Chapter 7
Vicky showed up at the hospital at three. "Brought you my blue knit to wear home," she announced. "I suppose you know your clothes were a mess." Then, she saw the second vase of roses. "McLane must have been here, huh?' Joy nodded. "I'm getting out at five. He said he'd be back. I guess he will want to drive me home."
"And maybe more, Darling. Now, I'm glad I brought the blue knit. Bet he asks you out to dinner."
"You think he will?" Joy rather liked the idea. It would be nice to have dinner with Bart and, she thought, maybe he could find her a job. It would be worth a try.
The phone rang. It was Bart McLane. "I should be there by five. I'd like to drive you home," he said. "And if it's not too presumptuous, perhaps we could have dinner somewhere."
"If you'd like," Joy accepted. As she hung up, she looked at Vicky.
"Dinner?" Vicky said.
Joy nodded and laughed.
At five when Joy entered the office with the nurse, Bart McLane was waiting for her. As they left the hospital, he said, "I've made reservations at Andre's for dinner. Is it all right with you?"
Joy had trouble suppressing a gasp. Andre's was an exclusive French restaurant that catered to the elite of New York. She was glad Vicky had insisted on bringing the blue knit.
A half-hour later, it was obvious that Bart McLane dined there often. The maitre d' seemed to fawn over him. The meal was spectacular. Bart ordered with the finesse of an epicure, the right wines with each course, giving certain orders as to how he wanted the food prepared. Joy found herself enjoying this invasion into the upper echelon of society.
Bart did most of the talking, at the same time drawing answers from her with subtle questions. In the first ten minutes, he knew she wanted a job.
"I'm sure I can find you a job, Joy," he laughed.
"I don't have any references or New York experience," she warned him.
"You'll have mine. Suppose I give you a call sometime tomorrow." The evening ended all too soon for Joy. She felt like Cinderella. Bart McLane had treated her like a queen.
When they reached her apartment, he kissed her gently at the door. "I enjoyed dinner with you. Perhaps we can do it again, soon," he said. "I'll give you a call tomorrow if I find a job for you. I don't think it will be any trouble."
Joy hesitated in the doorway until his car pulled away. Then, she hugged herself. She felt sure he would keep his promise.
Vicky was waiting when she opened the door. "I saw the car from the window. Coming home kind of early, aren't you?" She paused, "He did take you to dinner?"
"Andre's. And he's going to get me a job," Joy said.
Vicky whistled. "So I was right. He is interested. Did he make a pass?"
"For Heaven's sake, Vicky. All he did was kiss me good-night, that and promise to find me a job."
"You're being naive, Darling. He isn't being nice for nothing. I'd like to be in your shoes. Believe me, I'd take him for everything I could get, and you can bet that would be plenty."
Joy's face flushed with anger. "I'm not interested in sleeping with him. All I want is a job."
"No sense in getting mad, Darling. Did he ask you for another date?" "Kind of."
Vicky's eyelashes flickered. "There's your answer. Look, he's no damned Trey Barton. McLane is the kind of guy who spends money on a woman. Why toss it out the window?"
Joy's eyebrows lifted, "You mean you wouldn't care if I slept with him?"
"Care? Why, Darling. He's only a man. Look how many I sleep with. We should never be jealous over a man."
Joy stared at her. "Sometimes I don't understand you, Vicky."
Vicky moved close and kissed her, long and hard. "You have to be practical, Darling. When I sleep with a man, it's business. Bart McLane wouldn't mean any more than that to you: Don't you think I know it? Jealous?" She paused and laughed. "Not the way you love me."
Joy didn't reply. She turned and went into the bathroom. Then under the shower, she tried to collect her thoughts. She wondered what it would be like to go to bed with Bart McLane. And, at the moment, she wondered if she would. It was kind of foolish to even think of it. He hadn't made any proposals.
Joy scrubbed herself. She decided he wouldn't be like Trey Benton. He seemed much more gentle than that. She thought of Clay Trent. It had been a long time since she thought about Clay.
Vicky was stretched out on the bed, naked, when Joy emerged from the bathroom. She looked up and laughed.
"Come to bed, Darling and I'll show you why I'm not jealous," she taunted.
Joy felt the tingle of anticipation. Then, she felt devilish. She knew what Vicky wanted.
"I'm an invalid," she said. "You wouldn't take advantage of a sick woman. The doctor told me I'll have to be careful for a week or so."
Vicky dug her fingers under her breasts and held them up. "There nothing wrong with me, and I can be gentle."
Joy slipped out of her negligee and dropped down on the bed. She was too anxious to carry the play any farther.
Vicky toyed with her breasts, kissing first one and then the other. As Joy responded Vicky whispered, "We shouldn't ever argue about men. Forget what I said about McLane He isn't that important."
Minutes later, Joy knew what she meant Vicky had been waiting for her, warm, perfumed, wonderfully desirous. Joy decided she was glad she was home.
Vicky was so careful and so gentle. It was an hour before the love subsided and Vicky fell asleep.
Joy found she couldn't sleep. Perhaps, she thought, it's because I slept this afternoon a the hospital.
She knew, though, it wasn't that. Easing from the bed, she found and lit a cigarette. Then she turned and stared at Vicky.
I do love her, she told herself. I never want to love anyone else. The, thought had a disturbing quality. Was there any future in going on like this? She hadn't really given it too much thought before the accident, but now . . . the things Vicky had said about Bart McLane.
Finishing her cigarette, Joy went back to bed. When she did finally fall asleep, she was still thinking about McLane.
The phone awakened Joy at ten, the next morning. She recognized Bart McLane's voice.
"I've made an appointment for you at Inverness Insurance. Ask for a Mr. Trantor. He'll be expecting you at one," he said.
"I don't know how to thank you, Mr. McLane," Joy said.
His laugh came back thru the phone. "You can start by calling me Bart and having dinner with me, again, this evening."
Joy hesitated. "Well ... All right, Bart."
"Fine, I'll pick you up around seven. You can tell me all about your new job."
"I don't have it yet," Joy laughed.
"Don't worry, you will. See you at seven."
Vicky appeared in the doorway. "You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Am I right in guessing that was Bart McLane?"
Joy nodded. She was still holding the phone. "He's found me a job and - well, we're having dinner again this evening."
Vicky shrugged. "You accepted. That means you've changed your mind?" She paused. This is New York, Darling, not Havenhurst. A guy like McLane isn't interested in platonic friendship if you get what I mean. Hell expect results."
Joy chose to ignore Vicky's insinuations. "I'm only having dinner with him to thank him for getting me the job," she said, testily.
Her appointment with Mr. Trantor took only a few minutes. He dictated a letter and had her type it. Then, he told her to report for work at nine the next morning.
Joy had an idea that she would have gotten the job even if she had messed up the letter.
At dinner, that evening, she mentioned this to Bart McLane.
He laughed. "The important thing is you got the job. So maybe a little push does help. I'm sure it will work out fine."
After dinner and a show, Joy was sure he would make some kind of proposal, perhaps an invitation to his apartment. He didn't. In fact, he kissed her only lightly when he said goodnight.
Joy fit into her new job, easily. In a few days, she had the intricate insurance forms mastered. On Friday, she had dinner with Bart again. After that, a week went by and there were no phone calls.
"I don't get it," Vicky said. The guy takes you out to dinner a few times and that's all. You sure you didn't turn him down?"
Joy laughed. "What reason would I have to lie to you. You were wrong, that's all." She didn't let on she was disappointed. She had enjoyed Bart's company more than she cared to admit, even to herself.
Now, she wondered what she might have done had Bart made some kind of offer. She wasn't sure.
"Your ribs have healed nicely, Miss Lansing. You won't have to come back," the doctor said.
"And that's all?" Joy buttoned her blouse, She had expected to be at the hospital most of the afternoon and the examination had taken only a few minutes. There would have been no need to take the afternoon off from work.
Joy laughed to herself as she caught a cab. Vicky would be surprised when she walked in in the middle of the afternoon.
She stopped off at a bakery and bought some Danish pastry, the kind Vicky liked. A tremble shook her body as she opened the apartment door. It would be nice to spend an afternoon with Vicky. Of late, they didn't seem to have much time together. Vicky was always corning in late, and with having to get up early herself, there was a conflict.
The living room was empty. Joy closed the door, quietly. Vicky would be taking a nap. She had worked late the evening before. Joy headed for the kitchen.
First, make some coffee and fix a tray before she woke Vicky up, she decided. A high pitched cry from the bedroom stopped Joy short at the kitchen door.
She hesitated, then crossed the living room to the partially opened bedroom door.
The sight greeting her eyes froze Joy there. Vicky was in bed, but she wasn't taking a nap. And she wasn't alone. A dark-haired girl lay sprawled naked across the big circular bed.
Joy stared, unable to take her eyes from the girl, the small heaving breasts, the glow of lust in the girl's eyes. Her mouth was twisted with sweet pains of ecstasy. Her slender body was arched to receive the caresses Vicky Neale was bestowing on her.
A strange feeling dug at Joy's insides. Suddenly, she knew what it was. She was jealous of the lovely young creature with Vicky. An urge came, an urge to rush into the room and scratch the dark-haired girl's eyes out. But she couldn't move. The fascination of the scene paralyzed to her limbs.
Vicky's whimpering noises mingled with the urgent cries of the girl she was making love to.
Joy, watching the dark-haired girl arch and twist, clutched her breasts. She could almost feel the girl's ecstasy. Beads of perspiration formed on Joy's forehead. She could feel the sweat on her thighs.
The women on the bed changed positions. Joy wanted to turn and run. She couldn't move. Vicky's face was contorted with rapture, now. Jealousy tore at Joy's insides. It wasn't right.
No one had the right to give her Vicky pleasure.
But Vicky was enjoying it. The naked passion registered in her face, the way her legs danced in the air, her hands clutching the dark head, all attested to what she was experiencing.
Joy stared at the hips, the thighs, slowly moving and increasing in tempo as the fires rose. For some reason, she suddenly thought of her mother and the other time she had been a witness to love.
But, this was different. This was Vicky, her Vicky.
Joy bit her hp to hold back the sob. She felt pain and then realized she was clutching her breasts so tight, it hurt.
"Don't stop, don't stop."
Joy heard Vicky's plaintive scream, the begging. How many times had she thrilled to that same plea. Staring, she couldn't take her eyes from Vicky's dancing legs, the bobbing dark head that was the reason for the wild excitement.
She heard her own sobs break from her lips. She felt the agony, the need in her own body. The ache was unbearable.
Another scream, much sharper, the scream of fulfillment, brought Joy back to reality.
Her own scream, high pitched, came, in unison. Joy had no knowledge of screaming. The pent-up emotion broke free, bubbled out, from deep, so terribly deep within.
Suddenly, her world was spinning in crazy circles. Getting a grip on herself, Joy poured a drink. The whiskey burned raw down her throat. Then, a dull ache came.
"Darling, you will let me explain?" Vicky was behind her. "It's not what you think at all."
Joy turned. "There's no need for explanation," she said.
Just then, the dark-haired girl came out of the bedroom. She was dressed.
"Joy, this is Leona," Vicky introduced.
Joy nodded to the girl and quickly averted her eyes. In the one quick glance she could see Leona was lovely and no more than eighteen.
"I better go, Vicky," the girl said.
"Yes, I'll call you, Leona," Vicky replied. Then, as the door closed, she poured herself a drink and turned again to Joy.
"Leona doesn't mean anything to me, Darling. She works for Trey. She dropped in this afternoon to tell me about a party we have to work this evening."
"Just dropped in?" Joy sneered. "Don't make it worse by lying, Vicky."
"All right, there have been a few times. After all, you were in the hospital. I was lonely. And this damned job of yours. You're always so tired when I come home." Vicky reached for her, her fingers cupping Joy's breasts. "Please, don't be jealous," she pleaded.
Joy trembled, and then there was no meaning. The excitement wasn't there. All she could feel was revulsion. A picture of Leona on the bed with Vicky was all she could see.
"Don't, damn you! Don't touch me," she cried. Turning, she ran out of the apartment. She walked aimlessly, stopping at a small restaurant where she had coffee. A half-hour later, she found herself in a show, not seeing what was going on on the screen. All that registered in her mind was that she had to leave Vicky. It was after nine when she returned. Vicky was gone. Joy packed her bag. An hour later, she had a room at the Y. It would do until she found an apartment.