Chapter 18
"Naomi, have you decided?" Holden asked as the warm sunlight began to fill their room. "Decided?"
"Will you stay with me?"
"If you still want me," she assured him. "So long as I satisfy you, I shall be glad to be ... be your mistress."
"Naomi," intoned the happy voice. "Satisfied? I've never had anybody take care of me like you just did."
Her smile flooded her face, a feeling of contentment and a sense of accomplishment that she had never known before burned with pride inside.
"Then, I meant what I said. I'm yours."
"Oh, Naomi," he cried with sudden emotion and happiness, crushing her to him.
After a moment he drew her away to question seriously "Are you really sure, honey. You're young and beautiful. I can't kid myself with my ugliness and fat. Besides I'm old enough to be your father."
How could she tell him? He had been like a haven in her storm. He was an anchor of security when all else had failed and abandoned her. Both knew the agony of desolation, and it bound them together.
She wanted him not for what he could give her materially, but for the spiritual and emotional gifts and solace that their kindred souls had so long quested and found in each other. Looking deep into his eyes she tried to muster the verbal meaning that she felt, to tell him. But he knew already. Perhaps that was it. He knew. She didn't have to struggle with words.
Her arms embraced him and her lips and body tried to express herself in the only way she knew how. He was warm and yielding and they melted together in the sympathy and understanding of giving.
Suddenly she was aware of an abrupt stiffness in his body. A stiffness born of fear and surprise. She followed his eyes, and saw that he was staring toward the door. Naomi turned her head to see what he was looking at.
And looked into the cruel angry face of Verna!
Naomi smothered a cry of fright and quickly buried her face into Holden's chest. His arms went about her protectively.
"How sweet," the hard voice from the door hissed. "How sweet and touching!"
Naomi forced herself to look back at the other woman. And it was then she saw the gun gripped tightly in her fist.
"What are you doing here, Verna?" Holden asked carefully.
It was obvious he didn't want to provoke or upset the angry woman any further.
"What do you think I'm doing here! Protecting my interests, that's what ... I'm doing...!"
Naomi started to get out of the bed but a wave of the gun kept her pinned to the mattress.
"Don't move, bitch," Verna ordered. "I wanna be sure and get a good picture of my husband in bed with his whore-lover!"
"Picture?" Naomi heard him question. "Do you mean a photograph? Something you can use as evidence in a court? Are you going to divorce me? You don't need the picture. I'll give you whatever you want-as much as you want!"
"Not that kind of picture, stupid," the woman snarled. "I meant an image in my brain. Of course I'm not going to divorce you. Why should I, when I can wait and get everything? No, I just want a picture of the two of you so I can always remember how you looked when I kill her!"
"Kill her!"
Naomi waited breathlessly, afraid to move.
"Yes, kill her! And there isn't a court in the land that'll convict me. I was protecting my home and my marriage. That's what I'll tell them. And you think they won't believe me. Especially when they find out what she is-a damn whore!"
"Don't do it, Verna," he pleaded.
But the savage laughter from the figure by the door told her the answer.
"Why not? The whole thing is perfect. Too per-feet. It took me months to find this little love nest of yours. Private detectives cost me plenty. And if you think I'm gonna throw this opportunity away, you're even more stupid than I think you are!"
Then with slow deliberateness, she raised the pistol and pointed it at Naomi.
"Don't do it!" Holden shouted and then he lunged forward just as she pulled the trigger.
His hands were thrust forward in front of him as if he were trying to ward off the bullets and Naomi saw the rigid sudden recoil of his body as the slugs tore into him. He had deliberately moved in front of her to protect her from Verna, and in so doing had moved into the path of fire.
"Ohhh, God!" Naomi shrieked at the realization.
Suddenly she found herself scrambling on her hands and knees toward his slumping body. And she cradled him in her arms, oblivious to the bright crimson bath of his blood against her honey-colored skin.
He stiffened for one final moment and fell limp in her arms. Though she knew he was dead, she continued to rock him back and forth in the cradle of her embrace. And while she did, her tears flooded down onto his upturned silent face.
"That's right, bitch," she was aware of Verna cursing at her. "Cry. Why shouldn't you, you've just lost your meal ticket. I heard what he offered you. Apartment. Clothes. Everything. No wonder you're crying. So would I, if I was going to lose something like that!"
But Naomi wasn't crying because of the loss of her material luxuries. Not even for herself, at all.
For the first time she was weeping for someone else.
For the still, silent form in her arms. For he was the only man who had been good to her. The only man who had really wanted to give to her. The only one who hadn't used her.
Someone who had cared. Someone good had wanted her. Wanted her for herself.
And now he was gone.
He'd never know what she had to offer him. Never know the joys and pleasures that she'd wanted to give to him. He'd freed her and now she couldn't repay him-in the only way she knew how.
With her love!
Filled for just a few moments. Their aching voids had been filled such a short time!
Slowly she lifted her tear-sheened face and looked at Verna.
"Shoot me," she said in a hard voice. "You'd better kill me while you still have a chance. Because if you don't I'm going to kill you!"
She started to get up and the force of the bullets drove her back to a sitting position on the bed. There was a soft happy smile on her face as her body began to fold and crumple. Then she fell across him and in a last feeble effort embraced him.
"Stupid fools," Verna cursed down at them contemptuously. "What did she think I was going to do, let her walk out of here and tell the police that I shot him down in cold blood? This way, they'll believe my story about being the wronged woman-with a good lawyer, I'll have no trouble getting away with it!"
She chuckled for a moment, thinking of her plan, imagining her tearful, choking story in court and the sympathetic jurors wringing their hands over her plight. They would think of that mulatto whore and senile old man the young wife had devoted herself to.
And she began to laugh hysterically. How wonderful! How stupidly moronic and sniveling of those people! But that's how they'd be especially with a filthy, money-hungry black bitch in the picture. How nicely it all worked out. How nicely!
The contempt was still in her face as she continued to stare down at them and then, because of the expression on Naomi's face, Verna had to turn away.
A woman always knows when she's looking at another woman who has loved and who has been loved ... in return.