Women of the Dark Streets

by Radclyffe

  Enjoying her fictitious scenario, Angelique decided one of the men would be a spy, though she didn’t know which one. And their secretary would be having an affair with one of them, the one with wavy hair.

  Angelique cut a spear of asparagus into small bites and tried it. Delicious. Firm with just enough crunch.

  Just then the large man seated with his back to her dropped his napkin and bent toward the aisle to retrieve it. The eyes of the dark-haired young woman blazed at her like a forest fire. The man wasn’t actually her husband. Angelique quickly revised her story. He was her mother’s young husband, escorting her back to Vienna. She’d run away from home when her mother married him. Obviously a philanderer who’d wed the rich older woman only for her money, he’d blinded her so completely she even trusted him to track down her rebellious daughter and return her to the family mansion.

  The man had located the daughter in Paris and soon made a pass at her. But the fiery young woman slapped him and declared she was a lesbian and would inform her mother and everyone she knew in Vienna of that fact if he insisted on taking her back. He did insist, believing he could win her over during the lengthy train ride, but obviously he wasn’t having much luck. The woman would slip out of her private berth tonight and knock on Angelique’s door, having watched for her after dinner and located her compartment then.

  She wouldn’t say much, but their eyes would catch fire and their bodies would follow.

  Angelique sighed and tried a potato. Ah, so fresh, and with more taste than its American counterpart, though perhaps she was simply hungry. And the sauce was a masterpiece of cream and flour and butter and some unknown ingredient. Perfect. The pepper steak was rare, exactly as she requested, and required almost no chewing. She stared at the blood that oozed from it and ribboned the white cream sauce.

  Why was she feeling stoned? Had someone laced her pâté with Acapulco gold? She drank more wine.

  Her new plane of awareness shot her into a fantasy about the older woman and her companion. She was actually a famous German novelist who enjoyed the leisure of train travel to think through the plot of her next book. Definitely a lesbian, a Gertrude Stein type, she liked to hire attractive secretaries more to inspire her than to do her typing and filing. She herself enjoyed those menial tasks, because they gave her the time and the opportunity to polish her work. She wasn’t a wildly popular novelist, but a serious literary type who intended for her books to eventually be classics. However, her secretaries kept her in touch with the more superficial world she tended to overlook and craved occasionally.

  Which of these women would notice her tonight and later knock on her door? Perhaps all of them?

  Dessert consisted of a strawberry tart—a flaky delicacy full of vanilla pastry cream and topped with fresh strawberries coated with a red apricot glaze. Angelique savored the tang of the fruit blended with the sweetness of the cream and the glaze.

  Hopefully her night aboard the Orient Express would be even a fraction as busy as she imagined it might be, but she decided to have one more glass of wine in case it wasn’t. She emptied the bottle while the other diners drifted away.

  Finally deciding to stand, she wavered and nearly tripped over her chair as she lurched into the corridor, reeling from table to table to steady herself. She’d expected the Orient Express to move more smoothly.

  *

  Angelique careened down the narrow corridor of the first-class coach to her private compartment after prowling through several cars and exploring the fabulous train. During her tour of the first-class sleeper, she noticed two of the three men in business suits lounging in a two-berth compartment at the opposite end of the car. She giggled, amused at how serious they looked. The third one was entering an adjacent room with his arm around the large man who had sat with the woman with blazing eyes. Hmm. What was going on here?

  Through her veiled awareness she glimpsed the gorgeous young countess in another compartment with the prim-and-proper woman who’d eaten with the three men. Her face grew even warmer when she realized the temptress would be sleeping only a wall away. The older lesbian and her companion were staying on the other side of Angelique and seemed very cozy. Now she was totally confused.

  She sank into the red velvet armchair in her spacious room and tipped her spinning head back. The rhythmic noise of the iron wheels, combined with the wine, lulled her almost to sleep, but then she heard a thud and a loud whisper. “You crazy fool. You better be careful.”

  Shaking her head, she tried to determine where the sounds came from, but couldn’t say for sure. By the time she jumped up and opened her door, the corridor was empty and quiet.

  She must have been dreaming, she thought, so she stripped off her clothes, managed to pull on a filmy red gown she’d bought in Paris, and slid into bed. She was gliding across northern France, she mused dreamily as the slight vibration of the Orient Express rocked her to sleep.

  A small hand on her shoulder shook her awake.

  “What the—”

  The small, surprisingly strong hand clamped her mouth shut. “Shhh. You’ll wake the others. I thought you wanted me here.”

  As Angelique’s eyes adjusted in the dusky light streaming under the door to her compartment, she discerned the dark brown eyes of the young woman she’d admired at dinner. Her eyes glowed almost red as she bent closer, her heavy perfume intoxicating.

  “What are you talking about?” Angelique whispered.

  “I saw the way you stared at me during dinner. Do you think I can’t tell when a woman wants me?” She threw off her dark robe and stood there as white as a marble statue, then slipped under the sheet next to Angelique. “I’m Scarlet, and I’m all yours.”

  Angelique was sure she was dreaming this time, but the flesh under her hesitant fingers felt warm and smooth. She slid her hand down Scarlet’s side to her small waist and up the swell of her hip. Scarlet snuggled closer and rubbed her full breasts against Angelique’s arm, then caught the hem of Angelique’s gown and eased it over her head.

  She didn’t care if this was a dream. Angelique settled back into the comfortable bed as Scarlet rolled on top of her and smoothed her hands over Angelique’s face.

  “You’re very beautiful, you know,” Scarlet murmured, then bit Angelique’s lower lip as gently as if she were tasting a strawberry. Angelique countered Scarlet’s teeth with her tongue, rolled her over, and nipped her cheek.

  “Ah, you’re as feisty as you are lovely,” Scarlet murmured as she sank her teeth into Angelique’s neck.

  Angelique bucked, but Scarlet held on, and soon Angelique was wandering in a huge field of wildflowers, their colors and smells surrounding her until Scarlet slowly released her and she dropped onto her pillow.

  She slept for a while, until the train slowed and she became aware of someone sitting on the bed next to her. The person had evidently opened the shades and the full moon glittered on long blond hair. “Who are you and—”

  Again, someone hushed her, but by merely placing a finger over Angelique’s lips. “I’m Ruby.”

  Gradually Angelique could make out the green eyes of the blonde who had sat with the older woman at dinner last night, though a thin red ring circled each iris. “What’s going on? Are you two playing a trick on me? How did you get in here? I thought I locked my door.”

  “Ha. You couldn’t have kept us out, even if we’d had to bribe the conductor, which we didn’t. You were easy, and Scarlet said you’re delicious.”

  Angelique had to be in one of the lucid dream states Carlos Castenada described in his Teachings of Don Juan. Why was this happening? She’d close her eyes and go back to sleep, and when she woke up it’d be morning and she’d be in Germany with her feet planted firmly on the ground.

  As she squeezed her eyes shut, a hot hand caressed her leg, then slid up toward her stomach. Fingertips brushed her mound, then circled her navel, massaging her belly. “Ah, my little potato,” Ruby muttered. “You smell so fresh. How I’d love to eat you, then
lap your warm sauce. You’d melt in my mouth like tender beef.”

  Angelique was growing tired of this ridiculous dream, so she reached down to grab the imaginary woman, only to encounter a handful of silk-like hair.

  “Let me love you,” Ruby whispered as she followed Angelique’s hand upward and bit the other side of Angelique’s neck.

  Energy rushed through Angelique with the power of a locomotive or a flash flood. She was caught in the whirlpool torrent, as if a hurricane, a tornado, a tidal wave surged through her, breaking every internal barrier she’d ever built. Finally exhausted, she collapsed against her pillow again, the smell of incense coiling through her like a snake.

  The third time Angelique awoke, she sat up in bed and stared at the figure in the red velvet chair across from her bed. The window shade was closed again, but Angelique could make out faintly glowing red eyes.

  “I didn’t want to wake you,” a soft voice said. “I would have sat here and watched you sleep.”

  “Who are you?” Angelique asked, though this had to be the young woman who sat with the three men last night.

  “I’m Coral.” She rose hesitantly and approached Angelique.

  “I suppose you want to start to make love to me then bite my neck too.” Angelique was past disgusted with this nonsense, but something kept her from dismissing this phantom she’d somehow conjured to her room. She needed to find out why she was having these visions and why her breasts and clitoris were pulsating like the throat of a warbler in full song.

  “I want to love you, but you have to let me.”

  Coral sounded so apologetic Angelique lay back and patted the bed beside her. “Come here. You can’t do any more damage than your two friends have.” How could this beautiful dream woman possibly hurt her? In her long, high-collared gown, Coral looked like a schoolgirl playing boarding-school games.

  But as Coral stroked Angelique’s arm, her hand felt like it belonged to a grown woman. The pulsations in Angelique’s clitoris grew from bird song to kettledrum, spreading outward as Coral’s gentle, rhythmic touch ignited an explosion from the depths of her body. It inched upward, seeming to seek the light, lava moving uphill, Etna and Vesuvius and Krakatoa combined as the glowing red substance rushed through her and finally seemed to blaze through the top of her head.

  When Angelique exploded, Coral cupped her face and kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. Angelique’s shoulders dropped, and she melted into the mattress as Coral kissed her way down her body and thrust amazingly long fingers into her with what sounded like a scream of triumph. Angelique smiled in surrender. If only a real woman, an available one, could ignite such passion in her.

  *

  The shrill train whistle woke Angelique with a start to the sun shining around the edges of the room-darkening window shade. Then a loud boom sounded and the train shook as if about to jump the tracks. It gradually slowed to a full stop.

  She jumped up, ripped off her red gown, and threw on navy slacks and a pullover, accented with a red scarf. She’d had some weird dreams last night, probably from the wine, but what had just happened was definitely real. Strangely, she wasn’t hung over, as she should be after drinking an entire bottle of Tokay. She felt energized, as powerful as the engine of the Orient Express.

  She yanked her door open and rushed out into the corridor just as everyone else did. Two of the men still wore pajamas, as did the older woman whom Angelique had imagined as a writer. The three women who’d visited her dreams were dressed, as were the two other men. The women stood in a small circle, and when Angelique glanced at them she could have sworn their eyes momentarily flashed red. To her embarrassment, her entire body began to throb like it had last night.

  “Did you hear that sound? What happened?” the writer asked. “Why have we stopped in the middle of nowhere?”

  “How do you know we’re in the middle of nowhere?” one of the men asked.

  “Because I looked out the window, silly.”

  The writer evidently knew the man, who seemed as if he wanted to choke her.

  “Where’s the conductor? He should be able to tell us what’s occurring,” said the woman who’d called herself Scarlet last night, sounding exactly the way she had in Angelique’s dream. She must have overheard her at dinner.

  The conductor rushed into their coach. “Ladies and gentlemen. We’ve had an explosion in the first-class dining car. We’re not sure what happened, but it’s nothing to worry about. We’re in Germany now, and as soon as the local authorities straighten things out and we replace the dining car, we’ll be under way. In the meanwhile, you’ll have your breakfast in the other dining facility. The staff will do everything possible to ensure it meets the same standards as the one you paid for.”

  Grumbling, everyone glanced at each other and started to return to their rooms. Angelique studied Scarlet, Ruby, and Coral, tempted to chuckle as she recalled her marathon dream. But as she straightened the collar of her pullover she felt one small scab, then another. Stunned, she fingered the other side of her neck and found the same marks. She caught Scarlet’s attention and glared at her, but the woman didn’t indicate that she even remembered her from dinner, much less from any late-night intimacy. After she received the same reaction from Ruby and Coral, she decided to lay off the wine for a while.

  Still puzzled, Angelique returned to her room to put on her makeup and dress for breakfast. But as she examined the twin holes on each side of her neck in the mirror, her energy began to leak like air out of a punctured tire.

  What caused these marks? Had she scratched herself in her sleep? But they were so symmetrical. It was difficult for a dream to leave holes such as these and the soreness she felt when she relieved herself. She began to topple from the magical high she’d enjoyed until now. Maybe she needed to eat.

  *

  As Angelique bit into her mushroom-and-cheese omelet, the dining car hummed with anxious, excited voices in several languages, just as her body still hummed from last night.

  “Someone planted a bomb, intended for the first-class passengers at breakfast, but it exploded early.”

  Someone tried to joke. “Perhaps the terrorists forgot about the time change.”

  “Probably one of those never-ending protests against the war in Vietnam.”

  “I thought the students had given up all that nonsense.”

  Angelique had never paid any attention to politics, but as the swirl of rumors surrounded her, she decided to at least start reading the newspaper. People obviously did strange and dangerous things to promote their cause.

  As she ate, the older woman, the one she’d pegged as a novelist, paused at her table and said, with a British accent, “May I join you?”

  “Of course.” Perhaps Angelique could discover these people’s identity and reason for being on the train.

  “Horrid way to wake up this morning.” The woman caught a busy waiter’s attention and immediately ordered black coffee and toast. “Have you traveled on the Express before?”

  “No. And I’ll always remember my experience.”

  The woman smiled. “Yes, riding this train is like being in a time warp. That’s why I insist on taking it every chance I get. So much romance and intrigue embedded in the very fabric of the accommodations.”

  Angelique warmed to her. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

  “And I try to convince all the actors I direct to travel this way too. Of course, the big-name stars insist on flying. Time is money for them. I prefer making B movies because the actors are usually impressionable nobodies who’ll do exactly what I ask. We’re all traveling together this time, except for the extras we’ll pick up in Budapest.”

  “You’re shooting a movie in Budapest?”

  The woman buttered a piece of toast. “Yes, still another version of Dracula called Dracula’s Daughters. Audiences never seem to tire of vampires.”

  Angelique almost choked on a piece of omelet. “I suppose you’re right. Why do you suppose that is?”<
br />
  The woman frowned and drank some coffee. “Hmm. It’s almost impossible to untangle the interwoven fabric of sex, violence, love, and healing. The vampire speaks to that complex aspect of life.”

  Angelique didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to believe her experience last night would keep her feeling as great as she did earlier this morning, but the magic was already evaporating like water from a vase of cut flowers. Maybe she could press the flowers of the three mysterious women’s visits between the pages of a book and leaf back to them occasionally.

  The woman finished her coffee and gazed at Angelique. “Thanks for the company. By the way, did you hear the news? A leftist group has claimed responsibility for the bombing.”

  “No. What group was it?”

  “A German communist organization called the Red Army Faction. They’ve been responsible for a lot of violence in Germany lately. Their leaders were arrested a few months ago, but evidently a new crop has sprung up. It’s becoming dangerous to travel, but that will never stop me.”

  *

  After a five-hour delay, the Orient Express sped through Munich and on to Salzburg. Angelique took a nap during the afternoon and dreamed of two groups of men in helicopters shooting at each other. Blood-splattered dead bodies lay everywhere, and one of the choppers exploded. Waking with a start, she vowed not to drink any more wine for a very long while.

  After they crossed Germany and had almost reached Austria, once again, Angelique sat alone in the dining car. But she drank only mineral water and didn’t fantasize about the other first-class passengers.

  Instead, she gazed out the window at the distant mountains, dotted with onion-domed churches and villages clustered at their feet. The mountains seemed so rooted, so strong, so sure.

  Her body still fizzed like her freshly opened bottle of water, but the longer she sat engrossed in the passing scenery, the more she could control the fizz and not fear it would build up in her and erupt like it had last night. That would embarrass her. She even hesitated to pick up her fork because when she’d touched anything metal today, static electricity had made her jump.