Chapter 8
The guilt came with the rain.
Martha sat at a small table in the cafe of the hotel and realized she was having trouble looking at Alva. She would steal a glance now and then at the dark eyes that had trapped her and the red lips that had sprung the trigger.
There was guilt now because she remembered crying out for Alva to promise not to leave her. For Martha, that was equivalent to saying that she loved Alva, that she was committed to her in the way she should be committed to a man. But Alva was obviously not a man-which meant that last night she had fallen in love with another woman-and that was wrong. It was made more wrong by the appearance of Clara Foster.
"Pardon me," Clara said politely, coming up to the table. "But would you two girls happen to be on the Inca tour?"
Martha looked at her. She looked to be in her early thirties, but there were telltale marks about her eyes and neck that made her perhaps ten years older than that.
She was an attractive woman, reserved, but with a bubbling sense of youth underneath. She had auburn hair that shone with red highlights, a good figure that was still firm, and an engaging quality about her mouth and eyes that Martha liked immediately. She saw that the woman had addressed her rather than Alva, probably because she sought kinship with another American.
"Yes, we are," Martha said, feeling a sense of relief that she'd interrupted the troublesome thoughts. "Sit down, please."
"I don't want to barge in on anything," she apologized, taking the seat, "but I haven't yet found out how many people are on the tour, and that Mr. Tuesta doesn't seem to be around to ask today. I was hoping there'd be another woman my age that I could chum with."
"To tell the truth, Mrs. Foster, we don't know how many people are on the tour either," Martha smiled.
"Oh, call me Clara, please. That other makes me sound like an older widow than I am." She accepted a cup of coffee from the waitress with a pretty smile. "I've managed to find two couples on tour, but they're younger and seem awfully close and...rather rowdy."
"You say you're a widow?" Alva asked. "You don't look old enough to be that already. What are you doing on a tour like this crazy thing?"
Clara smiled and sipped from her cup. Her blue eyes took on a faraway look for a moment.
"My husband had promised me a tour for many years," she said. "It was one of our honeymoon dreams to come to South America. He was ill for a long time, and he made me promise to take it by myself; so... here I am," she laughed. She glanced out the window at the quiet mist of water. "I hope it doesn't rain all the way after I've waited this long to come."
"I hope rain isn't your only problem," Alva said.
"Alva!" Martha said with reproval.
Clara's hands touched hers. "That's all right, Martha. I'm not exactly blind. This tour seems awfully unorganized so far. I should probably have taken another one, but I couldn't resist the price. Perhaps," she admitted candidly, "I was hoping I might meet someone nice on this one-someone more my age than generally take the other kind."
"You're looking for a man?" Alva asked bluntly.
Clara's face colored. "Well... it has been ten years since Howard died. I'm not all that old yet. And I've been faithful to his memory every day. It...it seems like it's time for a change, don't you think?"
Alva made a peculiar face as if she couldn't comprehend how any woman could go ten years without a prick, regardless of her age.
"Well, you and Martha should get along together just fine," Alva laughed. "She hasn't had a man in twenty."
"Alva, stop it," Martha said.
"All right," Alva said, getting up, still smiling. "I'll leave you two to talk and see if I can't find that paca, Tuesta. It would be like his kind to leave us sitting here in Bogota while the plane takes of for Quito, especially after what we did to him last night. I'll see you later, Martha."
They watched her go with the light, smooth roll of her hips. "She's a very unusual girl," Clara said softly, turning back.
"Yes, she is," Martha admitted, feeling a wave of guilt sweep over her.
"She makes me wish I had my youth back-the last ten years, at least." Clara stared oddly into her coffee. "Sometimes I wonder if I should have done what I did. Then, when I do, I begin to feel guilty for thinking it. Howard was such a good man." She smiled weakly and looked up. "I'm sorry if I prattle a little. I'm sure you don't understand what I'm talking about."
"No," Martha said. "That's all right. It's... it's a relief to hear a woman say good things about a man for once. I'd thought there wasn't anything good about them."
Clara looked at her directly. The blue eyes were thoughtful. They took in Martha's pretty face, her blonde hair, the slim, youthful shape of her body. She glanced back in the direction Alva had gone, and she thought some more.
"Have you known Alva long?" she asked finally, a hint of wariness in her voice.
"We met on the plane yesterday," Martha said guardedly, reading the suspicion in her face. "I didn't...I know what you're thinking, Clara," she said finally.
The eyes became kind. "I'm not thinking anything, Martha. Each person must choose for herself. However, you're making a dreadful mistake if you don't try... I'm sorry. Never mind."
"No, tell me," Martha insisted. Her voice held a pleading quality. She felt a need to be absolved of the act she had committed last night with Alva.
"You're a lovely girl," Clara said softly. "Surely, you could have your pick of a number of fine men. You shouldn't need to-depend on Alva. For anything. Haven't you a boy friend at home?"
"Yes," Martha admitted.
"And you're still a virgin? I'm sorry, it's none of my business, I know, but I thought I was the last of that breed of women who hold chastity as some sort of ideal."
"It isn't that, Clara," Martha said emotionally. "Sometimes I hate my virginity, and I'd do anything to get rid of it."
"That's good, Martha. I'm glad of that. Because, as a veteran of ten years' worth, I can tell you that such an ideal leads to a lonely and frustrating life. I've gained nothing in the last ten years. I woke up one morning and could see that I was growing older and crankier and more frustrated by the day, and there was no end in sight." She laughed prettily. "I'd hate to give you the wrong idea about myself, but I can tell you, I'm ready for anything right now. I thought that a trip to the fabled territory of Latin lovers would help me over my hump and allow me to open up again."
"That's about the same reason I came," Martha said, feeling a strong, open bond growing between them.
"I had the memory of a good husband for my excuse, at least. What is yours?"
"My mother, I guess."
"Oh?"
"She's very bitter. All men are bastards, according to her. She's preached that to me for as long as I can remember."
"Oh, I'm sorry for you," Clara said sincerely. "And now you're afraid of men?"
"I guess I don't trust them. My father... he left my mother when I was young. She's never stopped damning all men since then."
"What were the circumstances? Perhaps he had a good reason to leave her, had you thought of that?"
"No," Martha said, startled. "I never had. Isn't that odd?"
"Not really. You've been indoctrinated thoroughly, I presume, to believe your mother was the wronged party. But still, I can assure you' that she's quite wrong about one thing-my Howard was no bastard, as you put it." She changed her expression. "Darling, you have to remember that men are people, just like women. There are good ones and bad ones of both sexes. You have to choose the person, not the sex. Your boy friend back home..."
"Ken," Martha said.
"Is Ken a good person?"
Martha sighed. "Almost too good. He frightens me sometimes. I want to trust him and love him, but I can't because of my fears."
"So you have chosen Alva as your means of breaking out?"
Martha looked up sharply. "How...."
"Please forgive me," Clara said. "The walls are pretty thin here. I...I couldn't help hearing you in the next room."
"Oh, God!" Martha gasped, the whole episode flashing across her mind in a blaze of sordidness.
Clara touched her arm firmly. "Don't be ashamed," she said. "I tried it. once myself. Perhaps in one way or another we all have. I think none the less of you for it, and I can assure you that your secret is safe with me. I don't condemn what you did in the slightest. Please don't condemn yourself and be guilty for the rest of your life about it."
"I feel...awful," Martha said. "Cheap."
"No, you don't," Clara countered firmly. "You feel confused. Don't put any labels on it. It seemed delightfully good at the time it was happening, didn't it?"
Martha made a sound that was half laughter and half sobbing. "Yes," she admitted. "I felt free."
"You would. She wasn't a man. I went through a similar stage in my life, too, and I remember how it felt. There's no use in pretending it wasn't perfectly marvelous, because it was, and we both know it, don't we?"
"Yes," Martha laughed, feeling a tightness in her throat as if a big sob of guilt were trying to bubble up out of her at the same time. She wished this woman had been her mother and felt sad for all the wasted, worried years.
"Fm glad, at least," Clara went on softly, earnestly, "that you managed to get rid of that Tuesta fellow-even if the method sounded rather rough. He seems quite unstable to me-hardly the right kind of person to put your trust in and let...deflower you."
"I have Alva to thank for that," she said. "I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't been there to get rid of him."
"I suspect you wouldn't have been in that fix in the first place, would you?"
Martha laughed. "I don't know. I'm as ready as you say you are."
"Then South America had better watch out," Clara blurted, "because there're a couple of hot boxes ready to invade..." She clapped her hand over her mouth with an astonished look. "Oh dear-listen to my language, will you! I'm positively giddy with excitement. I might even have to borrow your Alva for a little while, would you mind?"
Martha looked up and saw Alva standing beside them as if she'd materialized out of thin air.
"Oh, my," Clara said with embarrassment. "Now I have shot off my big mouth, haven't I?"
Alva studied her face and body with that hungry, intimate look. "Maybe it was a good thing. We could all have interesting times together. I would even suggest it now, but we've only half an hour to get ready to leave."
"Leave?" Martha questioned. "I thought we weren't supposed to go until later tonight."
Alva shrugged and sat down. "A change of plans. Tuesta is at the airport right now."
"How did you find that out?"
"I asked around and called him. I have the feeling whatever pilot he had found didn't show up, and he's been scrambling around for another."
"Oh, I can't understand that man," Clara said. "Martha and I were just talking about him."
Alva grinned oddly. "That wasn't quite what I heard. Anyway, what do you know about him?"
"Alva," Martha said quietly. "Clara was in the room next to ours last night. She heard-everything."
Alva's eyes took on a new luster, and she appraised the line of Clara's full breasts again. "You two must have had an exciting talk while I was gone. Are you trying to trade me off already, Martha?"
"Alva!"
"After what I showed you last night."
"No, of course not!"
"Listen, Clara-if you want to join, that's one thing. But don't horn in on me."
"I've no intention of doing either," Clara said stiffly. "You've obviously received the impression I was serious in what I said about you. Rest assured, my dear, I'm not."
"Please, both of you," Martha interceded, remembering how the sharpness of Alva's tongue had already shredded the ego of one person. She didn't want to see Clara suffer the same fate. "Alva, what about the others? Do they know?"
"They're upstairs getting ready. The hotel has a limousine waiting for us."
"Well, I'd better excuse myself and gather up my things," Clara said. She smiled in a friendly way, wanting to forget any hard feelings. "I'll see you girls in a little while."
Alva waited until she was gone. "What's going on with her?" she demanded.
"Nothing," Martha said. "What do you mean?"
"You must have had a hell of a talk."
Martha avoided the dark, liquid eyes, afraid they would ensnare her again. "She's a nice woman," she said. "I like her. And not in the way you're thinking, either."
"That's good, my sweet. I would hate to think that you were running out on me so soon.
Then you would be just like the men you don't trust, wouldn't you?"
Martha stood quickly. "We'd better get ready too." She didn't look back to see if Alva was following her.