Chapter 5
TWO WEEKS HAD PASSED. SCHOOL WAS OVER FOR another year, an endless summer yawned before Vesper, A strange summer, menacing, dangerous, one about which she had very mixed feelings. In one way she was deliriously happy to be free of that maddening drudgery (she'd emerged from the. year with a C-minus average). But in another, thinking of Gil and Arnie, of their demands upon her sexual and mercenary that fear of being caught in the act of shoplifting with her constantly, it was ghastly, terrifying.
Some mornings she awoke in the scabrous Murchison Street flat with paralyzing dread, she wished she could go back to sleep, never wake up again. The fear, intermixed with shame at the memory of whatever uglies had transpired at the boys' pad the night before activated clawing shame at the bottom of her soul, something writhed and rebelled and made her feel sick there.
On an afternoon in June, an oppressive mugginess closing in on Doncastle, the temperature hovering at a very muggy 82 degrees, Vesper Delaney had all the time in the world to ponder the cul de sac her life had become. Alone in the rag-bag confines that passed for home, dressed in just panties and brassiere, staring at the crooked picture on the opposite wall, she thought some very bitter, very hopeless thoughts indeed.
The downtown merchants had inaugurated a clamp-down campaign of late, there had been a flurry of arrests for shoplifting lately, many small-time snitchers housewives, school kids mostly had been charged, fined, placed on probation. While the real heels, of course, Wise to the heat, had laid off, had waited for the store nabs to sit back, rest on their laurels once again.
Which was one word for where they'd most-likely sit, Vesper concluded acidly.
Thus, she, Dawn, Marcy and the other part-timers in Gil and Arnie's stable, had been given a vacation. Perhaps next week they could start again. Gil was casing some new locations, he had some new ideas brewing. Until then-
Vesper wasn't sure she enjoyed the enforced idleness. She'd got to be a pretty good booster. She'd been averaging $100 worth a day there and she hated to let herself get rusty. Besides, all those idle hours on her hands, there was too much time for thought.
Thinking wasn't the best thing in the world for a girl in Vesper's straits.
Besides, the slack time gave Gil and Arnie opportunity to evolve other angles. Angles having nothing at all to do with business. like the crazy sexual didos the girls could continue to perform for them at the apartment. Vesper winced, knew an acid taste in her mouth as she remembered that thing on Wednesday night, with the five of them in the same bed at the same time.
"Yech!" she said aloud.
But if the truth were known, Vesper was daily becoming more resigned, more hard-boiled about her grisly fate. After all, she rationalized, what did I expect? A marriage to Bobby Darin? You come from dregs, you stay dregs. And if that's the way the world's made-
After all, it was something to do, it did kill a lot of time.
Even this strange transformation frightened Vesper at times.
She rose, moved listlessly about the room, gathered dirty glasses, emptied ash trays, picked up in as much as that trash bin could ever be picked up. There had been a time, up to the time she was twelve, when Vesper had pitched in, tried to keep the place up, at least resemble a normal home. But when her parents, her slovenly sister, her lazy brother, had never seemed to notice, had never lifted a hand themselves, she'd gradually let things slide.
Thus the junk-shop now at hand.
Vesper deposited the glasses and ash-trays on the sink's drip tray, returned to the living room, dropped onto the couch with a dispirited sigh. Her dad had been home all day the day before. Nursing the hangover of the century, shaking like some palsied old man, alternating between TV and mad dashes for the biffy, he'd managed to get himself stoned again by evening. Thus the mess.
Vesper frowned more angrily, dark rage grew within her.
Her mother and father were pigs. It sounded heartless, she knew, but there was no other way to put it. Because that was exactly what they were. Pa was a filthy-mouthed stevedore on the docks. In his mid-fifties, he was bloated, red-eyed, balding, he generally resembled a skid-row escapee. There was work on an erratic basis. There was work when Pa was sober enough to stand up at shape-up time. Mostly he laid around the house half-dressed, dirty, cursing, lashing out at Pete or Vesper or Olive, whichever one happened to come in range.
Perhaps Vesper shouldn't have been so hard on Mom. She'd tried at first. Maybe she'd actually believed she could make something out of the more-animal-than-human wreck she'd married. But if she had any such notions, Pa knocked them out of her head in short order. She was always nursing a cut lip, a gashed cheek, a mouse of an eye. If one studied Mable Delaney closely, he could see where a broken nose had healed imperfectly. There wasn't money for a decent doctor, she'd been forced to let a drink-sotted sawbones try to straighten it. He'd been a doctor once, way back in the dim recesses of history. That was before booze and dope got to him.
But couldn't Mom have fought a little longer, Vesper rebelled now, couldn't she have tried a little harder? By the time Vesper was ten, Mom was as bad as he was. She'd lost her jobs one by one, had deteriorated before Vesper's very eyes. From waitress she'd been demoted to kitchen slavery and pearl-diver. She hadn't been able to hold even that job. Now she was just an all-night swamper at one of the downtown office buildings.
Again, like Pa, when she was sober enough to make it.
It was a comedown Pa never noticed. Olive was too calloused herself by then to notice, let alone care. Pete was just a kid, spawn of the street, he took it in stride. That's the way life was. But Vesper had never been quite able to roll with the punches. She'd always hoped that someday, somehow-
Only now, seemingly, she didn't care either.
There was always booze in the house rotgut whiskey and gin, raw muscatel and port even if there wasn't food. The times Vesper had returned home from school to find her father sacked out on the davenport, her mother sloppy drunk in the kitchen, her head bobbing over a nearly demolished quart or gallon bottle of wine, were beyond counting. Small wonder she was indifferent to school, small wonder she chose to spend most of her time on the streets.
Small wonder that she was in the jam she was in now!
Now Vesper recalled the drinks she'd had at the boys' pad, she actually hungered for something now, she yearned for that inner warmth, that fuzziness that liquor induced. But she resisted the impulse, even thought she knew there was a half-gallon of gut-searing tokay in the kitchen.
You've been spoiled, she smiled wryly.
It was at that moment that she heard a staccato rapping on the door, she darted up, her reverie dashed aside. And remembering her near-naked state: "Yes? Who is it?"
"It's me, Vesper," the familiar voice came. "Marcy."
Vesper's eyebrows rose. Marcy? The Murchison Street area was integrated, just as many Negroes as whites lived there; there was no sweat on that score. But this was the first time Marcy had ever stopped by the house. Vesper hadn't even known that Marcy knew where she lived.
She forgot her undress, ran to open up. "Hey, Marcy," she greeted as she admitted her, "surprise, huh? What's up?"
Marcy's gaze fled over Vesper's body, a pained expression registered on her face, her eyes narrowed briefly. "Nothing special. I was just dying on the vine, thought I'd drop over. Somebody to talk to." Her eyes fled about the flat, barely concealed distaste filled them.
Vesper saw the look, cringed. "You'll have to forgive the mess," she apologized. "The old man ain't working much, he's like a pig sometimes ... If you'd have told me you were falling by...."
"Forget it, hon. I didn't come to see decor, I came to see you. How you been, Sparrow? I ain't seen you since Wednesday night."
Vesper winced. "Please, Marcy, don't call me that. Let's not talk about that, huh?"
"Sorry, Spar...." She caught herself. "It's just that I get so used to hearing the guys call you that." She smiled, sat down beside Vesper. "How you makin' it?" Her eyes studied Vesper's beautiful body anew, settled on her white, nylon brassiere, lingered overlong in that shadowed V of her body where the white panties didn't quite conceal that rosy bush. "Takin' her cool, I see...."
"It's a bitch of a day, isn't it?" Vesper said, her embarrassment fading as fast as it had come. "This heat...."
"Sure is something. Anyway, you're comfy." She fell back, sighed heavily. "I don't know what's worse. Boosting or sitting. I'm goin' out of my mind."
"Maybe we could go to a movie or something. I can turn on the TV."
"Forget it. That ain't my speed. Just talk, huh, Vesper?" Her eyes flitted over Vesper's face again, she became more edgy by the moment. "You wouldn't have anything to drink around here, would you? I could use a good belt."
"Just some wine. The old man did the whiskey in yesterday. It's just cheap stuff, about a buck-fifty a gallon...."
"I don't care. Just something to take the edge off things. You gonna have some too?"
"I suppose."' Vesper rose, started for the kitchen. "That is if Mom didn't swig it all up herself. She's a real wino."
Marcy laughed. "This sounds just like my home, baby."
They both made wry faces when Vesper returned with the half-filled tumblers of tokay. "Bitter," Vesper said. "Nothing like what we get at the pad...."
"It's got a kick. That's what matters. Just so's you don't guzzle too much of it." Her eyes went to half mast. "Yeah ... that's good. That goes to work right away."
Marcy sent Vesper a slit-eyed look. "Besides, don't forget the price we gotta pay for that good stuff at the guys' place. I'll settle, honey."
Vesper hadn't had much of a lunch, and the raw wine affected her quickly, hummed along the wires with a happy vengeance. She was glad Marcy had come, glad she had someone to talk to. Anything to keep those dark thoughts at bay.
"Not too bad, is it?" she giggled softly.
"Even poison don't bother much after that first swallow," Marcy chuckled.
They talked listlessly for a while then, confining themselves mostly to shop talk, discussing their scores during their last week on the street, Marcy volunteering small pointers. Indeed they were small, for Vesper had learned fast, she had an instinctive quickness and danger sense. Any suggestions were a matter of refinement of technique, no more. Then, as Vesper returned with still another glass of wine for them, the conversation veered, became even more confidential. Vesper told Marcy just what kind of a home life she had, she described her parents mercilessly, felt much better to spill some of her bitterness.
"Where's the old lady now?" Marcy asked. "And that brother of yours?"
"She's shopping. She'll have to stop for a snort on her way home; I don't expect her until six or so. Same with the old man. And as far as Pete's concerned he's out with his gang. He never shows until late."
"And Olive?"
"Probably shacked up with somebody. Sometimes she don't come home for days." She chuckled, stretched lazily. "We got the place to ourselves. We can get good and plastered if we want to."
"Whew!" Marcy said. "Gettin' hotter'n hell in here. You look cool, baby. You mind if I ... I mean, nobody'll catch me in my undies, will they?"
The idea of both of them sitting in their scanties amused Vesper. "Hell no, Marcy. Help yourself. Get comfortable...."
Moments later the Negress had stripped off her blouse, her dark, cotton skirt, she'd laid them neatly over a chair. Ami, like Vesper, dressed in just panties and bra, leather flats on her feet the brassiere a simple, tailored creation of beige nylon, clearly revealing the dark nuts of Marcy's nipples she sank back into the davenport, picked up her drink, sipped it avidly. "Nice...." she purred. "That's one-hundred per cent bettor."
Her eyes fled over Vesper, small cunning in them. "You look so pretty like that, Vesper. Kinda small and helpless...."
"You don't look so bad yourself, Marcy," the girl laughed, missing the innuendo completely. Her eyes skipped over Marcy's body, the novelty of seeing all that mocha-colored flesh somehow wicked. That she'd live to see the day when she'd have a Negro for a friend! And to see her lovely, bronze body so extensively exposed besides-
"Wow," she giggled, "I think I'm getting crocked."
"Go ahead, baby," Marcy said. "Enjoy yourself." I'll watch out for you. That's just about all we've got left."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Figure it yourself, Vesper. What have you got? Out of life, I mean? You live in this palace, you got rummies for parents. The same with me. We go to rat-trap schools, we get the rejects for teachers. You think things are ever gonna change, things are ever gonna get any better for us?"
"But, Marcy," Vesper argued feebly, feeling a happy buzzing in her head, "it won't always be like this you can bet on that. We'll grow up, we'll clear outta this place. We'll...."
"We'll split too!" Marcy snapped. "You think they're ever gonna let you out from under? Think again, kid. You ain't goin' anywhere. Neither am I.
Except down. Give us a couple years more we'll be just like your sister, we'll be peddling it too. Add a few more years to that and we'll be sozzling rot-gut booze just like our parents."
"Marcy," Vesper said, her voice small, defeated, "you make it all sound so hopeless."
Marcy's smile was sad. "It's what's happening, baby," she said, her tragic tone moving Vesper strangely, making goose bumps spatter her arms. "That's why I say enjoy what small things we can. While we still can."
Then her hands shuddered, her eyes rolled strangely. "Things like this...."
Then, even before the woozy Vesper realized what was happening, before she could assimilate the change or recoil from it, the Negro girl had put her wine glass down, she was embracing Vesper, pulling her close. The warm, human contact seemed somehow beautiful to Vesper, bewildered and lost as she was, she welcomed Marcy's hug. Someone cares, someone cares, she sing-songed inwardly.
Marcy's face was close to hers, she stared deep into Vesper's eyes, an eerie fear and pleading in them. Now she shuddered, her face twisted with need. "Don't hate me, baby," she whispered, her voice shattery.
Vesper's eyes fluttered open. "Hate you? Why should I hate you? You're my friend. My only real friend."
"Yes, Vesper," Marcy breathed. "I am your friend. I'll always be good to you, take care of you. Remember that."
"Then why should I hate you?"
Slowly, deliberately, giving Vesper a last chance to rebuff her, Marcy lowered her lips to Vesper's, she saw Vesper's eyes go wide. "For this," she sighed.
Then she kissed Vesper full on the lips.
Vesper didn't struggle, she didn't protest. For that brief, stunned moment it seemed to be all a part of the affection and compassion Marcy was trying to confer. In that moment there was nothing unnatural about one teen-age girl kissing another even a Negro and a white it seemed the most natural thing in the world. But then, at the last, she realized. "Oh, Marcy. what ... ? What are you doing?"
"Forgive me, Vesper. I couldn't help it. You're so sweet and soft and warm ... you look so pretty in just your pants and bra ... I couldn't stop. I've wanted to do that for so long. Don't hate me, baby. I don't hate you, I ... I love you...."
Vesper's mouth formed a wondering O. "What do you mean, Marcy? You love me? You're my friend, but...."
"I can't help the way I am, baby," Marcy groaned. "I try to hide it from the world. But sometimes I just can't any more. I'm that way about girls. Not just any girl, though. I'm that way about you, Vesper. I want you. I want you to let me love you."
"I'm all mixed up, Marcy. You mean you're one of those ... you're a queer?"
Marcy winced. "Please, baby. Don't use that word. I'm that way about girls, let it go at that."
"But how ... you and Arnie, you and Gil the other night. How could you ... I mean if you want girls...."
"I had no choice if you'll recall, honey. They made me." Fury blazed in her eyes. "The degenerates made me! Just like the whole stinkin' world's been making me...."
"And all the time...."
"All the time I was standing it just because I was close to you. When I saw the things they did to you, the things they forced you to do...." Her eyes glazed with tears. "I wanted to die, I wanted to cry out to you, I wanted to hold you, take care of you...." She pulled the dazed child close again, worked her lips to hers anew. "Let me love you."
"It's wrong Marcy," Vesper breathed. "For girls and girls...." She was flung into a monstrous whirlpool of bafflement, repelled on the other hand by the idea of a girl kissing and caressing her, attracted on the other by the sudden heat in her belly, by the spiraling desire, the carnal curiosity raging within her.
To have a woman make love to me to think that I'd give Marcy joy by merely surrendering to her-
"Please, baby, please...." Marcy moaned, grinding her body to Vesper's, fighting to draw her even closer to her.
"Will it make you happy," Vesper asked in guileless phrasing, "if I let you? You seemed so sad a minute ago, like there was nothing to live for. Will it make you really happy?"
"Oh, Vesper," Marcy gasped. "If you only knew how happy it would make me, if you knew how I love you...."
Vesper made up her mind. The wine making it hard for her to think straight, she said, "All right, Marcy, if that's what you really want." Chagrin wracked her at the desire that now consumed her. "If I don't have to do anything. If you'll...."
"Yes, yes," Marcy rasped. "I swear you won't. I'll do it all. Every bit."
"What will you do to me?"
Her arms tightened, she pulled Vesper up from the couch. "I'll show you, baby. Come with me, show me where your bed is. I'll take care of it all." Her lips dropped to Vespers, they seared and rocked, her tongue probed. Vesper's head felt very heavy; seemingly her spine had turned to jelly.
Then they staggered through the flat, squeezed their way to Vesper's clean bed, the Negress actually supporting the mesmerized child as they went. Now Vesper sprawled full length on the clean, white sheets, Marcy was hovering over her, coming to her.
"You're so beautiful, darling," Marcy keened as she caressed Vesper, reverently began disrobing her. Then her eyes glazed in some sort of ecstasy, Marcy stood and stripped herself, not taking her eyes off Vesper for a second. Vesper saw that lithe, yet voluptuous brown body before her, she saw those hard, crinkled nipples, that pulsing bowl of belly, that ebony tangle at the base of her torso, she quailed before Marcy's wild stare.
Then Marcy was in bed with her, she was gathering Vesper, she was peppering her face with hot, liquid kisses, her grateful sighs and pantings bursting against
Vesper's flesh like a desert Sirocco. Vesper knew an all-consuming awe as she felt Marcy's soft, fragrant nakedness against her own. So smooth, so warm, she marveled. So different from the demanding, cruel, angular hardness of a man!
For long moments their bodies shuddered and cleaved together, Marcy holding the interminable, devouring kiss, winding her arms and legs frenziedly about Vesper's slight body, grinding her belly to hers. Then with a convulsive shudder, she pulled away, sat above her, adored her with her eyes.
"My precious darling," she gulped. "Oh, let me love you. Forever and ever." Her fingers skittered down that heaving, fluttering plain of Vesper's belly, they walked in that coppery gorse, they cupped and roiled Vesper there. "So beautiful," she chanted. "The way the sun shines in it. like gold ... like beautiful, reddish gold."
Another convulsive spasm smashed her. "Oh, Vesper, you sweet, little fox! I want you! I want you so bad I could scream."
Then Vesper was completely out of things. For as Marcy's fingers invaded that hot nest, as she did those magnificent things to her, her surrender, her sense-robbing curiosity was complete. It was just like it had been that first time with Gil Brewster. She'd gone this far, she wouldn't turn back now. She had to know!
"Yes," she intoned, her hips writhing reflexively, her thighs clamping on Marcy's hand. "Here I am. Take me. Do what you want to me."
She stood Marcy's lips at her breasts the adorations perfect, gentle, maddening, vastly different from Gil's greedy slurpings as long as she could. She felt exalted, deified almost at the long, piteous moans and sighs that escaped Marcy, she felt altruistic, like she was conferring a precious gift upon the addled girl.
But then, as tongue and lips and fingers and hands worked simultaneously on her body, as they fled over every square inch of her screaming flesh, Vesper could endure no more. "Please, Marcy," she wheezed. "Do it. Do whatever you have to to me. Only no more ... don't torture me like this any more...."
She groaned, sucked in her breath audibly as Marcy fluidly turned, deserted her burning nipples, as she began circling that sensitive indentation of her navel with hot, moist lips, with peppery, audacious tongue.
Then Marcy was kissing her some place else, she was making Vesper writhe and lurch and whimper. It tickled, it tickled! And then, an adjustment of mere inches, Marcy's palms on her inner thighs, parting them There was no tickle now. There was a cauterizing kiss, a pizzicato flicking. A contact, a touch, a possession that made Vesper gasp and gurgle in her throat.
Those lips actually closed, they actually captured that minor heart of her being. They held that touchstone captive for that skillful, avenging tongue.
Vesper put her fist into her mouth, bit down to stifle those first screams, she clamped her legs, did some capturing of her own.
But the screams weren't screams of brutalization, ecstasy. They were forerunner of a whole series of screams that would electrify the sultry air before this endless afternoon was over.
"Oooh, oooh," Vesper gasped, the initial glory making her feel as if her spine were being pulled from her body inch by inch, causing her to close her legs on Marcy as if to keep her there forever, suffocate her there. "I've never, I've never...."
Marcy didn't answer. She only snuggled deeper, hummed happily in her throat, began to do Vesper all over again.