Chapter 12
ALL THE GIRLS WERE GATHERED AT THE APARTMENT:
Vesper, Dawn, Marcy, Judy, even the new member, a sallow-faced blonde of seventeen named Edith. The guys had made no bones about the reason for the gathering. "Party night," Gil had leeringly announced. "You queens get lotsa sleep, came ready to wail."
Party night it was, with most of them drunk before 9:30 rolled around, the music loud, the pad jumping. Only Vesper held back. For some strange reason she couldn't get started, she was possessed of an eerie sense of foreboding. School would start in a few days, things would be different from here on in, perhaps that had something to do with her state of mind. Worry over her going-nowhere life, over the fact that there'd been no time with Donovan since that last sublime night together contributed also.
I should drink, she prodded herself. I should get good and high. Any minute now the uglies start. Yech time. Anybody who goes into that cold turkey has got to be a little freaky. She lifted her Manhattan, forced the liquor down. There, she thought. Happy hour. It's starting now.
She was thankful to be momentarily ignored, she was thankful that Gil was giving Edith the big rush, leaving her alone. Sure, Gil would crowd the new kids a while, but invariably he'd return to Vesper, make her his more or less steady boff. She sighed heavily. Watching Arnie maul Marcy, she thought, Thank God for small favors.
The guys had demanded that the girls strip down to their undies almost from the start, which made for a very wild scene indeed. For, Gil insisting that the girls come dressed in stockings and heels, they all paraded about in girdles, garter belts-the real swingers, gals like Dawn and Judy making a point of rigging themselves in the most outrageous of sexy undergarments.
Dawn wore a devastating red ensemble, wild satin with black lace overlay in the damnedest spots. While Judy came in a patterned getup, bold slashes of color streaking over her body, she resembling something out of an abstract painter's color box. Vesper was put out in a rather modest, pastel blue outfit, she wore black sheers on her legs, her dagger-toed pumps were royal-blue velvet. Marcy was in a lemon-yellow creation, a thing that did marvelous things for her mocha coloring. Edith wore a bewitching black ensemble.
Which Gil Brewster was attempting to peel her out of at the moment, Edith gigglingly resisting, tearing at his own clothes in the bargain. "You too, you too," she brayed, sounding like the brainless dolt she was.
A Vesper drank with seeming dedication, sought her elusive high, she watched Dawn and Judy dance together at the other end of the room (some Beatle stuff played), she thought the bob and sway of their boobs amusing, she wondered what some stranger might say if he walked in at this moment. like wild, daddy-o, she smiled.
When thoughts of what the evening's finale would be smote her, the smile instantly faded. The glass came up, the booze burned all the way down. Yeah, Vesper exulted. Here we go.
Somewhere along the line Vesper suspected the bit was that sappy Edith's idea the drunken gaggle of girls had attacked Arnie and Gil, had stripped them. And producing large-sized panties from the gang's store room, they'd proceeded to put them on the guys, black for Arnie, a lacy purple pair for Gil. The guys had protested, had brushed the girls off at first. But the frenzy growing, the mood more madhouse by the moment, the girls had prevailed.
"If we gotta look pretty for you," the asinine Edith had harped, "you gotta look .pretty for us." Her eyes had swept their naked bodies, appraised their surging arousal. "You sure's hell ain't pretty that way...."
The garments didn't help much. If anything they only emphasized the guys' angularity, piqued curiosity and desire. At any rate so far as Edith and Dawn were concerned; they couldn't keep their hands inside their silkies.
Things progressively went from bad to worse. The drinks came faster, the noise was seemingly deafening, the room was darker, the bodies became a kaleidoscopic blur to Vesper. And still she wasn't as drunk as she'd like to be. By then Dawn, Edith and Judy had removed their brassieres, they pranced in just girdles, panties, belts, stockings. And, of course, the sexy high heels.
It was then that Vesper decided that she'd best punish the booze for Arnie and Gil were telling the girls to gather around, the real festivities were moments away. But by then it was too late. As she resignedly moved in, saw that Edith and Dawn had already peeled the guys' panties partially off, were already arranging them on the davenport, going to their knees before them. She felt her stomach tilt, she knew this was going to be one of the real rotten ones.
"Over here, Sparrow," Gil cackled as she hung back. "You gotta get in on this too." He slapped Edith lightly on the head. "Easy, you. Don't bite. They don't carry spares for those at Sears."
His eyes went to half-mast, his smile was a wide smear on his face. "Oooh, Edith doll, you've had experience." He laughed louder. "Gather round, piggies.
Let's figure this out. So we can all ball together."
Then Marcy and Judy were virtually straddling their chests, leaning at the boys' instructions, ladling their naked breasts to their mouths with their own fingers. "Here, Vesper," Gil paused then, putting his hand on Edith's head, momentarily quelling her energetic motions, "stand in between. Get that brassiere off."
And as she complied dully, flung the flimsy thing aside, knelt between the two bodies, let her breasts hang, he snickered, took the nearest in his hand. "Here, Arnie," he called. "Latch on. There's one left for you." He pinched Vesper's nipple, made her bend lower. "There. Everybody got something to do? Everybody happy? Later on we switch off, take turns. Edie and Dawn can't have all the fun, can they? Ready? One ... two ... three ... Go!"
Then the cooperative debauch could commence. Soon there was a welter of straining, giggling, sighing, writhing bodies. There was a cacophony of filthy talk. The orgy truly went into high.
Afterward Vesper was always grateful that the thing hadn't gone on much longer. Long enough for her to go on the midnight shift. As it was she was straddling Gil's chest, feeding him her breasts, Marcy and Judy were doing the more base honors when the sharp rapping sounded on the door.
Suddenly everybody froze. "Now, who'n hell can that be?" Arnie Caves cursed. "I told those Johns we were closed tonight, that we weren't sellin' any tickets at the box office. Sit still, Dawn. Stay where you are. Edith, go see who's there, tell them to butt off...."
Drunk as she was Edith merely covered her breasts with one arm, went doorward. "Yeah?" she called, turning the second latch, starting to open the door. "Who's there?"
Instantly the door bucked open, hit her in the face, sent her reeling back. And Vesper, turned at awkward angle to see, felt her heart kick, she felt as if her stomach would back up on the spot.
That man staring at the bacchanal scene, straining to focus his eyes to the dark, his mouth twisting in addled disgust and bafflement. He looked familiar somehow.
She shook her head, looked again. Then, without thinking, the words spewed forth: "Donovan! How did you get here?"
"Don't move, anybody," the ashen-faced man said, leveling the dull-blue Luger at the mass of contorted bodies, his eyes sick, uncomprehending. "Stay right where you are. I wanna see just what kind of pervert's picnic this is...."
"What the hell?" Gil growled. "Who are you, fella? Who told you to fall by? Vesper, do you know this creep?"
"Sure, she knows me," Donovan spat. "Don't get all heated up, bastard. She didn't tell me about this set up, she wouldn't tell me. I came looking for you myself." His face worked. "Now, I wish to God I hadn't bothered. What's going on here?"
His eyes drifted to Gil's purple panties, twisted about his legs, he took in Marcy kneeling on the floor before him, instantly recognized the name of the game.
When he looked at Vesper, interpreted her role, he truly went green about the gills. "God, oh God...." he groaned.
"So now you seen, you bastard." Arnie snarled, turning slightly. The gun moved slowly, zeroed in on his head, stopped him cold. "Now you know," he finished lamely, "what you gonna do about it? There's the door, use it. Before that pop-gun goes off and pinks you in the butt."
Cold hatred transformed Donovan's face, made him a fearful spectacle indeed. Arnie quailed, instinctively knew the intruder would as soon shoot him as look at him. "Are you coming, Vesper?" Donovan spat. "Or do you want to stay here with this sewer-filth? They made you do this, didn't they? They forced you." His voice was almost pleading ,the man wild for some justification of this debauch. "Isn't that right, Vesper? They made you, didn't they? This is the gang you were telling me about, isn't it? And it wasn't just ... a bunch of girls."
Vesper didn't move. Dazed, all this happening too fast for her, her breath dried in her throat, no words could be forced past that parched membrane.
"Well, they aren't going to make you any more," Donovan chewed out the words. "They so much as call you again, they try to get at you in any way...." His voice broke beneath the weight of his rage. "I'll come back here, scum, I'll come back here shooting. I'll shoot out your eyes, do you hear?" He was very close to hysteria at that moment.
"Vesper!" he growled. "Do you hear? Get off that filth. Get your clothes. We're getting out of here. For good." And when the mesmerized child still didn't move "Damn you! Move!"
like some wooden puppet, she slid away from Gil, she rose to her feet, began staggering toward the chair n which her clothes were piled. Edith rose from where she'd cowered throughout, she began moaning in a sick, blubbering fashion, momentarily distracting Donovan.
Here tragedy intervened, here drunkenness was the cause of the most ironic reversal of all. For had Gil not been drunk, he'd have had sense enough to stay put, he wouldn't have had courage enough to attempt the rash, stupid move.
Suddenly he was up, he was hurtling himself at the less-than-alert Donovan. "Let's get him!" he bellowed, his movement, the foolhardy tone of voice spurring Arnie into matching recklessness.
Donovan whirled, aimed the gun, fired. A stunning, deafening roar exploded the room, deafened its occupants; blue smoke, the smell of cordite hung heavy on the air.
Gil Brewster was stopped in his tracks for the briefest moment, he hung suspended in air, an astonished look of disbelief in his gaping eyes, a small, dark hole in the center of his forehead. Then he gasped, slumped, fell. Even as he went down, the hysterical Edith screamed to see the place where half of his head was blown away in back.
Instantly she bolted for the door. Half-naked, one pump off, one on, she went shrieking down the hallway and clattered down the stairs. There was the slam of an outside door and she was gone.
Now Vesper screamed without stop, she clutched her hands to her ears, watched in helpless horror as the two men fought for the gun. Then she truly howled, she died inside for all time, as she saw Arnie wrest it from Donovan, saw him crush Donovan's face with it.
Even as Donovan fought for balance, clutched at his cheek, Arnie stepped back, calmly pumped two bullets into his head. Donovan went down like .someone had hit him with a ball bat.
Then Caves was dropping the gun, staring about him with confused terror. He ran for the door.
Marcy began to scream.
When the police arrived, found the mayhem, saw the half-dressed girls screaming and blubbering, they were hard put to make any sense of the scene. Officer Quale took charge of the pretty, blood-spattered redhead who sat on the floor, rocking a dead man's body in her arms. He was later to note that she reminded him of nothing so much as one of those small kids whose dog gets run over in the street. He'd seen dozens like that. The kids who cry as if their hearts will never mend who won't let anyone separate them from their beloved pets.
It was dark in the room, the lights-out bell had sounded a half hour before. Henrietta Jarvis, the floor matron had looked in minutes ago. But still Vesper Delaney, in her third day at New Hope, the state correctional home for women, could sleep nights, she couldn't stop that horrible buzzing in her head, she couldn't dispel the nagging sense of emptiness, of I-don't-care that pervaded her every waking hour.
Her face buried in her pillow to muffle her sobs, she hoped that horrible Florence Franzen was asleep, that she wouldn't creep over again tonight, make those sick advances.
God, where does it all end? What are the odds?
She tried to think of Donovan, she felt his remembrance would help her to be brave. She had to keep trying, she couldn't give up. Just because she was lonely and frightened, just because there seemed no point to her life. If Donovan had ever really meant anything to her, if his death were to serve any purpose whatsoever-
How often had he said it? "A step at a time, Vesper, a day at a time. That's where most people fail. They want it to happen all at once. Can you see that? Try, that's all I'm asking of you. If you fall, well just get back up and try again...."
But Vesper couldn't keep his memory alive in her mind. It hurt too much. It seemed every time she thought of Donovan someone stuck a knife into her heart, twisted it with sadistic glee. Darling, oh darling, she wailed. It's no good. Not without you.
There was a squeak of springs across the room, Vesper cringed, froze. Oh no, not again.
Then her own bed sagged, she felt the rustle of covers, cold air on her body as Florence slid in beside her. "Bad again tonight, honey?" the fat, thirty-ish woman wheezed. "Don't ... here, let Flo hold you. You poor, poor baby...."
Vesper stiffened, let herself be drawn to Florence's squashy bosom reluctantly. "I'm all right," she protested feebly. "If you'd just leave me alone...."
"That's the worst thing, kid. To be left alone. Everybody needs somebody. That's what the song says. And if you don't have love, where are you?"
"But that isn't love," Vesper argued. "That's...."
"You call it what you want," Florence said, her voice hardening. "I'll call it what I want. Relax, Vesper. It'll be all right. In just a little while now. Let Flo hold you. There, that's better already, isn't it?"
Despite her determination not to surrender that night, Vesper couldn't help but be comforted by the woman's warmth, by the fact that no matter what her motives might be, she was still a human being, someone to talk to, someone to tell her troubles to. Florence cared, she was willing to get involved to that degree anyway. Gradually Vesper went limp in her arms, she felt that dependent warmth flower within her. Small tendrils of forbidden desire began to spread through her body.
Florence kissed her wet eyes, wiped them with a corner of the sheet. She kissed Vesper's cheeks. Now her lips. "There, there, baby," she cooed, "it'll be all right. FloTI make it all right."
Vesper started, tensed as Florence slid her hand inside the coarse, cotton nightgown the school provided, clutched one of her breasts. "Don't, Florence...."
"All right," the woman ignored her, her breath quickening, "it'll be all right." Her hands continued their gentle, persuasive stroking. "This'll be just what the doctor ordered. You're lucky they put you with Flo. She'll teach you all about these things. Men are no good, they're rotten. They never bring a woman anything but trouble."
She opened Vesper's gown, dropped lips to girls' breast, sucked nipple in greedily. "But take a woman, on the other hand...."
I tried, Donovan, Vesper wailed, gradually sinking into that sensual torpor, I did. But there's nothing else for me now. I have to have something.
The nightie was removed, Florence flopped about to remove hers. "Okay, Vesper?" she chuckled liquidly-
"Yes," Vesper capitulated dreamily, already anticipating that sweet release, that seeming reward for all humiliations, all sadness day had brought. "You can do what you want, Florence. I'll let you."
"Maybe you tonight, Vesper. A little of this one-sided stuff goes a long way with me." Menace tinged her voice. "Please, baby? It's best that way. If we ... together, I mean."
Vesper started. "I couldn't. Oh, I've never done that. No, Florence. If you want me, okay. But that other...."
Florence's hand tightened on Vesper's arm, snuffled snarl escaped. "I don't wanna get rough, baby. But if I have to...."
An awesome, overpowering tiredness swept Vesper. It was as if she'd been brainwashed, as if she couldn't stand another moment's pain, another ultimatum. She'd had her share; she didn't want any more.
What did it matter? What did anything matter? If this was what life was all about, if this was what they wanted her to be-
"All right, Florence," she said, her voice dead. "If that's what you really want. Only don't hurt me. I couldn't stand that."
"Good girl," Florence cackled. "That's a good little girl. You and me are gonna have some wonderful times. The things I'll teach you. When I get done with you, you'll never look at a man again. Here, now. This way."
If this is the way the world's made Vesper refrained a last time.
Now she surrendered, let Florence move her body exactly as she wanted.