Love Me, Marietta

by Jennifer Wilde

  “You seem unusually pensive tonight,” he remarked.

  “It’s the wine,” I said.

  “You were looking at me with—unusual concentration.”

  “Was I?”

  “Almost wistfully, my dear. Not, alas, with desire. You’re unusually desirable tonight. The gown is lovely. The pearls and diamonds set off the color of your hair. I’m glad I gave them to you.”

  “You’ve given me so many lovely things.”

  “I wish you could give me something in return.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Your love.”

  “I wish so, too, Nicholas. I really do. I’m trying.”

  He lifted the corners of his lips and touched my cheek, then looked up as a roar of delight filled the vast room. “Pepita!” someone yelled. “Pepita!” The crowd parted as a woman with bare feet sauntered foward, two men with guitars behind her. Tall, with a narrow waist and extremely full breasts, she had dark tan skin and unusually long black hair that fell in a mass of glossy, tangled waves. Her black eyes gleamed greedily. Her full red mouth was curled in a surly pout. Her low-cut red blouse barely contained her breasts. Her white skirt was very full and slightly ragged, covered with bands of black and purple embroidery, a purple sash wound around her waist.

  “Pepita!” the crowd roared. “Pepita! Dance for us!”

  The woman ignored her admirers and padded across the room to our table, a provocative smile on her lips. She was at least thirty. Her face was heavily made up. She was attractive in a coarse, primitive way, exuding a raw sexual allure men of a certain kind found wildly exciting. I couldn’t despise her. She had undoubtedly been brought to the island a captive, as Em and I had, and she had made a place for herself. Pepita was a survivor. I admired her for that, even as I recoiled from the cheap perfume she had splashed on her body.

  “Dance for us, Pepita!” the men yelled.

  Pepita placed her hands on her hips, tossed her hair back and looked directly into Nicholas’ eyes.

  “I dance for Red Neek,” she announced throatily.

  “Clear a space!” a man shouted. “Clear a space for Pepita!”

  Eyes hungrily devouring Red Nick, Pepita smiled and lifted her arms in the air, whirling slowly as the two men who had accompanied her began to strum their guitars. The crowd moved back, clearing a space for her, and she moved onto the floor with provocative undulations, swaying, swirling, slowly, moving with a feline grace. Nicholas watched with amused blue eyes, sipping his wine as the woman arched her back, her breasts thrust out, her long hair almost sweeping the floor. She rocked back and forth, lifting first one bare foot, then the other, red lips parted.

  The music was extremely sensual, Spanish music, evoking intense heat, passion, hot sunlight, sweat. Pepita undulated, swaying her torso, smiling, moving gradually back over to our table. She lifted her skirts, shook them, placed her hand on Nicholas’ jaw, and then, turning, arched her back again until she was half-resting on the table. I moved my wine glass out of the way, my face expressionless as she writhed with her back on the table, her legs slowly lifting until her skirts fell back, exposing her thighs. Nicholas ran his hand along her leg, still amused.

  Pepita clapped her hands and leaped to her feet and, as the music picked up tempo, began to whirl like a dervish, faster, faster, hands clapping loudly as the strumming became a passionate fury. The music stopped abruptly. She fell to her knees, spread them, arched back until her head touched the floor. There was thunderous applause and a shower of gold coins. Pepita jumped up, scooping the coins off the floor. Tying them in a handkerchief, which she tossed to one of the guitarists, she sauntered back to our table, tossing her long black hair. She smelled of sweat and garlic. Forcing herself between my chair and his, she smiled, stroking Nicholas’ lean cheek.

  “You like, Red Neek?”

  Nicholas nodded, smiling his twisting smile.

  “You buy Pepita a drink?”

  “Certainly,” he said.

  “Here,” I said, “why don’t you take my chair.”

  I stood up and moved around the table, angry now. I wasn’t angry with Pepita. She was only looking after her own interests, and I couldn’t blame her. I was angry with him because I saw the game he was playing and felt it was beneath him. Pepita slid into my chair, glistening with a moist coat of perspiration. Her breasts were almost completely exposed, red silk clinging to her nipples. Her black hair was damp. Nicholas poured her a glass of rum, and I reached over to retrieve my glass and the bottle of wine, sitting down in the chair beside Em. Tremayne, on her other side, had a glazed look in his eyes. I poured another glass of wine.

  “Easy, luv,” Em warned.

  “I need it,” I snapped.

  “You’re reacting just as he intended you to react,” she said under her breath, looking across the table at Nicholas and the dancer. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

  “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Em.”

  “You can take a hell of a lot more, luv. So can I. We have no choice.”

  “What are you two mutterin’ about?” Tremayne snarled.

  “We were talking about you,” she replied sweetly, “discussing your social graces and overwhelming charm.”

  “More rum!” he barked. “We’re outta rum!”

  Draper passed another bottle over to him. The gold hoop in his ear glittered in the candlelight. His fierce gray eyes had a crafty look, as though he were planning some devilment, and, beneath the beaklike nose, his thin mouth stretched into a tight smile. Tremayne seized the bottle. He smashed the top of it across the edge of the table, splashing rum into his glass and splattering it over his soiled pale blue satin breeches. His pale blue frock coat was soiled, too, the silver lace tattered.

  “You reel-ly like Pepita’s dance, Red Neek?” the woman asked coyly.

  “I found it most interesting.”

  “I dance in private sometime. I give private performance sometime.”

  “I’ll bet she does,” Em observed.

  “Sometime zee men—zhey want to have me dance for zhem alone, in private. Zhey pay much gold. You want Pepita to dance just for you?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I like to. For you, free.”

  “Jesus, she’d never make it on Rampart Street.”

  “Is honor for Pepita to dance for Red Neek in private. Zhere is room upstairs.”

  “Convenient,” Em said.

  “Hush,” I told her.

  “Ve go upstairs?”

  “Later, perhaps,” Nicholas said.

  “Pepita has wanted to meet Red Neek for long time. She come to island as woman of one of his men. She pines for music. He sends for her two brothers. Zhey come to play music for Pepita. Jason, he die. Run through by a bad man on board a ship. Pepita all alone.”

  “My heart is breaking,” Em remarked.

  “Other men, zhey all want her, but Pepita dances instead. She dances for zhem all, and zhey give her gold. Zhey all love her, but Pepita sees Red Neek one day, and she long to dance only for him.”

  “Subtlety,” Em said, “I’ve always admired it.”

  Nicholas was enjoying himself immensely. He was deliberately trying to provoke me, toying with this poor, pathetic trollop who had no idea she was being used. Confident of her allure, convinced he found her irresistible, she threw back her head and laughed huskily. The damp red silk blouse slipped half an inch lower. I could smell the sweat, the garlic, the dreadful perfume across the table. Nicholas’ nostrils quivered. He lifted a scented handkerchief to his nose, ever so tactfully. Pepita began to gnaw a piece of sausage.

  “We’re outta rum again!” Tremayne roared. He whirled his torso around, glaring at Em. “Go get me some, woman!”

  His dark brown eyes were full of menace. Sun-streaked brown hair tumbled over his brow. An ugly snarl curled on his lips. Em looked at him for a moment, debating whether or not to make a smart retort, and then she sighed and started to get up. She didn�
�t move fast enough to suit Tremayne. He gave her a vicious shove that sent her reeling backward. She fell to the floor, brocade flying, the chair crashing down with her. I screamed, jumping to my feet, and Draper and Tremayne stood, too, Draper’s eyes glittering.

  “Bitch!” Tremayne cried.

  “That’s enough, Tremayne,” Draper warned.

  “I’m gonna kick your guts out, bitch!”

  Draper caught his shoulder and whirled him around. I reached down, taking Em’s hand, helping her up. Her cheeks were bleached of all color, chalk white, but she wasn’t really hurt. The corners of her mouth quivered. I held her to me, looking over her shoulder at the two men who stood glaring at each other like two bulls ready to charge. The enormous room was silent, all eyes on our table.

  Tremayne was sober now, stone sober, seething with cold fury.

  “You afraid I might damage her?” he growled. “Afraid I might mess her up for you, is that it?”

  “Could be.”

  “She been slippin’ out to meet you in the bushes, too?”

  “Not yet,” Draper replied.

  “You sonuvabitch! We’re gonna settle this! We’re gonna settle this right now!”

  His hand flew beneath the skirt of his frock coat and came back out clutching a knife. Em shuddered. I held her tightly. Nicholas hadn’t bothered to get up. He remained in his chair, calmly sipping his wine. Pepita held onto his arm, visibly excited by the prospect of bloodshed. Draper looked at his captain, knowing knife-fighting was forbidden, waiting for some signal. Nicholas set his glass down and lifted the handkerchief to his nostrils again.

  Everyone watched him with eager anticipation. If Red Nick gave the word, the two men would fight to the death with knives, and it would be great entertainment, a rare and unexpected treat. Em freed herself from my arms and adjusted one of the sleeves of her elaborate purple brocade gown, composed now, awaiting his decision with stony calm. Draper stood with eyes narrowed, loose and lean, not at all impatient. Tremayne gripped the knife tightly, so tightly his knuckles were white. His chest was heaving. Nicholas pulled his arm from Pepita’s hold and looked up at Draper, finally nodding.

  “You may as well settle it,” he said.

  The crowd of burly pirates greeted his words with lusty cheers, the women among them cheering even louder. A dozen men surged over, taking hold of Draper and Tremayne and hauling them to the center of the floor. Draper pulled out his knife. An enormous red-haired brute with a broken nose seized Tremayne’s left hand, seized Draper’s, and tied their wrists tightly together with a soiled white handkerchief. The two combatants stood facing each other, holding their knives in their right hands, their left arms crossed in front of them, wrists bound so securely their hands must already be growing numb. The pirates moved back, clearing a space for them. Silence fell.

  “It’ll be all right,” I told Em.

  “I’m not worried at all,” she said in a flat voice. “Draper’s sure to win.”

  “Do you want him to?”

  “He’s no prize, luv, but after these past weeks anyone would be better than Tremayne.”

  In the center of the floor the two men circled each other warily, drawing back, tugging at their bound wrists, moving in a macabre ballet. Overhead, the candles flickered, spilling down a smoky yellow light that threw their shadows over the floor, elongating them. The shadows moved as they did, dancing, distorted black patterns shifting and changing over the filthy, slippery surface. Tremayne was tense, taut, his powerful muscles bulging as he pulled back with teeth bared. Draper remained loose, relaxed, almost nonchalant.

  Tremayne made a growling noise and jerked his left arm violently, pulling Draper toward him, his knife flashing, glittering in the candlelight. Draper ducked, turned, made a sudden twist, throwing Tremayne off balance. The knife sliced through Draper’s billowing sleeve. Green silk shredded, but there was no blood. Tremayne plunged the knife again, and Draper dropped to one knee deftly, swinging his own knife up. The blades scraped together with a horrible scratching noise that gave me chills. Em’s face was perfectly immobile as she watched. She seemed totally unmoved, as though it had nothing whatsoever to do with her, but I knew it was because she wouldn’t allow herself to give way to emotion.

  The crowd of pirates cheered, waving bottles in the air, lustily yelling encouragement as the two men tugged and turned and slashed, Tremayne’s knife nicking Draper’s wrist, Draper’s knife slicing a thin wet red line across Tremayne’s jaw. Both men were covered with sweat now. Draper’s green silk shirt clung damply to his back. Tremayne’s sun-streaked brown hair was wet, splayed across his brow in dark locks. The floor was sticky with spilled rum that had dried to form a gummy coating. The soles of their boots slipped now and then, causing one or the other to lose balance. Tremayne, I knew, was a master with the knife, lunging, slashing, lunging again with renewed fury, and Draper didn’t seem to be a match for him at first, seemed to be spending all his energy fending off those lethal blows.

  Tremayne grew more and more energetic, brown eyes blazing as he waved the knife, plunging it toward Draper’s heart, and Draper caught the blade with the edge of his own, deflecting it just in time. I was amazed at Draper’s lack of spirit. He moved quickly, loosely, almost lazily, as though it were a wearying game he found faintly boring. I realized then what he was doing. He was deliberately conserving his strength, letting Tremayne work himself into a frenzy, wear himself out. The crowd roared obscenely, placing bets now, shoving each other, having an uproarious time.

  Pepita had leaped up onto her chair, skirts swaying wildly as she jumped and yelled. Nicholas continued to sip his wine. He watched the combat with frosty blue eyes, clearly indifferent to the outcome. There was a deafening roar as more blood was drawn. Pepita jumped off the chair and grabbed another piece of sausage and began to gnaw it greedily, her eyes alight with excitement. Draper was on his knees, Tremayne hulking over him, panting heavily as he slashed and slashed, always hitting Draper’s blade, the clicking, clashing noise ringing loudly. Nicholas looked up at me, a faint smile playing on his lips as he observed my pale cheeks and worried eyes.

  Tremayne was exhausted now, lunging blearily, stumbling, his coordination gone. He growled, plunging the knife once more. Draper smiled and reared back, pulling his left arm forward with all his might. Tremayne seemed to fly through the air, describing a flailing arc before he crashed to the floor with a shuddering thud. Draper twisted, turned, swung himself over, and then he was on top of the fallen man’s legs and, calmly, he drove his knife into Tremayne’s heart. There were excited yells as blood spurted and Tremayne’s body reared and bucked violently, once, twice, once more, then fell limp. Draper wiped his blade on the skirt of Tremayne’s frock coat, sliced through the handkerchief that bound their wrists together and then stood up.

  He ignored the cheers, the clatter of coins, the smashing of glass, pushed aside those pirates who rushed over to pound him on the back in congratulation. He came back over to our table, one sleeve shredded, his right wrist sporting a thin red cut. Pepita threw herself into his arms. He shoved her out of the way and looked down at Red Nick, awaiting his judgment. Nicholas sighed, gently pushing his wine glass to one side.

  “I suppose you want the woman,” he said.

  Draper nodded. He glanced at Em with lascivious gray eyes, then turned his attention back to Red Nick.

  “She’s yours,” Nicholas said. “Everything he had is yours now, including his cottage and his position. You’re my chief aide now, Draper. I trust you won’t let the woman turn you into a drunken incompetent.”

  “I’ll keep her under control.”

  “See that you do. Take her back to the stockade now.”

  Pepita plopped herself down beside Nicholas again, taking hold of his arm and winding her own about it.

  “Ve go upstairs now? Pepita dance for you?”

  Nicholas ignored her. He looked at me with expressionless eyes. “Go back to the stockade with them,” he ordered. “
I’ll join you later.”

  I didn’t answer. I followed Em and Draper out of the canteen, averting my eyes as we passed the still bleeding corpse. The moon had come up, washing the town with pale silver light that gilded the crooked rooftops and intensified the darkness filling the twisting alleyways. The night air was cool, wonderfully refreshing after the stench of the canteen. We began to walk up the cobblestoned street. A dog barked at us. Lighted windows made misty gold squares in the black walls. After we had gone some way, Em paused, tore a piece of cloth from her petticoat, and, taking hold of Draper’s wrist, tied the cut securely, knotting the cloth tightly.

  “There,” she said. “That’s better.”

  “You’re gonna take good care a me, ain’t ja?”

  “You can count on it, luv. I’m going to make you deliriously happy.”

  “I had my eye on you from th’ first, ever since I seen you standin’ there on the beach with your teats bulgin’ outta that pink dress.”

  “I know,” she said wearily.

  “We’re gonna have us a grand time.”

  “Sure we are, luv.”

  We walked the rest of the way in silence. Draper was far more exhausted than he had appeared to be at first. He moved up the steep street with considerable effort, his arms swinging limply at his sides. Our skirts made a crisp rustling noise as Em and I walked beside him. Moonlight spilled over her face and bare shoulders in a soft haze. Her shoulders seemed to droop. She wore a resigned expression, and there was a hopeless look in her eyes I had never seen there before. I reached over to take her hand. She turned and gave me a tiny, reassuring smile, but the hopeless look remained.

  We passed the shacks, the goats, the chickens. Someone was roasting meat over an open fire in front of one of the shacks. A woman laughed in the darkness. We moved up the winding road toward the stockade. It stood in sharp relief against the black night sky, the great white walls washed with silver, the cannon projecting from the slits at the top like grotesque black snouts. As we entered the gates I felt a hollow feeling inside. The horrible din, the smells, the violence had left me empty, depleted, incapable of feeling anything but this weariness that permeated my whole body. We passed the barracks and moved toward one of the fountains. Draper looked as though he were ready to drop. We paused again, and Em touched his cheek.