Chapter 7

Looking back now, reliving the moment, she knew it had been a disappointment. Even then, as she watched him bend over her, ready and waiting for the big, earth-shaking moment that would tear the veil of innocence and make her a woman, she had suddenly sobered, feeling repelled by his rosy whiteness. Jack, she thought, had a pale-brown skin, one loved by the sun. She would hold the thought throughout; that way she could imagine it to be Jack who opened up the realm of the senses to her. His dark eyes she would see, burning with desire.

She met the assault, eyes closed, feeling his hard young body pressing her down into the darkness. His lips were careful and tender, covering her face and throat with kisses that raised goose pimples on her skin. She felt his fingers combing through her hair.

"It's like corn-silk," he muttered, "spun of sun rays."

The warmth of his body ignited her own and his caresses told her he was experienced. Her breasts felt like bursting and she shivered as his tongue traced circles on the tender globes. Her hands ran over his smooth cap of hair-for to please her he had abandoned the brush cut-and dug into his shoulders.

"Darling, open your eyes, you seem so far away," he breathed into her ear.

But that she would not do. She kissed his lips and felt excitement clouding thought as his hot tongue entered her palate. Her legs tensed; she felt like a violin string ready to meet the bow so that a timeless melody could be extracted by the fiddler who knew how to play his instrument.

His lips wandered about her body, moistening mounds and valleys, coming to rest on her midriff. She felt a curious finger probing, heard his choked outcry. "My darling, tell me I'm the first, that it is I...."He shivered, his voice was threaded with humility.

She caressed his cheeks, never saying one word, not wanting to break the spell. Hoping it would forever abolish the picture of Jack.

"I do love you dear, and I shall be gentle."

She wanted to yell at him: Be brutal, crush me, invade me powerfully. Her hands sought his tautness, trying to foretaste the powerful thrust. She wanted to be raped, wanted to faint away in the act.

He forced her legs apart and moved in for the kill.

His hands held her down and now she cried out feeling a searing, unbearable stab of pain as he pierced the veil and infiltrated her. She bit her lips feeling each piston shove like a fiery knife. She cried softly as he moved on, seeking release. Now the pain subsided as soft balm moistened her in-sides and he lay still, his head on her shoulder.

Slowly he detached himself, his worried eyes scanning her face. Her eyes were open now, she smiled wanly.

"Dearest! I am a selfish brute. And I know I hurt you. When I want so much to make you happy!" He kissed her tenderly and held her close, stroking her hair. "My baby, mine!"

And in the bathroom, washing away his traces, she thought, not yours, never. The first time a girl should give herself for love-well, she had given herself to know about love. There was the difference. It had "been painful and she was glad it was over with. She had wasted herself on a man she didn't love enough. It served her right. Then she thought, that whole sex business is really not much, or, maybe Jack guessed right and I'm a frigid woman. Yes, that's why Gail had landed him-she had fire.

But the second time she felt no pain, only stark, sweetly disturbing, uprooting pleasure; she was carried away by his wildness, her body arching to receive him. Anticipating tingling ecstasy, wallowing in hot moistness, straining, aching toward fulfillment. She led the way, egged him on, bruised his skin with sucking marks. She dug her teeth into his lower lip till she drew blood, exulted at his fierce assault, yielding herself to the wave of sensuality that spilled over her, engulfing her. Her blood roared; her head felt light. Her skin was a burning gown searing him. This time, she was all feeling, moving along with him, carried away by his rhythm, accelerating his thrust, moving beneath him. Possessed, filled and annihilated by his strength that dissolved her weakness. This time, she shared his pleasure, trembling in lost ecstasy, soaring to the highest pinnacle and remaining there suspended, floating on a cloud of blissful nirvana.

"You," his trembling hands touched her pale cheek, "you were with me all the way. You're mine!"

As she offered her lips she believed she loved him.

But later, in the privacy of her room, she knew he was good for her; he gave her peace. And joyfully she remembered every moment of his second taking, now knowing that a passionate woman had emerged from the frigid cocoon of a girl she had been too long. Yes, she wanted more of this heady drink of passion, wanted to lose herself, surrender her body, stop all thought and drown in the flood of desire. His adoration, the agony of desire she had caused in him, was to her needed medicine. Her heart had nothing to do with it.

Two weeks later, they became engaged. Her mother approved of Earl; he was gentle-mannered, soft-spoken and deferential to her.

"I hope you don't want a mansion and a Cadillac, darling." He was holding her hand as Mrs. Harris had left them alone after dinner. "Would you mind waiting till next fall?" His eyes were worried. "I get a promotion then and you wouldn't have to keep on with your job."

Marriage was the furthest thing from her mind; things suited her as they were. Seeing Earl every night for a few hectic hours of lovemaking was fine. But having to face him every morning at breakfast seemed a distasteful thought.

"But I like my job, Earl," her voice was light. "And it's better not to rush into-things. Besides, you might change your mind."

"Never," swore Earl, taking her in his arms. "You are what I want. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you."

Earl's lovemaking suited her fine; not a novice in the ars amoris, he taught her the more intricate nuances, using his educated tongue, letting her reciprocate the favor. Virile to the utmost, he knew how to prolong and delay the tantalizing agony, making fulfillment all the more shattering and complete.

She had about made up her mind that Earl was what she wanted in a husband, when the letter came that changed her entire life. She had found it on the hall table returning from work. As was her habit with all of her mail, she carried it to the privacy of her room, her eyes on the crisp, long envelope. Her eyes grew round as she read the black, embossed name in the left-hand corner, Forum Publishers. Well, a rejection slip, no doubt, and the manuscript would follow later. She tore the envelope open and her shaking hands lifted the letter to her eyes. 'Dear Miss Manners: We have read your manuscript 'Seed of Hate' with interest and are herewith offering you contract.'

She didn't read the rest then. Eyes closed, she tasted her moment of triumph. She was, as of now, an author. Someone, someone who knew, had found her story interesting enough to be printed. And right then she knew, although this was her first book, it would not be her last. She felt many stories stirring to life, clamoring to be put down, black on white. She was a girl with a future!

She ran out of the house to tell Meta Meyers her glad tidings.

Meta seemed not overly surprised. "I know a good story when I read one," she stated, perusing the letter. "Say, they want you in New York-for some editorial changes ... And of course you must go."

Her mother was shocked by the news. "You mean, you wrote a book and people want to publish it, pay you for it?"

"Yes Mother," Myra kissed the withered cheek. "And I'm leaving for New York next week."

Earl's reaction surprised her. "So now you're the famous author. I know it will all go to your head and alienate you from poor, insignificant me."

Knowing he already belonged to a dead past, she felt generous and assured him that this changed nothing in their plans.

"And you'll have your wife working at home, darling. Making money to buy that Cadillac."

"I get along nicely with my Ford," he said, his mouth a tight line.

Her ardent lovemaking that night proved to him that nothing was changed in their plans.

Myra returned from New York a changed woman. Her success had gone to her head; she had been feted, wined and dined, and had added anew human interest to her life-Sid Graham, the well known columnist had had no trouble at all getting into her bed. Interestingly ugly, lean and red-headed, his sardonic wit had tempted and taunted, and she accepted him as an extra earned bonus of pleasure. Knowing this was a one night affair, hoping they would remain friends.

Her exterior marked the inward change of personality. She wore her hair in a short, wispy Italian bob, plastered to her skull; purple eye shadow enhanced the splendor of her eyes. With her new wardrobe and all-over sleekness, Plymouth Falls seemed too small for her. She wanted out. Earl's lovemaking was without zest, and he himself seemed colorless, no one she wanted to tie her future to. But so far she let him believe that he still was number one; she craved adulation and got it from him.

Two months later, Lance Studios bought the book for a large sum, and then she was ordered out to Hollywood to assist with the adaptation of the screen play.

Success was hers; the world was at her feet.

She was feverishly agitated, happy in a hectic way, full of plans, promising her stunned mother she would send for her once she, Myra, was settled out there.

She tried to avoid all talk about the future with Earl who seemed sad and morose these days, clinging to her like a drowning man. Although they were still engaged, they both carefully refrained from setting a date for the wedding.

What a fool she had been to use a pen name-her picture was on the back cover and anyone who knew her could identify the author at once. Myra wondered whether Jack would see the book in a window, buy it, and read about her exposed love. Los Angeles was not too far from Oakland, and it was very possible his business would take Jack there. And how would Gail feel reading the book, seeing herself exposed as the shrew she was, pictured even worse, as a woman who didn't stop at murder....

"Fasten your seat belts, please." The voice of the pretty stewardess jolted her back to the present. She opened her eyes and looked through the porthole, saw the large flat airfield and the gleaming hangar at the end. They were descending, the plane jolted and rocked; now they hit the ground and rolled slowly along, finally coming to a stop.

Myra unfastened the seat belt, picked up her red leather bag and put on her white gloves. She was ready for the press.