieved as the lock clicked into place and they were alone. He reached her and held her tightly against him, while his hot lips mashed hungrily against hers, the tongue darting across the barrier of her teeth to probe in swift, eager strokes. His hands moved along her back down to the base of her spine and then below, gripping her buttocks in a fervent grip as he pulled her hips against him.
She could sense his growing passion, but she drew away, disturbed for a reason she couldn't fathom.
He stared at her, annoyed. "What the hell's the matter with you? I thought you were all hot and bothered about us getting together?"
"I thought we might talk a little ... first," she said.
She was sorry now she had to play up to him, but it had seemed like the only way to get alone with him. There seemed to be so many other things people who loved each other could do besides making physical love. Even the relationship with Mike had been something very nice.
"Oh, for Christ sakes!" he said, disgusted, throwing up his hands.
Cindy ignored him for the moment and looked around the apartment. The living room was large and neat, not at all how she'd pictured a bachelor's place would be. Of course a maid probably came in once a week to clean up.
"Nice place you've got here," she said.
"Thanks," he said wryly. He glanced at his watch. "I've only got a half hour before getting back. Do you want to walk around and admire the furniture all that time?"
She frowned. It didn't seem like the old Joey she knew. She pressed herself close to him, with her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry, Joey, I just wanted to be with you. I thought we might talk and have some coffee."
"We can do all that later," he said. "Right now, you've got me so hot for you I can't sit still."
"I said I was sorry."
"A lot of help that is. Let's stop wasting time, huh?"
He grabbed her suddenly, pulled her to him and kissed her with renewed savagery. He pressed the length of his body against her, and Cindy knew from the masculine feel of him that there would be no stopping him.
Sex was a. part of love, too-and there would be time, as Joey had said, for talk later. So she didn't resist as he guided her to the couch, lifted her dress up over her knees and thighs and hips, as he pulled her panties down and tossed them on the floor.
She grunted as she felt his weight descend upon her, and she closed her eyes and held on to him, feeling her own female body responding to his maleness. She felt a warm glow permeate her body and a tingling sensation start in the base of her spine and spread rapidly throughout her entire frame.
In a moment, she was writhing uncontrollaby with the passion-fires raging inside her, and she knew that she now wanted him as much as he wanted her. A giant volcano was beginning to erupt inside her, gushing streams of molten lava. She began to moan frantically.
And then, suddenly it was over-for him.
No, her mind cried, not yet!
Joey got up quickly and arranged his clothing.
"Can't we ... can't we stay here a while longer?" she said.
He glanced at his watch. "Don't have time. Besides, I'm not made of iron, you know. Maybe we can try later. Tomorrow maybe during lunch hour."
He went into the bathroom without looking back at her. Cindy lay there for a moment, feeling numb with the realization that something was wrong. Something, but she didn't know what. The fire still raged within her, unquenched, but Joey didn't seem to care, now that he had been satisfied. His manner was very casual.
He came back into the room, his hair combed. "Well, let's go," he said impatiently. "I don't have all day."
"Do you mind if I stay here," she said. "Oh, not permanently," she added, seeing his face, but just to freshen up. I could even make us a dinner and have it ready for you when you come home."
"Sorry, out of the question," he said, brusquely.
"But...."
"For Pete's sake," he cried, annoyed, "you are getting to be a real bitch. Look, I took time off from some important things to come up here and give you what you wanted, didn't I?"
She felt tears welling in her eyes, but she forced them back. She didn't understand why he was talking to her like that. He was like a stranger, some person who thought of her as a sexy broad and nothing else.
"For Pete's sake, now don't start crying. What was it you wanted to talk about, anyway, that was so damned important?"
"Well," she said, "about us."
"About us?" he repeated, incredulously.
"Yes," she said, feeling very uncomfortable. "About ... about our life together."
His eyes widened, and he burst into sudden laughter. She stared at him, not comprehending.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"What's the matter?" he mimicked. "Of all the brainless, naive females in this world, you certainly take the cake, baby."
"Joey...."
"Look, just because you go to bed with some guy doesn't mean he's got an obligation to marry you. Or even see you again, for that matter. I go to bed with lots of girls. We have a roll in the hay, it's a lot of fun for both of us, and that's it-until next time."
She felt tears start to sting her eyes again. "I thought you liked me," she said.
"Of course I like you. You're eighteen, very pretty, and you've got a body that won't quit. I like to kiss you, I like to feel your big boobies, and I like to...."
She closed her mind to what he was saying, but the words burst through anyway.
"Let's not make life any more complicated than it is," he said, "It was a matter of convenience at first. You wanted transportation. I wanted to get laid. Understand?"
Cindy nodded, wordlessly. She understood all too well, and the knowledge was painful. There was no love, not even any affection involved so far as Joey was concerned.
"Now that we understand each other, we can both relax. Cheer up, there'll be other times when we can get together."
She shrugged off his arm. "There aren't going to be any more times," she said indignantly. "Not with me, anyway."
He smirked. "Big deal. Listen, kiddo, there are plenty of other girls just aching to climb into the sack with me."
"Like the blonde at the office, I suppose."
"That's right. And she's not a crybaby either."
"You bastard!" Cindy cried. "The woman who marries you...."
"And for the record," he interrupted, "I'm already married, to a nice young girl who works days and is only too happy to have me nights."
"Married? But you didn't tell me...."
"Why should I tell you my personal affairs?' he said. He glanced at his watch again and said "Let's get out of "here. I've got to get back to work. Any time you're lonely again...."
"I never want to see you again!" Cindy cried angrily.
She threw open the door and stamped angrily from his apartment, down the stairs. She heard his amused laughter, and this only served to infuriate her. As she walked to the bus stop, she was furious with herself for being such a ninny.
A car roared past, tooting, and she looked up to see Joey thumbing his nose at her. She felt the blood pound angrily in her temples and wished she had something to throw at him. She'd been a fool all right, but she'd learned her lesson. She wouldn't be a fool any longer.
Later, on the bus carrying her to the trailer park, she cried unrestrainedly-partly for the love she thought she had, partly for herself for being so naive, but mostly at the new-found knowledge that her mother was right: there was no such thing as love, there was only sex, sex, SEX!
CHAPTER TWELVE
As the bus hurtled along the highway, Cindy sat disconsolately by the window looking out at the small frame houses flash whitely past, at the stores, the buildings, the occasional glimpses of ocean.
She realized that she'd been a fool, just as Joey had said. A naive young idiot who thought that going to bed with someone meant more than it really was. First, her mother had tried to sell her to Moose Warren, and then Joey, who she thought loved her, was only after the same thing, but for free.
She caught a glimpse of the short block of nightclubs where she'd been last night, and on impulse she got up and rang the bell to get off. The bus stopped, and she alighted and walked back. Perhaps, she thought, she could regain that peace of mind she'd had the previous night when she'd been drinking. It seemed that alcohol served a purpose, after all, and she could understand more clearly now why her stepfather back in Hurley, Texas, had turned to drinking when his wife left him.
In the daylight, The Store looked even more stark and drab than it had at night. It looked just like an abandoned store, with its windows painted a now-chipping black, the wood frame of the door scarred with age and misuse. The door was open, and daylight streamed in from a skylight overhead, illuminating the narrow room with its crowded rows of tables and unlit candles. At one side of the room, the bartender Carlo was sweeping the floor.
At the sight of Cindy standing in the doorway, he grinned. "Welcome back," he said.
"Thanks," Cindy said, somewhat uncertainly. She'd thought other people might be there, but there was only Carlo. She recalled that he'd said a few words to her, and she wasn't at all sure she liked him. The way he had looked at her-the way he was looking at her now, in fact-let her know exactly what was on his mind. But at least he was honest, and that was something she hadn't seen much of during the last few days, from anybody.
"You remember me?" she asked. "How could I forget?" Carlo asked rhetorically ."You're Mamie's kid sister, Cindy."
"She's my mother," Cindy said, to keep the record straight.
If Carlo was surprised, he didn't show it. "How about a drink?"
"All right," Cindy said without hesitation. She sat at a table. Carlo went behind the bar and returned with two glasses and a big bottle half full of red wine. He sat down beside her and poured wine into the glasses. Then he raised his glass in a toast.
"To a long and beautiful friendship," he said drinking deeply.
Cindy raised her glass to her lips and drank determinedly. She still wasn't a fan of red wine, but at least it seemed more tolerable than it had after she'd been guzzling martinis and gimlets. Just the same she drank deeply, letting the liquid seep warmly down her throat and inside.
"Pretty good stuff," Carlo said, smacking his lips in earnest appreciation.
Cindy fought down an impulse to choke on the wine. She nodded, hoping Carlo wouldn't notice her lack of enthusiasm. She sipped at the red liquid and discovered that the more you worked at it, the pleasanter it seemed to become.
"Too bad you couldn't make the party last night," Carlo said. "It was a real swinging affair. You would've dug it."
"I wish I had gone," Cindy said, meaning it. "Maybe some other time you'll invite me."
"You can plan on it," Carlo said. "In fact, there's one going on right now down near the beach."
"A beach party?"
"Sort of."
"But I don't have a bathing suit with me."
"You won't need one," Carlo said. "I mean, it's an indoor party. How about it? Live a little."
"All right," she told him, "I'd like to go." She hesitated at a sudden thought. "Will Mamie Drucker be there?"
"No. Mamie doesn't go in for afternoon parties. She has-uh-other things to do in the afternoon at home."
"Good," Cindy said. She knew what other things Mamie did at home in the afternoon.
"I'll close up shop here, and we'll take off," Carlo said.
While the bartender went around doing things, Cindy wondered what she should do about her mother. She didn't want to see the woman-at least not now. She was angry and wanted to think more about what she should do. She certainly didn't want to stay with her any longer, not after what she tried to get her to do with Moose Warren, but then she couldn't go with Flo or Rosalie or Joey. Perhaps she'd have to go back to Hurley, Texas, and face the wrath of her stepfather.
But she could think of that later. Now, she wanted to go to a party with Carlo and laugh and drink and have fun and forget her troubles for the afternoon.
"Ready?" Carlo asked her.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Cindy said.
Carlo took her arm and guided her down the aisle between the rows of tables. Outside, he locked the front door and indicated a battered old car standing near the curb. They got in, and Carlo started the motor.
"Hang on," he warned her.
The warning was not an idle one. Carlo plunged the shift into reverse and then into forward. The car started up to the corner, swung it on two wheels and then accelerated swiftly away.
"You'll like this crowd," Carlo promised. "They really know how to have a ball."
-"That-that's nice," Cindy said. She held on to the car door for dear life and closed her eyes in silent prayer. Carlo didn't seem to notice anything was wrong with his driving. Her stomach was feeling queasy.
They went past old frame houses set along a beach area. Cindy was grateful for all the excitement, for she didn't want to think of anything other than this afternoon and having a good time. She would meet a lot of new people, probably boys and gills her own age, and probably make a lot of friends.
"Well, here we are," Carlo said.
Cindy opened her eyes wide as Carlo brought the car to a swift stop beside a stucco building in a narrow alleyway crowded with stucco buildings. They got out and Carlo motioned her to a nearby door. Carlo knocked, and a moment later the door opened a crack and a languid eye peered out.
"F.B.I." Carlo said banteringly.
The door opened wide and a limp-eyed young man with long, straggly hair grinned. "Carlo, you old...."
Cindy blinked but tried not to notice the use of the word which she'd never heard anyone utter until this time. This was the big city, she reminded herself, and they do things differently. She mustn't appear to be a hick from a small town.
The limp-eyed youth was dressed in Bermuda shorts and nothing else. He had an open bottle of beer in his hand. "Who's the quail?"
"Friend of mine," Carlo said.
"Come on in, make yoursf to home," the youth said.
Carlo guided Cindy inside, and the door closed behind them and was latched. They were in a small living room. There was a bar in one corner. A low couch was against one wall. A half dozen people littered the room, most of them people who looked like they might frequent The Store-pony-tailed girls in bikinis or tight leotards, shaggy-haired, sometimes bearded youths in shorts or levis. A record player was playing a weird instrumental of flutes and bongo drums.
"Make yourself comfortable," Carlo said, "I'll get us something to drink."
As he disappeared behind the bar, Cindy sat at one end of the couch (most of the people apparently preferred to stand or sit on the floor) and looked around. Except for the youth who had greeted them at the door, their presence seemed to go unnoticed. In one corner a girl in leotards had a glazed look on her face and was moving her legs and hips in time with the strange music, her breasts jiggling unrestrained under the tight blouse. On the floor opposite, a man and a girl, both in abbreviated bathing suits were lying against the wall, kissing and hugging and running their hands all over each other's bodies.
"Oh, Freddie, you're so masculine!" a thin pipe of a voice said, and Cindy looked up in surprise to see a skinny boy in shorts playfully giggling with another skinny boy in shorts.
"Here we are," Carlo said, sitting down on the couch beside her. He had two glasses of pale-looking liquid and ice cubes. Cindy was glad it wasn't red wine again. "Drink hearty, baby, it's good for you."
He took a healthy gulp of his, and Cindy, thus encouraged, took a sip of hers. She pulled away, gasping, her nose filled with alcohol fumes, her tongue and throat on fire. She felt tears come to her eyes and started to choke.
Carlo smacked her on the back, "You'll get used to it. It's home made, stronger than you can get anyplace else."
"I believe it," Cindy said. She was beginning to get light-headed. It was very warm in the room, which was filled with smoke, and the drink didn't seem to help any.
"Take some more right away," Carlo advised. "It's the only way to fly."
She tried to join him in his laughter, but she didn't feel like it. Nevertheless, she recalled how she had gotten used to the martinis and gimlets, and even the red wine. All it took was practice. She sipped slowly at the colorless liquid. It still burned, but it gave her a warm glow down inside. Besides, her taste buds seemed to be getting numb and she wasn't thinking about Joey or her mother or anything except what was happening to her right then and there.
Carlo put his arm around her and hugged her to him. "We're gonna have ourselves a real ball, baby," he said enthusiastically. "A real ball."
She favored him with a smile. Already she was beginning to feel as though she were having one. At a sudden thought, she asked, "Do you know Mamie very well?"
Carlo grinned at some secret. "Pretty well," he said.
"Did you make love to her?" she persisted.
Carlo's smile faded. "Well, she's a good looking doll for her age."
"Yes," Cindy said. "But you didn't answer me, Carlo. Did you make love to her?"
Carlo sighed and frowned his annoyance. "Don't be silly. What does it matter?"
"I guess it doesn't," she said, knowing the answer anyway.
Carlo refilled her glass from a bottle he took from beside the couch. "Look, baby, your old lady's got problems of her own. You've got problems. I've got problems. We've all got problems. Let's not worry about them tonight, okay?"
"I'm sorry," Cindy said apologetically. "I guess I'm just being a wet blanket."
"Don't be silly, it's the fault of this stupid party. There's no life in it." He called over to the limp eyed fellow who was standing beside the phonograph. "Hey, Evan, put something lively on that thing, willya."
The limp-eyed youth nodded and selected one of the records, raising his fingers to indicate he had just the thing. A moment later, a swift bongo beat came torrenting into the room.
"Watch this," Carlo said, expectantly.
As Cindy watched, not knowing what to watch for, the girl on the floor with the man raised her head and said, "That's wild, man, wild."
"Come give us a dance, Jan," Carlo yelled.
"You bet I will," the girl said, and she rolled away from the grasp of the boy she'd been necking with, who promptly gave Carlo a dirty look.
The girl was wearing the tightest and tiniest of bikinis that barely covered those portions of the anatomy it was supposed to cover. She began swaying back and forth in time to the bongo beat, her breasts jiggling and rolling, the cleavage between them moving first one way and then the other. Her rounded torso churned and twisted, her hips gyrated, her legs swathed the air.
"What did I tell you?" Carlo said, excitedly.
Cindy watched as the girl threw back her head and jiggled her entire female body. She could sense Carlo's excitement, for Cindy was aware of his hand on her leg, and through the thin material of her skirt she could feel the warmness of his touch as he watched the girl. She gulped down the rest of her drink, and its fire warmed her insides, made her head light and giddy. Carlo glanced over at her, picked up the bottle and refilled the glass. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then returned his attention to the girl in the center of the room.
"Atta girl, atta girl, Jan," someone was shouting.
Still weaving and twisting, the girl was reaching behind her for the catch on her bikini top. As it came loose and fell to the floor, Cindy felt Carlo's hand tighten on her leg. The girl had large, firm breasts that fell free and began to bobble and roll as she twisted her body one way and then another.
Cindy watched, fascinated. She glanced at the others to see if they were shocked or interested-in what was happening. The two frail young men in shorts were not paying much attention to the girl; instead, one of them was nibbling at the ear of the other, who was giggling. The girl in leotards was staring in a glazed fashion at the near-naked girl, wetting her lips and rubbing her hands together. The others were crowding around, cheering the dancing girl on.
More and more, Cindy could sense Carlo's excitement. His fingers were kneading her flesh, moving along her thighs outside the dress, as he watched the girl in the center of the room. The girl had a pretty, sensuous face, rich moist lips, deep dark eyes, with breasts and his and thighs that were well-shaped and sexy.
For a moment, Cindy pictured herself up there, shedding inhibitions and clothing, not worrying about what other people thought, just doing what she wanted to do, dancing, having fun. Perhaps she could even do it here, in front of all these people who didn't seem to care what you did. All she'd have to do was get up and dance to the bongo rhythms, and take off her dress and then her underwear-
She shook her head to clear it. What in the world was she thinking? The idea surprised and shocked her.
"Hey, how about that, baby," Carlo said, holding her close, kissing her wetly on the neck.
His hands went under her dress now, and then he was pushing her back on the couch. His lips covered hers, and the tongue insinuated itself hotly across her lips into the warm interior. His fingers danced along her thighs, snagged the rim of her panties and pulled; she felt the material art, start to slide down.
Frantically she fought to clear her senses, but her head was reeling. She knew that it wasn't right. It was the sort of thing that Mamie Drucker would do. Having nude dances, orgies, going to bed with strangers, getting kicks however and wherever you wanted to.
"No, Carlo, please," she managed.
"Relax, baby," Carlo said. "Have fun."
"Go, man go!" someone shouted.
Both Cindy and Carlo looked up. In the center of the room, the girl was lying on her back, her back arched, and her boy friend was beside her, now naked himself, helping her pull the bottom part of her bikini down over her hips.
"See," Carlo said with a laugh, "everybody's doing it."
Cindy rose to her feet. She reached for something to steady herself, found nothing and stumbled. Carlo rose and caught her.
"I ... I've got to go home," Cindy said, passing a hand across her forehead. She felt very dizzy, and the air in the room seemed stifling.
"Don't be silly," Carlo scoffed. "The party's just starting."
His fingers were busy pulling open the buttons of her front, reaching in to touch and massage the breasts. She pulled away. For a moment cold fear sobered her. She stared around the room. In the center of the floor, the girl and her boy friend were making love, oblivious to the stares of the others. Carlo, smiling greedily, was coming toward her.
She panicked and ran. The front door was blocked, so she detoured through a nearby doorway. Too late, she saw it was a corridor with stairs, rising upwards. She hesitated only briefly, then moved up the stairs just in time to avoid Carlo's questing hands. His laugh pursued her upwards, and then she heard his feet on the stairs.
She reached the top and turned into the first door. It was a bedroom, and on the bed were the two thin boys she'd seen downstairs. She turned quickly into the other room. It was an unoccupied bedroom, with no other exit. Before she could correct her mistake, Carlo was at the top of the stairs behind her. He gave her a shove that sent her sprawling onto the bed, and then closed and locked the door behind him.
"Now," he said .chuckling, "I'll have you all to myself up here."
"No, Carlo, please," she said.
Her senses were still reeling, but she knew she didn't want Carlo to make love to her. Her heart was beating rapidly inside her ribs, and her breath was quick and painful.
Carlo was slipping out of his clothing.
Her breath caught at the sight of him. She wanted to get up and run, but there was no place to run to. And there would be no Mike Bradbury coming to rescue her this time.
She closed her eyes and dug her hands into the mattress of the bed and tried not to think of Mike, Sweet, wonderful Mike. She opened her eyes as her hands touched something. It was an empty wine bottle lying forgotten on the bed. Instinctively her fingers closed over its neck.
"Ready or not, baby, here I come," Carlo said.
He threw himself at her, and at the same time, Cindy swung the wine bottle with all her might. Carlo stopped in mid-air as the heavy glass caught him in the groin. He screamed and fell to the floor, clutching himself.
Cindy scrambled to her feet. If Carlo caught her now, he'd kill her. She rushed down the stairs in a mad clatter. The living room was a wild melee of naked bodies. She hurried past them into the kitchen, and discovered a door leading outside. She rushed out, not bothering to shut it after her.
It wasn't until she was back on a bus, heading back to the trailer, that she breathed a sigh of relief.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mamie Drucker was so angry her face puffed out. "You stupid little slut!" she ranted. "Do you realize you cost me five hundred dollars last night!"
Cindy didn't answer. There was no use arguing against the brand of logic used by her mother, so she didn't bother. Her suitcase was open on the trailer couch, and she busied herself folding clothing into it.
"Five hundred dollars," Mamie persisted loudly. "More money than you've ever seen in your life, just to let Moose Warren do what ever he wanted to do with you! I'll just bet you've let a lot of young creeps do it for free!"
Cindy closed her eyes and counted to ten. "I don't want to talk about it, mother," she said.
"You don't, do you?" Mamie said. "What the hell do you think, your rear end is made of platinum? Even if it was, five hundred bucks is a good rental on it. You're just a young kid. If I was your age I'd leap at the chance to have some fun and make that much money!"
"That," said Cindy, turning slowly, "is because you're a cheap whore, and I'm not!"
Mamie's mouth hung open in astonishment. Her face was white with shock, then red with embarrassment and sudden anger. She slapped Cindy hard on the face.
For a moment Cindy was sorry for what she'd said, but the slap made her angrier ."Besides," she went on relentlessly, "you're not even close to my age. You just made a fool of yourself last night. Nobody believed I was your kid sister. You may be only forty years old, but you look like you're sixty!"
She knew she was hurting the woman, but at the moment it didn't matter. She wanted to hurt her for trying to sell her to the highest bidder. Fighting to keep the tears from her eyes, she returned to her packing.
"Look, Cindy," her mother said finally, "I ... I'm sorry I slapped you. And I'm sorry I tried to rent you out to Moose. I shouldn't have done it, I guess. But I've been without a daughter so long, I guess I just don't know how to act with one."
"That's not my fault," Cindy said.
"No, it isn't," Mamie Drucker admitted. "I'm sorry about that, too. I should've been more of a mother...."
"That's right, you should have," Cindy said, mercilessly.
"For Pete's sake, at least let me apologize, will you!" Mamie cried in annoyance.
Cindy shook her head no, and closed the lid on her suitcase. "It's too late for apologies, mother," she said. "Goodbye."
Mamie looked at her in disbelief. "Where are you going?"
Cindy shrugged. "Back to Texas, I suppose. Maybe I can get a job at the Prairie Flower Saloon."
"Cindy!"
Cindy glared at her. "Why are you so damned self-righteous, all of a sudden? You were going to sell my body, weren't you? I may have to work harder back there, but at least I'll know what I'm doing!"
Mamie Drucker sat wearily down on the chair. She looked older and more tired than she ever had. "I supose I deserve all this," she said.
"That's right, you do," Cindy said.
She picked up her suitcase and marched out, slamming the screen door of the trailer behind her.
"Cindy!" her mother's voice came after her.
The plaintive quality of the woman's voice made Cindy hesitate, but then she felt annoyed with the hesitation. No, she'd made up her mind, and there was no turning back. She'd get back to Hurley, Texas, if she had to sleep with a dozen truckdrivers along the way! She may as well get in practice.
Determinedly, she walked in the direction of the bus stop. Her immediate plans were as definite as the twelve dollars in her purse could make them. She would get a bus ticket for as far as the tiny amount of money would take her. Then she would use her body to get transportation. There were probably lots of lonely drivers who would give her rides in exchange for a night's companionship at some motel along the way.
She reached the bus stop and sat down on the bench. The sun was dipping low on the horizon, beyond a row of stately palm trees bordering the avenue, and it was beginning to get cold. Cindy shivered. She had expected her stay in Florida to be longer. There were so many things she'd wanted to do-see the sights, go swimming, take boat rides. Now it was too late.
There were people she'd miss, too. Not Joey certainly, for she'd put him out of her mind. She'd miss her mother-the one she'd known many years ago-perhaps there was a remnant of that wonderful woman still left in the aging playgirl who couldn't grow up. And she'd miss Rosalie, who had settled down and whose adventure had become raising children and paying off the mortagage.
And she'd miss Mike most of all.
Wonderful Mike, whom she'd met and lost in the same night.
She smiled sadly as she thought of him. He was an idiot for not going to bed with her. A man full of principles he didn't need, in a world that considered such principles old fashioned and idiotic.
It seemed a shame that she couldn't at least say goodbye to him.
On impulse, she got up from the bench-there was no bus coming-and walked in the direction of the gas station, a half-block away. There was a phone booth in one corner of the station. She found his name in the phone book and dialed the number. She let it ring a dozen times, but there was no answer.
Sadly, reluctantly, she hung up and began trudging back to the bus stop. The sun had disappeared below the horizon, leaving a golden glow, and it was growing noticeably chillier. She was halfway to the stop when the bus whooshed past her .She tried to flag it down, but she was too late; the bus was out of sight in a matter of seconds.
She began to laugh hysterically. There wouldn't be another bus for an hour; but then in a day full of disappointments, what did one more matter. The boys at the Prairie Flower would just have to wait for her!
She stopped and wiped the tears from her eyes. A familiar looking car was parked by the bus stop. She didn't mean to, but she began walking faster as she neared it. Grinning, Mike Bradbury stepped from the car.
"Mike," she cried happily.
She rushed up to embrace him, crying and laughing all at once. "Thought I'd do my first good deed of the day and give you a lift," he said.
She hesitated. "You can give me a ride to the bus terminal," she said.
"The Bradbury Taxi Service at your disposal, ma'am," he said. If her destination surprised him, he gave no indication of it. He held the door open for her and placed the suitcase in the back seat. A moment later they were driving down the street.
"It ... it's good to see you," she said.
"I was hoping it would be," he said.
"How did you know where to find me?"
"Your mother told me."
"She sent you to get me back, I suppose," Cindy accused.
"My, you are suspicious, aren't you," he said. "No, I do come up with a good idea on my own, once in a while. Are you really very angry at your mother?"
Cindy thought about it for a moment. "Not angry, really," she decided. "Sorry, actually." She looked out the window. "Where are we going?"
"My cozy little bachelor apartment," he said "for a goodbye drink. We'll have to have it now, since I hardly ever get out to Hurley, Texas."
"I'd like to, Mike, but ,...."
"But you don't like me unless you're drunk or trying to get even with the world for picking on you!"
The hurt look on his face disturbed her. "No," she said, "it's just that I've made up my mind, and I don't want you talking me out of it. All right, I'll come up for one drink. But no more."
"Good," he said, as though he knew it all the time. "You really want to go back to Texas?"
"Not really, but I don't have much choice."
"There are lots of other places. New York, Chicago, Los Angeles. Even Miami."
She sought his hand, found it. "Thanks, Mike, but I've got to get away from here. I've gotten a lot of bad memories in a short time."
"And some good ones, I hope."
"And some good ones," she said, squeezing his hand.
Mike swung the car off the boulevard and onto a side street. He pulled up before a white, two-story brick building.
"Home, sweet home," he announced.
"I suppose I may as well leave my suitcase in the car."
"May as well," he agreed. "The landlady gets very jealous if another female stays in my apartment." He shrugged. "Well, I have to pay the rent somehow."
Cindy laughed. She liked Mike very much, and she knew now she'd miss him very much. He led her up the stairs to his apartment on the second floor.
It was a small apartment, with a sofa that made up into a bed in the living room. Modernistic paintings hung on the walls. Light was indirect from a cylindrical cut glass chandelier that gave out a rainbow of color. In one corner a phonograph rested on a wrought iron base. Beneath it was a radio, which Mike turned on.
"Make yourself at home," he invited, "while I take inventory in the booze department."
She sat down on the couch as soft music came from the radio.
"How about a martini," he called from the kitchen.
"Sounds fine," she said.
She felt strangely relaxed and comfortable sitting there, more relaxed and comfortable than she'd been in a long time. He came back with two glasses filled with colorless liquid and sat down beside her.
They sat silently sipping for awhile, letting the quiet and the soft music overwhelm them. The martini was smooth, and it slid gently down her throat, warming her insides. She felt contented for the first time in a long while.
"Refill?" he said, and without waiting for an answer, he took her glass and returned to the kitchen.
"You're a good little martini maker," she said.
"Thanks," he said, "but that's not my only accomplishment."
He came back with the cocktail glasses refilled. "I'd like to propose a toast," he said, and when they'd touched glasses, "to Hurley, Texas."
She stared at him. "But why?"
"Because it's going to have you there," he said, his face serious. He touched her hand. "Cindy, don't go."
She shook her head. "I've got to, Mike. My stepfather needs me. Really. Not for sex, I don't mean that. But I'm beginning to feel very sorry for him. His wife ran out on him several years ago, and something inside him started to die. And then I ran out on him. I've got to get back before something drastic happens to him."
"Hmm," Mike said thoughtfully. Then: "There's something you should know, Cindy. Your father isn't in Texas. He's in Florida."
She stared at him.
He nodded. "He came out here, not so much to follow you but to find what happened to Mamie, to discover why she ran away from him. In fact, if you'd stayed at your mother's place fifteen minutes longer, you would have met him."
"You saw him?"
"That's right." He gave a short laugh. "It was the damnedest reunion I ever saw between two people you would think would hate each other. But when I left they were crying on each other's shoulders and planning on setting up housekeeping in the trailer together."
He took her glass, went to refill it. "I think you need this," he said, when he returned. "So you see, my pet, there's no need for you to go back to Hurley, Texas. If you're interested in salvaging the dregs of society, you've got a gold mine right here-your mother, your father-and most of all, me."
"I ... I don't know, Mike...."
"Well, you don't have to make up your mind for at least two more minutes." He pulled her to her feet. "Let me show you what a great dancer I am."
Mike held her close and they moved about the room in time to the romantic music coming from the radio. Cindy felt very relaxed in his arms, and she knew it was more than the martinis she'd consumed. He seemed to radiate a strength, a security she had never known. The world seemed to exist only in this room with the two of them together, with time and care forgotten. It was a good, comfortable feeling.
He rested his cheek against hers, his lips breathing gently into her ear. She held him close to her, moving her body with his. Her heartbeat was becoming very rapid, with a growing excitement she knew he also felt. He wanted her, sexually and emotionally. He'd wanted her the previous night, and he wanted her now, and she knew that she wanted him, too.
She felt his fingertips move across her back in a gentle caress. He was so gentle, so sure and knowing, and she felt her female body responding to his touch. His lips met hers, and she kissed him with an ardor that matched his, running her hands along the back of his head, touching and caressing the tiny hairs that tingled beneath her fingers. His restless hands moved along her waist and under her breasts in certain, teasing movements, dipping to the swell of her hips.
In unison they lowered themselves to the couch. Impatiently, now, he unzipped her. She helped him remove her dress, her bra, her panties, and then all of his clothing. There was no hesitation, no shame in what she was doing. His hands sought her flesh, found it, made her tremble with eager the anticipation glowing inside her.
They lay together on the sofa, bodies pressed one against the other, exploring, finding, exulting with their lips and tongues and hands and every part of their bodies and minds.
Cindy felt her body responding to him as it had never responded to anyone before. She had never known it could be like this. A delightful warmth, familiar and yet wonderfully different, flowed through her like a warm stream, growing with such an intensity that she felt she could hardly contain the ecstasy it brought with it. She began to moan and tremble as he kissed her and made love to her with his body. The hot lava of desire filled her, flooded her until she thought she would explode.
"Oh, Mike," she cried, "Mike, oh Mike oh Mike...."
Their bodies fused, became one. She found herself soaring to the heights of ecstasy, crescendoing higher and higher to a peak of excruciatingly beautiful sensual pleasure. The explosion came, starting slowly at first and then building, reverberating through every molecule of her body, making it shake and tingle and vibrate in delightful unison with his own....
Afterward, they lay together, naked, holding each other, letting the cool night caress their glistening bodies, listening to the music, absorbing the peace and the quiet and the contentment of their being together.
"I'll go down and get your suitcase," he said.
"But...."
"Shut up," he said gently, kissing her. "You're going to stay here with me. We're going to get married and live happily ever after. Understand?"
She smiled at him, contented, and snuggled in his arms. "You're not going out for the suitcase now, are you?"
"Not now," he said. "Maybe tomorrow morning. We've got a lot of things to catch up on first."
"Oh, like what?"
"It's easier to show you than tell you," he said.
"Show me, then," she said. He showed her. And he didn't bring her suitcase up until the next morning.
