The Lonely Lady (6 page)

“Would you like some champagne?” he asked.

She nodded.

Awkwardly he opened the bottle. The cork popped and ricocheted from the ceiling. He laughed. “That’s the way a good champagne can be told from a bad one. If the cork pops.”

She laughed.

He filled the two glasses and handed one to her. “A toast,” he said. “To us.”

They sipped the wine. “It is good,” she said.

“Come here and look out the window,” he invited.

She looked into his eyes for a moment, then shook her head. “I think I’ll go to bed. I’m a little bit tired from the long drive.”

He watched her place her peignoir on a chair, get into bed and close her eyes. “Is there too much light for you, dear?” he asked.

She nodded without opening her eyes.

He pressed the wall switch and went around to the other side of the bed. He could hear her soft breathing. Tentatively he put out a hand and touched her shoulder.

She did not move.

He turned her face toward him. In the faint light he saw that her eyes were open. “You’ll have to help me,” he said embarrassedly. “I’ve never… you know…” His voice failed.

“You mean—?” she began.

“Yes,” he answered. “I could have, I suppose, but I knew I could never bring myself to do it with anyone but my wife.”

“I think that’s beautiful,” she said. Her fear was suddenly gone. At least he would not be like Bob, always comparing her with other women and always insisting that it would never be good until she got something out of it. She had made the right choice. John Randall would be a good husband. “John,” she whispered.

“Yes?”

She reached out her arms to him. “The first thing you do is come here and kiss me.”

Slowly she led him through the mysteries of her body until the trembling eagerness in him was almost more than he could stand, then she closed her hand around his bursting shaft and guided him into her.

With an involuntary groan, he came almost immediately in a long shuddering orgasm. She slipped her hand between his legs as Bob had taught her and cupped his testicles, applying a slight pressure to make sure they were completely emptied. He moaned again at her touch. Then he was silent, breathing heavily. She moved out from under him.

He touched her face in wonder. “I never felt anything like that before.”

She didn’t answer.

“Was it good for you?”

“Very good.”

“I heard that if a man came too quickly the woman didn’t get anything out of it.”

She smiled. “That’s not true. Maybe certain kinds of women. But not normal ones. This is everything I ever wanted.”

“You’re not just saying that?” he asked anxiously.

“I mean it. I never had anything as good, even with Bob. I’m very satisfied.”

“I’m glad,” he whispered.

She bent forward and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” A note of wonder came into his voice. “You know… I think… I’m getting excited again.”

“Try not to think about it. More than once a night can cause serious strain. You might hurt yourself.”

“Touch me,” he said. “I’m hard again.”

She let him put her hand on him. He seemed carved from rock. She was surprised. Even Bob had never recovered so rapidly.

“I think this once it won’t do any harm,” he said. “Put me inside you.”

Almost reluctantly she guided him into her again. This time he lasted slightly longer but still exploded in a few minutes. He groaned in a strange combination of pleasure and pain as his almost empty testicles strained to express the semen.

He rolled onto his side, looking at her. He was still breathing heavily. “You know you may be right,” he said.

“I am right,” she said. She kissed his cheek. “Now try to get some sleep,” she said gently. “It will be all right tomorrow.”

And from that moment on that was the way it was.

Chapter 7

When he saw her, Bernie came down from his lifeguard’s perch at the deep end of the pool. He walked over to where she had spread out her towel. “You’re not angry about last night, JeriLee?” he asked.

She smiled at him. “Should I be?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “Nothing really happened. Besides, I liked it too.”

“JeriLee!”

“Is there anything wrong in that? Didn’t you like it?”

He didn’t answer.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she asked. “Boys aren’t the only ones who have feelings.”

“But, JeriLee,” he protested, “girls are supposed to be different.”

She laughed. “If they are, there are an awful lot of girls doing something they don’t like.”

“I don’t understand you, JeriLee. One day you’re one way, the next another.”

“At least I conform as far as that is concerned,” she said. “Girls are said to be changeable.” She laughed. “You ruined my dress. I told my mother I spilled something on it in the kitchen.”

“It’s not funny. I felt guilty as hell about it all night.”

“Don’t be. Next time just be more careful.”

“There won’t be a next time, JeriLee. I won’t lose my head again.”

She looked at him quizzically.

“I mean it. I respect you too much.”

“You mean you won’t do it even if I want you to?”

“You don’t want it, JeriLee,” he said with conviction.

“If that’s what you think, why did I let you do it?”

“Because you lost your head too.”

“No, Bernie, that’s not the reason. I let you do it because I wanted you to do it. Suddenly I discovered why I was feeling so strangely, why I was always nervous and upset. It’s because I was trying to run away from the feelings inside me.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, JeriLee.”

“I’m being honest, Bernie. I’m not pretending to myself that I didn’t want it or like it. Maybe now I’ll find a way to cope with it.”

“JeriLee, nice girls don’t feel like that.” He was upset. “Maybe you ought to talk to somebody.”

“Who? My mother?” JeriLee asked sarcastically. “I can’t talk to her. She would never understand.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“The same thing you’re doing. Maybe in time we’ll know what it’s all about.”

He walked back to his stand without answering. All that afternoon he watched her. Nothing was right anymore. He was sorry he had started the whole thing with her.

***

“Did you finish the book?” Martin asked when she returned it to him.

“Yes.”

“What did you think?”

“There were parts of it I didn’t understand. Most of the time I felt sorry for all of them. They seemed so lost and unhappy no matter what they did.”

“What is it you didn’t understand?”

“You said that it reminded you of your own family. You’re nothing like Studs Lonigan.”

“I could be if I allowed myself to drink the way he did,” Martin said. “And my parents are as hypocritical as his. They’re always preaching at me but they don’t live the way they say I should.”

“Did you ever make it with a girl the way he did?”

Martin blushed. “No.”

“Do you do anything else?”

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered.

“I think you do.”

He turned fiery red. “Golly, JeriLee, people don’t ask questions like that.”

“You’re blushing,” she said. “Do you like it?”

He didn’t answer.

“How often do you do it?”

“That’s not fair, JeriLee. How would you like it if I asked you a question like that?”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said after a moment. “I went over to the library myself and took out two more books by James Farrell. You know, I like him. At least he’s honest.”

“He’s a good writer,” Martin said. “I tried to get my father to read him but he wouldn’t. He said he’d heard all about him from Father Donlan in church, and that he had been excommunicated because of the dirty words in his book.”

JeriLee nodded. “I know. When I took out the books, the librarian looked at me kind of funny. She said she thought I might be too young for James Farrell.”

He laughed. “Sometimes I wonder what they think we are. Children?”

***

JeriLee stood on the terrace listening to the music through the open doors of the lounge. The black orchestra had been playing at the club for the last several weeks. At first some members had objected. They said that the only reason Mr. Corcoran had hired them was because they were cheaper than the white orchestras. But from the first night they played, all except the diehards admitted they were the best orchestra the Beach Club had ever had.

JeriLee and Lisa were sitting on the railing when the music stopped and the orchestra came out on the terrace. They moved off to one side, talking among themselves. After a few moments the boy singer walked over to the railing and stood looking out over the water.

“That last number was very beautiful,” JeriLee said to him. “You sounded just like Nat King Cole.”

“Thank you.”

She had the vague feeling that he did not like her compliment. “I bet everybody says that. You must get sick of hearing it.”

He turned to look at her. His eyes were appraising. “That’s what folks want to hear,” he said in a soft accent.

She felt the faint antagonism. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I meant it as a compliment.”

He seemed to relax. “We have to give the people what they want.”

“There’s nothing wrong in that.”

“I guess not,” he admitted.

“I’m JeriLee Randall,” she said. “I work here.”

“I’m John Smith. I work here too.” Then he laughed.

She laughed with him. “John Smith. Is that really your name?”

His eyes brightened. “No. But my pappy always warned me. Never tell white folk your real name.”

“What is your name?”

“Fred Lafayette.”

“Fred, I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand.

He shook her hand, then looked into her face. “JeriLee, I’m pleased to meet you.”

“And I really do like your singing,” she said.

“Thank you.” He was smiling now. The orchestra was filing back into the room. “I got to go now. See you later.”

“He even looks like Nat King Cole,” Lisa whispered as he went inside.

“Yes,” JeriLee replied thoughtfully. She felt the warm excitement and her hand still tingled from his touch. She wondered if it would be like that with every boy she met or whether there had to be some special attraction. She turned to her friend. “Lisa, will you answer an honest question?”

“Sure,” Lisa answered.

“Are you a virgin?”

“JeriLee! What kind of a question is that?”

“Are you?”

“Of course,” she said indignantly.

“Then you wouldn’t know.”

“What?”

“What it’s like?”

“No,” Lisa said shortly.

“Don’t you ever wonder?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did you ever ask anybody about it?”

“No,” Lisa answered. “Who is there to ask?”

“I know what you mean.”

“I guess it’s something every girl has to find out for herself,” Lisa said.

JeriLee thought her friend had, in her own way, just about summed it up.

Chapter 8

The sun beat down, spreading its warmth through her body. She dozed, her face resting on her arms, her eyes closed against the light. She knew the voice the moment he spoke even though she had heard it only once and that almost a month ago.

“Hi, JeriLee. I’m back and I still want to buy you a Coke.”

She looked at the feet first. They had now been bronzed by the sun. “Where have you been?” she asked.

“In California, visiting my mother,” he said. “They’re divorced.” He paused. “Are you still worried about the rules?”

She shook her head. As the season went on, the rules about fraternization between employees and members had been relaxed. She learned from Lisa that it was the same every year. She rose to her feet. He was taller than she remembered.

He took her arm casually as they walked toward the cabana bar. It seemed that an electric current ran through his hand, creating a tingling where he touched her. She felt a slight weakness in her legs and a knotting in her stomach. She wondered why it was stronger with him than with anyone else.

He gestured at one of the small tables under an umbrella. “Sit there,” he said. “It’s cooler than at the bar. I’ll bring the drinks.”

“I’ll have a cherry Coke,” she said.

He returned in a moment with the Coke for her and a can of beer for himself. He sat down opposite her and smiled. “Cheers,” he said and took a large swallow from the can.

She sipped at the Coke through the straw. He was older than she had thought. He had to be over eighteen to get a beer.

“Is it good?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Has it been good so far this summer?”

“Okay.”

“The weather, I mean.”

“I know.”

An awkward silence descended upon them. After a few minutes he spoke. “You’re the first person I looked for when I came in.”

Her gaze was direct. “Why?”

He smiled. “Maybe it’s because you’re so pretty.”

“There are prettier girls.” She was neither coquettish nor dissembling. It was merely a statement of fact.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” he said, smiling. “You see, I didn’t forget your name. I bet you forgot mine.”

“Walt.”

“What’s the rest of it?”

“You never told me the rest of it.”

“Walter Thornton Jr. What’s the rest of your name?”

“Randall,” she answered. She looked at him. “Is your father the?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“Not really. He just sat next to me on the bus every morning on his way to the station.”

He laughed. “That’s my father all right. He won’t drive.”

“Is he here now?” she asked. “I heard he had gone to Europe.”

“He came in yesterday. I flew in from Los Angeles to meet him.”

“I didn’t know he was a member,” she said. “I never saw him in the club.”

“He never comes to the club. I don’t think he’s ever been here. He bought the membership for my mother. She used to complain she had nothing to do while he was away.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed. “I thought I might be able to talk with him. I want to be a writer and I think he’s really good.”

“I can get Dad to talk with you.”