Jealous And The Free, The

by March Hastings

  She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Yet even with her eyes shut, she could not blot out the vision of Leda, her Leda, in the arms of that redheaded bitch. Her girl, being touched, being kissed, being...

  She tossed fitfully till she finally drifted off to sleep.

  When she awoke it was almost dark, yet there were no lights on in the apartment. For a moment she lay still, breathing deeply, listening to the muted sounds of late evening wafting in on the breeze. There was no sound of anyone moving about the apartment. She heard the vast silence of the rooms.

  Suddenly she sat bolt upright, all of her alert and straining. "Leda?" she called.

  The sound of her own voice echoed hollowly in the darkened rooms. Slowly she got off the bed and pulled on the light. She whistled for Boris.

  But he, too, did not answer.

  Very carefully, Michele pinched along the creases of her slacks and did her best to smooth the wrinkles out of her shirt. If Leda had taken Boris with her, it meant that the girl had not gone far. Probably down to the place on the corner for spaghetti. Maybe just for a walk.

  She wandered out to the kitchen and glanced at the clock. Eight-thirty. A perfectly good Saturday gone to waste and all because...

  Impatiently Michele slammed her fist down on the table. It was bad enough that Leda's behavior didn't allow her a moment's peace. But why the hell did she have to be out now?

  Like a caged and hungry beast, Michele prowled through the three rooms. What would she say to the girl when she got home? So far as she knew, Leda had done nothing at all out of the way. And yet, there was Anne. If Leda were through with the girl, why was she still around?

  A million unpleasant questions popped around the surface of Michele's brain like drops of water on a hot griddle. She didn't try to answer any of them, afraid that she could not bear the truths she might discover. Yet, by the time she heard Boris bounding up the stairs, she had worried herself into a nervous fit.

  She reached the door in three strides and flung it open.

  Boris leaped through the doorway past her and made a beeline for the kitchen.

  Blinking with surprise, Leda hesitated on the threshold, her lips parted as though to speak.

  Roughly Michele grabbed the girl and yanked her inside. She kicked the door shut and backed Leda up against it.

  "Where the hell have you been?" Michele demanded.

  "Out," came the placid reply.

  "I said, where were you?" She felt the fury pounding behind her temples, demanding release. Her grip tightened on the girl's shoulders.

  "Michele, you're hurting me." The voice sounded impatient, but not afraid.

  "I'll hurt you, all right," Michele roared. She raised one hand to slap Leda's face.

  Leda twisted out of her grip and ducked under the upraised arm. She took Boris's leash out of her pocket and wrapped the metal links over her hand.

  "I wouldn't try that, if I were you," she said calmly. "I grew up in the slums, Michele. I know every dirty blow there is."

  Michele backed away from her. "I didn't mean to hit you," she said helplessly.

  Leda tossed the leash onto the table. "I hope not," she said. "That's the one thing I won't take even from you."

  Michele let the breath go out of her in a long sigh. "Where were you, Leda?"

  Leda shrugged. "I wasn't anywhere, really. I just took Boris out for a walk. He asked you first, but you were asleep."

  Michele ran trembling fingers through her hair. "Look, I didn't mean to carry on like a maniac. It's just that..."

  "It's just that you don't trust me out of your sight," Leda said evenly. "I understand that, Michele. Next thing I know, you'll be sitting on my lap when I take a pee."

  She sat down on the couch and smoothed the wide blue skirt over her knees. Watching her, Michele tried hard to take on a manner as nonchalant as the girl's. She leaned back against the door, straightening her shoulders against the wood. She jammed her hands into her pockets so Leda might not see how badly they shook.

  "It's not all that bad," Michele said.

  "Oh, isn't it?" Leda snapped back. "Then just suppose you tell me about that little performance you put on this afternoon."

  Michele sighed. She knew that Leda was trying very hard not to lose her temper. Yet Michele could not really understand where Leda got the gall to sit there so piously after what had happened. And she felt her own temper beginning to flare. She had let the girl push her around enough for one day. After all, she was supposed to be the boss in this household. And it was about time she acted like it.

  She hitched her pants up determinedly and stepped toward the couch. "I think you're the one who put on the performance, Leda. What the hell were you trying to prove?"

  "Nothing," Leda said. "I had a stack of letters and things that belong to Anne. She asked me for them, now that we..."

  "Why didn't you throw them out?"

  "They weren't mine to throw. They're Anne's."

  "What were they doing here?"

  "She left them," Leda glanced away. "When she moved."

  "So you did live with her," Michele said smugly.

  "Yes," Leda admitted readily. "A long time ago. Before I met you."

  Leda's reassurance did nothing to ease Michele's tension. "Then how come you still see her?"

  Leda looked up, her eyes wide with surprise. "But, Michele. I see her every day. In school."

  Michele felt as though her knees would give way beneath her. For a moment she was silent and still. Then she turned and walked into the bedroom. From the desk she drew out the sheet of paper with the portrait and Corinne's phone number. From the closet she took down a clean shirt.

  Leda came to stand in the doorway, watching her curiously.

  Michele ignored her and went on about the business of getting dressed. Very carefully she combed her hair straight back on the sides, with a slight wave on top. She examined herself in the mirror, then brushed her shoulders. Satisfied with her appearance, she turned to reach for the phone.

  Leda put out a hand to stop her. "What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

  "I'm going out.”

  "Where?"

  "What difference does that make to you?"

  Leda sighed. "More than you'll ever realize," she said tiredly. "But go right ahead." She moved out of the way. "Why?"

  Michele looked at her disgustedly. "Are you crazy? Do you expect me to sit home every day and know you're with that girl? Do you think I don't know what goes on there?"

  "Where?"

  "At that damned school. No wonder you wouldn't miss a class to go out with me. I must be pretty dull after a day of leotards."

  Leda shook her head slowly. "You're really impossible," she said. "There are forty girls in that class. What do you think I do, Michele? Sleep with them all in the middle of the floor?"

  "No, but I'm sure you look hard enough."

  "Speak for yourself, Michele," Leda said. "Frankly, I've seen enough to last me for life. I wanted you because I love you, not just because you're a woman." She turned away and walked into the other room.

  For an instant Michele felt herself relenting. She wanted desperately to believe in the girl, needed desperately to know the girl really loved her. Yet a compulsive something inside her urged her on. She could not give in to the girl now, no matter how she yearned to do so. Until Leda surrendered herself completely, Michele knew she stood no chance for happiness. And that included giving up school. As long as Leda continued to see anyone she had been intimate with, Michele could not believe that she was safe.

  How could she ever know that Leda was really finished with Anne? With the others? There must have been others.

  And if Leda had loved them once...

  She reached for the phone and sat down with it on the bed. She did not especially want to go to Corinne now. Yet what else could she do? If Leda were ever to understand, Michele knew she had to make her position clear now.

  When Corinne's deep voice answered, Michele
meticulously, nervously explained who was calling and why. Corinne expressed delight at hearing from her and begged her to hurry.

  Feeling greatly relieved, Michele jotted down the address and set the phone back on the sill. Somebody, at least, was glad she was alive. And Leda for tonight could be damned.

  But when she glanced complacently at Leda to see her reaction, Leda didn't look damned at all. She was grinning from ear to ear.

  "What's so funny?" Michele barked.

  "You are," Leda said.

  Michele frowned, not at all pleased by the implication of Leda's tone. For some reason Leda considered her at the moment a complete fool. And Michele resented the fact that, even in the moment of her own greatest triumph, Leda must find a way to emerge victorious.

  "What makes you think so?" she demanded.

  "You called Corinne?"

  "So?"

  "Oh, baby, don't be a fool. You don't want to get involved with her."

  "Why the hell not? She likes me."

  Leda laughed. "I know," she said. "You have such a beautiful head."

  Michele's ears burned and her throat felt suddenly dry. "How do you know that?"

  Leda came slowly toward her until she stood very close. She touched Michele's chin with her fingertips. "Honey, please stay home," she murmured.

  "I've got a date," Michele said. She felt flame spreading beneath Leda's touch. Yet this time she knew she dare not give in, not for an instant.

  "But it's not you, darling."

  "Who's not me?"

  Leda clucked impatiently. "Honey, every dyke in the Village over the age of five has been to bed with Corinne."

  The words had only one meaning for Michele. "Have you?" she snapped.

  Leda laughed. "Haven't you?"

  Michele drew away as though she had been slapped. "No," she said. "I haven't yet." She glared at Leda with murder in her heart. "But you can be damn sure I will!"

  She turned then and slammed out the door.

  CHAPTER 10

  By the time she reached the Village, Michele had already lost most of her nerve. She realized all too well that the only reason she was going to Corinne now was because she wanted to get even with Leda. And the motive didn't strike her as being a particularly admirable one. In fact, she wasn't even too sure just what she wanted to prove to Leda, except that the girl must accept the sanctity of their relationship. And, after all, if Leda felt that she could see her past lovers any time she had a desire to...

  Yet, despite her own weak knees in the situation, Michele was determined to see this thing through. For if she went crawling back to Leda now, she knew that she was finished. Once Leda lost her respect, the girl would begin looking around for someone a little stronger, a little more worthy.

  She hurried along Bank Street to the corner of Bleecker and turned in under the canopy of an expensive apartment building. Somewhere in this building Corinne waited for her, anxiously. The thought that someone still found her desirable did little to ease the discomfort Michele felt. For it was the wrong someone. And she knew that, no matter what lay in store for her here, she would never find happiness with anyone but Leda.

  Almost instantly, the buzzer sounded in answer to her ring. She leaned against the heavy door and pushed her way inside. The hallway felt cool and inviting and she noticed a freshness about the odor of it that she had never known in the many houses in which she had lived. The place seemed almost to smell of money, of class. For a moment Michele hesitated. Never in her life bad she known the advantages money could buy. Nor had she yearned for them. She had been happy enough in the shabby little apartment she shared with Leda. In the smelly rooming houses she had lived in with her parents. Yet the promise of ease added a dimension to the situation that she had not expected. She felt a niggle of excitement touch her with the realization that she was entering unfamiliar territory.

  She strode briskly across the lobby and stepped into the self-service elevator. Its soft hum accompanied her swiftly aloft. At the tenth floor the car stopped and the door slid smoothly open.

  In the doorway directly across from the elevator the dark haired girl she had seen with Corinne in the coffeehouse stood waiting for her. Michele felt a flare of disappointment. She had expected that Corinne would surely be alone. Even if the girl had been there when she called, it seemed only sensible that Corinne would have sent her away.

  Still, she had come this far. There was very little sense in turning back now. She pulled herself up tall and stepped out of the car.

  "What took you so long?" the girl said, her face a beautiful but expressionless mask. "We were expecting you to call last night."

  Michele heard the challenge underlying the girl's words and felt a surge of confidence. The girl was obviously worried. And that could only mean one thing. It would not be long before Michele had taken her place in Corinne's affections.

  "I had a few things to attend to," Michele said.

  "Well, come on in," the girl said. She stood aside to let Michele enter.

  It was the largest apartment Michele had ever seen. And the barest. Even their little apartment on First Street had more furniture in it than these five sprawling rooms. From where she stood just inside the doorway, Michele could see through to the bedroom and the terrace beyond. The bed was huge and circular, covered with a shaggy gold throw. But except for that, there were only a couple of chairs and a small dining table in evidence in the apartment. In the middle of the center room stood a large wooden easel, empty now, but much splattered with odd colored bits of paint. It struck Michele as peculiar that the easel should be standing in the darkest spot in the house instead of next to a window. But she made no comment.

  "Corinne will be here in a minute," the girl said. "Sit down and I'll get you a drink."

  Michele sat down into a leather sling chair and crossed an ankle over her knee. She watched the girl cross to a bar built into the wall and take out a tall frosted glass.

  "We have everything," the girl said. "What would you like?"

  "Scotch," Michele said. "On the rocks."

  "My name is Toni," the girl said. She turned to pour the Scotch. "I live here, but don't let it get you."

  Michele felt an eyebrow arch ever so slightly. "Oh?" she breathed. She did not know what kind of a situation she had walked into, but she began to feel distinctly uneasy. If Corinne were living with the girl, why had-she openly invited her here? Certainly she had had more in mind than to paint a portrait, of that Michele was positive.

  "Yes," Toni said. "I'm studying with Corinne. She keeps me here... for various purposes. Like playing bartender."

  "Don't listen to her," a deep voice said behind Michele. There was a slight hint of an accent or of many in the intonation of the words. And more than a hint of seduction.

  Michele turned to face the woman.

  Corinne stood framed in the doorway, one graceful arm extended to the wood. Her long silvery hair, loose now and hanging to her shoulders, reminded Michele inanely of the throaty, silvery laugh she had heard the first time she saw Corinne. She couldn't make out exactly what the woman was wearing. It looked like a cloud of spun gold and floated about her figure without seeming to touch her anywhere.

  "Hello," Michele said for lack of anything better. A tight wad of nervousness had leaped up into her throat and she felt that she could scarcely breath.

  "That is a good beginning," Corinne said. "Toni, give her that drink and let us get her relaxed a little."

  Obediently Toni crossed to Michele's chair and handed her the drink.

  Michele looked up at the girl but Toni averted her eyes, as though refusing to look at her directly. She realized what the girl must be suffering. Yet Toni went through the motions of civility like a well-trained maid. It made no sense to Michele. And she began to wish that Corinne would send the girl away.

  She took a sip of her drink, then set the glass on the floor beside her. "I'm sorry I called so late," she said.

  Corinne laughed. "I am no
t," she said. "I hate the daylight. I am always at my best at night." She moved away from the doorway and came to stand close to Michele's chair. "I even paint sometimes at night," she said quietly.

  Michele heard Toni make a derisive noise low in her throat. But she kept her gaze fixed on Corinne. It wasn't so much that the woman was beautiful—though she was probably the most stunningly lovely woman Michele had ever seen—there was something else about her that was far more impressive. Completely feminine, obviously a person of great experience, Corinne had about her the quality of attraction Michele imagined must have belonged to Cleopatra and Helen of Troy. When she smiled, it was only her face that was happy. Her eyes, the tilt of her head reflected a life of sorrow, perhaps of misery. And Michele felt, as the woman looked at her, a silent plea for help that touched her to the heart.

  It wasn't love. It was more than sex. It was a desire to comfort, to share.

  Yet the woman was perhaps twice her age. Only for a moment did Michele pause to consider this. For Corinne could have been a thousand or she could have been one. Her problems were the problems of all suffering humanity. And Michele knew about that kind of suffering. She had known it all her life.

  "Do you paint?" Corinne asked. "Or are you more fortunate than Toni and I?"

  Michele smiled. "I don't do much of anything," she said. "I write sometimes. But mostly I wait tables and spend time..." She didn't want to say, "with Leda." She paused and looked helplessly at Corinne.