Carla (2 page)

Carla hardly knew what was happening. She felt herself hauled still nude over her mother's knee. At first she was too numb to be fully aware of anything, but the first stroke of the hairbrush proved to her that she wasn't altogether numb, not by a long shot. Her mother had the strength of a husky woman who worked hard all her life, and all that strength was being applied to Carla's posterior. The hairbrush rose and fell with the grinding regularity of a watch ticking and above the noise of the hairbrush striking her skin was the constant flow of curses from her mother.

She thought that the beating would never stop. God, how it hurt! Her flesh flamed and she wished she could die.

Then, above the slapping sound of the hairbrush and the curses of her mother, Carla heard agonized screaming.

She couldn't realize that it was her own …

Now she wanted a lover, and she would have one in due course. She would manage it.

There was plenty of time for that, she decided. It was late, and Ronald was already in bed. It was time for her to join him. She thought to herself how ridiculous it was for the two of them to share a twin bed, since the bed could never be the scene for the sexual union she craved. But Ronald said that he slept better with her by his side.

It might be easier for her if he didn't love her so much. But she didn't want to be unfaithful to him, not when he was so good to her and cared so deeply for her. She remembered unhappily their honeymoon, when Ronald tried so desperately to make love to her and was impotent on each occasion. He had warned her before hand that this would probably happen, but this didn't lessen the disappointment that each of them felt.

But it was time for bed. Resolutely, she slipped into the sheer silk night-gown he had bought for her, enjoying the feel of the smooth silk against her bare skin. Then she opened the bathroom door and tiptoed softly down the hall to the bedroom.

She moved very softly in the bedroom, careful not to wake Ronald. She took off the night-gown and placed it on the armchair, a smart armchair that didn't leak stuffing all over the floor. Then she tiptoed to the bed and slipped under the covers. She always slept nude, a habit she picked up in childhood when pajamas were a luxury her mother couldn't afford.

“Carla?”

She started. Ronald wasn't asleep; he had been waiting in bed for her. She turned to him and was surprised when he took her in his arms and kissed her gently. Was he going to be able to make love to her at last? The thought of satisfaction of her desires combined with the feeling of his arms around her to send her pulse racing.

He began to fondle her, touching her all over her body and increasing her desires. The caresses continued for a long time, and her passion built up to a point where she felt she would die if he didn't make love to her.

But—again—he was impotent. With a heavy sigh he withdrew from her and pressed his face against the pillow.

“It's no use,” he whispered. “I'm afraid I'll never be a husband to you, Darling.”

“Shhh,” she said, comforting him. “You're all the husband a woman could want.”

He lifted his head from the pillow and gazed into her eyes, a sad smile on his lips. “You're a wonderful woman,” he said, slowly. “You're a wonderful woman and I don't deserve you at all. I don't know why you go on living with me.”

“Because I love you,” she replied, the words coming automatically from her lips.

“I guess you must. I don't know why you should, but I guess you must.” He shook his head and turned over on his side, breathing heavily.

She lay motionless in bed beside him, far too tense to sleep. His attempts had only succeeded in aggravating the desires which had been so intense all that day, and sleep would be impossible for several hours.

After a few minutes his breathing became regular as he drifted off to sleep. He was such a good man, she thought. If he could only be her lover, their marriage would be absolutely perfect. But he couldn't, and there was no way to change that sad fact.

She hated the thought of being unfaithful to Ronald, but there seemed to be no other way for her to get along. She couldn't go on this way much longer, that was certain. A night like this was the ultimate in pure agony.

Had she made the right choice when she married Ronald? The answer to that was easy; a look around the house showed how much better off she was now. She had made a good bargain and she was going to stick with it. But, at the same time, she couldn't go on this way.

She resolved finally to take a lover. She didn't need a permanent relationship. All she wanted was a man who could seize her and make love to her when her hunger was uncontrollable. As long as she didn't care about the man she could remain faithful to Ronald in her heart, and that was the most important thing.

The tension stayed with her and she couldn't relax. She waited, by Ronald's side, listening to his smooth, deep breathing, until finally hours later she was overcome by exhaustion and fell asleep.

Chapter Two

IN THE SOBER LIGHT
of the day it was much more difficult for Carla to conceive of being unfaithful to her husband. She woke up a few minutes after noon, her mind fresh and awake at once. She hurried for the bathroom and showered quickly, enjoying the way the driving water pelted at her smooth skin. She rinsed herself and turned off the hot water, forcing herself to stand for several minutes under the icy shower. Nothing could compare with a cold shower early in the morning, and although she had slept much later than usual this morning the shower felt better than ever. When she climbed out of the tub and rubbed the water from her body she felt alive and ready to face the world.

After a quick glance at the mirror, she returned to her room to dress. She never did manage to get used to the idea of breakfasting in a night-gown and still preferred to go downstairs fully dressed.

What should she wear? For some reason she felt that the choice of clothes was especially important today, and choosing clothes was a luxury she never failed to enjoy. She was filled with pleasure and a feeling of enormous wealth every time she opened the closet door and looked through her sumptuous wardrobe. Before, living in her flat on the East Side, most of her clothing was bought second-hand—and price rather than appearance was the first consideration. Fortunately with her face and figure she had the knack of looking good in whatever she wore, but the clothes she owned now showed her off to perfection.

She felt that this was a special day, and that she ought to dress accordingly. So far she had no plans, not committed to a busy schedule like so many of the women in her social class. Although marriage to Ronald had brought her an elegant social position, she found it difficult to mingle easily with the wives of Ronald's friends. They all seemed cold and distant to her, and she couldn't share their interests in books and the theater. She liked to read a book or see a movie now and then, but the idea of sitting around talking about it with a bunch of over-dressed old biddies didn't appeal to her in the least. Since Ronald was over thirty years older than she was, his friends' wives were all out of her age-group, and this intensified the uncomfortable feeling she got in their presence. She could handle older men easily enough, but women were another matter.

Consequently, she kept pretty much to herself. She was never the type of girl who formed close personal relationships, and the few girls she'd had on the East Side were long forgotten. Buffalo was a big city, a metropolitan area of more than a million people, and it wasn't hard to lose old friends when you moved from the neighborhood.

At times she would feel a bit lonely, longing for someone to talk to. She spent some time looking at the television set and more time reading or listening to records, and still more time shopping. Shopping, however, had lost a good deal of its novelty. It was a thrill to buy whatever she wanted in the beginning, but the joy wore off as she finally came to the realization that she was at last rich and could buy whatever she wanted. She accepted her situation and was glad of it, but the thought of it didn't make her tremble with pleasure as it once had.

So, although she expected to spend the day either sitting around the house and talking to Lizzie, the Negro girl who cleaned the house and did the cooking, or else out riding in her MG, she still wanted to dress in something a little bit exotic. She slipped on a pair of panties first and struggled into her brassiere, happy with the knowledge that she could still get along without a bra if she had to. Then, after careful consideration, she put on an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and a tight black skirt. The combination, while decidedly exciting, wasn't the least bit cheap. Clothes sense was something that came instinctively to her; she could unerringly select the right combination to achieve just the right effect.

Breakfast was ready for her when she came downstairs. It always amazed her the way Lizzie knew just when she would be ready for breakfast; the girl's timing was incredible. She sat down at the table and dug into a mushroom omelet cooked to perfection.

Afterward, smoking a cigarette with her cup of black coffee, she tried to plan out the day. Reading was out; she felt like something a little more strenuous than curling up with a book. By the same token, listening to records or watching television failed to appeal. She realized suddenly that she was lonely, that the time had come when she couldn't amuse herself doing nothing day after day. Once merely sitting in such a lovely home was enough to satisfy her, but now she wanted something a little more stimulating.

She stubbed the cigarette out viciously and stood up from the table, her mind searching for something to do. Shopping? No, not again. There was nothing she wanted to buy. The museum? No—too damned dull for a beautiful day like this. And it was definitely a beautiful day, with the sun streaming in through the window and not a cloud in sight. Buffalo weather was surprising. It could be dismal and drizzly for days, but a hot sunny day was heaven—especially on Nottingham Terrace, where a cool breeze from the Delaware Park Lake made everything much better and fresher.

But this didn't solve her problem. She still had to hunt out a way to spend the next six hours. Well, what did she really feel like doing?

The answer came without her willing it. She knew what she wanted, all right. She wanted the same thing she had last night, the same thing she wanted every day for the past two years.

She wanted a man.

Well, she thought, why not? She didn't have to walk the streets like a common whore, but she certainly wasn't going to find a lover if she sat around in the house every damned day. She could at least give herself a chance. If she got out in the air for awhile, she stood a slight chance of finding a man and having something happen between them. She didn't have to crawl into the sack with the first thing in pants she saw, but she could at least take a look around the town.

Why not?

It occurred to her then that this was what she had been planning on from the moment she woke up. It was the obvious reason for her choice of the skirt-and-blouse combination. Today was a day when she wanted to be especially attractive; it was a day for her to go out looking for a lover.

She strode out of the Breakfast nook, enjoying the way her strong thighs rubbed against the skirt with each step she took. “Lizzie!” she called. “Lizzie!”

Lizzie hurried from the living-room, a dust cloth dangling from one hand. She was a lovely chocolate-brown, with a figure an exact duplicate of Carla's and about two sizes smaller. Carla was certain that the girl didn't have any troubles when it came to getting attention from men. She was far too beautiful to spend her time cooking and cleaning day after day, and Carla knew that in a short time she'd be getting married and giving up her job. Carla would hate to see her go, because the younger girl was pleasant company in addition to cooking like a French chef and keeping the house spotless.

“Did you want me, Mrs. Macon?”

Carla smiled. “Just wanted to tell you I'll be going out for the afternoon. I'll be home in time for dinner, so if Mr. Macon comes home before I do just tell him I took the MG out for a spin.”

“I'll tell him,” Lizzie said, nodding. “The mail came, if you want to look at it. I put it on the hall table.”

“Thanks.”

She leafed casually through the stack of mail, not expecting anything but bills and not finding anything else, either. It was a shame, she reflected, that no one ever wrote to her. If nothing else, she envied Ronald the volume of mail he received. The only letters addressed to her were bills which Ronald paid, catalogues she rarely looked at, and those mysterious and utterly useless letters that came addressed to “Occupant.”

The MG was parked at the curb in front of the house, looking like a giant cat ready to spring. She opened the door and seated herself behind the wheel. It was always a thrill for her to get behind the wheel of the tiny car, a thrill which hadn't worn off yet. It gave her a genuine feeling of power to kick over the engine and start the MG racing off. There was something delightful about a sportscar, something on a par with taking a French poodle for a walk. But poodles always struck her as a trifle ridiculous, while there was nothing silly about the MG. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb, the wind tossing her long blonde hair and playing with the neckline of the peasant blouse.

The tank was nearly full when she started that afternoon, and by four o'clock it was nearly empty. She drove all over town, down Delaware Avenue past the impressive buildings and expensive stores, back north on Main Street, through the park, and out Delaware into the suburbs. North of Sheridan Drive the houses were fewer and farther apart and the road stretched before her invitingly. The MG ate up the miles, racing along at high speed while the wind blew her hair every which-way. It was pleasant, very much so. She took side roads and doubled back on her own trail, not wanting to go anywhere in particular and anxious only to give the MG plenty of racing room.