Jealous And The Free, The

by March Hastings

  She got off the bed and pulled slacks up over her hips, one hand moving to smooth the bulge of the crumpled drawing in her pocket. She dug into the pocket and extracted the sheet. For a moment she hesitated, realizing that she would have no need for it, yet somehow not yet ready to destroy it. Besides, the drawing was a good one. She pulled open the top drawer of the desk and dropped the paper inside, then went out to the kitchen.

  "Hi," Leda smiled. "I thought maybe you weren't going to bother this morning." She turned toward Michele and offered her puckered lips for a kiss.

  Michele grinned. "I smelled the bacon burning," she said. "Couldn't resist." She cupped the girl's chin in her hand and pecked her on the lips.

  "Oh, you know I can't cook. But at least I'm willing to try."

  Michele pulled out a chair and sat down. "Well, you'd better learn," she said. "No wife of mine..."

  She felt Leda pause. "What's wrong?" she asked quickly.

  Leda went back to the stove and lifted a skillet full of scrambled eggs. Carefully she began scraping the yellow fluff onto three plates. She set one on the floor and slid it under the table to Boris.

  Michele sat patiently, knowing better than to prod Leda when her mouth was drawn tight as it was now. She could not imagine why Leda should be upset. Surely the girl understood that she had only been joking. Yet Leda pulled up a chair to the far end of the table and began to eat without a word.

  Michele picked up her fork and toyed with a bit of bacon. She knew she wouldn't be able to swallow a thing. Her throat felt as though a wad of dust had gotten stuck on her tonsils. And already the good spirits she had felt were beginning to wane.

  Finally she could stand it no longer. She let her fork clatter loudly onto the plate. "What the hell's the matter with you?" she demanded hoarsely.

  Leda glanced up at her quickly, surprised yet not unfriendly. "There's nothing the matter with me. I was just thinking."

  "That's what I meant," Michele said angrily, annoyed not at the girl but at herself. Would she ever learn to take things easy? She knew Leda well enough by now to understand that she would get nowhere by pushing. The one thing in life Leda held precious was her independence and Michele knew that she must not challenge this. Still the girl had to realize that, in the important things, Michele was boss. If she did not, there would always be trouble between them.

  "Well," Leda drawled. She trailed the tines of her fork through the mound of eggs. "When did you decide that I was going to be a wife?"

  Michele's eyebrows rose slightly, but she struggled to remain calm. "I don't know," she said. "It just seemed natural to me. I mean, you said last night..."

  "I know what I said last night," Leda interrupted. "I promised to be faithful and love you forever." She paused. "But I didn't hang a tag on it."

  "For God's sake, does it matter what you call it?"

  "It does to me," Leda answered. "If I wanted to be married, I'd go out and find myself a man."

  The cold hand of dread seemed to grab hold of Michele's heart. It had never occurred to her that Leda might someday want to marry a man. The girl had been too busy with her career to be bothered with men. At least that's what she had always said. Now Michele realized that she had no idea how Leda felt about men, about marriage.

  "Leda, if you wanted to be married to a man, you wouldn't be here, would you?" she asked hopefully, hearing the nervous tremor in her own voice.

  Leda clucked impatiently. "Sometimes you're just too much," she said with annoyance. "That's not what I said at all."

  "What did you say?"

  Leda sighed and shook her head. "I said I didn't want to be married. If I stay with you, it's because I want to. And not because I have to. If you make me feel that I have to, I'll..." She hesitated.

  "You’ll what?" Michele prompted.

  "Well," Leda said, a tiny smile tugging at her lips, "I'll probably stay anyhow, since I love you. But I'd be a lot happier about it if you didn't try to keep me in chains." She smiled broadly. "You really don't have to, you know. I won't run away."

  Michele flushed, not at all anxious to get back on the subject of trust. It was the one thing she was not yet ready to discuss with the girl.

  "I know you won't," she said as sincerely as she could. "And I didn't mean it that way, either. It's just..." She stopped uncertainly.

  "Just what?"

  "Well, I'm proud of... of loving you, I guess. Any. how, I don't want to hide it from anybody. I wanted to buy you a ring." She swallowed hard, feeling a hot flush of shame suffuse her. "I mean..."

  "Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Leda said, her voice teasing now. "And maybe you'd like to send out announcements?"

  Michele glanced away to the window. The world outside looked clear and sparking after the night's rain. Why couldn't everything be as pure and simple between them?

  "Forget it," she said. "I was just talking." Retrieving her fork, she attacked the eggs with gusto. They were soggy and already cold. But she kept her mouth full so she wouldn't have to talk.

  Leda poured them both coffee and started to clear away the dishes. From behind a screen of cigarette smoke, Michele sat watching her, finding her very wifely indeed and wishing the girl could learn to accept the role and play it. For if Leda could function with that status, Michele knew that she would be more than capable of fulfilling her own part in their relationship. She wasn't afraid of work. Nor of responsibility. All she had ever needed was an incentive. And Leda could give her that, if only...

  Michele sighed. What good were all the if onlys in the world, if Leda did not feel the way she did? She couldn't very well tie an apron on the girl and lock her in the kitchen. And she began to feel morbid just thinking about it.

  As Leda stepped past her to pick up the cups, Michele reached out suddenly and pulled the girl onto her lap. Her arms went around the girl's waist and she leaned forward to press her lips to the hollow of Leda's throat.

  "Hey," Leda said in a low voice, "we're right in front of the window."

  Michele glanced past her shoulder to the house beyond.

  "Nobody's watching," she said. "Besides, what the devil do you care?"

  Leda laughed with her lips against Michele's ear. "I don't." She let her fingers trail down Michele's back, around to the front and the buckle of her belt.

  Michele caught Leda's hand and brought it up to her breast.

  "Don't distract me," Leda whispered. She pressed her lips to Michele's and forced Michele's lips apart with the tip of her tongue.

  The dizzying whirl of passion began in Michele's knees and spread upward. She felt almost ill with the frantic pulsing of her need.

  She grabbed Leda's hand and moved it downward. The pounding in her head grew more intense. Boris let out a howl and slammed against them in his headlong plunge toward the door.

  Leda moved away from her and stood up. "Fix your pants," she said. "We have company."

  Michele stared at her stupidly. Then she heard a knock at the hall door. "Who?" she croaked.

  "I forgot all about it," Leda said.

  "Who?" Michele repeated.

  "Anne. I told her to pick up her things.”

  Michele felt suddenly like she must be losing her mind. Nothing Leda said made any sense. "What things?"

  "I'll tell you later," Leda answered. "Fix your pants." She went out quickly toward the door.

  Michele stood up slowly and tucked in her shirt. She listened for a moment to Leda and Boris making the guest welcome. Then she went to the sink and turned on the cold water.

  She patted her burning cheeks with cool water and reached for a towel.

  A hand came out of nowhere and handed it to her.

  She spun around.

  "Hi, there," Paul said amiably.

  "Oh," Michele murmured.

  Paul peered at her flushed cheeks and grinned. "You look good in pink."

  Michele turned away to dry her face. "I wasn't expecting you," she said. "Leda only said Anne."

 
"I came along for the ride," he said easily. "It's my car."

  "Oh," she said again.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "If I'd known, I'd have contrived to have a flat tire on the way down."

  Michele grinned. She felt herself beginning to relax now that she had calmed down a bit. She had never met anyone quite like Paul, with his gentle manner and warm, open friendliness. And she felt herself being drawn to him in a good-natured, easy manner that she had never before known with a man.

  But, then, Paul was a man in name only. And it was perhaps because of this that she found it easy to turn to him now and smile. "It's perfectly all right," she said. "Where's Jonny?"

  She watched a ghostlike shadow pass over Paul's eyes.

  He shrugged. "Jonny gets around," he said.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be," Paul said. "It's an old story with Jonny and me." He shook his head. "I don't blame anyone but myself."

  Michele knew that Paul would always speak up to protect Jonny. Still, she felt sorry indeed that Paul must lead this kind of life. The kind of life she feared to have with Leda. He seemed like such a nice guy, quiet, unpushy. Surely he deserved better than the treatment he received from Jonny.

  Paul touched her arm. "Look, I said it's my fault. It takes two to make a mess like ours." He smiled and his eyes were happier now. "Now, let's make some coffee."

  "There's plenty in the pot. All we have to do is heat it."

  She busied herself with getting down cups and saucers. Since Anne and Paul had arrived, she had steeled herself to ignore whatever went on in the other room. Now, against her will, she found herself straining to catch a sound, a bit of conversation. From the low murmur of their voices, she knew the two girls were secluded in the bedroom, speaking quietly together.

  Boris came out and sat down heavily beside Paul's foot.

  The cups rattled in her hand. She glanced at Paul. "You're not the only one with problems," she said.

  "I hope you don't let a little thing like that get you down," he said, gesturing toward the other room.

  "Why not?" she said belligerently.

  He shrugged. "They've been friends for years. We all have."

  "I haven't," Michele said quietly. He glanced at her curiously for a moment.

  "True," he said finally. "I forgot that."

  She made a motion to carry the cups into the livingroom.

  "Wait a minute," he said.

  She hesitated, anxious to break up the téte-a-téte in the bedroom, yet almost afraid to discover what might be going on. She did not want her girl sharing intimate secrets with anyone.

  Still she waited while Paul took out a ball point pen and jotted a phone number on the corner of a napkin.

  "If you feel like talking," he said, tearing off the scrap of paper and handing it to her.

  She glanced at the number, then folded the slip of paper and slid it into her pocket. 'Thanks," she said. "I might just do that."

  At the moment she certainly had no intention of confiding in anyone about her problems. Yet she felt grateful for Paul's offer of friendship. He seemed sincere. And certainly Michele knew she could use a friend.

  He followed her out to the livingroom and poured the coffee.

  Neither of the girls in the bedroom seemed to be aware of their existence. Michele sat for a moment watching them, side by side on the unmade bed with their heads close together.

  Then she got up and turned her back on the scene. She strolled to the window and stared blindly in front of her.

  "It's too bad about that old church," Paul said at her elbow. He nodded toward the ruins a few doors down the street. "That was one of the loveliest spires in the city. I did a painting of it once."

  "I thought you were a dancer," Michele said automatically.

  Paul laughed. "Jonny's the dancer," he said. "I'm only acceptable in this crowd because of him. Actually, I'm an artist by choice."

  "What do you mean, by choice?"

  "Well, I mean I sell men's shoes when I need to make a buck. A pretty lowly profession, but it doesn't require any thought."

  "Hm hmm," Michele nodded. "I know all about that. I wait tables for a living and save my thinking for short stories." She remembered the story she had begun and abandoned last night. "At least, that's what I keep telling myself. I haven't really done anything yet."

  "You will," he said confidently. "When you've resigned yourself to being gay. It takes up a hell of a lot of time until you get used to the idea."

  Michele felt her heart skip a beat. Was she all that obvious, then, that a stranger could realize she was a novice at the game? No wonder Leda had become impatient with her.

  She turned to face him. "How do I get that way?"

  "Well," he scratched the side of his nose. "First of all…

  "What are you two busybodies whispering about?"

  Leda's voice interrupted.

  Paul turned around to look at the two girls. "We were just regretting the loss of that old church," he said.

  "Are you still on that?" Anne boomed in her deep voice.

  Michele liked Anne even less in tight black slacks than she had in the flaring bohemian skirt. Yet she had to admit grudgingly that the girl had a gorgeous figure. Tiny, compact, yet well molded in just the right spots. She watched the girl undulate across the room and settle herself onto the couch.

  "Leave him be," Leda said gently. "He has the soul of an artist."

  "And you have the heart of Jesus Christ," Anne said. She looked up at Michele and winked.

  Michele felt her face go hot with rage. She wanted to reach out and grab the little redhead by her scrawny throat. Who the hell was she to make flip remarks about Leda?

  "Have some coffee," Paul said, spreading the balm of his good nature over the tense moment. He handed a cup to Anne and one to Leda.

  Michele leaned back against the windowsill and tried to figure out what she was missing. Something was not as obvious as it appeared to be. She felt the same tenseness and high spirits emanating from Leda that she had noticed the other night. The girl sat quietly, her fingers twined in Boris's fur, her eyes bright. Yet she was far from relaxed, her body poised on the edge of the couch as though ready to be launched into space.

  Paul cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "this is cozy." He glanced from one to the other of the three girls. "It's the first time in my life I've seen three women in the same room with all of them silent."

  Leda laughed. A little nervously, Michele thought. But she said nothing.

  Anne emptied her coffee cup and stood up. She turned to Paul. "We might as well go," she said. "I've got what I came for." She patted the side of her purse. "Deathless prose and all that."

  Michele felt suddenly terribly curious. "And all what?" she asked innocently.

  All three of them turned to face her. She felt like a pig on a spit.

  "Nothing, really," Anne said in her haughty tone. "Just some letters and a few photographs. Why?"

  "Oh, I just thought..." What the hell had she thought? And what was she supposed to think now? She glanced to Leda for help.

  But Leda had gotten up and crossed over to Paul. She looked up at him and even from where she stood, Michele could see the silent plea on Leda's face.

  Paul nodded almost imperceptibly. "Okay, Annie Oakley," he said. "Let's get out of her before we wear out our welcome." He waved to Michele. "See you."

  Michele waved back, but she made no move to leave the windowsill. She watched Anne lift the heavy purse and swing it up under her arm. She wanted to grab the damned thing and beat the girl's head with it. She wanted to take the girl and shove her out the window. She wanted...

  Her hands clenched and unclenched convulsively. Still she did not move until Leda had closed the door behind them.

  Then she got up and walked across to the john. She went inside and locked the door. Her knees shook so that she could barely stand.

  She knelt down and leaned over the hopper.

  "Michele, are yo
u all right?" Leda called through the door.

  "I'm fine," Michele answered.

  Then she was very, very sick.

  CHAPTER 9

  When she came out, Michele walked directly to the bed and threw herself face downward on the rumpled sheets. She wanted to die.

  For twenty-five years she had lived a dull, uneventful life, moving phlegmatically from one boring week into the next. And now, in three days, her whole life had been turned upside down. She loved Leda with all her heart. Loved her, yet hated her too for her betrayal. How would she ever be able to trust the girl, after this? Obviously Leda and Anne had been lovers. And if Anne were still around it could only mean...

  Boris raised himself on the edge of the bed and dropped a huge paw on Michele's back. She felt his rough tongue massaging her ear.

  She put her arms over her head. "Go away," she said miserably.

  "Me, too?"

  She was not ready yet to face Leda. Not ready to cope with the new trouble that had come into their lives. Roughly she pulled a pillow toward her and buried her head.

  Leda sighed. "Come on, Boris."

  Michele waited until Leda left the room. Then she closed her ears to the world. She felt too miserable, too sick to care about anything. She just wanted to lie there until they came and carried her away.