Chapter 5
Joy awakened slowly. Fingers of sunlight streamed through open curtains. For a moment, Joy wasn't sure of her surroundings. Then it came back slowly.
Her head pounded, a hundred hammers beating at it. That Would be from the brandy.
It was more than the drinks though. Joy felt shame flood her very being. What could she possibly have been thinking to let herself get carried away, let Vicky think she was a ... a lesbian. The word made Joy flush. Still, she had known what it was like to be really loved. It was something she knew now; she had never had it with Clay Trent. But with another woman? It was wrong. Nothing could change that.
The memory of the night before brought a tremble. There was no way she could discount how much she had enjoyed Vicky's love. Thoughts couldn't push aside the fact she had willingly let Vicky love her. And worse, she had returned the love.
Joy tried to blame it on the brandy. She knew it was far more than that.
Vicky's head popped in at the door. "Well, so you're finally awake, sleepyhead," she said.
"What time is it?"
Vicky grinned. "Almost ten. I've got coffee made, and I've already been to the store and bought some sweet rolls for breakfast."
"Ten? I never sleep later than eight. It must have been that brandy last night." Joy started to get up. Suddenly, she realized she was naked. She pulled the bed clothes up around her.
Vicky's laugh was low and sensuous. "There's no reason to hide from me, Darling," she said softly. Easing down on the edge of the bed, she leaned forward and kissed Joy.
Joy twisted her head away. "Please, Vicky, don't," she said.
"Feeling guilty about last night?" Vicky wanted to know. "You'll get over it. We did have a ball, didn't we?"
Joy stared at her, aware of her companion's probing eyes. "It was the drinks," she protested, trying to make it sound convincing.
Vicky smiled indulgently. She was remembering her own pangs of conscience after the first time with Lois DeFore.
"Perhaps the drinks, Darling, but it's so much more than that," she said.
"What do you mean?"
Vicky shrugged. "Things happen. Why look for a reason or an explanation? If there's pleasure, why fight it?"
"You planned it to happen," Joy said, with a touch of remorse.
"I helped, that's all."
"Why?"
"Why?" Vicky looked at her for a moment "I guess because you and I are alike. When you told me about Clay Trent, it was like it happened to me. I had to show you that men aren't that important."
"What we did isn't natural," Joy protested. It isn't the same as with a man. It never can be."
"It is. I can give you anything a man can, except babies," Vicky said. "I'll show you."
Joy wanted to resist the moist parted lips devouring her, but the thrill of the night before came alive again. The heated kisses brought Joy's desire to the boiling point. A tremor shook her as she watched Vicky slip out of her negligee and robe. Totally naked, Vicky dropped down beside her.
"Love me," Joy sobbed, not aware of her plea. There was no stopping the pulsating passion sweeping through her.
Vicky moved on top, her body crushing Joy's, thighs moving, hands moving, simulating the kind of love a man would give.
Joy lost all control. Arching, she lifted to meet Vicky's warm flesh with her own. Her lips fused on the erect tips of Vicky's swaying breasts.
The two bodies began to move as one, twisting, thigh clutching thigh. The mutual excitement drove them to a wild tempo of pagan abandon.
"More, more, take me," Joy cried out. Feverishly, her pliant body thrust hard, seeking to encompass her companion.
Vicky's sleek legs goaded her, incited, drove her on. Shock waves of sensation fused back and forth between them.
Joy felt herself being swept up in a delirium, a wild desire lifting her up and up. Suddenly, she arched high in a long prolonged shudder. Everything hazed before her eyes. Then, twitching, she collapsed in complete fulfillment.
There was silence.
"Joy ... "
Joy opened her eyes and looked at Vicky at her side. "Yes?"
"Was it satisfying for you ... like a man?"
Joy nodded, unable to speak. There was no way of telling Vicky her exact feelings. It had been something she couldn't describe. Later, as they sat in the kitchen over coffee and the sweet rolls, Vicky said, "I have no feeling for men, Darling. When one makes love to me, it's nothing." She paused and looked at Joy over the rim of her cup. "I'm more than a photographer's model, Darling. You may as well know it all. We shouldn't have any secrets from each other."
Joy gave Vicky a curious look.
Vicky went on. "That party tonight. I work for Trey Benton. He arranges these parties. I entertain men."
"You mean ... "
"Yes, I'm a call girl," Vicky cut in. "I work two, three nights a week. It's what pays for an apartment like this."
Joy wanted to say something, hut the words wouldn't come. The impact of Vicky's bold admission stunned her. Vicky broke the silence.
"I guess it does shock you, Darling, but I wanted you to know. It won't change anything for us? You do understand?"
Joy looked across the table at her, uncertainly. "I suppose I should have guessed. That Trey, yesterday and all." She paused as a thought came. "Last night, this morning. It wasn't to convince me I I should ? "
"No. Oh no, Darling. I make enough. I never give that a thought. You do believe me? All I want is you, sharing my apartment with me."
"Did Lois work for Trey?" Joy asked, not knowing why the question popped out.
"A few times. But I never wanted her to. I never asked her. It's the truth."
Joy felt an insane urge to laugh. In essence, Vicky was pleading with her. The concern in her eyes was genuine. Vicky was interested only in one thing. In a way, it was ironic. Joy could feel a guilt and yet it didn't bother her.
"I could never work for a man like Trey Benton, go to bed with someone I never knew." She paused and glanced at Vicky. "You don't find that hard to do?"
Vicky shrugged and laughed. "The first few times it frightened me. After that ... well, I think only of the money. Men are nothing. To me, it's a job, nothing more. I'm not like a lot of girls in New York who give it away for pleasure. They're damn fools." She hesitated and sipped her coffee. "I'm only interested in knowing that this won't make any difference between us."
Joy caught the plea in her voice again. She wanted to tell Vicky it did make a difference, but she wondered if it really did. If she moved out, what then? Admit defeat? Go back to Havenhurst? God, no. Anything was better than that.
Joy shook her head. "It doesn't matter, Vicky. It's just that I feel so helpless, not being able to find a job."
"There's always Rog Cantrell. I'll see him this afternoon. Would you like me to ask him if he'll give you a try?"
"I'd rather not, Vicky. I don't think I could pose for a man."
Vicky laughed. "The truth is I'd just as soon you didn't, Darling. I want you all for myself. I'm sure you'll find a job sooner or later." The thought of Roger Cantrell photographing Joy, pawing her the way he did under the pretense of getting the right pose, made Vicky feel a little sick. No, Joy was too fresh and clean. Vicky wanted her to stay that way.
Joy went to the agencies every day. At the end of a month, she was no closer to a job than she had been the first week in New York. It was always the same; references and experience were needed. The agencies didn't seem to take into consideration the fact a person couldn't get experience if she had no job.
It bothered Joy a little that Vicky did not seem to mind her not finding a job. She was satisfied to find Joy home when she came from a job.
Joy could always tell if the man had been a bore or a drunk. Vicky would make love, on those nights, with an abandon that had no limits.
Love became a habit. Joy found herself looking forward to the wild love sessions with her roommate. Vicky was forever teaching her new tricks, new little intimacies that made it all so wonderful.
It finally reached the point where Joy lost interest in finding a job. What was the use? She had everything she could desire.
Vicky was content. Joy was in a seventh heaven in Vicky's arms. The warm lips burning her flesh, the eager passion of Vicky that never lost it's glory forced aside reason, even sanity at times.
One Thursday evening, the doorbell rang, as Joy had just finished her shower. Vicky had left a few minutes before on a date.
Joy slipped into a new negligee Vicky had bought her and laughed when she saw Vicky's key on the table. She had forgotten it and was coming back for it, Joy thought.
"You'd forget your head if . . Joy started to say as she opened the door. The words died in her throat. Trey Benton was standing in the doorway.
"I haven't forgotten you, Baby," he grinned.
Joy recovered from her surprise. Then she clasped her negligee closed as she realized he was staring at her. "Vicky isn't home," she managed to say.
"I know. She's working a job I sent her on, I came to see you," he said and brushed past her into the apartment.
"What do you want?"
"I'm curious, Baby. First time I saw you, I didn't figure you for the type. Guess I was wrong." He walked to the bar and fixed himself a drink.
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Joy said.
He turned and grinned. "You know damned well what I'm talking about. You think I don't know Vicky Neale is a lesbian. What I can't understand is that she hasn't talked you into working for me. Your kind usually play the same game."
Joy started. "Will will you please leave? What-what I do is none of your business."
"You admitting it?"
"I don't have to admit anything to you," Joy retorted. She could feel the rush of blood flood her cheeks.
He finished his drink. I've known too many dames in my time, Baby. I still think you're a woman. Maybe Vicky has got to you, but I'm betting it's temporary."
"Get out of here. I don't have to listen to your insults."
"I'll leave after I find out the truth," he growled. Moving closer, he stood legs apart, hands on hips and stared at her.
Joy stared back, meeting the challenge in his eyes with a defiance of her own.
His insolence brought an anger. She hated him for his cold assumption.
Perhaps it was a mesmerism in his eyes that caused her to be off guard. At any rate, she wasn't prepared for his quick movement.
His mouth, harsh and demanding, crushed her lips. She struggled in his arms, beating her fists against his broad chest, but he was too strong for her, and helplessness replaced the anger clawing at her insides.
Pain brought a sharp cry to Joy's lips as his hand found its way inside her negligee, his fingers closing over her breast and squeezing hard.
She freed her hand and clawed at his face. He caught it and laughed.
"I like a fighter, Baby. Now, suppose you forget the act. You're no damned lesbian. You need a man. Why don't you admit it?" His lips crushed her mouth again.
Joy renewed the struggle, twisting her face away and fighting him with a fury. Her efforts brought another laugh. He held her around the waist, pinioning her arms.
She felt her feet leave the floor as he forced her back on the divan. Fear came alive. He was like a maniac pawing at her, his hands savagely caressing her breasts.
Joy sobbed at her own helplessness, at the way he easily evaded her raking nails.
Then, suddenly, he reached back and slapped her hard across the face.
"Enough is enough," he growled. "Let's stop playing games." He pinned her down with the weight of his body.
Joy stared up at him. Her cheek throbbed from the slap. All she could think of was that he might kill her if she resisted. He was crazy. She prayed that the doorbell would ring, that Vicky might come back for her key. It was wishful thinking and she knew it.
There was no escape. His hands moved on her thighs, gentler now, and more intimate.
Joy suddenly felt a wonder at the touch. She could feel herself trembling. She tried to fight the feeling, tried to understand why her body was reacting this way, so contrary to her fear earlier.
"Please. Please let me go," she sobbed. Jerking from one side to the other, she tried to escape from the roving hands.
"Still playing it the hard way," he muttered. Then his hands went to her breasts and began a hard, circling, rubbing caress.
Joy felt a shame at the throbbing sensation coursing through her veins. She didn't want it this way. She wanted desperately to be immune to the driving sensation. There was no obedience. Something inside her, something she couldn't fight gathered speed, grew and made resistance impossible.
"You like this." His voice came from somewhere above, beyond her closed eyes, taunting.
A moan escaped her lips, a mixture of despair and desire. Her hips started to move in unison to the caress of his hands. She tried to order them to stop. They wouldn't. There was no longer any semblance of control.
"Please stop," she cried out. It was only a futile gesture, contained no meaning. She didn't even know she lifted to let him free her negligee.
A throbbing awareness pounded through her body, forced her nipples to rigid alertness. Through the daze of uncertainty, she felt the rough material of the divan against her naked flesh. Then he released her, stood up and stared down at her.
Joy wanted to get up. She made a desperate attempt, only to find her muscles refused to function.
Numbly, she watched him undress. She felt like two separate identities. One of her wanted to scream out, run and escape. The other, the one who felt the wild desire, watched him in deep fascination.
Trey Benton was a big man, immense through the shoulders, muscles bulging. His eyes held an amusement. Joy forced herself to study him and wonder what he might be thinking. What he was going to do she could see as her eyes traveled down his body, pausing at his manhood. A fear caught at her. There had only been Clay Trent, never any other man. The boy in high school had been nothing.
Joy tried to make herself hate Trey Benton. The beating of her heart made a mockery of it. His hands touching her as he came to her made it worse.
There was no gentleness from him, none of the tender experience of Vicky. Yet his mouth on her breasts forced a response from her body. She cried out as his hands moved up the inside of her thighs, reached her and drove her crazy.
Joy dug her nails into the flesh of his back. It felt good, a release for the moment. She searched and tried to understand the conflict between desire and Conscience that stormed in her brain. There Was no answer.
But Trey knew the answers. He knew what she wanted, how to prolong the action of love until Joy reached a fever pitch. Her hips undulated, arched, rose, begged for his attention. The first thrust brought a scream of anguish. Brutal, hurting, it burned a fire in her middle. But then, the pain lifted to a glory, a wild throbbing ecstasy.
Crying out, Joy gave herself rapturously until the final explosion came with driving force. She felt him shudder and then leave her.
"Baby, you're some piece," he panted. "When do you want to start working for me?" like a curtain dropping, the ecstasy and the thrill of the moment before were gone. Joy stared at him. Now, she could feel the hate she had tried so desperately to feel before. Vicky had told her the truth. Men were bastards. Lust, all lust, no true feeling.
"I hate you," Joy cried. "You got what you wanted. Now get out!"
"We both got what we wanted, Baby," he said. "You were starving for it. I just showed you, you don't have to be a sucker for Vicky Neale. Now what about it? When do you start working for me. I'll make you some real dough."
"I'd rather be dead," Joy screamed at him. "I'm not your kind. Get out! Get out!"
He laughed and started to dress. "You'll change your mind, Baby. You've had a taste. You won't be satisfied with Vicky any more. A woman needs a man, and you're a real woman."
Joy watched him finish dressing. His words had dug deep, especially his crack about being kept by Vicky. Until, now, she hadn't really thought of it like that, yet it was true.
"Think it over. I'll call you in a couple of days," he said and headed for the door. He paused for a moment in the doorway. "You were hungry for a man. Don't waste it on a dame like Vicky."
Joy opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come. Then he was gone.
She pounded her fists at the pillow on the divan, as a hysterical laugh rose in her throat. Trey Benton had been so sure of himself, but he didn't know. He didn't know how much she detested him and what he had done to her. His hands, his kisses brought on her wild need, but it was only the kind of need she found satisfied with Vicky. It had ended the moment he became a man, and when he took her like a man takes a woman.
She rose and mixed herself a drink. It held no taste. She picked up her negligee and went into the bathroom.
The hot shower helped ease her aching body, but it did nothing for the confusion in her mind. Was Trey Benton right? She thought about Vicky. A feeling of guilt came. Then there were thoughts of her mother. Was she going to follow in her mother's footsteps? Vicky again. Her mother at least, was honest; she didn't sleep with other women.
Joy scrubbed her skin until it glowed and as if she could wash away the guilt.
"Damn him, oh damn him," she said aloud.
Toweling herself dry, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. There were marks on her breasts from Trey Benton's savage caresses. There had been no gentleness. Subconsciously, she made a comparison between Trey and Clay Trent. Somewhere in between, Vicky Neale was there. And Joy's body was crying out for Vicky.