Chapter 11

He stood only a few feet away from her in the elevator but he had to strain to hear her say, "Good night, Lou."

Lora Marks was the only colored girl in the city room. Everyone liked her-especially the cheery way she smiled and said goodbye to everyone at the end of the day. He turned slowly from his maze of nervous thoughts that had been depressing him. The day had been rough and he had quibbled with the editor over sundry details. Now he was bored and tired and a blurring image of spending a lonely evening in his apartment awakened him to reality.

"Oh, hello, Lora," he said, "I'm sorry I didn't notice you. My mind has been clobbered lately."

They walked from the elevator together into the spacious lobby. He was a little more steady now that she had shaken him from his lethargy. Seeing her suddenly set a plan buzzing in his mind for creating an interesting evening together.

"How about a drink at the tavern before you go home, Lora?" he suggested.

She stopped and bit her lips. She was pretty and shapely and although she came from another world she gave an impression of inherited wealth and breeding. She looked radiant in a tweed skirt and silk blouse and she stared at him with mixed emotions.

She smiled broadly, revealing firm white teeth as they shown through her sensuous lips.

"Aren't you travelling at a phantom clip, Lou?"

He knew what she meant. His nervousness renewed.

"You should know me better than that, Lora," he said apologetically, "I'm not one of those...."

He hesitated. "Bigots? Is that what you meant to say?" she asked.

He laughed. "Exactly."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I want to have a drink and I should be proud to have you keep me company, Lora." He took her arm. "The whole world is on the verge of new life."

They walked along. "Well, at least you're a good spokesman for ordinary decency," she said.

Some of the patrons in the lounge stared at them as they moved to a small booth in the rear. He ordered drinks from a curious waitress who dropped her order pad twice as she departed.

They sipped their drinks casually as they talked. He knew she was searching him out but after the second drink she saw him finally and utterly with a real sharpness for what he was. He was not pretending at all, she was sure. She relaxed. But-what did he want, she wondered to herself.

Lou felt relaxed and witty-the dazzling agitation he had been through recently completely asleep in the scabbard of forgetfulness. When he switched to reality she stared at him.

"I'd like to come to your place-if even for an hour, Lora," he suddenly suggested. He thought his voice was pleading and he hated himself for it.

She said, "All right, Lou, but just for a short while."

It was a small house on a private street and it contained a half dozen apartments. Her apartment was severe and she proudly explained the antique pieces in the living room.

When he headed straight for the cabinet with bar glasses she stopped him. "If you want to stay, you better not have any more," she said.

He looked sharply at her and was about to say something tart, but he shrugged and sat on the closest chair. "Hell, then, let's talk, Lora. How are Marilyn's rewrites coming along?"

"I think she may have some problems-the paper too-if any arrests are made and she can't substantiate the facts. She is condemning a community, you know."

"I don't get it." Lou's eyes narrowed.

"It's very simple, Lou. I saw the original notes and I can see how she's jazzing it up to sound like a confession sort of thing. In tomorrow's series she's even injecting actual conversations with various characters. She better watch out. They're a tough bunch to intimidate."

"But she hasn't actually spoken to any Garden Street characters-I know that. She merely did background on the situation," said Lou.

"Well, you wait and see. I typed tomorrow's article this afternoon and she has a tramp dame there by the name of Tina-something or other-and she's supposed to be the leader of the narcotic and prostitute gang. I don't like it, Lou, I think Marilyn has some wild ambitions." Lora shook her head sadly and pulled her garment over over her knees, totally unaware of his surprise.

Lou was astonished. He smiled wide in a jack-o-lantern style-to hide his charged emotions. Marilyn was doing with her talents what poets did with words-creating a fantastic, unsubstantiated miasma. Now he was sorry he had filled her in on so many little details and background.

"What else, Lora, tell me?" he demanded softly.

She shrugged. "That's all, Lou, I don't know any more." Then a sudden look of doubt was in her eyes. "I hope I didn't say the wrong thing?"

He waved his hand. "I'm glad you told me. I'm the one who can hold her in line and make her hold to the facts. Thanks, Lora. I won't involve you at all," he said firmly.

Nothing seemed suddenly tidal to him now. He stared at the slender and pretty girl before him and she seemed very dedicated with huge burning eyes and a wane smile.

The sight of her pretty legs put some life into him. He stroked his cheek and looked deep into the girl's eyes. Then he said it before he could retract it.

"Lora, I want to love you." His words were a rush-not a gentle pour.

She was looking at him. "Why do you want to go to bed with a negress?" she asked.

His answer was almost inaudible. "Because you're a woman-a very desirable woman, Lora." He sat staring at her-only a few feet away-but he had to strain to catch her answer.

The words were a compliment, she knew. But men were used to rendering compliments in these situations.

She remembered the warmth that she had experienced the first time with a white man. She had slept with him out of pity more than lust. He had been a student expelled from a small college and his huge eyes burned her resistance as she indulged in an obsessive attention to details of how a white man loves. He had a knack for stripping all the essential sexual details down the drain as he transferred his excitement to her. It was like trying to impress a rhino with a popgun. She had a horror of repeating an affair with a white man since. In her memory she had buried the mangled remains of that one time.

But when Lou approached her it grabbed her as nothing else had. He seemed to have everything she needed and she went with him into the bedroom. She was aware she was doing something she vitally needed-importantly urgent. She wanted a tremendous release which she felt this strong, handsome white man could give her. It was as simple as that. He would pickle her and put her away and then give another woman her day. But she didn't care.

When they were completely undressed she explored his tongue with hers. When their mouths had been locked together like bonded rubber for some time she sensed his pulsations-a slow rythm and she relaxed and waited for him to come to her. Her heart was lunging but she did not quite know why. Perhaps it was the healthy appearance of his big muscular body-perhaps he had a stronge bloodstream that made her heart beat faster. She parted herself not knowing exactly what to expect. His thrusts were like the rhythmic swell of breakers against a rocky shore and she began responding in rhymically and in time with the pattern.

When her thighs grew numb from his weight she felt she would rather have it amputated than move it away. She fought desperately to keep up with him. This white man was a sexual boomerang and he knew how to wedge himself firmly within her so that she could erupt when the signal flared. She was convulsed with him in a constant holding action and when he finally flooded her she stormed along helplessly with him, screaming shrilly and thinly.

When it was over she thought that now he could forget her. He had conquered what he had sought. But she knew she could not forget him easily. It had been a lovely dream.