by Liv Rancourt
The dining room was a big open space with flashy mirror tiles on the walls and fake palm trees in the corners. With the lights up, the decorations looked dingy and worn, and Leo's raucous laughter crashed through the stillness.
I pushed through the double doors, swallowing hard on my nerves. Vaughn and her friends were so worldly, and while my peach crepe dress was pretty, she’d seen it a bunch of times before. Despite the heat, my hands had gone cold from nervousness, but I made myself walk in their direction.
“It took you long enough.” Vaughn jumped to her feet. A few of the waiters were still cleaning up, and even the musicians had already packed away their instruments. “Come on.”
She all but pulled me off my feet, leading me away from the table.
“Are you snatching your little wildcat away?” Leo lolled in his seat, a shade too close to Mr. Dupont.
Vaughn drew me close to her side. “Shut up, Leo.”
She caught my eye and I blushed, ignoring the way Momma and the preacher were yammering in my head. Vaughn had something in mind, and while I didn’t want to burn in hell, I followed along behind her.
“You boys are here to see the boss, right?” she said. “You don’t want a couple of girls listening in on one of your bull sessions.”
Leo brayed loud enough to turn heads, and for a scant second I wondered why Vaughn put up with him. Vaughn’s happiness could warm a whole room, while Leo’s harsh humor left a bitter taste in my mouth. I couldn’t tell about Mr. Dupont. Someone that quiet could be thinking any ol’ thing.
“Come on, baby doll.” Vaughn spoke low, right in my ear, sending off a wave of shivers. I kept hold of her hand and followed. “Mr. Dupont and the boss have business dealings.” She pulled me along toward the rear hall. The only things back there were the kitchen and the boss’s office. We stopped at his office. She drew me into the room and locked the door.
I breathed so fast my head got light, overwhelmed by the scent of roses and my own sweat. At some point the boss would have to put my cash drawer away. Nervousness swelled into fear. “What are we doing?”
“Now.” Vaughn leaned against the door, still holding my hand. “No one’s going to bother us for a while.” Her gaze traveled over my body, leaving a trail of heat. “Such a pretty thing.”
I hitched a hip on the boss’s desk, and she crossed the room, moving slowly, as if we had all the time in the world and the boss wouldn’t be banging on the door any minute.
“I’m just...” The slink in her walk dried my voice like a stream in July. Her soft rose scent washed over me, followed by the heat of her body. She didn’t stop till our knees were touching.
“So,” she whispered.
“We shouldn’t be hiding out in here.” Though nothing under the sun could make me leave.
She ran a fingertip along my jaw. “Why not?” Her smile got saucy. “The boys’ll keep the boss busy for a while.”
Vaughn eased closer, and I arched against her. “It’s a...” Sin. My words were cut off by the press of her lips against mine. Pretty soon I learned that the taste of another woman’s mouth drove the preacher’s talk right out of my head.
This kiss was better than our first one because I knew what to do. She got a hand around my neck and pulled me closer, and, God help me, I let her. Her hands travelled over my shoulders, and our bubs rubbed together, sending tingles to the pit of my belly.
Things blurred, my body lighting up. Too many sensations came at me all at once. She licked my lips, and when I parted them, the touch of her tongue on mine made me gasp. So new. So good. Her arm circled my waist, pulling me tight against her hip. Her fingers teased my nipples through the flowing fabric of my dress.
She only paused when I tried to return the favor by reaching for the buttons of her blouse. She caught my hand and drew it back down to her waist.
“Nope, when I get drunk I get bossy, and I want to play.” She giggled, and I got it. I’d tasted gin along with the lipstick, smelled the booze on her breath. She wasn’t blotto, but she’d started well before they’d cajoled an after-hours pour out of our bartender.
“You”—she tapped the tip of my nose—“make me think all kinds of naughty thoughts.” Her lips tightened for a second, but then her smile brightened and chased away the passing dim. “Here.” She threaded our fingers together and drew my hands to the top of my head. “Now keep ʼem here.”
“What?” I let go as soon as she did. “I’m not going to—”
“Shh.” She grasped my wrists and returned my hands to my head. “I told you I want to play. Do you trust me?” She rested her forehead against mine. “Do you?”
My heart jitterbugged all the way up into my throat. “Yeah.” The word came out strangled.
“Good. This is a game, then.” The words were a whisper, a sigh, and her breath brushed my cheek. We went back to kissing with more heat, her tongue exploring my lips. Footsteps in the hall made me jerk, but she shushed me, kissing and nipping and licking her way to the base of my throat. Whenever I tried to reach for her, she put my hands on my head, so after a while I gave in and kept them there.
She interrupted her kisses with the sweetest words, telling me I was pretty and funny and how much she liked me. The top of my dress was fitted, but when she tried to unzip it, I stopped her. Too close to outright foolishness. Instead, she played with my breasts through the fabric of my dress and my brassiere, sucking and nipping till I sobbed.
No one had ever touched me this way. Sitting got to be tricky because I wanted to flop across the desk and pull her on top of me. Her spit made my nipples cool and tight, and she bit me so hard I squealed.
“Oh stop. Stop. Don’t stop.” I babbled, torn by the weight of the sin and by how good she felt. “I always knew a woman would do things right.”
That made her pause with another of her almost-sad looks. She rubbed her thumb over my lower lip. “No one better.” She kissed me then, leaving me with the sense she had more to say.
My reservations had been blown out the window by the time she lifted my skirt to my waist. I tried to cover myself but Vaughn was quicker, gently lifting my hands to the top of my head. “Keep ‘em still.” Her eyes met mine, and she giggled, sharing the best secret. Her gaze flicked over me. “No girdle. Good.”
Before I could catch my breath, she ran a hand beneath my slip. All I had on underneath was a pair of cotton drawers. Supporting me with one arm, she eased me further onto the desk. She stroked the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, making me shiver so hard my teeth rattled.
I squirmed, desperate to rub against something firm. She worked her hand into the open leg of my drawers, moving higher and higher till she brushed a finger over my curls. I spread my thighs, as wild and wanton as any hooker in the Quarter. If this was a sin, then me and the devil were going to be pals. My fingers flexed, nails scratching my scalp. I wanted to explore Vaughn’s secrets. “Next time I get to play.”
“Hush up.” Her lips met mine, and her fingers danced, teasing, stroking, tightening things in my belly I’d never known existed. Her tongue dove so deep in my mouth she could have burrowed into my soul, and I let her. I trusted her, kept my hands on my head, and let her do what she wanted.
I scooted closer, wanting more and harder and deeper. The world narrowed to a solid knot of pleasure that Vaughn stroked, murmuring naughty words the whole while. Excitement gripped me along with a keening pleasure I’d never expected. “Keep going.” I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying out. “Please.”
My crisis brought me arching off the desk. I let go then, grabbing ahold of Vaughn’s shoulders to keep from landing in a heap. She held me close and rocked me against her body until the shivers slowed.
Calming myself left me room to feel embarrassed. I eased upright, moving slowly, trying not to be rude.
“You okay, Clara?” Vaughn stroked my cheek with so much tenderness I should have been reassured. My smile wobbled, so to cover my sadness I tugged at my bra and jiggled my bubs into
place.
She lay a gentle kiss on my knee. “You’re even cute down here.”
"Nah." I hopped off the desk, fluffed my dress over my legs, and scooted past Vaughn, my cheeks hot with shame. I'd never let a boy touch me down there, and somehow Vaughn doing it was both better and worse. Better because she’d made me feel beautiful. Worse because now I was really going to hell.
I turned away, fumbling for something to say. I needed a tissue for the lipstick smeared all over my face and a sweater to cover the wet spots on the front of my dress.
"All right?" Vaughn put a tentative hand on my shoulder.
I rubbed my cheek against her knuckles. "Yeah, I just..."
"That was fun, wasn't it? You letting me do whatever I wanted?"
Sagging against her, I did my best to shake off my worries. She wrapped her arms around my waist and nuzzled my neck. I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me, but all that came out was a little hiccup.
"I hope you know I'm not fooling around here." Her lips brushed the tender skin behind my ear.
"Sure." I couldn’t put much conviction in the word. Her body felt good next to mine, but I'd have to sit and think to decide whether we'd made a mistake.
"Let’s get you fixed up." She draped her scarf around my shoulders, covering the damp patches on my dress. "Come on. Leo will give you a ride home."
I could have objected, used the walk home to think, but my feet hurt. Instead, I sagged a little more, letting Vaughn hold me up. "Thank you."
Later that night, I found another envelope in my purse. The painted card inside showed the middle of the picture, two women holding hands. The only things missing were their faces, but I had an idea about who they might be.
Chapter 6
I had Sunday off, so Vaughn talked her way out of her shift and we went to see a Dolores del Rio picture at a theater off of Canal Street. We spent most of the streetcar ride afterward arguing about whether Dolores should have stuck with Roger or made up with her fiancé Julio. I voted for Roger. Vaughn liked Julio. We both thought Dolores was beautiful.
“Anyhow, you really didn’t need to come all the way home with me.” I poked her in the arm, secretly thrilled that she had offered to ride to the French Quarter. The sun hung low in the west, the humid air giving everything an ochre glow.
We were sitting in the front on a bench that faced the center aisle. The streetcar pulled to a stop and a pair of men got on. They were both dirty, their rough clothes torn and sweat-stained. One had an ugly scar crossing his eye. He looked right at me and stumbled, or pretended to stumble, as if he’d intended to draw our attention. His friend’s chuckle could have been a round of applause.
“Excuse me, ladies,” the one with the scar said. He did a double-take and Vaughn stiffened, drawing away from me.
“Alley cat,” he muttered over his shoulder.
“Shove it up your arse.” Vaughn’s loud comment startled me, her use of profanity frightening me more than anything else.
The men stopped in the aisle a couple rows behind us. They didn’t sit, hanging on to the overhead straps and going on about men who shaved their legs and women who wore trousers. They poked at us with their words, stabbed us with their sneers, all but calling us a couple of lavenders.
“How do you know them?” I whispered. Beside me, Vaughn sat rigid. She didn’t answer. People were staring. I could have died from the embarrassment.
By the time we crossed Rampart Street, I’d had enough. “Let’s get off at the next stop.”
“We’ll have to walk.”
“Just a couple blocks.” I rose before she could argue and hit the sidewalk as soon as the car came to a stop. Vaughn got off right behind me. I didn’t look back. Footsteps and a hard laugh from behind us prodded me on.
“Damnation.” Vaughn gripped my hand tight, half-dragging me along Rampart toward Bienville.
They struck when we turned onto Bienville. Running footsteps gave me too little warning. The one with the scar hit Vaughn square in the shoulders, knocking her to her knees. “You think I wouldn’t know you?”
She made to stand, but he smacked her so hard her head jerked.
“Fucking faggot.”
The words didn’t make any sense, but the hatred rang through his voice. Scar Face hit her again, and when I tried to throw myself in the middle of things, his friend grabbed my arm.
“Stay out of it, sugar pie. This is old business.”
The best I could do was scream, so I clawed at the man’s hand and hollered for help. No one who lived in the neighborhood—the Italians, the colored people, the artists, the butches or the do-gooders—did more than look out their windows. I halfway understood. Keeping food on the table brought most of us too much trouble to worry about borrowing someone else’s.
Still struggling to stand, Vaughn screamed, “Run!” with almost enough command to make me do it. Tears streaked my cheeks, tears of fear and anguish and rage.
A dirt-farming Okie like me had never shied away from a fight. Across the street, some kid’s toys had been left on the stoop of a small apartment building. Breaking free of the man’s grasp, I ran over and grabbed a baseball bat
The guy with the scar pulled out a knife, and the two of them were kicking and punching Vaughn. She’d curled up, wrapping her arms around her face and head. Blood spotted the sidewalk, not a lot, but I still saw red.
But nobody came to help.
I ran at them with the bat. The man with the scar had gone from ugly to hideous. He reared back and aimed a kick at Vaugh’s belly. “I hope you learned your lesson, you dirty pervert.”
I swung at the closest one right as a car turned onto the street. Scar Face’s friend dodged me and took off hollering. “Let’s go before someone calls the heat.”
Scar Face stood over Vaughn, wiping his knife on her dress. With a satisfied snort, he spit in her hair and loped off after his friend.
I wanted to chase them. Hell, I wanted to knock their heads into the Mississippi. The car slowed, as if the driver was taking in the scene. I pulled up, breathing hard, the bat loose in my hands. Behind me, Vaughn groaned. I dropped the bat, turning on my heel.
“Oh God.” Did the Lord listen to women who kissed each other? Falling to my knees at Vaughn’s side, I rolled her over so I could see her face. She lay limp, unconscious, her head coming to a rest against my knee. They’d bashed her lip. Blood stained her blouse, and there was a torn and bloody patch on her skirt. We were four, maybe five blocks from my apartment. “Help us,” I cried. “Someone. Anyone. Please.”
The car stopped and a man got out, an older man with slick hair and a handlebar mustache. He didn’t speak any English, but after assuring himself we really were two girls in trouble, he hollered for more hands. One spoke enough English for me to tell them where to go.
“Medico,” the one with the mustache kept saying. “Medico.”
“Doctor?” the young one asked, his accent so heavy I could barely make out the word.
“Later. Help me get her home.” I needed to stop the bleeding, and I wasn’t about to undress her on the street. Going to the hospital was out of the question—too much money and too many people died there. If I could find Leo, I bet he’d help us find a doctor, but first we needed to get home.
The three Italian men carried Vaughn the four blocks to my little room and laid her on the bed. I flipped on the overhead light and thanked them, shooing them out with a promise I’d call a medico as soon as possible. Meantime, Momma had taught all of us girls how to keep people from bleeding to death. I had work to do.
The splotch of blood on Vaughn’s shirt was growing, so I unbuttoned her linen blouse, revealing a heavy waist cincher, the kind that hooked in the back. Those devils had pierced the thick elastic with their knife, but I'd have to roll her over to get the thing off. Well, they’d already ruined it, so I took my shears and cut open the middle.
Surprisingly, the girdle’s bra cups were stuffed with cotton batting, and underneath
them Vaughn’s chest was smooth, her nipples broad and flat. The cut on her belly was about four inches long but shallow. I pressed a small towel over it to stop the bleeding. Against my will, I stared at her breasts. At home we weren’t much for nudity, but I had brothers.
She didn’t rouse when I scooted her skirt over her hips. A line of dark hair traveled down from her naval, and blood soaked one leg of her thin cotton drawers. When I took hold of the waistband, she grabbed my wrist, startling me so badly I screamed.
“No,” she whispered. “Please.”
I froze. “Vaughn?”
“Don’t.” Her eyes stayed closed, and she didn’t let go of my wrist. “Please, Clara.” Her voice cracked, and under other circumstances I would have done anything to take her sadness away.
Right then, all I could do was keep her alive.
“I need to stop the bleeding, hon.” Her grip weakened, and I tugged the drawers over her hips. She curled her hand over her privates. That one gesture, so full of fragile defiance, set me on my heels. Fitting the Vaughn I knew with the body I’d found hidden beneath her clothing made me queasy.
She wore a second pair of tight underpants of shell pink cotton. I'd never seen anything like them and did my best to ignore what they were likely hiding. The blood oozing from a longer, deeper cut on her thigh distracted me.
Pressing my only other clean towel to the wound, I took a deep breath and made a list of what I'd need. Warm water and soap. More towels. Rags to tie the make-shift bandages in place. She had a couple raw bruises on her ribs and her belly, and her mouth was swollen and bloody. Iodine and Carbolated Vaseline for the cuts. Most importantly, a doctor in case she needed stitches.
Hesitating before I put my hand on her shoulder, I shook her as gently as possible. “Vaughn?” I could have been rough, could have called her all sorts of names, but my brain had gone numb.
Tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes, and though she never opened them, the tip of her tongue touched the cut on her lip, and she winced. “You can call Leo. His number is Audubon five-three-two-eight.”
