Chapter 11
When it was time to leave for Aunt Harriet's, Debbie was grateful that only her mother was teeing her off.
The old Union Train Station was bustling with holiday activity. Its marble floors, high arched ceilings and worn dark brown leather benches bespoke another era.
"Now you take care and tell Aunt Harriet that we only wish we could join you." Her mother smiled.
She kissed her mother good-bye and then got on the train, heading for the mountain village where her aunt lived.
As Debbie sat on the train, she noticed a young man across the aisle who appealed to her. He was blond, medium height, and looked like a vacationing student. His heavy dark blue bulky knit sweater could not conceal his muscular shoulders. He came over and sat down beside Debbie when she caught his eye.
"Do I know you?" He grinned.
"No, I don't think so?"
"Are you going to Mammoth?" he asked with marked interest "Why?"
"That's where Fm going," he replied.
He didn't say any more as the train finally took off. Debbie glanced out the window and could hardly wait until she arrived at the small village where her Aunt Harriet had a mountain home.
"We should get acquainted." The young man smiled. "You might like me once you got to know me."
"I doubt it," Debbie told him, looking out the window and trying to give him the cold shoulder.
He wasn't quite that easily put off. And before long he was introducing himself, in spite of the fact that she didn't really care to meet him.
"My name is Dave," he told her. "I saw your skis and I thought maybe you were going to the same place that I am."
Debbie turned and told him, "Can't you figure out that I'm not interested?"
As she spoke so coldly, she looked into Dave's blue eyes and saw his face flush with some embarrassment. All at once she felt guilty for being so difficult.
"All right, Dave," she told him, "I'll give it to you straight. I'm not interested in getting involved with anybody."
By this time Dave was so disgusted he didn't care what he said.
"You're missing getting acquainted with a very nice person—me." That did it.
"If you don't mind, I would like to sit by myself," Debbie said with irritation, getting away from him as quickly as she could and slipping into a seat by herself.
Three and a half hours later when the train pulled into the quaint, snow-laden mountain village where Harriet lived, Debbie was grateful. Dave hadn't bothered her anymore, but she still felt awkward and funny about the whole situation.
Harriet was there on the station platform to meet her. Debbie looked at her and an eager smile burst on her face.
"Hello, Aunt Harriet." She waved to her. "How are you?"
Harriet waved back to her, as she returned Debbie's smile, her breath frosting the air before her.
"I've been waiting for you in the cold," she complained, noticeably shivering as she huddled in her fawn-colored mink jacket, a bright green wool scarf tied casually about her neck. "Your train was late."
Harriet had her blue Monte Carlo parked nearby and it wasn't long before they were driving up a snow-banked picturesque winding mountain road to her remote house.
"It was nice of you to want to come and spend the holidays with me," Harriet informed her. "But I'm a little bit surprised."
Debbie didn't understand the full import of that statement. Later that evening, sitting before a large flagstone fireplace whose crackling logs created warmth in the living room, Harriet spoke honestly with Debbie as she handed her niece a cup of hot chocolate.
"Your mother has always objected to me," Harriet explained.
"Mother has never said anything negative to me about you," Debbie told her.
"No, but she's thought plenty," Harriet insisted, "You see, I am the black sheep of the family."
Details of Harriet's life that had never been revealed to Debbie before were now bursting forth with a sudden gush of sentimentality and nostalgia.
"Your grandparents were very difficult," Harriet confided, "and your mother and I were brought up in such a straightlaced manner that it was impossible for me to be happy at home. I decided I should accept the challenge of being a career woman and go out on my own."
"Oh, did you go to business school?" the young girl asked innocently.
"No, I went to Vegas and became a showgirl," she smiled proudly.
"I didn't know you'd ever been in show business," Debbie exclaimed. "How exciting."
Harriet looked away vaguely as the dazzling life that she'd led on the Las Vegas stages all flashed back to her in a burst of sudden glory. Here was a young, eighteen-year-old girl with her life stretching out before her, trying to determine which road to take. Would she try some costly shortcuts? Or would it be the tough, grueling, hard-work way?
"Ill bet you had a wonderful time," Debbie told her admiringly.
In some ways it wasn't easy for Harriet to talk about it, for it brought back many memories that were torturous as well as pleasurable. However, she wanted to even a couple of scores with her self-righteous sister who'd always kept her life a secret from everyone.
"I had a lot of fun kicking up my heels." Harriet laughed. "And I made some very choice contacts. That's how I managed to buy this mountain retreat."
Debbie was completely taken aback. She knew to little about Harriet's personal affairs that when she heard her unraveling her colorful life in a patchwork style, she listened intently.
"I met someone," she explained, "who got along with me very well. I decided to accept his proposal and we had a truly beautiful life."
"Did you marry him?" Debbie asked. "I didn't know that you ever got married."
"No, I was his mistress," she explained reflectively. "He was a Las Vegas lawyer and had a very successful practice. He specialized in divorce
"Oh, I see," Debbie said pensively. "Mom would say you were living in sin." Debbie's words jolted Harriet and she didn't hesitate to tell her what she thought about that connotation being placed on her personal life.
"Living in sin, my ass." She shook her head. "I was giving happiness to a very lonely man who needed it so desperately."
As Debbie listened to Harriet talk, she could tell that she was justifying her conduct at every turn.
"I think I'll fix myself a drink," Harriet informed her flatly.
"Mind if I join you?" Debbie asked. "Not at all," Harriet told her. "An eighteen-year-old girl ought to be able to drink a little, m mix you my favorite. I like to have a bourbon and Seven and I always have the best bourbon. Now just put your hot chocolate aside."
Debbie was delighted at how delicious the bourbon and Seven tasted.
"I can see why you like this, Aunt Harriet," she said, gulping her drink down much too quickly.
"Slow down." Harriet laughed. "You're gonna put a tiger in your tank before you know it."
Over drinks Harriet revealed more about her colorful past.
"My adorable lover," she explained, "tried his very best to spare me from any sadness in life. He kept me in a posh apartment on the better side of Vegas. I didn't have to kick up my heels at the club, but I enjoyed dancing. So I went right on performing and carrying on with him, too. It was beautiful relationship until. . ."
Harriet hesitated momentarily as tears clouded her eyes, streaking her heavy make-up as they trickled down her rouged cheeks. Debbie looked at her closely, then turned her head away, feeling almost like an intruder witnessing a very touching personal scene.
Even though Harriet's mountain home was beautiful, Debbie thought there was a strange air of sadness about it. There were cumbersome dark wood beams on the ceiling, and expensive etchings fined the walls. The furniture was beige leather and mere were a couple of white bearskin rugs on the polished pegwood floor. A churning cadence of bowling wind was amplified in the silence that followed as Harriet looked at the lacy snowflake patterns on the frosted window, the flickering glow from the fireplace casting ever changing shadows of light and darkness across her intense face that seemed to contrast perfectly with her vivid past Then solemnly, her eyes focused on Debbie. It was apparent to Debbie that Harriet's life had been a roller-coaster ride; one minute soaring to the heights and the next—the frenzied, rushing ride down.
Harriet began to unravel her past. "That dreadful woman that my lover was married to," she reflected angrily, "put a private investigator on us. She tracked him to me. And after that she went to my boss at the Vegas club where I was working. She told him what a contemptible woman I was and aid she was going to take him to the cleaners. After she finished with him, she said he could go on welfare."
At this point Debbie couldn't help feel some sympathy for her troubled aunt
"What happened?" she asked curiously.
"I'll tell you what happened," she said slowly, then went silent. ". . . He killed her . . ." she hesitated. "Somehow I couldn't blame him . . . Now he's serving time—the rest of his life."
"Do you ever get to visit him?"
Harriet nodded, salty tears burrowing tiny rivulets through her heavy make-up as they stained her cheeks.
"I've been fighting for conjugal visits," she explained, "but I haven't had any success."
"Conjugal visits?" Debbie asked, not understanding. "What's that?"
"Conjugal visits permit male prisoners to have the beauty of a sexual relationship with a woman," she explained. "They're caged in prison like animals. A lot of them resort to having sex with each other, so I have taken it upon myself to fight for human rights for lifers."
Debbie looked at her in amazement.
"I've heard of taking a lifer to dinner," she admitted, "but I've never heard about taking a lifer to bed."
"Well, now you've heard all the dirt," Harriet said solemnly. "I've carried a torch for him a long, long time. Of course, I've had to think of myself and my own life. So I will confess that I've done a few things I'm not proud of."
That whetted Debbie's appetite all the more.
"What have you done, Aunt Harriet? I hope you haven't killed anybody," she said suspiciously.
Harriet couldn't help bursting into laughter, breaking the solemn mood as she listened to Debbie express her far-out fears. Going over to the bar she mixed herself another drink and came back to sit down beside the comforting fireplace on the white bearskin rug.
"Of course not," she said. "What kind of an aunt do you think I am?"
"I was just trying to find out," Debbie told her.
Finally Harriet revealed more of her life.
"I joined an exclusive dating service," she explained, "that caters to very wealthy men who go to fashionable resorts for a much needed rest"
Debbie couldn't understand the connection.
"Much needed rest?"
"They get a chance to rest from their wives," she explained, "and I provide a much needed service. They need the warm, feminine friendship of an understanding woman like me." Still not quite certain of what Harriet was talking about, Debbie asked her to explain further. "I hope I don't have to draw you a picture," Harriet quipped, "but I'll tell you what I'm talking about. I recognize that many women in our society have been brainwashed. They feel it is distasteful to provide a man with various forms of unusual sex such as fellatio or cunnilingus, to name two. I try to help where I can." Realizing now precisely what she was referring to Debbie was stunned.
"You mean you're a mail-order hooker?"
Harriet was slightly outraged by her niece's frank remark. Getting to her feet she paced nervously back and forth on the pegwood floor, the click of her high heels indicating her flaring temper.
"I don't like you looking down on me," she slurred. The liquor was obviously getting to her.
"Oh, I don't look down on you, Aunt Harriet," Debbie assured her. "As a matter of fact, I only wish that I could find the happiness that you have enjoyed. I, too, have a great problem."
When Harriet calmed down enough to listen to Debbie's problem, she was amazed at the fact that Debbie had so much experience.
"You mean you have a boyfriend?" She smiled. "At eighteen years of age?"
"Yes, and I've been intimate with him," Debbie confessed.
"I hope you're not pregnant and have come to me to get an abortion. I don't believe in that. If that's the reason you've decided to spend this holiday with me, you can go right back home."
Debbie shook her head gravely.
"It hasn't come to that yet," she admitted, "and I hope it never does. Yet it could. I'm going with a real sex pistol."
"You're much too young to be carrying on,* Harriet insisted. "You need to find some way to satisfy your carnal needs." She hesitated, and then said huskily, "I have the perfect solution for you."
Debbie's eyes widened noticeably.
"What kind of a solution, Aunt Harriet?"
"A dildo," she announced. "I'll tell you all about it."
Harriet left the living room a moment. When she returned seconds later she was carrying a pink plastic replica of a male sexual organ.
"What on earth do you have that for?" Debbie asked innocently.
"It's for a very good purpose, dear," Harriet told her niece, "and there's nothing wrong with using it I've used them for years when I've needed to."
It was puzzling for Debbie to understand what she was talking about.
"Why don't you come into the bedroom with me?" Harriet invited her. "Then I could explain it even better."
For a moment Debbie turned away, gazing at the flowing embers in the fireplace, embarrassed by the boldness of her aunt.
Harriet looked lustfully at Debbie's curvaceous body, her eager eyes tracing the outline of the beautiful teenager's tempting breasts.