Chapter 10

THE man's name was Claude Wallace. He was a Negro, he was obviously Gil Brewster's guest this afternoon; he made Vesper very nervous.

She was supposed to go out today. But on arriving at the apartment she'd found that Marcy had strangely left without her, she'd taken Dawn as her accomplice instead. Vesper had thought to split, return home, roam the streets, perhaps take in a matinee to kill time, but Gil had invited her to sit, to have a drink, shoot the breeze for a while.

Reluctantly, a strange tension in the air, Vesper had agreed. "Just one," she said. "I got things to do. The old lady said I should clean the house."

"like hell you got things to do. Some cleaning that'll be." His eyes had hardened. "Unlax, kid. Can't you stand a day off now and then?" He winked at the Negro. "Best little hustler I got."

He'd handed Vesper a generous glass of wine, she'd eyed it jaundicedly, had vowed to make it last as long as possible. Gil and his friend drank beer with shots on the side, listlessly played gin on one end of the room, paid Vesper little heed. Idly she went through the guys' records, picked a Simon and Garfinkle she liked, put it on the player, modulated the volume.

Once in a while Gil directed a question or wisecrack in her direction, but mostly she was ignored. And as the wine took effect, as that lazy ease grew inside her brain, she sank deeper into her chair, thought it was just as well they left her alone.

Vesper was not prejudiced (what did she. have to be prejudiced about?) but she made no bones about the fact that she didn't like Negro men. The girls, the women she got along with just fine, there was a subtle, indefinable bond between them. Their very femaleness, perhaps. Marcy was a strong case in point.

But the men with their cat-like restlessness, their rolling eyes, their inside argot, the constant innuendo in their every word, their skittish movements almost effeminate she couldn't abide them. Thus she was glad to keep her distance from Gil and the man named Claude Wallace.

Wallace hardly fit the aforementioned summary.

He was a large, tall Negro, perhaps 27 or 28, he stood six feet tall. His hair was short, kinky, his skin was smooth, dark, shiny, his eyes heavy-lidded, sleepy, almost contemptuous as they regarded Vesper. He might be best characterized as moon-faced, there was something smug, mocking in the smile when he looked her way.

Which, seemingly, became more and more frequent as the afternoon wore on, as one o'clock became two o'clock.

Vesper's contented, contemplative mood deepened, she relaxed, thought it very pleasant to be sitting in this chic apartment drinking good wine, listening to hip music, the men's soft mutterings and chucklings seemingly granting security, giving her subtly wicked feeling of a kept woman.

Of course, she amended, this pad wasn't as nice as Donovan's. Just thinking of his name made her heart race. It was a strange feeling, as if her heart were straining, yearning to get outside of her body, a feeling that was more and more with her with each passing day. And if this wasn't love-

It was like the song: It would have to do until the real thing came along.

She'd been seeing quite a bit of Donovan lately. Mid-August now, they'd been unofficial lovers for the past two weeks, they were together every chance they got. Lots of afternoons now she stinted on her booster detail, she pleaded sick, made a dozen other excuses when she failed to show at Gil's, fled to Donovan's snug apartment instead.

That was why she was so disappointed not to be going out this afternoon. There were brownie points that needed storing. Again she thought it odd that Gil wasn't sniping at her to get off her rusty-dusty.

Sometimes she even went to Donovan's pad when he wasn't home. And his roomie, Bryan Justin bumming or working, she sat in those cozy confines, leafed through the piles of magazines he had there, listened to some of the more melodic classical things he'd taught her to enjoy. Wonder of wonders, he'd even got Vesper started on a book. A poor book by critical standards, but how was she to know? It was Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, it dealt with a slum background, it rang bells with Vesper. Daily becoming more engrossed in it, her reading difficulties notwithstanding, she often said to Donovan, "Jeez, why don't they give us kids stuff like this to read in school? Instead of all that Shakespeare? And that poetry." She purposely yammered the words: " T meant to do my work today, But a brown bird sang in the apple tree...' "

Donovan had winced. "Don't honey. That happens to be a favorite. Don't knock Shakespeare and poetry. There's a place for all of them. But I agree with you, there should be more vital stuff to read in our schools. That's where I think those educators are missing the boat. I've got another one for you when you're done with that one. Tougher, but it'll get you. Knock on Any Door, it's called...."

There was no doubt about it, Donovan was good for her. To think she'd ever see the day when she'd be reading! And liking it, besides. Another strange thing.

This the fact that their time together wasn't spent exclusively in making love. Granted, there was love aplenty, claw-the-wall, top-of-the-voice love at that, love that left her exhausted, satiated and happier than she'd ever felt before. But beyond there was talk, beautiful, warm, intelligent talk, with Donovan treating her as an almost equal, prodding her, puzzling her, encouraging her to attempt to redeem herself, become a better person.

He actually made Vesper believe that she could do it, he harped constantly on her native intelligence, told her that it was her own surrender and resignation that was doing her in. If she'd expend even minimum effort in her classes once September rolled around-

Those were good times, joyful, inspiring times. For the first time in her life Vesper felt alive, truly alive, she was alert and thinking, she daily became more aware of the world about her, was able to see some of the beauty and hope that lay beneath the dust and tarnish of her slum environment. If she could make the least effort to scrape some of that grimy film off-

That was the reason that Vesper clammed up, panicked, refused to give Donovan the least inkling of what her real life consisted of, why she gave him no addresses, why he still didn't know her last name.

For if Donovan ever found out, it would be all over then, of that she was positive. Donovan couldn't understand a thing like this wild menagerie Gil and Arnie maintained, he wouldn't sanction it, he couldn't go on seeing her under those conditions.

It was a constant, haunting terror. For if she lost

Donovan now, just when her life was beginning to take on any meaning whatsoever-it wouldn't happen! She wouldn't let it happen! She'd die first!

Thus it was that she told Donovan she was in a girl gang, they had a 'contract' who bought their clouts, she clammed up when he sought to probe further, she laughed off his dire predictions of doom.

But the fear was omnipresent, she schemed constantly to devise a method of escaping Gil and Arnie's control, it was the most important thing in the world that she get out from under before it was to late.

There had been an open confrontation with Gil a few nights back. "God, Gil, let me out," she'd pleaded. "I've done my duty by you, I've brought you tons of loot, you've made big money off me. I'm afraid, T'm slipping, they're gonna catch me one of these days. What good will I do you then, what good will I do myself? I'll be in the slammer, I'll be long gone...."

His face had darkened, ruthlessness of the purest sort had shone in his eyes. "You're breaking my heart, Sparrow," he'd mocked. "The answer is no. You got plenty of good years left in you, yet. I got plans for you, real plans."

When she'd begun to sob, when she'd persisted in her pleas for her freedom he'd brusquely terminated the discussion with a slap across the face that had left her head ringing for days afterward.

And beyond that-

There was the brooding tension which had hung over the apartment the past week. Stella Povolo was gone. She'd simply disappeared one night, no one had seen her since. The papers had got hold of it, there had been a stink. Stella's best friend Judy moved like a zombie these days, she cringed and jumped every time Arnie or Gil spoke to her.

"They got to her," Marcy ominously told Vesper, "they put the fear of God into her. They killed Stella, I know they did. She's at the bottom of Heller Bay right now. She was making all kinds of fink noises at the end there, I don't think she was right in the head...."

True or not, it was threat enough for Vesper. And extremely terror-prone anyway-

That and the recent backhand she'd got were quite sufficient to keep her in line.

Still she couldn't keep from yearning desperately for release from this bondage. Dear God, if there was just some way she agonized.

The peaceful mood was summarily routed. Jittery, not really thinking, she rose, forgot her vow, started for the kitchen for more wine. "Bring us another beer, Sparrow," Gil called as she went.

He clutched her behind the knee when she brought the beer, he slid his hand high beneath her skirt, pincered a roll of her buttock as she shied, tried to pull away. "Hey, baby," he snickered, "don't rush off. That feels good." His eyes drilled hers. "Hey, how come you don't talk to Claude here? Don't you like him?"

A tremor hit Vesper, she stared down at the Negro's bland, leering face, was hit by the strongest impulse to whirl, tear free, run out that door as fast as her legs would carry her.

"I didn't see him talking to me," she stammered. "None of you were doing ... much talking. You were pretty busy, it looked to me...."

"That's no excuse, Sparrow. Turn on the charm, be nice to us. To Claude especially. He came here on purpose, just to see you. I invited him, I told him about you." His hand became more bold, sought to wedge itself deeper beneath the saucy out-crop of her buttocks. "Claude here thinks you're the cat's meow. Ain't so, Claude?"

The obsidian-hard eyes rolled up softly, regarded Vesper coldly. "You know it, cat. She's the real merchandise. I'll go fifty for a taste of that."

"Y'hear that, Sparrow?" Gil laughed thickly. "Claude-likes you, he'll pay fifty for a roll with you. What d'ya say?"

Vesper's breath froze, a hot burning began behind her eyes. She swayed, fought to keep revulsion from her face. "Gil ... I ah...." She pulled against him, her voice sounding like a whining child's. "Please ... no...."

"Please, yes," he mocked her. "Do old Gil a favor huh, baby? Do yourself a favor? Don't make Gil have to get mean. Don't hurt Claude's feelings. He can't help it because he's black. He's no less a man for that."

The words tumbled out before Vesper could stop them. "Then let him get a black girl! Let Marcy ... somebody else ... But not me, Gil. I'm afraid...."

"You got nothing to be afraid of, kitten," Claude purred, the oily smile never leaving his lips for a moment. "I'll be very good to you. Won't ruffle you hardly none at all. Don't act so uppity...."

Again Vesper tried to break loose, the impending humiliation causing her to lose control. But Gil's hand only dug deeper. It seemed his fingers would actually pierce her flesh. Vesper groaned, sagged. "Don't, Gil! Oh, don't ... Don't make me...."

"Dad's up tight. Some birds are crowding him. I lost at cards last night, I need a quick score. I'm counting on you girls ... all of you ... to help out. I'll peddle Dawn and Marcy and Judy later. But for starters ... since Claude digs you the most...."

His hand became a white-hot tong, it twisted her flesh mercilessly, Vesper knew she'd be bruised there for days. "You gonna help?" he gritted. "Show your loyalty?" He actually forced her to her knees.

Vesper's head fell forward, she fought to stifle degraded sobs. This had to be rock bottom. All the other was bad enough. But this being sold like a common whore in a lowdown crib. Still the pain tore at her, cauterized her nerves. "All right," the blurred words emerged, all right. I will. Only don't hurt me any more."

Gil chuckled salaciously. "That's more like it, baby. Didn't I tell you I had plans for you? Well this is part of it." He helped her to her feet. "Now you just wipe that pretty face, Sparrow, hop into that bedroom like a good girl. Get ready. Claude'll be in shortly...."

Vesper buried her face in her hands. And hunched forward, she bolted for the bedroom.

She was naked on the bed, face down, her face hidden in the pillow when the Negro finally entered. She stiffened, stopped breathing as she heard the rustle of his clothes. Out in the other room Gil turned up the record player's volume. There was metallic click. Claude's belt. Now the hiss of a zipper, the clump of shoes. Still Vesper didn't move. More rustling then, the sound of his heavy breathing.

"Turn over, kid," his soft, wheezing voice came. "Let's both see what we're gettin'. Unless that's some kind of invite."

Vesper flopped over onto her back. She hissed, the terror suddenly compounded a hundredfold. She sucked in a searing gasp of breath, her eyes nearly popped from her head as she saw the massive, dark body standing beside the bed. Totally naked, his eyes lustful, his arousal there for all the world to see, he stared on at Vesper's trembling body, reveled in the way she shuddered, in the way she gaped.

"Don't be afraid, Sparrow," he seethed. "I ain't met the woman yet who couldn't handle this." He laughed softly. "This your first time with a black man?"

"Yes...." she breathed. And though she fought to tear her eyes away from him. to sublimate the fear she was positive registered on her face, she could not. "The first time."

Then he was sitting on the bed, his hands were swiftly going over her body, they were slithering on her breasts, across her quaking tummy, along her thighs, the contrast of white and dark somehow mesmerizing. He rumpled the copper fur of her body, chuckled huskily. "Baby ... If you ain't something. I'm afraid this boy can't wait!"

But still he played a bit longer, he dialed the smooth caps of her breasts, he ducked his head to them, mouthed them painfully, the sadism seemingly part of it with him. Vesper felt swoony, she found it hard to get her breath. Especially when the man came beside her, when he spread her legs, prepared to take her. Then, savoring her awe. he deliberately brought her hand to him, twined her fingers about that stunning pride. "You gonna like that baby?" he wheedled.

Still Vesper froze, she couldn't force a single word up. At least not until Claude came over her, arranged his massive hulk between her knees. "Careful...." she gulped. "You will be careful, won't you?"

"Peaches an' cream, sugar," he chuckled. "From start to finish."

Then that intolerable pressure was visited upon her, Vesper turned to stone, felt like she was on fire as that initial, slow, massive thrust began. She groaned, felt her head begin to buzz. And now, slowly, slowly-

"Relax, baby," he soothed. "You're making it all that much rougher on yourself...."

Then he was totally harbored. And Vesper was stunned, it seemed she was immobilized by that stunning presence. But then, as Claude cautiously began to move It was pure reflex, intuitive and protective surrender quite beyond any conscious doing on Vesper's part.

She couldn't think, she couldn't react, she couldn't believe this was really happening. All she could do was cower, submit, present mere receptacle.

Claude's body moved faster, more punishingly. Vesper was sure he'd tear her, he'd kill her. His phlegmy chuckles of victory grew louder.

The Negro stayed with her a half hour. During which time he mauled her body more, delighted in her whimpers of pain and fear. He finished by taking her again before he finally dressed, disappeared.

Dazed and alone then, Vesper glanced at her watch, was amazed to read 3:00. That short a time for such a vast education? she mused. That short a time to change a woman into a whore?

Thankfully the flat was empty when Vesper dragged herself home a scant half-hour later. Her heart dead inside her, she scurried through the littered living room, stripping off her clothing as she ran. A bath, she wailed, I need a bath I I'll never be clean again!

She stayed in the steaming tub for twenty minutes, she scrubbed herself like someone possessed. Then, fleeing the bathroom for her shared bedroom-

But if Vesper thought the day's store of humiliations had been expended, she was to be tragically disappointed.

For now, lying on her bed, her face tear-streaked, Vesper unable to dislodge a single one of the myriad sobs log-jammed in her throat, a further abomination was inflicted. And, dressed in just a pair of pink panties, a pink brassiere, she started, whirled as the snide voice cut the air behind her:

"Well, if that ain't a sight for sore eyes," Pete sneered, his piggish eyes devouring her body, a bestial lust contorting his pimply face. "Baby, I've been waiting for a chance like this. If ever a doll was askin' for it...."

Then, the whole thing happening swiftly, a ghastly dream, surrealistic almost, her brother charged the bed, he was upon Vesper, wrestling her down onto her back. His hands were everywhere upon her, they took gross liberties with her breasts, her legs, that other treasure of her body as well.

Vesper groaned, cursed, fought like a wildcat. But it was no use. His lust giving Pete superhuman strength, his confidence that this was his long-awaited chance, that they wouldn't be interrupted serving as final spur, she might as well have fought a stone wall. The boy might have been just fifteen, but he was nevertheless wiry, tough, nearly full-grown.

"Don't act so high and mighty with me, sis," he cackled. "Don't act like this's your first time. Somebody's been gettin' to you. That 'stayin'-overnight-with-a-girl-friend' jazz might fool Ma, but it don't fool me. You're peddling it, I'll bet. Those new duds of yours, that watch you got on didn't come outta thin air. So what's the sweat if I want my ups?" His hands gripped her already raw breasts, made her gasp. "I'm gonna find out about you one of these days, bitch! And when I do ... But for now...."

A fiery fury impaled Vesper, nearly sent her over the brink of sanity What is this? she screamed to herself. Get Vesper Week? Why me? Why is it always me who ends up the goat? Why not, just once, somebody else? Why not a guy?

An insane revenge presented itself to Vesper, a stroke of near genius. Why not? As long's I'm getting shafted anyway? The vengeance lust became full-blown within her. Somebody else should get the dirty end of the stick for once. Why not this filthy kid brother of mine? The thought killed all reason, routed any lingering decency, any thought of taboo. I didn't start this, did I? she raged.

Now her strategy was clear cut. Petey-boy, she gloated, You're it!

Abruptly she quit fighting. Puffing sibilantly, she went limp, smiled crookedly at Pete. "You gonna give in?" he gasped, "do I get mine?"

"Sure, Pete," she slurred, her expression turning sultry all at once, "I'm game. Only slow down, huh? We don't need all this commotion. Where's your style?"

The surprised boy loosened his grip, smiled foolishly down at her. "You mean it, Vesper?"

She squirmed away from him, sat up. "Sure I mean it, Pete. If this's what you want, Why not do it up brown?" She reached for him. teasingly began to undo his shirt buttons. "Here, let me get you ready. I'll make a regular little lover boy out of you."

Minutes later Pete was naked on the bed, he was dazed, trembling uncontrollably, his breath coming in quick, belly-churning gasps. Vesper sat over him, ran her hands up and down his body, teased him in a very sensitive place, felt him go tense. She evaluated his pinched, breathy groans expertly.'

She stood before him, seductively removed the brassiere, the panties. She straightened, rolled her breasts in her hands, pinched the swollen nipples hard, she undulated her hips in a bawdy grind, let her fingers drift to that awry, red copse. She exulted as she saw Pete's mouth gape, his face go crazy. Then that unmistakable throb.

She was on him moments later, reclining, actually feeding him her breasts herself, guiding his fingers to her most secret self. And all the while, she worried him elsewhere on his pawky frame.

Then Pete couldn't wait, he was climbing over her, he was fighting her hands, her legs, straining to thread that singular needle. While Vesper twisted and squirmed, playfully teasingly avoided him. "Not yet, lover," she giggled, "not yet. Don't be greedy. Play with your big sister a little bit more ... Play, lover, play...."

Then, gauging Pete's sickening wheezes and whimperings precisely, she finally let him pin her. But not quite in the way Pete desired. Clamping him between her thighs, she see-sawed them vigorously, never let go of him for a second. She giggled, taunted him lewdly. "How's that, lover?" she refrained. "You like that?"

Now, suddenly the boy cursed, shrieked like a stuck pig. He lurched, fought to pull away from that flesh trap, to culminate the act. But he was too late. Vesper felt that liquid heat on her thighs, she rolled away, laughed victoriously, coarsely, contemptuously. She knelt on the edge of the bed, looked down at the embarrassed, depleted excuse for a man.

"Ain't you the hot-shot lover?" she mocked. "Can't even wait for me. Damn, look what you done to me, look what you done to the bed. Get out of here, you false alarm. Go practice on your ten-year-olds, play doctor in the alley. That's all you're good for."

Her look became even more contemptuous, her tone more lashing. "Get out of here, I said. Before some robin flies in here and takes after you. A man you call yourself...."

Then the humiliated boy was on his feet, he was fleeing from the room, his clothes in a ball in his arms, held low to conceal his disgraced condition. "Bitch!" he howled back lamely. "You cheap bitch!"

"Jack-rabbit!" she retorted. "Go on home, sonny. Tell your mother she wants you."

Then Vesper was running for the bathroom again.

And later, once more lounging on the bed, pondering what had happened, realizing the vengeance had been totally counterfeit, that it had solved nothing, she felt cheap and mean, she felt lower than she'd ever felt before.

Now that fire was flamed in her heart. Now the wracking, hawking sobs could begin again.