It Stings So Sweet (30 page)

Robert makes formal introductions all the way
around, then we order dinner. Soon the table is piled high with shrimp cocktail, blue point oysters,
lobster, and roast duckling. I’m the stranger here and feel out of place, but Clara puts me at ease
by telling a funny story about nearly drowning on set in a fishpond while wearing a hula skirt and
a coconut bra.

Knowing she and Robert were lovers, I don’t want to like her. But I do. Everyone
does. All the moviegoers, all the men, and especially her husband, whose gaze almost never leaves
her face.

Strangely, the only man not stealing glances at her is Robert, whose attention is
so riveted upon me that I wonder if he’s trying to prove something to them. Or to himself. When a waiter
asks him for his order he says, “I’ll have an old-fashioned. Actually, make it two. Let’s see
what Sophie thinks of my usual jorum of skee.”

I’m dubious at the arrival of a glass of amber
liquid with orange slices placed before me. My nose scrunches at the smell and when I take a sip
of it, I cough and sputter.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
“It’s terrible! It’s like drinking a bottle
of disinfectant cleaner.”

Clara and her husband laugh, but Robert takes the glass from me,
tasting it for himself. He rolls the liquid over his tongue experimentally, then relaxes. “You had me
worried there, Sophie. But this is the real thing—the most expensive brand in the country. That’s
so we don’t have to worry about poison.”

“Stop scaring her, Robert!” Clara cries. “Just knock
it back, Sophie. It’s eggs in the coffee.”

I’ve never had a hankering to try liquor. Not because
of the laws forbidding its sale, but because it never seemed as if any sensible person made good
use of it. And now that I know what it tastes like, I know why. But with Robert and his friends,
I
want
to drink it. So with their encouragement, I tip my head back and let it slide down.

“
Atta girl
,” Mr. Vanderberg says and Robert beams with pride.

The liquor burns my gullet but
warms me down to my toes. It makes the piano tinkle louder in my ears and I sway in my seat, eyes on
the dusky saxophone player whose notes make the dancers sway. Some drunk man in the crowd makes a toast
to fallen soldiers and Mr. Vanderberg raises his glass.

Robert does, too, though he never lifts
his eyes.

“They served together,” Clara leans over to tell me.

“So Robert says,” I reply,
waiting for the heat inside me to dissipate. “Though I’m sure he underestimates his part in the
war.”

“He always does,” Mr. Vanderberg breaks in. “Robert can’t shoot straight but I wouldn’t
be alive today if it weren’t for those big mitts of his and his skill with a bayonet.”

Robert’s
gaze trails off to the stage, a slight grimace at the mention. Truthfully, Mr. Vanderberg doesn’t
seem to want say more about the war, either, but Clara prompts him. “This sounds like a story you’ve
never told me.”

The two men lapse into silence. Clara reaches for her husband’s hand.

He gives her fingers a squeeze and says, “Once we went down behind enemy lines and had to hoof it through
some damned Belgian forest. A German patrol caught us and frog-marched us through the woods. My
arm was broken and my ankle was twisted from the crash; I thought we were going to have to dig our
graves. But Bobby waited for just the right moment. Cracked his fist into the jaw of one Hun and had
him spitting out his own teeth by time he realized he was disarmed.”

“And I nearly sliced my
elbow off on an enemy bayonet in the process,” Robert adds.

It must be how he got the jagged
scar I noticed before. I never gave much thought to the life and death struggles he’s survived. I’ve
dismissed him as a man whose led an easy life, but realize now how wrong I was to do so.

“You
did what had to be done,” Mr. Vanderberg said.

Robert shrugs as if it were a matter of indifference
to him, but I see the tightening at the corners of his mouth. “Why talk about this when we
were having such a good time?”

“You’re right,” Clara announces. “The night is young. Let’s
buy a few bottles and go back to the hotel.”

I lose count of how many little glasses I drink
before we go, but I can’t feel the tip of my nose when Robert leans over to kiss me. The music and
the laughter and the voices in the club all fade to a distant buzz when he whispers, “I’m going to
make you fuck her tonight.”

CHAPTER

Eight

It hits me hard by the time we all pile into the
back of Robert’s car. I’m blinking too much, too rapidly, trying to pretend that liquor hasn’t turned
the whole world a bit sooty around the edges, like the windows of every house in the mining town where
I grew up.

I try to tell myself that I’ve imagined it. That he never whispered those outrageous
words in my ear, a
nd that it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. I convince myself of it because
the three of them behave as if this night were nothing out of the ordinary. They’re easy with one
another. Funny and fun. I like being with them; and just for tonight, I pretend I belong in their magical
world.

When Robert’s driver brings us around front of the hotel, Clara peeks out the window.
“Damn it. The vultures are waiting . . .” Pulling a mirror from her pocketbook, she straightens her
hair and puts on a new coat of lipstick. Then her posture changes, shoulders squaring, her expression
taking on a hard edge.

“Time to go be Clara Cartwright,” she says, sliding out of the car into
a mob of people who want to take her picture and get her autograph. Leo climbs out after her, elbowing
aside some of the more aggressive admirers, and we trail after them into the hotel and up to
Robert’s suite.

Excusing myself, I duck into the lavatory and splash a little water on my face.
By the time I join them Robert and Clara sit on opposite sides of the sofa and her husband sprawls
in a wing chair.

They’re talking aviation.

Robert pats the cushion next to him, welcoming
me into his arms, while he says, “It was nothing more than a stunt. Miss Earhart didn’t fly the
plane across the Atlantic. She was just a passenger. And I’m not sure women have any business being
up there anyway. It’s dangerous.”

It always startles me when Robert lets his Victorian attitudes
show and this shakes me out of my drunken torpor. “I think she’s very brave. Besides, didn’t you
say you admired unconventional women?”

Robert lowers his eyelashes and leers at me. “That I
do.”

Leo ignores our flirtation. “Amelia’s a fine pilot. She’ll make the crossing by herself
one day.” He pauses here and bitterness creeps into his voice. “And then they’ll give Amelia Earhart
a goddamned Medal of Honor like they gave Charles Lindbergh.”

For some reason, this makes Clara
laugh. “Oh, give it up, Ace. You’ve got more medals than you can fit on that big strong chest of
yours. You don’t need any more.”

“Lucky Fucking Lindy,” Leo mutters darkly into his drink.

This makes Clara and Robert howl.

I feel vaguely excluded until Robert says, “Speaking
of unconventional women . . . did I mention that Sophie has a splendid fantasy about you, Clara?”

Before panic rips through me, Leo quips, “Don’t we all?”

Clara preens like a cat who loves
to be admired, but I’m so mortified I want to flee.

Robert’s hand closes tightly on mine. “She
thinks about kissing you, Clara.”

I hate him for saying this. And I love him for it, too. The
sudden brutal exposure of my forbidden thoughts cuts me open with desire. I’m bleeding embarrassment
and arousal in equal measure.

Clara creeps closer to me. “Would you like to do more than just
think about it, Sophie?” Her question slithers between us like a dangerous serpent. I’m not sure
if it’s so forbidden because she’s a woman or because she’s a
married
woman. My eyes dart to her
husband, and that makes her chuckle. “Oh, don’t worry. I’d never do anything my husband didn’t approve
of.”

“Fortunately,” her husband says, lighting his cigarette and snapping the lighter shut,
“I’m a very approving sort of fellow.”

Leo and Clara smile at each other and a spark ignites.
Their fiery flirtation singes me, too, and a rush of heat flows through my veins. If they have the
same effect on Robert, I can’t blame him for having been drawn in. Anyone would be.

Clara turns
back to me and tilts her head coquettishly. “What if I kiss
you
, Sophie?”

Robert squeezes my
hand in reassurance. He wants me to do it, and the intensity of his stare makes me feel like I’m the
center of the whole world. He gives my hand another squeeze, almost turning me towards Clara.

The scent of gardenia swirls under my nose as Clara scoots a little closer. She’s lovelier than
on her movie posters and her skin looks so soft . . . there will never be another moment like this
and I’m not even sure this one is real. I quickly wet my lips with nervous assent, my hands clasped
in my lap.

Clara’s fingernails trace a sensuous line along the curve of my cheek before she
touches her lips to mine. They’re plump lips, petal soft and wet. She uses them to tease me, tickling
at the corners of my mouth until I gasp. And when I do, she deepens the kiss, slipping her tongue
against my palate.

Robert groans and it’s at that moment I realize it’s
really
happening.

I’m kissing a woman and the thrill of it makes me shiver.

Clara smiles like a cat whose
gotten into the cream. I gaze up with wonder and her smile goes from amused to downright wicked. “Aren’t
you a naughty little thing . . .”

I’m not sure how she manages to speak because I’m breathless.

Leo takes a deep, thoroughly satisfied puff from his cigarette. Robert isn’t nearly so relaxed.
His voice drops at least an octave when he says, “You’ve no idea the filthy ideas in Sophie’s pretty
head.”

I think it’s the notion that any girl might have filthier ideas than she has that gets
her blood up. Clara bats her lashes at Robert and says, “Really? And yet, she seems so innocent .
 . .”

I’m both jealous and excited by the way Robert knows how to incite Clara. She reacts to
him by seducing me. She lets her hand drift over my shoulder in a caress, then down, down, tracing
my breast, her thumb finding my nipple and giving it a tweak. The bolt of arousal she sends through
me is so strong that I moan.

Then Clara bats her eyelashes at me. “Haven’t you ever let a girl
touch you before?”

When Robert seduces me, I sometimes have the urge to sass him or test his
patience. But the way he’s staring now makes me utterly pliant. And with Clara toying with me, I am
easy prey. Between the two of them, they’ve got me mesmerized.

Clara palms both my breasts,
whispering, “It feels good, doesn’t it? You like it. Your nipples are so hard, you can’t hide it. The
boys can see it, too. They like watching us. My husband looks like he could devour me.”

“Because
he’s going to,” Leo promises, blowing a puff of smoke.

Robert moves to the table where he can
get a better view, and his gaze burns a hole through me. “Do you want her to keep touching you, Sophie?”

“Yes,” I whisper, because anything else would be an obvious lie.

Clara and I kiss again.
Her body is pressed tight to me, her breasts straining under her dress, her tightening nipples brushing
mine. Robert caresses my right leg, but now Clara’s fingers slide up the other thigh.

“You
didn’t seem so shy before,” she says and I realize that my hands are squeezed tight between my knees.
“Don’t you want me to touch your pussy, Sophie?”

“Oh god.” I give a sharp exhale, tilting my
head back for her as she kisses her way down my throat, leaving a tingling trail in her wake.

“They want us to touch each other,” Clara purrs. “It’s getting them both pretty hot under the
collar. Why, even Robert is sweating, and he never sweats.”

Robert tugs at his tie. “That’s
not true. I sweat.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Clara says. “At least not as much as everyone else. It’s
something freakish about him.”

It sets my teeth on edge the way she reminds me just how intimately
she knows him, but just when I want to claw at her eyes, she says, “I’ve never seen Robert look
at another girl the way he’s staring at you . . . he looks like he’s going to melt into a puddle.”

“Touch each other,” Robert says, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument.

I
let Clara draw my hands onto her body, and she squirms underneath them, letting me caress the outlines
of her generous curves. One shrug and the satin strap of her gown slips over her shoulder; it’s a
practiced move and I realize that she’s performing. I don’t think it’s all for me, but I don’t care.

Her body is so voluptuous, her skin so creamy, her hair so fragrant. I realize how much I want
her. How much I want her to touch me. How much I want to taste her. My body throbs with its new and
outrageous craving just as her slender fingers slip under my gown to caress my sex.

I moan,
but I’m not the only one.

Both men make wounded sounds as if the sight of us together is too
much to bear. This excites Clara as much as it excites me. I feel the flutter of her heartbeat beneath
my palm as I caress and squeeze her round breasts. I hear myself panting as Clara’s gentle fingers
stroke between my slick folds. Her lashes sweep down as she gives me a look of pure wickedness.
She plays with me, teasing my swollen pussy with a flutter of her fingers that sends a sickly rush of
arousal through my belly.

Robert surprises us both by reaching around to grab her by the nape
of her neck. “Keep kissing each other . . . and mean it.”

Clara goes kittenish, a submissive
look in her eye that I recognize because I’m feeling it, too. I want to please him. And her. I think
I might even want to please Leo, who stays aloof from us, but has let his cigarette burn to ash.

Deep, sensual breaths fill the room and warm the air. It’s the music of utter surrender as Clara
and I kiss harder, tongues dancing in each other’s mouths. Robert yanks down the straps of my gown,
exposing my breasts for Clara, who dips her head. With a mischievous wink, she catches my nipple
between her teeth and sucks it. Oh, the warmth of her lips closing around the sensitive flesh . .
 .

All I can think is that I’m touching Clara Cartwright. I’m kissing her and touching her and
being fondled by her like we were lovers, while Robert watches me. When she kisses me again, I moan
into her mouth and I arch against her hand, letting her give me pleasure that is itself a confession
to a hunger I would never speak aloud.

She rubs me, but not the way that Robert does. I clutch
at her, giving myself over to it. “Oh god, I’m coming,” I whimper with a note of desperation and
surprise as the ecstasy of it explodes behind my eyes. The whole time I’m enraptured with the thought
that it’s a woman doing this to me . . .

When it’s over, Clara says, “I bet Robert loves playing
with your pussy. It’s still quivering against my hand like a little wet bird.” Then Clara flutters
her eyelashes and trails her fingers up to Robert’s mouth so that he can suck them clean of my
taste.

I don’t know how to feel. I want them both. I’m shameless now, more needy than I’ve
ever been, but I worry that she’s about to steal him. What man can resist that sexy little pout and
those come-hither eyes?

Apparently Robert can, because he doesn’t kiss her, he kisses me. He
kisses me hot and hard and with such a fierce sense of possession that I feel myself totally open
to him. If he wants to fuck me here and now in front of Clara and Leo, I won’t stop him.

In
fact, I think I want him to do it.

He must see it. He must know it. But he pushes me down to
my knees.

I bury my head in his lap, enjoying the swollen bulge of his arousal against my cheek.
I’m ready to take him in my mouth but he lifts my chin and says, “Don’t you want to make Clara
come, too?”

I glance up, shocked when she threads her fingers through my hair and spreads her
legs with a feline invitation. “Is this where you fantasized about kissing me, Sophie?”

There
is nothing I can say. I shrink inside myself. I feel like a tiny mouse. Like a teensy toy that can
fit in a box. Like something small and fragile. And my resistance crumbles to dust. I can’t speak,
I can only nod, stunned at my own willingness when I see she isn’t wearing any underwear at all. But
that isn’t the surprising part. It’s that she’s totally bare. Shaved of all her hair.

Pink
and swollen and twitching with her own sexual appetite.

I don’t know what to do and I’m afraid
I won’t like it. I glance up at Robert and his concentration is so deadly earnest that I’m also
afraid to meet his eyes. He wants this maybe more than I do, and that excites me enough to try.

I kiss her sex, tentatively, unsure. But her taste is mild and not altogether different from
my own.

That’s as far as I thought to go, but Clara tugs me against her. “I’m so close, Sophie
 . . . use your tongue.”

I’m scared to do it, but curious, too. My tongue rolls gently over
the pearl between her nether lips.

“More,” she whispers, not afraid to pull my hair when I
resist. And I do resist.

But she fists my hair in both hands, which excites me. I lick her,
moving my tongue faster and harder. The taste of her is in my mouth and the scent of her is in my nostrils
and I have a desire to please.

Something must give me away, because Clara gives me a wicked
smile. “Ohhhhh, you like it, Sophie.”

I try to deny it, but she digs her nails into my scalp.
“Don’t you stop.”

She is hurting me. She is crueler to me than any man has ever been. And it
makes it so much better. Her cruelty strips me of pride. It frees me to lick, suck, nibble, and lose
myself in the forbidden act.

I like it.
Oh god
, I
love
it.

The men urge us on and a dam
of resistance breaks open in me. I bury my face between her thighs, intent on her pleasure. It is
my fantasy come true and I want it to go on and on. I think she knows. I think she holds back, forcing
me to work harder for it. She wants to give the men a good show. She wants to make an impression.
She keeps me on my knees, worshipping her pussy, until the carpet burns my shins and my scalp stings
like fire.