Penny Adams shares an apartment with Claire Damen ... the fastest girl in town. Penny's innocence has a rude awakening to the facts of life one evening as she discovers Claire and Henri on their living room lounge ... vigorously fighting the oldest passion battle there is. Next, Claire takes Penny along for a shameless weekend at a secluded beach cottage where she was shocked at the degradation on the beach ... at the switched rooms that made the weekend a non-stop orgy. Later, after an evening on the town, double-dating with Claire ... Penny is forced to witness the most depraved show ... right on her own couch. Then it is up to the virile Nick to teach Penny the finer arts as he painstakingly escorts her through all the pages in the sin book ... shame by shame ... much to Penny's perverted delight. Then Claire decides to make everything legal ... leaving Penny alone in the sin apartment ... the end of the prowl girls....
CHAPTER ONE
The phone rang ten minutes after Penny got home.
That was how it had been for a week. In the apartment not more than a few minutes and the phone would ring. Not a week yet actually. Four days; with Penny always home ahead of Claire because Penny worked at Hayes Memorial Clinic-only five blocks away-while Claire was farther down at Fifty-second and Madison, in a towering glass dream of a building that fairly took your breath away.
Claire was personal secretary to an executive at Melon Advertising. A glamour job. Hardly a day passed-if you read the columnists-when something or someone connected with Melon was not mentioned.
So radically different from the grubby atmosphere of Rayes Memorial; doctors always a little hostile because it was a clink and they were giving their services free, patients always the same dreary types-uneducated, under-privileged, poverty-stricken.
That of course had been Claire's estimation of the place, not Penny's. Penny hadn't seen Hayes in quite that light until she'd joined Claire as a roommate and thus gotten an opportunity to compare. And Claire was right-at least in a sense....
The phone jangled again and Penny dropped her bag on the lounge and picked it up. And this was the same as all the other times. A man.
This one had a French accent and he asked for Chert Claire. This contrasted with the one the day before with the Spanish accent who had asked for Querida Claire. And the two previous ones-native-who bad wanted just plain Claire.
The calls did not annoy Penny. On the contrary. This was all so new and exciting that her reaction was mainly one of awe. And anticipation. Perhaps before too long some of these mysterious calls would be for her. Not that she could ever achieve Claire's popularity. But-
"I'm sorry she isn't home yet."
The voice was soft, magnetic, and thrillingly French.
"I'm Penny Adams, Claire's roommate."
A soft, friendly chuckle. "How wonderful! Claire did not mention you in her last letter. She was living alone then, I believe."
"We've only been together a week."
The soft chuckle again. "Then please allow me to introduce a stranger in your land. I am Henri Gereaux."
He pronounced the first name, Onri, and slurred the last one in that smooth, melodic way the French have.
"Claire and I met in Paris. We were friends there."
"Oh, of course!"
Claire had mentioned a Henri while recounting interesting experiences in Europe:
That was so funny. I didn't know a thing about Paris. I was a real babe in the woods. A green American tourist on my first trip, and I was walking along this street swinging my bag and this man-he was very nice-smiled at me and said, "You must not do that, cheri. You will be looked on as a woman of pleasure." That was absolutely priceless; embarrassing too, but he was very sweet to tell me. We got to be quite good friends.
Henri Gereaux.
His name and address were no doubt inscribed in the big, leather bound address book by the telephone. My security symbol.
That had been Claire's vaguely wry comment when she dropped the book on the table beside the bedroom extension.
"Do you expect Claire this evening?"
"Oh-oh, yes. She should be along any time now. I'll tell her-"
"-that her old friend Henri Gereaux is in town-at your Roosevelt Hotel-desolate and lonely."
The pleasant chuckle again as Penny assured him that she would relay the message. Then, just as she put
I the phone down, the doorbell rang. It was Keenan.
When she opened the door she found him leaning lazily against the wall. "What's this lock and bolt bit, chick? You kids afraid of invasion?"
"Only special people get in," Penny said. "Yon wouldn't want to find the place filled with undesirables would you?"
"Perish the thought."
He lounged gracefully into the living room, put the books he was carrying on a chair, and collapsed onto the lounge.
"Finished a class and I'm on the prowl for food. What's in the icebox?" He laid a weary arm across his eyes. "A miserable day. God, what a rat race!"
Keenan was definitely special: You'll have to get used to Keen.
That was the way Claire had put it in the very beginning. He did not fit into the category of men who were symbolized by mysterious voices over the phone and a mail box continually filled.
Keenan, in Claire's terms, was "old shoe."
They'd grown up together on Staten Island and he was automatically as much at home in the new apartment as he'd been in Claire's Village place and in the Damen home. With no parents of his own and having lived with an aunt and uncle who considered him more of a liability than a son, he'd been partially adopted into the Damen household.
Like having a crazy brother around the place.
His attitude toward Penny was friendly, lazily casual and perhaps a shade patronizing. A sort of any-friend-of-Claire's-is-a-friend-of-mine attitude.
Penny understood. She asked for nothing more. The friendship he gave her was, at the time, symbolical of her acceptance into this new and exciting world. She realized, too, that she would never be competition for Claire even if she wanted to be, which she didn't. The comparison was a little like hanging a gown of bright crimson beside a drab house dress.
Keenan worked for a construction firm on Staten Island but the prosaic nature of his job did not stifle his ambitions. He loved music and pursued it diligently in his off hours. He took courses in appreciation, struggled with piano lessons, and considered opera, concert, and ballet tickets as investments.
Everything I know about music I owe to Keen.
Claire admitted this quite frankly even as she ridiculed his struggles in that direction.
This had confused Penny at first, until she realized that there was nothing personal in Claire's cynicism. It was the hallmark of the generation; her generation. It was a tough world and you kept your guard up; a world in which you ran like hell to keep from being left behind. Too much of the old philosophy was for the birds. Like the guff about morality. That was nothing but a set of rules to keep the masses in line. And responsibility. Responsibility for what? To whom? In this world you got yours while you could because nobody was handing you anything.
These departures in thinking were radically new to Penny, yet not entirely so. Actually, they were stated s terms of the rebellion that had been stirring and rising within her, articulations of the wordless anger she had been able to express only by her act of rebellion, by leaving home.
The phone rang. Penny picked it up.
"Hi, baby. Is Keen there?"
"Yes, He just came in. It's Parker," she told Keenan.
Keenan, without removing his arm from across his eyes, extended the other hand and Penny gave him the phone.
"I told him I'd be here," he explained. "Hi, Park. Where are you?" He listened and then said, "Okay, come on over. We can eat here and hit the concert in plenty of time."
He gave the phone back to Penny, announcing, "Park's coming over."
Parker Freeman. Another inner circle friend. He was a sensitive-faced youth in his early twenties-a close chum of Keenan's. His dress and manner were after the same pattern: ridiculously tight trousers, old shirts and sweaters, dirty tennis shoes.
And the brittle shell of cynicism.
Something new that Penny would have to get used to. This would not be difficult, though. She had been conditioned for it by her own growing resentments, her own sense of unfair restriction.
That had been why, on her twenty-first birthday, she had left the home of her parents-because of the narrow, unrealistic code they had forced upon her; because of their refusal to see her as an adult; because they still looked on her as an adolescent child and insisted she live like one.
Until a girl gets married her place is at home with her parents....
That had been Ralph Adam's edict to his rebellious daughter.
There is nothing of value that you have to leave home to jind, dear....
The gender but equally positive way in which Penny's mother put it.
So Penny's departure from the family hearth was a major crisis in the saga of the Adams family, to an extent that Penny anticipated-with touches of panic-a complete break with her parents.
But it hadn't worked out that way. When they found she was adamant, they sadly accepted the inevitable and prepared for their new roles-parents in absentia. Her father sulked, grim-faced, but he insisted on going with her to open her bank account and depositing the first two hundred dollars.
II you get into money trouble let's not have any Stupid pride. Tell me about it.
Her mother fought wistfully for a projected plan of week ends at home and explained how simple it was to reverse the charges on a telephone call.
And now it had happened. The wonderful, exciting adventure had come about; an adventure with all the components of a fabulous dream.
She was on her own.
"Sweetie, anything to chew on in the icebox?" Keenan was asking the question from his place of u comfort on the lounge.
"We shopped yesterday," Penny said, "and we thought some divine little packages of cheese."
"The kind you can't pry the foil off of?"
"I'll peel them for you."
But there was a delay. The bell rang just then-Even if you know someone's home, you always ring the bell before you come in, sweetie.
-and a few moments later, Claire arrived home.
There was something about Claire, something you couldn't define, something exciting. She carried color end vitality with her wherever she went. Penny had sensed this from the very first moment.
There were several Claires, really. That was about the only way you could define her. There was the vulgar, harsh-voiced Claire and that was the one that always came home from work.
She closed the door, saw Keenan on the lounge, and frowned as she glanced into the nook that passed as a kitchen.
"I'D be damned! Are you eating here again?" Keen regarded her with amiable negativity. "Hi, duck."
Claire put her purse on the coffee table and dropped onto a chair in slumped awkwardness. She stared moody-eyed at Kennan.
"I suppose you two have been necking all over the place."
"Just here on the lounge," Keenan replied lazily.
"How is she-good?"
Keenan yawned. "She'll improve."
This sort of badinage had embarrassed Penny in the beginning. But it was all talk of course and she was getting used to it.
"That louse," Claire said. "I swear I'll kill him."
"You're referring to your whiz kid of a boss I presume?" Kennan replied.
"Who else? Five minutes to five and he comes up with three letters that have to get out."
Keenan was not impressed. "You asked for work when you went there."
"I didn't apply for slavery!"
"But chick, you've got to do a little extra to show you appreciate those weekends."
"You louse!" Claire snarled harshly, and stormed into the bedroom.
Penny brought out a tray of cheese and crackers and Claire appeared a few minutes later in a pair of skin-tight black slacks and an open-throated crimson blouse.
Her hostility had obviously vanished because she stretched out on the lounge beside Keenan and laid her head casually on his outstretched arm.
"Want to go to a concert tonight?" Kennan asked.
"How do I know? I've only been home ten minutes."
"Park's coming."
As though it had been a signal, the doorbell rang. Penny pushed the button and Park came in a few moments later. Seeing Claire and Keenan, he raised an amiable hand and said, "Don't let me interrupt anything. Go right on with what you were doing." He gave Penny a casual, "Hi, chick," and moved on to the cracker and cheese tray.
"You got a call," Penny said, guiltily remembering Henri.
Claire's dark eyes snapped. "Who called?"
"A friend of yours from France. Henri Gereaux."
"What in hell's he doing over here?"
"I don't know. He's staying at the Roosevelt."
"I suppose I'll have to call him."
The reluctance was only in her voice, however. She came alertly off the lounge and headed for the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Unconsciously, Penny watched Keenan for signs of jealousy but there appeared to be none.
He eyed Park lazily and asked, "Anything new come in?"
He meant record albums. Park worked in a big music store off Times Square. He was secretary to the manager who owned several more stores around the city and Park got big discounts on all purchases.
"A new Stravinsky album was on the list."
"What orchestra?"
"Chicago Symphony."
"I don't like them. I don't care much for Stravinsky either."
"You going to the beach house Saturday?" Keenan yawned. "Maybe."
This was a summer place Keenan's uncle owned on Long Island. His uncle and aunt seldom used it and it was a gathering place for Keen and his friends.
Listening to the conversation, Penny felt a little out of place; self-conscious in that she wasn't included. But she understood that this did not necessarily exclude her. Thus she was not offended.
Of course, her father would have called it bad manners but he'd never gone out of his way to understand the younger generation. Penny's father and mother had always held rigidly to an old-fashioned formula they defined as "common courtesy," under which everyone had to conform to their standards. A guest was a guest and no allowance was made for any variations in human character. People conformed or they were rejected.
The bedroom door opened and Claire came out. Keenan turned his eyes in her direction. "You want to go to the beach house Saturday, chick?"
"I don't know. A friend is in town. I suppose I'll have to meet him."
"How about the concert tonight?"
Claire patted Keenan's cheek. "No, but I'll take a rain check."
No one asked Penny, but she wasn't hurt. She wanted these new friends to like her and she realized it would take a little time.
Penny got the dinner. Not that Claire wanted to impose-It was just that Henri had asked her out for the evening; nothing special, just some time together, and she wanted to get ready.
When dinner was over, Keenan and Parker left for the concert and Claire started a dressing routine that began with a long, restful soaking in a tub of warm water while Penny did the dishes.
Then Penny sat on the bed and watched Claire dress. She couldn't help comparing her own rather drab clothing with Claire's as they hung side by side in the closet. Claire wore bright things but they were always in good taste and always conformed to her image.
As she brushed her shining hair, Claire said, "Well have to work out some dating rules, sweetie."
"Dating rules?"
"Of course. When one of us has a date, the other one, if she's home, will have to stay in the bedroom. It's the only way."
"Of course."
The phone rang. Claire picked it up and Penny knew, from her expression of annoyance, that it was Claire's mother. The deep sigh of resignation. The gesture of futility.
"Yes, mother, I'm quite all right. Why wouldn't I be? But I am eating my meals and I am getting enough sleep. Sunday? How do I know." There was a long pause, with Claire's frustration increasing. "All right, mother-all right! I'll come home Sunday if I can. I'll let you know. Park was talking about a little time at the beach house. He works hard all week and so do I and we need a little air and recreation."
There was more of this, with Claire making no concessions whatever, finally saying, "Mother, I can't talk all night. Penny is waiting for me. We're going to a lecture at the museum."
After she put the phone down, she said, "Another rule, sweetie. We always keep our stories straight and back each other up."
Penny had never lied to either of her parents in her life, so hearing Claire's end of that conversation was somewhat of a shock.
Perhaps Claire noticed this because she said, "Sweetie, the first thing you'll have to learn is that parents won't let you have a life of your own if they can help it. They won't let go. I don't like to lie to them. Nobody likes to lie. But you have to. In self-defense. You'd think they'd realize by now that I can take care of myself. After all, I traveled all over Europe alone...."
The doorbell rang.
"Answer it, will you sweetie? And entertain him. I'll be out in a little while...."
Henri was somewhat disappointing to Penny. From the voice, she'd expected someone more in the classic image of the romantic Frenchman. But Henri Gereaux was moving into middle age and had the suggestion of a pot. He was half bald and his mustache was distinctly Hitlerish.
But he was nice enough. He smiled cheerfully and Penny realized she had expected too much as he said, "So you are Penny. A fabulous career girl also?"
"Hardly that," Penny laughed. "I have a very ordinary job, I'm afraid. Not at all like Claire's."
"Ah, Claire! That one! I'm sure she will finally become secretary to the president of your United States."
Claire kept Henri Gereaux waiting for fifteen minutes. Then she made an entrance, bringing new electricity into the room as she floated out, extended both hands and said, "Henri-darling-it's so wonderful to see you."
She kissed him warmly on the cheek and Penny could not help comparing this Claire, this smartly gowned vibrant young sophisticate, with the harsh, cynical Claire who had come home from work three hours earlier.
They left quickly, Claire saying, "Don't wait up, dear. We may be late. Henri and I have loads to talk about."
The door closed. And Penny Adams was alone-in her new world.
Several Claires.
This definition of her new roommate, kept intruding as Penny undressed and got under the shower.
Penny had met the first one at an art show.
The show was given each year by a group of wealthy sponsors for the benefit of Hayes Memorial Clinic and Penny had been asked to donate a couple of evening hours at the ticket table.
She could not have helped being aware of the petite, sophisticated young lady she saw here and there around the gallery room discussing various paintings with this man and that one.
She was a picture of glowing vitality. She wore a chic green suit, a pert little hat, and as she stood, one foot was usually pointed straight out with the other angled at forty-five degrees. The hand with which she gestured was held palm up, bent sharply at the wrist, the fingers gracefully cupped.
Penny was favorably impressed.
And quite surprised when the girl approached her later and said, I'm Claire Damen. You're Penny Adams, and Doctor Wicks and I have been talking about you."
"I'm flattered," Penny said.
"He thinks you're the greatest, honestly, and he happened to mention that you're looking for a roommate."
"I have been doing some hunting-for a place in Manhattan. But with rents so high-"
"I've been living in the Village. But it's a terrible drag down there and I'm getting bored with it. The characters! They're all right for a while, but a steady diet of them! You get fed up. I want to come back to civilization again. Suppose we hunt together...."
When Penny had mentioned this to Doctor Wicks the next day, he seemed a little disturbed.
"I suppose I did tell her you were looking but-"
"She's an enchanting person and I'll have to go in with someone."
Penny liked Doctor Wicks. He worked with crippled children and had a quiet stability about him that made him seem older than his thirty-eight years. He never allowed himself to be hurried and sometimes when Penny brought him case histories from the files, he discussed them with her as though she were a colleague instead of a file clerk.
His lukewarm attitude in regard to Claire Damen mystified her, but she didn't press him on it and she had lunch with Claire the next day.
And one of Penny's greatest thrills had been the apartment hunting bit with Claire, walking back and forth along the cross streets of the east seventies and eighties. Penny had never been in that section of Manhattan before, with its fabulous apartment fronts and the sedate brownstones of the very wealthy, always identified by their glittering clean windows and their auras of quiet stability.
Then there were the luxury apartments with uniformed doormen touching their caps to the exciting people who got out of expensive cars and vanished into the glamorous seclusion their world afforded.
There were the dumps, too.
That was what Claire called the occasional grimy, run-down buildings that defied the march of progress to hold sullenly onto their shabby individuality:
They round out the picture, really. They furnish the contrast and contrast is always necessary. I think they give the East Side a touch of the Parisian aura; that lovely shabbiness that makes Paris so wonderful.
Claire was twenty-four years old and had spent the first six months of her twenty-first year in Europe--a vacation she'd saved for from the very first day she started working:
The most wonderful moment of my life. The day I left for Europe.
Her description of that thrill had held Penny spellbound.
I've seen so many people go off on European vacations. You know-the bon voyage parties-where all the friends go aboard the boat and drink champagne and then the whistle blows and they all get off.
Claire. She had such a fascinating expressive face. Not pretty. But so vital, so keenly alive that she seemed to symbolize, for Penny, all the wonderful things her narrow background had deprived her of.
Claire's face had reflected the sullenness of a child during that part of the recital. Then her eyes suddenly glowed:
But my turn came. My turn to go. All my friends were there on the boat and there was champagne and flowers and everybody so gay and laughing. Then the whistle blew and they all got off and I stayed aboard. I was going to Europe at last.
This indeed must have been her shining moment.
Penny awoke. At first, there was a touch of panic. Not quite used to her new surroundings, her mind had groped. Then she realized what had awakened her. A cry.
The night dial of the bedroom clock stood at three. Penny noted this and also that the bedroom door had been closed.
The cry came again.
Frightened, her mind still clouded with sleep, she went to the door. She turned the knob and realization came as she started to open it. Not a cry of pain.
A cry of passion.
They were on the lounge and had not heard the door open nor did they notice Penny now as she stood frozen, looking out through the inch wide crack.
The living room was dark but there was a faint light from the window and Penny saw the dim forms, the white flesh against the darker material of the lounge.
"Henri! Darling! Lover! Oh my God!"
Words of love and passion no one should have heard escept the lovers themselves.
"My sweet! My lovely one!"
Even as she felt dirty and shamed for having spied tins way, Penny could not move. She stood there listening to the harsh, passionate breathing of the man; saw the ecstatic twisting of the woman. They were impersonalized to her at that moment They were all men aid all women in love.
Claire cried out again, softly, animalistically. Her body was a dim white shaft, working grotesquely.
"Now, darling-now!"
The two threshed violently.
Then an even stranger sound, like a scream from behind a gag, as though a hand had been pressed harshly over a protesting mouth.
Claire screamed violently, again and again....
Penny closed the door softly and stood leaning against it, her knees like water. She was frightened by her own emotional upheaval. It was as though she'd met a new person, a stranger who had been living in her body.
She got control of herself quickly and went back to bed.
Sleep was out of the question though, and she lay there in the darkness until she heard the front door close. A few moments later, light streamed in from the living room giving her an excuse to stir.
"Are you awake, Penny?"
Penny sat up and Claire snapped the light on. "Sorry I woke you up."
"It's all right. I was only dozing."
Claire's eyes were bright. She stretched like a lithe little cat and smiled languorously. "Now that I've got a roommate I'll have to learn to love quietly. I guess I got spoiled living alone."
"Did you have a nice evening?"
Claire laughed. "You heard."
Penny didn't have an answer. She watched Claire undress, not even trying to sort out her own thoughts. She was shocked and perhaps frightened by Claire's casual reference to what she had just witnessed.
Casual love.
Penny had always thought of love and marriage as being synonymous. She'd realized of course that modern thinking, modern living, had divorced them to a great extent, but the intellectual acceptance of this and the acual witnessing of this were two different things.
"Henri is a good lover," Claire was saying. "I cried when we parted in Paris."
"Will he be here long?"
"He's leaving in the morning for Montreal and then he'll go back directly from there."
"Then you won't see him again."
"Sometime, maybe," Claire said carelessly.
Then she smiled; a soft, satisfied smile. "He went out of his way. He was supposed to go directly to Montreal, but he went clear out of his way to see me."
CHAPTER TWO
"I think a girl should lose her virginity as soon as possible." This calm, matter-of-fact statement from Claire shocked Penny deeply. But she'd managed to hide the shock, to soften that with a quick, defensive reaction. She was no longer a child. She was an adult. She was on her own, out meeting life as she found it. That did not mean she accepted what she found. But still, she wasn't going to throw up her hands in horror and run home just because someone expressed a new point of view. She would observe and consider. Then she would make her own decisions.
"But what about marriage?" Penny asked. "I've got that all planned."
"You and Keen?"
"Are you kidding? We'd never make out. Keen will always be a-well, a kind of friend of the family."
"Will your husband allow this?"
"Look sweetie. Every affair I've ever had went my way. That will be the same when I get married."
"Will you be true to your husband?"
"As true as he is to me. Sweetie, you've got a lot to learn. The double standard is dead. Women just don't go for that any more. Men who expect virgins just aren't being realistic. That's giving a man too much for his money. To work, marriage has got to be an even trade."
Penny knew automatically that much was wrong with this line of argument. But she couldn't-on the spur of the moment-put a rebuttal into terms. So she fell back on questions-digging for more data.
"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"
"Twenty-one. Just your age, sweetie."
At this point, another Claire took the stage; a gentle, softly reminiscent Claire who lay back and seemed to forget Penny as she remembered aloud.
"Of course, that was only technical. Everybody in our high school started necking early."
It was four o'clock in the morning and she was wearing a white, baby-doll nightgown that gave her a look of innocence personified until she pushed back the covers to reveal her gorgeous legs-ankles tapering up into beautifully rounded knees. Legs made for men-built for love.
"But It was when I met Tom that I became a woman. We met on the boat going to Europe and I could see he wanted me so bad he was drooling. We danced and played shuffleboard and lounged in deck chairs and that was so wonderful. But I held off. A few kisses a little necking. I let him go only once-you know-just enough to keep him interested."
Claire laughed softly. "He'd get so mad. But I played innocent."
"Then, when we got to Paris, we went to a quaint little hotel and I gave him what he wanted. That was-beautiful."
"I guess that's the biggest moment of a girl's life."
"I hope someday I can tell my grandchildren about that."
Penny gasped. "You-what?"
"Well, is there anything wrong with that?"
"No-I guess not," Penny said helplessly. "You're such a child, sweetie. You've got so much to learn."
"I'm afraid you're right."
"Isn't a beautiful experience its own excuse for being? Does that have to be dirtied up by a lot of silly, narrow-minded outmoded rules? I suppose you're thinking that my husband will object."
"It doesn't seem to me he'll exactly beam with pleasure."
"All right. What was he doing while I was in Paris "with Tom? Out seducing some poor girl who probably believed him when he said he loved her."
"Xiid Tom tell you he loved you?"
"Of course."
"Did you believe him?"
"That didn't matter because I wasn't in love with Tom."
"Did you see Europe together?"
"Only Paris. He wanted to stay there and I wasn't going to let him stop me from seeing Europe. I told him I was going to Spain and he said if I slept with any of those Spaniards not to come back."
"Did you?"
"Only one," Claire said lightly. "Then I went back to Paris for a while. Later, I met a lot of people. You can't help making friends in Europe."
"Did you-did you sleep with other men?"
Claire ticked off a count on her fingers. "I slept with six men."
Perhaps Penny gasped again; perhaps her face mirrored the surprise she strove to hide. Because quick hostility flared from Claire's eyes.
"They were all gentlemen, sweetie."
"I'm sure they were-I-"
But almost instantly, Claire's mind went back to her self-centered reverie. "Europe is so different. There's none of your childish narrow-mindedness over there."
"But Claire, I don't mean to be narrow-minded."
"I don't mean you personally. I mean American narrow-mindedness. Where if a girl looks at a man before she's married, everybody thinks she's dirty."
"I don't think that's quite that bad."
"Are you kidding?"
Claire's intensity made Penny uneasy. Penny had never before discussed love so intimately with anyone and she was embarrassed even while she was fascinated. She tried to change the subject.
"Did you see a lot in Europe? The wonderful old buildings? The cathedrals?"
Claire's eyes glowed again. "Oh, yes. I'll never forget St. Peter's in Rome. And I was so naive. I'd met a boy named Ramon. He wore a goatee and he was priceless. Anyhow, he told me later that he got the biggest kick out of the way I gawked at everything. We'd roam around holding hands, and I'd be staring at things with my mouth open. But he'd be staring at me."
"How did you get around Europe? Did you rent a car?"
"God! I didn't have money enough for that. I used the trains."
"I understand a lot of kids hitchhike over there."
Claire made a wry face. "I tried that. But wouldn't you know? The first man that picked me up got me out to the country and wanted to rape me."
Penny's gasp was audible this time but Claire's reaction was not hostile.
"I hadn't been in the car five minutes before his hand was on my leg. I pushed him away. And he stopped the car and he was indignant-can you imagine? Downright indignant because I wouldn't get out of the car with him and go into the bushes."
"Did you-run?"
"Oh, I handled him. That's one of the first things you have to learn, sweetie-how to handle men." fenny shook her head dubiously. "I doubt if I ever learn to do that very well. Men scare me."
"That's nothing but your stupid guilt complex working. Just because your mother and father told you love is dirty, you're afraid to be alone with a man."
"I don't think that's quite like that."
"That is, sweetie. You can bank on it. You were probably in love with your father at one time or another."
"That's not true!"
"Oh, don't get so excited. I wasn't insulting you. Every daughter falls in love with her father. Haven't you ever read Freud?"
"No."
"Well, you ought to. Every son wants to go to bed with his mother."
"I don't believe that!"
Claire shrugged. "It doesn't make any difference whether you believe that or not. Every brother and sister-"
Claire stopped. Her eves turned thoughtful. "I wish I'd had a brother."
"I don't believe brothers and sisters fall in love with each other if that's what you started to say."
"Your trouble, sweetie, is that you have a narrow concept of love. What you're thinking of is for the birds. That's what gets you into trouble."
"Love gets you into trouble?"
"Of course."
Penny was annoyed at her own rise of temper. Yet she could not help reacting that way. "I think you're saying that's all right for a brother and sister to love with each other!"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Claire! You're laughing at me. You say that yon wish you'd had a brother--"
"Tom had a sister."
"What's that got to do with this?"
"I asked him once if they played around. He evaded answering directly. He had a big shame complex too. But he practically admitted they did things together."
"That's-incest."
"And what's incest? A word." Claire smiled. "Your basic thinking is just all cockeyed, sweetie. You're living your parents' moral life-not your own."
"My parents didn't do so badly."
"Is that so? They sent you out into the world completely inexperienced."
"You mean-?"
"I mean practically. Tell me this, sweetie. Why is love the only thing where experience is not wanted? Does that make sense? In any other job except the job of being a wife, experience is demanded. And that makes sense. Yet, men want a wife who's never seen a naked man. How silly and prudish can you get?"
Penny stared. "Would you actually-if you had a brother-do any thing with him?"
"What would be wrong with my brother showing me things about love? Wouldn't that be likely to keep me from going out and sleeping with other men before marriage?"
"But you said sleeping with other men before a girl gets married is all right You said a girl should lose her virginity as soon as possible."
"Oh, for God's sake. You talk like a child! There's no point in arguing with you. Besides, it's five o'clock. We've got to go to work tomorrow. Let's get a couple of hours' sleep."
But Penny wasn't sleepy. There was too much new grist for her mill. It had to be mulled over before it lost its freshness.
Regardless of what she'd expected to find in her new world, the facts were there: her roommate, a competent, sophisticated young career girl, saw love as a completely casual thing. If a man attracted you physically, you had every right to sleep with him....
The lights were out and Penny thought Claire had dropped off. But her roommate stirred and delivered a summation of what they'd discussed. She spoke sleepily as she said.
"All you have to remember, sweetie, is one thing. Don't get emotionally involved. Do what you damned please as long as you protect yourself in the clinches. But don't get emotionally involved. That's the only rule you have to keep in mind."
"But how does a girl ever get married if she doesn't become emotionally involved?"
Claire snorted. "Oh, for God's sake Like I said, sweetie. You're hopeless! Go to sleep."
The next morning, Doctor Wicks stopped at Penny's desk. He peered at her.
"Good lord I Your eyes look like two burnt hotel in a blanket."
Penny laughed. That was the expression her mother had always used when she had stayed up too late.
"I'm afraid there's too much excitement where I live," Penny said. "Claire and I sat up all night talking."
Doctor Wicks was slim, dark, and rather handsome. Physically, he could have gone before the cameras as the romantic love interest, but the rest of him-his personality, his quiet sincerity-made this idea ridiculous. He smoked a pipe-cold most of the time-and he had a habit of taking it from his pocket and setting it between his teeth when he grew thoughtful. He made that characteristic gesture now as he said, "I'd be a little careful if I were you. Penny."
"Oh, I'll see to it I get enough sleep."
"I didn't mean that. I mean-" He paused and frowned as though hunting just the right words. "I'm probably talking out of turn but I guess I feel a responsibility, having brought you two together. And what I mean is-well, you're a level-headed girl with a fine, solid background. Being on your own is a fine thing, but take your time. Don't let personal admirations and the newness of things blur your mirror."
As though suddenly annoyed with himself at his own forwardness, he thrust the pipe into his pocket and strode away down the hall without looking back.
Claire called around three o'clock:
"Sweetie, how would you like a date tonight?"
Penny's first reaction was one of pleasant excitement. But then she considered things as they were and said, "Golly, Claire. That would be great, but this is a week night and we didn't get any sleep last night-"
"Oh, don't be a drag, sweetie. A friend of mine is back from out of town and he has a friend and they're very, very nice. You are planning to live a little aren't you?"
"Of course, but-"
"They won't be around 'til nine. If you're bushed you can duck right home from work and grab a couple of hours sleep first."
"Well-"
"Honey! You've got to learn to take things when you can get them. If it isn't you, it'll be someone else. You'd be surprised how many beautiful friendships don't happen because some girl had to get her sleep. Besides, running on a schedule is a drag."
It was a busy moment and Penny didn't have time to argue. She loved Claire dearly and all that, but she did wish her new roommate weren't quite so overwhelmingly positive in everything she did.
"You'll have a good time, sweetie."
"All right," Penny said hurriedly. "I'll see you at home."
CHAPTER THREE
Penny did not enjoy her date that night. The first barrier to a pleasant evening was the contrast between herself and Claire. Besides Claire, she was drab, dull, and uninteresting.
As they dressed for the date. Penny was again amazed at Claire's vitality. Penny wasn't exactly exhausted, but she was aware of not having gotten enough sleep the night before. Claire, however, after she'd showered, dressed, and put on her make-up, looked as though she'd just gotten up from a normal night's sleep. Not only looked it, but acted it. Her vital, alert, wide-awake image was not a pose. It was genuine.
When the doorbell rang, Claire was not yet ready.
"Oh, sweetie," she said. "I'm afraid you're elected. I can't go out yet. You answer the door and introduce yourself and entertain them until I'm ready."
If Penny hadn't been ready herself she might have demurred. But she'd gone through the quick, simple routine she was used to and had sat on the edge of the bed watching Claire at her more complicated process.
"Okay, but hurry. I just won't know what to say."
They were youngish-in their early thirties-and Penny, whether she would have admitted it or not, handled them very well.
"Claire's not ready yet," she said. "I'm Penny Adams, and I know your names but not which is which."
"I'm Herb Cross," the taller one said easily. He was slim and good-looking and healthily tanned. A telltale smear at the hair line just in front of his ear gave him away, though. The tan was artificial-the kind that came out of a bottle.
He had the smooth manner and image of a sophisticate and his smile showed even white teeth that appeared to Penny to be capped.
"Then you're Arthur Benton," Penny said and extended her hand to the other young man. She had been told by Claire that he was her date.
"Let's not have any of that formal name business," Herb Cross smiled. "It's a short evening and we haven't got time. He's Art and I'm Herb and I see Claire's late as usual."
"I heard that," Claire called from the bedroom. "Hi, baby," Herb Cross called back. "How've you been?"
"I could have died for all you care," she pouted back. "How long is it since you've called?"
"But I was out of town, remember?"
"I remember. One letter and two postcards in three months."
"Oh, well, you know how it is. A guy gets busy."
"I know. You have so many women to take care of."
Herb Cross grinned as he sat down on the lounge. "But, I'm back for good now, baby. So you can keep an eye on me."
"Well, lucky me."
He got up and strolled to the bedroom door. It was three-quarters closed and he leaned against the wall beside it and lit a cigarette.
"Tell me, honey," he asked. "Who's been keeping you happy?"
"Never mind. Little Claire hasn't been sitting around waiting for you to telephone."
"But, baby, I think of you all the time."
Penny was not favorably impressed with Herb Cross. He had a great deal; good looks, an easy, confident manner. But his conversational abilities fell far short of brilliant.
With Herb Cross occupied, Penny turned her full attention to her own date. Art Benton was not as sharp as Herb Cross in his dress; nor was he so much an extrovert. The first impression he gave was that of shy-nest-until Penny realized he'd been merely overshadowed by his more glittering companion.
"I understand you and Claire have just moved in together," he said.
"That's right."
"I'll bet you're thrilled."
"Do I show it that much?"
He had quiet gray eyes that were more frank than bold and a faint smile brushed across his rather rugged face. "Are you from out of town?"
"I was born and raised in Dobbs Ferry."
"I come through there on the New York Central. I'm a native of Albany, down here permanently myself, now."
"Albany? That sounds political."
He held up a defensive hand. "No politician, I. Beauty shops. My whole family's involved in them. We've bought into the big town, you might say."
"I work in a clinic. It's strictly a clerical job, though."
"Believe it or not, I wanted to be a doctor. But it just wasn't in the cards."
"How about the Gold Room at the Prescott, baby? A friend of mine is opening there tonight and I'd like to catch his act."
"That would be great."
This last exchange was between Herb Cross and Claire. Then, as Cross moved toward the coffee table to snuff out his cigarette, Claire made her entrance.
She wore a pink dress with a high waist line and a full skirt, and she was like a flash of vital brightness, lighting the room. Herb Cross turned and stood frozen.
Claire smiled, let the effect sink in, and then asked softly: "How do you like your package, darling?"
The term package intrigued Penny. She'd heard it only recently. The impression a girl created-her outer image-was the package she brought her date. Claire's was arresting. A package to be remembered.
Herb Cross extended both hands and drew Claire to him and kissed her. "God, what a dream boat!"
Claire flashed her best smile and looked up at an angle, her eyes dancing.
Penny took in the image Claire created and then looked quickly at Art Benton. His attention was riveted. And though Penny tried hard not to, she felt a small twinge of misery.
Beside Claire, she was a drab Cinderella sitting by the fireplace.
Herb Cross took Claire into his arms and did an elaborate waltz step or two, during which time Art Benton, standing by the lounge, watched impassively.
Claire ended the dance and spoke in a chiding, slightly pouting voice. "You might introduce me to your friend."
"Damn, I forgot!" Herb said. "Or maybe I just plain didn't want to. Anyhow, this is Art, Claire. And you, old buddy-you can look, but don't touch."
Art Benton bowed slightly. "Delighted to know you. Claire."
Claire took a quick forward step and grasped his hand. "I'm delighted too, Herb. And don't let glamour boy scare you away. I think you and I should get married just to spite him."
"Over my dead body!" Herb glowered. Then his flashing smile reappeared and they were off on their date.
They went to the Gold Room where Herb Cross was deferentially received by the head waiter and the walk to the table was somewhat of a triumphal entrance for Claire. Every male eye in the place turned in her direction.
Every female eye too, for that matter, but with a different emotional reaction.
Herb Cross was in his element and they made a striking couple with Penny and Art Benton trailing colorlessly along behind.
Claire danced with Art Benton once, Herb Cross monopolizing her for the rest of the evening. Penny sat that dance out with Herb at the table and felt quite alone as he tried to talk to her while his eyes stayed on Claire.
The conversation was light and gay and if Penny found it a little feverish-and perhaps dull-she attributed this to her own weariness. The conversation was carried on mostly by Claire and Herb, Art Benton making no great effort to join in.
Somehow, the evening passed for Penny and they were back on the sidewalk, the doorman signaling for a cab.
"I know a real good spot in the Village," Herb said. "Well go down there for the show and-"
"Look," Art Benton cut in, "I've got a big day tomorrow and unless I'm blind, Penny's pretty tired herself. I'd just as soon bow out"
"Can't take it, eh, old man?"
"I would like to get to bed, honestly," Penny pleaded. "T don't like to be a wet blanket but-"
"We'll take this cab," Art said calmly. "You two find your own."
Claire, just as radiant as when she'd started, and even more feverishly vital, laughed gaily. "I'll ring the bell when we get there," she said, her voice heavy with coy innuendo. This brought a laugh from Herb Cross, the echo of which stayed in Penny's ears as they drove away.
She was tired and discouraged and she felt like crying.
"I'm sorry I was such bad company."
Art Benton did not answer immediately. He put his arm around Penny and drew her against his shoulder. She did not resist.
"I'm afraid I let you down. I'm not at my brilliant best in a night club."
Penny wanted to laugh without quite knowing why. From relief, possibly, at getting out of range of Claire's ego-searing radiance. Missing a night's sleep hadn't bothered her.
"I guess I just don't see the point of rushing around at the pace Herb sets," Art said. "He's a great guy, but-well, I'm just too lazy to work at it the way he does." He glanced down at the head lying against his shoulder. "Was it so very important to you?"
"No-not really. It's just that-"
"That was a silly question. Of course it was important. It had to be."
Penny felt a wave of helpless frustration. He was regarding her as a child; talking to her as a child. She was being taken home to bed while the adults went on with their night on the town. "I let you down," she said firmly.
"All right," he replied with a chuckle. "We won't argue about it. We let each other down. But the important thing is that you're letting yourself down."
"How am I doing that?" Penny asked wearily.
"By not making use of your potential. You could be just as attractive as Claire if you'd give yourself a little attention."
"You're very flattering. But Claire is-Claire."
"And Penny is Penny. Don't forget, making women over is my business."
When she didn't answer, he said, "Today, any girl can be attractive unless she's horribly scarred or malformed. You've got to give Claire a lot of credit."
"I admire her just as much as you do."
"But for a different reason, maybe. I've got to hand it to her because of her determination and intelligence. She took a very ordinary, plain girl no man would look at twice and turned her into a real love symbol."
"That's not fair-to put it that way!"
"Maybe it isn't fair, but it's the truth. That straight bob with one end turned out is considered the sexiest hairdo ever invented."
"You don't see very many of them around."
"The style doesn't fit every woman. It wouldn't be your hair style."
"Claire is stunning in every way."
"Of course. And don't think I'm criticizing her in any way. But you could be just as stunning. You could be even more so, because when a competent cosmetician got through, there would still be your sincerity and honesty showing through. You wouldn't be synthetic."
While Penny hunted for some sort of an answer, Art Benton spoke more briskly. "I'll tell you what well do. You think it over. And if you decide you'd like to make me prove that, come over to the shop one of these days after you get off work. We'll see what happens."
The cab pulled up in front of the building and a few moments later, they were in the outer foyer. Art took Penny's key and opened the door and they climbed the two flights.
"Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee or a nightcap?"
"I'd like to very much, but you're tired and I'm tired and tomorrow's a work day. So I'll run along."
He smiled down into her eyes and took both her hands in his.
"I'm sorry-" she began.
"Now stop that. You'll find if you get to know me that I'm a very honest guy and I enjoyed being with you. I enjoyed it very much. Good night."
He left then, saluting her from the landing below and then moving out of sight.
Inside, with bed within reach, Penny got a surge of false vitality-enough to keep from dropping onto the bed with her clothes on.
She undressed and then turned, naked, to look into the full length mirror on the door. Her body wasn't bad, M really. Not good, bat not bad. She was stocky in comparison to Claire. Where Claire's legs tapered up from slim ankles into seductively widening hips and then curved in at her waist, Penny was in general more substantial. Still, she was not fat. Her breasts were larger than Claire's. In fact, she had better breasts.
She seized on this as a point of comfort, frowned at her nakedness, supped on her nightgown, and tumbled into bed.
Something stirred her out of sleep. She responded reluctantly and then realized it wasn't the alarm.
As she opened her eyes she saw Claire peep into the bedroom and turn to the living room.
That was Herb Cross's voice in reply. They were still gay, still vitally bright, still a part of the glittering night that so far as Penny was concerned had long since vanished.
"Claire-is everything all right?"
Claire's face reappeared. It was bright, intense, and except for the dark circles under the eyes, beautiful.
"Of course, baby. Herb and I brought rolls home for breakfast, I'm going to make coffee."
"But it's-it's morning."
"What better time for coffee?"
Penny dropped back on her pillow and marveled. They'd stayed out all night! What on earth had they found to do? She listened as metal rattled in the kitchm, heard them talking, and decided that the intervals of silence meant they were making quick love while the coffee perked.
They neglected to ask her if she wanted a cup of coffee and after a while, Herb left. A few moments later, Claire came into the bedroom and snapped on the light. She'd changed. The gay mood had vanished. Her shoulders drooped and when she looked at the clock, she scowled at it as though it was responsible for the outrageous hour.
"Six o'clock! God! I'm exhausted! And I have to go to that damned office and smile at everybody, and be bright and alert. God! I wish I were dead!"
She dropped over on the bed and dozed off.
Penny got up and went out and got a cup of coffee. Claire just wouldn't go to work that day, she decided. Flesh and blood could stand only so much.
But soon there was a stirring, the sound of the shower being turned on.
Claire was getting ready for work.
CHAPTER FOUR
Penny got home from work the next day to find a surprise awaiting her. Claire in bed. Claire relaxing. Claire completely out of character. She was enthroned on two pillows with the telephone to her ear-looking a trifle drawn but still as cute as a button.
"She's gay, you know. That makes the difference. She isn't a woman like I am."
These cryptic words spoken into the phone sent Penny out into the living room where she recklessly made herself a drink. She was still clumsy at it, but she enjoyed this symbolic salute to her new freedom. Childish, she admitted, but liquor had never been a part of the Adams' family pattern. They had only a single bottle of rye kept hidden in the pantry for emergencies that never came. Her father or mother had never been actively against liquor. It was just that they didn't care for it. Penny couldn't remember drinking ever having been discussed.
When she got back into the bedroom, Claire's call was finished and Claire was lying back on the pillows with her eyes closed.
"God! I'm exhausted. And that damned phone keeps ringing and ringing."
"If you want to sleep we can turn off the extension bell. Then I'll take the calls in the living room and tell everybody you don't want to be disturbed."
"Oh, sweetie, I couldn't impose on you that way. It's wonderful of you to offer, but I'll just have to assume responsibility for my own cumbersome social life. I can't ask you to."
Penny, even with her instinct for liking people and taking them at their word, was not a mental incompetent by any means. And so she was beginning to understand Claire and her comfortable rationalizations. She had, to this point, shown no great consideration for Penny as a person. She hadn't treated her as a maid or a servant exactly, but she'd accepted, almost as her due, Penny's gestures toward cooperation as a roommate.
So Penny got the idea pretty clearly. Claire would take care of her own phone calls, thank you, even if it cost her a little sleep.
The calls were more important.
Penny sat down on the edge of the bed and sipped her drink. "I couldn't help overhearing what you said, Claire. And I'm curious. What did you mean by saying whoever that was, was gay?"
Claire's eyes widened. "Sweetie, are you kidding?"
"No. I'm honestly curious."
"That's the word Lesbians like to have other people use. That's the way they describe themselves. Didn't you know that?"
"No, I didn't. I don't know any Lesbians."
The subject fascinated Penny in a weird, ugly way. "That's something psychological, isn't that?"
"Always. A lot of them go to psychiatrists and spend all their money."
"Are they ever cured?"
"Some of them. Some don't want to be."
"I'd think every woman would want to be-a woman."
"Most of them do."
"Being friends with a girl-I know I couldn't stand that."
"Why not? What's wrong with learning about life? Sweetie, you're going to have to broaden your outlook or you'll get left behind. How did you make out with Art Benton?"
"All right."
"Did he like you?"
"I guess so. He brought me to the door and-"
"To the door! Do you mean you didn't invite him in?"
"I asked him if he wanted a cup of coffee, but it was late and-"
"You should never say good night to a man at the door."
"Why not?"
"That-that just isn't the thing to do. A man won't call you a second time if he doesn't get some encouragement. Besides that just isn't polite."
"I could hardly drag him in after me."
"You don't have to drag them in-not if you've made any impression at all."
"Oh, well, I guess I goofed then. Are you hungry?"
"I'm getting a little hungry." Claire sighed. "I was going to turn in and sleep like the dead. But that telephone!"
It rang.
Claire picked it up and as she said, "Keen! Of all people! Where have you been?" Penny finished her drink and got up and went out and put two frozen dinners into the oven. After they finished them, Penny showered and did her hair and got quietly into bed.
But merely retiring early seemed enough to revitalize Claire. She showed no inclination for sleep. Completely self-centered, she didn't ask Penny if she was tired. She just began talking and was soon back on her favorite subject-her wonderful months in Europe.
"I used to sit in the sidewalk cafes and watch the people go by. And you met the strangest ones. Over there it was different than here of course. A girl could talk to people without being called a tramp. Once I was sitting fn a cafe and I got to talking to a very handsome Arabian. After we exchanged names and told each other where we came from, do you know what he wanted to do?"
"What?"
"Sleep with me. Go right to bed with me. He told me what a great lover he was. That's how frank they are in Europe. They don't waste any time."
"Weren't you offended?"
"Why? He was nice. I felt complimented-his asking me. There were a lot of other girls around."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him I already had a lover. In Europe, there's a kind of fidelity outside marriage if you see what I mean. If I didn't like them I told them I already had a lover."
II you didn't like them.
Penny couldn't help wondering how many Claire had liked. Claire had put the number at six. Had she forgotten a few?
These almost random thoughts made Penny feel guilty. Also, she was ashamed of her jealousy in the Gold Room. It wasn't Claire's fault that she attracted men, nor that Penny didn't.
Claire was Penny's friend. Penny liked her and was grateful that Claire had accepted her as a roommate. Many girls in Claire's class would have laughed at her for being a real square.
A feeling of quick, warm happiness made Penny tingle. Impulsively, she jumped out of bed and went to her knees beside Claire and hugged her. "Oh, golly! It's going to be wonderful, living with you, All the excitement! I may pass out from lack of sleep, but it will be fun!"
Claire laughed. "We won't get bored sweetie, that's for sure. I hate boredom. It's the only sin." She laughed again and pushed Penny away. "Watch that, sweetie. You are straight, aren't you?"
Penny was mystified. "Straight? What do you mean?"
Claire's smile was vaguely sly. "I was thinking of something that happened to me about a year ago. There was a girl who worked in our office-she's gone now-and she invited me to her apartment one night."
Claire lay back on her pillow, her eyes vague as she again went back into memory. "We sat around talking and I don't quite know what led up to that but she said, 'I'd love to shake you out of your smug little world!' " Claire paused there and shook her head in mock sadness. "And she sure did. She grabbed me and kissed me."
"You mean-?"
"Of course. She was a Lesbian."
Penny made a face. "Ugh!"
Claire turned her hands palms upward in a gesture of resignation. "I didn't know what to do! I was trapped. When I got out of there I felt like putting my arms around the first man I met and kissing him"
"That must have been terrible."
"That was."
"Did she leave you alone after that?"
"She wanted me to be her lover and I said I'd think that over-just to get away. I thought for a couple of days and then told her no."
"But you didn't actually consider that!"
"As an experiment. I believe people owe it to themselves to learn everything they can about life. Any other way and you're a coward."
"But why should I learn about-Lesbianism? What good would that do me?"
Claire reacted with the annoyance that was becoming familiar to Penny. "Oh, there's no point talking to you, sweetie. You just don't understand. You won't understand anything as long as you're a virgin."
"Maybe not," Penny agreed reluctantly.
"Oh, by the way, Keen called. Do you want to so to his beach place for the weekend?"
"That would be fun."
"Okay. He'll pick us up Friday evening."
"How big a place has he got?"
"Three bedrooms. It sleeps any number. There are lots of cots."
"Speaking of sleep, you'd better get with it. There's another day's work ahead."
Penny turned out the light and after a few more minutes of aimless conversation, she dozed off.
Later-she didn't know the exact time-the phone rang. Claire answered and Penny dimly heard her say:
"Allen I Where have you been for the last two weeks?"
There was no sleepiness in Claire's voice.
"My God!" Claire said harshly. "Let me out of this hotbox and into a bathing suit"
She climbed over Penny and Parker Freeman and out onto the lawn beside the beach house. Keenan drove his car into the open shell garage and snapped off the ignition. "God, did you ever see such traffic?"
"I'm ready for a swim," Park said. "Frank and Edna are here already."
There was a narrow strip of sand below the lawn and the whole of Long Island Sound beyond. Keen gestured to where a couple lay sprawled on two beach towels.
The girl was a blonde. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties. She wore a skimpy one-piece black bathing suit and was gorgeously tanned.
"This is Penny," Keen called. "Claire's new roommate."
Edna Corliss waved and Frank Corliss grinned lazily and called back, "Welcome to the madhouse."
He was a big man and looked older than the girl. He wore bathing trunks and his thick chest was black with hair.
When they were halfway to the house, the back door flew open and Claire burst into view. Penny was immediately reminded of Art Benton and his observations on plainness. But he'd been wrong in one respect. Claire had a gorgeous little body. Her slim legs tapering up into those gorgeous hips, her slim waist, her general attractiveness, almost revived Penny's jealousy.
Claire raced to the beach, her hair flying and Frank Corliss came to his knees and grabbed her by the ankle as she went by.
Claire fell to the sand. Corliss, grinning, pulled her back. "Baby," he said with simulated passion. "It's been so long!"
Claire, entering into the spirit of it, moaned, "Lover, how did I ever do without you?"
They were in each other's arms, rolling passionately on the sand.
At that moment, the kitchen door opened again and a tall dark-haired girl came out. She wore a modest enough bathing suit and had a camera hanging from a strap around her neck.
Her eyes lit up to the sight of what was happening on the beach and she ran in that direction. When she got there, she had the camera in her hand, ready for action.
"Hold her, Frank," the dark-haired girl cried. "Give me a good shot."
"Get set, honey," he said, and put his arms firmly around Claire. She was helpless in his grasp and while the tall, dark-haired girl moved here and there, angling the camera, Corliss held Claire horizontally on her back.
The camera snapped and the resulting photograph had to be close to completely revealing.
Claire was wearing a bikini-a brief bra and trunks that were little more than a bright red, narrow diaper. The photograph had caught her from a straight vantage point with her knees pulled back almost on a plane with her breasts.
"You louse! You hairy bum!"
Grinning with delight, Corliss put one arm around her, holding her again helpless. Then, as he put his mouth to hers, he pried her knees apart and put his other hand to her.
The camera snapped again as Claire struggled. "You lousy crumb!"
Her protest was muffled by the hard contact with Corliss's mouth.
"Hold her," the girl with the camera cried. "I want a closer shot of that!"
She went to her knees and focused almost from Claire's feet.
"Hold still!"
After this shot, the girl came erect and stepped back. "Let's get to the real thing now."
But Claire managed to wriggle away from Corliss and he sprang to his feet, laughing, and cringed away from her lunging attack. Turning, he ran toward the house.
"You dirty louse!"
But Claire wasn't angry.
She was laughing.
This realization struck Penny with a thud as Corliss disappeared into the house and Claire ran in after him. Also, the realization that Keenan, his hands in his pockets, was grinning with amusement as was Park.
"That husband of yours. He's a real clown," Park said.
Penny stared with amazement she tried to hide. Park was speaking to the dark-haired girl who had taken the pictures!
"Penny, you haven't met Cele yet. She's married to Frank. And the gorgeous blonde there is Franky's sister. Now you've got all the cast."
"I'll get your suitcase, Penny," Park said, "and we'll go raid the icebox."
The cottage was strictly for summer, cleverly laid out with an open patio in the center. The kitchen was open also and the doors to the bedrooms stood open-all except one.
Penny followed Park into the kitchen. "The Corlisses brought the provender," he explained. "Park comes for free because he owns the place and Nick and Frank and I split the food and booze bill. It makes a nice, reasonable week end." He added, "Nick isn't here yet. He'll be along."
As Park opened the refrigerator, Penny tried to straighten things out in her mind. It was difficult though. She felt as though she'd stepped through a looking glass into a reverse world beyond.
Frank Corliss had grabbed Claire and forcibly posed her while his wife took pictures and everybody stood by enjoying the spectacle. Nor was Claire herself angry.
And to top that off, Claire and Frank Corliss were now in the bedroom behind a closed door.
Park noted the direction of Penny's glance. "They're doing a little necking," he said casually. Then, raising his voice, he called out. "Hey you two! You've got the whole weekend."
He took out a package of cold meat and stripped the wrapping from a fresh loaf of bread. As he opened the meat the closed bedroom door opened and Claire and Frank Corliss came out. Claire was straightening her bra and Frank's grin was complacent and satisfied.
"I'm starved," Claire said. "Make me a sandwich, Park."
Park began slapping cold meat onto slices of bread while Frank Corliss-embarrassing Penny with his casual nakedness-took a bottle of Scotch from a closet over the sink and uncapped it
"Liquor anybody?"
"Me!" Cele Corliss said as she entered the kitchen. She put her camera on the table and snatched one of the sandwiches. She was too late to see Claire and Frank emerging from the bedroom but Penny had an idea that wouldn't have bothered her if she had seen them.
As Frank poured straight shots into glasses he'd brought to the table, Cele patted the camera and winked gaily at Claire. "Some nice shots for our gallery," she said.
Claire's smile canceled out the sharp tone of her reply: "You think you're real smart don't you? Well, we've got a few pretty hot ones of you and Edna."
"Maybe we ought to run off the film library tonight," Cele said. "Then we'll take a vote on the star of the production."
Penny sensed something here, a carefully controlled hostility among the girls of the party. But it was of a nature that confused her. Cele was obviously hostile to Claire. Yet she had relished, rather than resented, the scene on the beach in which her husband had been a party to what Penny had to consider a shocking incident with Claire. Also, Edna Corliss, the blonde, Frank's sister, couldn't have cared less about her brother's actions. She'd obviously found them amusing.
Another confusing angle: Claire and Keenan had a relationship Claire had called unique. It certainly, she was sure, had intimate aspects. Even as a girl naively inexperienced, Penny saw far more than the platonic in that.
And yet Keen was not at all upset by Claire's love life.
What did that all mean?
Frank Corliss handed Penny a full shot glass. He winked gaily and said, "Wash the cobwebs out of your stomach, baby."
Penny accepted the glass. She had never in her life drunk straight liquor. She was about to refuse it when she saw the glance that passed between Park and Keen. It was eloquent. It said: Little Miss Puritan doesn't drink it straight. Coke's her speed.
Penny took a deep breath, tensed herself, and blindly gulped the shot.
It was as though someone had rammed a red hot poker down her throat. Her eyes teared and she saw the room through a blur. One of the men cried, "Bravo! Bravissima!" but she didn't know which one. She was aware only of her own sudden agony.
A retching cough seized her. She could not open her eyes now and she knew she was pawing grotesquely at her own throat-making a spectacle of herself. But she couldn't help it.
Then she was being assisted from all directions. Someone patted her on the back. The cry of "Emergency! Emergency!" went up gaily, and strong hands lifted her and carried her and she was lowered onto a bed.
"She needs air," a male voice announced and fumbling fingers began unbuttoning her blouse.
Panic seized her. She saw a vision of. what had happened to Claire on the beach. She got her eyes open and looked up into Edna Corliss's beautiful, tanned face.
"It's all right, honey. I'll massage your chest. That makes the fire go away."
Penny's panic increased. Were they going to undress her? Was she going to be stripped naked and maybe photographed the way that had happened to Claire.
"Stop that! Stop!"
She fought off Edna's hands, struggling to get up from the bed.
"The patient is getting violent," Cele Corliss said. "She needs a sedative. What about another shot of Scotch?"
"For God's sake! What the hell's going on here?"
It was a new voice and it had a marked effect on the group. Cele Corliss withdrew her hands and raised one of them in salute.
"Nick!"
"Nicky boy!"
The last greeting was from Park. Penny saw the smile of welcome on his face and saw also, the effect on the others. Like children diverted from an amusement, they turned from the bed and centered their attention on the newcomer.
Suddenly deserted, Penny sat up and began buttoning her blouse. With no one paying the least attention to her she was able to get off the bed and straighten her clothing. Also, she was given an opportunity to recover from her mental and emotional upheavel.
She would get out of this place. That conviction came clear and definite into her mind. She didn't belong here. These people were all crazy. They were lacking any sense of responsibility whatever.
She assumed that the newcomer was Nick, the guest previously referred to. He was extremely handsome, a slim dark young man with clear gray eyes and a pleasant smile.
But there was something more, a commanding air about him; something that made the others stop what they'd been doing and draw around him.
Ignored, Penny slipped around the group and left the bedroom. She walked out of the house and somehow everything seemed unreal. It was a strange, eerie feeling-as though she walked in a dream.
She crossed the lawn, kicking off her shoes at its lower edge, and felt soft hot sand between her toes. Then there was the sharp contrast of cold water and she knew this wasn't a dream at all. This was reality.
She stepped back out of the water and looked down at her feet. They were covered with wet sand now and as a quick breath of wind blew her skirt, and saw her ankles and knees.
She'd had enough.
She didn't belong at Keen's summer cottage where a group of people who passed for adults acted like totally irresponsible children.
She was going to leave.
But was she?
Could she afford to?
Leaving the cottage now-picking up her weekend bag and walking away-meant leaving everything else. She'd moved in with Claire, into a new world. She'd left the brave words and the resolutions? What about the home and committed herself to an independent existence.
Was she already conceding failure? What about all war she had waged with her parents? Her war for freedom? Was she going to turn around and run home after the first week?
Reality. She thought about it. Reality was only what you saw. She's read that in a book once. At home, before she left, she'd seen her future as an unknown reality. When she met Claire, some facts had been added to it. Then the apartment. Now this.
A widening of her picture of a new reality.
Lying there on the bed, fearful of being stripped Baked in front of men, she had panicked.
Why?
It had been a natural reaction of course. But exactly why had she panicked?
Then she had the answer. She had ceased being an observer. That was the key. When she'd moved in with Claire, that had been her resolution. To be an observer. So long as you remain the observer, you are impervious to the actions of others.
On that basis, she told herself firmly, she was not required to leave the cottage. Keeping her role as observer in mind all the time, she would not become what Claire had become. She had only to remain aloof.
She admired Claire-stood somewhat in awe of her cottage, she saw a figure approaching-the young man as she went. Penny Adams was a different person.
But Penny Adams was no coward. She would not be frightened away from the independence she had chosen.
Penny had walked down the beach and sat down on an old log, and as she turned to look back toward the cottage, she saw a figure approaching-the young man who had saved her from further embarrassment in the bedroom.
He did not hurry, but came on at a sure, leisurely pace and as he approached, his smile was a reflection of complete poise and self-control.
"You're Penny Adams," he said.
"And you're Nick?"
"Nicholas Dean Penrose to be entirely accurate, but if you call me anything but Nick, I'll be hurt."
"Park mentioned that you were coming."
He took out a pack of cigarettes and offered Penny one. When she refused, he lit one of his own, taking his time as he squinted out across the water.
"Quite a gang, aren't they?"
"Yes-they are."
"How do you like being Claire's roommate?"
"It's exciting. I'll have to admit that."
He laughed softly. "I've got a hunch about you. I think you've been terribly shocked." When Penny didn't answer, he went on. "I think you've led a quiet normal home life, that your parents objected to you leaving, but that you went anyway because you wanted to be on your own."
"You've been talking to Claire."
"No."
"Then where did you get your facts?"
"I wasn't sure they were facts until now. I was stabbing in the dark."
"What are you-a detective?"
"I'm a writer. Maybe that accounts for it. Not a very good writer because I'm lazy, and I don't have to be. My family is wealthy and that makes me wealthy too, so I write the kind of books I want to rather than what I'd have to write if I were poor and had to make a living."
"Are they good books?"
He shrugged. "Good or bad is a point of view. Most people find them dull, I imagine, because they don't sell very well."
"Some day you'll be discovered and then you'll become famous."
"I doubt it."
"Have you known Claire-and the others-long?"
"Off and on for quite a while. They're a bunch of characters."
She'd had only one shot of Scotch but it had been a double and she wasn't used to drinking. So perhaps she was a little high. Or maybe the fact she'd had the Scotch was an excuse for the feeling of freedom and sophistication that came over her. That was about the only way she could explain it to herself and justify it. But the teeling held long enough for her to ask:
"Have you ever slept with Claire?"
Instantly, she was angry with herself. But her surprise at Nick's reaction was even greater. He turned with a look of faint amusement on his handsome face and said, "You really are mad, aren't you?"
"I don't understand."
"You asked that question in defiance-that's about as clearly as I can put it. With your background, your unfamiliarity with people of this type, what they were doing to you in the bedroom scared you and then made you mad. When you walked out of there you were going to leave, weren't you?"
Penny was unprepared for insight of this caliber and was unable to get her guard up. "You certainly are perceptive, Mr. Penrose."
He laughed. "That wasn't very hard to figure out. You wouldn't have dreamed of asking a question like that under any other circumstances. You're not the type. I can tell you something else. You walked along the beach and had a battle with yourself and decided not to leave."
"Of course. And now-in answer to your question-yes. I've slept with Claire."
"That was none of my business."
"Of course that wasn't, but you asked the question so you've got to accept the responsibility for it."
"What is the responsibility?"
"Answer one I ask."
Penny took time to consider before replying with a positive, "All right."
"Are you a virgin?"
When she didn't answer he smiled with a quirk of amusement "You don't have to answer. I withdraw the question."
"But you asked it," Penny said sweetly, "and you'll have to take the responsibility."
He laughed. "What is the responsibility?"
"The answer. Yes, I'm a virgin."
"I really didn't need to be told. I knew that."
"That's' ridiculous."
"No it isn't. A man can tell. Don't ask me how. A man with perception just knows."
Penny's instinctive sense of decency nagged her. Nick was nice but he was still a stranger.
"Why are we talking about love?"
His smile didn't change as he again looked out over the water. "Because love's interesting, I guess."
"That isn't everything."
"No, but in this strata of society that seems to occupy ninety per cent of the attention. Actually that is everything in the sense of its importance. We live in a sensual society. Everything is based on love."
"I think that's ridiculous."
He turned slowly and looked straight into her eyes. "No you don't."
"That's a terrible thing to say! It's the same as accusing me of-"
"I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm just stating a fact you know is true. If you weren't interested in love you'd have been perfectly content to stay home with your parents. You called your escape other names. You rationalized your perfectly normal urge into a desire to be on your own-to enjoy your freedom. But that's still nothing but a womanly urge padded around with restraints and inhibitions."
Penny's annoyance turned to resentment and then to anger. "All right, Mr. Philosopher. What do you suggest I do about that? Go to bed with you?"
His maddening smile stayed where it was. "That's a perfectly normal reaction," he said. "Accuse me of being a wolf while you sit there inviting a pass."
"Well of all the boorish-"
"But you asked me what I'd recommend your doing. I'll answer that. I recommend that you pick up your bag and let me drive you to the station. I recommend that you go from there straight home to your parents."
"In other words, I'm a child who can't take care of myself."
"You got in with the wrong crowd. You picked the wrong roommate."
"You say anything that comes into your mind about people, don't you?"
"Tell me," he asked lazily, "has she given you the one about the importance of every girl losing her virginity as soon as possible?"
Penny's eyes widened. "Do you listen in or something?"
He laughed and Penny tried to figure out why she hated him. It was because of his smugness, she decided. "Maybe Claire is right," she said recklessly.
He shrugged. "Maybe. That all depends on the girl."
She tried to make her look contemptuous. "What you're saying is that you take a very moral altitude personally, but if a girl is willing to go to bed with you, you'll accommodate her."
"Who said anything about morals?"
"We're debating a moral question."
"I'm not. I don't look at things as either moral or immoral. I'm saying some girls can sleep around anywhere they want to and get away with that. Others can't."
"Then Claire can get away with that and I can't? Is that what you're telling me?"
"You won't-whether you know that or not. And Claire won't either. She's walking a thin wire."
"Where did you learn so much? Did you major in psychology?"
For the first time, his composure broke, even though slightly. "Why is it that ordinary common sense is considered a rare thing? Anybody with medium intelligence can figure Claire out-what's going to happen to her. Women like her aren't new. She's old as time. She's got the idea that you can take and take and take without giving. And that can't be done. She thinks she can take the enjoyment from love without accepting the responsibilities and that's impossible."
"Claire gives herself!"
"She isn't giving. She's taking from every man she meets and avoiding the responsibility. But that will catch up with her."
"Mr. Penrose," Penny said mockingly, "you sound terribly old fashioned. This is a new and modern world, didn't you know?"
Penny wasn't saying anything she necessarily believed. She was merely trying to ruffle him again. He said, "That's why our mental hospitals are full."
The Scotch evidently had made Penny a little lightheaded because she thought that wasn't fair of him. He was getting too serious. "And just when," she asked, "will Claire realize all this?"
"She realizes now. She's carrying a guilt complex so big she doesn't dare stop to think." He grew thoughtful as he flipped his cigarette toward the water. "Heaven help her if she ever falls in love."
"The way you're putting it now, everybody who sleeps with anybody before they're married is doomed."
"Not necessarily. That depends on the individual. If a girl can enjoy love without emotional attachment, she's in danger. You couldn't."
"You know so damned much about people."
"It's true, though," he said calmly. "You couldn't go from one man to another the way Claire can. Claire dodges emotional attachments. She tries to avoid them. She knows they lead to trouble."
"All right. If she avoids them-"
His smile was pitying. "Do you honestly think that's how life works? I think maybe you do. Well, it doesn't work that way at all, Penny. It doesn't let you choose. It sneaks up on you. And then-He snapped his fingers. "-you're hooked."
"I think you've been reading your own books."
"I told you they weren't very popular."
"If you feel that way, why are you out here with kids like Claire and Keenan?"
He shrugged. "I'm no moralist. I think they're a lot of fun. I was just telling you how it is-not how I play it."
"I think you're a-hypocrite."
"Could be," he said indifferently. "I'm going back. Are you staying here?"
He got up and Penny followed suit. As they turned toward the cottage, her eyes grew thoughtful. "It was strange," she said. "Before you came, something happened on the beach. Frank Corliss rolled around in the sand with Claire and his wife didn't mind a bit. She was there with a camera. She took pictures!"
"That's entirely logical."
"You mean there are wives who don't care what their husbands do?"
"There are marriages of convenience. Frank and Cele have that kind. It's advantageous to both of them for certain reasons. Frank's job. Their standing in their community. But Cele is a Lesbian. She actually married Frank's sister, Edna, if you understand what I mean."
Penny gasped, making no effort to hide it. "That's-that's monstrous!"
"No," Nick said with a wry smile. "That's two people living in a modern, sophisticated world."
"I think I do want to go home."
"But you won't. You'll stay here and learn about life." His smile deepened as he looked at her. "As an observer," he added.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Oh, my God, darling! Hold me-hold me tight."
Lying quietly on her cot, Penny listened to the choked, passion-filled voice beyond the thin wall and considered her own reactions. There were responsive stirrings deep within her but she was quite objective about them.
Working, as she did, in a clinic that gave attention to mentally disturbed people, she had given a lot of thought to the mysteries of the human mind. Her job was strictly clerical but there were still books of interest on the subject and snatches of conversation. Also, she had learned a great deal, in a superficial way, from Doctor Wicks.
She'd wondered mainly about so-called traumatic experiences of children-incidents pushed back into their subconscious minds that effected their lives.
These incidents hinged on many emotions but in the main they seemed to gear in with love, violence, and rejections of one sort or another-children witnessing brutality or being the subject of brutality, observing the functionings of things before acquiring the ability to understand.
To Penny's knowledge, there were no hidden bogs fa her own subconscious. Brutality in any form had been alien to the Adams' household. There had been discipline but always kindness and love.
As to love incidents, she'd decided she just didn't react the way the books said she should. She had on one occasion been an inadvertent witness to such an incident and her reactions had seemed to be all wrong.
She'd been ten years old at the time and had awakened deep in the night to remember she'd forgotten to bring her calico dog upstairs. She'd always slept with her bedraggled little cloth pet and so she tiptoed out into the hall and moved toward the stairs.
This took her past her parents' bedroom. As she moved like a shadow past the partially open doorway, she heard a stirring.
She stopped and waited, hoping she hadn't awakened them Then she turned to peep in.
The bedroom had a dim night light and she could see what took place.
Her father reaching for her mother.
That was a scene of love with Penny aware of its nature and implications-more through instinct than anything else. She did not stay for all of that. Forgetting her calico dog, she returned to her bed and lay there huddled in a ball, thinking.
Never before or since had she experienced so beautiful an emotion. That had been lovely. There had been some violence of passion but this had not registered as such on her child's mind. To Penny, there had been only the love, the tenderness, the emotional delight.
She had hugged herself deliciously as she thought of her mother and her father in each other's arms and she wanted to run in and climb onto the bed with them and be a part of that.
But she didn't of course. She went to sleep and after that she carried with her an impression that remained in her mind and probably sank deep into her subconscious. Love was beautiful.
Now she was twenty-one, a woman, and the world and life had changed somewhat in her impressions and outlooks. Still, her subconscious response to the image of love as a thing of beauty remained and that was probably the reason for much of her disappointment. Aside from her other reactions, there was that vague, indefinable feeling of having been let down.
Claire practiced and spoke of love in such earthy, matter-of-fact ways. Love was a casual, accepted part of life. The passion she'd heard through the door when Claire brought Henri Gereaux home that night had stirred Penny and excited her to some extent But that had seemed so wrong. An important ingredient had been missing. And her reactions to Claire's accounts of Europe; confusion there also. How could you sleep with half a dozen men, one after another, and find the experiences in any way pleasant?
But Claire had been able to do this.
Perhaps there was something wrong in her own make-up, Penny had thought. Perhaps she was frigid. This had frightened her. She had no knowledge of frigidity other than the most superficial; she knew only that when a woman could not respond to a man, she was frigid. How horrible to be that way.
So Penny was ripe for the discussion she'd had on the beach with Nick Dean. She was in a psychological and emotional position to find his observations on love and life tremendously interesting-but she lacked the knowledge and the experience to pinpoint his errors in logic and his over-simplifications.
And now, lying there in the silence, listening to Frank Corliss and Claire in the bedroom next to hers, she found much food for conjecture.
Claire's passion sounded pretty much the same as that had sounded in the arms of Henri Gereaux, the Frenchman: "Oh, my wonderful darling! Hurt me! Hurt me!"
Penny could visualize their passionately entwined bodies. No doubt Claire was giving herself to Frank as generously as she'd given herself to her other lovers, as generously as she would give herself to her husband if and when she married. And a question canoe into Penny's mind:
Could you give something away and have that too? The old standards of morality said a woman should bring her virginity to her husband. Claire had given hers to a boy in Paris and that had been a lovely experience she remembered.
But how lovely? How genuinely beautiful?
She hunted for a simile and found one in thinking of Claire's love life as being a flower painted on a wall-the colors and the form lovely indeed-but its one-dimensional quality reflected in the fact that Claire had gone immediately into the arms of other men, finding the same experience over and over again.
A bouquet of painted flowers on a wall. No depth.
But was all that idealized nonsense? Somehow, Penny knew what Claire would have called that. Claire would have said, all right, a girl gives her virginity to one man and sticks with him and gets all that depth but what does that amount to? A lot of nonsense. Struggling along with a lot of kids and a grouchy husband too tired after work to do anything but crawl in bed and quickly satisfy himself before he goes to sleep.
Depth? You can have that.
And therein lay Penny's problem. How could she be sure Claire wouldn't be right?
She wondered as the passion died out beyond the wall and she heard Claire's contented sigh and visualized her lying there in Frank Corliss's strong arms.
The love. But not the responsibility.
When you came right down to it, only her instinct told her Claire was wrong. And that instinct might easily be deceitful. It could have sprung from the deep habit pattern stamped into her by Society's cold demands. An old, old pattern.
One thing was new in this picture, however, and Penny was sure, relatively unique. That aspect was the casual togetherness of love as practiced by Claire and her group.
This struck Penny forcibly as she turned her head and looked at Cele and Edna Corliss. There were three cots in the bedroom and she could see her two new acquaintances by the light of a late moon that sent its rays in the window.
Their cots were drawn close together and, while they had indulged in no lovemaking, a closeness between them was made apparent by the intimacy of their positions.
They both slept naked and during sleep Cele's slim, lovely leg had been pushed on top of Edna's so that their legs formed a cross. Also, their hands had reached out to clasp.
Lesbian love; a shocking new thing that had been thrust before Penny's inexperienced eyes. She didn't feel like pondering that though and her mind, drowsing now, formed a different thought.
There was one thing about this new group. They didn't baby you. Figuratively, they threw you into the water head first. They took you in as one of them and if you didn't like them, you had an alternative.
You could walk away. Penny had had that chance. Even that inclination.
But she'd stayed.
CHAPTER SIX
Penny would remember that weekend as a series of incidents-a pattern of one shock after another. The first one came while she was still in bed. A throaty, female curse:
"You louse!"
Penny's eyes opened instantly, quick enough to catch Park's grinning face as he lowered the camera and vanished from the open doorway.
Her first fear was for herself-until she realized she wore pajamas and was under the sheet. But not so with Cele and Edna. They had been caught naked, their blending postures a pose that would be highly prized by a collector.
"That sneaky little louse," Edna snarled.
Cele, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, began pulling her legs free. They were tangled with Edna's to a point where Cele had to sit up and raise herself on her hands in order to get free.
Both girls ignored Penny, concentrating their attention on the now-absent Park.
"Doesn't the sneaky little crumb ever sleep?" Cele complained.
"He gets his kicks that way," Edna replied as she yawned earthily.
But her anger had faded and Penny realized that this camera game they played was just that-a game. That seemed obvious. Claire's resentment during the beach episode of the previous day and the hostility Penny was witnessing at the moment were of the same caliber. No honest indignation.
The implication, as nearly as Penny could determine, was that love had been invented for one reason-to be enjoyed. It had no other purpose.
Claire had a compulsion for men and love. This was obvious. Men and love. Her world turned on those two points. She saw no reason why she should not indulge in love with any man who was physically attractive to her.
The rest of her group appeared to think the same way. Morals, restrictions of any sort, they were outmoded.
Fright touched Penny as these convictions flowed through her mind. If this was the new world-if a way of life such as this was to predominate, what was to become of-well, everything?
And then Penny faced a truth in herself. This life was exciting. She was not repelled or disgusted. Not yet, anyhow. There had been shocks, true, but she'd led a sheltered life. Regardless of Claire's totally immoral approach-her uninhibited practices, Penny liked her. She saw honesty in Claire's frank, open approach to living.
Keep an open mind-observe-then make your decision.
This decision seemed enough for Penny; enough to still the inner voice that told her she should break away from Claire and all she stood for.
Cele and Edna had piled out of bed. Edna was pulling a sweater on over her brassiereless breasts as Cele looked at Penny and said. "Oh, you're awake. How about breakfast?"
"Sounds wonderful."
"Get your clothes on then. See you in the kitchen."
But Penny didn't rush. She lay there in lazy comfort realizing she hadn't really been accepted into Claire's group. She was tolerated. They were friendly toward her because she was Claire's friend and, in a sense, they feared Claire. But she did not belong.
Penny wondered if this was because she hadn't passed her initiation test. That was how she saw the incident of the previous afternoon when they'd carried her into the bedroom and tried to undress her. They'd had to be aware that her resistance had been genuine-that she hadn't seen being stripped naked by a week end group as a game in which she was participating.
She wondered now if they would have gone ahead with that. Nick's arrival had stopped the uninhibited horseplay and perhaps that had been fortunate from Penny's viewpoint.
They probably would have finished the game, she thought, because-in retrospect-she could now see the intensity of their faces during those few minutes.
Game or not, Frank Corliss had wanted the thrill of stripping a girl he had never seen before. He'd wanted the satisfaction of taking off her garments, one by one and seeing her held naked on the bed. There had also been a feverish interest in Cele and Edna. Park's attitude, Penny thought, had been mainly one of mischief. Perhaps he was enjoying her embarrassment from a sadistic standpoint.
Keenan?
Penny wasn't sure. Keen was an enigma to her. He didn't seem to fit any pattern. Only one point was clear. He repelled her.
"How about it? Breakfast?"
These questions came after a polite tapping on the wall beside the half-open door. It was Nick Penrose.
"Good morning," Penny answered.
"Are you decent?"
"Yes."
Only then did Nick show his face. He did not enter, but stood outside smiling in at Penny. And he impressed her also as not being a part of this strange picture.
"It's nine o'clock," he said. "You've missed half the day already."
"You seem to be an early bird."
"I was up at six and took a hike along the beach. I was tempted to invite you but I thought maybe you needed your sleep."
"I wish you had."
"Then tomorrow morning, I will."
Nick left and Penny closed the door and got into her clothes and headed for the bathroom with her toothbrush and make-up kit where she undressed again and showered and got ready for the day properly.
When she went into the kitchen, it was deserted except for Nick.
"They're all down swimming," he said. "Breakfast is pretty informal around here. The first one to the stove cooks. I'll fry you some eggs."
"Coffee will do. I usually pass up breakfast."
They sat down to coffee and Penny said, "I wish you wouldn't worry about me."
"I don't understand you."
"Yes you do. You waited to get my breakfast. You should have gone swimming with the rest."
"One thing you'll learn about me is that I do pretty much as I please. I seldom put myself out for anybody. So I'm here because I want to be. Does that relieve your conscience?"
"Uh-huh," Penny answered, laughing. "I'm relieved to a point where I'll let you fry me an egg and make me some toast."
Other impressions that Penny carried away with her were: Keen and Claire out in the water later in the day. Two heads close together, their positions not changing for almost half an hour. She watched from a shady spot on the lawn and had a distinct impression that something was going on between them-something hidden by distance and water. But perhaps not. Maybe they were just standing out there talking. Whatever the case, no one paid any attention to them. Edna and Cele Corliss dozed side by side on two blankets under a tree. Frank Corliss was sprawled asleep in a hammock strung from one corner of the house to another tree.
Nick, having turned from cigarettes to a pipe, was reading on the back steps.
And Penny was stretched on the lawn under a tree thinking strange thoughts indeed. She'd been pondering her reactions to Claire-her favorite pastime lately, it seemed-and a stunning realization dawned.
She would never be able to evaluate Claire so long as she herself remained a virgin.
The thought was so alien to her mental processes, that she rejected it instantly. But slowly drawing close to it again, she regarded it gingerly.
That was true, wasn't it?
She actually hadn't given much thought to losing her own virginity. She'd assumed that would be taken care of on her wedding night.
But there was certainly no law against thinking about that more intimately-considering what the process would entail. Exactly why had she automatically rejected Claire's belief that a girl should get experience as quickly as possible? Because her parents would have been shocked.
But was that a fair basis of judgment? She had to live her own life and that certainly entailed an obligation to think independently.
And even white something inside warned her that she was on dangerous ground, she continued to toy with the idea. Not seriously, of course. In fact, there were humorous aspects.
She considered them.
Suppose, for instance, that she, Penelope Adams, decided that she was missing a great deal in life by retaining her virginity, that she was going to dispose of this handicap? What then? Find a man to give herself to, of course.
Handling the problem logically did present one advantage. She could select her own man. That wouldn't happen by chance or accident.
She considered Nick. He was physically attractive and she was sure he would accommodate her. He might even consider that a privilege.
All right. She'd taken the two initial steps; she'd decided to give up her virginity and she had selected the man. What next? The approach.
Two possible methods of procedure seemed logical. She could arrange the accident, deliberately allow herself to be trapped and taken, let Nick "lure" her to a likely place and manipulate her into the position required for the "theft" of her virginity.
That way, she could save some shred of her dignity afterward by suddenly realizing what had happened. She could cry and protest that he'd acted like a cad, that all men were alike, that all they wanted from a girl was one thing and that he had cruelly taken advantage of her in order to get that. She suspected many virginities were lost in that manner.
A faint laugh broke in on her reverie, laughter from a distance, and she realized that had come from Claire out in the Sound. And the coincidence-the laughter coming at that exact moment-gave an impression that Claire had ridiculed her hypocrisy.
That would not have been Claire's way at all.
All right. What was the alternative?
A direct, matter-of-fact approach. She closed her eyes there in the comfortable shade of the whispering oak tree and visualized the scene:
Nick, I've decided that I'd like to sleep with you.
I'm delighted.
Do you have any objections to a virgin? None whatever.
What I meant was-I've heard some men shy away from a girl for the first time. They prefer not to be involved if the emotional aftermath is unpleasant for the girl.
I assure you, this wouldn't bother me in the least.
I'm glad to hear that. We're agreed then? You're going to be the first man to take me?
On my part, that's agreed wholeheartedly.
All right. Because you're the experienced one, VU put myself in your hands. What must I do?
"What are you smiling at?"
Penny's eyes popped open. Park was looking at her.
If that had been Nick she might have been tempted to tell him the silly sequence that had been running through her mind. But hardly Park.
"I always doze with a grin on my face," she said lightly.
He dropped down crosslegged and there might have been a conversation but at that moment there was a shout from out in the Sound and they looked in that direction.
The two heads had separated and were moving across the water. Another shout. Penny squinted and could see that Claire in her bright red bathing cap was pursuing Keen.
But Park, staring fixedly, saw more.
"Keen's got something in his hand."
Penny shaded her eyes. "I think he has. I can't tell wnat it is, though."
Park sprang to his feet and ran into the house. He returned a few moments later with a pair of binoculars Penny hadn't seen before.
He sat down again and trained them on the Sound and Penny saw a slow grin form on his lips. "He sure has got something in his hand. Here-look."
Penny took the glasses. They were excellent, bringing the scene so close Penny could see the expression on Claire's face.
Again Claire mirrored the anger and exasperation Penny had seen when Frank held her helpless on the sand. She saw words form on Claire's lips-words that looked like: "You damned lousy crumb!"
Keenan swam well. He'd outdistanced Claire quickly and easily and Penny shifted the glasses and trained them on him. He was laughing brightly, gaily. Keen was a cleancut, good-looking youth and his happy mood augmented that impression. He could have been any young man teasing the girl next door.
Then he came slightly out of the water, evidently standing on the bottom, and raised both hands. He waved what he had at Claire, tantalizing her.
What he held up to view were Claire's daringly-brief bikini trunks.
"He stripped her," Park said, laughing. "She can't come in to shore 'til she gets them back." Penny didn't answer. "You can never tell about Claire, though," Park added. "She might come in anyway."
Something catalyzed in Penny's mind. She didn't know what it was and didn't care particularly. She only knew that sitting there with Park, watching the game being played out in the Sound, rubbed her the wrong way.
"I think I'll go in and get a drink of water," she said and sprang up quickly in case he offered to bring it.
As she walked toward the house, she realized Park himself had been the catalyst involved. She hadn't been comfortable with him. Something deep inside her resented him.
She didn't dislike Park nor did she like him. He was a negative personality so far as she was concerned.
But she resented his amusement when Keen held Claire's bathing trunks up to view.
And then there occurred, later that Saturday after noon, another incident that tempered Penny's overall impression of Claire's group as she'd come to identify them mentally.
A little earlier, Keen found no beer in the refrigerator and had complained about what he considered a grave oversight. He got the car out to run to the closest store and repair the situation and the men went with him.
That left Claire and Penny and the other two girls alone at the cottage.
Edna Corliss had been angry about something most of the afternoon, making this apparent by openly sulking and paying attention to no one. She had been ignored by the others, however, and Penny had no idea as to what bothered her.
She had been lying on the lawn with Claire and Penny as the car drove away and a few minutes later, she got up and stalked into the house where Cele had been clearing up some dirty dishes.
Claire was dozing and Penny was reading a paper back novel she'd found when the first angry words came from the house. Edna's voice:
"You and your moods. I'm getting damned sick of them."
Cele's reply came sharply. "I don't give a damn whether you like them or not."
Edna's anger rose in intensity as she mimicked Cele's voice: " 'I'm not in the mood. I don't feel like that' That's all I get from you lately. What's wrong? Are you getting tired of me?"
"What do you expect me to do? Get down on my knees every time you crack your whip?"
"You're getting too damned smart!"
Penny looked at Claire and was struck by her lack of concern. Claire lay where she was and did not even open her eyes although Penny knew she was not asleep.
There was a sharp sound from the cottage, the sound of a slap, and Cele cried out. "Why you dirty little witch!" she screamed.
A new sound; that of a scuffle. The kitchen door opened and Penny saw Cele, her sweater pulled half off, trying to escape from the kitchen. But she was jerked back roughly and the door was slammed shut
"Leave me alone, damn you!" Cele shrilled.
Penny could no longer ignore the situation. "Claire, for heaven's sake! They're fighting!"
Claire opened her eyes. Her shoulders, prone on the grass, shrugged expressively. "It's just one of their tows. Pay no attention."
The sound of fighting continued. There was a cry of pain and Penny thought that came from Cele. A higher pitch of physical combat now, with Penny sure that Claire would get up and go into the kitchen and intervene. But she stayed where she was.
There was a thud, then one of the girls started to cry.
A voice, Edna's, snarled, "Okay-have you-had-enough?" The question was accompanied by grunts denoting strain and effort.
"Have you had-enough?"
Cele continued to sob, breaking in with, "Damn you-oh, damn you!" and then continuing to cry.
Claire smiled cynically. "Edna's probably got her on the floor. Edna can always lick her. She proved that a long time ago."
"You mean they fight-often?"
"They had their first fight here at the cottage. One night-all over the kitchen and then out here in the yard. Edna beat the pants off Cele and that's been that way ever since."
Penny shuddered. "That's-horrible!"
Claire looked at her curiously. "That's not uncommon. Lots of Lesbians have to fight it out to see who gets the upper hand. Then that stays that way. Cele's a masochist."
"Okay-okay," Penny heard Cele moan.
Claire yawned. "Edna'll take her into the bedroom now. They're both worked up. I think maybe they have to have a fight before they really enjoy themselves."
Penny wished Nick were there to drive her to the station. There was no doubt in her mind now. Keen's week end cottage had suddenly become a cheap, shoddy place; a place where Penny Adams did not belong.
This time she did not give any thought to whether Claire would be offended or hurt or anything else. She'd witnessed much during her stay that had perhaps shocked her because of narrow-mindedness. But two girls fighting viciously, cursing each other, turning into animals-that was too much.
And if there had been the least shred of doubt in Penny's mind, it would have been dispelled by the ecstatic cry of passion that came through an open bedroom window.
The vision this conjured up-Cele and Edna locked naked in each other's arms, sickened Penny. The men would be back soon. Then Penny would leave.
She searched for an excuse to give Claire.
But an excuse turned out to be unnecessary because just at that moment, a boy on a bicycle tooled up the drive. He wore a Western Union cap and he propped his bike against the porch and eyed Claire's bikini with appreciation.
"Telegram for Miss Damen."
Claire snapped her fingers. "Over here, boy."
He brought the telegram, his eyes busy. Claire took it without getting up.
"I've got no money on me, junior. I'll catch you next time, okay?" Claire smiled lazily, her eyes nap rowed.
"Okay!" he agreed with enthusiasm. He retreated several steps walking backward before turning around.
Claire followed him with her eyes, a knowing smite on her face. As he pedalled away, she said, "They start young, don't they?" She spoke contemptuously but it was obvious that she'd enjoyed the boy's attention.
She opened the telegram. Penny watched as she read it and then crumpled it into a ball in her hand;
"God! He's coming. I've got to get dressed."
"Who's coming?"
"My boss. Greg McRoy. He wants to go up to his place in Connecticut."
Claire was on her feet. Penny had gotten up also and was following her into the house.
"Do you have to go with him?"
"I want to go with him. This is a break. His wife is away for a couple of weeks and this is a real opportunity for me."
"But-"
They entered the kitchen and moved on through. One of the bedroom doors was closed. Claire stopped and knocked and said, "Somebody's coming for me. If you come out, for God's sake put your clothes on."
In her own bedroom, Claire stripped off her bikini and began to dress. "God!" she moaned. "Why couldn't he have told me Friday. Damn men anyhow! They've got no consideration!"
It occurred to Penny that she hadn't known Claire's week end sleeping arrangement. Somehow, she'd assumed that Claire had slept with Frank Corliss. But the wrist watch that lay on the table beside the bed belonged to Keen.
"This isn't a business trip you're going on then?" Penny asked.
"This is business as far as I'm concerned," Claire said grimly as she zipped her skirt. "I'm going to marry Greg McRoy."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"But he's already married, Claire!"
"Sure," Claire sneered, "to a Westchester snob. She doesn't give him a thing. There'll be a divorce before long and little Claire will be waiting with the basket."
Penny didn't try to smother her shock this time. They were having two frozen dinners-early because Claire was going back to her office for some late work with Greg McRoy, the man they'd been discussing.
Penny's abbreviated week end at Keen's cottage was over and had been filed as one of her less pleasant and somewhat confusing memories.
Greg McRoy hadn't come for Claire himself. He'd sent a young man from the office, a young man who'd driven the sleek Cadillac as though he'd been a part of the wheel and had said little more than yes ma'am and no ma'am. Penny had ridden back to Manhattan with Claire and the young man had kept things so rigidly impersonal that it had been amusing.
Now it was Tuesday and there had been a lull in the flow of visitors to the apartment. Claire had been in steady phone communication with Keen and Park and innumerable other male friends, but both evenings had been clear of company.
Monday night had been perhaps accidental, but there was a reason why no one was showing up tonight:
"I told Keen to stay the hell away," Claire said. "And if Park shows up hell get the door slammed in his face."
Greg McRoy. He was special. Claire could rant about the inconsideration of dictation at ten minutes to five, unreasonable demands during lunch hour, and other injustices, but Gregory McRoy was her special project and she worked hard at it:
"I've been around and I've had a lot of fun," Claire had explained. "But that can't go on forever. A girl has to keep that in mind. So she watches for the right man to marry."
"Isn't that a pretty cold-blooded way of putting it?"
"That's the way men figure, isn't it? They sow their oats and then settle down. Why should a girl think differently?"
Penny hadn't answered because, again-while Claire's arguments were patently false-she could not form specific arguments against them; none except love and fidelity, and that sort of thing. But Claire would have hooted at such nonsense, so Penny held her peace, "You have to be very careful about the image you create for the important man," Claire explained. Then she'd smiled and patted Penny maternally on the shoulder. "You're a part of my image, sweetie."
"I'm a part of your image?"
"Uh huh. You're the wholesome type and perfectly respectable and a little mousy. You're perfect as a roommate. You see, a girl living alone is always suspect. Alone, she has to convince a man that other men aren't coming in and sleeping with her. But when she has a roommate-especially a nice girl like you-"
"So that was the only reason you wanted me here!"
"Sweetie! Be yourself! We help each other. That's Efe. I'm introducing you to men, aren't I? I'm giving you something you never had before. So you do something for me."
Penny's hostility turned to amusement. What could you do with a girl like Claire? You accepted her or you walked away. There was no in between.
And now, with dinner over, Claire became preoccupied with an inspection of the living room. "Clean up the table, will you?" she said. "And dust that window sill. We want the place spotless."
As Penny went about the directed chores, Claire stood in the middle of the room and regarded it tensely. "There mustn't be anything lying around that might give Greg the wrong idea-"
Her brilliant eyes narrowed in satisfaction as she swooped down on the book rack at the end of the lounge.
She pulled three books out and scowled at them.
"These might make Greg worry needlessly," she said.
Penny glanced at the titles: Love Without Shame-"Keen brought this one night and we read it together," Claire said. "That was when I lived in the Village."
Aberrations was the title of the second one; a dog eared paperback that had seen much service.
The third was titled, Fifty Variations and Penny wondered where Claire had gotten that. The book looked sensational.
Claire dropped to her knees and pushed the three books far under the lpunge. She got back on her feet, smiling brightly, as though Penny were her conspirator in a happy plot. "We don't want Greg to get the wrong idea about us, do we?"
Without waiting for Penny's reaction, Claire saw something else and pounced on it; a carelessly rolled cylinder of large sheets of white paper.
These stood in a corner of the room and had been brought in from Claire's Village place. Penny did not know what they were, however. She'd paid no attention to them.
But now Claire unrolled them and Penny saw that they were penciled sketches of a nude-the same nude in many poses.
Claire, caught momentarily in pleasant reverie unrolled them one by one and if Penny had not become more or less impervious to shock, she would certainly have gasped.
The sketches were crudely done but realistic to a startling degree. In one, the nude was sprawled over the corner of a square hassock. In another, she'd posed on hands and knees on a bed. A third showed her on her back on the floor, her legs in an impossible position.
Claire laughed. "These were done in Paris. Tom was kind of a half-baked artist. He did have a little talent, though. One day we went a little crazy, I guess, and he did these. Nutty, but fun."
She came back to the present and made a wry face. "Hardly the sort of thing you'd want your intended to pick up though, are they?"
The sketches followed the books under the lounge and Claire took a deep breath as she made a final survey. "I guess that does it. No men's socks or shorts lying around."
The doorbell rang at that moment and Penny was treated to an interesting spectacle.
The emergence of a new Claire-one she hadn't seen before.
The effect was startling in that Claire actually appeared to change physically. The sparkle faded from her eyes. The tense, determined expression was replaced. Her restless hands became graceful, relaxed hands, and her voice, as she smiled at Penny said. "Open the door, dear," took on depth and poise.
And when Greg McRoy entered, he found a quietly self-possessed young woman seated on the lounge reading a copy of Harper's Bazaar.
"Greg! Come in! I was just going through Harper's for some ideas."
Greg McRoy was a dignified man somewhere in his late thirties. That was Penny's estimate as Claire said, "This is my roommate, Greg-Penelope Adams. Penny, would you pour Greg a brandy while I freshen my makeup?"
Claire moved gracefully toward the bedroom and disappeared.
"I'm delighted, Miss Adams," Greg McRoy said. You have a very nice place here."
"Thank you. There's brandy or Scotch. Would you-?"
He gestured in the negative. "No-please-we haven't time. I've got some contracts to get out and I had a call to make uptown. That's why I'm picking Claire up."
One thing Penny had to say for Claire-her taste in prospective husbands was excellent. Greg McRoy could hardly have been called handsome but when you looked at him you automatically thought of the Ivy League of Madison Avenue, of the swank upper East Side, and the glamorous estates of Westchester and near-Connecticut.
Claire emerged briskly from the bedroom, pulling on her gloves. She could have been, from all appearances, a smart young daughter of wealth and breeding, going off for an evening with one of her own kind.
"Penny, would you be a dear and clear those odds and ends off the sink board? They look untidy."
She turned her eyes toward Greg McRoy. They were eloquent They said: One does the best with what one has.
Alone, Penny stood in the middle of the living room and tried to control her temper. She was easygoing, slow to anger, and more than normally understanding. But enough was enough.
A pillow lay on the floor beside the coffee table and Penny vented her wrath on it. She kicked it like a football player trying for a field goal. It hit the wall with a satisfying thud and fell back to the floor.
Penny passed up the urge to kick it again and began pacing the floor. The things she'd taken from Claire! She must have been out of her mind!
Granted, she was a babe in the woods, so far as Claire was concerned; granted Claire had taken her wholeheartedly into this new world that had excited her. Still, Penny had given much in payment.
She'd done most of the work around the apartment; she'd reacted without hostility when Claire radiated callous contempt for her naive attitudes and unsophisticated background; she even allowed herself to be called mousy without too much resentment.
But when Claire treated her like a servant in order to impress Greg McRoy-that was too much.
Claire's intent had been obvious. She'd tried to create the image of snobbish competence-to show him she was entirely capable of filling the role that would be required of her as his wife.
But Penny was damned if this was going to be done at the expense of one Penelope Adams!
Enough was enough.
Mousy, eh?
That brought back a scrap of conversation: Today any girl can be attractive unless she's horribly scarred or malformed ... Also ... If you decide you'd like to make me prove that....
Penny marched into the bedroom and dug through her bag and came up with the card Art Benton had given her. She dialed the phone with quick determined jabs.
Art Benton answered.
Penny was surprised at the easy, casual tone in her voice as she said, "Art, this is Penny Adams. I wonder if you remember me."
"Of course." He laughed. "You sound as though we hadn't met in years."
"Some of the days I've had seem like years, but I wonder if you know what I'm calling about?"
"I'd hoped it was because you wanted to hear my manly voice."
"Oh, I do, but I had to have an excuse. And I've got it. You said something the other night I remembered-about what happens to a girl when a good beauty operator gets his hands on her."
"That depends on a lot of things. Beauty operators-the male kind-are pretty impetuous sometimes."
"Well, I'd like to make an appointment."
"How about now?"
This threw Penny a little off balance. "Golly! I hadn't even expected to find you in your shop."
"That racket at your door? It's me. Fighting my way in."
"Oh, no," Art Benton said. "You got me all wrong.
I'm not a beauty operator. I just manage the place."
Penny was sitting in the reception room of a glittering modernistic Madison Avenue Shrine to Beauty. That name was actually stenciled in gold over the archway that led into the operating area beyond.
"My family owns this," Art said.
Penny's eyes opened wide. "Well for heaven's sake! With all those beautiful women at your beck and call, what were you doing out on a blind date with Herb Cross?"
"You never mix business with pleasure."
Penny was faintly annoyed. It was his attitude. He was pleasant and easy, but she had a feeling that he didn't take her very seriously. She felt like a teenager in his presence although he hadn't even begun to reach toward middle age.
He was regarding her thoughtfully. And when he spoke again it was with amazing frankness. "I was just trying to visualize what we'll do with you. You nave let yourself get pretty mousy, you know."
"I like that! It's the second time I've been called mousy. I'm getting tired of it."
"Good. That's the first step. Dissatisfaction with things as they are."
He pushed a button on the desk and a girl came into the reception room; or rather, a white-uniformed, middle-aged woman with gorgeous, gray hair, an air of competence about her, and not a single wrinkle in her face.
"Mae," Art Benson said, "I've got a new customer for you. This is Miss Adams. If you do well by her she might become a regular customer."
Mae didn't seem too happy at the prospect. Not until Art said, "She's tired of her image. She wants to brighten it up.
Mae's eyes lighted. "Oh, I understand."
It wasn't difficult to see that Mae's professional enthusiasm had come to the fore. She glanced at her watch. "I'm afraid there won't be time tonight. Could we make an appointment for-"
Art laughed. "Mae doesn't like to be rushed. She's an artist in her line. Once you get in there, she won't let you out until she's satisfied."
"I work during the day," Penny said.
"How about five-thirty?"
"That will be fine."
Mae went back to whatever she was doing but she paused in the doorway and glanced back at Penny. Was she doubting her ability to work a miracle, Penny wondered.
"I imagine this is a pretty expensive shop," she said.
Art Benson's grin made him look younger. "Terribly expensive. But you can get a rate by staying in good with the manager. A cup of coffee down the block."
"Are you asleep, sweetie?"
It was two o'clock and as Claire spoke she snapped on the light and threw her bag on the dresser. Penny wasn't asleep, though. She had been but Claire's noisy rattling of her keys and the slamming of the front door took care of that.
"God what a rat race," Claire moaned. "The Black Angel is a divine club though. The show was wonderful."
Penny found that she wasn't angry with Claire any more. That was one of her strong points-or her weaker ones, whichever way you looked at it-but she couldn't hold anger for long.
"I thought you were going to work."
"Are you kidding? I promoted this date last week end at his country place. I'm not going to let him push me back into a corner. It's bad psychology."
"Then I'd think going with him on week ends-"
"That was all entirely proper." Claire smiled as she stripped off her dress. "Tough, but proper. I go for the guy. I really do. When I'm close to him I want to pull him over against me. But all he ever gets is a little smooching and not too much of that."
"I see what you mean."
"You have to use your head, sweetie. I'll break down once-after he gets his divorce. We'll have one big session in bed when little Claire loses her head and just has to show how much she loves him. After that, he drools until the marriage certificate is signed."
"Yes," Penny said, "I guess you have to be practical." But this was only in reference to Claire. It had nothing to do with Penny's ideas on the subject. These were her own. And they should stay her own. She liked Claire but she'd learned one thing about her. She talked too much.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Dress and make-up are like painting a picture," Mae said. "A true artist knows when to stop. That's the secret."
"I guess I just wasn't too greatly interested in myself," Penny answered. "As long as I was neat and clean-"
"Everything you have done highlighted your bad points."
She was under the drier in Art Benson's beauty shop. She had been in the shop for three hours. She was tired, but excited.
"Of course, what I do isn't going to help much," Mae said, "unless you follow up."
"How?"
"You need new clothes. Can you afford them?"
"I can afford anything reasonable-"
"They won't be too expensive. I want you to go to a place I know of. I'll give you the address. If you don't mind, I'll phone ahead and tell them what to show you."
"That's awfully nice of you."
"I see an image I think will really become you. Of course, if you don't like it, you can experiment a little yourself. But let me follow through and see what you think."
"Are you so nice to all your customers?"
Mae snorted. "Most of them are total losses with too much money to spend; trying to stay attractive for their husbands when it couldn't matter less."
"Oh, I don't think all men are like that."
"Mine was," Mae said grimly. "I'd give plenty to be your age again. With what I know now."
"What would you do?"
"I'd go after my husband again. I'd get him hog-wild over me. Then I'd laugh in his face and walk out on him"
Evidently Mae too had been disillusioned with lift That seemed to Penny to be the normal way of things; at least, here in Manhattan. Everyone tense and feverish; frightened; everyone wearing a phony front and trying desperately to make an impression.
"Are you divorced?"
"Separated.
"Maybe he'll think better and come back."
"He can go to hen!"
But Penny got the feeling Mae didn't mean that. She didn't mean it at all.
"I don't know whether I did myself a favor or not," Art Benson said thoughtfully. The session was over and he was passing on the results as Penny looked into the mirror.
She saw a new Penelope Adams, and somehow it was frightening. The careless bushy effect of too much hair was gone.
"You-you took off almost half of it," she gasped
"Not that much. Do you like the image?"
"I-I don't know."
It was as though Penny were looking at another person. The chubby cheeks had vanished-replaced by a longer, more classically chiseled face and profile.
And she had a neck. For the first time in her life, a slim, beautiful column separated her head from her shoulders.
"You kept everything fluffy and covered up," Mae said.
"But my eyes?"
She always thought of them as small and unattractive. But they were not. They were large and liquid and mysterious above the faint shadows underneath.
"They're your best feature," Mae said proudly. "And you must keep them that way-build around them. Keep all your clothes simple and in good taste. No jewelry. It detracts. Wear form-fitting coats-preferably belted-and it will be a long time before you meet yourself walking down the street"
"As I was sawing," Art repeated plaintively, "I'm afraid I didn't do myself any favor. You'll have men standing in line."
Mae, answering a call, turned and left and Penny looked suddenly into Arts face.
"Why did you do this?" she asked.
"It just seemed like a good idea," he said quietly.
"It was very sweet of you."
"No," he said. "It didn't seem like such a good idea. There was more to it than that. I think I got mad."
"Mad?"
"Yes. I hate phonies and I'm afraid that's my opinion of your roommate. She's a phony. She was using you for contrast. So long as you stayed a little colorless nobody, she didn't have to worry about competition. I guess I felt you deserved more than that."
"But won't this make me a phony too? I'm doing just what Claire did-creating a false image."
"The image isn't false. There's nothing wrong with taking advantage of what you have. It's the people behind the images that make them true or false. You couldn't be anything but sincere if you tried."
"Thank you, Art."
"Don't thank me," he said with gruffness. "Thank your father and mother. I didn't have a thing to do with it."
Penny felt guilty as she left the shop. Mom and Dad. She'd been so busy "learning about life" that she'd hardly had time to phone them.
Without pondering the matter to any great extent, she turned into the next drug store she came to and phoned the apartment. Claire answered.
"I'm glad I caught you," Penny said. "I don't think I'll be home tonight. I'm going out to see my folks."
"On a week night?" From Claire's view point, this was incredible.
"I haven't seen them for a long time. I'll stay all night and go straight to work from there."
"Okay. I guess maybe I'll call Keen then and have him over for the night."
"I'll see you after work tomorrow then."
Waiting on Madison Avenue for a cab to take her to Grand Central, Penny recalled how casually Claire had spoken of inviting Keen over to spend the night. She'd been with them for a while now, and she should have been used to them but that still seemed so unreal-the casual manner in which they flouted all social customs. Did Claire's mother have any idea how her daughter lived? Did she know Claire had slept with Keen-had some sort of a running relationship with him? And how did Keen feel when he went to the Damen home on Staten Island and faced Claire's mother. Did he have any sense of shame?
A cab stopped and Penny gave her destination and allowed her thoughts to turn back to herself. She felt a quick warm sense of excitement as she recalled the fascinating image in the mirror. She wondered what her parents would say.
"Great day in the morning! What happened to you?" This was Ralph Adams' greeting to his daughter as she entered the living room and he lowered his newspaper.
Penny went to him and kissed him and then laughed as she put her finger under his chin and lifted it, "What in blazes did you do to yourself?"
"Do you like it?"
"It-it just isn't you!"
Grace Adams came in from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. "Penny! Why didn't you call? Dad would have driven down to the station."
"It was all right. I wanted to surprise you."
Penny's mother did not react to her new image quite as Penny had expected. Yet, afterward, Penny saw the reaction as entirely logical.
"Well," Penny said expectantly, "what do you think?"
"It's beautiful, dear. It changes you whole appearance."
"For the better?"
"If you feel that it does-that's all that's important. I'm more worried about whether you're eating properly and getting your sleep."
"Mother! I'm not a child any more."
Her mother's eyes turned a trifle sad. "No dear, you're not. But now let's have dinner. I made a nice roast."
And Penny understood. Grace Adams was interested only in her daughter's welfare-nothing more.
Later that evening, Penny talked to her father: "Dad-I-you said to come to you about money."
"Sure-sure thing. That's what I want my girl to do."
"I need some clothes."
"I thought you always had plenty of clothes, honey."
"Yes, but they aren't the right kind. In New York you have to look smart. It would help me in my job."
"I thought you wore a white uniform."
"You just don't understand, Dad!"
Perhaps Ralph Adams didn't but he wasn't going to let that put a block between himself and his daughter. "Sure I do. How much do you need, honey?"
"I don't think they'll come to more than two hundred dollars."
"I'll give you a check."
Penny kissed him and they watched television together, the three of them, and it was quiet and peaceful and restful.
But Penny began wondering what Claire was doing and as though her thought had been a wish to be fulfilled by a genie, the phone rang.
It was Claire: "What are you doing, sweetie?"
"Watching television. Is Keen there?"
Claire's voice was a pout. "He didn't come, the louse. He called a little while ago and said something came up."
"That's too bad."
"What I called about-would you like to go on a double date tomorrow night?"
"Who with?"
"I met a very nice man today and he has a friend.
I think they'd be fun."
Under the old circumstances, Penny would probably have declined, the misery of her last double date with Claire fresh in her mind. But now the idea thrilled and excited her. This time it might be different.
"I'd love it," she said. "What time are they coming?"
"The usual. Eight o'clock at the apartment."
"I've got a couple of things to do after work and I may be a little late getting home but I'll be there."
"Okay, sweetie, I'll see you tomorrow."
Penny went in on the eight-ten, boarding the train with a vague sense of uneasiness. The trip home. It hadn't been right, somehow. Not as it always had been. She wondered why and then it dawned on her. Dobbs Ferry wasn't her home any longer!
This brought a touch of panic. Could things change so suddenly? Dobbs Ferry no longer home. But the new apartment wasn't home either. Not yet. The newness of if left her still feeling like a stranger--a visitor.
She felt like a person with no home at all, no roots.
Then the train pulled into Grand Central and there was all the bustle and color of commuters rushing in a vast wave to their various jobs and Penny was caught up in the excitement of it.
Manhattan was her home!
Penny was out of the clinic at two minutes after five that day, in a cab, and heading for an address on 57th Street. Her excitement was a heady thing and it wouldn't go away even when she told herself it was childish.
Other arguments against it came to mind. If her outer image was so important to her, why hadn't she done something about it long ago? That had been the fault of her parents, she decided. They wouldn't have forbidden her of course, but they would have made it difficult.
In order to get rid of the question, she accepted this glib rationalization, refusing to admit another truth that tried to assert itself; the fact that accepting glib rationalizations was becoming quite easy for her to do.
But then she was in a shop on 57th Street near 7th Avenue where a brittle, efficient-looking blonde with a beautiful image knew instantly who Penny was and said, Why of course, dear-Mae had called and she was delighted to be of assistance.
The blonde-she was Miss Gloria-made no great effort to sell Penny on her merchandise. She appeared more to be functioning according to prearranged plan. But before Penny could object and assert her own ideas, she was standing in front of a full length mirror looking at a stranger.
It was breathtaking.
The only comparison Penny could find at the moment was with a glamorous, arresting personality she'd seen so often on television, on the Late Show and all the other programs that featured old movies, Garbo.
The figure she looked at in the mirror wore a shapeless, pull-on hat that made her face a study in subtle mystery and intrigue. The trench coat with its high belt rounded out a total image that could have graced the pages of any slick glamour magazine in the land. "Do you like it, dear?"
Penny's first reaction, after the wonder, was that Miss Gloria might have overdone it a little. The image was too deliberately tailored for effect. But its possibilities overshadowed all that.
"Yes," Penny said. "I like it."
"Your whole life will change, my dear."
Penny remembered that later; how prophetic Miss Gloria's words were. Neither she nor Penny could have possibly conceived the violence of the coming change.
Nor its imminence.
Penny got home at seven forty-five. She had excitedly anticipated the reaction to her new image but it hadn't occurred to her that there would be an audience, that their dates for the evening would arrive early. But they did. They were there when she opened the door and walked in.
Penny saw them superficially; two young men cut to the standard mold of the smart upper East Side; good looking, poised, sophisticated.
But her attention was on Claire; on the almost ludicrous double take as Claire saw her enter, looked away to make introductions and then jerked her eyes back.
"My God!"
The two young men knew of course that something out of the ordinary had occurred. It did not become an issue however, because Claire regained her outer poise with a remarkable effort.
But Penny could read her eyes. She saw wonder. Then admiration. Then hostility.
And then jealousy, naked and open.
But immediately Claire was smiling, looking to her own image, gesturing with graceful hands and saying, "Carl-Val, this is Penny Adams, my roommate. Penny-Carl Zant and Val Avers."
Penny looked closer now. Carl Zant was the more positive of the pair in that he caught the eye first. He was meticulously dressed but on the flashy side. He wore a ring on the little finger of his left hand and had French cuffs and the crease in his trousers was almost too sharp for comfort. His hair shone like patent leather and was meticulously combed to produce the "casua!" look.
Val Ames was less spectacular. He gave the appearance of having tried to copy his partner's dress and manner, but he had failed. There was a sullen cast to his eyes and his skin had a sallow unhealthy look.
Carl Zant, staring at Penny as though hypnotized, took a step forward. In doing so. he ignored Claire's quick movement of possession as she laid a hand on his arm to signify that he was her date.
Carl Zant pulled his arm away almost rudely, took Penny's hand in his, and drew her arm under his own. His smile was bright-toothed and synthetic. "Delighted to know you, Penny. Let's do the town."
Penny's reaction to this centered not on Carl Zant but on Claire. She catalogued Zant instantly as a superficial, run-of-the-mill opportunist with no depth whatever. But she felt a new admiration for Claire because of the manner in which she accepted what had to be a major defeat-that of seeing her drab, colorless little roommate turn as though by magic * from a nonentity into a potent love symbol who had taken a man away from her in a matter of seconds.
Recovering magnificently, Claire took Val Avers' arm and smiled and said, "Wonderful! Let's go."
The evening was as painful a one as Penny ever went through. It was new and novel in that she had her date's total and undivided attention. But still totally painful.
The situation wasn't helped any by Claire's date. He was dull, inarticulate, and ineffectual. His role seemed to be more that of an alter-ego to Carl Zant than an independent personality.
They went to a good Chinese restaurant and then to the Village for the dubious thrill of seeing the beatniks in their native haunts.
Claire had been growing progressively more sullen as the evening went on. She was filled with hostility toward both Penny and Carl Zant and tried to make Carl jealous by lavishing attention on Val Avers.
This got her nowhere however. Avers was too loyal to his companion to respond to Claire or else she did not impress him.
Thwarted in this direction, Claire began loosing barbs directly at Carl, her insults lacking even the fundamental restraints expected from a normal adult: "Where did you get that ring? At a dime store?"
And later, in the Village: "Carl, honey-if you took your shoes off and grew a beard, you'd look exactly like that moron over there at that table."
While Penny writhed in embarrassment, Carl Zant went up in her estimation by refusing to allow the fight to come out in the open. Penny could see that he was raging inside though and she could finally stand it no longer.
"It's been a wonderful evening but I'm a little tired.' Suppose we call it a night."
No one objected and Penny and Claire were escorted to the door of the apartment. Penny got the idea that Claire would not have objected this time, to saying good night in the hallway. She seemed intent on doing this.
But that was not permitted. As the lock cleared and the door swung open, Carl Zant stepped ahead and held the door for the other three from the inside. When they'd all entered, he closed it.
And he became, in a bewildering instant, another person.
His eyes trained on Claire, hardened. His mouth stiffened into a grim line of rage and contempt. He said, "Okay, you little witch. We'll have this out."
Penny stood frozen in sheer surprise and unbelief as Carl Zant grabbed Claire and held her helpless, one hand over her mouth and his face close to her blazing eyes.
"You think you're so damn smart, baby. But you aren't. You're a stupid little tramp and you're going to get shown. You're going to get shown good."
Penny was on the verge of her own scream, but Carl Zant, sensing this, spoke without taking his eyes off Claire. "Cool her down, Val. Gag her until I give this little witch the score."
And for the first time in her life, Penny felt the hands of a man laid on her viciously.
Quick memory of the incident at Keen's cottage flashed into her mind. But there was no similarity. Val Avers grasped her roughly from behino, pinned her arms tight, and spread a hard palm over her mouth.
Carl Zant had Claire pretty much the same way, physically, but there was a difference in his attitude. To Val Avers, Penny was merely a nuisance, and he handled her as such. But Carl Zant had a score to settle with Claire and he intended to settle.
With her body locked in helplessness, he grinned into her face. "If you figure on yelling, baby, don't. It won't get you anywhere. Call the cops'n they'd shake it off and maybe take a belt at you themselves. You can't plead the innocent stuff. I knew all about you. It wasn't an accidental pick-up. I heard about you in the Village and I came up to get you."
His grin deepened. He let one hand slip down Claire's body. He lifted her feet clear of the floor. She kicked wildly and her shoes came off and flew across the room
"I came to get you," Carl Zant snarled, "and I'm going to do that."
He carried her to the lounge and threw her down and held her there with the weight of his body. Then, their faces close together, he took his hand off her mouth and held it poised over her head.
"All right, baby. Let out a squawk and you get slapped silly. And maybe you'll be real stiff for a few days. That won't be any fun. So go ahead and let out a bellow."
"The neighbors'd just think it was television anyhow."
This came from Val, who retained his grip on Penny. She sensed rather than saw his grin as he stared at the scene on the couch. His breathing was heavy against her ear and she felt his body pressing against her.
"You rotten louse!"
This from Claire, snarled into Carl's face as her eyes blazed at him, and that was contradictory in its implication. She was exhibiting both a surrender and a defiance. She was not going to scream. He had outbluffed her and she was going to take that but she still defied and showed her contempt for him, still baited him a she'd baited him in the Village.
"You louse! I don't think you're man enough!"
"Why you cheap little two-bit tramp!"
Penny did not believe nor disbelieve. This explosion of violence that had been created in Carl by Claire's expert needling during the evening was beyond Penny's conception. People didn't do things like this. Yet this was being done before her eyes.
Carl Zant had Claire down on the couch and he was going to rape her. Not only that, but he evidently planned to do so before witnesses. Neither he nor Claire appeared to remember Penny and Val existed. They were in a world of their own, a world filled with hate and lust and violence and there was only room for the two of them.
Ton don't know what to do with a woman even when you've got her down."
Penny was thunderstruck. In God's name, what was wrong with Claire? Had she lost her mind? She was in the power of this maniac. She was going to be raped and perhaps killed and yet she kept right on baiting him-mocking him!
It was almost as though she were inviting her own destruction!
Carl Zant was shaking with rage, thus revealing that Claire, even in her helplessness, was winning a dangerous and dubious victory. She was still stinging him with her hatred and contempt.
He controlled himself and then allowed a slow, cold grin to spread over his face. Claire was lying on her back, held that way by his heavy knee and now Carl Zant rearranged his hold so that one arm and one hand sufficed to keep her arms and upper body imprisoned His own body was partially on its side, screening Claire's hips and legs from view. He had not removed his topcoat prior to the attack and that formed a blanket over both of them.
Penny and Val Avers had become spectators in every sense of the word. Penny stared in dazed horror at the scene and Avers was transfixed also, but for a different reason. Subservient, almost slavish to Carl Zant, he was getting a vicarious thrill from observing the attack-a thrill he would have been unable to achieve as the attacker.
"Fix her, Carl," he whispered thickly. "Fix the little pig!"
Carl Zant's grin had turned cunning. "I'm going to make you beg, baby. I'm going to make you take that back!"
"You stink!" Claire spat.
"You'll beg," he gritted. "And if you scream, I swear I'll cripple you and still get away before the cops come."
"There ain't going to be no cops," Val assured him hoarsely. "Take care of her."
"Yeah, baby," Carl growled.
His free hand went downward, under his coat, and Claire's face froze, a look of alarm crowding out the hatred. Carl Zant's grin deepened and with their faces close, their eyes locked in a silent battle.
A secret battle, because only they knew what was going on under the flap of his coat, where his hand was going. There was a long, tense moment when time seemed to hang in the air. Then Claire's eyes snapped open, wide, and she caught her lower lip in her teeth. Satisfaction glowed in Carl Zant's eyes.
"I don't know what to do with a woman, huh?"
Claire began to move. She twisted and fought but that was wasted effort. She had no chance of escaping him.
Again there was a heavy pause. Then she jerked convulsively.
"No! Oh, you louse! No! No!"
The cloth of his coat was moving slightly where his hand was.
Claire fought violently.
"Oh, God!" Her eyes rolled.
"Beg, damn you."
"You stink," she sneered, and then appeared to deliberately set herself for more punishment.
Carl was quick to respond. Claire's eyes bulged and her mouth strained open in a quick gape as her body fought again.
"Beg, you little witch!"
Claire clamped her teeth together and closed her eyes and strained her head backward until her neck was taut.
On the forgotten side of the room, Penny felt her captor's warm breath on her neck.
"She likes that," he whispered in passion charged amazement. "She likes that!"
Carl Zant seemed surprised also. He went on with what he was doing in a kind of bemused wonder. Claire fought again and one leg worked itself loose and began kicking.
"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Claire cried.
"Beg, you little witch!" Zant demanded.
But there was less conviction in his voice now. Less rage-more of a kind of wonder-a doubt. It was as though he wanted to stop what he was doing but didn't dare.
Claire's lips opened and she almost smiled. The grimace curled along the surface of her lips. This seemed to anger Zant. He applied pressure and Claire's teeth clamped again."
"You stink!" she hissed.
The movement was almost a reflex action to the sting of her words. Her body pitched wildly and the coat fell off one of her legs and the angled, naked leg was corded, straining muscle.
Then her fist clenched in what seemed to be a new kind of agony, her eyes opened and she emitted a soft sob. Her face turned languorous.
"You louse-"
But not a condemnation this time, not even hurled at Carl; not words that were her own, uttered in the aloneness of her ecstasy.
"God!" A passion charged croak came from Val Avers as his grip on Penny loosened.
But Penny was not in condition to take advantage of the loosened grip. She scarcely knew she'd been released. She did not even draw away from Avers. She could only stare at the couch as the world spun around her.
Claire visibly collapsed there in Cal Zant's implacable grip.
But the strange battle was over. Zant, shaken, uncertain, released Claire and lifted himself off the lounge. The scene was over and done with. The passion was gone. The mood had changed.
"Let's get out of here," Zant muttered, and turned toward the door like a man seeking air to breath.
Val Avers, his shadow, followed, but more slowly. His awed eyes remained on Claire's naked motionless body until he closed the door and cut off the view.
There was the sound of their rushing feet going down the stairs as though the devil pursued them and then there was silence.
With a ay, Penny hurled herself toward the lounge, went to her knees, and burst into a frenzy of hysterical weeping. She threw her arms around the exhausted Claire and sobbed incoherently against her bosom.
After a while she could form choked words. "Oh, Claire-Claire. That was awful!" Claire did not answer.
Penny continued to sob, but that also came to an end, and when she raised her head and looked into Claire's face, there was something there, something frightening.
A look of triumph.
When Claire spoke, it was with a gentleness, a softness, so out of place that she frightened Penny.
"He tried to degrade me," Claire whispered. "He treated me like an animal and tried to degrade me. But he couldn't." She smiled. "He was a wild man but I lay here and beat him."
"Honey," Penny soothed, "I'll call the police. We'll have those two degenerates picked up and-"
Claire shook her head. "No, sweetie. Let them go."
"Claire! We can't let them get away with that!"
Grotesquely, Claire smiled and stroked Penny's hair, for all the world like a mother comforting a child. "That's just one of those things, sweetie. They happen sometimes. I'm not hurt. I'll ache for a few days, like that pig said. But I'm all right."
"Claire! I don't understand! I simply don't understand you!"
"There's no point in calling the police."
"Where did you meet Carl Zant?"
Claire smiled wryly. "That probably isn't even his name. He outsmarted me."
"Where did you meet him?"
"On the bus. He spoke to me. He was attractive and I thought he was very nice."
"You mean you-" Penny stopped. What was the point of calling him a cheap pickup? That would have been the implication if she'd finished what she'd started to say.
"He evidently talked to some loud-mouth I met in the Village and came looking for me. That happens sometimes. Men talk about girls, the pigs. And sometimes that kicks back."
They went to bed. It was the only thing left to do. And here was one more surprise for Penny.
She had stilled the turmoil in her mind, driven it all out-postponed her evaluations for a later time.
Then, there in the silence, she heard Claire's soft whisper.
"I was the one he wanted. I was the one he wanted all the time."
It was a whisper of weary satisfaction.
CHAPTER NINE
The phone rang. penny picked it up, her stock answer already on the tip of her tongue: I'm sorry, Claire isn't here just now. May I take a message?
But there was no need of that this time. A voice vaguely familiar said, "Penny! How are you? This is Nick."
A voice now suddenly familiar. "Hello, Nick. Claire isn't-"
"Who asked for Claire?"
Penny laughed, a little embarrassed. "Most of them do."
"I don't wonder. But I'm calling you. How about a cup of coffee and a few laughs?"
"Who'll furnish the laughs?
"The beatniks in Washington Square, maybe. What have we got to lose?"
"A perceptive observation. What have we got to lose?"
"I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."
"I'll be ready."
Even as she put the phone down, Penny realized it had been the wrong thing to say. She could hear Claire: Never tell a man you'll be ready. Always keep him waiting even if you have to sit in the bedroom for five minutes.
But Penny was ready and waiting and when she let Nick in he did a double take. "For heaven's sake! What happened to you?"
For some reason, his question irritated her. She'd had all the reaction-favorable or otherwise-to her new image that she needed.
"I changed my hairdo," she said, and there was something in her tone that stopped any further questions.
Penny wore a black slacks outfit with a red scarf and the effect was arresting, but even when Nick saw this, he refrained from comment.
They took a cab to Washington Square and listened to some beatnik musicians seated by the fountain. Then they strolled to a corner of the square and Nick studied some of the moves on the outdoor chess boards.
He made no effort whatever at conversation and Penny could not tell whether this was deliberate or not But again, she was irritated.
Finally, they sat down on a bench and Nick said, "You've got something on your mind."
It was his tone of voice that tipped the scale for Penny. The tone was exactly right. There were things she did want to talk about, but the subject matter was such that a girl would not normally have discussed that with a man.
But, she told herself, she and Nick had first come together in an area of mutual frankness. Their friendship was platonic. Therefore, they would both remain objective.
"Claire was raped last night," Penny said.
Nick Dean did not react. He'd pulled a pipe from his pocket and was staring at it thoughtfully.
"I hadn't heard about that of course. But I'm sorry."
"Personally, I'm more confused than anything else."
"Tell me about what happened," Nick said gently.
And again his tone encouraged Penny. It indicated that Nick cared nothing whatever about the rape or the details other than his being truly sorry that had happened; that his interest centered completely around whatever it was that confused Penny.
"I was there. I was a witness."
"You weren't molested?"
"No. It was a double date. During the evening, Claire kept needling the boy I was with."
"Had you changed your-hairdo at that time?"
"Yes."
"Then Claire was jealous. She wanted the boy you were with."
"How did you know that?" Nick smiled briefly. "I know Claire."
"Well, anyhow, she kept needling him and when we got home he-he kind of exploded. He grabbed her.
The other boy grabbed me and put his hand over my mouth to keep me from screaming."
"The boy who attacked Claire-he didn't take her into the bedroom?"
"No. That happened right there on the lounge. That was terrible."
"No that wasn't," Nick said quietly.
"But-"
"There is no point in discussions of this type," he said, "if they aren't as truthful as we can make them."
"I'll grant that. So when you contradicted me, what did you mean?"
"That what happened-what you witnessed-was exciting to you. You cringed away psychologically, no doubt, but emotionally, that fascinated you-drew you. That had to because love and violence go together and, as a normal human being, you are interested in love."
He was getting into areas where Penny was not intellectually nimble enough to meet his arguments. Her rebuttals were mainly instinctive. She could not put them into words. Yet she was not inclined to retreat.
"Whatever happened-" Nick said.
"That wasn't rape in the strictest sense," Penny cut in. "That was something different. He abused Claire. He degraded her. He did something to her that-well, this is hard to state, but he brought out her weakness more than his own."
Nick's quick smile revealed understanding. "In other words, he forced her to respond to him under conditions that were degrading."
"Yes."
"That figures. Whoever he was, he understood Claire. He was aware of her weaknesses before he even touched her."
"I'm afraid I don't understand-"
"That's quite simple. Suppose he had raped you instead of Claire. He would have proceeded differently because he would have known he couldn't degrade you. He could only have forced you to submit to him and after that was over you would have lost none of your intrinsic dignity or integrity. Not so with Claire."
"Why that's terrible! Saying a thing like that about Claire."
"Your loyalty is laudable. You're reacting exactly as Penny Adams would react. I like Claire too. In some ways, I admire her. But truth is truth. And Claire in some ways is unique. She is unique in that she has a strong exhibitionist compulsion." He paused as though giving an idea careful consideration. Then he went on. "You're trying to understand something, so I'm going to tell you a few things I wouldn't ordinarily refer to. Things you'll of course hold in confidence."
"Of course."
"At one time, Claire tried to add me to her string of men. You see, she collects men the way a hobbyist might collect stamps. She feels secure in exact ratio to the number of men on her string."
Nick was somewhat oversimplifying, but Penny understood that and was inclined to agree.
"Also," Nick said, "Claire likes to talk about love and her conquests. This is an aspect of the exhibitionism I referred to."
"She's been very frank in some of our conversations."
"I'm not surprised. But to again look at Claire simply as a case study, she is a person who functions entirely on a non-moral basis. She sees love even beyond the level of broadmindedness and sophistication. To her, sleeping with a man is as casual a thing as shaking hands with him."
"That's monstrous!"
Penny was annoyed with herself. She felt childish, reacting with emotional hostility to everything Nick said. If she was unable to be objective, she shouldn't discuss love on an objective level.
Nick was saying, "Claire talked to me. She enjoyed shocking me, I think. Either that or she was angry at not being able to get a rise out of me. Anyhow, to clear up a point for you-to show you Claire wasn't really raped at all-"
"Not raped!"
"Of course not. She deliberately irritated the boy into doing what he did. There is a need in Claire to be degraded by men."
"There's no doubt about this," Nick went on quickly. "Claire explained her method to me once. This happened in Rome, I think. She met a man there-one evening by some fountain. They talked and after a while he suggested going to see a friend of his. Claire agreed and he took her somewhere-It was a rather secluded place-where his friend lived. It was very late at night, or rather, very early in the morning, and, as Claire put it to me, 'All of a sudden, I realized I was in a trap.' As I recall, she showed actual horror and revulsion when she told me this. She said, 'Those two had me where they wanted me. I'd been stupid and naive, so I was trapped. They were both attracted to me and wanted me and they took turns.' When she said that they took turns her body actually shook from the memory of the experience. Then, in the grip of a compulsion, she told me details I can't repeat. The two men were broad-minded, to say the least. They required her to perform abnormal acts that she had never before experienced.
"As she related the incident, she became more and more emotional. Her eyes reflected horror as she said, "One would hold me while the other-" Then she choked up. But she managed to go on. She said, "Until dawn. Hour after hour until dawn. While they laughed at me! I'd stagger into the bathroom and they'd watch me and laugh. That was terrible.'"
"My God!" Penny heard herself exclaim. "Claire went through an experience like that?"
"Yes. But that wasn't terrible to her. She wanted that experience. She arranged that"
"I don't believe that!"
"You would if you'd been there when she recounted the experience to me. After she finished the telling-after she'd re-enjoyed the details, so to speak, by living them again, she changed. She was automatically herself again. When I asked her if she went to the police, she laughed and said, 'Oh, they weren't such bad characters, really. I just never let them get me alone again."
"That even amazed me." I said, 'You mean that you saw them again?"
She said of course she had. They showed her around the city and they were good company and they had a lot of fun. Of course their sole aim was to get Claire to another spot where they could abuse her, but they never did. She was too smart for them. But only because she was no longer interested. Later, to quote her again-" Here, Nick paused. He was suddenly embarrassed. This struck Penny forcibly. She had never seen him lose his poise before.
But then, choosing his words carefully, he went on. "I told you I slept with Claire. And it was during that time-after she'd performed rather surprisingly and was lying there resting-that she said, 'Do you know where I learned that? I was in Paris. I got lured to a man's apartment and he grabbed me by the ears and made me do that. Was I mad! I never let him get within ten feet of me again.'"
Nick shrugged, "So that's how Claire is," he said.
He stirred restlessly. "Let's walk. We can drop in somewhere for a drink if you'd like."
They left the square and moved down Sullivan Street and then across on Third Avenue.
Until Nick stopped suddenly and pointed and said, "There's a place that might amuse you. One of the more sophisticated Village spots. But perhaps you've been there."
Penny shook her head. "It looks rather shabby from here."
It was in a basement and the small sign over the entrance read: THE WAYFARER'S GALLERY.
"The outside is deceiving," Nick said.
"You're making me curious."
He turned toward the step-down entrance, then quickly and positively changed his mind. "No. Definitely not A place like the Wayfarers isn't for you." He took her arm and turned her away.
Penny's resentment flared sharply. "Now just a minute! I don't like that. I don't like that at all."
He was mystified. "You don't like what, Penny?"
"Your attitude. You're treating me as though I were someone's grandmother; a straight-laced puritan who has to be protected. Just where did you get that impression of me?"
He looked at her blankly. "I don't know. I really don't. I guess I rather assumed that you're not like-"
"Not like Claire? Of course I'm not. But that doesn't make me a prude. There's a lot of room in between."
He studied her morosely for a few moments. Then he shook his head almost sadly. "Women," he said. "I'll never really figure them out."
"Is there some big problem, Mr. Penrose?" Penny asked the question mockingly, happy that she'd irritated him, though not knowing quite how.
"All right," he said. "Come on. But if you want to turn around and run at any point, let me know. I'll understand."
"You won't have to worry about that."
They went down a flight of stairs and Nick rang a bell beside a closed door. "Is it a private club?"
"No. Not exactly. Key clubs are forbidden in New York City. But there are ways. If they don't like your looks, they'll say they're closed."
The girl in the blue evening gown evidently liked their looks because she smiled and opened the door. "Good evening." After they got inside, she asked, "Would you like a booth?"
Nick shook his head. "Oh, no. Not a booth. We'll just have a drink or two at the bar."
The girl, a stunning blonde, glanced instantly at Penny. She smiled ever so slightly and the smile did nothing to water down Penny's irritation. Good lord. Did she look like a prude to everybody? Hadn't the new image accomplished anything?
She had no opportunity to protest, however, and Nick led her to a luxurious bar where the stools had arms and backs and deep cushions.
"Two martinis," Nick said. Then he turned quickly to Penny. "I'm sorry," he said in genuine apology. "I should have asked you what you want. Martinis are very strong."
Penny was getting really angry but she suppressed it. "A martini will be fine," she said. "Very dry."
The drinks came and Nick raised his glass. Penny touched it with hers in salute and then steeled herself and downed half the drink.
It was different this time. She wasn't caught unaware as had been the case at the cottage. She absorbed the shock of what was practically pure gin and achieved the aplomb of a seasoned drinker.
"It's very good," she said.
"The drinks here are the very best."
Penny risked a second gulp. Then she put her glass down. "Now-what about this booth bit? What's so-so sophisticated about their booths?"
Nick frowned slightly. "Actually, they're private rooms. You wouldn't care to-"
"I wish you'd stop treating me as though you think I'll break," Penny snapped. She finished her drink and held the glass toward the barkeep. Nick looked at her with an expression of faint concern. Then he turned his face away.
He made no comment and Penny's second martini came and she gulped down a hefty belt of it, noted it was beginning to taste good, and said, "You think I'd be afraid to go into a room alone with a man. Is that it?"
"Not quite all of it," he muttered.
"Then give me the rest."
He was showing an irritation of his own. "Finish your drink." He finished his own and the barkeep took both glasses. Then he turned and looked Penny squarely in the eye.
"All right. If that's what you want." He raised a finger and the blonde responded instantly. "This way-please."
She led them out of the bar and down a corridor and opened a door and stepped aside. Nick motioned to Penny, then turned to the girl.
"Will you bring us two more martinis?"
Inside, the door closed, he said, "It's customary to order drinks. But you don't have to drink them."
Penny felt deliciously reckless. Also there was a sense of triumph. She'd overridden Nick's reluctance and shown him she wasn't the fragile little homebody he'd taken her for.
The room was luxurious. There was a cot with a rich, red satin cover and drapes covering two walls from the ceiling to the floor. One large easy chair had a taste fully modernistic table beside it bearing a lamp and a box of cigarettes.
Nick had little to say. He was openly uneasy. The drinks came and he morosely watched the girl put them on the table and leave.
Penny smiled. "A toast," she said.
He picked up his glass. "To what?"
"To us. To our sophistication. To the fact that we're typical, broad-minded New Yorkers."
Nick stared at her. Then he set his glass down and said, "I can put an end to this in a hurry and I might as well do that now and get this over with."
He took a quick forward step, seized Penny in his arms, and kissed her.
That was no ordinary kiss. In encircling her, he trapped her arms at her sides and still had a hand free to tilt her face to his. He put his mouth against hers and in sudden passion he opened her surprised lips with the pressure of his own. Then, using his free hand more or less gently, he pried her mouth open and began kissing her ruthlessly, shamelessly.
Then he released her and pulled quickly away.
"All right. Now you know. You innocent girls are so damn stupid! What do you think a man is? A block of ice? I wanted to stay out of here But you wouldn't have that. And damn it, I have no intention of sitting in here discussing love with you. You've seen a booth. Now let's get out."
She was delighted at having forced him to break through his restraint. And she had no intention of letting him off so easily.
"Why, Nick," she chided with faint acid in her voice. "Did you think I'd be afraid of a few kisses?"
He turned on her, his eyes narrowed. "Damn you! You're a confirmed little tease."
She laughed.
He lunged at her and caught her in his arms again and bore her toward the couch. This time, he didn't imprison her arms, so she was in a position to fight him if she chose.
But fighting him would have been acknowledging that he had been right about her. She put her arms around his neck and drew his face down to hers.
Her mouth opened without a demand on his part this time, confirming the heady recklessness that sang over her body. She battled his lips with a shamelessness of her own. She felt his warm breath at her face and her whole body responded eagerly.
His hand was moving. Without any finesse whatever, he pulled her blouse out of her slacks and ran his fingers over her ribs. There was no brassiere to confound him and he cupped her breast and caressed her until he found the hard, erect tip with his fingers.
He turned is mouth away to breath heavily. "Penny! Damn you," he whispered hoarsely. "You're so beautiful. So desirable!"
His hand stroked. That was as though the touch acted as a trigger, because with a quick desperate motion he jerked her loosened blouse upward, exposing her breasts, and moved his mouth downward.
As his lips found the tip he'd teased, Penny felt a quick touch of panic. That was different, however, than anything she had ever before known. Her body had come suddenly alive with new sensations. That was as though trickles of liquid fire were seeping along her nerves. This distorted and clouded the natural panic, diluted it by keeping one fact clear in her mind. How could she push him away without admitting the very thing she had previously denied-that she was a little puritan who had to be protected and sheltered from life.
The thought kept her where she was, with his body holding her imprisoned while his hand took possession of her.
Now, with his lips teasing her breast, producing a new and heady sensation, his fingers found the zipper at the side of her slacks. He pulled that.
"Nick-please."
"Darling-oh, darling!" His voice was feverish and his hand, still resolute, trembled as he fumbled momentarily with the top of her panties. Then his hand moved and Penny realized that there was no protection from the hand.
But did she want protection?
The question flashed and faded-was destroyed and washed away by the rising excitement, by the strange, ecstatic electricity.
There had been movement of their bodies, new positioning, and now her face was buried against his neck. Her nostrils pressed against his skin and she could sense the pounding of the blood in his veins and the whipcord tensing of his muscles.
Geared so compulsively to reason, to logic, she could not forsake it completely even now. Wild thoughts raced through her mind. If this had been her marriage night, this would have been different. There would have been hesitancy, tenderness, shyness slowly building up. But that was different here. This was not an isolated incident based only upon chance and opportunity. The foundation had been her preoccupation with love since the moment she'd met Claire. This wasn't just Nick taking her slacks down and teasing her. This was a culmination of all she'd seen at the cottage. There was some of Edna's and Cele Corliss' fight in this; some of Edna forcing Cele to Lesbian love. There were some of the casual, passionate love Claire had staged with the Frenchman in the living room.
Every girl should lose her virginity as soon as possible.
Her virginity! Where was that now? Thoughts. But only thoughts. Her mind and her emotions were caught by the irresistible sweet turmoil of the moment.
His hand. Oh, God. His wonderful, shameless hand. She moved, not knowing whether with pain or ecstasy. "Nick-Nick!"
He accelerated on a fresh outpouring of desire and hunger and she knew his kiss and should have been horrified as she had been when Claire told her of such things. But this was different. There was no time for horror. There was hardly time to realize she was still Penny Adams, not all women being taken by all men for the first time.
Her teeth closed at his skin and her hands pressed hard on his head.
"Oh, Nick!"
She thought she'd screamed out the words but they had been only a hoarse whisper. He answered her and his words were like a far crying out as they rocketed up a hill-faster-faster.
"Yes, baby, yes-yes."
Feverishly, her slacks were jerked away until her legs could go as wild and free as all the rest of her and he was not restricted by clothing himself.
The point of no return.
The thought and the words flashed through her mind and there was a fright and a panic but only for a moment.
Then there was a mere certainty and nothing made any difference.
As a virgin girl she had visualized this moment as a kind of tender ceremony, a pledging between a man and a woman who loved each other.
But this was not that way. This was a feverish race toward a delight that could not be allowed to escape.
"Please-Nick-please."
"Yes-yes." He took her.
She screamed from the sudden pain, but his hand was over her mouth and she lived through that moment-lived until that was eased and became nothing; until the greater ecstasy caused her to ask how much ecstasy she would be able to endure. Promise after greater promise was fulfilled by this process of first love.
The tension rose and Penny found release by clawing harshly at his flesh and knowing the passionate anger of his reaction.
Then, at the totally unbearable point, that ended....
The descent was slow-not a retiring from the battlefield of love, but rather a mutual sinking down, side by side, in gasping, defeat.
Penny returned to reality with a thud. The distorting fog of passion vanished and she sprang up from the bed and groped blindly for the panties Nick had stripped off her body.
Nick, still lying on the bed, pointed a finger.
"There."
"Thank you," Penny said and that sounded so ridiculous, so grotesque-a formal thank you to a man whose hands and lips and flesh had just pleased her.
"It's quite natural that you're a little embarrassed at this point," Nick said.
"Will you-shut-up?"
And Penny fled.
CHAPTER TEN
I am no longer a virgin. This thought came automatically as Penny awoke early the next morning. First there was the feeling of unbelief; then a kind of shock.
Then there was warm acceptance and thoughts only of Nick.
She could see him more clearly, more completely, now. He was a little wonderful when you thought of that. No, not a little wonderful. Completely so. His shy, thoughtful, frank approach to life. His level-headed attitude. He was the kind of man who could live in a dirty world and still not be touched by it. A solid man.
She relived the ecstatic experience of the night before That had been so natural, so inevitable. Two people who loved each other-going into each other's arms-giving and therefore each receiving so very much more.
Nothin cheap. Nothing shoddy.
Claire hadn't come home. Penny had found her bed empty and only now, at six-thirty by the radio clock did a key rattle in the lock.
The door opened was slammed, and Claire's high heels clicked loudly as she came into the bedroom and snapped on the light.
"Oh, did I wake you up?"
"I was awake."
Claire was in a generally hostile mood. "That louse," she growled. "I knew I shouldn't have stayed all night but he had me on a spot. I didn't know what to do "
She was tired; there were circles under her eyes and the sharp, exciting image was a little blurred.
"Make some coffee, will you sweetie," she said. Her tone was one of complaint-almost a whine-as though coffee should have been ready and waiting for her.
Penny got out of bed and slipped into her robe as Claire began stripping off her clothing. Her complaints continued. "The louse! He knew I had to go to work but he wouldn't even get out of bed. He just grunted like a pig and rolled over and went back to sleep again. He didn't care whether I lived or died."
Penny went into the kitchen and ran water into the coffee pot and when she turned the faucet off, Claire's monologue of misery was still going on.
"Going to his apartment with him was the farthest thing from my mind. That really was. In fact I debated whether to meet him or not. He called so damned late I should have hung up on him. But he was all keyed up so I said I'd have a drink with him."
Ordinarily, Penny would have been quite interested in Claire's account of her night. But she had thoughts of her own with which to occupy herself. Claire's adventure, whatever that had been, seemed dull and colorless next to hers.
"He's a damn maniac anyhow," Claire muttered as Penny, the coffee perking, wandered back into the bedroom.
"A friend from out of town?"
Claire didn't hear Penny. She was in the bathroom turning on the shower.
Not that it made any difference. Penny, at the moment, was thinking a secret thought-remembering Nick's body against her own. She was living again the exquisite intimacy that she had experienced the previous night.
She went back to the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee and took them into the bedroom. Claire was still in the shower and Penny sat down on the edge of the bed and sipped at her cup and waited.
And her thoughts became even more daring as she remembered the texture of him. In that ecstatic struggle she had touched him, shamelessly, ecstatically, and with a delight she hadn't conceived possible.
Then she recalled her earlier thought concerning Claire; that she could not really know Claire while she herself remained a virgin. This was true. She did better understanding Claire's hunger and delight in love. But her own delight was still different. She was sure Claire could never have experienced her own sensations because Claire experienced love without motion.
This still would not have been possible for Penny. She realized this fully now. She had not merely been taken by a man. She had been taken by the man she loved.
She faced this now.
She was in love with Nick. She'd been in love with him from the very first.
The shower was turned off and a few moments later Claire came out of the bathroom, toweling herself vigorously. She lifted the towel and frowned down at herself and said, "God! I'm bruised. That louse is a maniac."
Observing Claire from the haven of her own newfound love, Penny felt sorry for her, sympathized with her feverish, restless pursuit of physical love because she was unable to find or unable to know emotional love.
Claire stopped to sip coffee before she pulled on a fresh pair of panties.
"Did you get any sleep at all?" Penny asked.
"Are you kidding? With that louse? You'd think lovemaking was going to be against the law in the morning, the way he goes at you." Claire glanced at Penny. "Aren't you goin to get ready for work?"
"After while. There's no hurry. I may even be late today."
"God! What happened to you?"
"I just feel good."
"At this time of the morning?" Claire finished dressing and began putting on her make-up. "I'm getting tired of batting around," she said. "I need a rest. I'm going to get married."
"Just like that?"
"Not just like that at all. I've been working at that I've worked at that damned hard."
"He isn't divorced yet."
"He will be in three months."
Penny was thankful to be above all the shabbiness and tawdriness that Claire had come to represent. Not that she disliked Claire. She still felt a fondness for her vital, colorful roommate. But she wanted no part ol the life she led.
"Any calls last night?" Claire asked.
"Not while I was here."
"I didn't leave myself 'til after midnight. What time did you stagger in?"
Penny had come home alone. She'd dressed and left The Wayfarer's alone, wanting to be by herself after that hour of high ecstasy and personal drama. She'd half expected Nick to call but he hadn't. The call would come later, perhaps even before she went to work. She had kept her mind away from their next meeting-what that would be like-but now she realized how eagerly she was awaiting the sound of his voice.
"You're in a fog," Claire said.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I got home about the same time you left last night, I guess. We must have almost bumped into each other."
Claire picked up her bag. "Okay. See you tonight, maybe." She paused in the bedroom door. "If that louse calls, tell him to go to hell-tell him for me."
"If who calls?"
"Nick."
"Nick?"
"Who else? He's the louse who Just about wrecked me last night. Didn't I tell you?"
"No-no, you didn't tell me."
That was Penny's reply. But it was delivered to an empty apartment after Claire had gone down the stairs and into the street.
She was stunned. Even as she reeled from the blow, her logic told her what had happened, told her coldly and realistically-as a kind of backdrop for her newfound anguish and humiliation.
Nick, a man with a great capacity for love, had not been satisfied with what she had given him in the booth at the Wayfarer's Gallery. He'd wanted more. That had been merely another bout to him. She had gotten him excited and so he'd called Claire and had finished the night with her.
Penny hated Claire. She hated Nick.
She'd been taken. She'd been taken by an expert Nick had wanted only one thing from the first-to get her onto a bed. And she-stupid little nincompoop that she was-had told him all about being a virgin and had fallen hook line and sinker for his "objective" approach.
What a pushover she'd been! Why the whole Village bit had been an act. The whole approach had been calculated to lure her into his trap.
And she'd certainly been lured to perfection! She'd practically demanded to be taken into that room and given the business.
This was her resentment, her shame, her humiliation, lashing out at Nick. She wondered if he'd told Claire about her afterward. No. Claire would have had no reason to hide that knowledge. At least, Claire was honest. If she'd known, she would have congratulated her and welcomed her into the club and probably asked her how that had been the first time.
Honest? That was silly. Claire was just so callous and disgusting that she revolted a decent person. She was promiscuous! Even though she didn't take money she was a tramp!
Suffering keenly from the greatest shame and frustration she had ever experienced, Penny continued to lash out in blind motion. Even as she tried to pull herself together and face this new reality, she trembled with hatred for Claire and Nick.
Until she let go and burst into an explosion of tears....
This lasted a reasonable length of time and when it was over, she felt better. Well, perhaps not better, she thought, but at least in control of herself.
She got dressed and had another cup of coffee and when she was just ready to leave, the phone rang. It was Nick.
She had not had time to decide how she would react when he again contacted her and perhaps as a result of this uncertainty, she did not react at all.
His greeting was tender and warm. "Good morning, sweetheart."
"Good morning, Nick."
"Did you sleep well?"
"Very well."
There was nothing particularly intimate about her answers but he evidently interpreted this as shyness on her part.
"I dreamed about you," he said.
"When did you get to sleep?"
"Very late, I'm afraid. After you ran out on me-" He stopped, his tone reflecting hurt.
"I'm sorry."
"I understood. When will I see you again?"
"Not today I'm afraid. I'm going to work now."
"All I did last night was lie in bed and think about you."
It was as though two Pennys listened over the phone. One impersonally regarded the reality of Nick, the lie he casually told, the callous process of avoiding all mention of his love bout with Claire.
In relation to this, she realized that Nick was not as clever as he appeared to be. He obviously felt that two girls living together did not share their love lives. While he knew Claire was extremely frank in that respect, he seemed to have concluded that she spoke only of loves over and done with, not of her current affairs.
Therefore, for all his intellectual keenness, he had misjudged Claire.
"When will I see you again, sweetheart?"
Two Pennys-and the magnetism of his warm voice made the other one quiver with need and eagerness. The other one wanted Nick-wanted to feel his arms around her, his body pressing and demanding.
"I'm going to work now," she said.
"I'll call you tonight."
"All right. Good-bye."
She hadn't really agreed. She was sure of this as she put the phone down. She wanted no more of Nick but she was late and there hadn't been time to make him understand this definitely and finally.
That was how she put that to herself as she hurried to the clinic.
He didn't call that evening. He was there in person, waiting for her when she got home from work. He'd come up the street in the opposite direction just ahead of her and stood by the entrance to the building, smiling, as she arrived.
"Nick. I didn't expect-"
"I didn't either, honey, but as the day wore on I got more and more restless. I had to see you. So I came over."
Uncertain as to what to do about him, Penny unlocked the door and they went upstairs. She fumbled with the apartment key until Nick took it out of her hand and opened the door. They went inside.
And the instant he closed the door after them, he turned and took her in his arms.
"No, Nick-no."
"Yes, baby-yes."
His mouth was on hers and there was his nearness and the physical excitement of him. She clung for a moment before she began to fight.
"No, Nick! Claire! She's due home!"
"There's time," he said, his voice thick with the passion that had been building up.
"No! No!"
He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, ignoring her struggles. He laid her down and while he kissed her, he pulled her skirt up with a quick, demanding hand and found the elastic of her panties.
She could not protest because of his lips at hers. For that reason-and for another reason.
She wanted him. She was fighting herself rather than the man who held her.
The man who held her-his hand on her as though she were his own possession.
And she was-she was-because she helped him.
Her body moved as his hand went surely and with demand to make love turn to the ecstasy she'd known only once and wanted to know again.
"Nick-Nick! Claire will be coming home!"
"She'll ring first."
So clumsy! So indecent this way with no time. Only the minimum of undressing, only the absolutely necessary. So indecent.
But so breathlessly exciting!
Passionately brutal, he scowled even as he was kissing her and with a quick, violent move, turned her. One of her legs fell off the lounge, the knee hitting the floor and then he was taking her.
That was new to Penny and seemed terribly degrading-as though she were being treated like an animal.
"Nick-please!"
His hand hooked cruelly over her mouth as his passion moved her toward the head of the bed. One of his hands pushed viciously against her as his passion reached it height.
Then he cleverly, expertly assisted her as her eves closed and her teeth gritted hard together. Responding, she again screamed soundlessly as he found the ecstasy that made the animalism at least momentarily justified.
The doorbell rang.
"Oh, my God, Nick!"
"We're all right. Don't get excited."
He grabbed her panties from the floor and stashed them under the bed and then lifted her to her feet.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
He straightened his own clothing as he went into the living room and when Claire entered she found him lounging in a chair reading a magazine.
She jerked suspicious eyes at Penny who was casually combing her hair.
Nick grinned. "Hi Claire. How's the Madison Avenue career girl?"
"Oh, knock that off!" Claire snapped. "It's been a stinking day and I had a stinking kick in the teeth." She dropped onto the lounge. "Penny sweetie-pour me a Scotch, will you?"
It was on the tip of Penny's tongue to say, Pom u yottrself. But something was wrong. This was more than the usual coarse, uncivil entrance Claire usually made. Something had happened.
Nick dropped the magazine into the rack beside the chair and got to his feet "I just wandered in because I was in the neighborhood. Nothing important If you're not going to feed me, I'll go on my way."
"Nobody gets fed here tonight," Claire said. "I'm in an unsocial mood."
Nick lifted a defensive hand. "Okay-okay. I can take a hint."
As he turned toward the door, he winked at Penny.
"Don't slam the door on the way out," Claire pouted.
"I'll give you a ring."
The promise could have been directed at either of them. Or both. That last seemed more likely to Penny. In a state of confusion from the emotional upheaval she'd just gone through, Penny left everything blank, so to speak, as she went into the bedroom and put the comb on the dresser and looked into the mirror to make sure her clothes were on straight.
She returned to the living room and Claire asked, "Were you two necking?"
The question grated on Penny but she gave no sign. There was something so childish in the attitude the question revealed. Much of Claire, she realized, had never grown up.
But Penny wasn't required to answer. Claire's mind was elsewhere and she forgot the query even as she asked it. "The dirty scum!" she snarled. "He's divorced! He's been divorced for three weeks and he never told me."
"You mean your boss? Greg McRoy?"
"Who else? The louse!"
"Maybe he didn't think that was any of your business. Claire."
Claire's head jerked up. Her eyes literally threw sparks. It was as though Penny had uttered rank treason.
"Not my business! Who the hell do you think is planning to marry him?"
"I know-but is he aware of that?"
"I've already slept with him!"
"Oh, Claire! You shouldn't have!"
"Don't tell me my business. I know exactly what I'm doing."
"All right-all right. But you seem pretty worried at the moment."
"He told me today. The only thing is-I'm afraid that was accidental. I think it just slipped out."
"Just how close to him are you?"
"I've listened to all his moans and his gripes. I've been his sweet little understanding office wife through the whole thing."
"But are you sure he has any idea of what you expect-how you feel?"
"He told me he wanted to marry me just before we went to bed together."
"I still don't think that was a good idea to-"
Penny didn't finish. With so much having happened so fast, she didn't have much shock potential left. But she was struck by her own attitude in this matter.
So foreign to her former nature discussing the aspects of the affair with Claire-functioning, with her advice and comments, practically as a co-conspirator.
Then, in a sudden surge of self-condemnation, she thought-why not? What right had she to hold herself above Claire? She'd made a great deal of progress toward the "free life" in the last few days. She'd entered Claire's world with no resistance other than a few mental reservations. With all her resolutions and criticisms of Claire's way of life, she'd lost her virginity in a cheap bedroom club after she'd been horrified by Claire's account of how she'd lost hers. To all intents and purposes, exactly the same way-casually.
She had been horrified when Nick recounted the incident in which Claire continued to associate with men who had abused her. So what had Penny Adams done? She'd admitted her defiler to her apartment where he'd promptly taken her again.
And again gone off scot-free.
Penny laughed.
Claire scowled. "What's so damned funny?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking how crazy things get sometimes."
And at that moment, Penny got the greatest shock she'd had since she'd met Claire.
Claire stared at her for a long moment-her hard sophisticated mouth starting to tremble-while two tears formed and splashed down over her cheeks-while a brand new Claire, a total stranger, appeared there on the lounge.
A softened, crying, uncertain, miserable Claire. "I-I'm in love with the guy." Automatically, Penny crossed the room and sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.
"Why, honey-"
"I love him so much I can't see straight. When I went into his arms that was like going to the only man I'd ever known. Oh, Penny-I love him and I'm scared. I want to marry him and-and make him a good wife."
"Of course you will. And don't be scared. Just because he didn't tell you he's divorced doesn't mean-"
"I don't know what that means. I just know I've got to have him."
"Of course, but getting all shaky and nervous and uncertain isn't the way to do that."
Claire put her face in her hands and leaned her head against Claire's shoulder. "I've been such a damned fool."
"Is there something more?"
"A lot more. I-I just talk too much. At the office-"
Claire stopped to sob a while. Penny held her. "You haven't had anything to do with any men who-"
"I heard something that was said-or rather, one of the girls told me something one of the men said."
"What was it?"
"He was talking to some of the other men when she walked by and she heard him."
Penny stroked Claire's shining hair. It was as though she were comforting a child-drawing a child's story out little by little.
"What did the man say?"
"They'd evidently been talking about the girls in the office. Anyhow, he said: 'That Claire chick? If I had a dollar bill for every man she's slept with I could paper a room.' That's what he said, the louse. And that's a lie! He wouldn't have nearly enough to paper a room!"
"Honey, you're all upset. Why don't you-"
"Why can't people keep their mouths shut? Why do they have to blab what people tell them?"
"It's human nature, I guess."
"All those crumbs in there talking about me."
Penny sensed that there was something more. Knowing Claire as she did, the men in her office would automatically have been a challenge to her.
"Let's go out to dinner, honey," Penny said. "We haven't tried that little Chinese restaurant over on Third Avenue."
The miserable, uncertain Claire was fading. The tears had stopped and her rough, outspoken defiance of life returned.
"Oh, the hell with it. What do I care what people say? Greg wasn't around to hear him. And Greg doesn't listen to rotten rumors."
"I'm sure he doesn't."
Claire's eyes brightened. "And those crumbs in the office. Who'd believe those failures?"
"Come on. You'll feel better after you get a good dinner in your stomach."
While Claire washed her eyes, the phone rang Penny picked it up:
"Hello."
"Hello. This is Frank Corliss."
"Oh. Claire is busy for a few moments. I'll-"
"I'm not calling Claire, honey. I'm calling you."
"Well. I'm-I'm flattered."
Penny didn't think her voice reflected pleasure. In fact her tone was rather icy.
"I'm kicking around on the loose tonight and I thought we might have a cup of coffee and get a Lttle bettei acquainted."
"I'm sorry I'm busy."
The voice turned plaintive. "But sweetie-"
"I said I was busy," Penny snapped and slammed down the phone.
Instantly, she was amazed at herself. Never before in her life had she been so grossly uncivil. I guess I'm learning, she thought.
Claire came out of the bathroom. "Was that the phone?"
"It was a wrong number."
Claire peered into her compact mirror and said, "I remember one wrong number I got in the Village He had a very nice voice and we got to talking. I made a date to meet him and later, we-"
"Let's get out of here," Penny said. "I'm hungry."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Action and reaction; sunshine and shade; elation and depression.
She realized, even before opening her eyes, that the bedroom door was ajar. Then she heard a heavy sound. That was what brought her out of bed to peek into the living room. Someone had fallen.
Penny had passed through moods of every color during the previous twenty-four hours. She had tried to straighten herself out on a basis of logic and common sense. At various times-after intense struggles-she felt that she'd succeeded.
But only to have the vision and the emotional pull of Nick seep into her consciousness like water through a sponge.
Until, without realizing it, she was completely dominated by thoughts of him. Again and again, she drove him out of her mind. Again and again, he returned.
Until-by the time she'd arrived home from work-she'd shaped and formed a strangely desperate mood; a mood of defiantly manufactured cynicism.
Men! They were all no good-just as Claire said. Not a single man on earth was worth one single moment's worry and tension.
The hell with them.
The hell with Nick.
There were other men in the world besides Nick and they were all the same way. They were all the same both emotionally and mentally.
And they were all after the same thing.
Okay. Then maybe Claire was right. Take what you want from men. That was her philosophy. Let them think they're using you, but use them instead.
And never get emotionally involved.
A key rattled in the lock.
Penny, stretched on the lounge in the living room, turned lazily to see Claire as she entered.
The door opened. Someone entered. But it was not Claire. It was Keenan.
Keenan, with his childish tennis shoes, his ridiculously tight pants, his dirty sweater.
With his air of casual dominance and ownership.
"Hi, chick."
"Hello, Keen. I didn't know you had a key."
"Uh-huh. Claire gave it to me. I always have a key to Claire's pad."
"Sure," Penny said. "I know. You two have a unique relationship."
He either did not notice the inflection or he ignored it. "We're old friends."
Penny lay where she was as Keen dropped into a chair with his characteristic weariness. "God what a cruddy day!"
For Keen and Claire and Park, it seemed, all days were automatically cruddy.
Penny, her new mood of defiance working smoothly, asked "Just what is your unique relationship with Claire?"
She expected him to tell her to mind her own business and that would have been all right with her if he had. Her question had been more symbolical than anything else; a symbol of a new outer awareness she intended to assume. From now on nobody was going to see her as a shy, retiring little nobody; not if she could help it.
But he didn't tell her to mind her own business. His answer was as casual as though she'd asked the time. "We're just very close-in all ways. I taught her about music. We taught each other all about love."
"But you aren't planning to get married?"
"Good God, no! That would be stupid."
There was still a capacity for shock in Penny's inner reactions. But it was only faint. Her time for feeling that these people and their weird philosophies and habit patterns weren't real had about passed. She'd been to the cottage. She'd seen them in action.
They were real.
Also, the basic theory of their functional patterns was very clear. Take the best out of everything but never assume any of the responsibilities involved by the taking.
If was very simple.
Why didn't I think of it?
Penny asked herself the question with a wry, amused, bitterness. She felt like the helpless pawn in a Greek tragedy. She'd come as an observer. But she hadn't stayed aloof. She'd become a part of things.
She did not ponder this point, though. Her thought at the moment was that she owed nothing to anyone, no loyalty to Claire. The only thing of importance in this new world was the thing you wanted at the moment. Therefore, only Penny's curiosity mattered.
"What if Claire wants to marry someone else?"
Keen shrugged. "She is going to get married." He didn't seem aware of the fact that he was being pumped. Or perhaps he didn't care. "She's going to marry the guy she works for."
"What will that do to your relationship?"
"Nothing. We'll just have to be a little more careful, that's all."
"You mean you will go on just as you have been?"
"Why not?"
"That sounds fine. I just thought her husband might object."
"Hell, Claire knows how to handle men. She's had a lot of experience."
"Then, after she's married, you'll be a kind of friend of the family so to speak. You'll just be around."
Keen smiled lazily. "You're a mighty curious little chick."
Keen hadn't commented on Penny's new hairdo and she'd been wondering if he had noticed. But she could stop wondering now because he got up and came over and sat down on the edge of the lounge and began toying with a stray curl that had fallen over her forehead.
"You've turned out to be a pretty cute chick." Penny smiled narrowly. "What would Claire say if she saw you sitting here with me?"
"She wouldn't care."
"Are you sure?"
He bent over, slowly, and put his lips against Penny's. She lay as she was, neither inviting nor resisting.
He straightened, smiled lazily, and began running a light fingertip along her cheek and then across her lips. When Penny did not react, he said. "If I did that to Claire, she'd bite me."
"Then what would you do?"
"I'd bite her back."
Penny wondered how far he would allow her to go-how intimate her questions had to be before he stopped her. So far, there had been no sign of reluctance in his answers.
"Claire is an expert on love, isn't she?" she asked.
"She just takes a sensible view, that's all."
"Does she go both ways?"
"Uh-uh. She tried once. She didn't like that."
Keen began unbuttoning Penny's blouse. She lay perfectly still as he pulled the blouse down and lifted her brassiere until he could bring them into sight. The brassiere held the tip there, exposed, on a distorted bulge of the breast. He touched her gently with his fingertip.
"Do you like that?"
Penny wondered whether she did or not. She was well aware of what was going on. Keen had a little time to spare and he wondered what she was like and was finding out.
And in a sense, she was finding out too. She was comparing her sensations and reactions to those she had experienced with Nick. Nick, touching her, would have sent strange, indescribable thrills running through her body. Keen's finger produced a sensation that was not unpleasant.
But did that mean anything? Striving to be as objective as possible, she asked herself if she wanted him to go on.
She wasn't sure.
But still, she didn't resist, and Keen opened her blouse further and exposed her waist. "Cute," he said. "Thank you."
That was weird, and again unreal She felt an urge for laughter, an urge she diverted into a ludicrous mental observation:
Dear Diary:
Today a very nice boy opened my blouse and complimented me on my figure.
Penny closed her eyes for a moment as the sense of unreality broadened: Penny Adams! For God's sake!
What's happening to you?
Penny reached down and lifted Keen's hand off her just as his fingers were starting to explore under the band of her skirt That was a prohibitive gesture and yet one that could have been interpreted differently because she brought the hand upward and examined it, finger by finger, in abstract fashion.
Crazy-mad-insane. How childishly abnormal could people get?
This was Penny's thought but immediately, she challenged it. What standards did she have by which to judge? What her father and mother had taught her? Perhaps, but Claire and Keen had those same standards, Claire especially, and they still functioned in this strange uninhibited world where freedom predominated and love was the symbol of that freedom.
She, Penny Adams, was holding herself aloof. Or at least she kept telling herself she was.
But what were the facts? She'd been taken twice by a skillful, sophisticated man. She was lying on a lounge, at that very moment, while another man was casual playing with her body. And she was calling these things by any name she could think of other than their true name.
Physical love.
"I wasn't very passionate," Keen was stating in a matter-of-fact voice. "That's the basis, I guess, of our relationship-Claire's and mine. I told her the problem and we began experimenting. That took a while-you know special techniques we worked out."
There was a wild spot deep in Penny's mind. It laughed. It laughed aloud there in her depths because: He could be talking about a physics problem. He could have been discussing a hitch in some sales plan and how that was solved....
His other hand had gone to Penny's knee and was working higher. He touched above her stocking.
Then the doorbell rang.
In the intervening moments-as Keen pulled her skirt down, nimbly buttoned her blouse and got up from the lounge to return to his chair-Penny told herself that she would not have allowed him to go any further.
But she could not be sure.
Claire opened the door and entered the living room. As usual, her eyes darted suspiciously about the room. But the standard query about necking wasn't forthcoming. She eyed Keen sourly. "There's nothing in the house," she said.
"Oh, don't say that, sweetie." Keen made the report archly as he scanned her body with bold, suggestive eyes.
"So you're in one of those moods," Claire said disgustedly. "But like I said, there's nothing for dinner."
Keen got lazily to his feet. "Then I guess I'll go on my way. How about a concert tomorrow night?"
"I don't think so. I've got some things on my mind."
"I'll call you," Keen said wearily. "It's been such a rat race at school, I need something, baby-I really need something."
"I hope you find something," Claire snapped, "See you."
And Keen left without any recognition whatever of Claire's almost savage mood.
Alone with Penny, she dropped into a chair. "He wasn't in today," she announced.
"Greg McRoy?"
"Who else? And Kitty Wells wasn't in either."
"Who is Kitty Wells?"
"She's a little tramp at the office who'll sleep with anything in pants-that's who she is. And I'll bet my bottom dollar she's with Greg right now."
"You can't be sure of that."
"Well, he's not home."
"That would be natural. You said he was divorced. His wife is probably there."
"He's been living at his club. No, he's with that little witch."
"I wouldn't worry about her, honey. There's nothing you can do. You'll hear from him."
"I'd better hear from him." The phone rang.
Claire leaped toward it as though shot out of a gun. "Hello...."
Penny watched. She saw the look of quick disappointment on Claire's face. Then it was replaced by an expression of abstract interest as she said, "Oh, Conrad. How are you?"
Claire then forgot, at least momentarily, her preoccupations with her current problem in favor of whoever it was on the phone.
"You're in for two weeks? ... I see ... How are things in Texas?"
She listened a while and seemed to be making a regretful decision. "Why don't you call me in a couple of days? I may be free for an evening then...."
After she hung up, she said, "Damn! I wish all those characters would quit bothering me."
"An old friend?"
"Uh-huh. I met Conrad when I took a trip to California a couple of years ago. A quick trip. We kept in touch and later he moved to Texas. He calls me whenever he comes to town."
"Is he married?"
Claire smiled. "Uh-huh. A Texas U coed. He told me about her beforehand. A little prude I guess, from the way he described her. We talked about how his love life would be after he was married. I think he liked me more than he did her."
Claire's mind went back to the immediate. "I think I'll call his club again."
"Do you think that's wise? You don't want him to think you're chasing him, do you?"
"I don't care what he thinks-as long as I find out what's going on." Claire doubled her fist. "That cheap little tramp, She'd do anything to hold a man. She's been worked over by every guy in the office and a few of the clients."
"Why don't you just wait? You'll probably hear from him."
II he cares at all.
This last was what Penny almost added, but she held it back.
"Suppose I do something about dinner," she said.
"I'm not hungry. I couldn't eat a thing."
"Then I think I'll go out and get a bite. Then I'm coming home and go to bed. I'm pretty tired."
Claire looked at her in surprise. "How can you think of bed at a time like this?"
And Penny realized that her roommate was able to see people only through a projection of her own needs of the moment. She didn't feel like sleeping so how could anyone else?
Penny had dinner at a small French restaurant on Lexington Avenue and while she ate she thought of Nick. What was her exact situation in respect to him? She wasn't quite sure. She'd always been told that when she fell in love she would know.
But she didn't know.
Still, what was this feeling? What was this attraction? Was that purely physical?
She didn't know whether she was in love or not. She only knew that she wanted Nick's arms around her, his body close to hers.
She finished dinner and returned to the apartment. Claire was curled on the lounge trying to read a magazine. She had little to say and Penny did not intrude.
She got ready for bed and it was ten o'clock when she crawled in.
After a while, she went to sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Penny did not know long she had slept, but when she awoke, the door was opening and someone was entering the apartment. Probably, she thought groggily, the doorbell had awakened her without registering on her consciousness.
She realized, even before opening her eyes that the bedroom door was ajar. Then she heard a heavy sound. That was what brought her out of bed to peek into the living room. Someone had fallen.
It was a man. It was Greg McRoy. And he was drunk.
Perhaps not drunk enough to have lost control of himself, because when Penny looked, he was already, struggling to his feet with Claire holding one arm and helping him.
He wore a shamefaced grin and his clothing was somewhat in disarray. He was not exactly a mess, but he bore little resemblance to the suave, Madison Avenue executive Penny had met the night he picked Claire up.
"Sorry." he muttered. "The damn rug."
"I'm so sorry, darling," Claire said. "Here, come and sit on the lounge."
The bedroom was dark and Penny continued to stare out. The lounge was within range of the bedroom door and she watched as Greg McRoy, with clumsy dignity, shook Claire's arm off and marched over and sat down.
"Didn't have too much," he said. "Didn't eat though. It hit me."
"Of course, darling."
Claire had obviously been caught unawares, but she'd nimbly changed personalities and she was now a quiet, understanding fiancee type of young lady.
She sat down beside Greg and laid her hand on his. "Why didn't you call me, darling? Why didn't you let me know you were in trouble?"
"Trouble? I'm not in any trouble. I just took a day off from the grind."
"I see. Would you like something to eat?"
Greg, in a sense, was a different person also. There was an uninhibited recklessness in his manner. He'd probably been quite drunk and was in the process of sobering up, Penny thought.
He lifted one arm laboriously and put it around Claire's shoulders and drew her to him. She did not resist, but her attitude was that of a refined, genteel girl who was being as sympathetic as possible. She exhibited no desire for lovemaking.
But that was what Greg McRoy apparently had in mind. He turned her face and kissed her sensually, a kiss she permitted but gave no cooperation; then she drew back.
"Why don't you rest, darling?"
"I don't want to rest. I want to make love."
Claire drew back, "Please Greg--"
"Please Greg nothing. Are you my little fruit cake or aren't you?"
Penny could sense the struggle that was going on in Claire's mind, the confusion. She was in a difficult situation and she was handling it the best she could.
She submitted for a few moments to Greg's love-making, melting gently into his arms and lifting her face to be kissed. While doing so, she put a great deal of pleasure into that, a kind of personal attention to show Greg that she enjoyed that only because he was the man involved.
Then she drew away again.
But Greg McRoy pressed the issue. Overpowering her, he bore her back onto the lounge and turned her lengthwise. Holding her thus, his mouth against hers, he reached down and callously put his hand under her skirt.
"Greg! Stop!"
Claire had reacted instantly, struggling out of his grasp and pulling away to the end of the lounge. She adjusted her hair.
"Really, Greg. I think you're a little too drunk. Let's not do anything we'll be sorry for."
He was angry. "You weren't that way the other time "
Hurt flared in Claire's eyes. "Really, Greg. You're being cruel and unfair!"
"Unfair hell. You liked the last time."
"I can't understand what's gotten into you, darling, you-"
"Don't darling me. And for God's sake, cut out the act"
"The act!"
"Yes, the act. What do you think T am, stupid? Do you think I don't know what the hell goes on?"
"Greg! I don't understand you!"
"Look, you've been a damned good secretary. Let's not spoil things."
"But you're the one who's trying to spoil-"
"You do think I'm stupid, don't you? You think I'm so blind I don't know you went to bed with Kelso Klein and-"
"Greg!"
"Are you denying that?"
"If he said that, he's lying."
"Sure-everybody lies. Jack Sims lies, too."
Claire was fast losing the veneer she wore for Greg McRoy's sole benefit. "Yes, he lies too."
"He told me all about the night he took you home from that ad dinner. Let's see, that was before you heard was getting a divorce-before you got ideas."
Greg McRoy was saying things he would regret. This was the feeling Claire got as she stood rooted to the floor just inside the bedroom door. Then she doubted that Perhaps he'd gotten drunk in order to do what he was doing.
"Greg," Claire wailed. "How could you be so cruel?"
He seemed less drunk now: more viciously brutal from sheer intent. "You played me for a patsy from the beginning. But I'm not the fool you think I am. I had you investigated, baby. That's routine at the level I operate on. Claire Damen, the girl with a pad in the Village; an apartment where any man she ever knew could stop off for a night."
Penny thought Claire was going to strike out at him. She doubled her fists and gripped them against her breasts.
"There's a guy you might remember," Greg went on. "A tall, blonde guy. Quite a lady's man. In fact that was his recommendation. Not too long ago, when you still had your place in the Village, he sat down in a coffee shop you used to hang out in. An hour after he said hello to you, he was on the way to your apartment. Half an hour after that, he had your clothes off. He left at six o'clock in the morning."
Greg McRoy's expression was vicious, now, and a new conviction dawned on Penny. He'd been hurt. He was a shallow man, a vain man, and a vindictive man. Something had been going on inside him in relation to Claire. Maybe he'd found himself falling in love with her. Or maybe, well aware of her methods, her background, her ambitions, he felt like a fool, a sucker she'd been laughing at. Anyhow, he was now exacting vengeance.
"He told me what a pushover you were," Greg said. "He told me, when I paid him, that you had been so good he felt he ought to pay me."
"You-you paid a man to-"
"You're damned right. And I'll bet you don't even remember his name "
Greg McRoy was probably sober now. He was no longer trying to make love to Claire. He was carefully and viciously hurting her to the utmost of his ability.
"Marry you? Do you think I'm out of my mind? I just divorced a woman a hundred times better than you'll ever be."
Claire sat stunned. No part of her sophistication, none of the components of her hard, alert structure could stand against this brutal assault.
He was in love with her. He had to be. Only love could have produced the hurt that made this attack possible even from a cruel man. He'd loved her or there would have been no point to this. Of that, Penny was now sure.
Penny was sure as Greg got to his feet and towered over Claire. "There was a guy in Europe. Maybe you don't remember him, either. Or maybe you do, because you carried on quite a correspondence with him. His name was Jacques Ferrier, a Frenchman."
Quick fear washed all else from Claire's face. She waited.
But not for very long, because Greg McRoy plunged ob. "Now I happen to know a little of what went on between you and the Frenchman. On one occasion, for instance, you were riding in the country with him on some kind of a scooter and he got excited and so you said, okay, and the two of you went off into the bushes."
He parsed as Claire wilted visibly. Satisfied with the pain he was causing, Greg McRoy went on:
"Now maybe you wonder how I know this. Well, that's very simple. As I said, there were letters, and one night in the office, after hours, you caught up on your correspondence. You had his last letter there for reference when you wrote an answer, and in that letter he relived that romantic little experience on the road."
It was in Penny's mind that she ought to do something; that she should break Greg McRoy's tirade up somehow. But she was not up to it. He was too formidable a figure as he stood there pouring out his pent-up venom.
"It was a very interesting letter. He discussed other things. Evidently you two reported faithfully to each other on your love activities. He put down the exquisite details of how he made love to a new Swiss girl he'd met. To quote him: 'A maniac with more tricks than we ever figured out together."
"But it was your answer that floored me. You'll remember, you didn't finish the letter that night. Probably you got a call from some guy so you went to see about him and didn't have time-"
"You went through my desk!"
"You're damned right I did. And I'm glad I had the sense to. In your answer-"
"Stop! Please!'
"In your answer you referred to your boss, the guy you'd decided to marry. You said he had the social background you needed to live the kind of life you wanted to live-"
"Greg! Stop it!"
"Also, that he was stupid enough to make a satisfactory husband!"
"Will-you-stop!"
Greg McRoy took a deep breath, and Penny could see the effort he was going through to get control of himself. The silence in the room screamed for a long, electric moment. Then, when Greg McRoy went on, his tone had changed. He again had himself under control.
"All right, I'll stop. But I had to tell you. I couldn't go on letting you think I was a fool."
"I didn't mean what I wrote to Jacques. That was a kind of game we played."
"I'm sure that was."
"Neither of us told the other the truth-not how we really felt. We were-well, as I said-playing a game."
"And as I said, I'm sure you were. But tell me how are you going to report this little scene to him?"
There was no fight in Claire. She'd been hit by a bigger force than she could cope with. All the quick, flaring hostility she had always used in such situations had been knocked out of her.
"I'm not going to write him," she said. "I'm not going to write him ever again."
"Don't let anything I've said stop you. Don't let me stop you from doing anything. In fact, I recommend your going on exactly as you have been."
She raised her eyes. "Why do you say a thing like that?"
"I'm entirely sincere in saying it. You're a social creature. You live and have your being in the attention and adulation of your friends and your friends are all men you've slept with. So you'd better stick with them because if you turn away you're in trouble."
"That's insane," Claire said dully. "That's crazy."
Weirdly, his voice had changed again. There was sympathy in it now; genuine compassion. "No it isn't. You've got to have friends or you'll be in real trouble; you'll .wither away. I mean that. And you can't make new friends because you don't know how. You never learned. The only way you ever learned how to make a friend was to sleep with him."
His voice dulled away; flattened as he became preoccupied with his own now obvious inner misery. "You won't have any problems-not for a long time. You're still young. You've still got a good commodity, an attractive body. If you take care of that, you'll last another ten years. It will be at least that long until men start looking over your shoulder at younger women. That will be time enough for you to start worrying."
He was gone. Penny didn't know quite how or when he left. There had seemed to be a blur in the air, a fog from so much hatred and hostility and hurt having poured out into the room.
Penny stood where she was for a while and then opened the door softly and went on tiptoe to the lounge and put her arm around Claire's shoulder.
Claire did not move. She sat where she was, staring Straight ahead.
"It's all right, dear," Penny whispered.
"Did you hear what he said?"
"Yes. But it doesn't matter."
"How can you say that?"
"Because it really doesn't. It's over. It's done with. There's nothing more you can do."
"Don't you think I've done enough?"
"It will be all right."
"I'm out of a job. I could never go back now." "You can get another job."
"I don't want another job. I don't want anything. I Just want to sit here."
"Let's go to bed. Why don't you sleep with me tonight?"
Penny led Claire into the bedroom where she began, automatically, to undress. And it was somehow symbolical to Penny that Claire stripped off her garments one by one and then turned and climbed naked onto the bed and into Penny's arms.
Penny held her for a long time and finally, she went to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The change in Claire and hence the change in the apartment they shared and in Penny's life came slowly.
And yet swiftly.
Swiftly in that when Penny looked back-three months later-to that terrible night when Greg McRoy visited Claire, she was able to pinpoint that as the beginning of Claire's total reversal.
So it had been swift because such things are so classified when they cover a scant ninety days.
And slow when measured by the day to day change.
Claire's first reaction, beginning the next morning, was to throw herself feverishly into new activity. She did not return to her old job. Instead, she contacted Part Time Incorporated, a firm that specialized in temporary help, and began shifting from job to job. If an assignment lasted more than three days, she would grow restless and demand a new assignment.
Her health seemed unchanged but it was hard to tell about her morale. She never referred to Greg McRoy, at least to Penny. Also, she appeared to lose her preoccupation with her old friends, to the point that one evening when Keen dropped in, they had a quarrel and Keen said, "You just aren't very good company any more."
"If you don't like me, you know what you can do," Claire snapped. And so Keen did. He walked out. And he stopped coming to the apartment.
Claire didn't seem to mind. Her phone stayed busy and she had a few dates with the mysterious men who called.
But she was different somehow. Her heart didn't seem to be in dating. She hewed to her habit patterns unconsciously, however, as was demonstrated by the way she described her various jobs to Penny. They were always built around the man involved:
"He's a tall, good-looking guy with wavy hair..
"He's a little short fat guy, but he's very nice...."
"He's a big man and his wife comes down to keep his books. Today he complimented me on my legs...."
It was about two weeks after the Greg episode that Claire came out of the bathroom toweling herself after a shower and Penny took a second quick look at her naked body. Claire had lost weight. Normally, her weight hung around the hundred and five level, but Penny saw hollows above her breasts under her collarbone. Also, there was a new hollowness just inside her hip bones.
"You're losing weight, honey," Penny said.
Claire looked down at herself.
"I'm getting thin," she said mournfully.
Penny's personal life had settled into a routine of sorts. She saw Nick and they slept together on occasion but she slept with no one else. She really couldn't decide whether she'd compromised her morals or not. They didn't bother her too much because when the going got rough in that direction, she found that she could turn her mind off, a knack she learned based on a simple rationalization:
I'll worry about that tomorrow.
When she was in bed with Nick, the world around her vanished. His lovemaking was adequate and satisfying and she refused to wonder if he slept with other girls also.
She went out with two or three other men but only once with each, because when she came to what she chose to call paying off for the evening, she always decided the evening hadn't been worth that and left them at the door.
She and Claire spent more and more time together and there was a change here also; one in which Penny gradually, almost imperceptibly, assumed the positive role. It seemed that while she matured somewhat as a result of her experiences, Claire retrogressed and became more juvenile, began depending more and more on Penny.
Claire talked less and less about her European experience until she quit mentioning it altogether. Then, one night Penny was awakened by muffled sobs from the other bed:
"Is something the matter?"
Claire did not answer and Penny got up and went to her bed and Claire suddenly threw herself into her roommate's arms, totally miserable.
"Oh, Penny. I'm so miserable. I'm so utterly and Penny held her close for a few moments. "Greg?"
"Yes. He's all I can think of. Morning noon and night. Oh, Penny. What have I done? How could I have made such a mess of things?"
"Have you seen or talked to him?"
"No," Claire sniffled. "Not since that awful night"
"Why don't you call him up?"
"I couldn't do that!"
"Did you even stop to think that maybe he feels the same way?"
"That doesn't matter. Suppose he does? What can I give him? I've got nothing! Nothing to give him"
"You've got yourself."
"But what's left of me? I started giving a little of myself away a long time ago a little to each man I slept with. Now what is there left for the man I love?"
"You're being silly, sweetie. That isn't the way life works."
"Yes it does. That's exactly how it works. Greg bad a right to say the things he did."
Penny cradled her for a while until the tears stopped and then got into bed with her and after a while she went to sleep.
Penny spent most of the next day so preoccupied and bemused that Doctor Wicks passed his hand in front of her eyes a couple of times in a mock gesture of checking on her trance.
Then, just before five o'clock, she went decisively to the phone and called the number she'd used to get in touch with Claire when they'd first moved in together.
"May I speak to Mr. McRoy?"
A few moments later, he came on the wire. "This is Greg McRoy."
Penny took a deep breath. "Mr. McRoy. This is Penelope Adams. Perhaps you remember me. I'm Claire Damen's roommate."
There was a long pause. "Yes, I remember you. How is Claire?"
"She's well."
"I'm glad."
"Mr. McRoy, I wonder if I might have a talk with you?"
Another long pause and Penny tried to divine his coming question in order to decide what answer she would give. He would probably ask what she wanted of him.
But he didn't. He said, "Of course. When would you like to see me?"
"At your convenience."
"Could you meet me this evening?"
"I'd be glad to."
"How about the bar in the Matthew Hotel? It's a rather quiet place."
"What time?"
"Six o'clock?"
"I'll be there...."
Greg McRoy was waiting-the same suave business executive Penny had seen on his first visit. But with perhaps something added; a somberness that was so vague Penny thought she might be imagining it.
He was polite to the point of courtliness as he held her chair. "It's nice to see you, Miss Adams. What can I order for you?"
"You're very kind. An old-fashioned."
McRoy talked skillfully and adroitly about nothing until the drinks arrived. Then, after he raised his glass, drank, and lowered it, he asked, "What did you wish to see me about, Miss Adams?"
It was the question Penny had been dreading. "I don't quite know, really," she said.
He stared thoughtfully at his glass and said nothing for a few moments. Then he suggested, "Perhaps you mean that you don't quite know how to say it."
"I'm afraid that's about it."
"Is it by chance about Claire?"
"Yes."
"You said she was well."
"That isn't quite true. She's very unhappy." Penny leaned forward. "You see, Mr. McRoy, I was m the bedroom the night you came to see her. The last time, as I understand it, that you met."
He remained quietly thoughtful and did not appear to be embarrassed. "That seems like a long time ago."
"Are you sure?"
His glance was keen and there was a glow of respect in it. "I'll admit that I have done a great deal of thinking about Claire."
"I'd like to ask you one direct question, Mr. McRoy. You can answer it or not as you see fit." Penny paused and then asked the question: "Are you in love with Claire?"
He was a long time in answering and then he did it with caution: "I was."
"If you'd said no, I'd have ended this discussion. As it is, I'm going to keep on putting my nose where it has no right to be and talking about something that's none of my business-until I'm satisfied or until you signal for an end of it."
He said nothing but his silence certainly could not have been taken as an objection.
"We both know Claire pretty well," Penny said. "I'm not going to defend her or even try to excuse her, but I am going to tell you that she's changed. I won't go into how she's changed-no details. I'll only say that she has changed and the reason is simple-her love for you."
He lifted his drink, sipped it, lowered it and said nothing.
"After being an inadvertent witness to your parting tax scene, let me say that I understand and sympathize with your reactions completely. I'm not going into such things as a man's pride because that's getting too personal. I'll only repeat that you were entirely justified."
"You mentioned a reason for telling me these things."
"Love," Penny said. "Love?"
"It's quite simple, and perhaps impractical, but I happen to believe in love. I understand pride and hurt and mistakes and regret and all the things that most of us mess up our lives with. Claire feels she messed up her life. She feels she has nothing to bring you as a wife and it's destroying something inside her. I don't know. I think perhaps she's right. She has ruined her life and she has nothing to bring you-none of the things a man of pride expects from his wife. That, I'm afraid, is how that is.
"But I know something else. Love can override all these things if it's strong enough. It can smash pride. It can forgive. It can recreate things that have been destroyed. And only love can do this."
They sat silent.
Then Penny turned her glass slowly in her fingers and went on. "That was why I came here. I saw two people and I believe they love each other and I had to come here and say this and now I'm leaving. Good evening, Mr. McRoy."
Penny got up from the table and walked out alone and McRoy did not try to stop her.
Outside, in the chill evening air, she wondered what she had accomplished. Nothing probably. Actually, she hadn't expected to. But that had been something suddenly compulsive for her and now it was over.
She took a deep breath, and as she walked along Madison Avenue, she asked herself a question:
Penny Adams, who are you and where are you going?
Who was she and where was she going?
It seemed a long time since she'd moved in with Claire Damen. Yet it hadn't been so very long in time. Much had happened, though. She was not the same idealistic girl who'd left her parent's home.
She was no longer a virgin. She had a working love arrangement with a man who satisfied her but without any of the safeguards that society demanded. She had settled for his arms and his mouth and his physical love.
Was that enough? It certainly seemed so or she wouldn't have accepted that.
Nick. Was she in love with him? No. She was not. But she knew the reason. That was because she was afraid to be in love with him. She was afraid of being hurt by love.
That, she suddenly realized, made her a hypocrite. She herself was afraid of the love she was asking Greg McRoy to accept whether it hurt him or not.
Penny went into the next drug store and got Nick on the phone:
"Hi, baby," he said. "Glad you called. I phoned the apartment and Claire said you weren't home yet."
"I had an appointment."
"By the way, what's wrong with Claire?"
"Is anything wrong?"
"Maybe not, but somehow she isn't the same. She's lost her spirit."
"She's tired."
"How about you?"
"I'm not tired."
"How about dropping down here?"
"All right...."
Nick was waiting for her and he took her into his arm: and kissed her as she entered. "Hi, baby-"
"Hi, lover."
They stood there for a few moments and then he took her coat off and hung it up and led her toward the bedroom. She went willingly and while he undressed her she stood quietly, raising her arms obediently and lifting one leg and then the other.
Until she was naked.
He dropped his robe and picked her up and carried her toward the bed. She lay looking at him lovingly.
Then Penny's arm reached for him and he dropped to her embrace and their lips met.
Their loving was a thing of hunger, a desperate devouring. Changing from a woman in quiet, waiting surrender, Penny whimpered with eagerness and put her lips to his.
Not quite in pace with her, Nick hesitated, fumbling, and she seized his hand and pushed that bruisingly against her.
His hand clawed. Penny jerked with reaction and m ground her teeth together hard.
He snarled and she turned in answering pain.
"Nick! Oh, Nick! Destroy me!"
And it seemed that they were not engaged with love but with battle, tearing at each other, seeking to blindly assuage a twin hunger that was unbearable.
Penny became the aggressor. Swiftly, she turned and forced him to a position that left him no room for breathing. This accomplished, a look of wild, wanton abandon glowed in her eyes.
Men degrade-women, but I will degrade men.
The thought was a spark of exquisite joy flashing through her mind.
Trapped so that he could not bring his strength to play, Nick reacted in panic, flailing like a wrestler trying to break a hold.
Penny exulted; her teeth gritted together, as though she were avenging all the degradation forced upon women by men from the beginning of time.
In his desperation, he served her because he was unable to do otherwise and a sensuous enjoyment glowed in her eyes. She worked like an animal caught by the throes of ecstasy.
Her whole body, seeking release, was lost to her.
Then she stiffened. Her face froze around her suddenly widened, bulging eyes.
She screamed.
He had bitten her.
At the same time, he threw her away with a heave of his trapped body. She went off the lounge and onto the floor on her hands and knees, like a stunned breast.
Raging, he was at her instantly. He hit her with his weight, flattening her, sprawling her arms and legs as her breasts hit the floor and the air in her was expelled in a thudding grunt.
The carpet was in her mouth as he ravaged her, brutally, viciously, reasserted man's right to degrade and defile women at his pleasure That was rape in its crudest, most unnatural sense, forcing her to pay with two-fold pain.
His finish was a wild, raging, inevitable thing.
"I'm sorry. I'm very sorry, darling."
"Don't be sorry. That was-wonderful."
They lay as they were, there on the floor. Gradually, their lungs stopped pumping.
Penny turned and kissed him tenderly, softly, on the lips. A chaste kiss; almost a mother's kiss.
Then the got up and began dressing and when she was ready to leave, she looked at her lover and said, "Good-bye, Nick."
He frowned slightly. "You sound as though you were going on a trip."
"I am-in a way."
"I don't understand."
"This is the end, Nick. This is all, the finish." His expression said that was ridiculous. "What do you mean-the end?"
"I'm not going to see you again."
"Penny !"
"All affairs end, Nick. From this moment on, you won't be able to touch me."
Before he found an answer, she walked out and dosed the door behind her.
Stopping in a drug store, she made two phone calls:
"Hello, Mom? Oh, I'm fine, just fine. And I've got news for you. I'm coming home ... No, not just for the weekend. For good ... No-no problems. Nothing is wrong. I just want to come home ... Oh, Claire won't have any trouble finding another roommate."
The second call was to the apartment, and a new Claire answered. A soft, tremulous Claire who sounded as though she'd just glimpsed fairyland.
"Sweetie, I've got news. You're going to have to find another roommate ... What? Oh, nothing much, honey. I'm just getting married, that's all. Greg is here now He's-oh, sweetie-it's wonderful."
"I'm so happy for you...."
There was more, but Penny didn't remember it when she was again out in the street walking. Evaluating.
Because time had passed and here she was and things were no longer the same. She had run head-on into life and had known a man and was no longer a virgin.
Had the giving been a beautiful experience? Yes.
She knew now that she would conform. She would meet a man and love him and marry him. And she would be a good wife.
But deep in her secret heart she would always remember the first time. The first man.
Nick.
The Prince Charming with whom she would walk again and again in the secret garden of her heart.
"And it will be all right," she whispered. "Everything will be all right."
