Nobody felt the truth of those words more deeply than Norma Jean Hollis. There seemed to be no escape from the confining little southern town of Shelby, population, 18,000, where Norma Jean had been born and had lived out all of her drab, opprobrious eighteen years.
To the motorist passing through Shelby enroute to Florida, the town was deceiving, mainly because the main highway did not go through the business district with its many beer taverns and billiard halls, with its large, ugly brewery and bottling company, with its sickening smell of yeast that permeated the atmosphere. The highway skirted the main section of town and the transit only saw glimpses of Shelby park, the high school and the hospital. At a glance, the town appeared to be a quaint and friendly little community, especially in the spring when the trees blossomed into a light rich green, one in which the traveler might consider to be an ideal place to raise a family.
They would, of course, be partially correct.
The birth rate of Shelby was high, but what the casual observer never realized was that the children were generally unwanted and unloved, and more often than not illegitimate. In almost every case, the children of Shelby grew up in a life of privation and frustration, and always with the feeling of being trapped.
The reasons were simple. Shelby was a poor community, dependent solely upon the brewery and bottling company for support. There was very little love of culture or spirit of pulling-together in the interest of civic pride. And few pleasurable pastime activities. The choice was limited.
One could drink or fornicate and for those who did neither, there was idle gossip of the most destructive kind.
For most of the people of Shelby, the young as well as the old, each day was the same as the one before, bleak, tiring and unvarying. Early in life, the hope of betterment, the hope of escape withered and died, leaving nothing in its wake but bitterness and despair.
For Norma Jean, who was a restless and an exceedingly beautiful girl, existence in Shelby was even more frustrating and stifling. Since she could remember, she had been told by her mother and her older sister, Ina, that she was different. She began to sense that difference when she was twelve, a rebellious feeling that forced her to withdraw from the boys and girls of Shelby in her age group. Early in her teens, Norma Jean developed quickly into maturity. There was very little about her voluptuous body that suggested a teenager. Her legs were strong and well-shaped, her hips, rounded and sturdy, her breasts, firmly and fully developed and sharply contoured. No matter how much Norma Jean tried to subdue or conceal the size of her breasts, they had provoked comment from the men and the boys of the town, who ogled them lustfully. Norma Jean was also tall for her years which caused her to carry her curvaceous body proudly and haughtily, and this also induced comment from the women and girls of Shelby.
"Who does she think she is?" the women of the town would say. "The daughter of a whore and a murderess! Where does Norma Jean get off thinking she is better than the rest of us."
At first, she was troubled by their reactions and opinions, but as Norma Jean grew older, she rose above the townspeople in her own mind and learned to ignore them. But deep within her heart she nurtured a hatred for the town and its people that grew and grew, and began to torment her to the point of becoming an obsession.
She had to get out of Shelby, she told herself. But where would she go? Now that school was out and she had graduated, there was nothing to keep her in Shelby. The long hot summer was approaching and she did not relish making a permanent career out of her new job as a waitress in Wally's Diner. Today had been her first day, and during the noon hour the men from Shelby's Brewery poured into the diner and lined up at the counter stools, their eyes glued upon her breasts and her buttock.
"Careful there, Norma Jean. You may drop something big and break it."
Norma Jean flushed, cringing inside, but she gave it right back to them. "If I do, little boy, it will be too much for you to pick up."
The hoots and guffaws had been crude and obscene. The men did not bother to wash their hands before eating and ate like pigs. It had made Norma Jean ill just watching them. The men of Shelby had been for the most part so disgusting in manner and behavior, Norma Jean had built up a resentment toward all men. She hated them. They seemed to sense her refusal to go along with what they had to offer and looked upon her as a curiosity they resented.
She aspired to something better than the life they had themselves accepted. It did not bother her nor did it lessen her determination to prove that she was not like all the other girls with whom she had gone to high school. She had to get away from Shelby and all its sordidness. She had to get away from her mother and Sy Cleaver, her stepfather. She had to escape like Ina had done.
But how? She had no money. She had no place to go-
"Gotta move! Gotta get out! Gotta leave this town!" The girl vocalist on the jukebox belted out the words that drifted out to the street as Norma Jean passed by Luke's Soda Fountain and Ggar Store. The words to the song seemed to taunt her, to dare her to do something about her life. She was so involved with her thoughts that she was not aware of the group of local hotshots lounging on the street corner, until one of them moved out to block her way, forcing Norma Jean to stop.
"Lookee, fellas, what I got here," the dark greasy-haired boy, with whisker stubbles on his chin, announced.
"Get out of my way, Calvin," she ordered. "Now, Norma Jean, don't you start putting on airs with poor little love starved me," Calvin wailed grotesquely. "I mean, just what do you think my heart pumps anyway? Ice water?"
"I haven't the slightest idea what you pump, Calvin?"
"Well, wouldn't you be interested in finding out, sugarplum ... say tonight for instance."
"All right, Calvin," she smiled sweetly. "What time?"
The boy's chin dropped. "You ain't just kidding me, Norma Jean? I mean, you serious about a date?"
"Of course. How about eight-thirty?"
"Wow," the boy exploded. "I got the flivver tonight. I'll pick you up at your place."
"No, Calvin, don't do that. You meet me over in Shelby Park. You wait for me there ... and if I'm not there in an hour or so, you start without me." Norma Jean gave the boy a shove and hurried on down Jefferson street, closing her ears to the sound of their whistles and cat calls. How she hated those boys ... all boys and all men. They all disgusted her.
Walking home that evening, she thought about her mother, Agnes ... and the men that had destroyed her life. Norma Jean's father, a rugged handsome Irishman, she had been told, died in Korea before she was born, leaving Agnes widowed with two children to support. Agnes Hollis invested the fife insurance money in a beauty parlor but she was never popular with the women of Shelby and the business failed. Agnes' second husband, Roger Sawyer, was a traveling salesman, whom Agnes ran off to Florida to marry when the girls, Ina and Norma Jean were fifteen and eleven respectively. Ina had looked after her baby sister until their mother returned to Shelby some four weeks later without Roger Sawyer. He had deserted her and before Agnes got around to thinking about a divorce, Roger Sawyer was found dead in a motel just outside of Jackson, the result of a knife wound in his chest. The mystery was never solved but the people of Shelby said Agnes had not been married to the traveling salesman. Their theory was that Agnes had murdered him for the money he had on him ... a sum that was later established by the authorities to be about two thousand dollars, belonging to the company he had worked for.
Of course the theory was ridiculous, but Agnes was shattered that such things were being said about her. At one time she had been a beautiful woman, but heartbreak and disappointment, coupled with her struggle to support two children and survive in a town that resented her, pulled her down to the depths of defeat, leaving her old, haggard, and disheartened. She was trapped and beaten and she knew it. She had reached the point where she was grateful for whatever she got and that happened to be Sy Cleaver, which wasn't much.
Sy Cleaver had a steady job with the brewery, but his drinking kept him from any chances of advancement. Several times he had had to be placed in jail overnight to cool off when he got into fights at one of the taverns or became violent and threatened Agnes with physical harm. But Agnes put up with him because she had nobody else and occasionally Sy gave her the love she needed so desperately.
Norma Jean swore to herself that she would never slip into the sort of trap her mother had fallen into, even if it meant never getting involved with a man.
Many years ago, when Ina and Norma Jean had been left alone, Ina had introduced Norma Jean to a strange and sweet form of love that had puzzled her. Ina had cautioned Norma Jean never to speak about it to others and of course she never had, but Norma Jean had been so overwhelmed by the experience, she had never forgotten it. Norma Jean and her older sister had been very close, pledging themselves to everlasting devotion, swearing to let no man come between them, but shortly after Ina's fifteenth birthday she became interested in other things and the two sisters drifted apart. During the last year before Ina ran away, the two girls were almost like strangers, the older sister having no time to share confidences with her younger sister.
Norma Jean felt the absence of Ina more than her mother, who was angry and hurt by the oldest daughter's sudden departure.
"After all I've given up for that girl," Agnes had raved, "if Ina can just walk out like that without a word, then I say to hell with her." Then she had turned tearfully to consider Norma Jean. "Norma Jean, baby, don't you ever treat your mother like that. Promise, honey."
"No, Mama, I won't," the young girl had promised, but in her heart she envied Ina for being able to make the escape. Many nights Norma Jean would lay awake in her bed wondering where Ina was and what she was doing now. She hoped and prayed that someday she would hear from Ina, who had now become her only link with the world outside of Shelby.
"Is that you, Norma Jean," her mother had called from the bedroom.
"Yes, Mama, it's me," Norma Jean said as she brushed her hair in the hall mirror and smoothed her blouse over her full breasts.
"How was your first day at Wally's diner, honey?"
"It was okay, Mama," Norma Jean replied wearily as she moved to the door of her mother's bedroom and discovered her mother at the dressing table applying a bright red to her lips. "You going out again tonight?"
"I'm just meeting Sy down at the tavern for a few beers. We may take in the show at the Bijou. Wanna come along?"
"No thanks," Norma Jean smiled inwardly, knowing that her mother and Sy would never make the movie after a few beers. One always led to another until the tavern closed and they were forced to come home, generally argumentative and drunk. "I guess I'll go to bed and read for a little while. I've got to be at work early tomorrow."
"How do I look, honey?" Agnes asked as she got up and straightened her dress.
Norma Jean stared at the high heels and the cheap print dress that fit too tight and the fluffy dyed-red hair. "You look sharp," she lied, noticing the girdled pulpiness of her once shapely figure and the lines of age that pancake makeup could no longer conceal. Norma Jean felt only pity and compassion for her mother now.
Agnes turned to check her bulgy figure in the closet mirror, a faint frown of uncertainty creasing her puffy face. "Oh, hell, it makes me look fat, but who cares. It was cheap and Sy likes me in flashy clothes."
Sy! The very sound of his name made Norma Jean's insides go cold. She hated to see her mother catering to the cheap tastes of the drunken plant clerk, exposing her desperate eagerness, her pathetic vulnerability.
"Your dinner's in the icebox, honey. All you got to do is heat it up," Agnes went on. "Oh, I almost forgot. Ralph Grayson called you."
"What does he want?" Norma asked disinterestedly.
"He wants to see you, honey. I think he wants to pick you up and take you for a ride ... maybe to the movies. Who knows? Why don't you call him?" Agnes rattled on, as she placed a comb, a lipstick, a compact and some loose change in her purse. "Ralph is such a nice boy. The nicest boy in Shelby. He's going to inherit Mr. Grayson's business one of these days. He's the kind of boy I'd like to see you get serious about."
"Mama, are you trying to get me married off so soon. I just graduated from high school."
"I just want you to be happy, honey. You know that."
"Yes, Mama."
"Yes, Mama! No, Mama. What could she say? Norma Jean agreed unenthusiastically. How could she tell her mother what was really in her thoughts? She wondered what her Mother would do, if she was told the truth about Sy Cleaver. Norma shuddered just thinking about it. She knew it would destroy her mother, would rip away her last chance at a few happy moments. No, she didn't dare tell her mother. She had to keep Sy's secret and it infuriated her.
After her mother had left, Norma Jean walked across the squeaky floors of their old clapboard covered house to the kitchen to fix herself a sandwich. She didn't wish to bother with heating anything. Her mind was still on the repulsive Sy Cleaver and what he had said to her almost a week ago just before her graduation. They had been left alone in the house while Agnes was at the store and Norma Jean knew that Sy meant every word he had said. It wasn't just drunk talk.
"Have a drink, Norma Jean," the jowly-cheeked, stocky stepfather had said. "You're getting old enough to have a few vices now."
"No, thanks, Sy," Norma Jean had replied crisply. "I leave the drinking to you and Mother." She could feel Sy undressing her with his eyes and she fought to keep from giving him the satisfaction of letting it bother her.
"We're going to have to get you fixed up with a man one of these days, sweetheart," he had chuckled arrogantly. "I mean a real man, that will make a woman out of you."
Norma Jean had smirked. "I don't think that's possible, Sy, since there are no real men to be had in Shelby. And that includes you." She had started to leave the room but Sy had caught her arm and prevented her from leaving.
"Hold it a minute, sweetheart." His eyes had been insolent and mocking. "I think it's time we brought a few things out into the open, don't you?"
"Let go of me, Sy."
"Don't get fresh with me, cookie. You know damn well what I'm talking about. If you don't, it's time you learned," he had said, his voice becoming low and confidential. "I staked out a claim on you over a year and a half ago when I married your Ma. I figured I could wait until you grew up a little. Well, sweetheart, you're about as grown up now as you'll ever be."
Indignation and shock had shaken Norma Jean to the depths of her being. "And while you've been waiting," Norma Jean had screamed, "what have you been doing? Passing the time with my mother?"
"Can you think of a better way to keep an eye on you, sweetheart?"
"So help me, Sy," Norma Jean had said, at a loss for words. "Oh, God, but you disgust me. So help me, if you try anything, I'll kill you."
Sy had only laughed at her. "You've been seeing too many movies, kid. You're just sore because you know I make you feel like a woman."
Sy wanted her. She had known it from the start, from the very first time he had dated her mother, from the very first time he had allowed his lecherous gaze to linger on her breasts and her legs.
Norma Jean shuddered and went to her room, disgusted and yet oddly compassionate as she thought of her mother's desperate attempts to hold the interest of such a man as Sy Cleaver. Her starving appetite for love didn't allow for much pride or self-respect.
Norma Jean drew the shade of her window and began to undress. It had been a long day and she was aggravated and depressed. She removed her brassiere and luxuriated momentarily in the freedom of her fully developed breasts. She touched them hesitantly, idly massaging the reddish marks of confinement, wondering if she'd ever be accustomed to their bigness. What was it about a woman's breasts that fascinated men so, she asked herself. Why were they always the focal points, the objects of desire, the measuring rule of a girl's sexual appeal. She didn't know, but she did recall how fascinated she had been by the size of her sister's breasts when she was still just a child. They were a source of wonderment.
Wearing only her panties, she sat down on the edge of her narrow bed and began to brush her naturally wavy, strawberry blonde hair that fell to her shoulders. The depression was still with her and she didn't seem to be able to shake it off. Everything was pressing in on her, everything she hated, everything that symbolized life in Shelby. Her home life was troubled and growing increasingly sordid. She had little if any social life. Ralph Grayson was the only boy she bothered to date and his idea of a big night was either a movie, a ride in the car, or a few beers at one of the taverns.
It was no different with any of the other girls her age in Shelby. They didn't have much choice. Most of them graduated high school and got married by the time they were twenty. They had a flock of kids and washed, and cooked, and worked and, to break the monotony, drank beer on Saturday nights. And more often than not, some of them would cheat on their husbands with the husbands of their best friends and next door neighbors.
Only Ina had been different. She knew deep in her heart that her beautiful and talented older sister didn't care for men. She was too good for them, head and shoulders above them intellectually ... especially the men of Shelby. Ina had only used men to get out of Shelby. Norma Jean was sure of that. She could still recall how shocked she was when she heard that Ina was hanging around the roadhouses on the outskirts of town and again later, just before Ina left, when she openly admitted selling herself to the men who frequented the bars, only to save enough money to get out of Shelby.
There had to be another way for her, Norma Jean thought, as she rose from the bed, disturbed by the trend her thoughts were taking. She wondered if she would ever see Ina again, if she would ever hear from her. Surely Ina would not forget her final promise before she had left.
"If I strike it rich, honey, I'll send for you. I promise," she had whispered as she had kissed Norma Jean good-bye. "Just never tell Mama where I am."
The telephone rang, jarring Norma Jean out of her thoughts.
It was Ralph Grayson.
"Did your Maw tell you I called?" he asked.
"I was just going to call you, Ralph. What's up?"
"Nothing. I just thought we might get together tonight. Anything wrong in that?"
"Nothing at all, Ralph. Why don't you pick me up at eight?"
"I don't get off work until then."
"Where do you work now?"
"You know, Norma Jean. What's the matter with you? I told you I was working in the old man's car lot this summer."
"Oh, yeah. I just forgot. Look, I'll meet you at the car lot. I can't bear this house another second."
The thought of seeing Ralph did nothing to alleviate her depression. He would want to hold her in his arms. His hands would be strong and callused and his mouth would be wet and greedy. He would want to play around with her ... and she would endure it, only because she had little else to endure from him.
His love-play would stop there ... with her breasts.
A small concession, considering that Ralph was the only person in Shelby that was bearable, that offered her a break in the monotony of her life. She wondered if he might pay to have her. She doubted it. In many ways, Ralph was still a boy.
She brushed her silky hair, checked her makeup and walked out of the house, feeling no more eager for her date than she had when she'd made it.
She only wished that she could walk out of her house, get into a car, drive out of Shelby and never return.
CHAPTER TWO
The car was a sleek-looking convertible. They drove with the top down and as they breezed along the highway at about sixty miles an hour, Norma Jean pretended to be somebody else ... a girl she had seen in a movie, a rich girl who had too much of everything and did everything on impulse.
"Let's drive all night and have breakfast in Miami," she said wildly, feeling a precarious abandonment as she lifted her head high and let the cool night wind whip across her face and through her hair.
"What?" Ralph turned his head and stared at her strangely. "What's the matter with you tonight, Norma Jean?"
The mood was broken.
"Everything and nothing," she said with a shrug. She might have known, with Ralph Grayson there could be no illusions. Everything was cut and dried. He had no dreams, no imagination. He was unable to see further than the small-town life which had engulfed him throughout the years. He didn't know there was another world beyond Shelby.
"Anything wrong," he said after a moment or two of silence.
"The usual," she replied numbly. Then in an effort to pick up her spirits, she said, "Where shall we go?"
"Anywhere you like."
"Miami then ... and no stopping until we get there," Norma Jean dared.
"Ah, now come on, Norma Jean," he said seriously, keeping his eyes glued on the dark road ahead.
"Where's the adventure in you, Ralph? Haven't you ever wanted to do something crazy?"
"Yeah, when I was a kid. But then I grew up and...."
Norma cut in with, "And became a man of responsibility." She couldn't help but show her amusement at the thought of a man taking Shelby seriously and becoming a man of responsibility.
"Ah, I can't talk to you," Ralph pouted. "I can see that."
"Sure you can, Ralph," she said as she slumped comfortably back in the seat, turned to Ralph and prepared to be bored. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Something I think you might be interested to know?"
"What, Ralph?" She wasn't the least bit interested in what he had to say. She almost knew what he would say before he said it. It occurred to her that if she wasn't interested in him, why did she bother to go out with him? The reasons were obvious. It was better than staying at home. He was young and yet, not as young as some of the wild-eyed hoodlums that hung out on the street corner. Ralph was safe, much safer than the others. She was able to dominate him, direct his actions, handle his little-boy ardor because he was awed by her beauty and because he lacked the spark to ever assert his mascuhnity. Then too, Ralph always had the use of a car which could take her out of Shelby, if only for a few minutes. And he always had enough money to take her to the movies when she wanted to go. She dated Ralph, she concluded, because he was best suited for her needs. He was the best of a dull lot.
"Well, I've been thinking about giving up the idea of going away to school next fall."
"Really," Norma Jean replied. "What would you do?" As she looked at him she realized he was a moderately attractive boy. At nineteen he was fairly well-built. His sandy hair hung down over his forehead, giving him a shaggy dog look, but his features were good and his smile was warm and comforting.
"I was thinking maybe of going into partnership with Dad, maybe settling down and getting married." He leaned back and guided the steering wheel with one hand, sliding his free arm around her shoulders. He slowed down and steered the car off the main highway into an emergency parking area. He stopped the car and turned off the lights.
"Let's talk," he said softly, meaningfully. "Norma Jean, have you thought at all about us ... about you and me getting married? I'm crazy about you. You know that."
Norma Jean didn't have to think about it. She had already considered it from every angle. "Let me have a cigarette, Ralph?" While Ralph took out a pack of cigarettes and lighted two of them, Norma Jean closed her eyes and visualized what life would be like married to Ralph and settled down in Shelby. Mr. Grayson would probably see to it that they had a nice place to live, but the day to day routine would always be the same. "Yes, I've thought about it, Ralph," she said, as she accepted the cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Would we have to stay in Shelby?"
"Of course we would. I mean if I'm going into partnership with the old man ... what do you think? I'm going to live in Miami or someplace and fly to work every morning?"
"No, Ralph, I don't think you'd do that," she said quietly disheartened.
"My gosh, Norma Jean, I'll be pulling in seventy-five dollars a week to start with. Show me another guy in Shelby that's making that kind of money, and I'll eat my hat."
It was true. Ralph had no competition. It was silly to even discuss it, but Norma Jean decided to be light-hearted about it. "Well, there's always old man Shelby himself. He must be pulling in plenty."
"You're talking about an old man ... and a tight-fisted old bastard at that."
"I'm kidding, Ralph. Where's your sense of humor?" At that moment another thought crossed her mind. "Incidentally, whatever happened to Guy Shelby ... the son. He was rather good-looking as I remember."
"Folks say he's in New York or Europe or someplace. The old man disowned him. But let's not talk about that nut. Let's talk about us." Ralph shifted closer to her, tightening his hold on her shoulders and his mouth and tongue began to tickle her ear.
Norma Jean reached to crush out her cigarette in the ashtray on the dashboard. "I don't know, Ralph. I like you better than any other boy I've met. You know that." She realized that she actually wasn't saying much. She had never met any young men that she had found attractive enough to go to bed with. "But living in Shelby. I'm so bored with that place. I'll have to think about it."
She nestled closer into Ralph's embrace, wanting him to make her forget everything that weighed so heavily in her thoughts. She could smell the cheap after-shave lotion he used religiously, she could smell the mixture of tainted odors that stained his leather jacket. She wanted to escape reality so very much ... if only for a little while. But could she ... could she with a boy like Ralph Grayson?
"Mmmmm, but you feel good," he murmured.
He moved over her and she offered up her lips, parting them as she accepted his kiss, permitting him to admit his thrusting, probing tongue. His hand and fingers closed over her breasts and she wished they would squeeze harder, almost violently, so that she would feel something ... even pain.
Ralph strained in their embrace, moaning unintelligibly into her throat, as his fingers traced the fullness of her breasts. Norma Jean adjusted herself to his movements, encouraging the intimacy, caught up with her desires for a physical contact. Her response increased his desires and Ralph hastened to tug at her sweater in order to wedge his coarse hand inside the cup of her tight brassiere.
Norma Jean winced as the strap dug into her shoulder and she felt her flesh being scraped by the calluses on his hand. She endured it a moment, torn between the pleasure sensation and the pain of the caress, then suddenly pulled away from him. "Just a minute," she said, the words echoing in the darkness that enveloped them.
"What are you going to do?" he whispered. "It's okay, isn't it?"
"Of course, silly."
Norma Jean sat up straight in the seat and pulled the sweater she was wearing up over her head. She heard Ralph gasp as he realized what she was doing. She dropped the sweater to the floor of the car and then reached back to unhook the catch of her bra, her insides trembling at her own daring, her nerves crying out for haste. She wanted him to feel her, to hold her, to kiss her. More than ever before she needed to be loved, the way that she remembered Ina had loved her so many years ago.
"There you are," she said softly. "Help yourself."
Ralph was speechless. But he came at her greedily, his hands rough in their haste to capture the softness of her full breasts. Norma Jean closed her eyes and leaned back, a sensation creeping up her spine as his fingers played with the sensitive tips. She curled an arm around his neck, her fingers toying with his ear, and gave him her parted lips. She felt his tongue exploring and she played host to it, more to feed the passion that was spreading through her body than to add to his excitement.
The weight of his body was pushing her gradually down in the seat of the car, but she went along with it. She felt Ralph's cool leather jacket curiously exciting against her warm flesh and she clung to him. "Oh, Ralph, Ralph," she whispered, choked with excitement.
A stab of sweet pleasure shot through her as the wet lips took possession of her rigid nipple, and she could feel herself arching her back away from the seat. She uttered a moan and directed his moist and greedy kisses until his strong young body moved to cover her own in a blind seeking need of desperation.
"A little more," she grated desperately, wanting to nourish the pleasure that spread from her breasts. "You don't have to be so gentle."
Norma Jean felt herself being suffused by a heated passion which tempted and agonized the impatience of her excitement and made her feel deliriously content. This was the escape she sought so desperately. A temporary escape, perhaps, but an escape nonetheless. She wished it could last forever, but of course nothing ever did ... not the moist kisses, the soft tingling pressures, the probing and caressing. As the physical excitement charged through her body, she could feel her breasts throbbing, and the nipples quivering in response to Ralph's aggressions.
But no sooner had she wished than she felt him hike even higher atop her, and her rapture was instantly dispelled. She squirmed at the waist, trying to lessen the insistent contacts, but Ralph followed through with discomforting anxiety.
"That's enough," she ordered. "That's far enough, Ralph. No further."
"Oh, baby, how can I? We've gone too, far."
She felt his callused hand moving up under her skirt and exploiting the warmth of her thighs. She clamped her legs together obstructing his progress, hating the sudden crudity of his love-play. She averted her face from what he had hoped would be a kiss that would tell him to continue and used her palm to pry loose from him. "I mean it, Ralph. Now stop it. We've gone far enough."
"I can't help it, Norma Jean ... you know how I feel about you."
"Please, Ralph. You're crushing me."
He withdrew reluctantly, trembling with frustration, his face flushed and moist, his breathing still ragged. He drew a deep sigh and leaned heavily against the steering wheel. "Good God, Norma Jean, I'm-only human. What are you trying to do to me. Drive me insane?"
Norma Jean felt a twinge of guilt as she straightened up. She knew she was being unfair and she wondered how much longer Ralph would take such treatment. The possibility of losing him, losing the moments of escape that he offered, disturbed her far more deeply than she had expected they would. She touched his arm reluctantly. "I'm sorry, Ralph. I shouldn't have let it go as far as it did."
"It's not healthy, this way. It's no good," he cried. "If you only knew what it does to me."
"Ralph, I said I was sorry."
"It's just no good this way."
"You said that before." Norma Jean was beginning to feel annoyed. "You know I'll only go so far. It's no different than the times before, so don't carry on about it."
They started arguing, both talking at once, until it began to grow heated. Norma Jean grabbed her brassiere off the floor of the car and slipped her arms through the straps. "Hook me up, Ralph," she ordered.
"You can damn well hook yourself up."
"Look, this ride was your idea. So why don't you just shut up and take me home."
"Why don't you go to hell?"
At that moment a light flashed in their eyes, startling them both into silence. It was a highway patrol car pulling up in front of them from the other side of the highway, the head lights blinding them head-on.
"It's a patrol car!" Ralph announced.
"Oh, God," Norma Jean cried. "Where's my sweater?"
They both leaned over to grapple for Norma Jean's sweater on the floor of the car and knocked their heads together. For a moment they were stunned motionless. By the time they collected their senses, a patrolman was standing to the left of Ralph.
"What seems to be the trouble here?"
Ralph stammered. "Nothing, sir. I just felt a little dizzy and pulled over to the side of the road."
The patrolman smiled, looking at Norma Jean as she slipped her sweater down over her head and smoothed it over her breasts. "Yeah, I see what you mean, son. I think I would be dizzy too."
Norma Jean flushed with anger and humiliation. "It was hot," she offered. It was the only thing she could think to say that would explain her undressed appearance.
"Sure, I bet it was," the patrolman commented, eyeing Norma Jean appraisingly. "But you can't cool off here on the highway. You'll have to move on."
Ralph already had turned the ignition and was racing the motor. He couldn't wait to get out of there. "Yes, sir. We were just going."
"Hey, ain't you Jud Grayson's son?"
"A ... yes, sir. That's me."
"And who's the young lady?"
"Just a friend," Norma Jean injected, hoping the interrogation would go no further.
The patrolman smiled knowingly. "It's okay, Norma Jean! Just checking. I know your mother pretty good."
Norma Jean turned her head away and stared out into the darkness on her side of the car. "Ralph, can we go now." She was so flustered and mortified, she was about to burst into tears.
"You can go," the patrolman replied. "We were just checking."
They drove back to Shelby in silence. She closed her eyes and tried to blot out the memory of the occurrence, but it was no good. She dreaded the thought of Sy's reaction, if he happened to hear about it, as he probably would. In Shelby there were no secrets.
When she opened her eyes, she discovered they were on Jefferson street headed toward her house. It suddenly occurred to her that her mother and Sy might be seated on the porch drinking beer. She didn't want them to see her with Ralph. "Stop the car, Ralph," she said suddenly. "Let me out here."
"No, I'll drive you home."
"I don't want you to drive me home. I want to walk. Please, stop the car."
Ralph pulled over the curb and turned to Norma Jean, his face the picture of bewilderment. "Norma Jean, don't be mad at me. It wasn't my fault. I didn't know those guys were going to come along."
"I'm not mad at you, Ralph," she explained as she hopped out of the car. "I'm just mad at myself for letting it happen and maybe a little mad at the world for dumping me in this hell-hole of a town." She slammed the car door and stormed off down the street.
Ralph raced the motor as he drove off down Jefferson Street and turned left at the corner.
Norma Jean was alone now. It was dark and the street was shadowed. She slowed her steps as she neared the corner, seeing a group of boys loitering in front of Luke's Soda Fountain that had just closed.
Norma Jean hesitated a moment and then decided to bypass any more trouble. She turned and veered her journey toward a dark side street she seldom used. The darkened doorways loomed ominously as she hurried by them toward a more brightly illuminated area. As she approached the mouth of an alley halfway down the block, she heard muffled laughter and voices and she paused suspiciously.
She stepped down from the curb, wanting the protection of the middle of the street as she passed the alley, and continued on, her eyes fixed on the dark recess. When she came abreast of it, she was able to see the vague outlines of the boys standing within the deep shadows. There seemed to be three or four of them and they were encircling someone who stood against the brick wall of the alley.
She heard one of them laugh coarsely.
"What are you afraid of, honey. We're just having a little fun."
Norma Jean saw them more distinctly and realized what they were doing. They had a girl in there and they were undressing her and from the muted sounds of the girl's weak protests, she was very young. Young and frightened. Young and vulnerable.
Norma Jean shuddered and hurried on, her stomach churning with revulsion. They would strip the girl and take turns with her, and if she protested, they would refuse to give her back her clothes until she did everything they told her to do. Norma Jean knew the routine. It wasn't unusual in Shelby.
It had happened to Ina when she was only sixteen.
It had almost happened to Norma Jean several times but she had managed to fight herself free.
She hunched her shoulders and hurried on down the street, the tears of desperation welling up in her eyes.
Was it possible to hate as much as she did? She hated the town and she hated the people in it with a loathing that could shrivel it up. She had no way of fighting it. She only knew she couldn't go on with life the way it was.
A voice within her spoke like a broken record and kept repeating, "Get out! Get out! Get out!"
CHAPTER THREE
Four uneventful, agonizing weeks passed slowly for Norma Jean. It was almost July and the weather was getting hotter and more unbearable.
Norma Jean went to her job at Wally's Diner every morning to serve what she called the pigs from the plant. It was hard work and she was too tired by the time five o'clock rolled around to spend her evenings doing anything constructive like making a dress or reading a good book. Wally, the flabby-bodied, bald-headed owner of the diner, would not invest the money to install air conditioning for the comfort of his employees or his patrons. In its place he had several large fans blasting all day long, blowing hot air onto an already stifling atmosphere, the smell of fried food from the kitchen circulating, making working conditions far more unendurable.
Each morning Norma Jean arrived for work she found the heavy set Wally stripped to the waist in the kitchen bending over an enormous pot, mashing the potatoes with a vengeance, the perspiration rolling off his body and dripping into the pot of potatoes. It made Norma Jean positively ill, a feeling that stayed with her throughout the day. She was grateful that she only had to serve the food and was not obligated to eat it. Occasionally" she walked home for lunch, but for the most part she would walk to Luke's on the corner, have a coke and read one of the latest fashion magazines.
She was accustomed by now to the obscene remarks that were passed by the men she served. There were all sorts of wild rumors that had circulated about the encounter she and Ralph had with the patrolman. News always traveled fast in Shelby and was grossly exaggerated in its reporting from one person to another. Each person had a different version and had inside information that their version consisted of the true facts.
Working at Wally's did have its compensations. In the month that she had worked there, she had saved fifty five dollars from her salary and tips which she placed in her escape fund. She figured that by the end of the summer she would have between a hundred and fifty to a hundred and seventy-five dollars.
To alleviate the boredom of her duties at Wally's, she would daydream that she was an actress playing a role in a movie. She did not live in Shelby and wait on tables. It was all part of the make believe of movie magic. She was actually very successful and was making bundles of money. She lived in a beautiful home high on a hilltop that overlooked a glittering glamorous city, and she indulged herself in a wardrobe of beautiful clothes, expensive shoes and fabulous furs.
There was also a special person who she could not quite define. Someone young and physically beautiful. A someone who loved her passionately, who commanded her respect with intelligence and poise, a someone who brought her thoughtful and precious gifts. A someone slender yet strong, impeccable in dress and manner, sensitive and gentle and understanding. A someone who....
"Hey, Norma Jean, how is Ralph Grayson? Is he your steady boyfriend?"
"Yeah, Norma Jean, tell us. Have you and little Ralph been out on the highway lately?"
Pop! And her illusions vanished. They destroyed everything.
The remarks of the men and boys who frequented the diner were always on the same low note, inwardly cutting through Norma Jean like a knife, although outwardly she built up her defense by laughing at them in the same manner one might employ with a hopelessly retarded child; condescendingly pathetic.
And so it went from day to day.
As long as there was hope, Norma Jean was able to bear up under the pressure and go on. She knew she would need a good-looking two piece suit to make her departure from Shelby. It would be an investment in her future. Wherever she went, she would have to see about a job. She would have to make a nice impression. Next to the sum of money she needed for her passage out of Shelby, the suit was a must. She began looking through fashion catalogues Rosie, Wally's wife, brought to her and one afternoon, during the slack hours, she found exactly what she wanted.
She crossed to the center of the diner where Rosie was seated behind the cash register reading the local paper. "What do you think of this, Rosie?"
"Oh, that's very nice," Rose said enthusiastically. "Very plain and very smart. You'd look good in that."
"Think so?"
"I do. You got good taste, Norma Jean. And only twenty-two fifty. That's a good bargain."
Norma Jean sighed. "I could never afford it. A luxury item like that."
"A suit like this is a necessity," Rosie exploded. "Not a luxury."
"Maybe not," Norma Jean replied weakly, "but I've been trying to save every cent so that I could...." She checked herself in the middle of the sentence. It would not do for her to reveal that she was saving toward the day when she might be able to escape the dreariness and sordidness of Shelby. It had to remain a closely guarded secret.
"Look," Rosie said, intruding into Norma Jean's thoughts, "A pretty girl should have pretty things. You order the suit. Have 'em send it here C.O.D. and Wally 'n' me will pay for it. You can pay back a little each week. That way you're not shelling it out all at once. How's that?"
Norma Jean threw her arms around Rosie and gave her a kiss. "Oh, thank you, Rosie. I'll work nights for this, if you want me to."
Norma Jean filled out the form that evening and took it to the post office to make sure it went out right away. The catalogue said to allow two to three weeks for shipping, but Norma Jean felt she would never be able to wait that long, even though she would put the suit away until that glorious day she hopped on the bus and waved good-bye to Shelby forever. The suit symbolized something to her. Somewhere she had read that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. The suit symbolized that first step.
Three more months and Norma Jean would be on her way.
Once the suit had been ordered, Norma Jean started working at the diner two nights a week. She wanted to do something to repay Rosie for her kindness and besides if she showed enough appreciation, Rosie might agree to let her order a pair of shoes and some other accessories on the same arrangment. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Norma Jean went to work in the morning and worked through the noon-hour rush. Then she would take the afternoon off and return to the diner at five and work until ten, which permitted Rosie to do her grocery shopping and take in a show at the Bijou.
On one such day, Norma Jean had gone home to take a nap and had overslept. She was about a half-hour late returning to the diner and when she got there, Rosie had already left.
"Rosie's old lady wasn't feeling so good," Wally explained, "so she took off a little early to go visit her before taking in the show at the Bijou."
Norma Jean crossed behind the counter and started into the kitchen where there was a small closet-size toilet which she generally used to change into her uniform.
"Wait a minute," Wally called out to her, as he bent over behind the counter. "I got something for you." Norma Jean turned back and saw Wally as he withdrew a large box out from under the counter and held it up. "A surprise," he announced eagerly. "It came today."
"Oh, my suit," Norma Jean exclaimed, crossing to where Wally was standing and took the box from him.
"It finally came." Excitedly she ripped the wrapping off the box, removed the lid and held up the royal blue jacket to the suit. "Oh, it's beautiful. Just the color I wanted." She held the jacket up to her shoulders and turned toward Wally for an opinion. "You like?"
Wally's chubby face flushed. "It's very nice, Norma Jean. I'll bet you look good in that." He removed a soiled handkerchief from his crumpled trousers and wiped a layer of perspiration beads from his face as he glanced at both ends of the counter. The diner was deserted and there was nobody standing out in front. "Why don't you just try it on?" he asked tersely, his voice strangely tight. "There ain't anybody here now."
"Oh, could I?"
"Sure, you can," Wally replied as he removed the skirt from the box.
Suddenly anxious, Norma Jean reached for the skirt, fearful that Wally might soil the fabric with his greasy hands.
Wally pulled it back, a queer smile on his wet lips. "I'll hold it for you," he announced determinedly.
Norma Jean frowned and stalked into the kitchen, followed by Wally. As she reached the door to the community toilet, she felt a sweaty hand grab her wrist. She turned back to look at the pot-bellied little man in bewilderment.
"You can undress out here," he croaked. "No-body'll see you."
"Here?" she repeated dully.
He nodded pleadingly. "Out here, Norma Jean ... so I can see you. Just this once, huh? " The idea of undressing in front of the pudgy man, even only as far as to her underwear, was repulsive, so much so that Norma Jean felt her legs trembling at the mere prospect. Yet amid her disgust, she realized the dilemma of her situation. To refuse might antagonize him to the point of firing her. She couldn't afford to lose the job. Then, there were her secret savings, hidden away in the back of her dresser drawer in her room. Those wrinkled bills represented hope for the future ... and to live without hope....
"What harm can there be in just looking, Norma Jean," he stated irritably. "I'm an old man. Too old to do more than look."
The blue suit blurred before Norma Jean's eyes. No matter how hard she tried to control it, her brain continued to justify what was taking place. He was an old man ... they were alone ... she needed the job ... and she wanted the suit ... she had to keep saving ... what did it really mean if she let him see her in her brassiere and panties...?
"Such a little thing to ask," he repeated hoarsely.
Norma Jean lowered her eyes and nodded, "All right."
Wally let out his breath in a prolonged sigh and waddled over to the swinging kitchen doors to check if anyone had come into the diner. He returned, the blue skirt draped over his arm, all pretense gone from his manner. He smiled a tight smile, and waited expectantly.
Norma Jean steeled herself, trying to think only of the blue suit and the job she had to keep. She attempted to turn her side to him as she began to undo the front buttons on her dress, but he sidled to a more advantageous position, his eyes fixed on the movements of her fingers. She felt dirty, garishly exposed under the naked bulb that dangled from the kitchen ceiling. She tried desperately to forget he was there, to pretend that she was alone in her room, but it was useless.
Her dress parted to reveal the creamy flesh which overflowed her tight brassiere. She dropped her dress to the floor and looked around in sudden panic, checking the kitchen windows to make sure that nobody was outside. Wally, without taking his eyes from her breasts, reached out a hand. Norma Jean bit her lip, as she kneeled down to pick up her dress and handed it to Wally to hold.
She suddenly felt she had to say something, to lessen her torment. "I hope the suit fits," she said tonelessly.
"Huh?"
"The skirt, Wally. May I have the skirt, please."
Wally shook his head. "No! Take off the slip first."
Fighting back an impulse to snatch back her dress and forget about trying on the suit, she fingered with the catch at the side of her half-slip and unhooked it, her movements painfully slow and torturous. Wally was transfixed, eyes glazed, his rotund figure bent forward. Norma Jean swallowed her revulsion and quickly let the half-slip slide over her hips and down her legs, wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible.
The perspiring proprietor made a muted groan as he watched her step out of her half-slip. The magnified eyes feasted on her nicely shaped legs, the bold flare of her firm buttocks, the molded panties which hugged the enticing curves of her young body. He swayed, as though overcome by the sight.
She could not keep from covering herself with a hand. "The skirt," she pleaded in a soft whisper.
He seemed hypnotized by her semi-nude body, the firmness of it, the lushness. He shook his head as if in an attempt to clear the paralyzing effects and his arms went limp at his sides, letting the blue skirt as well as the dress she had been wearing slide off them and fall to the floor. "Norma Jean," he whispered, moving toward her.
She backed away fearfully, until her shoulders hit the door to the toilet and she could retreat no further. Despite the fact that she was obviously terrified, he still continued to advance. She cried a protest and held out her hands to ward him off. He was like a madman, unaware of anything except what his eyes were devouring.
"Stop," she cried, panic making her legs turn to jelly. "Stop it!"
"Oh, please," he croaked, struggling against her shielding hands. "I won't hurt you, Norma Jean. Don't be afraid of old Wally."
Norma Jean sobbed in frustration and shoved at him. "Leave me alone, damn you. What do you think lam?"
"I know what you are, honey. I heard them stories about you and the Grayson kid out on the highway." The proprietor suddenly fell to his knees, evading her hands, and embraced her warm legs tightly. He was groaning, his face rubbing against her flesh, his hands clawing at the thin panties she wore. "So young and so sweet," he moaned.
Norma Jean swayed dangerously, her balance periled by his grip on her legs. She tried to pry his fat head away from her body while at the same time, kick her legs free from his impassioned grasp. She felt as though her head would explode and she heard herself cursing him hysterically.
He had the panties low on her body and his stub-bled beard was scraping her soft skin. "Let me," he cried wildly. "You won't have to pay for the suit. I'll give it to you as a gift. You can have it if you just let me.
She felt as though she were suffocating. The thick fingers were like talons, digging into the muscles of her half-bared buttocks. The moist mouth seemed to be everywhere, nibbling and biting. The flimsy underpants were straining about her thighs, confining her efforts to free herself, resisting her sporadic attempts to pull them up to their proper position.
"I'll give you anything, Norma Jean," he cried, his thin voice suddenly lustfully thick and muffled. "Anything. Anything. Just let me."
She had to escape.
She had to get away from this horrible man.
Her fingers caught the thin strands of hair at the side of his head and wrenched the head back from her body. With all the strength that was in this young body of hers, she drove her fist down into his upturned face. He made an abortive sound and then collapsed to the floor like a deflated balloon. Crumpled at her feet, he lay twitching and groaning with a rivulet of blood streaming from his nose.
Norma Jean tore her stricken gaze from his inert form and snatched up her dress. Her insides were fluttering wildly and she thought her knees were about to buckle. "I told you to stop," she muttered deliriously, fearful of what she had done in her moment of panic. "You made me do it."
Wally rolled over dazedly and put a hand to his fat damaged face. He looked at the smear of blood and whimpered like a hurt puppy. He seemed to have trouble focussing on her as he struggled to sit up. "I'm bleeding," he intoned, still dulled by the blow.
"You're going to be unconscious when I get through with you," a voice suddenly bellowed into the kitchen.
Norma Jean turned sharply and saw Rosie standing in the kitchen doorway, holding back the swinging doors. "Rosie, I...." she whispered.
"Get out of here, you little slut," Rosie screamed harshly, as she released the swinging doors and invaded the kitchen. "This is what you get, when you try to be nice." Her eyes were livid with rage, her face ugly in its fury. "Get dressed and get out of here. You're fired. Fired!"
Forgetting about her half-slip, Norma Jean slipped into her dress quickly and moved toward the swinging doors while she fumbled desperately with the buttons on the front of her dress. As she reached the kitchen door, she turned back to make a last effort to explain her innocence and saw Rosie pick up a large frying pan and bring it down crashing on top of Wally's head. "Oh, my God," she gasped.
Norma Jean ran past the counter to the front of the diner and the entrance, sobbing hysterically as she found the door locked. As she fumbled with the lock, she heard Wally's wails from the kitchen and Rosie screaming at him.
"You bastard. You fat bastard. I'll fix you for good."
Finally" Norma Jean wrenched the door to the diner open and stumbled out into the street. Several men who had tried to get in the diner and had found it locked, were standing near the entrance looking bewildered. They stared at Norma Jean in curious speculation.
Norma Jean didn't see the people on the street staring at her, as she ran up the street into the darkness, her heart pounding wildly, her brain spinning. She found an alley and ducked into it. It seemed to be her only escape from curious eyes. She needed a few moments alone with herself, to catch her breath, to control her tears of shame.
She stumbled and almost fell but caught herself as she reached out and felt the security of a brick wall. She braced herself against the wall and waited until her panting subsided. But she no sooner had herself pretty much under control than the bizarre images of the incident in the diner flooded through her thoughts and she burst into tears again. She turned sharply to face the wall, resting her head on the rough bricks, letting her tears flow freely now. She had to get it all out of her system. She was so ashamed. So deeply ashamed and humiliated. "Why," she asked herself aloud between sobs, "why do these things happen to me? What have I done?"
There were no answers, of course. Things happened without rhyme or reason and people either accepted or rejected their fate, depending on how they thought and felt inside. Who decided that Norma Jean Hollis was to be born and raised in Shelby? Who was responsible for this outrage? There was nobody she could blame ... not even her mother. But did she have to accept it? She did like hell! .
She was rejecting it, the town, the people who live in it, the whole way of life. She swore to herself, if she had to kill somebody to do it, she was getting out, even if it meant crawling out of town on her hands and knees.
"What's the trouble, Pussycat?"
She turned quickly and found herself confronting a young man, the flickering flame from his cigarette lighter casting weird shadows on his evil lecherous face. This encounter was all she needed to explode. "Look, I don't know who you are," she said, trying desperately to control anger that raged in her voice, "but I don't care. If you dare to touch me, if you lay one hand on me, I swear, so help me, I'll tear your eyes out. I mean it."
The young man was momentarily startled by the threat, as he arched his back and, holding his head up, took a long drag on his cigarette. Then he smiled with an air of cocked assuredness. "Honeycomb, you are scaring me to death."
As he took a step toward her, Norma Jean steadied herself against the brick wall, ready to do battle. His hands came up slowly and then shot out to grab her by the shoulders. It was the last advance he made. With every bit of strength she had in her, Norma Jean brought her knee up with the force of a pile hammer. Instantly the young man staggered back and then doubled over in pain and fell to his knees.
Norma Jean was strangely calm at this point. She needed the violence to snap her out of her hysteria.
She looked down upon her victim without shame or pity, then tossed her head back and ran her fingers through her hair, forcing the strands away from her face.
In complete control of herself now, she walked casually out of the alley, muttering softly to herself, "The creeps never learn, do they?"
CHAPTER FOUR
It was a time for making decisions!
Norma Jean found herself alone in the house. On Saturdays Sy and Agnes generally drank themselves blind at the taverns and didn't stagger home until the early hours of Sunday morning. Norma Jean had to think, and she couldn't do it when Sy was leering at her and Agnes was chatting on about this and that. The young strawberry blonde was grateful for the solitude that Saturday evenings brought.
She no longer felt the sordid effects of the episode with Wally and Rosie. She had come to the realization that people who were sensitive and lily-livered invariably got trampled on. A person had to be hard as nails emotionally, cool and calculating, if that person intended to survive.
For two days she had grieved over the loss of her job and with it her loss of hope and a loss of independence. Her loss of independence was the hardest felt. Without it, she felt at the mercy of Sy Cleaver and her mother, and was forced to accept the meals and daily necessities that they provided.
She needed a new plan of escape. Half the summer was gone and she could not waste any more time trying to do things the right way. She had seventy-four dollars. That was all. And how far would seventy-five dollars take Norma Jean? Not very far. Probably no further than the nearest big town ... Bitfield, another small town that had grown big overnight as the result of a large Army Air Force Base that had gone up there. Almost over night, Norma Jean had heard that the sleepy little town had transformed into a swinging, bustling city, with hotels and motels and nightclubs shooting up all over the place. It was an overgrown town gone wild.
But why should she settle for Ritfield, she reasoned as she undressed and prepared for bed. She had big ideas and she suddenly realized she had a weapon ... a powerful weapon she had not considered using to get what she wanted. Not until now.
Her body!
Up until now she had no illusions about the power of persuasion her body held over the desires of men. But now she had a few desires and dreams of her own and she was determined to do anything to get them.
Norma Jean stood stripped before her mirror and examined the body which had turned Wally into a wild animal, the body that frustrated young men like Ralph and put evil thoughts in the minds of men like Sy Qeaver.
It was the body of a woman, not a virtuous girl in her teens. It was a well developed body and yet slender in all the right places to make it alluring. The legs were well-shaped and smoothly muscled. The hips flared out just enough to make the body curvaceous. The buttocks were rubbery-tight and firmly rounded. The breasts were perhaps too large, but they were what men noticed first and because of her youth, they were proudly and tantalizingly erect. It was the kind of body that the boys on the corner whistled at and referred to as a "bone crusher."
Norma Jean stared at it, seeing it impersonally, feeling it tingling with latent passion and denied hungers and all at once she knew that she could no longer consider it a personal and precious thing. It was her weapon ... her value. It was all she had to give as a means of getting what she wanted, a good life and some of the better things that life had to offer.
The question was what she should do about it, now that she was willing to offer it up as a sacrifice.
She knew the answer. There really wasn't much choice, but she was sure it would work.
She went to the phone and dialed Ralph Grayson's number.
It was nine o'clock. Grayson Used-Car lot stayed open late on Saturday nights. It was the right time to catch Ralph ... just as he was going off duty.
"Hello! May I speak to Ralph, please?"
"Just a minute, lady," a voice replied. "I'll see if he's still here." Norma Jean held her breath and prayed that she wasn't too late in getting to him. She tried to formulate her words, but her heart was pounding and her thoughts were all scrambled together.
"Hello!"
"Hello, Ralph?"
"Yeah, who's this?" His voice suddenly took on new life. "Is this Norma Jean?"
"Yes, it is, Ralph," she said demurely.
"Well, long time no see. How are you, Norma Jean?"
"I haven't been feeling too well the last couple of days, but I'm fine now."
"I heard about you losing your job. That's tough."
"Oh? What did you hear?"
Ralph chuckled. "That Wally's old lady beat him up and put him in the hospital. I drove by to see you for a minute last week and the place was closed. One of the guys told me what happened. I'm sorry, Norma Jean."
"Oh, that's okay," Norma Jean remarked casually. "He didn't get very far with me. I was able to handle him."
"The way I hear it, Rosie did the job for you."
Norma Jean didn't care to dwell on the subject. "Ralph, what are you doing now?"
"Nothing. I thought I'd go over to Greene's Tavern for a few beers. Why?"
"Well, I haven't heard from you and I...."
"Look, I can explain all that, Norma Jean," he said apologetically, cutting her off. "I haven't stopped thinking about you, not for one second. But my old man really let me have it after that little escapade out on the highway. I mean he was really sore."
"You mean he doesn't want us dating anymore?"
"Well, sort of."
She smiled inwardly. Her plan was working out exactly as she had figured it would. "Ralph, I've got to see you." she blurted out. "It's very important."
"Is something wrong, Norma Jean?" he asked nervously.
"Not exactly. But we've got to have a talk."
"You mean right now? "
"Right now. I've got to know a few things."
"Oh!" There was a hesitation in his voice. "Gee, I don't know about tonight. I'm in such hot water with the old man...."
"Don't be childish, Ralph. If you're afraid of us being seen together, you can come here-to my house. My mother and Sy will be out all evening." She waited for Ralph to say something, but he remained silent which forced her to take a firmer stand. "If you care anything about me, Ralph, you'll come. If you don't, then just forget that I called. In fact forget that we ever met."
"I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."
He was coming. So far her planning was working.
Norma Jean hurried into her bedroom to make herself presentable for Ralph's visit. It would be a memorable meeting, she told herself, so she must dress with unusual care.
She selected the most revealing dress she had in her limited wardrobe, a tight fitting plain black dress that was a hand-me-down from Agnes, who had gotten too heavy to wear it. It fit snugly over her breasts and hips, enough to turn the head of any man in her direction. She piled her hair up high on her head which gave her an air of sophistication and allure. It was just right for the occasion.
There was a cool calculating quality stirring inside of her, a deliberation to her actions which suggested a grim determination, a preciseness to her plotting thoughts. It was all new to her. But it also pleased her. It suggested that she was through being a frightened, innocent child. She had graduated into a mature woman.
Whatever happened tonight, one way or the other, the course of her life would be changed. She was gambling and she knew it but regardless of the outcome-high stakes or low stakes-she convinced herself she would be better off than she had been.
She was waiting at the front door for Ralph when he pulled up to the curb. He was wearing his work clothes and he looked tired and dirty, but no matter, Norma Jean was prepared to overlook that. A romantic evening wasn't what she had in mind.
Ralph smiled self-consciously, his eyes taking in her full appearance. "Holy cow, you look great. You make me feel like a dirty slob." He shrugged uneasily.
"Come in, Ralph. Close the door and lock it."
Ralph did as she requested and when he followed her into the living room, his brow was furrowed with curiosity. "Hey, what's this all about anyway?"
"It's about us," she answered quietly, picking up a cigarette and waiting for Ralph to light it for her.
"Oh," he uttered as he struck a match and waveringly held out the flame for her.
She took a puff on her cigarette and moved in closer to him, looking up into his eyes through her heavily mascaraed lashes, as she exhaled the smoke seductively. "Do you want me, Ralph?" she said huskily. "Do you really want me?"
Ralph gave a sheepish grin in surprise and his arms went around her waist, hiking her against his body. "Do I? Hell, what do you think?"
His arms squeezed and his teeth clicked against her own as their lips were pressed together. Norma Jean closed her eyes and reminded herself of her plan. Very slowly, with an artfulness she had never before employed, she leaned into him and moved her hips. Ralph tensed at the soft pressure and he held her still tighter.
Norma Jean parted her lips and slid her tongue into his mouth, moving it in a slow and sensuous circle as her fingers caressed the back of his neck.
He reacted instantly, his embrace adjusting her pliant cooperative body to his rising excitement. She offered no resistance, allowing her hips to roll provocatively against his middle section. "I love you, Ralph," she whispered. "And I need you. I need your love."
"Oh, Norma Jean, if you knew the nightmares I've had about you."
"Do you want me, Ralph ... want me this way ... always?"
"What do you mean?"
Norma Jean eased away from him. "You know, Ralph. Do you want me enough to marry me?"
Ralph stared at her in bewilderment as he scratched his head. "Well, this is a switch. What have I been talking about all along, for crying out loud?"
"I don't mean in six months or a year, Ralph. I mean right now. Tonight?"
"Norma Jean, you must be kidding."
"No, Ralph, I've never been more serious. I've done a lot of thinking on the subject. I am in love with you, Ralph. It's taken a long time for me to realize it, but now that I know you're the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, even here in Shelby, if you like, I'm willing to give myself to you tonight, this very minute as long as I know we'll be married right away."
"Honey, be reasonable. We can't get married right away. It takes at least a couple of days."
"All right, tomorrow or Monday then. But we can leave tonight. We can drive down to Ritfield and be married there."
"Ritfield? You want to drive down to Ritfield tonight?" He shook his head dazedly. "That's over a hundred and fifty miles."
"We can stop off at some motel on the way, Ralph. And I'll give myself to you tonight ... completely, as long as I know we're going to be married Monday or Tuesday." She moved in again and allowed the tips of her breasts to rub against his chest. "You know better than anybody, Ralph, that you will be the first. Oh, Ralph, I need you so desperately." She rested her head on his chest and enveloped him with her arms, pressed her body hard against his.
"That's great, honey," Ralph said. He was obviously almost too overcome to speak. "But, what I don't understand ... I mean, what's the rush?"
Norma Jean pushed herself away from him, her eyes flashing, her voice flaring. "Because I can't wait another week, another day, another minute."
Ralph's face reflected sudden concern mixed with confusion. He gulped and attempted to steady himself before speaking. "Norma Jean, tell me the truth. Did that bastard Wally do anything to you?"
Norma Jean was beginning to lose her patience without wanting to. "Of course not, silly. I'd tell you, if he had, Ralph. What kind of a girl do you think I am?" She turned away from him to give the impression that she was on the brink of tears. "Do you think I'd try to trick you into a marriage, if anything like that happened? I ... I couldn't, Ralph. I love you ... too much." Her words trailed off sadly.
"I'm sorry, honey. I know you wouldn't pull anything like that." He crossed to her, placing his hands tenderly on her shoulders. "Come on, Norma Jean, don't cry. All I meant was why, all of a sudden, are we in such a mad rush."
Norma Jean did a sharp about face and glared up at Ralph. "Because ... because I'm sick of the way men look at me in this town ... and the remarks they make. Because I'm sick of living with my mother and my drunken stepfather, who's suddenly getting a few ideas of his own. I'm sick of the whole existence. Sick, sick, sick of it. Do you understand?" She stopped abruptly, realizing that she was suddenly shouting at him, giving him a terrible impression of what it would be like to be married to her. Ralph was staring at her questioningly now. He had never seen her this way before. Norma Jean's defiance quickly changed to tender helplessness. "Because I'm lonely and frightened. And because I need to be with you, Ralph. I need to belong to just one man and never have to worry anymore about things happening to me ... like what almost happened at the diner.
Ralph suddenly became protective and encircled her with his strong arms. "You poor kid," he said softly. "You've had it rough all right."
"Take me away, Ralph ... tonight. Please. I can't go on this way any longer."
Ralph sighed and released Norma Jean as he turned away and sank down upon the sofa. "Tonight!" He shook his head gravely. "I don't see how it's possible. My old man will have a fit."
"Don't tell him."
"He'll find out soon enough, if I'm not home tomorrow."
"We'll call him from Ritfield ... on Monday, after we've applied for a license."
"And money, Norma Jean? I didn't wait to get paid tonight. All I got is about five bucks."
"I have money, Ralph. Enough to see us through until after we're married." Ralph looked up at her longingly. He wanted her. She knew it. She kneeled down before him, taking his hands in hers. "Just think about it, Ralph. We'll be alone. We'll be together all night ... in a bed ... just the two of us. We'll lock the door on the whole world and do whatever we feel like doing, without being afraid of being caught."
The brawny youth shivered. "Oh, Norma Jean, I do want you ... so bad."
She pressed her lips against his desperately, uncertain as to how long she could sustain her acting. She pressed her cheek against his, nibbling on the lobe of his big ear. "I'll make you happy, Ralph. You won't be sorry, I promise. I'll do everything you've ever wanted me to do and more. I don't want to do those things with anybody but you."
He grabbed her and pulled her to her feet as he sprang up from the sofa fiercely, jamming her against his aroused body, holding her tight. "Okay, honey," he croaked. "Okay, we'll leave tonight."
Norma Jean sagged with relief, hiding her face from him. "You mean it, darling?"
"Yes, I mean it."
A great weight fell from her shoulders yet she felt no great elation. She extricated herself from his arms. "I can be ready in a half-hour."
"I'll have to take my old man's car back and get another one from the lot ... fill it with gas and all that."
"How long will you be?"
"Not too long. I don't dare go back to my house. I'll just have to go as I am."
"Can you get any money at all? We'll need all we can get."
Ralph paled. "I guess I can get some ... maybe about thirty or forty dollars out of the cash box in the safe. Don't worry about it." He looked very young, very scared and very doubtful.
"We must be careful, Ralph. Nobody must know where we're going."
"What about your mother?"
Norma Jean walked with Ralph to the front door. "She's at the tavern with Sy. They won't leave until the place closes. They'll both be so blind, they won't know I've gone until morning." She pushed open the door for Ralph. He kissed her and stepped out onto the porch. "Oh, Ralph, one thing more. When you come back, don't honk your horn or anything like that. All the lights will be out in here-so the neighbors will think I've gone to bed. I'll leave the front door unlocked. Just come in and get my bag. I'll be ready."
"Okay," he said nervously.
As he turned to leave, Norma Jean reached out and took hold of his hand. "Just remember, my darling. I love you."
Ralph smiled weakly and nodded in a whisper. "Sure."
She waited while he got into the car, started the motor, leaving his headlights off, and drove off in the dark.
She had accomplished her mission. At least the first stage of it was behind her. She and Ralph would leave Shelby as planned. And, as she had promised, she would give herself to him tonight in some motel along the highway to Ritfield. This she had to do to insure that Ralph was right where she wanted him ... emotionally trapped by his hungry desires for sexual stimulation. He was young. His frustrations and his desires were strong. Her body would fulfill Ralph's need enough to influence his actions, and he would override any objections his father could make.
Before she would marry Ralph, however, she would give his father the chance of getting his son back without complications.
But it was going to cost Mr. Grayson some money.
CHAPTER FIVE
Norma Jean went to her room and started packing a small suitcase, stuffing it with her few meager possessions. Whatever happened, she told herself, she wasn't coming back. She busied herself mechanically, her mind racing far ahead of her actions. She had mentally packed that suitcase many times.
They would spend the night together and she would give up her virtue. It didn't mean much to her any more and it was the price she had to pay to get a better life. The next day was Sunday so any arrangements for their marriage would have to wait until Monday. At the worst, she would not have to marry him before Wednesday, so she had time to negotiate a better deal for herself.
A sudden spurt of repugnance stirred within her, as she reached the full realization that Ralph would be possessing her body. It filled her head with doubts and dismay.
What would it be like? Would it be pleasurable to her or terribly painful as some women claimed? Because of his lack of experience, she doubted that Ralph would be a good lover. He would undoubtedly be as nervous as she was. She only hoped that he would know what to do.
She did not consider herself to be totally unaware or innocent, and yet it was something that a girl had to experience for herself before it ceased to be a mystery. No virgin really knew what it was like.
Tonight she would find out at last what all the shouting was about. It was too late now for any doubts or fears or misgivings. She had made a decision and now she must go through with it. On this night, she would see the end of one life and the beginning of a new one ... as a fully matured woman.
She finished her packing and shut the lid on her suitcase. There was something very final about it. She checked her wristwatch and realized she still had a little time to prepare herself for her trip into the unknown. She wished with all her heart that she could foresee the outcome.
As she was fixing her hair and applying a fresh makeup, she heard the front door open and close and the rotten floorboards squeak in the foyer. It could not possibly be Ralph Grayson. He could not possibly do all he had to do and get back this quickly. He had only been gone fifteen minutes. Her stomach began doing flip flops and panic gripped her heart as she slowly turned her head and saw the figure standing in the open doorway to her bedroom.
Sy Cleaver swayed slightly and smiled. "And just where the hell do you think you're going?"
His bloodshot eyes and unsteady movements told Norma Jean that he was in a dangerous mood. His hair was mussed and there was a small cut on his Up that indicated he had been in another fight.
"Where's Mama?" she asked sharply.
"I left her down at the tavern lapping herself into a fat stupor."
"Why aren't you with her, looking after her?"
"They threw me out," he shrugged. "So I came back to you, where I knew I would be appreciated."
"Well, you're not appreciated here. Go to bed."
"A good idea."
"In your own room," Norma Jean stated acidly.
Sy chuckled and lighted a cigarette as he leaned against the door frame. "I like it better in here ... with you."
Norma Jean glared at him. "Sy, if you only knew how disgusting you are to me."
His eyes became angry narrow slits. "You planning on running off with some punk?"
"That's none of your business. Get out."
"You're wrong, baby. Anything you do is my business."
Norma Jean exploded with a sharp laugh. "That's what you think." As she picked up her suitcase off the bed, Sy lunged into the room and pulled it out of her hand and tossed it on the floor. "You're so drunk, you don't know what you're doing. Get out of my way, His hand flashed through the air and landed on the side of her cheek with a stinging impact. Norma reeled backwards but was able to reclaim her footing. She stared at him in horror as she moved in closer, forcing her to retreat to the edge of the bed.
"Who's the punk that's waiting for you?" he asked threateningly.
"Sy, if you don't get out of my room and leave me alone, I'll start screaming blooding murder. The neighbors will call the police."
Sy found that very amusing. "The police," he chuckled. "What's the matter with the boyfriend you got waiting. Ain't he man enough to handle me?"
Fear began to take possession of her. Norma Jean turned on her heels and ran quickly to the window to scream for help. But before she could get the window up, a heavy hand grabbed her and yanked her away from the window. She lost her footing and fell to the floor. "How dare you," she cried. "Just who do you think you are anyway? You can't hold me here."
"You'll do what I tell you to do, understand?" the stocky and powerful man ordered. He gazed lustfully at her through bloodshot eyes, as she struggled to get back on her feet. "Listen, I've wasted enough time on that slut you call Mama than I care to admit. I've taken care of her and kept her in booze, just to keep my eyes on you, baby face. You're the one I want and you're the one I'm going to get, one way or another. So stop fighting it."
Norma Jean couldn't resist the opportunity to deflate his male ego. "Oh, Sy, you fool ... you stupid ugly fool," she exploded with laughter.
"Don't call me no fool ... not if you know what's good for you."
"Oh, but you are," she smiled cruelly. "You big, dumb sap, while you've been waiting for me to grow up, hanging around here licking your lips waiting to be the first one to get me...." She paused to throw her head back laughing, not caring how he would react to what she was saying.
"What about it?" he demanded intensely.
"You jerk, I'm not the little Miss Innocence you think I am. Some other jerk beat you to it."
Sy's mottled face darkened. "You're lying."
"As a matter-of-fact, Sy, more than just one. There have been several."
"You little slut. You're just like your mother and that rotten sister of yours."
"Don't you dare say anything about Ina. At least she got out. She got away from the likes of men like you. She had the brains and the guts to get out and make something of herself. So don't say anything about her!"
It was Sy's turn to be amused. "That queer! You know how far she got? No place."
"And what do you know about it?"
"Plenty. I made it a point of finding out. Ina didn't get any further that Ritfield. She's there now, living in some bug-infested hotel, selling it for two bucks a night."
"That's a lie."
"Think so? Ask Agnes. She'll tell you. We drove down there. We looked her up."
"Why didn't I know about this?"
"Because that boozing Maw of yours thought you was too young and too innocent to know about such things, which shows how little she knows."
"You son of a bitch," Norma Jean cried, swinging her arm out to hit him. His hand caught the arm in midair while his other hand grabbed a bunch of her reddish blonde hair and twisted her around, bringing a sharp cry from her throat. She tried to scream out but the only sound to escape was a thin, tight gasp, as she felt herself being hurled back onto the bed. Kicking and clawing and cursing, she fought wildly to extricate herself from the strong hands of her attacker that held her firmly to the mattress. She could feel herself tiring, weakening, and the realization spurred her into renewed frenzy and panic. Suddenly she was free and running toward the door, but once again he caught her and hurled her back violently to the bed.
"Now you're going to know what it's like to have a real man," he panted, snarling at her. "Better than any of these punks you've had around here. You're going to know what it's really like and I'm going to show you."
He lunged at her, forcing her back onto the bed, causing her to bounce on the mattress. Norma Jean instinctively drew up her legs and clutched at her knees protectively. He grabbed at her, his hands catching at the neckline of her dress and ripping it from her body as though it were made of tissue. She tried to crawl away from him, but his hands pulled at the hook of her bra until it was torn loose. She sobbed, staring down in dulled dismay at the exposed nipples of her expanding breasts. "Damn you...." she whimpered, covering them with her hands.
Sy was shedding his clothes, exposing his hairy physique to her terrified eyes. He was brutally formed, his stocky maleness overpowering and frightening. He flung his trousers and shorts aside and fell on the bed, his eyes wild with cheap whisky and lust. He was at her in a flash, his weight crushing the breath from her body, his strong expansive chest crushing her breasts. She gasped wildly, feeling the hot gusts of his foul breath searing her cheeks. She jerked her face away in disgust and tugged at his forehead in a frantic effort to pry his mouth away from her neck and throat.
"No ... no ... no...."
Norma Jean tossed and strained, biting at his shoulder. Tears scalded her cheeks as she waged her ultimate struggle and her lungs ached with the exertions of her sobbings. Pinned by his weight, she was powerless, but she could not let herself admit it either to him or to herself. So she fought ... goaded by the hot contact of his wet flash against her burning thighs.
A rocket exploded, stunning her brain, stilling her actions. The blow split both her lips, bringing blood to them, blood that tasted salty and warm and sickening. She lay dazed, limp and boneless, chest heaving, eyes glazed, the ringing in her head resounding over and over again. Somehow, through the fog, she saw him rise slightly and felt him tearing her panties from her in short furious motions. Then she was naked beneath him, defenseless....
"Please," she whimpered brokenly, seeing his ugly face as it loomed above her, feeling his hands lifting her. "Oh, please, Sy."
He took her brutally, suddenly.
She screamed, arching under the initial pain.
He held her fast, forcing her to accommodate his battering assault, until at last she no longer strained but lay passive and indolent in his arms, her moans a continuous and plaintive thing.
The pounding waves of sensation swept over her as the assault drove the breath from her body. She felt caught up in a whirlwind of violence and pain and humiliation. The small fragment of her brain still able to function cried out in protest to what was happening, to the use she was being put to by the drunken brute who had been made her stepfather by law.
The pain enveloped her and it was as if she were being torn apart by his savagery. It went on and on and on until she could no longer think, no longer feel, no longer hear. Then suddenly, it ended.
He collapsed on top of her, sweaty and spent and suffocatingly heavy.
She wept, ashamed and disgusted. She did not seek to break their contact. She was without any strength, without will, weeping, her innocence shattered.
"You lied." He laughed. "I was the first."
She closed her eyes. "I hate you."
"I was the first," he chuckled again, a note of pride in his statement, pride and satisfaction. "And baby, you ain't ever gonna forget it."
The words hung heavy in the stillness of the small bedroom. In the distance she heard the faint sound of a car approaching, then stopping. A car door opened and closed. Vaguely in the back of her mind she knew it had something to do with her, but she was so miserable and exhausted that nothing registered.
Not until she heard the front screen door open and slam shut did her thoughts take shape.
"Norma Jean," a voice called out. "Where are you?"
She sprang to her feet stark naked and dashed to the bedroom door to close it, but she was too late. Ralph stood in the doorway, stunned into a frozen position, looking dumbfounded at her nakedness for a moment and then his gaze traveling over to take in the naked form of Sy Cleaver on the bed.
He was speechless. He could not believe what he saw.
She wanted to tell him that she had been forced, that it wasn't her fault, that if he had come just a little sooner he would have been able to protect her, but it all seemed so useless now. The scene was so horribly incriminating.
No matter what she might have said, he probably would not have believed her anyway. All her plans and hopes and dreams came crashing down around her.
A moment later Ralph Grayson turned his back on her shame and humiliation, and was gone.
She heard the sound of a car motor sputter into activity and drive off out of earshot. Then she turned back to look at the evil beast on her bed. His uproarious laughter seared her soul.
She sagged in a gesture of defeat, her spirit crushed completely, feeling as though Ralph's departure symbolized the end to all hope.
She wanted to die.
CHAPTER SIX
Somehow, some way ... she had to survive.
She had taken hold of her courage, called Ralph's father and told him that she wanted to see him. He had been reluctant at first, but she had warned him that unless he wanted trouble, they had better have a talk and get a few things settled. She had been bluffing, but she had come to the conclusion that she had nothing to lose. It was a chance and it might work.
It did.
Mr. Grayson had left his office and picked Norma Jean up in front of Luke's cigar store. They had driven a short distance out of town where they would not be seen and had stopped at a drive-in on the highway for a cup of coffee. Mr. Grayson had listened soberly to Norma Jean's charges that his son had raped her the night before at her house and that she could get a doctor's certificate verifying the fact that she had been violated for the first time. Mr. Grayson, a self-confident, self-made man, had not appeared to be troubled by the charges.
Quietly he had asked Norma Jean what she wanted, and had been amused when she had requested two thousand dollars not to make any trouble. Just as quietly and unemotionally he had told her that it was worth five hundred dollars to him just to avoid the aggravation. She could take it or leave it. It made no difference to him. But if she agreed to take the money she was to sign a paper absolving his son of any involvement with her and never attempt to see the boy again.
Norma Jean had taken the five hundred dollars and was on the bus en route to Ritfield that evening, leaving eighteen years of unhappiness behind her.
She was free, completely free at last.
She had succeeded. She had escaped from Shelby.
The dusty bus roared down the highway, taking her further and further away from the past. There was a new life waiting for her, new excitement and adventure. Her head was filled' with plans for the future. A totally different kind of future that would erase the bitterness and sordidness of her past existence. Whatever the future held, it would be an improvement over what she had endured that summer.
By the time the bus reached Ritfield, it was almost eleven o'clock on Monday evening. The trip had been tiring, adding to an inner tension she felt regarding the uncertainty of what she would do once she arrived at her destination. The strain of the last few days weighed heavily upon her shoulders, as she made her way through the crowded depot to the taxi stand.
She struggled through the crowds of nervous people that pushed and shoved against her, ignoring the bold appraisals of the many soldiers that cast glances in her direction. She was certain that they were appraising her tacky dishevelled appearance. The quick glances were definitely focused on the pronounced up-thrust of her breasts or the movement of her well-shaped and rounded behind, as she forced her way through to the revolving doors which led to the street.
Men were the same everywhere.
Small towns, big towns ... they were all oversexed animals.
The crowds of milling people, pushing and shoving like ants, the flashing neon lights, the congested traffic momentarily overwhelmed Norma Jean as she reached the street. She gaped in muted bewilderment. It was all so different, so new to her. She began to feel insecure and nervous, as she realized she was alone ... all alone in a strange town. She began to wonder if she would ever be able to get by in such a wild and hectic environment.
There was no taxi available at the curb and she was aware that she was being looked at curiously. She shifted the weight of her suitcase to her other hand and started hiking up the street. Despite the fatigue she felt, she was curious to see something of the town that she had heard so much about.
Ritfield was everything Norma Jean had heard and more. It was another little town gone wild. The town just wasn't big enough to handle its sudden population explosion. Everything was crowded. The bars were crowded. People stood in lines on the street to get into restaurants and into movie houses.
It was as if somebody had just announced that the war was on. The people of Ritfield appeared confused, almost frantic in their movements, as if they had been told there would not be a tomorrow. The present now was all they had.
Norma Jean tried desperately to appear casual and not give herself away as a stranger in town, but she feared that she was not doing a very good job of concealing her bewilderment.
She was fascinated, and yet she felt intimidated.
She had never seen so many soldiers in her entire life. Tall ones, short ones, cocky good-looking ones, drunk ones, old and weary ones. They swarmed over the main street of the small town like a locust invasion.
Norma Jean eyed them as they passed, unable to convey indifference. The younger men were lean, tanned and muscular. Each one appeared to be cock of the walk. The young girls of Ritfield wore large sweaters and tight slacks and a great number of them wore their hair in an imitation of Brigitte Bar-dot. Their young faces were overly painted and cool and knowing, their spiked heels clicking an invitation to every man or soldier who glanced their way.
Ritfield was obviously a transient town. Small hotels, none of them too inviting or reassuring, lined both sides of the street. As Norma Jean reached a congested intersection, which she surmised to be the heart of the town, she realized that she had to find a place to stay for the night. Her weariness dictated that almost any halfway decent place would do. It would only be for one night. Tomorrow would be another day. Tomorrow she would begin her search for Ina and once she located her sister, things would be different. She wouldn't feel so frightened and insecure.
"Are you lost or looking, honey?"
Norma Jean turned sharply to see a rather good-looking sergeant smiling at her from behind the wheel of a jeep parked at the curb. He was a good deal older than she was but his face was warm and friendly.
"Both, I'm afraid," Norma Jean said with a hopeless sigh.
"Just get in town?"
Norma Jean nodded. "Right again."
"And you're looking for a place to stay?"
She returned his friendly smile. "I don't know why you bother asking. You-know all the answers."
"You got a problem. Most of these flea bag hotels are filled to capacity."
"I've got to find a place for the night."
"Get in. I'll drive you out to the air base. You can stay at the guest house out there."
She looked at him questioningly. "At the air base?"
"Sure. Wives and relatives who are just in town for a visit are accommodated in an overnight guest house on the base."
Norma Jean's hopes dropped. "Oh, but I'm not the wife or a relative of any soldier."
"Got a boyfriend out at the base?"
"No ... not even a boyfriend."
"Well, you just got one."
"I do?"
"Me! We just got engaged. That's the best I can do. Get in."
Norma Jean flushed as she suddenly realized she was being picked up. "Oh, thank you very much, but I couldn't. I'll find something here in town."
"I bet you won't," the sergeant said. "Look, get in. I won't bite. I promise. I've got a kid sister. And I know what it can be like to be alone in a strange town. You'll be safe out at the air base. But in some of these hotels ... wow ... you're taking your life in your hands. Anything goes."
The sergeant was very convincing, but something told Norma Jean not to get involved. She might be pushing her luck. "You're very kind, but I better stay in town. I'll be meeting my sister tomorrow and...."
An irritated expression crossed the sergeants face. "Okay, sister. Suit yourself. You're on your own." He threw the jeep into gear and drove off.
She found a hotel with a single room vacancy. It was an old building, smelling of decay and disinfectant. The tile in the lobby was cracked and dirty. The divans scattered about were stained and stuffing peeked through the stitching.
After she had signed the register, the clerk at the desk gave her a key to a room on the second floor and indicated the stairs to the right of the entrance. Once she reached the second floor landing, she walked down the airless dark corridor, following the numbers on the doors until she came to the one which matched the tag on her key. The door opened easily and Norma Jean stepped into a musty and shadowed room. Putting down her suitcase, she felt for a light switch and found it, snapping the room into brightness.
The sergeant's predictions were right. The wall paper was faded and peeling, the window shades were yellow-stained and the dresser was decorated with cigarette burns. The bed looked hard and narrow and unclean, and despite her tiredness, Norma Jean felt reluctant to sit down on it.
She closed the door and locked it, and walked to the window on the other side of the room. She raised the shade and looked down into the street which teemed with continued activity. Somewhere out there was her sister Ina, who she hadn't seen for over a year.
She turned away from the window and went to investigate the bathroom, a small closet of a room not unlike the one in Wally's diner, an unsanitary toilet and a small sink. The towels were thin and worn. The water from the faucets lukewarm and rusty.
Utterly depressed yet wearily resigned, she sat on the edge of the bed and removed her shoes. She was reluctant to take off her dress. She flipped off the overhead light and then lighted a cigarette and carried it with her to a chair by the window. She sat down on the padded arm, smoking, hugging herself, staring vacantly out at the town.
This was the moment she had envisioned. Yet, the excitement and elation she had expected to feel was not there. A certain kind of relief, perhaps, but that was all.
Without wanting to remember, Norma Jean's mind took her back to the Saturday night in her room. She could still feel Sy abusing her body, lifting her to meet his brutal assault with callused hands. She remembered the pain, the shame, the broken whimpers as he refused to let her leave him after the first time. She remembered the strange detachment that came when he used her again.
She had felt nothing the second time, nothing except the weight of his body and the yielding of the bed-springs beneath her nakedness. It was as if she was outside herself, watching from a distance. She embraced the delirium gratefully and remained totally passive while he sought to evoke a response from her, physically and verbally. Norma Jean kept her eyes and ears closed and her body inert, letting her stillness mock him.
Norma Jean shivered, remembering how he had slapped her repeatedly in a final desperate attempt to destroy her docility. Finally, he had accepted defeat and his love-making, because it was purely selfish, became devoid of true pleasure and satisfaction.
She inhaled deeply on the cigarette, letting the stream of smoke slide out into the night. The neon lights blurred as her eyes misted, recalling the look of bleary-eyed awareness on her mother's sodden face when she came into Norma Jean's room the following morning. Agnes had realized instantly what had happened and yet she had said nothing. Nothing, not a word. It was clear to Norma Jean that her mother had made her choice. She had chosen a life with Sy Cleaver, such as it was, for as long as it lasted, over her familial obligation to her own daughter.
And in a way, Norma Jean understood. Sy was all Agnes had. Pitiful but true. It was that simple.
The phone rang and at first she thought it was ringing in the next room. It startled her to discover it was the phone in her room. She told herself it had to be a mistake.
"Hello!"
"Well, I warned you didn't I?" a husky voice said. "Who is this?"
"Sergeant Brooks, at your service ... the one in the jeep."
"Oh, Sergeant!" She was happy to hear the friendly voice again. "How did you know I was here?"
"I was driving around the block. I saw you go into the hotel. Some choice you made."
"Well, Sergeant, I can't say you didn't warn me."
"Is your room dismal?"
"It's very dismal. And you can't come up, if that's about to be your next question."
"No, I was about to suggest that you come down. I'll buy you a welcome-to-Ritfield drink."
The idea suddenly appealed to Norma Jean. Almost anything was better than remaining in her depressing room with the built-in sound effects from the next room.
"I'm worried about you," the sergeant continued. "You are?"
"This town chews pretty young girls like you into little pieces and spits them out. I just can't allow that to happen. Now how about that drink?"
"I think that's a fine idea, Sergeant ... a...."
"Sergeant Harris Brooks."
"Give me a few minutes to freshen up and I'll be right down."
Before she had hung up the receiver she was trying to decide what she should wear. What the hell, she told herself. She was no longer a child, filled with dreams and romantic illusions. Sy Cleaver had completed her transference into womanhood. He had shown her reality in its ugliest form. From here on out, whatever she had to face, couldn't be as bad as that moment had been. She was on her own now and she had to meet this town on its own terms.
She had escaped from Shelby. It was no time to feel depressed. It was a time to celebrate. And Sergeant Brooks seemed like a nice enough sort of person. He might even be able to help her find Ina. He looked like he knew his Way around Ritfield.
Maybe he even knew Ina.
She wondered if what Sy had said about Ina was true.
She had to find out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sergeant Brooks turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
Although he didn't recall ever having met Ina Hol-lis, he practically knew everybody else in town and it would only be a matter of time before he questioned one of his friends that had met her and did know where she lived. Norma Jean had looked in the telephone book and discovered that there was no listing for Ina, but, as Sergeant Brooks explained, that didn't mean a thing. Ritfield's population had increased so rapidly in the last year that the telephone directory was considered an historical relic.
Brooks had treated Norma Jean with the respect that he would extend to a kid sister or a fiance and it surprised her. She had sharpened her claws and was prepared for his proposition, however smooth it might be, and was somewhat disappointed when it didn't come.
There had to be an angle and Norma Jean was convinced that it was only a matter of time before the Sergeant showed his hand.
In the days that followed, however, Sergeant Brooks was on hand with his jeep to drive Norma Jean around, which enabled her to adjust to the town quickly. Together they found Norma Jean a pleasant place to stay in a rooming house run by an older couple who were most accommodating. The room was not fancy, but it was clean and nicely furnished and quiet.
During the day while Sergeant Brooks was on duty out at the air base, Norma Jean spent her time shopping for clothes and grooming herself. She purchased a number of new dresses, had her hair cut and re-styled, and learned a few tricks in the art of makeup that enhanced her beauty tremendously. Sergeant Brooks would pick her up about six o'clock and they would have dinner together, after which they would make the rounds of a few of the better bars.
Little by little Norma Jean began to feel that she was reborn and the past took on vague shapes of which she found it difficult to identify. Even Ina took on an unrealistic image. After several days of inquiries, Norma Jean concluded that Sy had lied to her and that Ina was not living in Ritfield and had probably never been there. More and more Norma Jean began to think about finding a job and less and less about finding Ina.
Until Sergeant Brooks called her early one afternoon from the base.
"I think I've got a tip for you, Norma Jean," he informed her. "There's a guy out here who works in the Quartermaster Corp and he says he knew a gal named Ina who worked at the Tic Toe Club ... at least she used to hang out here."
"Did he say Ina Hollis?"
"She never told him her last name, but she did say she came from Shelby. It's worth a try."
"Oh, yes," Norma Jean agreed excitedly. "I'll go over there right away."
"Look, why don't you wait for me. I'll be in by six. I mean I better go with you. The Tic Toe is a rather wild dump. It's no place for you to go alone."
"Don't worry about me, Harris," she chuckled. "I'm a big girl now. I can look out for myself. Besides, nothing's going to happen to me in broad daylight."
"Okay, stubborn. You're on your own. And I hope you find her."
"I do too. Thanks for the tip."
Norma Jean was dressed and on her way to the Tic Toe Club within a half-hour. She sat in the back seat of a taxi, praying to herself that she would be lucky ... that she and Ina would be reunited. Surely someone at the Tic Toe Club would be able to tell her where Ina lived.
The taxi driver pulled up in front of a green and white canopy and Norma Jean stared out of the cab window at the modernistic frontage. She was delightfully surprised. It didn't look as dumpy as she thought it would. The doors were closed and the windows were shuttered and she realized with dismay that the club was closed at such an early hour. She nevertheless paid the taxi driver and got out to investigate.
She walked around the side of the club building to an alley, and discovered a colored man stacking cans of refuse with cartons he carried out of the side entrance of the club. As Norma Jean hurried down the alley, the man looked up from his duties. She looked past him into the darkened interior of the club. "Excuse me, is there somebody inside that I can talk to? The owner or the manager, perhaps?"
The colored man grunted. "I'm sorry, ma'am. You'll have to come back after five. I'm only the clean-up man."
"But isn't there somebody else inside I could ask? I must locate her immediately."
He saw the anxiety in her eyes and hesitated, turning his head to glance back into the club. "Well, I dunno ... What's the girl's name?"
"Ina ... Ina Hollis."
The colored man blinked and suddenly his eyes took on a tangible evasiveness. "You'd better talk to Mr. Shelby," he mumbled, gesturing toward the open door. "Follow me."
"Mr. Shelby, did you say?" Norma Jean asked as she followed the man into the club.
"Yeah. Shelby! He's the owner."
The name Shelby echoed in Norma Jean's ears, she reasoned to herself that there couldn't be any connection between the owner of the Tic Toe Club and old man Shelby back home who owned the brewery and bottling company. It had to be a coincidence. She walked behind the janitor in silence as he led her through the kitchen and into the main arena of the club. The long bar was dark and the stools were stacked. The large arena was unnaturally still and filled with shadows. They went across the dance floor and up a rear stairway. Norma Jean stopped behind the colored man as he knocked on a closed door marked "Private." He opened it and mumbled for her to wait before he disappeared into the office.
Norma Jean waited impatiently, taking a cigarette from her purse and lighting it. The name Shelby stuck in her thoughts. The names of both Ina and Shelby seemed curiously related.
The door to the office opened and the janitor appeared, looking at her gravely as he sidled past her. "Mr. Shelby will be right with you."
Norma Jean swung around and found herself looking into the incredibly handsome face of a man with black wavy hair and pale blue eyes. He was a tall, well-built, impeccably dressed man of about thirty. There was an air of superior dignity about him that was a general characteristic of people born to wealth. The very pale blue eyes swept over Norma Jean quickly, and yet intimidatingly, probing at her without any expression.
Deep in the recesses of her mind, something told Norma Jean that she had met this man before. There was something so familiar about his handsome face, and yet she could not associate him with anything out of her past. Norma Jean found her voice after shaking off some of the numbing effect of the man's startling good looks. "Mr. Shelby?"
"Guy Shelby," the man answered, his voice smoothly subdued. "What can I do for you?"
"My name is Norma Jean Hollis. I'm trying to locate my sister, Ina Hollis. I'm told she works here."
Guy Shelby ignored the question and held the door to his office open for her. "Please, won't you come in?" Norma Jean stepped into a luxuriously paneled office. "Did you just get into town, Miss Hollis?"
Norma Jean turned back to face him as he closed the door. "I've been here several days ... almost a week now," she replied. "I'm from Shelby, upstate."
Guy Shelby smiled. "I know. I am too."
Norma Jean was momentarily stunned. "You're not ... you're not related to D. J. Shelby of Shelby Brewery, are you?"
Guy Shelby closed his eyes and nodded. "Very closely related. I'm his son."
Without asking, Norma Jean found the nearest chair and eased herself down into it. She was almost too stunned to speak for a moment. Then after an embarrassed pause, she said. "You looked so familiar ... and the name, but I never thought ... I mean, I just didn't connect the two."
"Well, now, Miss Hollis, you know the Shelby secret. Being the black sheep, my father pays me very well to stay away from Shelby, which is something that isn't difficult to do."
Norma Jean nodded knowingly. "I know what you mean."
"Have you also managed to escape?"
"I couldn't wait to get out."
"And you're here looking for your sister, Ina?"
"Yes," Norma Jean replied eagerly. "Do you know her? Do you know where I can find her?"
"Was Ina expecting you?" Guy Shelby said cautiously.
Norma Jean frowned, a bit unnerved by the calm, cool queries. "No, not really. But I was told that she worked here?"
"She never worked here, Miss Hollis. But she did spend a great deal of her time here at the Tic Toe."
"Do you know where she lives?"
Guy Shelby nodded and reached inside the door to bring a handsome white raincoat into view. "Yes, I know," he answered. "Come on, I'll take you there."
Norma Jean rose from the chair. "Oh, I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble. If you'll just give me the address, I can...."
The tall handsome man took her arm in a gentle but persuasive grip. "No trouble at all. My car is parked just outside. Come on."
For some reason she could not explain, Norma Jean could feel her heart beating faster than normal as she walked beside this verile, handsome man down the stairs and through the club. She was acutely conscious of the hand that maintained its casual contact with her arm. They went out to a rear parking lot and she noticed Guy Shelby squinting annoyedly at the bright glare of the sunshine.
"Over here," he murmured, nodding toward the sleek convertible parked by the exit.
Norma Jean tried to disguise her awe. The black leather glistened, the dazzling chrome sparkled, the red veneer of the hood glittered ... all of it making her feel dizzied and self-conscious as she settled herself stiffly in the front seat. Guy Shelby was a millionaire-or at least his father was-which would make Guy an heir to the fortune.
And Ina, her sister, knew him!
Guy Shelby handled the long convertible as effortlessly as he had handled Norma Jean. They swung out of the lot and into the Ritfield traffic smoothly and Norma Jean tried to make herself relax as they headed across town. She watched the handsome man from her hometown fight a cigarette, using the lighter from the dashboard, and Norma Jean was once again taken by his flawless perfection, seen at that moment in profile. Guy Shelby looked like a movie star, she thought. A movie star or one of those models she used to see in all the best magazines.
"You look a little like your sister," Guy said unexpectedly, his gaze focused on the congested road. "Are you just here for a short visit or are you planning to stay awhile."
Norma Jean smoothed the skirt of her new dress self-consciously. "I don't know yet. Only one thing is certain. I'm never going back to Shelby."
Guy settled comfortably behind the wheel. "I'm with you. I hate that town and everybody in it, including my father." He turned and gave her an apologetic glance. "Well, almost everybody."
"If you mean me," Norma Jean smiled nervously, "I'm not in Shelby anymore." She stirred, turning in the seat to face the driver directly. "Are you a good friend of Ina's, Mr. Shelby?"
A flicker of a smile played upon his full lips. "You might say so," he replied vaguely. "And the name is Guy, please." He muttered a curse at a passing motorist and steered the convertible up a side street lined with garden apartment units. "Here we are, he announced, pulling into a driveway.
"Is this where Ina lives?" she asked excitedly, climbing out of the car, impressed with the elegance of the building.
Guy nodded and led the way up the path and into a richly tiled foyer. They went up the one flight of stairs to the top floor where Guy fumbled in his raincoat for a key. Norma Jean frowned as she watched Guy unlock the door, wondering how he happened to have a key to Ina's apartment.
Guy pushed open the door and gestured for Norma Jean to enter. "After you...."
The interior of the apartment almost took Norma Jean's breath away. It was unbelievably well furnished, the kind of place Norma Jean had always dreamed of having all to herself. The thick rug was springy beneath her high heels and the furnishings of the living room were low-slung and functional. From where she stood the opened door to the bedroom provided her with a partial view of the large customed bed and the draped and mirrored wall. The bedroom was a study in shades of pink. Despite herself, Norma Jean tasted a bitter envy of her sister for having enjoyed such luxuries in the time since she'd left Shelby. She had to laugh at herself for ever having worried about Ina or been troubled by what she had been told about her sister's existence.
Guy had closed the front door. He went past Norma Jean to the large bay window to draw the blinds against the glorious sunshine. Then he yawned, shed his raincoat, and plopped down wearily on the long couch, offering Norma Jean an apologetic grin. "Forgive me. I assure you it's not the company. We had an all night party at the club and I'm beat."
Norma Jean realized how much at home the young man was and she stiffened with uneasiness. She began to wonder if Guy also lived there or if perhaps he paid the rent. "Is Ina working or something?" she asked impulsively.
Guy lit a cigarette for himself and sighed. "Yes, she's doing something. Sit down and relax."
She remained standing. "Please, tell me. Where is Ina?"
Guy looked at her seriously, but deliberately avoided answering the question. "How about a drink?"
"Please, I want the truth," she said angrily. Does Ina live here or is this some kind of a joke?"
The handsome well-built man smiled amusedly and waved a hand toward the bedroom. "If you'll look in the closet, you'll find a lot of clothes that should answer your question. I don't wear women's clothes and I don't go for pink bedrooms."
Norma Jean flushed, feeling awkward again. "Well, if this is Ina's apartment ... where is she?"
"How much do you know about Ina? Has she written to you and told you how she can afford to live in a place like this?" He looked up, his blue eyes devoid of their earlier sparkle. "In other words, without beating about the bush, do you know how Ina earns a living?"
"For a moment I thought perhaps you and Ina...."
"No," he said, cutting her off. "I am not Ina's lover. I do not pay her bills. She can well afford to pay her own."
Norma Jean knew exactly what Guy was getting at, but Ina's unfulfilled promise to send for her when she struck it rich flashed through her mind. She suddenly knew the reason that promise was unfulfilled. Men. "I see," she said eventually.
"But do you? Ina doesn't work at any nine to five job, you understand."
"No, I understand," she blushed. "I think I know what you mean, Guy. At least I know how Ina got the money to get out of Shelby."
The good-looking man stretched out before her and relaxed a bit. "Good. That makes it a whole lot easier if you know the score."
Norma Jean moistened her lips, feeling a premonition of disaster. "Where's Ina now? What's happened to her?" She swallowed hard. "She ... she's not dead, is she?"
"No," he said flatly, moving his shoulders in a resigned shrug. "Your sister got a little careless ... a little too ambidextrous. Not satisfied with the good old-fashioned heterosexual way of doing things, Ina went out on her own and came up with a lady detective from the Vice Squad. She was sentenced last week to ninety days in the Women's House of Correction."
Norma Jean lowered her head, burying her face in her hands. "Ina's in jail?"
"I'm sorry, but that's it."
"Oh, my God, no...."
Guy Shelby rose and stretched. "We'll talk more about this after I get some rest. Make yourself comfortable. The rent's paid so you might as well stay here until you decide what you're going to do."
Norma Jean stared at him in confusion as he sauntered toward the bedroom. "Stay here?" she repeated dully.
Guy paused in the doorway to smile back over his shoulder. "Do you have a better place? Good places are hard to come by in Ritfield. And don't worry about me, Norma, I won't get in your way after today."
"You live here?"
"Off and on, but generally never more than to grab a few hours of sleep."
Norma Jean tried to shake off her confusion. "Then there is something between you and Ina?"
The engaging smile returned, together with a reckless sparkle in his incredibly blue eyes. "No, not anymore. I run a club ... the Tic Toe Club. I also operate a small business of my own on the side. Ina was part of that business. She worked for me. Satisfied?"
"I see now. That's the way it is."
"That's the way it is, Norma," he repeated lightly. "Would you mind waking me around five o'clock? I have to get back to the club. Don't forget." Then he disappeared inside the bedroom, leaving the door ajar behind him.
Norma Jean felt like running, but she couldn't do that. Not anymore. She sank back in the chair and tried to make sense out of it all. The whole picture seemed so bizarre and incredible.
Her sister was in jail on a vice charge. And the son of the powerful man who practically owned her home town ran a whore house on a rather high class level. Norma Jean couldn't help laughing. It was so ridiculous ... all of this going on only a few hundred miles from Shelby.
Life was a mirage she told herself. It was never quite the way it looked from a distance.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ritfield was no different than Shelby. People were the same all over. They just moved a little faster, dressed a little better and talked a little smoother. But they all had their problems and struggles, their disappointments and defeats.
Norma Jean began to feel herself taking roots. She would get along, she convinced herself. All she had to do was take things as they came and not be overwhelmed by anything that happened. That was the game of life. That was the only way to survive.
She packed her new suitcase with all her new clothes hurriedly; then counted out a weeks rent to pay the landlady at the rooming house where she was staying.
"We're sorry to have you leave us, Miss Hollis," the grey-haired landlady said as she stood in the doorway counting the money.
"I am too," Norma Jean said sweetly. "You've been very kind, you and your husband."
"Well, I hope you'll come back and see us sometime. You're a very nice young lady. My husband and I both enjoyed knowing you ... you and your boyfriend."
"My boyfriend?" Norma Jean questioned. "Your Sergeant friend. He's a fine young man."
"Oh, yes, Sergeant Brooks."
"He phoned a short while ago and left a message that he would be here to pick you up at six."
"Oh, dear. I almost forgot." She had divorced him from her mind completely. "I won't be able to wait for him. I have somebody waiting for me in a car out front."
The landlady looked at her somewhat disapprovingly. "Well, I suppose he'll know where to meet you."
"No, he won't." Norma Jean began to stammer, trying to think of some message to leave for Harris Brooks. She had Guy Shelby looking out for her now and she had no further use for the sergeant. "If you would just tell him that I've gone. Tell him ... I found what I was looking for. I think he'll understand."
As Norma Jean hurried out of the rooming house to the sleek white convertible waiting at the curb, she told herself blithely that Sergeant Brooks was the end of one chapter and Guy Shelby was the beginning of another.
Wearing one of Ina's gowns, a black sequin cocktail-length formal, Norma Jean felt stylishly superior, completely at home and at ease, poised atop a padded barstool in Guy Shelby's Tic Toe Club. Using the large mirror behind the bar, she set down a long stemmed martini glass and surveyed the main arena of the club where customers filled the tables and the dance floor. Music swirled with a fast beat about the crowded room, blending with the steady hum of mingled conversation and laughter. The club looked entirely different to Norma Jean now than it had earlier that afternoon. Everything sparkled.
She watched Guy Shelby terminate a conversation with one group of people and glide to still another group at another table. Norma Jean could not help but admire his manly grace, his casual charm, his magnetic smile. More than one woman caught his arm and let her eyes convey an unmistakable invitation for something more than a passing greeting, but Guy never appeared to notice or to care.
Over the rim of her martini glass, Norma Jean eyed the people on either side of her at the long bar. Obviously Guy's club catered to an elite group of men and soldiers. The soldiers were, for the most part, commissioned officers. There were very few non corns in the club, and suddenly Norma Jean realized why Sergeant Brooks didn't have anything good to say about the place. He probably didn't feel at home in the Tic Toe. It was out of his class.
She suspected that at least three or four of the attractive girls seated at the bar were working for Guy. When Guy had entered the club earlier, he had strolled down to say a few words to each of them. A little later, via Guy's personable introductions, all the girls had become attached to various gentlemen.
Norman Jean giggled to herself and ordered another martini as she realized that Guy was a male madame. There was a particular word for it, for men who hustled for women, but she couldn't recall it.
Guy had smiled when he admitted it to her earlier, at Ina's apartment, shortly after she had awakened him at five. It didn't seem to bother him at all. On the contrary, he seemed to be proud of the fact that he maintained a certain power over so many women.
Norma Jean had passed the hours of the afternoon enjoying Ina's luxuries, a warm bath with perfumed salts, a facial and lotions, trying on Ina's clothes, some of which fit her amazingly well and did more for her figure than she had ever expected a dress to do.
During the drive over to the rooming house to get her things, Guy had allowed the conversation to return to Ina.
"It was her own fault," he had stated firmly. "Your sister is not the brightest female in the world. Too emotional." His attitude was business-like and matter-of-fact. "I make sure nothing goes wrong for my girls, but I can't do a damn thing for them when they go out on their own behind my back. And when they take up with their own sex, I have no patience. There's no money in that. I'm sorry, but maybe doing ninety days will teach Ina a lesson."
One moment Norma Jean hated Guy for what he was and the next moment she found herself trying to impress him. She could not help herself, reacting curiously to that magnetic smile and those hypnotic blue eyes.
She had heard so many stories about the adventurous son of old man Shelby. He had always seemed like a world apart from her existence. And here she was now, a personal guest of his that he felt obligated to look after.
Yet she told herself, he was no better than she was. With all of his family wealth, he had gotten no further than Ritfield. If anything she was more of a woman than he was a man. Then all of a sudden as she sipped at the fresh martini the bartender had placed before her, it didn't seem to matter to her what he was. She liked him. She couldn't help it.
He might be a pimp-that was the word she had been trying to recall-but whatever he was, Norma Jean was convinced that he was the most handsome, most irresistible man she had ever met ... damn it.
Suddenly she felt somebody slide onto the empty bar stool beside her. She looked up and discovered Sergeant Brooks staring at her.
"Thanks for the message," he said coolly. "What's the big idea?"
She couldn't look at him. She turned away to look in the other direction, feeling his eyes burning holes through her. "What are you doing here?" she said casually.
"I put two and two together," he stated flippantly. "I'm good at that."
"I thought you said this place was a dump."
"I did," he snapped. "And it is. Geezus, I had you pegged wrong. I didn't figure you for the gutter crowd."
She turned on him vehemently. "Why don't you get lost," she suggested. "You're beginning to bore me, Sergeant."
Guy's voice cut into their heated words. "What's the trouble here?" Norma turned and saw him standing between them.
"No trouble," the sergeant said. "I was just leaving." He turned back to look critically at Norma Jean. "Like I said, sweetheart, you're on your own."
After the sergeant stormed off, Guy took over his stool at the bar. "Wow!" he proclaimed. "Do they always get that hot under the coller when you turn them down?"
"Almost without fail," Norma Jean replied, feeling terribly worldly and beginning to feel the effects of the martinis she had consumed.
Guy arched a teasing eyebrow. "That's understandable. With what you've got, I'd almost be willing to take out insurance."
Norma Jean gazed at him hazily through her long lashes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Shelby." She turned away from him indifferently, hoping that he would react to it. She was going to die of disappointment if he brushed her off like the others.
He didn't.
"What's bothering you, buttercup? Is it because you're shocked by what I told you?"
"Well, you don't look like the sort who'd be that kind of man."
Guy laughed uproariously. "You know, I find it intriguing that Ina doesn't disturb you at all ... and yet, I do. Very interesting."
Norma Jean was feeling bold and outspoken. "I've known about Ina, long before she left Shelby. I didn't have the slightest indication about you."
Guy eyed her silently for a moment and then continued. "I screen my girls carefully and I make sure that they get the right kind of customers. If they behave themselves, they make money. A lot of money. I see to it that they don't have to worry about the Vice Squad as long as they work strictly through me. In return for this service, I take a share of their earnings. I earn it and they never complain."
Norma Jean studied the handsome man curiously. "You sound almost proud of all this. Are you always so honest?"
Guy ran his fingers over Norma Jean's hand. "I told you before, I always speak the truth. When I say something, I mean it."
He was seducing her with his eyes. And she was enjoying every moment of it. She could hardly contain herself. Guy had such a delicate touch, such an elusive approach, and yet it penetrated deeply. His technique was so unlike anything she had ever experienced before with other men. So unlike Ralph Grayson or Sy Cleaver.
She had thought Sy Cleaver had killed this part of her. The part which was responding to the gentle caressings of a man, the part which was overcoming all logic and pride and making her feel a strange new desire for this man beside her whose eyes carried magic, the part which was at that moment crying out with a need for love and tenderness.
"I like your face," he announced suddenly, his hand cupping and framing her cheeks. "Yes, I like everything about you. Everything."
She felt herself melting as Guy lifted her hand and brushed his warm lips across her, fingertips. She was beginning to feel something very strong for this man. It churned within her, shutting out reality, all thoughts of right and wrong, all fears, all misgivings. She let the feeling take possession of her and she didn't try to conceal it from him or herself.
There was something honest about their relationship from the beginning.
She wanted Guy Shelby!
She wanted the kind of love and the kind of existence that Guy could give her. For the first time in her life, she wanted a man! But it had to be this man.
She glanced up into his eyes and noticed that they were boring right through her. "What are you thinking, Guy?"
"I'm thinking you're not at all like Ina. You're not at all like any of my girls. You're something very special ... something I want for myself."
"Do you always get what you want?"
"Most always. I'm not so sure it's going to be that easy with you." There was a slight hesitation. "Have you ever been to bed with a man?"
"Yes," she said directly. "You've been honest with me, so I'll be the same with you. Yes, I have ... just once. I was forced and it was the most horrible thing I've ever experienced. I thought I never wanted a man to touch me again. But now, I'm not so sure."
"Does it have anything to do with me?"
"It has everything to do with you, Guy."
"What do you say we get out of here and go someplace where we can be alone?"
"I'd like that ... I'd like that very much."
Norma Jean slid off the stool and walked with Guy toward the entrance to the club. She felt like she was walking on air. The sensation was like a revelation to her. She began to wonder if it had anything to do with real love.
CHAPTER NINE
Guy kept the car at a steady speed as they drove through the night. The dashboard radio played a love song and the cool night air played against Norma Jean's face as she snuggled close to the driver in the front seat. Neither of them spoke as they rode through the quiet streets. Norma Jean was experiencing a languorous contentment.
A half-hour later they entered Ina's shadowed apartment arm in arm and locked the door behind them. There was something very final about it.
"Let's leave the fights off," she suggested softly. "Do you mind?"
She received her answer in the form of a kiss that caressed her mouth ... a warm and loving and gentle kiss. She let the lovely sensation envelope her completely, as strong arms lifted her up off the floor and carried her into the bedroom.
It was like a dream ... a lovely dream in which she was unaware of time and space. She was drunk with the loveliness of it all, her head reeling with the mixture of a hundred different abstract images. She was suspended in air, floating through clouds of paradise, the music of great symphonies ringing in her ears.
Suddenly she felt the sensation of nakedness. His as well as her own.
Norma Jean went limp, weak, and yet feverish. It seemed as though his hands had been tormenting her for hours. Her body was on fire, her brain numb with the force of the unexpected passion. She felt Guy's hands caressing her heavy breasts, already swollen and tingling with awareness. They manipulated her nipples until a series of minor explosions went off in her head and she groveled helplessly on the starched sheets. Then, without warning, his warm lips were lifting her to the heights and her breath escaped in a long hissing sound.
"Oh, yes, Guy...."
The sweet ecstasy of the moist fusions was unbearable. Her hands found the soft wavy strands of his black hair and she held Guy to her desperately. "Oh, yes...." she groaned.
The lips moved downward, leaving a trail of fire, and Norma Jean held her breath in tense anticipation. The muscles of her stomach contracted as Guy teased her navel with the tip of his tongue. She could feel herself squirming in avid hunger, but she could not check the shameful movements. It was all so new, so powerful, so frightening, so wonderful.
"Oh, please, Guy," she grated hoarsely, without fully knowing what it was she sought. "Please...."
Guy kissed her.
A fleeting, teasing, delicate ... shattering kiss.
Norma Jean quaked under the force of it, her nakedness arching with sudden intensity. She was no longer able to contain the hot groans which the darting kisses wrenched from her throat.
She was no longer able to control the molten passion that coursed wildly through her body. She gave way to the tumultuous sensations and let instinct govern her wanton seekings.
But Guy's warm lips suddenly withdrew.
"Guy," she cried brokenly, tossing with anguish, her hands clawing in a desperate attempt to maintain the contact with him.
Guy crouched above, his face flushed and handsome. His smooth chest was gleaming with a fine sheen of moisture. He looked cruel and yet wonderfully exciting and when he returned to kiss Norma Jean's mouth, the girl seized him hungrily, trying feverishly to convey her ardor and willingness and rapture in the kiss.
The strong sleek body moved and Norma Jean quivered with joy as his hands guided her. She could feel Guy's excitement bursting to the surface and the awareness of it filled Norma Jean with a terrible want. She embraced the dominant young man savagely, her mouth feeding on his full warm lips, her nails clawing into the velvet flesh of his bare back.
Sobbing wildly, she strained to meet each demanding thrust of Guy's body, her own movements harsh and frenzied and uncontrollable.
"Easy," Guy muttered. "Easy."
Norma Jean struggled to adjust, every nerve in her body protesting. It was painful at first but then, as she found and merged with the controlled rhythm, it became incredibly exciting and fulfilling. She could feel the passion within begin to build and the blood in her body rush to pound at her brain. It was all so wonderful, so totally unexpected, that it didn't seem real.
She felt as though she was rushing toward something, something never before experienced and yet something she sensed would be fantastically rewarding. The whole world seemed to be spinning about her as her heels dug deeper into the softness of the pink bed and her hands clutched tighter into the warm flesh of the man who was guiding her on such a reckless journey.
Then it happened. Suddenly. Too suddenly, taking her by surprise.
A bomb went off within her and the cry that filled the bedroom was more pagan than civilized. Norma Jean collapsed, body pulsing, breasts heaving, thighs aching. For a moment she was not conscious of anything except the miracle she had just experienced. But then she slowly became aware that she was still being moved and that Guy's hands were still twisting and tugging at her blonde hair, goading her to some state of responsiveness.
"Don't let it end." Guy grated fiercely.
Norma Jean could only groan in weak protest. She obeyed and almost at once felt the spark of renewed excitement within. It fanned into a flame and then into a blaze and she stared up at her lover in awe as her body raced. She gripped the side of the bed as sensation took control of her once again and let the waves of passion roll over her.
In the midst of her delirium, she heard Guy catch his breath and felt the quickening of his motion and she knew that the end was near. She helped, her own fever increasing as though by contagion, and their movements were savage.
This time their cries intermingled.
This time their bodies tensed together.
An eternity slipped by. Norma Jean basked in a warm haze of dreamy detachment, her flesh moist beneath the weight of Guy's inert body. When the dark-haired lover slid apart from her, Norma Jean drew a deep breath and touched a curious hand to her steamy and moist flesh as though to verify the miracle. Every muscle in her body ached and yet it was a glorious aching. It was a moment unlike any other, precious, incomparable. She felt complete ... fulfilled ... blessed.
"Are you all right?"
She turned her head to gaze dazedly at the handsome face beside her. "Yes...."
Guy smiled tiredly. "Are you sure?"
Norma Jean caressed the finely chiseled face lovingly. "It was wonderful, my darling."
"You were pretty wonderful yourself. It takes two, believe me."
"No, it was you. Just you."
Guy slid an arm beneath her head and drew Norma Jean close in an intimate embrace. Norma Jean nestled happily, enjoying the feel of Guy's nakedness against her own, enjoying the feel of his fingers that idly toyed with her blonde hair.
"I had a hunch it would be like this for us," Guy whispered languidly.
Norma Jean kissed his bare shoulder gratefully. "I felt as though I was on fire. I never dreamed it ... it could be like this."
Guy chuckled softly. "It's not always this way."
Norma Jean lifted her head to look at Guy questioningly. "Was it like this when you were with Ina?"
"That's a loaded question, angel."
"You have been with Ina, haven't you?"
"I've been with almost all of my girls ... one time or another."
Norma Jean winced, a calm statement of fact cutting sharply into her heart. She averted her eyes, unable to meet Guy's steady, amused gaze. "I wish you wouldn't be so honest...." she mumbled resentfully.
Guy's hand moved down to fondle Norma Jean's full breast, the fingertips toying lightly with the still swollen nipple. "I'm too old to change, angel," he smiled. "But, if it will make you feel better, I can tell you it's been a long long time since anyone has ever made me feel the way you did just now."
Norma Jean looked into the blue eyes, searching for any hint of deceit, and found none. She could feel her resentment melting inside her as Guy's hand held her breast possessively. "I'm glad I am good for you. I'm glad you like being with me."
"It's very easy with you," Guy said as he pulled away, lifting lumself to a sitting position and lighted a cigarette. Then he lay back on the pillow, one arm cradling his head. Norma Jean sat up crossed-legged beside him, liking the freedom of being able to study the breathtaking lines of his superbly muscular body. "Guy?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have ... anyone special?"
Guy peered at her through the cigarette smoke. "If you mean do I have a permanent girl, the answer is 'no." The devilish glint returned to his eyes. "Would you like to be my girl? My special private property?"
Norma Jean again searched his face for any hint that he was teasing her. "Don't make fun of me."
"Yes or no," Guy stated soberly. "Would you like to be my girl?"
"Your girl or just one of your girls?"
"Mine alone. Very special."
Norma Jean felt as though she might cry. "Yes, my darling...."
Guy reached up to push a lock of blonde hair away from Norma Jean's face. "Okay, it's settled. You're my girl. My very special girl. That means you're private property."
Norma Jean grasped the hand and held it tightly to her cheek. "You're not fooling with me, are you?"
Guy frowned as he reached out to squash the cigarette in the tray on the night table. "Do you want a contract, angel?"
Norma Jean felt the question tug at her heart and wondered if she'd ever be able to determine when Guy was teasing or when he was truly serious. "I guess the thing that scares me most is ... well, being just another girl to you," she confessed tremulously. "I mean, after all, everything has happened so fast. We only met this afternoon."
Guy yawned sleepily. "Isn't it only natural when two people just meet."
It wasn't an answer. Norma Jean felt Guy curling in preparation for sleep and realized that it was the only answer she was going to get. She flipped off the table lamp on the night table and lay quietly in the shadows, feeling Guy's strong warmth against her body, and wondered how she could crack the protective wall that Guy had constructed around his heart.
Perhaps she was being foolish. Perhaps she had no right to expect love from Guy. Could it be called love? Was that what brought on the miracle of passion that had left warm embers still glowing deeply within her body? Could she really be in love with this bitter young man, who was out to shame his family? That seemed to be his real purpose in life-hate and revenge.
Norma Jean lifted herself on one elbow so she could hover above Guy's face. He was ageless, Norma Jean thought, gazing down on him. He would always be handsome. Then, as she started to draw the top sheet over Guy's relaxed nakedness, Norma Jean felt an overwhelming need for a final contact.
She lowered her parted lips to his. A sweet sensation swept through her as she savored the taste and texture of his warm mouth. Then, slowly, reluctantly, afraid she would wake Guy, she moved away and lay on her back ... staring up through the shadows at the ceiling.
All the resentment she had ever felt toward men had suddenly disappeared. The sweet reverie she had felt toward her sister, the memory of their unnatural contact that she had cherished through the years, now seemed foolish and childish. Love between women could never match the pure ecstasy she had just experienced with a man. Granted, some men could be revolting, but the contact between man and woman was right and wholly satisfying. It all depended on the man and the woman.
She had found the right man. She felt it strongly in her heart. It was a perfect match, she convinced herself, because it had something to do with love.
Guy Shelby was her first true love. Whatever they did together had to be pure and honest and real.
Yes, it was love all right.
CHAPTER TEN
It was almost two weeks now ... two glorious weeks of living and loving since that first night with Guy when she learned the true meaning of love between a man and a woman.
It was almost twelve noon and Norma Jean was still in bed, but she forgave herself for her laziness due to the fact that she had not given in to sleep until six o'clock that morning. She yawned and glanced around the pink bedroom at the evidence of the furious and heated lovemaking with Guy. The trail of clothing on the floor reminded her of how eager she'd been, of how Guy had kept her on the edge of anticipation, of how he had demanded that she parade and pose before him dressed only in her high heels and sheer panties.
Life with Guy Shelby was like a glorious dream. All of it. Every minute.
It was almost as if Guy was a kind of drug that had infiltrated Norma Jean's system. She had come to live for the sight of Guy, for the sound of his husky laughter, for the feel of his strong magical hands and his warm lips.
He had brought her to life, destroyed all the ugliness that others had created, taught her how to accept sensuous pleasure, how to achieve fulfillment. Guy had evoked a hunger which had become a part of Norma Jean's every waking moment and it was a hunger that only Guy could appease. She had become a slave to that hunger, to that wondrous face and body of his and she adored it.
Almost two weeks ... night and day ... she hoped that it could go on forever.
Norma Jean shivered and knew she'd better get out of bed and stop thinking about it ... or else....
She went to the kitchen where she poured herself a cup of coffee that Guy had made earlier and then she turned on the little kitchen radio. The announcer said it would be warm and sunny all day. Norma Jean sat down at the table to drink her coffee and wondered how Guy was spending the day.
Guy's mysterious activities were never discussed between them except when Norma Jean asked a direct question, which she discovered Guy did not like. He always seemed just a little annoyed by questions, so she did not ask too many of them, preferring not to know too much about how Guy earned his money.
The prostitution racket was one of the two things that marred her happiness with Guy ... the other was the fact that her sister Ina was in jail. She wanted desperately to see and talk to Ina, even though she felt that nothing Ina could say would change her feelings toward Guy. Nothing anybody could say would change the depth of her love for Guy.
Ina was a worrisome thought. Norma Jean could never quite rid herself of the awareness that she was living in Ina's apartment, wearing Ina's clothes and sleeping....
Norma Jean sipped her coffee, disturbed by her thoughts about Ina. What if Ina loved Guy too? But no. That was not possible. Ina could give her body to any man, but Norma Jean doubted that her sister could ever give her heart to a man. She knew her sister too well. The one thing she was certain about was that Ina would not approve of her relationship with Guy. How could she ever explain that she had no control over herself where Guy was concerned and that no matter how badly he might treat her, no matter what he might do, she would never break away from the one person she'd found that she truly and deeply loved.
The telephone rang.
Norma Jean jumped up from the table and ran to the phone. It would be Guy calling to tell her what their plans would be for the evening.
"Hello, darling?"
"Hello! Is this Norma Jean?"
"Yes! Who's this?" The voice was familiar.
"This is Harris."
"Harris?"
"Yeah, Harris Brooks ... or have you forgotten your friends so quickly."
"Oh, no ... I mean, I was just expecting to hear from somebody else." Suddenly a thought occurred to her and she was annoyed. "Harris, how did you get this number?"
"I have my ways. That's not important right now."
"It's very important," Norma Jean said firmly. "Now listen to me, Harris. I can't see you anymore. Why can't you just leave it at that."
"I dunno, Norma Jean. I guess because I'm stupid. I was stupid enough to fall in love with you and even had some silly idea about us getting married at one time. That's why I never laid a hand on you. Because I respected you."
"Harris, there's a lot you don't understand. Please, I beg of you ... never call me at this number again." She started to hang up the receiver on him.
"Wait a minute, Norma Jean. I've done a little checking. I know a lot more than you think I do ... in fact may know some things you don't know. Now, if you know what's good for you, you'll listen to me."
"If it's about Guy, there's nothing you can tell me that I don't know."
"Norma Jean, you got to get away from him now ... before it's too late. You don't know what he's like. What he's capable of doing."
"It doesn't make any difference," she cried. "Do you understand. I love him. I love him."
"Norma Jean, how would you feel about him if I told you he was the one who had your sister arrested and put in jail."
Norma Jean suddenly saw a flash of red. "Harris, why don't you give up and go to hell."
"Why don't you ask your sister, you ungrateful little tramp."
She heard the receiver click and the line go dead at the other end.
A police matron escorted Norma Jean up a stairway and into a large room where several people were scattered about on the partitioned benches. She took a seat as far apart from the other visitors as possible. The visitors were sad people on the whole ... sad and depressing ... and Norma Jean began to regret having come to the prison.
She tried to steady herself by drawing a deep breath and focusing her attention on the huge door on the opposite side of the screened partition. There were two matrons on duty in the large room, two formidable women, stern-faced and chunkily built. The one nearest to Norma Jean, a fat-faced and heavy-breasted woman, returned Norma Jean's gaze steadily, her colorless eyes carrying a peculiar interest, the kind she was more accustomed to find in the eyes of a man.
The door opened and Norma Jean saw Ina entering the room.
It was not her sister ... not the Ina she remembered ... the Ina with the laughing eyes and lively swagger ... the Ina with the flashy clothes and costume jewelry and painted lips ... no, this was a totally different Ina who reported to the desk and then turned to survey the room with a puzzled expression.
She spotted Norma Jean, who half rose from the bench, and the smile that flashed was the first familiar thing. She came forward, dumpy and shapeless in her prison uniform, her brown hair straight and stringy, her round face pale and sallow.
Norma Jean hid her feelings and smiled. "Ina...."
"I can't believe it," Ina laughed, lowering herself quickly to the seat on the other side of the partition. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you know where I was?"
Norma Jean felt sick inside now that the moment for truth had come. "I left home," she mumbled evasively. "I came here to find you and....well, start a new life for myself."
"What happened?"
Norma Jean shuddered. "It was Sy...."
Ina frowned. "Oh, I get it. That bastard." The chunky woman sighed and then looked at Norma Jean intently. "How's Mama?"
Norma Jean brought Ina up to date on everything as quickly as she could, realizing she only had fifteen minutes, explaining how she had met Guy and how she happened to be living in Ina's apartment. She omitted only one thing: the love affair she was having with Guy. Ina appeared to be a stranger to her now and she was afraid to reveal that bit of information, afraid of what Ina's reaction would be.
Ina grunted. "Did that bastard Shelby tell you how I happened to be in here?"
"He just said that you were working ... and ... well, you got caught and arrested."
Ina's laughter was grim and toneless. "True enough, but lacking in a little detail. One small detail. Guy had me arrested. He set it up, to get even, to teach me a lesson."
"Ina ... are you sure?"
Her sister in the drab uniform hunched forward, eyes blazing with venom. "Be careful of him, honey. Guy Shelby is a bastard, a handsome, heartless bastard. If you're smart you'll stay far away from him ... or the next thing you know he'll turn you into a tramp."
Norma Jean felt her heart pounding wildly, "I can hardly believe it. He ... he's been so nice ... so protective and accommodating. He couldn't do enough for me."
Ina sighed resignedly. "Don't be fooled by him, honey. He wanted to send me out on a special job and I said no dice. It was a stag affair ... you know, a dozen or more drunks. He told me I'd have to put on a show for them with two other girls and then make sure all the boys went home to their wives happy. Like I said, I refused to go the mob route. Two nights later he called and gave me a motel date to fill. The john turned out to be a Vice Squad woman."
Norma Jean could feel her blood turning cold. "How can you be sure it was Guy? It might have been a police trick ... and why a woman instead of a man."
"A charge of perversion pulls a longer sentence in this state. And I know it was Guy," Ina stated tightly. "I was allowed to make one phone call at the station. I called Guy at the club. He told me the next time he gave me a job to do, I'd better do it ... or else one of his boys would see that I was put out of action for good. That means a few good knife slashes across my face." Ina paused and her voice took on a more personal tone. "Norma Jean, baby, listen to me. I know the bastard. I was his special girl for awhile. I've got no reason to lie to you. I don't want to see you wind up the way I have. Get out of town, get as far away from Guy as you can, before you get hooked on that irresistible charm. He can talk any girl into anything."
Norma Jean lowered her lashes, the tears flooded over down her cheeks. "Oh, God, Ina, I'm already hooked. I love him."
Ina sagged and let out her breath. "Then there's no hope for you, baby. You're a goner. And one day you're going to wind up like me."
Norma Jean shuddered. "Oh, please, Ina ... don't tell me that. If he loves me, it might be different."
Ina rose to her feet. "Let me just tell you what you're in for, baby. When Guy figures your ripe or he begins to tire of you, he'll ask you to do him a favor. It'll be some important client ... a cop or a politician, most likely. He'll convince you that there won't be anything to it and that you'll be helping him out of a tight spot. You'll do it, of course ... because you love him. Then Guy will send you out again and again. That's the way it starts and that's the way he operates. So if you don't feel like you can get away from him, and I know how irresistible he can be, be prepared for the worst. Maybe after I get out of here, I'll kill him ... and then you'll be free of him. In the meantime, try, baby, try to take care of yourself. Use your head ... not your heart."
Before Norma Jean could answer, Ina turned and walked away. Norma Jean sat motionless, her head throbbing, her heart shattered, her insides burning. Ina's words seemed to be branded on her brain.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Norma Jean sat slumped in one of the big overstuffed armchairs in Guy's office with an empty glass in her hand. The rain storm hit against the office window with force, the sound mingled with that of the wild music from the club below.
The disheartened girl peered down into her empty glass and sighed. Then she rose from the chair with effort and crossed to the portable bar in the office to mix herself another drink. What Ina had told her kept turning over in her thoughts. The strain of keeping silent in front of Guy all evening had put Norma Jean on edge, a nervous edge that she had sought to rid herself of by means of steady drinking. It hadn't helped.
As she poured herself another drink, Guy entered the office obviously in an irritable mood, slamming the door after him. "I'm closing up the bar early tonight. This damn rain has killed business."
"Oh, are we leaving right away?" she asked indifferently.
"No rush," he replied. "I want to take a shower and clean up a bit. No sense in us fighting the rain."
"Good! Then I have time to finish my drink." She turned to look at him, weaving somewhat, and gave him a half-smile. "Want one?"
"Maybe after I have a shower." Guy removed his jacket and tie and tossed them on the sofa. Then he sat down and started removing his shoes. "You've been hitting that stuff pretty hard tonight, haven't you?"
Norma Jean lowered her eyes. "Have I? I didn't notice. Just bored, I guess." She crossed over behind Guy's desk and sat down in his chair. Guy stood before her and started stripping off his clothes, first his shirt, then his belt and trousers. Norma Jean sat her glass down on the desk and began to applaud. "Take it off."
"What's so funny," Guy said as he peeled off his undershirt, then sat down again to remove his socks.
"Nothing. I was just enjoying the floor show, darling. You'd make quite a stripper."
Guy lit a cigarette, forgetting to remove his shorts, and gazed at Norma Jean thoughtfully through the exhaled stream of smoke. "Are you drunk or is something bothering you? You've been acting funny all evening."
"Oh, darling, aren't you going to remove your shorts," she said, seated behind Guy's large desk, ignoring his question.
"Never mind my shorts. If you've got something on your mind, spit it out. Now what is it?"
Norma Jean braced herself, knowing the dreaded moment of truth had come. "I went to see Ina today," she answered sheepishly.
The music from the club had stopped. The office was still except for the sound of the rain beating against the window pane.
Guy sat still on the sofa. "Go on," he stated expres-sionlessly.
Norma Jean swallowed. "Ina told me you had her arrested. And she told me why you did it."
A nerve in Guy's face twitched. "Do you believe what she told you?"
Norma Jean turned away. "I don't know, Guy," she whispered, as she picked up her glass and gulped at her drink.
There was a short period of silence before Guy's controlled voice spoke up. "Okay, she's right. I had her arrested. What she told you is true. Are you going to let it come between us? I thought we had something good going for us, angel."
Norma Jean trembled and drained her glass. "Ina said I should leave you while I still had the chance...."
Guy Shelby smiled slowly, his glistening teeth sparkling in the soft office light. "There's the door. Do you want me to call you a taxi?"
Norma Jean shot up from behind the desk and crossed back to the portable bar. She could feel her eyes misting with helpless tears and by standing at the bar she could keep her back to Guy. "I ... I can't leave you, Guy," she mumbled weakly. "I love you."
Guy patted the sofa with his hand. "Come over here, angel. Sit beside me." He settled back against the sofa, spreading his legs apart in a sprawling fashion.
Norma Jean crossed the room and stood before him, wedging herself between his legs. "I'm sorry, Guy. I know you must be angry with me, but I had to see Ina."
Guy stared up at her, holding a half-smile on his lips. "Take off that thing you're wearing and let me look at you. I want to see you stripped. Take it off and just stand there and let me look at you."
Norma Jean shivered excitedly and slipped out of the thin tight-fitting dress she was wearing, allowing it to slide down her near-naked body to the floor. Guy made a short gesture with one hand and Norma Jean moistened her lips as she unhooked her brassiere and tossed it away. Then, bending over slightly, she eased the black lace panties down over her rounded hips and thighs. She stepped out of them and straightened up, her flesh beginning to tingle with anticipation. The tension was aggravated by delay as Guy crushed his cigarette in the tray without once taking his pale blue eyes from Norma Jean's blatant nakedness. Then, with agonizing slowness, Guy's hand rose in a languid and idle caress.
"You still want to be my special girl, angel?"
Norma Jean nodded, her eyes blurring. "Yes, I do."
His fingertips trailed up one thigh, teasing and tantalizing intimately. Norma Jean trembled, her legs tensing and her stomach contracting as the caress grew more provoking. Guy smiled at her strangely as his hand lifted to cup the round weightiness of Norma Jean's bare breast. "Then you've got to learn to do what I tell you, angel," Guy murmured softly. "Everything, I tell you, understand? His smile tightened and the handsome face became a cold mask, as the knowing fingers moved to capture and twist Norma Jean's nipple. "Understand?" Guy repeated coldly, maintaining the cruel pressure.
Norma Jean sobbed aloud with the terrible pain. "Yes, Guy. Yes ... yes."
"I told you not to go see your sister, didn't I?"
Norma Jean's knees buckled and she sank toward the sofa, the pain blinding her. "Guy, please ... you're hurting...."
The cold-eyed nightclub owner took hold of Norma Jean's blonde hair and yanked back her head as he continued to inflict punishment on the girl's breast with his other hand. "From now on, angel, you'll do only as I say, right? Isn't that right, angel?"
The pain was excruciating and Norma Jean could feel the tears flowing down her face. "Yes, Guy...." she gasped, feeling utterly helpless. "Whatever you say ... anything. Anything at all."
Guy released the throbbing breast but maintained his hold on the mass of reddish blonde hair. "That's better, angel. Much better. That's the way it has to be with us. I'm not a very nice person. You know that, but it really doesn't matter, does it? I'm what you want. I'm what you need."
Norma Jean choked back a sob, her sensitive breasts aching, her head throbbing from the tight fingers that were twisted in her hair. "Guy, please ... I'm sorry. I said I was sorry." She slid off the edge of the sofa, down to the floor on her knees, sandwiched between his strong, muscular naked legs.
The dark-haired lover smiled down at her. "You want to leave me, you leave. I won't stop you. But if you stay, you stay on my terms, is that clear?"
"Yes."
"All right," Guy muttered softly. "You can begin right now. You can start doing as you're told right now." His eyes began to glisten as he lifted himself slightly off the sofa and eased out of his shorts, exposing all of his superb nakedness.
"Kiss me," he murmured hoarsely, commandingly, as he tightened his hold on Norma Jean's hair.
Norma Jean blinked and pulled back in shocked realization but the strong pressure forced her head close to his body. Everything blurred and she moaned brokenly, knowing that she had no choice but to obey the heated command and urging hands. She had come too far in her sexual adventures with Guy to refuse to take this final step into the world of erotic love.
She shuddered, a feverish excitement taking hold of her as she crawled closer. Blood pounded at her brain and her body began to pulse with a strange intensity. She could feel the hands guiding and she could hear the ragged breathing as she surrendered to the assault.
Guy's groan was deep-throated and coarsely sensual.
Norma Jean sobbed amid her abandonment. The office room whirled crazily as she labored. The floor beneath her bare knees seemed to tilt. She felt as if she was choking, as she forged lower and lower into a sea of lust.
Time passed. She was not sure how long ... minutes ... hours ... punctuated by moans, savage whispers, violent strainings ... and then finally a frenzied dehrium.
Norma Jean slumped to the floor.
It was the persistent ringing of the office phone that penetrated the haze that enveloped her. She stirred and opened her eyes and saw Guy's strong, handsome legs move. She heard Guy's voice, low and throaty and unintelligible. Norma Jean pushed herself up from the floor and managed to get into her panties and her bra. She could feel her body aching from the savagely passionate intimacy and she wondered how Guy could be so composed.
He sat naked behind his desk, his back to Norma Jean, one hand running through his rumpled, black wavy hair as he spoke in low tones over the phone. "Damn that bastard. Okay, we'll fix him up. No problem ." There was a pause and then he asked somewhat higher pitched. "Have all the girls gone? I see. Okay. Still no problem," he replied finally, before replacing the receiver to its cradle.
Norma Jean wet her bruised lips and pushed her loose hair back from her flushed face as Guy turned to look back at her. There was a peculiar glint in the blue eyes and Norma Jean experienced a twinge of uncertainty, a twinge of uneasiness. "What is it?" she asked hesitantly, the premonition of impending disaster taking a firmer hold of her.
He reached for a cigarette on the desk, then rose from the desk chair and padded barefooted to stand at the window and look out at the rain-swept night. "There's a guy downstairs in the bar waiting to be fixed up. The bastard can do me a lot of harm. He can put this place off-limits to the Army. He's got connections in town. He can probably do a lot more."
Norma could not control the nervous churning of her insides as she listened to Guy's words. It was beginning, she thought fleetingly, despairingly. It was beginning to happen just as Ina had said it would happen.
"Well, can't you fix him up with one of the girls?" she asked weakly.
Guy remained standing at the window, with his back to her, his handsome body still glowing with a sheen of perspiration. "He doesn't want just any girl. He wants somebody young ... and very beautiful. He wants somebody like you, angel." Guy's head turned slowly and the blue eyes fixed on Norma Jean. "In fact he's asking for you by name."
Norma Jean sagged on the sofa, her hand coming up to her lips to conceal an intake of air. "Who is this man?"
"He's with the Air Force. His name is Sergeant Brooks. He's the one who tried to make out with you that first night you were here at the club."
Norma Jean closed her eyes against the pain of what she must do and then opened them again as she lifted her tear-streaked face to meet Guy's eyes. "What do you want me to do, Guy? Do you want me to go to him?"
"Of course, I don't want you to go to him, angel. That bastard. He knows your special with me. But he can put this place off-limits. What can I do?"
Norma Jean rose determinedly off the sofa and started to slip into her dress. "Nothing, darling. I'll take care of the sergeant for you. It'll help make amends."
There was a short silence and then the warm magnetic smile returned to his face. "That's my girl. And only this once, you understand, to help me out of a tight spot."
Norma Jean shuddered inwardly, but forced a smile. "I understand, darling. I'm doing it for you."
A half-hour later Norma Jean approached the lonely sergeant seated at the bar. The club was closing up and there were only two or three other stragglers left at the bar finishing their drinks. The porters were out in the main arena of the club beginning to stack the tables.
"Hello, Harris," Norma Jean said pleasantly as she hopped onto the stool beside the sergeant.
"Norma Jean," the sergeant said shakily. "I know you must hate my guts for doing this to you, but I was just so eaten up inside ... I ... I had to do something. Anyway, while I've been waiting for you, I ... I've done some thinking and I ... well, have a drink with me and then let's forget the whole thing. Okay? That way we'll still be friends."
"No, it's not okay, Harris." Norma Jean felt in complete command of herself and the sergeant. "First, I'll have that drink with you. I want to."
"What?" Brooks muttered in shocked surprise. "You mean, you're not mad?"
"On the contrary, I'm delighted," she smiled sweetly. "You don't know how relieved I am to be with you, Harris. If you knew what I've almost been through...."
"Shelby?"
Norma Jean nodded grimly. "I was up in his office just now. He tried to force me to ... I can't tell you what he almost made me do ... it's too horrible."
Brooks made a half-rise off the stool. "I'll go up there and tear him limb from limb."
Norma Jean placed a firm hand on Brooks' arm and restrained him. "No, Harris. Wait! He's a sick man. But there's a better way to handle him. Let me have a cigarette and a drink and then let's get out of here."
Brooks settled down, eager to listen. He lit a cigarette for Norma Jean and ordered two final drinks from the bartender and then turned back to Norma Jean all ears.
"Listen, carefully, Harris. I can't talk too loudly. We might be heard."
"Is he up in his office now?"
Norma Jean nodded. "But he won't be coming down now." She placed her hand affectionately on Brooks and squeezed it. "You were so right about him. I've been a fool. And I'm sorry for the things I said to you. It's just that I was so upset about my sister and what he did to her."
"I understand, honey. It's all forgotten. Tell me what you want me to do."
"Well, he said you could put this place off-limits to Army personnel."
Brooks snapped his finger. "Like that, I could do it."
"Well, do it, Harris. Do it tomorrow."
"Just assure me, Norma Jean, that you forgive me for what I tried to do tonight."
"Forgive you," she laughed. "I feel like kissing you for what you did."
"You do?"
"And I will, later, after we get out of here. I've been a fool, Harris. I've been so mixed up, I didn't know what I wanted. But now I see things clearly. I see you for the wonderful man that you are." Sergeant Brooks lowered his head and blushed. "I was all wrong about you. From now on it's just you and me ... if you want me."
"Do I want you? I'm crazy in the head in love with you."
"I think I am with you too, darling. I'll know better about that after tonight ... after we've been together."
Brooks began to squirm in his seat in heated anticipation. "Oh, honey, if you knew how many times I've thought about us being together. I took so many cold showers out at the base, I almost turned into an ice bucket." He gulped and then looked deep into her eyes. "Norma Jean, would you consider marrying me?"
"Let's not talk about that now. I still have some unfinished business to attend to."
"Like what?" The sergeant looked at her quizzically.
"Well, after we've put our friend upstairs away, I have to go back to my home town ... back to Shelby. To see Guy's father. He's quite a wealthy man. I think after I've had a little talk with him, he'll move heaven and earth to get my sister paroled, just to keep what I know about his son a secret. Who knows ... the old boy might even be willing to set us up in a bar like this one. If this one's closed, I bet we could get it for a good price."
"Oh, Norma Jean, you're quite a girl. A helluva lot smarter than I gave you credit for."
"Well, let's just say, I'm full of try. Now what do you say, my darling, do we go someplace where we can be alone?"