Chapter 6

Marsha met the Ferris School instructress named Letitia Ritter just three days later.

Letty Ritter was a clothes-horse, but a clothes-horse of a different color. A tall, slim brunette, she had a wardrobe that would match that of the most chic Fifth Avenue matron, and quite a few of those along Park. She had a body that just missed being hard-missed by the grace of a few timely curves.

Any man would have struck out on those curves, however.

Letty Ritter was a confirmed Lesbian bachelorette. A she-male.

Of Lesbians there are all types, ranging from the white-faced, wolfish Village vampires to the tough Dutches in suede leather jackets with their hair cropped short, a good imitation of a truckdriver look on their faces, a pair of Levis and hard-soled boots. But these are merely the obvious types, the types you would spot instantly on the street and know they were dykes. Depending on who you were, you would give them a quick covert stare, smile and pass on.

You would stare much longer at Letitia. She had a thin, hollow-cheeked face, framed by a shoulder-length gentle swirl of coal black hair, a wide red swath of a mouth, rather thinnish but beautifully formed and not at all mannish; a matching pair of large dark eyes, a high clear white forehead. Her lashes were long and completely feminine, and her brows long and curved.

She might be wearing a small dark cloche on her head, a matching black or charcoal gray dress or outfit, with just a taste of sparkle from expensive earrings, an art-crafted brooch. They would be platinum, invariably, and the sparkle would not come from zircon.

Letty served an important function as an instructress in the Ferris School for Call Girls, as the official title was registered in the books, if not on the door of the office on Fifth.

She was a fashion and cosmetics expert. She had majored in fashion design in a good northeastern women's college, and there was not much concerning fashion she did not know. Her own person was a continual demonstration of this fact. When she walked her toy black poodle, it looked like a cover from Vogue come to life. She might have been a top fashion model, or simply the fashion-plate wife of a top corporation executive, and the longer you stared the more you would be convinced of this.

Her Lesbianism was almost physically undetectable. Only if you happened to be looking for it through foreknowledge might you see its outlines in her sleekly slim, willowly figure, her occasionally hard-eyed glance. But even then you wouldn't be sure whether or not it was merely your imagination suggesting these things. Letitia was a beautiful woman. Very.

A beautiful woman should be a thing of joy forever, according to the poet. And Letty Ritter was-but only for women, not for men. The men she went out with were merely part of her outfit, like the brooch or the earrings. Very handsome escorts-and very handsomely paid.

Letitia was well-off and didn't really need to work for the Ferris School. She had been left money by a well-to-do aunt and invested it comfortably in funds which drew a sizable yearly interest. She had a good education and had worked briefly with good future prospects on the staff of a prominent fashion magazine. She knew a lot of "right" people and could move easily in a variety of social circles.

She knew Cynthia Lockhart, for instance. That was how she had gotten wind of Cynthia's "recent amusement" and subsequently volunteered her services to the enterprise. For pay, of course. There was always an extra fur she needed, a new outfit fresh from Paris, an Italian handbag, a ruby, a diamond. Those little extras in life which require extra spending money. She drew a salary of three hundred dollars a week in the form of a certified check from Ferris Enterprises, Inc. She spent every cent of that on the extras. And it kept her toy poodle, Nefertiti, in good grade-A government-inspected prime roast beef.

But aside from the money, her job with the school was what could be called a labor of love.

She considered herself very fortunate indeed to have stumbled across such an opportunity in life-an opportunity to combine career with pleasure. As a fashion consultant, she was kept very busy indeed-but advising girls on the latest trends and tastes of the haut monde represented only half of her assignment with the school.

The other half was even more interesting an occupation.

Extremely interesting.

Owing to her unique position among the Ferris School personnel, Letty Ritter often had her students come to her by appointment at her penthouse Sutton Place address. Such was the case with Marsha, who visited her at three o'clock on a Thursday afternoon.

Marsha had gone out on a date the previous evening with another Ferris School instructor, a retired investment broker and ex-director of a male escort service named Blair Ewing-a handsome, silver-haired man in his early fifties who had no taste for women at all. The evening had been a dry run, in a manner of speaking. A party was being thrown by a mid-eastern shipping potentate touring the country on semi-official business, and Marsha was to attend as an extra girl, a decoration whose bedroom services would not be required. She had to buy a gown for the occasion, the tab for which was picked up by the school until it could be deducted from her earnings. Blair Ewing turned out to be gracious, cultured, extremely knowledgeable in matters of social protocol-an excellent instructor in all ways, attracting her attention to little things she would have missed, telling her which people were important and which not, and how to treat either category; what manners had to be observed at what times, and when to let the hair down completely.

It had been a thoroughly interesting event; Marsha paced her drinking and learned a lot. She met a well-known playwright, a businessman, a senator and a European duchess, among other notables. In the posh surroundings everything had looked glamorous, like something from a movie, and it had been near impossible to tell which of the women present were girls like herself and which not. There were plenty of girls around and they all were quite lovely. She made two hundred dollars for the evening without having to turn a trick. Half of that amount went into a newly opened bank account, in her name, and half of it, the half she never saw, went to Ferris Enterprises, Inc.-which seemed to her not at all unfair in the light of the education she was receiving.

Calling on Letitia Ritter was another kind of experience altogether. Aside from Jerri, she had made the acquaintance of three other girls going through the same course, and though they were not supposed to talk to new students about their instructors, she had heard enough to be slightly awed by the occasion. And slightly scared.

She had never been attracted to the idea of Lesbian love at all. And she gathered that something of that nature was involved, though the other girls seemed to treat it all pretty much matter-of-factly, not bothering to go into detail.

"She's not such a bad old gal," a girl named Pat had said. "You'll learn some useful things from her, baby-just watch out she doesn't develop too strong a yearn for you, that's all." Another girl named Phyllis had defended her by saying: "She's really a beautiful woman. And so graceful and intelligent! I didn't mind being with her at all, really." But the other girls, at least some of them, had laughed at Phyllis and dropped remarks like: "Watch yourself, honey; you sound like you want to go the same route."

So it was with a certain amount of fear and repulsion, curiosity and awe, that Marsha cabbed to the address on Sutton Place that Thursday afternoon of her first meeting with Letitia Ritter.

The building itself was sufficient to impress anyone, a recently built structure, fifteen stories tall, with garden apartments, spacious balconies staggered up its courtyard facade; it was built of white stone and brick and glass and luxuriously serviced and maintained. Marsha was not yet able to calculate the rents of such places, but she imagined a penthouse apartment in such a building would run well over five hundred a month-which indeed it did.

A silent self-service elevator whisked her up to the top floor and deposited her in a beautiful modern tile and marble corridor which gave entrance to the four penthouse apartments housed atop the tall new building. She walked down a deep soft maroon carpet running between beautiful potted ferns to the door marked 15-A, a plain stark-white door with the name Letitia A. Ritter emblazoned in neat gold script on a silver metal plaque beneath the one-way glass peep slot. She pressed the ivory button beside the frame and waited. In a few minutes, the door was opened by a handsome young Negro maid in a severe, tight-throated black uniform dress.

"I'm Miss Kinsted," Marsha said. "I think Miss Ritter is expecting me."

The maid nodded. "Yes-please come in," and stepped aside for Marsha to enter.

Letitia did not keep Marsha waiting long, once the maid had directed her to the living room and seated her on a spacious highbacked Empire style cobalt-blue couch. The room was breathtaking, and she barely had time to take in the white broadloom wall-to-wall carpeting, the peculiar combination of modern and antique styling of the decor, something far different from anything Marsha had ever seen, before her instructress made her appearance.

She was dressed in an elegant hostess outfit consisting of a short flare jacket of quilted gold and white cloth and tight white bolero pants, tied with laces around the calves. On her small feet were white Italian lounging slippers, open at the toes, showing her violently red nails which matched her fingernails and lips. The light outfit and the brilliant touches of color were in contrast to the dramatic black swirl of her hair which hung loosely over the corner of one eye. She held an ivory cigarette holder in her slim fingers, inserting it between her brilliant lips as Marsha rose from the sofa. She was about thirty years old, and her large dark eyes regarded the younger girl softly but with a faintly critical attitude at the same time.

"How do you do, Marsha," she said, smiling and ex-tendinc her hand. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. We can dispense with formalities. You may call me Letty."

Her surprisingly gentle voice had an undertone of firm command which put Marsha effortlessly into an inferior position while establishing a friendly note to their relationship-or at least the extension of future possibilities of intimacy beyond the point of teacher-pupil relationship. Her hand felt cool to Marsha's, yet she pressed the younger girl's with warmth.

"You have a lovely place," Marsha said with open admiration in her voice. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

"Thank you. But I must show you around then, after Linda brings us some wine. Tn the meantime, please sit down; we must get to know each other a bit I believe Mr. Ferris told me you come here from Cleveland?"

Marsha said she had, and soon they were both talking about Cleveland and then other subjects like old friends. The maid appeared with a silver tray holding two glasses of imported sherry, and then, after a few sips, with glasses in hand, they began touring the apartment.

It was the apartment of a taste-conscious intellectual. Everything had been designed by Letitia herself, from the floor to ceiling bookcases in her "private study" to the automatically revolving clothes racks in her amply stocked wardrobe closets. Even the landscaping of the outdoor rooftop garden had been altered according to her specifications. If her aim was to impress, she was thoroughly successful.

But that was not her aim, as Marsha gradually began to realize. In effect, Marsha was getting a course m taste and design, for the owner of the apartment was subtly delivering a lecture by example. Everything, down to the color of the ash trays, had a reason behind it; an aesthetic reason or a functional reason, and most often both. Letty encouraged questions, and Marsha, once she began to sense what was going on, began to ask them. Each question brought a smile to the instructor's glamorous face; she was enjoying herself thoroughly-

And so was Marsha. She quite forgot about the Other aspects of the visit as they discussed everything from clothes to the kind of paintings best suited to particular places. The conversation often drifted just as unnoticably into the areas of literature and art and music, and Marsha was amazed at the older woman's intimate knowledge of these subjects, too.

"It's important for you to read a lot, darling," Letty said when they were together in the bedroom. "Therapeutically and for business reasons. Polite people really don't prefer to go to bed with beautiful morons, despite what the movies say. You can run a discussion of Becket up into a nice tip beyond the fee, and that windfall is all yours. Besides, you'll have lots of times when you've nothing to do; you'll be bored as hell and all your friends will be busy-a good book is the best solution."

"What would you suggest I start on?"

She smiled coyly. "There are fashions in literature, too, you'll discover. But I'll tell you what to pick up in order to discuss almost anything at some of the parties you'll attend."

Then she handed Marsha a book from a shelf built into the wall over the head of the wide low bed. Marsha took it, noticing that the plain brown cover bore no title at all, not even a design.

"Take this with you when you go, darling. It's not exactly conversational stuff, but I think you'll find it quite interesting-and full of things you should know, I'll have to ask for it back; it's a privately printed and very rare volume, worth at least several thousand dollars on the market now, I think. What you don't find in there you won't need to know, if you know what I mean. It's illustrated."

"Thank you, Letty. I'll take good care of it."

"I'm sure you will, my dear. You're a very lovely gir!"

Somehow the remark caused Marsha's ears to flush with pleasure. From her bull session with the girls she had come away with an image of Letitia Ritter that was a shade frightening, and it had been said then that she almost never complimented anyone the way she had just complimented Marsha. In fact, despite the catty things that they had said, the whole impression Letty made was different. Her apartment, her clothes, her furniture were all things of eye-popping loveliness; she was a woman of exquisite taste and breeding, intelligent, beautiful, and graceful. But most of all, she seemed warm and human underneath the hard polish of her exterior-and this was the quality that captivated Marsha most of all.

"It's been so wonderful," she sighed, "I can hardly believe this is all real."

Letty was smoking another cigarette through the ivory mouthpiece. She gave a short laugh, plumping herself down on the bed and tossing her head back. "Maybe it isn't," she said.

Marsha was confused by the abrupt change in the woman's manner.

"Why, what do you mean by that?"

"All this," Letty replied, waving her hand in a sweeping gesture. "It looks beautiful doesn't it? Oh yes, and you're quite impressed-just as you should be, darling. You won't find many places to equal it even in this glamour capitol. But in fact at times this all seems quite hollow and empty."

A note of bitterness had crept into her voice. Marsha sat down on the edge of the bed, disturbed by the older girl's mood.

"I should think you'd be very happy here," she ventured timidly.

The remark brought another short laugh, more friendly than bitter this time. She was reclining back against the pillow, and her hand came down over Marsha's, pressing it warmly.

"An empty place is never a happy place, darling. But don't mind the way I'm talking; wine in the afternoon always brings out the maudlin in me."

"I feel it a bit too."

Letty suddenly stretched her arms toward Marsha. "Come here, precious!"

Marsha tensed at the unexpected invitation, not quite knowing how to take it. But suddenly she found herself in Letty's arms, being embraced in a very warm and tender manner. It could have been nothing, a hug, a gesture stemming from impulse-and it was that.

"You are precious, you know-so young and fresh. You've really picked me up today and I love you for it. Friends?"

Marsha couldn't help smiling at the almost child-like simplicity of the way she put it.

"Friends," she nodded. And they kissed.

Just like that. An innocent kiss, a kiss to seal a new-found friendship, a girl-to-girl kiss, two soft pairs of painted lips meeting in the soft light of late afternoon filtering through the pale yellow drapes.

Suffused in this warm gentle glow, they held the embrace. Tense at first, Marsha soon found herself relaxing against Letty's breast, letting her hair be stroked and petted, her cheeks and eyes and forehead kissed. It was such a strange and delicate sensation, entirely new to her, and altogether pleasant somehow-so pleasant she wondered at her own reaction to this, whether she should be repulsed and more on her guard against this woman. But it was impossible to think of her as an instructor the way Joe Ruden was an instructor-this seemed too unplanned, the result of some mutually recognized impulse following out its course....

"Precious," Letty whispered over and over, the same word: "Precious, precious little darling...."

And then their lips met again. Deeply, a surprise, a completely new sensation to Marsha.

"Ohh!" she said when they parted, a little sigh of alarm.

But Letitia merely smiled. "Did I frighten you?"

"N-no; not really, I-"

"You're so innocent. Really, none of the girls have been quite like you. Somehow I can think of you being involved in almost anything and yet still retaining that confounded innocence. Just don't hate me, Marsha-please?"

"Oh no; I couldn't!"

"But perhaps you could like me a wee bit?"

"But I do, I do!"

"And I want yon to, you know. More than anything, I want you to like me, darling."

"I'm sorry, it's just that I've never-" She halted, blushing.

"Made love with another woman?" Letty said, holding her gaze with the magnetism of her dark, deep eyes, and smiling.

Marsha said nothing.

"I know that," Letty whispered, pressing Marsha close again. "To me, you're a virgin, darling. Can you understand that feeling in me?"

Their voices were mere whispers now, unreal.

"I-I think so."

"Then let me love you. Let me kiss you, darling-it means so much to me, so very much if you'll only spare me this moment."

Marsha was entranced by the delicate tracing of the woman's fingernails over her ears, her cheeks and throat. The mood was almost irresistible, the warm, sensual, lazily exciting tenderness of it. She closed her eyes, shutting out all thought.

Their mouths met again, this time in a relaxed, prolonged embrace. But Marsha wasn't saying no by then, either, surprised over the soul-kisses or not. She felt a tingling in her breasts where they pressed flat against Letty's, who wore nothing under the hostess outfit. She felt a spreading glow of excitement, faint yet and delicate, but one part of her mind was pushing to see how far this route could take her. This was far from a road race, but she knew she was going somewhere at that.

"Let me take this off you," Letty whispered, fingering the buttons of her suit jacket.

Marsha let her. That, and the blouse. She balked at the brassiere, but Letty began kissing and caressing all around it, and her breasts felt the desire to be free and in the open.

They soon were.

Definitely in the open, and definitely free.

Letty knew a bargain when she saw one. If she had been shopping for ripe honeydews in a market she would have hesitated, and she didn't hesitate now. The flesh she took to her hands was soft and bruisable, but she was an excellent tester, well-experienced and respecting of the delicate art of nature.

"Ohh! " Marsha groaned.

It was all over then and she knew it. The pulsing ache at her steel-taut nipples wronght by Letty's fingers and then mouth had decided the issue.

She made no move to resist as Letty stripped her of her skirt and shoes and stockings. And finally, panties.

Confident of her victory, the older girl got up and undressed herself, turning her back to the bed.

Marsha watched, fascinated. A woman's body had never affected her quite this way-it was as though she were seeing one for the first time.

In the curtain-filtered sunlight, it looked beautiful, white and pure and statue-like.

But that was a very living statue. It was alive and it moved, turning slowly to reveal a high, firm, rosy-pointed set of breasts, a long torso beautifully proportioned, long slim legs.

The statue moved over to the bed, and then onto it. Marsha felt the woman's body come against her like a wave of soft warmth. They locked their arms around each other like two children caught in a storm, their breasts flattening back.

They pressed closer, tighter. With eyes closed and breasts heaving they sought the delicious contact of flesh against flesh.

Letty began stroking Marsha's legs. Her caresses became bolder and bolder. Marsha was both curious and excited. She thought, how far can something like this go? It seemed to her that they were unnecessarily exciting each other, that this would all have to end in the nothingness of unfulfilled passion. She knew how to kiss and caress and stimulate just like a man would-but how could she possibly satisfy the way a man did? And get satisfaction herself?

These questions were scarcely academic ones. Marsha's interest was as real as her delicately voluptuous excitement-the two elements controlling her like an alternating current running through her.

This wasn't exactly great. A man could excite her more-but that wouldn't be the same kind of excitement somehow; not like this, at least. Perhaps the two were simply not to be compared. But did it make a girl a true Lesbian if she let herself get excited this way? One by one these questions rose to the fore of her mind, between the waves of excitement Letty's lips were causing as they roamed carelessly over her body.

Her breasts and nipples.

Her legs.

And then-

And then she was being kissed in a way she had never been kissed before.

Not by a woman at least. "Ohh!"

That was such an eerie, surprising sensation. Almost like having a man-

She closed her eyes and lay back, giving herself up to the sensation.

"Oh! Oh, oh, ohhh...."

The sighs escaped her lips automatically, as Letty's mouth excited. More.

"Yes yes; that's right; oh!"

A flame had been lighted. A flSckeringly small flame at first, but one which grew stronger and stronger until it gave off an intensely burning fire. She moved around it, feeling the ache of passion in the tops of her breasts, the pit of her stomach, everywhere. More.

And then, helpless, she saw Letty move around on the bed.

She groaned, but the groan was smothered as Letty pressed against her mouth.

And then she knew. She knew that was possible, that could be done this way, that could go on and on and end up somewhere.

She began to return caress for caress, and then the two of them were moving in repeated surges of passion on the huge bed.

Faster and faster.

More and more and more, until there could be no more, until any more was physically impossible.

But that didn't matter. The rhythm sent them surging away and over the edge of the precipice, and then they were falling, falling into a deep dark warm wonderful world.

That had been so gradual, so slow and easy, Marsha had hardly noticed the passing of time. But she saw by the clock that they had been in bed almost two hours.

Letty kissed her on the mouth gently and then got up.

"You were wonderful,' she said, resuming a normal voice. "Now you better take a shower, honey. If you need anything just ring and Linda will bring it. Do you feel okay?"

"Yes-I think."

Letty smiled knowingly. "This's always curious the first time. I could have been ruthless, you know. You'll have to do that with another girl in front of a John sometime, and since you were inexperienced I didn't want to shock you. Even if you don't go for that much, you can see it has its points, and a little acting always helps."

Marsha was a little shocked at the woman's abruptly clinical attitude. It was as though she were giving a critique of some little play or exercise that had just been been performed.

"Oh, I enjoyed that well enough," she said, a little stung. She got up from the bed herself, to gather up her clothes and leave as quickly as possible, but something, some innate curiosity made her pause and turn to Letty again. Letty was putting on a loose terry cloth wrap, no doubt getting ready for an hour in the tub of one of her three bathrooms herself.

"What you said before we-"

"Before we made love to each other?"

"Yes, I mean, about emptiness...."

"Emptiness? I was getting a bit dramatic, I guess, but it seemed the thing to do at the time."

Marsh's face pinked.

"It sounded convincing. Aren't you really rather lonely?"

"Aren't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"So what's the difference? Do you think a man can make you any less lonely?"

"Have you ever had one, Letty?"

"I'm not a virgin, darling. I let a man make a fool of himself once, and I detested every minute of that. They're crude, stupid, inconsiderate beings-I despise them."

"They're not all that way."

Letty shrugged impatiently. "Maybe not. Perhaps you find them different. Do you have a boy friend?"

"No," Marsha had to admit. "I was engaged once, but it was a mistake."

"Ran out on you, huh?"

"It's a very personal experience."

"Well don't get huffy, dear. Perhaps I've had my personal experiences' also."

"But you must get lonely at times, living in this big place."

Letty's eyes narrowed, becoming hard again. "You're really very naive, darling-and perhaps a bit resentful because you think I conned you into going to bed with me. But if you stop to examine that, you'll discover that I never forced you to do a thing. I'm no more of a pervert or freak than you are, and maybe less. I know what I like and I get it."

"What do you like?" Marsha said as acidly as she could.

Letty ran her eyes over Marsha boldly and burst out laughing.

"God, you're unbelievable! Where did Marcus pick you up--in a hothouse somewhere?" She advanced toward Marsha, hands on hips, taking up a mannish stance a few feet away.

"I'll tell you what I like, darling. I like young girls with beautiful bodies and faces-like you. I don't give a damn if they've made love to battalions, legions. They're all just challenges to me. I give you more credit than most-you're simply naive, not stupid. Part of your mind must be somewhere else, really."

"I don't understand!" Marsha said, white-faced and trembling with anger at the harsh words being delivered to her.

"What I'm trying to tell you is," Letty said slowly, drawing out each word, "you're just another notch in my belt, darling. Another thrill, a good two-hour kick. You'll be working your rear off for all sorts of men pretty soon; you'll huff and you'll puff and you'll stand on your head when you're told to. For what? For money and nothing else. But you with your dumb hicksville Midwestern notions about morals, you think if a woman likes other women better than men there must be something wrong with her, something disgusting and filthy."

Marsha stood trembling, shocked to speechlessness by the cruel tongue-lashing Letitia was giving her.

"I never said that," she managed to gasp. "You're being unfair!"

"Am I?" Letitia mocked. "No, you never said that-but you thought it, didn't you? I know your kind, kiddo; you don't fool anyone except yourself. With that big innocent act, I mean! God, wake up, will you? Stop acting like a blushing bride every time somebody takes you, for God's sake!"

Tears stung Marsha's eyes as she whirled around and left the room, taking her clothes with her. She had never met anyone so hateful and cruel. Even with the male instructors of the school she had never been made to feel so cheap.

She dressed quickly, ignoring the offer of the shower. Her only desire was to leave, to get away from this place.

To be alone.

After Marsha had left her apartment, Letitia Ritter returned to her bedroom, still dressed in the terry cloth robe. She removed it and lay down naked on the bed. From the night stand beside it she picked up her ivory holder and inserted a fresh cigarette in the open end, then lit it with a tiny gold table lighter. After a few puffs she reached out and pressed a gold buzzer set into the wall, and within a few seconds the maid appeared.

"Bring me a drink, Linda," she said. "A strong one, Scotch over rocks or something."

The pretty, light-skinned maid nodded. "Will that be all, Miss Ritter?"

"No When you've done that-no, now in fact-get the hell out of your clothes and join me in bed."

The maid nodded again and left the room.

Alone, Letitia puffed on the cigarette and thought about Marsha. She remembered every detail of the girl's beautiful body, her face, her voice.

Her harsh little laugh sounded in the empty room.

"Well, Letitia, you haven't been hit by one like that in a long long time, have you? Sucker!"

And then she put down the cigarette and turned over and began crying softly into her hands. It was a barely audible sound. It had stopped by the time Linda returned with the drink.