Chapter 10
The neighborhood was disheveled and melancholy, but Larry's apartment house stood bright and gleaming between two old, poverty-caked buildings. The street was dark. Eager young men walked arm in arm with blowsy women, drunks stumbled past and a jukebox from the nearby saloon made its tawdry squeals.
"Here we are," Larry informed her. "The Badlands. It's not quite so Baskervilles-y inside."
The flip rejoinders, which had served as a prop through the hurried evening, now escaped Sophia, and she could not utter a sound. She merely walked with him through the front door and the darkened lobby, fully conscious of what this journey could imply. The throbbing of mild panic, begun at Scrubby's, remained with her, though. Strength ebbed from her. The meaning of her sudden illness at the club still wasn't clear, and she was oppressed with a murky guilt she hoped would lessen once she was upstairs with him.
In the self-service elevator, Larry pushed the 3 button and the door whined shut. Say something, she raged at herself. Don't just stand there like a toothy hayseed. You've got a part in this, Miss Dunderhead, too, you know.
She preceded him into the corridor and attempted to make bright conversation as he fumbled with his key and unlocked the door.
"Voila!" he announed.
He switched on the light and waited for her to enter.
The huge front room was surprisingly like its tenant, conveying a mixture of the simple, the erratic, and the creative. It was very decidedly a bachelor's quarters, all of it designed to suit the male taste. The entire left wall was a giant bookcase, filled with books, magazines and pamphlets. The furniture followed no particular period, but the sofa and each chair, placed strategically, looked immediately inviting, comfortable. There was the inevitable television set, the fireplace. One immense gray drape covered the rear picture window. The mantel was lined with autographed photographs of celebrities from the stage, T.V. and movies. (She had seen this same kind of thing in Keith McClure's foyer, in greater abundance, but there it had impressed her as a showy, gaudy circus. Here, the display had a different, fresher aspect).
Sophia felt instantly at home.
"Just kick your shoes off if you like," Larry said, "and I'll get the coffee perking."
"I don't really need coffee, honestly."
"What about the nightcap, then, the one I promised?"
She'd already had two Scotches, but their effect had worn off under the weight of Cynthia La Starr's suggestive dance. Maybe one more wouldn't hurt. Maybe, actually, it would be the very thing she needed to disperse her fear. She was going to be kissed before she left here tonight; there was little doubt of it. And she wanted this to go right.
Maybe a bracer of whiskey would help to summon up her courage.
"Wonderful," she replied, turning to meet his eyes. Yes, he was still just stepping off the Parthenon frieze. He was strong, all she had ever wanted, all she ever would want.
When he left for the kitchen, Sophia pretended to busy herself in examining the mantel photographs, but only her eyes took them in. Her thoughts flickered between Margo and this remarkable man who had told her his taking her to Scrubby's had not been a coincidence at all, that every step of the way had been distinctly planned.
Please, Marg, she thought, don't hate me. This has to go right for me. He's the first full man I've met in ever so long who's really been interested in me. I don't honestly know what I want from him: his lips, his lust, his shoulder to lean on. But I've got to find out. I must know if men are merely to be used by me, whether, I'm to go on weakening to them, or if I can be a complete woman. It's so awfully important to me, Margo. Nothing in life means anything unless I know I'm more than just a laugh it-up tramp. Don't hate me, Marg....
"The soda shouldn't obstruct too much of the Scotch," Larry remarked, jolting her into reality, making her turn again. He stood in the living room's doorway, smiling, holding two filled glasses. He'd loosened his tie, she noticed. Instinctively looking down at her feet, she noticed she had slipped out of her shoes, just as he'd suggested.
She waited, unmoving, till he came to her.
Even now, she thought, he could set those glasses down and hold me and kiss me, and I would give all my love to him. But I mustn't jump the gun. I must play the game right or not at all. He's not interested in something fast and forgotten-not like Keith McClure. I'm sure of that.
Nor am I interested in quick and then forgotten love.
"Mmm," she praised, sipping and lifting her eyebrows in approval. "Good. Very good."
"My old college bartender experience," he said, sinking to the sofa and patting the cushion beside him in invitation for her to join him.
"Which college?"
"Uh-University of Whiskeyconsin."
They laughed together. "You're pulling my leg, Mr. Barker, sir," she teased.
"The temptation is terrific. Are you going to sit down or not? That's a heavy glass you're carrying."
"Yes, sir." Sophia obeyed, advancing and slithering onto the sofa, not quite in the area he designated but several feet away. She leaned against the arm rest opposite his and propped her legs up in front of her.
"Want to tell me about it?" he asked.
"What? The harrowing story of my life?"
"Why you became ill at Scrubby's. Was it really because of the ventilation or the drinks?"
"It was the dancer."
Larry nodded.
"There's no way to explain it," she added reflectively. "I'm about as modest as Buffalo Bill, myself. And I've been to those flesh clubs before, I've seen those girls manipulate their wares before. Tonight, though ... I don't know. She ... Cynthia La Starr ... for some reason embarrassed the bejabbers out of me."
He laughed softly.
"I know her quite well," he said. "Her name isn't Cynthia La Starr. It's O'Hara, and she was born and raised in the Bronx. She's really a good kid. Had a couple of marriages and two-or three-hundred lovers, but she loved every one of them passionately. This is just a job to her."
"They've got a saying in Willetsville: 'There's always a living in being a waitress, too.' "
"Yeah, yeah. But it's tough to explain a thing like that to Bridget. Hell, do you think for a minute she gets a kick out of that? She hates it. She takes six double shots of gin before she steps on that stage."
"Then why does she-? No, I won't ask that."
"It's a good question, but the answer's too pat to be believable. She wants love. Isn't that what the professors say? I doubt that she's conscious of it."
"Does she make a living at a thing like that?"
"Just barely, from that. She pulls in lots of loot from stag parties."
Sophia thought of the "stag party" at George March's home in Willetsville. All the grinning grocers shuffling around in the living room, holding cups of punch, singing The Whiffenpoof Song and exchanging traveling-salesmen stories. But she suspected that wasn't any more typical of stag parties than the citizens of Willetsville were typical of people.
"Call me a babe in the woods, Larry, but what happens at stag parties?"
He shrugged. "At the kind where Bridget officiates? Just empty, hollow blood-stirring parties given by businessmen, or drunks with dough, or kids sending another kid off to his wedding day with bells. They organize these gatherings with plenty of liquor, plenty of girls, plenty of blinds lowered so the cops won't intrude. The girls dance with considerably more nerve and imagination than 'Cynthia La Starr' danced tonight. Then, after the show, they raise the roof some more with the customers, depending on the situation and how much they're paid, which is usually more than they could be paid in any other kind of job."
He paused. "Look, why am I rattling on like this? Here I am with probably the prettiest and sweetest girl in town and I'm delivering a travelogue on stag parties."
Larry took her hand and before she was wholly able to direct her thoughts away from the grim but curiously interesting description of the parties which he had provided, she was being gently pulled to him.
"No, Larry," she breathed.
"Why not?"
Now she was in his arms and his head was descending to hers. No sooner did his lips touch hers than her soul erupted and she embraced him with all the vigor at her command.
"Oh, Larry," she whispered huskily and drew him to her.
There was no way of telling what his reactions were, beyond the instinctive reaction that made him hold her close and kiss her with more scalding vehemence. Her fingers clutched at his hair as her starved mouth invited his.
Perhaps he had already pegged her. The wanton, the quickie, the blonde without any concept of how to build and develop an honest relationship.
As she soundlessly pleaded for his kisses, her worry of his evaluation of her didn't matter.
All she could comprehend now was that he was different from Rick Warren and Tommy Elliot and the dozens of other faceless males to whom she had sighed, 'Dar ling.' He was Larry. He was man, all man. He was the sensitivity and the strength for whom her heart had yearned for so dreadfully long.
Maybe she was falling off the ragged cliff again, into the yawning abyss of unrewarding lust. But she would take that chance.
He was reaching up now to switch off the light. She restrained herself from lurching forward with her half-female, all-animal aggressiveness. Breathing stertorously, he was taking over.
And that, she knew, was the way it should be.
A finger of light from outside beamed in through the window. She could see the intensity of his handsome face; she met his firm and gentle hands.
"You're beautiful, Sophia."
"Be kind to me, darling."
Larry smiled down at her. "I've never had a woman say that to me," he said.
She looked at him. "I'm saying it-do you think it's silly?"
"Not at all. I want to be gentle with you, and that's a new feeling for me, I can assure you."
She looked at him. "Are you really horribly cold and without feelings?" she asked, grinning.
"So I've been told," Larry replied. "Of course, some of the people I deal with don't bring out the best in me."
"Like Margo?"
Larry looked at her. "You brought it up, I didn't," he said.
"I know. It's just that I feel rotten. She's my sister and she helped me out when I really needed it, and here I am, with you."
"That's no one's fault. Margo will understand, in time. Your big sister's a mighty realistic lady. She'll understand completely," Larry assured her.
His arm was around her and he dragged her close to him. "Don't let Margo stand between us," he said. "It wouldn't be fair to any of us."
"Yes. I know." It all reminded her of George and Rick back home. It was senseless to pretend, she had learned that. Margo was better off this way.
Margo would not be happy if Larry didn't cut her loose. Larry didn't love her, and even if Margo loved him, it wouldn't work out. Those kinds of relationships never did.
Or was she just rationalizing to smooth her own way? Sophia couldn't figure it out, and then Larry's soft lips put all those thoughts away.
Sophia responded immediately, and it was a fantastic feeling. Larry wasn't just another guy, someone she'd met fifteen minutes ago.
He wasn't someone who was using her, glad to have her but ready to discard her as soon as she proved inconvenient. No, Larry was more than that.
She felt his tongue push between her lips, and she welcomed the warm smoothness of it. She had never been so excited in her life.
So this is what it's like, Sophia thought. This is what it's like when there is love.
She felt his hand cupping her breast and she arched her back, filling his hand with warm softness. He tweaked her nipple between thumb and forefinger, and she knew then that Larry was all that she could ever hope for in a man.
He led her to the bedroom.
They disrobed silently. Larry didn't need a show, and she was glad. Naked, she climbed into bed between cold sheets and shivered. Larry joined her immediately.
"This being gentle is new to me," Larry said with a grin. "Maybe you'd better show me how."
Sophia laughed. "I'd be glad to," she said. "First of all," she began, "never rush."
"Never would," Larry said.
She ducked under the covers and he could feel her finding her way in the dark. Her hand came around his shaft and then he felt her warm wet lips caress it.
He sighed.
Then her legs emerged from under the covers and her found himself in between her thighs, her warm nest pressed to his eager lips.
He drew back her folded flesh with his hands and, delighted with the way things were going, began avidly licking and biting her center, aware that she was squirming with delight.
He could feel her mouth sliding up and down on his shaft, and she was expert at what she did. She could take the entire length and squeeze it wonderfully with her throat, and Larry wondered vaguely what gentle was all about.
Then she was breathing hard and he knew that she was on the point of orgasm-and so was he-so he pulled away and she came up from under the covers and said, "Now that's what I mean by gentle!"
Larry moved on top of her and she opened her legs wide, admitting his torso and hips easily.
"I feel like a teenager," Larry said. And the truth of it was that he did. Just as Sophia was experiencing a new realm of sexual emotions, so was iceberg Larry. He wasn't sure if it could last, but he loved it while it did.
Then he felt her hand on his shaft, guiding it to her warm and wet center. He pushed forward, and his penis parted her soft flesh and sank in, now encased in warmth and smooth, sliding flutters of pleasure.
He worked it gently, thinking that was what she wanted. "Do it harder!" she said, and Larry grinned. He like to stroke hard, and he was glad that she did too.
Then he was rocking it to her, not aware of how powerful his stroking had become. Underneath, Sophia was breathing hard, loving it, her legs flexed and her hips cradling him.
She took the force of his thrusts on her hips and thighs and loved the way he did it. He was all man, hard and stiff and full of energy.
She felt herself on the verge of an overwhelming pleasure and she wanted to say something to him, but before she could get out the words she was past the point of speech. The warm wetness flooded every thought from her mind and she locked her legs around his back and begged for more and when he gave it to her she screamed with pleasure and clung to him with all of her might.
He was all she ever wanted in a man.