Chapter 9
Gail sat at the piano playing Rustle of Spring; her repertory had not improved and she was tired of her ineffectual efforts. She removed her fingers from the keyboard and banged the piano closed. It had been an idiotic idea-to acquire a piano just to have a crude beatnik around. For so she now often thought of him in her mind. Three years younger than herself, he seemed infantile to her now with his crazy moods and attitudes toward her switching from rudeness to polite sufferance. Even their lovemaking was reduced to twice a week. Knowing the full scale of his passion and with the thrill of novelty worn thin, he was just another extremely self-centered, conceited young man. By now she doubted seriously that his piano-tinkling would ever amount to much.
And yet, they still had their moments of burning ecstasy when lust gilded the hour and she submitted shivering to his naked sensuality, finding temporary relief from boredom.
She wondered how much Janice Bailey guessed about their affair; she had come up to their table in the corner bar where they sometimes met, her eyes greener than Gad's, full of malicious amusement.
"Caught you two lovebirds." She had sat down and joined them in a drink.
"I'm taking teacher here to my house for my piano lesson," said Gail.
"What for a piano?" giggled Janice. "I've heard of pet dogs and other suitable extra-exciting incitements to intimacy...."
"Well, anyway, believe it or not, Janice," Kent had spoken up, "Gail is trying to learn how to play-helps to pass the time."
"When a healthy man and woman get together they don't need a piano-they can make beautiful music together without it," quoth Janice.
Janice had left pretending an appointment. Well, Gail knew she wouldn't gossip-she was too busy with her own affairs. Janice Bailey is an interesting type, reflected Gad. And even though I know her tastes, she's not repulsive to me. And I know she wouldn't mind hopping into bed with me, she added to herself. She had a way of eating you up with those green eyes, smiling, laughing up her sleeve at you. She dressed like a dream. In that olive-green suit, so superbly tailored, she had looked like a green sapling, straight and slender. Yet even though she might feel and act like a male, the impudent mounds of her breasts had shown her up as a woman. Her body must be milky white as is her face, she pursued the thought. And those slim tapered fingers should prove exciting....
Quickly she stopped all thought of Janice. Kent was due shortly and she needed to spark his desire by being her most attractive self. She took off the new green brocade house coat, a gift from Jack, and, completely nude, walked into the bathroom. The cold shower pricked her skin, making her glow all over. She toweled herself dry with the huge yellow towel and now stood before the mirror, her hands cupping her breasts. Was she seeing things? They seemed swollen, heavier, and the nipples looked rather discolored. She ran her palms along her hips, feeling them more curvy. No doubt, she was gaining weight. She frowned. Was that good? Or did she have to watch her calories? Turning slowly, she decided a little more flesh was becoming. Jack often called her his broomstick.
Kent was half an hour late. Gail liked punctuality, She chose to remain seated on the couch, pouting.
"So you finally got yourself here. Something more important must have come up."
All jauntiness, he sat down by her side and kissed her cheek. "Something nice did come up-I met Janice on the way; she invited me to ride in her car, and she dropped me here."
"Really? I'm surprised you didn't invite her up." Gail's tone was icy.
"I almost did-but I wanted to discuss that with you first."
"Discuss-what is there to discuss?" she pursed her coral lips.
"Now, don't play the goddess, Gail. Janice is a very-stimulating person. She would be most stimulating for us both. Any love affair, even one like ours, needs a shot in the arm, some new excitement, or it gets stale."
Gad stared at him aghast. She found nothing to say but thought plenty. So that pup was getting tired of her, of the love game she tried so hard to make intriguing. But then, she instantly confronted truth-that the novelty had worn off. Yes," they both had grown tired of each other at the same moment almost.
Kent smiled a knowing smile. "Why don't we share joy with Janice? Plenty to go around," he suggested.
"Are you serious?" Gad's eyes held a strange malicious twinkle.
"Never more. No doubt you know she's a Les. But I'd call her a hybrid Les," he cackled. "Clever way to put it, don't you think?"
"Your cleverness exhausts me, dear. And what is a hybrid Les, may I ask?"
"Well, as you no doubt found out by personal experience," he leered, "being friends with her, she prefers her own sex. With one exception. Being charged enough by female co-operation, she will then gladly allow a man to have his way with her ... lots of fun, don't you think?"
Gail tried to let it sink in, her eyes green glass balls of wonderment.
"I can see the idea intrigues you. So, I'm for immediate action. Get the girl here for tomorrow p.m., and we'll experiment."
"You mean here, in my house?"
"Safest place for extra-marital ventures, the home-you should know."
But as it happened, the thrilling adventure took place at Janice's studio apartment. Gail didn't make a move, Kent arranged it all. At least, so Gail found out later....
Gail hadn't laid eyes on her youthful lover for three days and kept wondering whether she'd seen the last of him. Thus far, it didn't bother her too much. She still lived in the afterglow-memory of their last time together. He had been like the first time, wild and playful, arrogant like a young bull, brusquely, brutally taking possession of her the way she liked it. Leaving her with a lingering lassitude, 'her body aching, yet light as air; her mind becalmed.
She wondered what to do with the long afternoon, staring dully at the piano, a silent adversary with whom she didn't feel like wrangling.
She jumped at the shrill ringing of the phone. So, he couldn't wait any longer. She yanked off the receiver, not waiting for his voice.
"I had been wondering whether you'd left town, Kent-"
She listened to the low chuckle. "I know I'm a poor substitute, this is only little Janice wondering whether I could entice you to come to my place. Look at abstract paintings-more thrilling than etchings," she giggled.
"Why Janice, I'd love to." She scribbled down the address on the pad by the phone. "I'll be over in a jiffy. Can I bring something?"
"Just bring yourself," chirped Janice. "That will be enough."
Slipping into the black nylon panties it occurred to her that Kent had not been mentioned. Would he be there? Or was this an intimate tete a tete with Janice? Well, no matter, she'd enjoy herself. Janice was clever and amusing. Gail had an idea she wouldn't go for those abstract paintings; she wanted to see what could be seen without having odd curves and circles explained.
She chose her gown with care; Janice always wore the right colors, the ones that flattered her red hair and pale complexion. She settled on a royal blue jersey that hugged her curves, with shoes and bag to match. Her mink stole went admirably well with it and completed the ensemble. She dipped the blue feather pdl box atop her shining coppery curls and nodded at her reflection in the mirror. Smari, and not over-dressed, she said to herself, leaving the apartment.
Janice lived in a different suburb, one even more exclusive than Gail's. The two-story brick house looked ancient, although well kept, as if it had been there forever. Gail lifted the artistic brass knocker; it banged down with a metallic sound, and she entered a dim, cool hall looking for the apartment bell, when she heard Janice's voice.
"Come right up. Second floor. Door's open."
She ascended red-carpeted, ancient stairs. Janet was expecting her in the door, grabbing her hands and pulling her inside.
"I'd hoped for so long you'd come and visit."
Through a small foyer where an antique, gold-framed mirror shimmered dully, Janice led her into a high-ceilinged room with a big northern skylight. It was cluttered with large canvasses, some of them still wet, lined up along the walls; others were hanging framed on the wall.
"Do sit down, dear."
Gail sank into the intricately carved chair upholstered with faded red satin, an antique no doubt, placing her purse on the inlaid low table.
"What a charming retreat," she said, her eyes roving over violent blobs of color splashed on the various canvasses.
"You're the most charming object here," complimented Janice. "The colors you're wearing are so right."
"And you, Janice, look like the artist at work."
Janice wore skin-tight sea-green torero pants that spanned her lean buttocks intriguingly. The rose and gold patterned silk blouse hung loosely about her frame letting you guess at what was beneath. She wore her hair severely combed back, revealing a high, slightly rounded forehead. She looked more youthful and the changed hairdo made her features look piquant. Green satin mules shod her tiny feet, The blouse was sleeveless, showing well-rounded, white arms. She wore no jewelry.
They sat there scrutinizing each other for some time, finally bursting out laughing at the same instant.
"Men just take in a woman as a whole, but leave it to us, we see and appreciate every fine point," said Janice.
Gad sniffed; a strange, sweetish scent filled the air. Amber, she guessed. "What is it? Reminds me of church." She looked around the room and saw the spiral of blue smoke curling up out of the huge Buddha's mouth.
"I like the Oriental touch, makes me dreamy," said Janice. "Life is so aggressive, and one has to dream to be and remain creative."
Gad looked at the attractive creature who was not only decorative, but a worker also, an artist; she felt infinitely inferior at that moment.
"You have such a rich life, Janice; you don't have to-to depend on others to make life interesting."
"Don't I? We all need someone-if for nothing else but to know our true value ... But you didn't come here to talk philosophy ... You appealed to me the first time I saw you-you're so full of vigor, clamoring for life and excitement. Well, does marriage provide all the excitement you need?" And as Gail kept sdent. "Of course not, it never will for a woman of your type. Although our friend Kent is not the final solution. Now, how about some drinks? Bourbon okay?" She arose and went into the other room, calling, "you may want to take a glance at my work. And, I don't expect you to like it."
Gad 'wandered from one canvas to the next, puzzled, unable to make them out. Finally she turned to the half finished portrait on the easel that stood in the shadows in the far corner. Startled, she bent closer. The copper curls, the nose and the wide lips were her own. It was a good likeness. The figure, apparently a nude, was only sketched out, reclining on some purple divan. The expression in the green eyes was one of intense greed. Is that the way I appear to others? Gail asked herself, startled hearing Janice's voice who had come up behind her.
"That's the way I see you. Of course it's difficult to do a nude without the model. I hope you won't mind-posing for me."
"Not at all," the words were out before Gail knew what they might imply. "The face is my own, you got it exactly right."
"I always study my subjects before putting them on canvas," said Janice, tending her the tall, filled glass. "I hope you don't mind, I put the ice in. Taste it."
Gail took a sip; it was potent and seared her in-sides. "Just right," she smiled, watching Janice drain her drink.
"I guess you don't understand my work. I would not expect you to. Abstract art isn't painting photographically, it's putting feelings and moods on canvas. It takes a practiced eye to enjoy it ... It took Bob two years to find out-and then it was too late."
"But I thought-"
"You thought right. I think men are a waste of time. It so happens that Bob Acron was my attempt at marriage-one that ended in divorce, of course. But let's dispense with husbands. Come, let me show you the rest of the place."
Gail followed Janice into a white and gold bedroom, surprisingly angular and modern. Gold brocade curtains resembled stately, fluted columns against the dead white wall.
"I never pictured you in a boudoir like this," said Gail, inspecting the wide bed with ochre-colored nylon sheets and pillows.
"I like to surprise my playmates," giggled Janice, standing before the glass-topped dresser, patting her hair. Gail looked at the battery of bottles and flagons, the array of jars and powder boxes fit for a prima donna.
Janice pointed at a closed white door. "Kitchen and my junky den are in there. And you may want to use the bathroom."
Gad entered the large room and gasped. It looked funereal-all tiled in black, with the huge sunken tub of the same color. Hand and bath towels too were night-black, so was the downy bathmat into which her feet sank.
"It's-it's different. Exotic. But so are you,Janice." She took off her hat and went into the other room to place it on a white bench, her fingers combing dirough her curls.
"Sit down here by me, or, are you afraid? I don't bite-I just nibble," said Janice who was reclining on the sheet watching Gail closely. "Tell me about your Jack and yourself-just a short sketch. I have a feeling you married him to escape a small town-bored, wanting out. And now you find yourself trapped."
Gail wanted to object, say it wasn't that way at all, then kept quiet. For Janice had hit the nail on the head-or almost. She looked into Janice's understanding eyes, feeling the sudden overwhelming need Jo unburden herself. Possibly to rid herself of an old guilt.
"Jack was my sister's fiance. I snatched him just before their wedding." She closed her eyes, her mind going back to Plymouth Falls. "My sister Myra is everything I'm not, sweet-tempered, angelic, of a Madonna-like beauty and disposition. Golden-haired with violet eyes. Everybody loved her."
"Your sister sounds rather blah; you're the exotic, exciting type, Gail. I would never paint your sister, I'm sure. I bet she's large-breasted with bouncy curves."
"I always envied her those-snowballs," said Gail. "I still wonder how I landed Jack."
"How did you-mind telling me?"
For one instant only Gail hesitated. But she knew she could trust Janice who'd understand, being worldly wise and women-wise. So, to the impassive pale face of Janice she told about intercepting Jack's letter, flying to Chicago, conveying the message that Myra had changed her mind.
"I took him by surprise and by storm," she explained. "He was a lost and lonesome guy. I was handy. I was the company he needed at that moment-so I saw to it he made it permanent."
"And now you're sorry you put yourself out," concluded Janice...."How did she take it-your sister?"
"I can only guess. I found it best to send a wire after the ceremony, stating the facts. When Dad died, a short while ago, Myra sent a wire. I-wired back ... I often wonder what happened to Myra she's the kind to carry an everlasting torch. But then, by now she's probably married Marty, her old admirer. They own the largest hardware store in Plymouth," she added.
"Well I only hope she stays right where she is-in your home town. It might aggravate things ... But then, time makes people look at things differently."
"In a way, I would like to meet up with my sister again; I'm curious whether her beauty is holding up. I guess her disposition, even and sunny will never change."
"Let sleeping sisters lie," admonished Janice "Want to know about me? I never knew my parents I was raised by an aunt, way out Nebraska way. Quite a colorful character she was. Buxom, big-bosomed, liking her whiskey, and even at sixty being helped out by two lovers. One, a truck driver, found it to his taste to ravish sweet, inexperienced Janice under the stairs." She shuddered and her face suddenly looked lined and haggard, showing her years of fast living. "I stayed down there in that dark hole for a long time, crying away my horror. The distaste for men, starting as of that time, remained with me. Feeling soded and broken, I slunk to my room trying to cleanse away what soap and water never could rub away-my utter loathing. There was no use telling my aunt; she liked Max's earthy lovemaking and would never believe me ... I was sixteen then. I really hated to leave her for she was kind in her own fashion. A man had used me-so I decided to use a man to get away.
"Jim was the first traveling salesman I met up with. I worked as a car-hop then, at a diner. He couldn't travel fast enough for me. Never stopping till the next town. He drove to a motel and wanted his reward right then and there. I promised in the morning, pretending tiredness. Well, while he snored away I sneaked out, lifting two tens from his wallet. There were many tens in there, he'd never miss those. I took a room in that town and got another car-hop job. There I met up with a winner-well, he fell for me and married me. A sad disappointment for both parties. By that time I had started sketching; he even paid for my instructions. And we parted almost friends. Slowly, painstakingly, I made my way. And, believe it or not-a woman gave me my big break." She stopped to take a deep breath, her hand brushing over her tired face.
"I was wearing a black velvet beret and white satin shirt, trying to look Bohemian, sketching the patrons in a dingy night club who didn't want their portrait. The lights were very dim. I halted at Anik's table-Anik Morrow, you may have heard her name; she happens to be a leading abstract painter-sure I'd be chased away. Her dark slanting eyes looked right through me as if she wanted to know all my secrets with that one look. 'I hope you get the eyes right, they never do,' she said, waving a slim hand, encouraging me to start. I perched on a stool, the charcoal trembled in my hand. Doing her seemed easy; she had a lean, arresting face, almost ascetic. And I did get the eyes right. As I handed her the sketch she looked at it for a long time. I felt faint. Then she smiled. 'You finally did me right. Yes, you have talent.' She opened her beaded bag, extracted a bill and gave it to me. 'Here,' she shoved a card into my hand, 'come and see me. We'll talk about your future-for you have a future, girl."
"Anik became my teacher-in painting and in love. For two years I stayed with her. Then she wanted a change of locale and girl. She departed for Tahiti, leaving me her studio and a sizeable sum of money. From there on I had clear sailing...."
Gad was impressed. Now here was a woman who had really carved her own career from blood and hunger.
"Quite a life you've had." Gail took the slender fingers and pressed them, giving vent to her admiration. "Today, you can look back and, more important, you can look down on many people."
"I never look down-those who're down today may be on top tomorrow ... But enough of story telling. Let me make us another drink. No, you stay here," she pressed Gad down on the couch. "Kitchen looks a mess. I'm a rotten housekeeper."
Gail wondered why she protested so violently, but dismissed the thought, thinking about Janice's checkered career. The girl deserved her success; she had courage-courage to live and love as she pleased.
Janice deposited the drink on the bedside table and went back to the half-opened door peering inside the kitchen as if she'd hid something valuable there.
"I just wondered whether I'd closed that refrigerator," she said, picking up her glass and clinking it to Gail. "Let's drink to the two most fascinating people I know-us!"