Chapter 18
With glistening eyes he watched her, studying the soft curves of her figure, clad in nothing but her torn slip.
Strange, thought the boy, for somebody so young, the girl looks pretty beat-up.
His eyes ran over her arms. And then he saw the tiny scars.
"What are you doing in my room?" A flicker of fear leaped into her eyes. But it lasted only for a moment.
The boy's look went to the girl's. "Hi," he said.
"Oh. You," she muttered. "Now I remember. We met at the bar." She reached for a cigarette. "What time is it?"
He glanced at his watch. It's eleven-thirty," he told her. Then he added. "It's late. I've got to go. Bus to my place stops running at midnight."
She looked at him. He was shirtless. His fly was open. "Don't go," she said, tugging at his trousers.
"No," he mumbled. "I have to go." Rising, he went for his shirt.
Abruptly, she swung her feet from the bed and ran up to him. "Don't go," she said.
He saw the desperation in her eyes. He hesitated, then moved closer to her. "Okay. I'll stay for just a little while longer."
"Look, if you spend the night, I won't charge you any more," she told him. "I've got to leave for an hour, but I'll be back by 2:30."
He shook his head. "No, I got to go home."
"Oh," she said tonelessly.
He heard the despair in her voice. "Look. I'll come back again," he assured her.
"Mr. High-and-mighty, aren't you? Real top drawer, huh? What's the matter? This place too dumpy for you?"
"No, not at all."
"Then it's me, huh?"
He hesitated before he spoke again. "How old are you?"
She looked at the handsome, blonde boy. Kindness showed in his blue eyes. She knew he wasn't being rude. "I'm twenty-two," she answered.
"How long have you been on it?" he asked.
Automatically her hand shot up to her arm. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Okay. Drop it then."
"Yeah, that's a good idea."
"I was just wondering how come a young girl like you-well, you're not like the other-"
"Whores?" she spit.
"If you slept more. Maybe washed off all that makeup. If you fixed up your hair and maybe didn't drink so much ... and if you kept away from-" he nodded his head.
Her hands hugged her arms, hiding the scars.
"Hell, you're too young to look so beat. I mean-"
"Look," she cut in. "Drop the lecture, huh?"
"I was only trying to-"
"I know-I know," she said, her face breaking into a forlorn smile. "You're a good guy, I can tell. Going to the bed she sat down. "Come on over here to Momma," she whispered, getting out of her slip.
He went to her.
"Get out of those trousers," she whispered. The sentence echoed in her ears, as if she had spoken the same words a thousand times.
He unbuckled the belt abound his waist and dropped his trousers. He stepped out of them and threw himself on the bed. He reached for her. He clasped her breasts, kissing them.
The same thing, all over again.
He placed his knee across her thighs and looked down into her clouded eyes.
The same act, for the thousandth time.
"Take me," she whispered. "Take me."
Oh, why does it all sound the same?
Her long legs tightened around him, then he felt himself inside her. He jabbed into her with a grunt.
She sighed deeply, drawing his head down to the hollow of her neck. "Like that,'" she mumbled. "Like that." Why couldn't she at least try to change the words a bit?
He felt her burning body with all of its force pushing against him. He plunged deeper into her. Then he heard her moan. He plunged into her again. Then suddenly he felt the strength draining from him and threw his body over hers devouring her in uncontrolled frenzy.
He fell to his side and lay back in exhaustion. After a time he rose, got to his feet and started to dress.
She watched him with a detached look.
Reaching into his pocket he brought out his wallet. Pressing a ten-dollar bill into her hand, he kissed her on the cheek and left the room, silently closing the door behind him.
Tears welled in her eyes. A sob came from her throat. Thank God, she thought, there are still tears, I haven't been robbed completely of all emotion. Slowly she got out of bed and went into the bathroom. Turning on the light she momentarily shaded her eyes from the glaring bulb. When she looked into the mirror, her jaw muscles clenched. The corners of her eyes were streaked with running mascara, her lipstick was smeared, and her hair was a knotted mess. She stared at her face as though she were seeing it for the first time-as though it were the face of a stranger.
What she saw made her turn away. She couldn't look-didn't want to see the puffy face, the tired eyes with the dark circles under them. Slowly she returned to the bed and sat down. Opening a drawer to the table by the bedside she pulled out a cigarette from a crumbled package. Lighting it, she lay back and stared up at the cracked ceiling.
She looked around the dark room. The paint was peeling off the walls, and there was a huge crack in the ceiling. There was a chair, a table and a bureau, a bedside table and the bed she was lying in. Outside of that there was no other furniture. She shook her head.
Living like a pig. Three years of this kind of horrible existence. What had happened to me? Why am I slowly dissolving myself. Why? Three years of living a nightmare.
The voice came back to her ... the same voice that kept saying the same words to her over and over again. It was as though the woman were in the room with her right now. "You're a loser, Carol Lord. A born loser. And there isn't anything you can do about it."
Rising quickly, she ran to the bureau and grasped the pint bottle of gin. Unscrewing the top, she brought the bottle to her lips and drank down what was left. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and threw herself down on the bed.
Now the voice got louder. She put her hands against her ears, trying desperately to shut out the sounds; but the voice persisted-becoming louder and louder.
"You'll never change ... never change.
"Stop it. Stop it!" she cried aloud. Quickly she pulled herself up from the bed. She ran into the bathroom and washed her face. She put on some lipstick and mascara, then combed her hair. Then she put on a bra and got into a half-skirt, then slipped into a mini-dress. She put the ten dollars the boy had given her into her purse and snapped it shut.
Glancing at her watch, she rushed out of the room.
Outside, she hesitated, turned away from the stoop and walked down Powell Street. A block later she turned and walked down the steps into the Pirate's Haven.
"Hey! Where the hell you been?" the harsh voice of the woman behind the bar called to her.
"I'm sorry I'm late," the girl apologized.
"Get backstage and change, baby. Next show starts in five minutes. You know better than to scare the pants off of me." She watched the girl disappear behind the curtain. "Damn girl. Damn unreliable girl," she muttered under her breath. "Think I'll get rid of her."
A waitress hurried up to the bar. "Two scotch-and-water and make it fast," she said.
"What's the rush? Who started the fire?"
"Come on, come on, pour." i
"Take it easy, will ya?"
"I got a live one at my table," the waitress said. "The diamonds on her fingers are enough to choke a horse. She's with a gal ... and I kept her waiting long enough." The waitress tapped her foot while she took a few hurried puffs on a cigarette.
"Here you are," the ugly woman behind the bar said. "Maybe she'll leave ya one of her diamonds for a tip," she said to the waitress sarcastically.
"Up yours," the waitress said. She put the drinks on a tray and dodged through the crowded room until she came to the table. "Here you are, honey." She placed the drinks before the woman and the girl. "Drink up and just yell for me when you want a refill."
The pretty blonde girl looked around the room. "Why'd we come here?" she asked the woman opposite her.
"Because it's been years since I've been here," the woman answered.
"Place gives me the creeps," the pretty girl said.
"I just want to see the beginning of the next show," the older woman told the girl. "We'll leave right away, don't worry."
"Okay," cracked the bartender's voice over the loudspeaker. "Pipe down, you creeps. Here she is, the gal you've been waiting for ... the scintillating ... captivating ... thrilling ... Carol Sorel!"
The woman leaned forward in her chair, ignoring the girl at her side, her eyes holding fast to the curtain.
When the curtain parted, Charlotte Watts's eyes widened in astonishment. She watched as Carol Lord moved her body to the loud sounds of the electric guitar offstage. She took in the girl's almost nude body as she writhed in sinuous suggestion, her hips moving from side to side, her naked breasts shimmering and bouncing crazily. Her eyes drifted up to the girl's face.
There was a difference now-a tremendous difference. No longer was Carol's face as Charlotte remembered it. There were the beginnings of lines around the eyes and the once slender, beautiful face was round and puffy. The dark circles under the girl's eyes couldn't be hidden by the heavy makeup she wore.
But there was something else-the eyes. The eyes were empty. Cold and empty.
Charlotte Watts shook her head then slowly got to her feet. She reached into her purse, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and threw it on the table.
"Let's go," she said to the girl by her side. "I've seen enough."
"Do you know her?" the blonde asked, following Charlotte past the stage.
"Yeah," she answered. "A long time ago. A very long time ago." She glanced up at Carol one more time. "Come on," she told the girl, "Let's get out of this dump."
Onstage, Carol Lord shook her body to the fiery beat of the music. It was then Carol saw the dark-silhouetted figure move in the path of the spotlight. Though the features were indistinct, some wild instinct told her whose face it was.
The face of Charlotte Watts.
The pupils of Carol's eyes dilated with shock. With great effort she forced herself to keep in step with the wild beat of the electric guitar.
Though the noise was shattering, she could still hear Charlotte Watts's ominous voice.
"You're a loser, Carol Lord. A born loser."
And what else was it the voice had said? Was it "destroy ... destroy yourself?"