Chapter 14
At ten o'clock the door of Dana's room shut behind them.
At ten o'clock and one minute she was lying on the bed, totally naked, stretched out sensually, holding her arms out to Vic.
"You don't waste any time, do you?"
"The people who waste time are the kind who don't know what they want. I know what I want. Therefore...." She beckoned him again. "Come to me."
Vic leaned against a dresser. "You know, a little while back-it seems like years-we talked about what we want and how to get it."
Realizing she had no choice but to bide her time, she rolled over on her side and rested on her elbow. "Yes. You seemed a little confused about that, I remember. But you've changed, Vic. I mean, just the way you spoke to Sparling a minute ago. You didn't take any nonsense from him. In fact, you gave it out. I felt thrilled to hear you talk that way. It's as if you've grown up, found yourself."
"Yes, Dana, that pretty well sums it up. I've learned who I am and what I want and how to go about getting it. And when I knew what I wanted I let nothing stand in my way." He felt the need to turn away from her as he spoke, but it wouldn't be right. There was no turning way from issues any more. Directness was the most effective path, both for him and the other party, whoever it might be. He looked her squarely in the eye. "I learned that from you."
"Glad to be of help to you," she said ironically. She was looking at him with a shadow of suspicion in her expression.
"But I wonder if you know what I've really wanted. If you ever knew."
"You're speaking strangely, Vic. I feel as if I knew a minute ago, but now I'm not so sure."
"The trouble with you is, you're so strong-willed you think that what you want is what everybody else wants. You've wanted to believe in me so much that you've forgotten my needs and made them simply an extension of your own."
Her face became more serious still. The muscles on her sleek body started to grow tense. "I don't think that's such a crime. I've needed you desperately, Vic. More than anything I've ever known. Can you blame me for believing one or two things about you that weren't so, just because I wanted to believe them?"
"No, I guess not. But I'm not talking about little things."
"Thai's becoming obvious. So they're big things. Okay, what are they, and how big?"
Vic gathered up his wits. He had been prepared to be direct, but the directness of her own question came with breathtaking suddenness. Well, this was it. The heart of the matter. Out with it and be done.
"I don't love you. I don't have any intention of marrying you. I love somebody else-Carmina-and I intend to marry her and bring her back to the States."
She didn't budge an inch. Not a muscle wavered.
She just closed her eyes and let the tears flow freely down her face. She cried that way for a minute. Then she lay back and covered her face with a pillow, smothering a sob. Her breasts heaved deeply.
For a moment Vic stood by helplessly. There was nothing he could do to cushion the blow. But then the sight of her pain moved him to sit down beside her on the bed. He put a hand tenderly over her breast. Then he removed the pillow. Her eyes were red but dry. Her jay was squarely set.
"You ... you didn't mean any of what you said tonight?"
His silence was his asset.
"But why? Why? I taught you to be cynical, yes, but to be cruel...."
"When the stakes are high enough and the other team is ruthless enough, it's not quite so difficult. If it will make it easier for you, I can honestly say it gave me a lot of pain to do this, but I had to. I needed those photographs." He told her just what had transpired between Clayboro and himself. Her face dropped the further he went into the story.
When he was finished she was staring into space, her face a study in stunned grief, as if she had just been informed of the death of somebody very dear to her. In a way that was exactly the case. For all the good Vic did her now, he might as well be dead. She pushed his hand off her breast.
"That's all over now," she said. Her voice was as limp as a deflated balloon.
"I hope you're not going to chop our friendship off, just like that. I've come very close to you lately, and I don't mean physically only. I don't mean love either, so call it whatever you want. It's just that there's a lot of you in me. I didn't like you or that part of me that was like you. But since then I've come to respect it-and you. Can we part friends and remain friends?"
A steely glint appeared in her eyes. The soft vulnerability fled from her expression, as if the pain of loving, of baring her deepest emotions, were a weakness that had remained exposed much too long and now had to be covered up. "Friends?" Her voice was hard again. "Friends we never were. Lovers, yes. Enemies, yes. We used each other as tools, yes. But friends, no. The garment just doesn't fit me. At least not where you're concerned. For me it's either love or hate. I think you'd better get out of here now." She rolled away from him. "Okay. He got up. "But I can't believe you feel that way. I've come to know you a little better than that."
"Maybe you don't know me any better than I know you."
"I doubt it. But just in case I'm wrong let me give you a little warning. That photo you have of Isabela and me on the beach: don't show it to Carmina."
She laughed. "Why darling, would I do a thing like that?"
"I said I don't think you would."
"Well, you're so right. That would be a very bitchy thing to do. It would ruin your pure, virginal romance. It would disillusion this flower of the Indies. Who knows? It might even break up the relationship. But I'm not like that, am I? I haven't one iota of meanness in me, have I?"
"I'm counting on your not having as much as you'd like to make me think. But if you want to show her the picture, if it really gives you some perverse satisfaction, then go ahead."
It started out to be a bluff, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized something about Carmina. It dawned on him with profound feeling, making him catch his breath and lose track of everything for just that instant. "Yes," he said with strong conviction ringing in his voice, "you go right ahead, because it can't make a damn bit of difference to her. She's no longer a virgin, sweetheart. She's grown up now, and she understands a lot of things neither of us have given her credit for. So if she doesn't know about Isabela and me, and I'm not so sure she doesn't, then it won't hurt her to find out. She'll understand. I can make her understand. So don't bother showing her the picture. I just may tell her myself anyway."
Dana rolled back and faced him, her face set in red rage, her eyes flashing with frustration and fury. She reached for the ashtray on her nighttable and flung it at him. Vic threw his hands up but a corner of it struck him on the temple. "You lousy, mangey dog, you filthy rat," she screamed, jumping off the bed and flying at him with nails bared and eyes seething with murderous hatred.
Vic reeled from the blow and fell against the door. The knob hit his spine and sent a flash of pain through his solar plexus. "Dana, you're crazy" he could hear his voice shouting at the blur of naked flesh that moved towards him like a human hornet nest.
He thrust his arms out defensively and brought his knee up to protect himself. Her thigh smashed against it and she cried out. But it didn't stop her and she slammed against him with full force. He felt the searing slash of her nails in a dozen places on his arms and chest as they tore through his thin shirt. He groped for her wrists but only managed to catch one, gripping it like a vise and forcing it behind her back. She stumbled against him and her breasts were the only soft things he felt. The rest of her was firm muscle suddenly come violently alive, striking out blindly with uncontrolled need to hurt, hurt, hurt.
Her free hand reached for his eyes and he ducked, but her nails caught him on the cheek. He got hold of her hand. She put her head to his forearm, her teeth flashing. He let go of her wrist and raised his fist, catching her squarely on the chin. She brought her knee up between his legs, but there was no power behind the blow. It hardly touched him, went limp and slid down his thighs.
She looked at him senselessly, idiotically, through eyes that no longer saw, and staggered backwards, falling like a rag doll to the floor.
Panting loudly, sucking air into his aching lungs, he stood over her twisted body. She was on her back, her legs wide apart, her breasts stretched long and low as her arms over her head distended them. All the distortion which rage had given her face had drained from it, leaving an expression of mild, almost placid unhappiness, as though it were her natural countenance. Maybe it was.
He felt very sorry for her.
The sour taste of blood ran into his mouth. He went into the bathroom and removed his shirt, or what was left of it. There were long welts on his shoulder, forearms and chest, and two on his cheek. He threw the shirt in a wastebasket and wet a towel, applying it to the wounds. Finally they started to clot. He wet another towel and went back inside.
Dana's head was rolling from side to side. He kneeled over her and placed the towel on her forehead. She smiled and gave a grunt of satisfaction, like a baby who's just had a botle put in her mouth.
Then she opened her eyes. "Darling," she whispered.
He caressed her cheek and smiled back.
She gazed at him blankly and then recollection returned. With it a tremor of fear in her eyes. She put her arms around his neck and drew him down. "Darling, say it was all a joke, then kiss me and make love to me."
"Dana, I...."
"Say it, Vic. Tell me you didn't mean it." Her arms were strong, demanding."
"No, Dana, it's all over. If you're all right now I'll be going."
"You ... you can't go, you can't. I need you, Vic, I can't live without you. Don't go," she cried, "oh please don't go." She clung to him, embraced him, kissed him as she sobbed hysterically.
He removed her hands from his neck and pushed her away. She made no effort to resist. It was indeed all over. She knew it.
"Don't leave me," she repeated like someone muttering a magic formula she knew had no power.
He stood up and walked to the door. "Goodbye, Dana," was all he could say.
"Don't leave me," she said again, her voice wrung dry of all feeling.
He closed the door behind him and went to his room, put on a new shirt and cleaned up the marks on his face as best he could. He went to his dresser and poured himself a shot of rum. It seared his throat and stomach, but he took another and it went down easier.
Then he combed his hair, shut off the light, went down the stairs to the lobby and headed for the bar. He found Sparling sitting alone over a drink, and looking just a bit morose.
"You said an hour," he remarked, delivering each word like a sharp rap on the knuckles. "That's what I said."
"That was an hour and a half ago."
"I wasn't paying attention to the time."
"You haven't been paying much attention to anything of importance."
"Appearances are deceiving. Let's go somewhere private. I have a number of things to tell you."
"You make it sound as if this is going to be a one-way-discussion," Sparling said resentfully. "I have some things to tell you too, you know."
"I know," Vic replied, "but I'm not particularly interested in hearing them."
They left the bar, Sparling jogging along by Vic's side. Vic strode confidently. He had good reason to be confident. The worst was behind him. He'd dictated his terms to Clayboro and Dana. Sparling would swallow them too.