by Joan Ellis
"I could dance with you all night," Doug murmured in her ear. "I used to think those were just lyrics to a song."
"I like your shaving lotion," she said, surprising herself, and Doug pulled her in closer as he chuckled.
"You're stealing my line. The fellow is supposed to tell the girl he's mad about her perfume."
"Doug, I'm not good for you," she said miserably. "You don't know me."
"I want to know you," he said huskily. "All of you."
They stood still in the middle of the room, their eyes clinging.
“Oh God, I love you, Evie," he told her hoarsely, his mouth finding hers with a gentleness that somehow surprised her. She felt the passion raging through him, but he knew how to be gentle.
Without realizing it, Eve was responding to the mouth on hers, giving as well as receiving. The touch of his hands on her was soft, venturing slowly so as not to startle. Those large, strong, doctor's hands of his were incredibly tender, Eve marveled, her eyes closed—rejecting nothing now.
"Never close yourself off from love, Evie," he whispered, as he half-lifted her onto the sofa, touching her gently. This wasn't like Joe, Eve told herself; this was almost like Phyl, as he neatly stripped her clothes from her—except that now she felt the faint pressure of his maleness. For an instant her body tightened defensively. "Sweetie, it'll be good," he pleaded, his mouth tender yet persuasive, his hands knowing.
"Doug, I don't know. I don't know—" Her head moved from side to side in anguish... because her body knew even while her mind refused to accept. Eve Slater had loved women, but it might be that she could love a man!
"Love doesn't have to be ugly and crude, darling," he coaxed, his fingers feather-light as they roamed about her body, arousing her despite her reluctance.
"Doug, no!" Her eyes were closed, but now she forced them open. Let her see this hideous male animal.
"You want this as badly as I do," he protested in a whisper. "Why fight it?"
Eve's eyes met his, and then they trailed the length of this male body. Doug was lean, well-built—and so starkly passionate. But he was concerned for her needs, Eve thought with astonishment. If this were Joe right this minute—but she wouldn't think about that crazy, tearing animal that was Joe Slater.
"Doug, I'm so confused." Apology blended with desire in her voice. She was afraid, and the same time her body ached for him. She wanted to be filled with that suddenly desirable maleness.
"This is the first time, Evie," his voice was quietly persuasive. "Forget about those other times."
Doug guessed about Joe, about the hateful nights of her marriage. She marveled—what kind of a man was he that he could read her mind this way? So gentle and tender, yet so passionate. But she wouldn't be able to stand being fooled—to have this a repetition of Joe!
She needed passion—but not Joe's kind. Phyl's? Was that enough? Or was that merely a substitute, something to delude her body for a few moments? She caught her breath as he rested himself upon her.
"Doug, it's wrong—" she tried, but the words rang false because her body trembled with want.
Doug groped for the lamp switch, found it. The room plunged into shadows.
"No rush, darling," he crooned. "We have all the time in the world..."
He knew, the way Phyl knew, she thought joyously, and her arms tightened about him, her body strained to meet him. She closed her eyes again while Doug Johnston pursued the act of love with the artistry of a master.
Oh, but this was good! It was not wrong, she corrected herself with soaring gratitude—but good! Phyl had wished she were a man, to give her everything. Now, this minute, Eve had everything!
CHAPTER 16
Phyl stared at her drink while Bill Porter completed his phone call. The others in their party had elected to remain in Washington overnight. Bill and she were the only two determined to take this late plane back to New York. She checked her watch—another ten minutes. Why hadn't she phoned Eve earlier, she rebuked herself. She could have called between dinner and the meeting—There had been plenty of time.
"All quiet in New York," Bill reported with a satisfied smile as he slid into the seat opposite her.
"Good." She tried to be casual.
"You look beat, Phyl," Bill said, watching her. "Anything bothering you?"
"No," she glanced up, startled. "Why should there be?" Her eyes met his, and she wondered if he'd heard the hospital gossip. It'd be better to come out with it, brazen out the whole rotten mess, she decided swiftly. "That isn't exactly truthful," she corrected herself. "I've had some trouble with Della Cole. She's a rather confused young woman," Phyl smiled wryly. "She made a play for me in the hospital—I'm afraid one of the nurses walked in at a bad moment."
"I heard it," Bill said quietly. "Doctors are open to that kind of thing from over-emotional or disturbed patients. Nobody holds you responsible, Phyl." His eyes met hers with calm reassurance. "They may have added to the story though," he conceded, and color leapt into her throat, as she imagined the embellishments.
"I hate nasty gossip," Phyl said with a violence she hadn't intended.
"Ignore it," he ordered quietly. "Anything else bothering you?"
"Nothing," she lied, managing a smile that appeared genuine. "Tired, maybe. The last few weeks have been hectic."
"Why don't you take your vacation early?" he urged. "Be the first of us to go." He chuckled reminiscently. "People make cracks sometimes about our taking four-week vacations at a clip, but baby, we need them!"
"That sounds like a good idea," Phyl grasped at it eagerly. Four weeks away from the city, with Eve, sounded like a slice of heaven. They could go to Maine or Vermont, some place where nobody would know them—and nobody would care.
"We'll work out the schedule when we get in to the office tomorrow." He glanced at his watch. "Plane's due in a few minutes now. We'd better move along."
* * *
Phyl climbed wearily the long flights to the Village apartment, knowing it was ridiculous for her to come down here when it was already past three. She should have gone straight to the place uptown, slept for a few hours, showered and dressed for the office. Quietly, she unlocked the door and tiptoed inside. Eve was asleep, of course. What else should she have expected? She moved soundlessly into the bathroom, closed the door so that the light wouldn't disturb Eve, and quickly undressed. She wanted to climb between the sheets to find Eve's sweetly tempting body. Not to disturb her, she cautioned herself—but just to know that Eve was there...
Later, Phyl lay smoking in the darkness, fighting a sense that something was desperately wrong. Eve was restless—threshing about in the bed, muttering incoherently. From the glistening roofs, Phyl guessed it had been raining in the city, and the rain had left a turgid humidity in its wake. She tossed back the sheet, sat at the edge of the bed, wishing it were morning. Eve would awake with that sweet surprised look to find Phyl beside her—and everything would be right again. They'd forget about Della Cole, about whatever it was that had caused that peculiar withdrawal she felt in Eve the last week or two. She crushed out the cigarette and stretched on top of the sheet, staring up into the darkness, willing herself to sleep...
"Phyl, it's almost eight," Eve's voice broke softly intruded into her slumber. "Phyl—"
Phyl's eyes flickered open and smiled as they rested on Eve. "Hello, darling."
"I have breakfast up," Eve said evasively. "I'll finish dressing and get it on the table."
Phyl stared after her as she hurried into the bathroom. It wasn't her imagination. There was some barrier between Eve and her now. She had to know. She couldn't bear another day of it, now that she was sure.
"Eve!" Phyl tossed open the bathroom door as the girl stood poised to step into the shower. "Come outside. I have to talk to you."
Phyl walked abruptly back into the other room, hating that look of terror that crept into Eve's eyes. Terror for what she had to hide, Phyl thought, refusing to spare herself.
"Yes, Phyl?"
The voice was a soft scared whisper.
"Eve, something's wrong between us. I don't know what it is."
"Phyl, can't we talk about it later?" Eve begged desperately.
"No!" Phyl was shocked at the ruthless way she had grasped at Eve's wrist. She eased her hold, without releasing Eve. "All of a sudden I feel this shadow between us. What is it, Eve? Who is it? Is it that girl down here you told me about?" Her blue eyes were almost black with fury. She hated that girl. She could kill her.
"It wasn't a woman," Eve said tonelessly, her eyes cast on the floor.
"A man?" Phyl stared without comprehension. "Eve, you don't know what you're saying!" Then she thought she saw a ray of light. "Your husband was here—is that what you're trying to say?" She grabbed Eve by the shoulders, forcing the girl to meet her gaze. "Darling, he can't bother you here—I won't let him!"
"It isn't Joe." Eve's voice was an agonized gasp. "It—it's another man. I didn't think it could ever happen this way, Phyl." How could she make Phyl understand? How could she tell her this without that terrible hurt she saw being born in Phyl now?
"You've been in bed with a man?" Phyl's hands fell from her in horror. "After everything you've said? Everything we've been to each other? What are you, Eve?"
"I don't know!" The words were wrung from her. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I was so angry and hurt when I heard that awful story about Della Cole and you. I guess I went out with him the first time to spite you—"
"There've been other times!" Phyl's voice was husky with disbelief. "You let me make love to you when you were seeing some man."
I didn't think I could love a man, Phyl—you know that. But then last night—I knew." Her voice was a whisper.
"You let him put his filthy male hands all over you —drive his rotten male body into yours!" Phyl spat at her. "Eve, I'll break his neck!"
"But I wanted him," Eve insisted, forcing herself to be honest—because after last night she knew there was nobody but Doug. There could never be anybody else. "Phyl, I don't have to be this way, don't you understand?" Her eyes pleaded for understanding.
"Who is it?"
"Doug Johnston. Of course, he doesn't know about us. I've told him about Joe—that mistake of a marriage—"
"And our marriage?" The words were harshly disjointed. "That was a mistake, too! But you didn't tell that to Doug, did you?" She'd known something dreadful was to happen the moment she'd introduced Eve to Doug—and yet she'd allowed herself to throw them together that way at the hospital.
"I can't tell him just yet," Eve admitted, toying with the sash of her robe. "I'm not strong enough yet.
"Oh, Eve, you don't know what you're doing." Phyl struggled to convince herself that this was sweet, weak, easily-persuaded Eve. "You hated it with Joe! You hated every man who touched you!" She refused to remember that Doug had touched Eve and she hadn't hated it.
"But not with Doug, don't you understand?" Eve's eyes were desperate. "I told myself I did—but then it wasn't like with Joe. It wasn't like with anybody, ever."
"Was it as good as me?" Phyl fought frenziedly, reaching to pull Eve close. "Darling, was it as good as this?"
Phyl wrenched the sash loose, to pull away the robe and impatiently love the trembling nude body. Her hands shook with the need to convince Eve as she pulled her down to the edge of the bed and began the ritual that inevitably turned yielding softness into writhing passion—that bore Eve to tumultuous climax.
"Darling, help me," Phyl implored. Her mouth coaxed, loved, while her hands and her body fought for the familiar response that somehow was lacking now. "Eve, this is Phyl! Don't you remember all the wonderful times?"
"Phyl, you've been so good to me," Eve said brokenly, her hand reaching for the white, desperate face above hers.
"You might at least have locked the door!" The strangely male voice cut through the silence with a brutal deliberateness.
"Oh, my God, Doug!" Eve hovered at the edge of the bed, white.
"Get out of here," Phyl flung at him through clenched teeth. What was Doug Johnston doing here? How had he got in? And then she realized that in her haste last night, her determination not to make a noise, she'd left the door only half-shut.
"Doug, I have to tell you—" Eve reached in an agony of shame for a robe to cover her nakedness.
"You've told me, eloquently!'' His eyes burned into the two women, loathing them. "What was last night? A dress rehearsal? A big joke at the male of the species? Or would you like me to throw off my clothes and join you and make it a real ball!"
"Doug, shut up!" Shame and fear shot through Phyl simultaneously. If Doug opened his mouth about this, she was finished at the hospital. They'd throw her off the staff without a second thought.
"I heard rumors around the hospital and I told them to shut their foul mouths. But it's all true! You wallow in the gutter, and then you come and mix with decent human beings!" In a burst of frustration he reached for a book and hurled it across the room. "Did you tell her, Eve? Did you two laugh at me together—about the clumsy way I made love? And then Phyl showed you her improvements on the man's way."
"Doug, please." Eve's voice was a painful whisper, her eyes sick.
"Did you tell her I asked you to marry me? We were going to build a beautiful satisfying life together. I asked this sick distorted thing to be my wife." His voice was rough with anguish. "The earth should be wiped clean of vermin like you!"
"What do you know?" Phyl shot at him. "What do you know beyond that clean, clinical world of yours? You call yourself a doctor." Phyl's mind sought for some way to hit back at Doug, to keep him from talking. He was furious and hurt—he could make the pair of them a public scandal.
But with all this, Phyl thought with a sense of exultation—it's all over between Doug and Eve—she'll come back to me.
"What do you call yourselves?" Doug spat at them. "Do you glory in being Cosmopolitan's pair of dykes?"
"I'll break your neck!" Phyl shrieked and lunged towards him.
"Phyl, no!" Eve flung herself between them. "We're in the wrong. Not Doug."
"Eve doesn't need you," Phyl taunted, her arm about Eve's shoulder. "She doesn't need any man!"
"Only an excuse for a man?" Doug taunted.
"Doug, you can't possibly understand," Eve said desperately. "If there were only some way I could tell you—"
"I'm going to wipe you right out of my mind." His eyes reviled her unmercifully. "I'm going back to my apartment to scrub myself with disinfectant, to kill the germs of you!"
"Why did you come here at all?" Phyl lashed out impotently, hating him for what he was doing to Eve and herself.
"I came here to drive that to work!" He laughed with harsh contempt. "Thank God I did!" He spun around and left.
Suddenly the room was deadly quiet. Phyl stared at the door Doug had slammed shut, and then she stared at Eve.
"Why did it have to happen this way? Why?" Eve collapsed onto the bed, grief tearing at her in rasping sobs.
"Eve darling, please," Phyl pleaded, reaching for her.
"Phyl, just leave me alone. Go on to the office, please!"
"I can't leave you this way, Evie," Phyl insisted, her mind a cataclysmic jumble. Never, till the day she died, would she forget the sight of Eve's face when she realized Doug was standing there, watching them in their love-making. Eve was sick, not at being discovered—but at being discovered by Doug.
"I don't want to talk to anybody! Not even you." Eve's hand covered her eyes. If Phyl had closed that door last night, none of this would have happened! That good, solid life, out of the shadows, would be hers. She might have been Doug Johnston's wife—and loved him.
Phyl moved about the room numbly as she completed her dressing. Her arms ached to comfort the small silent figure on the bed who refused to meet her glance. And what about herself? Phyl compelled herself to consider her professional precariousness. What would she find when she reached the office today—or would it be at the hospital that the
filthy story broke? Would Doug Johnston shout to the world that Dr. Phyllis Talbert was a rotten dyke and he'd caught her with her lover?
"Eve, I'll phone you later," she tried again, ready to leave this suddenly ugly place.
"All right, Phyl," Eve managed. Phyl would call, but she wouldn't be here. Where would she be? What place was there for her now?
CHAPTER 17
Phyl's hands clutched the wheel with unaccustomed intensity as she wove through the early morning traffic. All right, she tried to reason, Doug Johnston knew the truth about them now. That meant he would want no part of Eve—and Eve would come back to her because there would be no place else for her to go. They'd blot out of their minds everything that had happened with Doug, Phyl struggled to convince herself. Pain shot through her, visualizing Eve with Doug, but she'd forgive her for that—and everything would be Phyl and Eve again.
Yet she couldn't wipe from her memory that stricken look on Eve's face.
In no time they'd be in the new apartment, though. Phyl forced herself on a hopeful track—Eve would be grateful this whole nasty thing had happened, that Doug knew what she was and had let her live the right way. Eve hated men—she would have died of disgust married to Doug! Doug had fooled her—made Eve believe that their kind of love was wrong, that the man-woman relationship the only kind that was clean.
She would take her vacation right away, as Bill had suggested last night, she decided. Had it only been last night? It seemed weeks ago now. She'd flown down to Washington and everything had been fine—then she'd come back to this. No. Phyl compelled herself to be honest. Things hadn't been fine —she'd thought they were fine, but the deception had been there. For how long had Eve been seeing Doug? How had she managed to convince herself it would work?
She would go to Doug, Phyl plotted nervously, and beg him to be quiet about what he'd seen. Talk would be bad for the hospital, and what would he gain by smearing Eve and herself? Whose business was it, anyway? What right did the rest of the world have to set up rules for loving? What did they know about it?
* * *
