79 Park Avenue (6 page)

She stared up into his eyes. Her eyes were the coldest he had ever seen. She didn't speak.

Anger ran through him violendy. He tried to force his lips to her mouth. Silently she squirmed and twisted away from him. He couldn't hold her stilL He leaned his weight against her and pushed her back against the wall. Now she couldn't move away from him.

He stared into her eyes, breathing heavdly. She looked back at him without fear. "Cut the teasing, Marja," he said harshly. "What do you think I brought you out here forr*

She didn't answer. Just kept watching him.

He tried to rip the towel from her, but she held it tightly. He felt his temper run away with him. There was a

wild joy in his violence. He slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. "Come on, you bitch!" he snapped. "Put out! Francie said you would!"

He felt her freeze and straighten up against the wall. He looked at her. The marks of his fingers were white against her sun-flushed cheek. A half-smile came to her lips, her eyeUds drooped. "Ross, baby," she whispered gentiy.

A confident smile came to his lips. These cheap Uttle tramps were all alike. Sometimes they needed a Uttle handling to show them who was boss. He moved toward her surely.

He didn't see the vicious upward sweep of her knee xmtil the pain exploded in his groin. He stood there unbelieving for a moment, swaying in front of her. "Marja!" he said in a shocked voice, through rapidly whitening hps. "My God! Marja?" Then the second climax of pain tumbled him to the floor in front of her.

He could see her watching him coldly through his pain-blurred eyes as he lay doubled up before her. He writhed as the waves of agony ripped through him.

He felt rather than saw her step over him and pick up her clothing from the chair. He felt a draft on his cheek as she opened the door. He strained, trying to look up at her.

She was in the doorway looking back at him. Her voice fell coldly on his ears. "If that was what you wanted, why didn't you pick Francie?"

The pain was receding now. He could breathe agam, but didn't dare move for fear it would return. He forced himself to speak. "Because it was you I wanted, Marja," he mumbled through numb lips.

Her voice was not quite so cold now. "There's some things I do, some thmgs I don't," she said patiently, as if

explaining to a child. "What kind uh girl do you think I am, Ross?"

The door closed behind her and he was alone on the floor of the room. He pressed his burning cheek to the cool tile and closed his eyes. A vision of her as she stepped from the shower flashed before him, and the pain returned. He caught his breath.

"Marja," he whispered to the cold tile floor. "What kind of a girl are you?"

Chapter 5

WEARILY he Opened his eyes. The room was dark, the night outside the windows still. He rolled over, the soft bed giving beneath him; the blanket caught his arms and held them. Vaguely he wondered how he had got here. An ache came back to him and he began to remember. He had stumbled from the bathroom and tumbled into bed. He remembered sinking into its welcoming softness, but that was all. He didn't remember covering himself.

"FeeUng better, Ross?"

He turned his head toward Marja's voice. A cigarette glowed from a chair in the comer of the room. He sat up. Now he remembered everything. She had come into the room and covered him while he was dozing. He had been shivering as if with a chill.

"Yes," he answered sullenly.

The cigarette made an upward sweep, glowed bright, and then dimmed. "Want a drag?" she asked.

"Please."

He heard her move in the darkness, then her silhouette crossed the. window. He felt the bed sink beneath her weight. The cigarette was in front of him. He took it gratefully and put it between his lips. The acrid smoke filtered deep into his lungs. He began to feel better.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"About nine," she answered.

He puffed again at the cigarette and let the smoke drift slowly out his nostrils. It seemed to help him waken. "Where are the others?" he asked, trying unsuccessfully to see her in the glow of the cigarette. "Still downstairs?"

"No," she answered shortly. "Francie was scared when we came upstairs and found you on the bed. She wanted to go home. Jimmy went with her."

He thought silendy, bitterly: Fine friends, run out when you need them. But it was just what he could expect from Jimmy. Mike would never have done that. A thought ran through his mind. "Did you tell them what happened?"

"No," she replied. "Why should I? That was between us."

"Then what did they think?" he asked.

"I tor 'em you were sick," she answered. The bed shook slightiy as if she was laughing, but he couldn't tell. "Yuh sure acted hke it. Shiverin' away."

A resentment came up in him. If they thought he was really sick, that made their actions even more cowardly. He might have really needed them. He tried to see her, but it was too dark. He leaned over and turned on a light near the bed. For a moment the light hurt his eyes and he blmked; then he turned toward her. "Why didn't you go with them?" he asked bitterly.

She didn't answer.

"You knew what happened, you didn't have to stay," he added. "I could have managed."

Her eyes were luminous in the Hght from the lamp. Her hair, almost white in its glow, was pulled straight back across her head and tied behind with a tiny ribbon. Her mouth was scarlet with Upstick, and full and shining. She sat motionlessly opposite him, still not speaking.

"Well?" he asked nastily. "Lost your tongue?"

"I came with you," she said quiedy. "I was going back with you."

A perverseness prompted his tongue. "Did you think I was going to take you back after what happened? That I would want to?"

She watched him silently, the pupils of her eyes growing large and black so that the irises almost seemed to disappear. That was the strangest thing about her. Her eyes always seemed to be speaking, yet he could never understand what they were saying.

"Did you?" he asked again.

She took a deep breath and silently got to her feet. She walked back to the chair in the comer, picked up her tiny purse, and started for the door. She didn't look at him.

He waited until she had her hand on the door before he spoke. "Marja!"

She stopped and looked down at him silently.

"Where are you going?" he asked unnecessarily.

"Home," she answered in a flat, expressionless voice. "You're okay now."

"Do you have carfare?"

"I can manage," she said in the same flat voice.

His hand moved swifdy, snatching the tiny purse from her grasp. "Where did you get money?" he asked coldly. "Francie said neither of you had a cent with you."

She didn't answer. The expression on her face didn't change. "I said I could manage," she repeated expression-lessly.

He opened the purse and looked into it. It was empty except for a lipstick, two sHghtly beaten cigarettes, a comb, and some wooden matches.

"Your wallet is under your pillow," she said quietly. "I put it there."

Instinctively he reached for it and flipped it open. The bills were still there. He began to feel ashamed of his suspicion.

"Now kin I have my bag back?" she asked. "I wanna get goin'. It's late."

He looked up at her, then down at her empty purse. He took a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and stuffed it into her purse. "Take a cab," he said, handing the purse back to her.

The ten-dollar bill fluttered back onto the bed. "No, thanks," she said dryly. "I don't want nothin' from you." The door closed behind her.

He sat there for a moment in surprise, then jumped to his feet. At the last second he realized that they had stripped the wet bathing-suit from him. Pulling the bedspread around him to hide his nakedness, he ran into the hall after her. "Marja!" he called. "Marja! Wait a minute!" He stumbled over the trailing bedspread and grabbed at the railing to keep from falling down the staircase.

She was already at the bottom of the steps when she turned to look back at him. She stared for a moment, then a smile spread across her face and she began to roar with laughter.

Her laughter floated mockingly up to him. He began to

I

get angry. "What the hell are you laughmg at?" he yelled.

She couldn't stop. "Look at yerself, Ross," she gasped, pointing. "You look like a pitcher of a ghost!"

He turned to the full-length mirror on the wall near him. His pale face and wild hair over the white bedspread did make him look Uke a ghost. He began to smile and then, laughing, turned back to her. "Give me time to get dressed, Marja," he said, "and I'll take you home."

"Better stop the car and let me out here," she said as they came to her corner. "My stepfather might be sittin' at the window."

Silently he pulled the car to the curb. He got out of the car and walked stiffly around it and opened her door. He held her hand as she stepped out.

They stood there awkwardly on the sidewalk for a moment, then she put out her hand. "Thanks for a nice time, Ross," she said poUtely.

He searched her eyes for a trace of sarcasm, but there was none. He took her hand. "Will I see you again, Marja?'* he asked.

Her hand was quiet in his. "If you want," she answered.

He put his foot on the running-board. The movement made him wince. "I want to," he said.

She noticed the flash of pain on his face. "I didn't mean to hurt you so bad, Ross," she said quietly.

He looked into her eyes. "I deserved it," he said simply. "I should have known better."

A few seconds passed and then she withdrew her hand. "I better go," she said. "The ol' man'U be wild."

"What's your number?" he asked quickly. He saw a puzzled expression on her face. "So I can call you," he added.

"Oh," she replied, suddenly understanding. "We haven't got a phone."

'Then how will I get m touch with you?" he asked. It was his turn to be puzzled. He had always thought everyone had a telephone.

She looked up at him. "I'm generally at Rannis's candy store at three o'clock. It's up the block, across the street from the poolroom."

"I'll call you there tomorrow," he said.

"Okay." She hesitated a moment. "Good night, Ross.*'

He smiled. "Good night, Marja."

He watched her walk up the block, her half-high heels cUcking on the pavement. He liked the way she walked, her head high, her step sure, her body swaying shghdy as if she owned the earth. There was a natural pride in her.

He waited until he saw her walk up the steps and into her house before he got back into the car. He turned up the block after her. The hghts were on in the poolroom as he passed by. On an impulse he stopped the car and got out.

He had been right. Jimmy was in there, leaning over a table cue in hand, in the midst of a group of boys.

He heard Jimmy's voice as he approached. It was low, but with the confidential penetration of lewdness. "—^like a mink," he was saying. "Ross was layin' on the bed there like he had his ears screwed off. Stoned. My girl says we better get out before the cops come. Th' blonde says somebody gotta stay wit' him. So we blows an' leaves him there wit' th' blonde—"

A sixth sense made him look up. He forced a smile to his face. "Ross," he said, the tone of his voice changing. "Hi yuh feelin', pal? Man, did we have a ball or didn't we?"

Ross's face was cold, his eyes bleak. His lips scarcely

moved, but the words spilled out like vitriol. "Chicken-livered bastard! What did you run away for?'*

"Francie got scared, Ross." The words tumbled from his lips in his eagerness to explain. "Somebody had to take her home. Besides, Marja was stayin' wit' yuh. She said she would."

Ross walked around the pool table toward him deliberately. The boys fell away from him as he came closer to Jimmy. "What if I was really sick, Jimmy?" he asked, his voice suddenly deceptively soft. "If I really needed help? And only a girl there to do it?"

The smile was still on Jimmy's lips, but a terror was growing in his eyes. "And that girl sure could do it, couldn't she, Ross?" he said quickly. "I bet she sure knew how."

Ross's fist caught him on the mouth, and he tumbled backward against a table. He braced himself against it for a moment, then, reversing the cue stick in his hand, lunged at Ross's face.

Ross deflected the stick with his arm and stepped in close to Jinuny. His fists moved so quickly they were a blur in the yellow Ught. The cue stick fell from Jimmy's fingers. A moment later Ross stepped back.

There was a wild throbbing pain in his temples as he watched Jimmy sink slowly to the floor, bleeding from his nose and mouth. Pain was the only way to get even. Jimmy had to know what it was like.

Jimmy was sitting on his haunches, his eyes glazed and bewildered. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Slowly he rolled over on his side on the floor.

Ross picked up the cue stick from the floor and reversed it in his hand. His eyes were like frosty blue icicles as he stood over the prostrate figure. Deliberately he pressed the blunt edge down against Jimmy's trousers. He

twisted it in his hand, leaning his weight against it. "Yellow son of a bitch!" he said.

There was an involuntary scream from Jimmy^s lips before the others could pull Ross from him. The cue stick broke sharply in Ross's hands.

"Stop it, Ross!" one of them yelled. "Yuh want tuh kill 'im?"

Ross looked at the sharp jagged edge of the broken cue in his hand. The flames were leaping all around him. As if in the distance, he heard a door slam. "That's an idea!'* he yelled, breaking from their grip and lunging at Jimmy's face with the stick.

Before he could reach Jimmy, he felt two arms around him, pinning his arms to his waist. He struggled wildly. "Let me go! Let me go!" he screamed. "I'll kill him!"

But the two arms only grew tighter and dragged him back. "Take it easy, Ross," a familiar voice said in his ear. "We don't want no more trouble."

The deep, gentle voice was like a spray of cool waten Ross felt the wild trembling inside him leave and sanity return. He stood very still, his breath rattling deep inside him. At last his control came back and he could speak. "Okay, Mike," he said, without turning around. "You can let me go. Fm all right now.'*