Deep is the Pit

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  Marty snorted angrily, “Maybe we can hire some boys to carry flashlights and get in a round of golf before going to bed. Or would you rather go for a nice long ride around the Seventeen Mile Drive?”

  Karen blushed, which amazed Marty, and bit her lower lip. She reached across the small table to place a hand lightly on his arm. “I’m sorry, darling. I — I guess I am being rather childish.”

  Marty stared at her, suddenly astounded by a seemingly impossible idea. “You’re frightened.”

  She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “I’m sorry.” She glanced at him and managed a weak smile. “Shall we go?”

  “Yeah.”

  He followed her out into the dark and took her arm as they crossed the road. He felt her arm trembling slightly and shook his head, puzzled. When he switched on the cottage lights he saw that she was pale and nervous. What the hell? he wondered. What goes on here? He lit a cigarette and watched her as she unpacked her luggage. She took a long time, but at last smiled timidly and went into the dressing room. She closed the door softly. Marty shrugged, undressed quickly, and turned out all the lights except for a small lamp by the side of the bed. He threw his pajamas over a chair and got into bed. He waited — and continued waiting.

  It was at least an hour before Karen opened the dressing-room door a crack and called, “Marty.”

  “Hmmmmm?”

  “Will you — will you turn off that light, please?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “Please, darling.”

  He sat up and snapped off the light. When his eyes became adjusted to the dark he saw the soft white gleam of Karen’s body by the side of the bed. He sucked in his breath sharply, put his arms about her, and pulled her down to his side.

  She held her arms against him, across his chest. “Marty,” she gasped.

  “Now what?”

  “Darling, please. Let me tell you. I’m not — I mean — I don’t quite know how to say it. It’s partly fear, I guess, or ignorance. Please be careful, Marty?” Her arms went limp and she whispered in his ear, “This is the first time.”

  Marty was too far gone in the wild surge of his own passions to pay attention. He possessed her with all the abandonment of his animal nature, and repeatedly, though she often cried out with pain. It was not until he had completely spent himself that he gave any thought to her lost virginity. Then he realized, dimly, that it must have been an ordeal for her and turned to take her in his arms and hold her gently. He felt warm tears on her cheeks and the trembling of her body. He became vaguely alarmed.

  “What are you crying about?”

  She whispered, “I’m sorry. You’ll have to be patient with me, Marty.”

  “Yeah, but crying! Anything wrong?”

  “No. Really.”

  “Cripes, you enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

  “Was I supposed to, Marty? I’m afraid not.”

  “Now, how do you like that?”

  “I tried to tell you. Really, you’ll have to be patient.”

  “I never expected this. It will take time getting used to the idea. What am I supposed to do, take it easy?”

  “Obviously, dear.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not built that way.”

  He rolled to his back and stared into the dark, suddenly confronted with a situation that was beyond his understanding. He had a vague notion that considerable gentleness as well as patience was indicated, but hadn’t the slightest idea how to go about it. He realized too, also dimly, that if he was not careful he could shatter whatever happiness they might enjoy before it had a chance to be born. He lay awake most of the night thinking about it.

  But in the morning, after a brief sleep, he again possessed Karen as violently as he had before.

  • • •

  He watched her closely over breakfast in their cottage that morning. She was again a sophisticated woman, cool and calm, who would never dream of raising her voice under any circumstance, and who would frown at any unusual display of emotion, but something new had been added. She was no longer the perfect picture of a young social leader. She was no longer the leader of anything. She was subdued and passive. It was as if one night had sufficed to remove a cool goddess from her pedestal and make of her a flesh-and-blood woman. But in her eyes, too, was the first hint of hurt and confusion.

  They went for a walk along the Pebble Beach golf course, by the edge of the ocean, watching the waves pound at the sea wall and, beyond, over the jagged rocks in the bay. Karen wore a loose-fitting sweater, skirt, and saddle shoes, with bobby socks about her trim ankles. Even so, she disturbed the male golfers on the course. Marty was in slacks and a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt. He was careful not to get too much grass stain on his gleaming white shoes. Every few minutes he raised a hand to brush his hair back at the temples where a light breeze had disarranged it.

  Karen held tightly to his arm and told him, “You first attracted me, darling, because of your powerful drive. It was so obvious, so easy to see. Maybe that’s what I’m really in love with. I have been surrounded by too many people who just coast along, never really doing anything or accomplishing anything, just intent on holding tightly to what they already own. You’re not that way. You gamble and take risks and plunge everything on just an idea, a theory, a belief. I like that. It gets things done.”

  Marty ventured guardedly, “You think you know me pretty well.”

  She smiled at him and squeezed his arm, but shook her head. “I don’t really know you at all. I don’t pretend to know you. You’re a whole brand-new world for me to explore. I like that, too. I can have the thrill of discovery.’’

  “But maybe you won’t like some of the things you find. I’m not a very polished character. What I have has been acquired working in hotels. It slips every once in a while. It’s just a shell I use as a convenience. Underneath-well — ”

  She said happily, “I know. Under the good clothes you wear and the concessions you make to society is really a longshoreman, or a truck driver, or even a gunman. Sometimes I’ve thought you’re also a very dangerous person. That worried me at first, until I realized that you undoubtedly had it under control. But that’s what I like about you, the good balance between the social being and the animal. Thank God,” she sighed, “I have no doubts whatever about your being all man. I’ll try to live up to that, too, and be all woman — just for you.”

  “You don’t have to try.” He chuckled. “You’re almost more woman than any woman has a right to be.”

  She asked shyly, “Honestly?”

  “Let’s go back to the cottage.”

  They rarely left the cottage for the week of their brief honeymoon. When they were not making love, which, because of Marty’s intense animalism, was most of the time, he found himself in the role of audience while Karen did most of the talking. Marty was not in the habit of explaining himself; he was cautious about anything concerning the past, and the present still bewildered him, so he listened.

  Karen told him about her family and how she had been raised, the people she had known, where she had been, her schooling, her plans, her ambitions, her dreams, and, above all else, her hope that when she did marry it would be a life partnership. Karen did not have the casual attitude of her set toward marriage. Rather than experiment with various husbands, she explained, she had intended remaining a spinster, perhaps for life. Marty had changed that. Though it seemed unbelievable to him, her conversations and attitudes made him soon realize that where he was concerned she had no reservations whatever. That was another possibility he had not forseen, another shock.

  On the drive back to San Francisco he discovered that her “no strings attached” attitude also applied to her wealth. They had been discussing the matter of whether to live at Karen’s apartment or at the hotel, when she asked, “Maybe you’re reluctant about the apartment because I own it. Is that it?”

 
Marty frowned, then laughed at the idea. “I was just considering the business angle. The hotel is going to take most of my time for months to come. It’s almost a twenty-four-hour-a-day proposition. I have to be there as much as possible. You know, new things keep coming up — ”

  “Then why not keep your suite there for emergency use, but live at the apartment? Or, if you’d rather, we could get another home somewhere.”

  “No, no. I like the apartment.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind that I own it? I was afraid you might.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you’re so independent, so withdrawn, so — well, lacking in enthusiasm.”

  “That’s just because I haven’t given it much thought. I like the apartment. We’ll live there.”

  “Would you feel better about it if I transferred the building to your name?”

  Marty was driving the Rolls, but turned fully around in the seat to stare at her. The property, he estimated, was worth at least a half million, perhaps considerably more. You did not just dispose of a thing like that so lightly, simply to ease another person’s mind. But Karen would. She meant it. Good God, he wondered, what sort of woman was she? Then he realized that if she felt that way about the apartment, her attitude would probably be the same respecting any part of her wealth. When she had said, “Till death us do part,” she had meant every word of it and more. But it was too hard to believe, too much to grasp all at once.

  He said weakly, “Keep it in your own name.” Then, because he felt she would like it, he said, “I’ll do the gift-giving in this family. But we can live in the apartment. Believe me, I like the place.”

  “I’m glad.”

  He was silent most of the time and preoccupied for the rest of the drive back to the city. Events had moved so fast for him and he had been compelled to change his mind and alter his standards so often that the whole week had bred confusion. Marty spent his time summing up and trying to look into the future. His nature required planning. Without it he was lost. But his plans were now projected to a level he had never before even dreamed about.

  He was confident of his success at the hotel. There was no doubt that he would be able to operate it at a good profit and pick up the notes as they came due. He was already being regarded as the fair-haired boy of San Francisco’s business world. Batting 1000 on even the one project had put him in excellent standing. Another year at the most and he would be firmly established.

  But that was where his original planning ended. There had been no more than that. He had never dreamed beyond that point. That had been a big enough gamble in itself. Whenever he had thought of his planning as accomplished fact, he had also thought that that was sufficient in itself. He would be made. He would be a big shot. What more could a man want?

  But now, with Karen at his side, entirely new horizons were opened to him. He had always suspected and resented most of the members of society, as he considered it, but it was nevertheless warming to realize that because of his wife all doors would be open to him. The day of the wedding he had not cared. The day after he had. He could join good clubs. He could travel in the “best” circles. He could choose powerful friends and through those friends secure his own position. He could remove himself so far from a portion of his past that only an idiot would ever suspect him of having been Red Martin. Karen was his pledge and guarantee of safety.

  He thought, too, of what he could do in the business world. An idea came to him that a few days before would have seemed ridiculous, but was now possible. Frank had evidently thought of it, too. That was probably why he had brought Bentley around. What was wrong with a chain of hotels? Absolutely nothing. Not with Karen’s capital backing him. There were many hotels like the Stannard all over the country. He knew of a half dozen that could be easily picked up. He could give any of them the same treatment he had given the Stannard. There was no limit to what could be done.

  Jees, he thought, in a few years I could be the biggest man in the business, bigger than old Bentley himself.

  He looked slyly at Karen from the corners of his eyes, appraising, calculating, wondering about her. She was no longer just a body, or even a personality. She was Marty Lee’s whole future. For the first time in his life, Marty became actually interested in what made another human being tick.

  Also for the first time, for as far as he could see into the future, he felt secure.

  Chapter Ten

  WHEN they declared the Nob Hill apartment home, Karen decided that it was no longer too large. It was just the right size for parties, so she gave parties and they attended parties. She wanted everyone to know Marty and he allowed her free rein. He wanted to know everyone, too, the right ones. Their marriage was a social sensation and Marty was still an object of curiosity, but gradually he made himself and his opinion felt and carefully selected the powerful and influential for friends. He could feel his personal stock rising week after week.

  Marty was not aware of the fact that the continuous round of partying was also a partial escape for Karen from the annoyances and aggravations of the bedroom. For a while she tried to meet Marty’s demands on his own level, but was unable to simulate his intensity. She became disgusted with her own antics. She then attempted to fashion Marty into a more reasonable and gentler bed partner, but that also failed. He was too used to the women of Dotty’s world, and Red Martin’s. When Marty desired, he possessed. It was as simple as that. Karen was unable to change him, or to make him understand that her nature demanded a far different approach to the physical.

  Marty told her one night, in a particularly indulgent mood, “You don’t know anything about it, honey. Believe me, sex is sex and you’re no different than any other woman. Only thing is, of course, it takes a little getting used to. You’ll be all right. You’ve just had a late start.”

  He failed to see the momentary expression of almost pure terror that crossed her eyes.

  He had an uneasy moment shortly after their return from the honeymoon. He stood in the entrance to the Bali Room that night and watched Dotty in the spotlights. She saw him, but looked quickly away. He telephoned Karen and explained that he would have to stay at the hotel on business until the small hours of the morning. At three A.M. he was standing in a doorway across the street from Dotty’s apartment house. He watched George Stannard get out of a taxi and escort Dotty to the door. They talked for a moment, then George went inside with her. He returned to the taxi a few minutes later. Marty waited until it disappeared up the street, then went into the building.

  He let himself into Dotty’s apartment, walked through the dark living room, and went into the bedroom, lighted dimly by a small reading lamp over the headboard of the bed. He could hear Dotty in the bathroom, under a shower.

  She came out of the bath humming under her breath and swinging a white bathing cap. She tossed it back into the bathroom, sighed, and raised her arms to run her fingers through her blonde hair. She ran her hands down her sleek nude body, a secretive smile curving her lips. She stepped to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers, but paused and slowly turned her head. She gasped and almost screamed, her hand flying to her mouth, when she saw Marty leaning back against the bureau watching her.

  He lit a cigarette and smiled at her. “Hello, baby.”

  “My God,” she gasped, “you almost scared me to death.” She straightened and glared at him, suddenly angry. “You have a hell of a nerve coming in here like this. I almost died.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind before.”

  “You never gave me a scare like this.” She asked sarcastically, “Back from your happy honeymoon with a million bucks, darling?”

  “Sure.”

  “How does it feel going to bed with that much money?”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  She gave him a petulant glance, her lips pouting. “I guess I’m dumb. I used to think I might walk down that aisle with you.”

  Marty was surprised and amused. “Really?”

>   “You knew I was crazy about you. Besides, we go together, you and me. We talk the same language. We also have what you might call interests in common. Honestly, I had a big laugh when you got engaged to the great Miss Stannard. I thought it was a publicity gag.”

  “This isn’t Hollywood.”

  She snickered at him, slid into bed, and pulled the covers up to her waist. “It works the same way, darling. But when you started avoiding me the past weeks I knew it was serious. And, my God, that wedding!” She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands, an eager intensity in her eyes. “I read all about it in the papers. What a fantastic thing! Tell me about it, Marty. Was it really like the papers?”

  Marty was startled, then felt like laughing. Her eagerness was sincere, like that of a child. Then he thought of George. Perhaps there was more to it.

  “Well, the papers didn’t understate it.” He crushed out his cigarette, lit another, and left his stance against the bureau to sit on the foot of the bed facing Dotty. “It was big stuff, all right. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I’ll bet you felt like a stranger, like it was someone else getting married.”

  “You aren’t far wrong.”

  The eager expression faded, her eyes clouded, and she leaned back against the pillows. “I didn’t get an invitation.”

  “Sorry, baby. I had nothing to do with the guest list.”

  “But George did. Naturally, he would be the one to know who you knew in town and give his cousin a hand with the guests.”

  “I suppose.”

  She stared over Marty’s head as she said, more to herself than to him, “That’s the second time George let me down.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, are you still stewing around about that?”

  Her eyes came down to his and she smiled. “Not any more. I don’t think Georgie will let me down a third time.”