THE SEX BETWEEN

BY

Randy Salem

The Sex Between By Randy Salem

First published in 1962.

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ISBN: 978-1-936456-27-7

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

Lee took a long drag on the cigarette and felt it burn between her fingers.

Behind her, Maggie sighed and settled back against the chair. Lee heard the soft complaining of well-worn leather, the impatient click of a pencil against a notebook's spiral. Still she remained a moment longer at the window, watching a fat dachshund lift its leg beside a tree, then waddle down the street after a squishing pair of heels. The smell of spring rain was heavy on the night air.

"You were in the middle of a sentence," Maggie prodded gently. "In view of your considerate endorsement of our campaign..."

She heard the faintly mocking tone in Maggie's voice and knew without turning around that the girl would be sitting with her head tilted, a smile playing around the corners of her eyes. It was the way Maggie always looked when Lee got stuffy.

"That smells," Lee said without checking Maggie's reaction. "Cross it out."

The half-inch butt scorched her lips. Irritably she rubbed it out against the bricks and flicked it to the sidewalk. A mist like heavy dew clung to her hand and sleeve. She slammed down the window and turned back to the too warm room.

"Would you like to try it again?" Maggie said quietly.

Lee glanced at her out of the corner of one eye. Maggie was too kind to laugh. And too bright not to want to. They had been trying since before noon.

"What have we got so far?"

"Well, so far," Maggie said, flipping back through several pages, "we've agreed on the opening and the close. Dear Mr., Mrs., or Miss Blank comma and Sincerely, Lesley Van Tassel, Vice President, etc." She looked up and smiled. "Now all we have to do is fill in the middle."

"Well, the hell with it," Lee said abruptly. She crossed in front of Maggie to a low walnut cabinet. "You want a drink?"

"No thanks."

She poured herself a triple scotch—straight—because she was too irritable and too tired to go all the way to the kitchen for ice. It had been a long day for both of them. Too long.

Maggie's pencil began clicking again, matching the chattering of Lee's nerves. She carried the drink without tasting it to the desk that made an office of one end of the living room. In the old days, before the advent of Maggie, Lee had done most of her work here. If you could call it work. The good-will letters, the words of thanks, the occasional letter of apology, all the junk that no one else had the patience for. She felt about as necessary as a third thumb.

"You know," Maggie said, her eyes sparkling, "if you'd just pretend we were selling gin, you could probably write this letter without thinking about it."

Lee smiled wryly. To Maggie, who never touched anything more potent than ginger ale, everything was gin. "You've got a point," Lee agreed. "Besides, what the hell do I know about cocoa anyhow?"

"I could make you some, if you'd like," Maggie said. "We've got about a case downstairs. Free Samples."

Lee balanced the glass on the palm of her hand. I’ll tell you something," she said. "I once tried one of our Old Dutch Miniature Chocolates and I've been drinking hard stuff ever since, trying to rinse the taste out of my mouth."

"I'm glad it serves some purpose," Maggie snapped. She pushed the notebook onto the edge of the desk and stood up. "It certainly isn't good for that lousy stomach of yours."

Lee flushed, but let it pass. In the six months since Maggie had moved into her house and her life, the girl had been sounding more like a mother hen every day. Or, worse still, like a wife. About little things, like wearing a scarf when it was snowing or boots when it rained. But always something. Taking care of Lee as if Lee didn't have sense enough to take care of herself.

Through the amber swirl at the bottom of her glass, Lee watched Maggie walk across to the typewriter and adjust a dust cover over the machine. It was damned aggravating that a girl with a behind like Maggie's should be such a nag—and yet, it was also a blessing in disguise.

She set down the glass and leaned her own bony frame against her fists. "You had enough for today?"

"No," Maggie said. "But it's close to midnight, in case you hadn't noticed."

Lee had noticed, but not in a way she would mention to Maggie. She had noticed hours ago, in the way she could not make her eyes behave. The way she had kept looking at Maggie, all that warm, soft flesh squeezed into a crisp green cotton dress. The golden halo of her hair and the deep blue of her eyes that were blonder and bluer than Lee's own. Oh yes, Lee had noticed, and she had known that she should not have stayed home with Maggie tonight. She had not seen Helga since Wednesday and the pressure had been building.

She snapped her thoughts back to the living room and Maggie, standing there waiting. "So it's almost midnight," Lee said sourly. "What would you like me to do about it?"

Maggie raised an eyebrow and peered at her for a moment as though readying a barrage of answers. Then her face softened and she said, "Nothing, Lee. But we haven't eaten since lunch and frankly, I'm starved."

The queasiness in Lee's own stomach had nothing to do with hunger. But she would eat nevertheless, to please Maggie, so that Maggie would not nag at her. And when they had eaten, she would send Maggie off to bed in her apartment on the top floor. And then she would go off to her own bed on the floor below and, if she were lucky, sleep. And maybe not even dream about Maggie... if she were real lucky.

She followed Maggie down the spiral stairs to the dining room and on out to the kitchen. It was the one room in the house in which the Old Dutch trademark was apparent. Long and low, its beams smoke-blackened, its fireplace neatly trimmed with Dutch tiles, its white plaster walls spotless, it was Lee's one concession to her wooden-shoed ancestry. And the bane of Maggie's existence.

"With all your money," Maggie said every other day, "you could at least put a modern stove in here."

And always Lee said, "But I don't want a modern stove in here. It would ruin the feel."

As a compromise, she had let Maggie move in a counter top four-burner, so they didn't have to stoke the big, black monster in the corner every time they wanted coffee. It had been a hard won point, but Maggie hadn't gloated. Maggie never did.

Lee sat down at one end of the long oak table and watched Maggie move from the refrigerator to the counter, from the counter to the sink. Never before in her life had she been a soft touch for any woman. And it frightened her, in a way, that Maggie somehow managed to get exactly what she wanted. It told Lee things about herself that she would rather not know.

"I've got a salad," Maggie said. "And some cold chicken. Or would you rather wait while I make something warm?"

"That'll be fine," Lee said. "And coffee."

Maggie tilted her head and smiled. "Of course coffee," she said. "Would I dare serve you a meal without?"

Maggie's usual banter—innocent and well meant—yet Lee's nerves jumped with every word out of the girl's mouth.

She picked up the fork Maggie had just set before her and turned it end over end on the table top. It wasn't fair that she keep taking her nerves out on Maggie. It wasn't Maggie's fault, after all, that...

"I thought you had a date tonight," Maggie said suddenly.

The fork slipped from Lee's limp fingers and clattered against the plate. She glanced up quickly and saw that Maggie had been watching her, sizing her up.

"I cancelled it," Lee said crisply. "I wanted to get finished with that damned letter."

"Maybe you shouldn't have," Maggie said gently. "We didn't get the letter done anyhow."

Lee's stomach knotted into a ball of anger. Not so much with Maggie... she'd told Maggie the score right from the start, so that neither of them would have been to be embarrassed by an accidental discovery. And Maggie didn't give a good damn if she went to bed with kangaroos, so long as she came home happy. But she was angry with herself, for being transparent, for sitting there quivering in her shoes for Maggie to see.

Roughly, she pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. "Skip the dinner," she said harshly. "I just lost my appetite."

Without giving Maggie a chance to protest, she strode through the dining room and into the vestibule at the front of the house. In the closet she found a dirty trench coat and pulled it on over her jacket. For one second, she hesitated, looking down at the boots Maggie would yell at her for not wearing. Then she slammed the closet door and turned to leave the house.

Maggie's fingers caught the edge of her sleeve. "Lee, what on earth have I done now?"

Lee shook Maggie loose and shoved her hand into her pocket. "You haven't done anything," she said, hearing the tiredness in her own voice. "I just need to go out for a while."

"But it's late. And it's raining," Maggie said plaintively. "Where are you going?"

Lee sighed. "Just out," she said. "Where I don't have to listen to you telling me what a mess I am."

Maggie's shoulders sagged a little, but her expression was calm. "Will you be back tonight?" she asked quietly. "Daddy'll be here early and you promised...

“I’ll be here, if I'm here," Lee said curtly. "And if I'm not, I’ll be somewhere else. And if 'Daddy' doesn't like it, he can—" Without finishing the sentence, she wrenched open the front door and squeezed outside.

She heard the door slam behind her and knew that she had finally managed to disturb Maggie's calm. She had been trying to for months, and she grinned with satisfaction, realizing that the air between them would clear a little.

It had taken her an hour to find a parking space close to the house, and not even to appease Maggie by keeping her feet dry would she lose it. Besides the rain had long ago settled down to an all-night mist that made the city streets hazy and soft and, for a change, inviting. She knew that Maggie would be watching from the dining room window and she turned to wave at the small white face pressed against the pane. Then she set off crosstown, walking away from the car.

Despite the trench coat, the April chill bit into her flesh and she jammed her hands into her pockets, hunching her shoulders against the cold. For just a moment, she considered calling Helga and spending the night forgetting that Maggie even existed. But Helga would already be in bed... alone maybe, but not necessarily. She didn't feel like taking the chance.

She remembered a bar on Lexington in the Sixties that would do nicely for a couple of drinks—keep her out of the house long enough for Maggie to simmer down and maybe even go off to sleep. She turned the corner and headed south, listening to the squish of her shoes against the wet pavement.

And all she could think of was Maggie... Maggie, who would be annoyed because she had wet feet.

She had known Maggie De Groot since the girl was two months old. Since Uncle Andrew had brought the red-faced, bunting wrapped motherless baby to Grandmother Kate's. Lee had been just five then and Uncle Andrew had set the baby into her lap and told her to hold up the back of its head. Maggie was the first baby she had ever seen, an ugly little thing with pinkish fuzz all over its head. But even then the bawling baby had stopped crying when Lee held her, had drooled a little and fallen asleep. And in a way, it had been like that ever since.

They had seen each other often when they were kids, being part of the immense, sprawling family that hover-around Grandmother Kate. Weekends and holidays and summers, they had been together, played together. And always Maggie had smiled when she looked at Lee Van Tassel. And Lee had smiled too.

But then Lee's parents had died within months of each other and Lee, as the only direct descendant remaining, had been taken under Kate's iron wing. She had been sent to schools here, there and everywhere, picking up more than a liberal education. She had seen little of the family, except for Kate—and thought little enough about it, too.

For Lee's personal interests had developed along lines she preferred not to flaunt in front of the family. And when finally, at twenty-one, she had finished school, she had refused to move back to Ravensway, Kate's estate. Kate had given her the house on East Sixty-eighth Street and wished her well.

Lee had never fooled herself into thinking she was out of range of Kate's eagle eye. First she had been donated the vice presidency in the Van Tassel Corporation, a firm with nearly as many officers as Kate had relatives, a position with just enough responsibility to keep her in touch with the family circle. Then, four years later, Maggie had been dumped in her lap.

She hadn't realized it was the same Maggie... until she smiled. She didn't look much bigger to Lee than she had wrapped in the damned bunting twenty years before. But she was beautiful now and shaped like no baby Lee had ever seen. Lee had smiled too, but not like in the old days. Maggie was a woman now and, as a woman, desirable.

Kate said Maggie was there as a secretary and companion. But Lee knew that it was simply Kate's way of seeing that the girl was provided for. Uncle Andrew, though he meant well, hadn't the vaguest notion of what to do about a grown daughter. And Lee had given Maggie a home, a salary, and work enough to keep her busy. In the beginning, it had been fine. Maggie had stayed out of her way and she had stayed out of Maggie's. But before a month had gone by, Lee found herself coming home to supper in a kitchen she had never used. Found herself staying home evenings, to listen to music with Maggie or just to read the paper. And worry had begun to gnaw at her insides, like a worm in a rotten apple.

For Lee, who had lived very happily for years on the love 'em and leave 'em plan, knew that she had been hooked…

The bar was a small one, with soft lights and a juke box that played good music in a quiet voice. This late, the happy ones had already gone home, leaving a row of grim faces lining the oval bar. Lee added her own brooding face to the line-up and ordered a double scotch on the rocks.

She hadn't come into the bar to cruise, just to get mildly high. But automatically, from a habit of many years, she let her gaze scan the scattering of lone drinkers.

Nothing with nothing. She sighed, relieved in a way not to have been tempted. After a whole day of Maggie, it felt strangely peaceful to be alone. She sipped slowly at the drink, thinking still about Maggie and wishing to hell she could get the girl out of her mind.

Not that she could... not for a minute. Even when she was with Helga, loving her, kissing her, it was Maggie... it was always Maggie. But you couldn't have a fling with a girl like Maggie. You had to fall in love with her, settle down with her, be faithful… all that crap. With Maggie, it wouldn't be for fun. It would be for keeps. And Lee couldn't play it that way. She knew herself too well—knew that after a couple of weeks, when she kissed any girl, she would be looking past her shoulder to see what else might walk on the scene.

The what else, at the moment, proved to be very interesting. Lee's head snapped back on her neck and she was suddenly keenly alert and watchful. A prickle of tension teased the base of her spine.

The female who had just come out of the ladies' john was obviously no lady, but it didn't limit her appeal. Every eye in the place watched the rear view as she sidled across the room and raised herself onto a stool.

From where she sat, Lee had a side view of the creature, which was almost as good as the rear. She looked the woman over slowly, taking time to get it all neatly stacked in her mind. She was Maggie's size, but Maggie's opposite in every other way, with an olive complexion dark, dark hair and eyes that could light a fire in a pile of wet leaves. The body, from what Lee could see of it, would know what to do with itself in anybody's bed.

Lee took a long swallow of her neglected drink and calculated which of the bar flies the woman might chose. She saw her lean back slightly and cruise the bar, just as Lee herself had done only minutes before. The pickings were not good for a lady with profit on her mind. The dark eyes flicked from face to face, touched Lee's briefly, then moved to the man beside her.

Lee smiled to herself and waited. She watched the woman raise her hand to light a cigarette and caught the glint of a diamond studded wedding band.

Again the dark eyes went the rounds, more slowly this time, assessing each face and discarding it. Lee turned her head just enough to catch the woman's glance.

The woman touched her fingers to her throat and glanced away. But it was not a movement that told Lee to get lost—it said many things, but that wasn't one of them.

Lee waited till the woman had slipped into her coat and gone outside. Then she stood up and slapped a bill on the bar.

The woman had moved only a few paces down the side street. Lee caught up to her and put her palm on the woman's elbow. "May I give you a lift?" she said quietly.

"Which way are you going?" a deep voice answered.

Lee laughed. "That's entirely up to you."

The woman's laugh was as deep as her voice and lovely as her face. "In that case," she said, "it's only a few blocks. We can walk from here."

Lee fell into step beside the woman, walking east listening to the click of the high heels, feeling the woman's compact smallness brushing lightly against her side. The faintest aura of perfume hovered around the woman's body, at the same time tempting and teasing the senses.

After a while, Lee said, "You're married?"

She heard the woman catch her breath, then let it go on a long sigh.

"Yes," she said. "My husband travels a lot."

Lee smiled. "I hope he's traveling at the moment?"

Again the woman laughed. And hearing the sound, Lee felt herself relaxing. She knew that she would not think of Maggie tonight. Maybe she wouldn't think of Maggie for a long, long time.

"Yes, he is traveling," the woman said. "He will be gone for a week. Until Friday."

At the entrance of a proper-looking brownstone, the woman took Lee's hand and led her inside. Silently, Lee followed her up three flights of deep carpeted stairs to a back apartment.

Whatever the guy did while he traveled, he made money doing it. Plenty had gone into furnishing the six big rooms. Lee took a good look around her while the woman went off to hang up the wet trench coat. She nodded, checking off in her mind the prices of several items that she recognized from her own furniture-buying sprees. No woman who lived like this went out hustling for cash.

But if not for cash...

The woman had changed into a scarlet silk robe that lit pinpoints of flame in the dark eyes. As she came into the room, Lee stood up from the couch where she had been waiting.

She took a step toward the woman, then paused. "By the way," she said, "I'm Lee. If it makes any difference."

Now the laugh was like the tinkling of a bell. "And I am Cleo," she said. "I hope it will make much difference."

"Why?"

The woman tilted her head back and looked hard into Lee's eyes. "Because I am bored," she said quietly. "And I want you to make me not be bored any more."

"Well," Lee said, reaching to take her hand, "we'll see what we can do about that."

CHAPTER TWO

From somewhere in the apartment, a clock chimed ten. The odor of their perspiration came heavily from the rumpled sheets. She lay with her head against Cleo's thigh, watching the smoke from a cigarette spiral upward, counting the chimes.

Cleo's fingertips brushed the side of her neck. And Lee sighed, knowing that she must leave, yet wanting to linger. For women like Cleo had, after all, their advantages. Could make you forget that you hadn't eaten or slept; could take your tired, used-up body and make it feel young again and resilient. Cleo made love with the smooth perfection of a graceful, well-oiled machine... with guaranteed results, yet curiously devoid of personal involvement. For she was a greedy woman, this Cleo Amato. Greedy for pleasures, greedy for kicks. Ready to reach out eagerly with both hands, yet unable to give in return.

Which was just fine with Lee. There wasn't a damn thing she wanted from Cleo but the use of her body. Not a damn thing...

Cleo put her hand lightly on Lee's shoulder. "Why are you frowning so?"

"It's late," Lee said. "I'll have to leave soon."

She felt a muscle tighten in the woman's thigh and she knew she was in for a routine. It figured. Women like Cleo were compulsively possessive, as anyone who cannot feel must be. Anything that could, even for a moment, relieve the tedium of her existence must be clung to desperately, wrung dry, drained, until it too became a bore.

Lee closed her eyes and waited.

"Why must you leave?"

"I have an appointment."

"With another woman," Cleo said, her voice flatly accusing.

Lee smiled. "At this hour?" she said. "What do you think I am, a gigolo?"

Cleo took a deep breath. "Then with whom?"

"It's a business appointment," Lee said patiently.

"On Sunday?"

"On Sunday," Lee said, ignoring the disbelief in Cleo's tone. There had been a time when women like Cleo frightened her. When she was very young.

"But you will come back later," Cleo said. It was not a question.

Lee opened her eyes and peered up at the lovely face, tense now with little lines fanning out from the mouth.

"I might," she said evenly. "And then again, I might not."

"But you must!" Cleo blurted.

Slowly Lee turned onto her stomach and looked into Cleo's eyes. "Baby," she said quietly, "I don't must anything." She leaned to a side table and set the cigarette into a glass tray. "And the sooner you learn that, the happier you'll be."

Cleo's lower lip trembled, then fell into a pout.

Lee laughed. "You're pretty funny. You know that, don't you?"

"I don't think it is funny at all. I have so little time to be with you. And then Tony will be home."

Lee nodded. "That's what I mean," she said. "You're in no position to make demands on anybody. I'm sure you'd rather die than have your husband find out about me. And frankly, I don't intend to go out of my way for you either. So why don't you just relax, take what you can get, and be grateful."

She watched Cleo's face closely, waiting for the burst of anger and frustration that had to come. Cleo, with her hot Latin blood, was not a woman to dissolve in tears.

But Cleo's reaction surprised her. And pleased her, too. The woman tilted her head back and laughed with the laugh that was like the tinkling of bells.

When she had stopped, she leaned forward and touched her palm to Lee's cheek. "No one before has spoken to me like that," she said softly.

Lee propped herself on one elbow and took a long, long look at the tight, firm breasts, the satiny dark flesh of hips and thighs. "No," she said after a moment, "I don't suppose they have."

"Most have said they would die for me," Cleo murmured.

Lee reached out and trailed a fingertip across the smooth thigh. "I think I'd be more use to you alive."

"Oh!" Cleo moaned, shoving Lee's shoulder playfully. "Don't you ever say anything nice to a girl?"

"What for?" Lee grinned. "You want me to start lying to you?"

Cleo shook her head slowly and took Lee's face between her hands. "No," she murmured. "Just kiss me. Like before."

Instead of moving to take the girl in her arms, Lee laid her cheek against the soft, warm mound of belly. Gently, lightly, her fingertips trailed down the long line of hip and thigh. She heard Cleo sigh and felt her body tense expectantly. And she smiled to herself with her lips against the sweet-smelling flesh. With Cleo, preliminaries were a waste of time.

She put her palm against the girl and massaged her gently, teasing her, wanting her to want what was to come, wanting to make her feel something—if only the agony of waiting and needing. Not wanting Cleo to love her, but at least to know that she had been there, to remember some time in another bed.

Cleo's fingers gripped Lee's skull as though she wanted to crack it wide open.

Lee kissed her then with her mouth open. Held her and used her slowly Making Cleo feel. Making Cleo give...

Lee sat up on the edge of the bed and grinned down at Cleo's glowing face. "Are you still bored?"

Cleo pulled up her shoulders and stretched luxuriantly. "You make love like an angel."

Lee shrugged. "Why not? I've had lots of practice."

Cleo's eyes narrowed as she looked at Lee. "I think I could hate you."

"But you don't," Lee said. She reached under the edge of the bed with her toes and slid into her shoes. "Women never do."

"Just for that," Cleo said, grabbing for a sheet and wriggling down under it, "I will. You can get out of here and stay out."

Lee ignored the smoldering fire behind her and hurried getting dressed. It would be after eleven by the time she got home and Maggie would be waiting, ready to lay her low. Already her body had begun to forget the feel of Cleo's hands, Cleo's lips. Already she was sinking into the tired slump of going home, of facing Maggie, of listening politely while Uncle Andrew bored her out of her mind. It was always like that lately. No matter where she went, no matter what she did, something remained strangely unquiet, restive. The weight of her discontent dragged at her shoulders and slowed her steps—put vile words in her mouth and vile feelings in her heart.

"Don't you care at all?" Cleo said timidly.

"Care about what?" Lee snapped.

If only she could find the thing that niggled. If only she could reach out and come to grips with it, grab it by the throat and choke the life out of it. Get back to the way she used to feel, the way she used to bounce, before Maggie...

Cleo clucked her tongue and turned away disgustedly. "Doesn't anyone mean anything to you, Lee?" she said to the wall.

And Lee thought—the love of Maggie is the root of all evil...

The thought clanged loudly inside her head. So loudly she almost forgot Cleo was there. But after a moment, she turned and peered at the girl intensely. She would be needing Cleo. And Helga. And anything else that wasn't Maggie.

She didn't bother to apologize. She said simply, "I'll see you later," and made a beeline through the apartment and out the hall door.

It had stopped raining some time during the morning, but cabs were still scarce. By the time she caught one, she could have walked halfway home. She sank back in the seat and glowered at the top of the driver's head. She felt empty and full, sweaty under her arms and dry around the lips. And if she'd had Maggie beside her, she would have turned around and slugged her.

Uncle Andrew had shoehorned his little Daf in between a Cadillac and an Olds. It looked, somehow, as though it had been sitting there for a long time, waiting patiently for Rover Boy to come home. Even before she paid off the cabbie and turned around, she felt Maggie standing behind her with the door open and a frank appraisal in her eyes.

She didn't give Maggie a chance to say a word. She threw her the trench coat and pushed past her into the house.

Maggie followed out to the kitchen and brought her a cup for coffee. "I don't suppose you've had any breakfast."

"That's right," Lee said. "But I'm not hungry." She filled the cup and carried it to the table.

"I don't know what your women have against food," Maggie said seriously. "It's just as important… as other things."

Lee grinned as she pulled out a chair. "Oh, is it now, Miss Pris? And how would you know about that?"

Maggie blushed a pink that almost matched her dress and Lee was instantly sorry for the dirty crack. She had never discussed Maggie's love life with her, though she suspected that the girl clung to her virginity with a zealot's fervor. Not that she was a prude. Just old-fashioned. Saving it like a perfumed goodie in a hope chest.

"I'm sorry," Lee said. "I didn't mean to be crude."

"You weren't," Maggie said. "But I don't know how you could help but be, with the kind of women you run around with."

"How do you know what kind of women I run around with?"

"I can imagine," Maggie said innocently. "They keep you up all night and send you home without breakfast. You know very well you're supposed to take care of your stomach or you'll be flat on your back again and what good will you do any of them?"

"Sometimes they like me flat on my back," Lee said, grinning again. "I can't play strong arm all the time."

"Oh, you make me sick!" Maggie wailed.

Lee sighed. "You know something?" she said. "Sometimes you make me sick, too. Do you think I intend to spend the rest of my life taking stomach pills and sitting around letting my rear get fat? I'd be bored to death in two weeks if I lived the way you want me to. Wear your boots and eat your mush and wash behind your ears... What the hell do you think I am anyway?"

"A damned fool," Maggie said without hesitation. "You run around like a rat on a treadmill and pretend you're having a high old time. But you know something? I don't believe a word of it. And I don't think you do either." She stopped to catch her breath. "How do you like that?"

Lee didn't like it a bit. It hit a little closer to home than she cared to admit. She emptied the coffee cup and banged it down on the plank table. "Where's Andrew?"

"Upstairs," Maggie said calmly. "Reading the funnies for the tenth time."

Maggie had a triumphant gleam in her eyes that galled Lee's soul. "I wonder what would happen to him if he ever tried reading a book?" she said off-handedly.

"Now, just a minute," Maggie said defensively. "You don't have to pick on him just because I get on your nerves. He...

"Okay, okay," Lee said. "I know he is the essence of all good things and I am an old bastard with a sore head. What does he want this time, anyhow?"

Maggie's face grew serious and paler around the lips.

"Kate's had another heart attack," she said quietly. "Daddy says this one almost finished her."

Lee stood up and walked away to the window overlooking the back garden. A little purple thing with white stripes on the petals had poked its way between two stones. "When was this?" she said studying the flower, hating its vigor. Hating anything that was young and strong and healthy, while Kate was dying.

"Over a week ago," Maggie said. "She wouldn't let Daddy tell us until she was feeling better. You know how she is."

"Yeah, I know," Lee said tiredly.

"We have to be at Ravensway at three," Maggie said. "She is expecting us."

Lee remembered the last time and she and Maggie had received the summons. Two months ago—maybe three. The old lady had just sort of fallen apart, caved in—like an ancient castle crumbling in on itself.. It had sickened her to see Kate like that. Today it would be even worse.

Maggie came up behind her and put her hand on Lee's sleeve. "She's ninety, Lee. You can't expect..."

"Somehow I always did," Lee interrupted. "Somehow I thought Kate would live to bury us all." She paused, then murmured, "I think Kate thought so, too."

The thump of Uncle Andrew's stumpy legs pounding down the stairs snapped them both back from melancholy. Lee turned toward the doorway to watch the old battleship sail in.

Andrew De Groot had seen more of trouble in his lifetime than most men might see in three. One of Kate's poor relations, he had been tucked in securely under her thumb since the day he was born. In the family firm, she had saddled him with all the dirty work she could find for him to do. He had come to her poor and wisely, she had kept him that way, putting him in his place and stifling any plan of rebellion he might have had. He had married six times, each time to a woman of Kate's selection, playing his role in the dwindling family's desperate struggle to produce sons. He had buried six wives. The last one, Maggie's mother, had given him his only child and nearly cost him his sanity. For it was his own drunken effort to deliver the child that had resulted in hemorrhage and death. He had started to go to paunch after that, his tiny frame burdened with trouble and beer.

But no one, looking at Andrew, would know these things. One would see only a little red-faced man with twinkling eyes who looked more like Santa Claus than any human had a right to. Lee had always had a weakness for Uncle Andrew. He had told the funniest stories when she and Maggie were kids and always he had had something special for her in the side pocket of his coat. But he had not aged well. He forgot things, he bumbled, he repeated himself. And he made blunders that she often had to smooth over with Kate.

She was remembering the blunders now, as he strode toward her. If Kate died, Andrew should by rights become head of the firm. And if Andrew became head of the firm, the Van Tassel Corporation would run smoothly down the drain.

"You grew an inch!" Andrew roared in his quietest tone. He grabbed her by the hand and the elbow and shook.

Lee, who had exercised for two years to reach five-four, grinned at the familiar greeting and shook back. Then she poked him in the belly and said, "You grew an inch yourself."

The old man laughed happily. The exchange had palled on Lee more years ago than she could count. But she knew that Andrew found security in the routine. When he had settled back to his usual wheezing quiet, she said, "What's this Maggie was telling me about Kate?"

"Ah Kate," he said, his gruff voice suddenly soft. "Kate." He closed his eyes for a moment, as though staring at something private, something sacred. "There's a woman, Lee. There is a real woman."

Lee sighed. Getting a straight answer from Andrew was like pulling a splinter from under a fingernail. "I know, Andrew," she said gently. "We all know."

Maggie stepped to the old man's side and took his hand. She got a funny, mushy look around her eyes when Andrew started wandering. Lee remembered seeing that look even when they were kids.

"I told Lee that Kate was ill," Maggie said gently.

"Yes," Andrew said. He looked up at Lee now and his eyes were red like his cheeks. "She doesn't want to die here, Lee. She wants me to take her home."

"What?" Lee said. "Are you crazy?"

"No," the old man said. "Not yet. Neither is Kate. She is simply very old. And she is homesick. She wants me to take her home."

"To Holland?" Lee said wearily.

"Of course, Lee," Andrew said. "We were children there."

"She wants to be buried under some smelly old windmill in a pair of wooden shoes. Is that what you're telling me?" Lee heard herself almost shouting at the old man and she stopped for a moment to calm down. Then she said, "Andrew, she hasn't been there in seventy years. There's been a war or two since then. Bombs. Flush toilets and imported tulips. If she goes back there now, she'll die of plain disappointment."

"I agree with Lee," Maggie said. "Kate's used to luxury, to..."

Andrew sighed like a wind through spruce. Both of them stopped agreeing with each other and turned to look at him.

"You forget something," Andrew said and he shook his finger scoldingly at Lee. "It's Kate we're talking about. And Kate wants to go home."

Lee shut her mouth and kept it that way.

CHAPTER THREE

Ravensway, a hundred green and wooded acres on the Hudson, seemed more like an elaborate memorial park than a place to call home. Lee remembered it best as a place where a kid was not allowed to run on the grass or have a pony or keep a dog. Dirt was an anathema to Kate, and kids and ponies and dogs made dirt. As much as she could, Lee had given the place a wide berth.

And yet, steering her black Lincoln slowly up the winding drive to the house, she realized suddenly that she had missed it. And missed Kate. The house itself was a gloomy stone mass of twenty rooms, damp and cold in summer and stuffy with fireplace smoke in the winter. Every main room had at least a two-way exposure and plenty of windows. But somehow, there was never sunlight inside, nor a feeling of coziness. In the hundred and fifty years that the house had stood, only Kate had managed to thrive in it.

"It's exactly three," Andrew said. "We're expected at three."

Lee smiled. "So we'll be approximately thirty seconds late," she said easily. "That's about ten demerits apiece."

She followed Andrew and Maggie around to the front of the house, looking up at the windows as she went and commenting to herself that the place could use a paint job. It surprised her that Kate should overlook even so minute a detail.

Miss Ida Winkle, who had answered Kate's door for close to seventy years, told them they were to wait in the library. And would they be wanting some refreshments after the long drive from the city?

Lee grinned and patted the pink, puffy cheek. "How about some of that stuff you and Kate have been bootlegging for the past fifty years?"

The little round face sank deeper into its wrinkles and the blue eyes sparkled. "I could find some down in the cellar," she whispered. "We're only drinkin' cocoa now-days."

"You do that," Lee whispered back. "But don't tell Kate."

Miss Ida Winkle scuttled away down the hall and left the three of them to wait.

"Well, I like that," Maggie said indignantly. "She didn't even ask us."

"You two settle for cocoa," Lee said. "If we can't sell the damned stuff, somebody's got to drink it."

"It's selling," Andrew said, "since we put it in the new can."

He launched into a salespitch for Dutch Boy Instant that Lee had had the privilege of hearing many times before. She turned him off in the middle of the third sentence and strolled ahead of them down the dark corridor to the library.

The largest room in the house, the library was about as comfy as the waiting room of Penn Station. Three walls were lined from floor to ceiling with leather bound volumes... thousands of them, which had never been read, but each of which was removed once a week to be carefully dusted and realigned on its shelf. These walls Lee ignored as though they didn't exist. It was to the fourth she turned her attention, as she had since she was a child.

She sat down at one end of the leather couch and, for maybe the millionth time, she took a good look at her family tree.

It was a source of endless fascination, studying the blond-haired, blue-eyed beings in those six portraits. A kind of study in human fallacy. By a careful process of selective inbreeding, the Van Tassel family had very nearly managed to reproduce itself right out of existence. And the whole story was written there, in those faces. The first of the clan, Cornelius, had been a giant of a man, well over six feet tall, and built like an oak. The second, Henrik, a little less tall, a little less sturdy. And so on down the line to Jamie, Lee's father, a washed-out, frail-looking little man with features not exactly feminine, and yet not quite masculine either. The branches growing out from the tree had fared no better, producing fragile-boned, dyspeptic males who rarely lived beyond forty, and females too delicate to survive the rigors of childbirth.

Among this diminutive, sickly crew, Kate Ten Broeck Van Tassel, a "foreigner" imported from Flanders, stood out like a giant among pygmies...

At the sound of the old lady's cane on the stairs, Lee snapped instantly back to attention and stood up, facing the arched doorway.

Kate had carried a cane as long as Lee could remember. Not to walk with, but for announcing her presence, emphasizing her points, proclaiming her authority... and occasionally, for letting an unruly granddaughter know who was boss. But even when Kate had applied that stick to her stinging behind, Lee had understood it as right, because Kate told her it was right. Just as Andrew would have put a bullet through his brain if Kate had told him it was the right thing for him to do.

Even at ninety, old and tired and worn thin with pain and time, Kate Van Tassel was a magnificent woman. Still straighter and taller than anyone else in the family, her beauty undimmed by the spray of wrinkles, she kept stylishly dressed, her cheeks rouged, her bosom padded just enough to hide the sag of age. Lee felt a swell of pride catch in her throat as she watched Kate making her way slowly across the room toward her.

"You," Kate said, jabbing the cane toward her. "Turn that chair around here."

They had not seen each other for months. But, coming from Kate, it was a comparatively warm greeting. Lee pulled Kate's favorite rocker over next to the couch and held it steady while the old lady sat down.

"You haven't been to see me," Kate said, glancing up.

The voice was a little harsher than Lee remembered it, but she knew that Kate was not angry with her. "I've been busy," she said. "If you'd let me put a telephone in this damned place..."

"You wouldn't use it," Kate said.

Lee smiled. "True. But it's a convenient excuse."

She sat down on the end of the couch, close to the old lady and leaned back, watching Kate carefully from behind lowered lids. There was something much too complacent about the calm on Kate's face. She liked it better when the old dame was raging about something. Like this, she was dangerous.

"Well, Andrew," Kate said, "how much have you told the children?"

"Nothing," Andrew said. "I though you'd want—"

"Good," Kate cut him off. "You wouldn't get it straight anyhow." She turned to Lee and there was a smile in the blue eyes. "We'll start with you, Lesley."

Uncomfortably, Lee shifted her weight onto the other thigh and glanced across at Maggie. It was a trick of Kate's to save the worst for last. Whatever it was she had in mind for the girl, Miss Maggie wasn't going to like it a bit.

"Andrew and I are sailing for the Netherlands on the last day of this month," Kate said without prelude. "You have a week in which to be angry with me. And then you will start working for a living."

Lee sighed. "Which means what?"

"You've been given a promotion," Kate said.

"What makes you think I want it?"

"No one asked you," Kate said sharply.

Lee knew it was no point to argue. She had grown up on the story of how Kate had made the Van Tassel fortune. Kate had arrived at Ravensway at twenty, still in pigtails, to marry a man she had never seen. She found the house, the grounds, the family fortune and the man she was to marry in a state of ruin and despair. Jonas had lived just long enough to make her pregnant, then gone to join his ancestors in the plot down by the river. Kate had not shed a tear. She hadn't had time.

The first Old Dutch Miniature Chocolates came out of Kate's kitchen, a product of Kate's industrious hands. That batch and the ones that followed she had peddled herself through the streets of Tarrytown, pushing her swollen belly ahead of her like a badge of honor. After her son was born, Miss Ida Winkle had come into the household to help out. Within five years, Kate had retired from the kitchen and moved into the executive office. And within ten, she had made Van Tassel a name she could be proud of.

Lee knew that Kate expected the same spirit from her. It was the bond they had between them. For Kate, who had been completely repelled by her spineless husband and by her weak-kneed son, liked to think that Lee was like her side of the family.

"But I don't know a damned thing about the business," Lee protested. "You never would let me do any real work. How am I supposed to walk in there and...

The old lady held up her hand to stop the flood of protest. "You'll learn," she said. "We have good people working for us, many of whom have been there for years." Then she smiled. "And if you don't learn, you'll have some fifty relatives to support out of your own pocket."

Lee bit back the grumble of complaint and burrowed deeper into the couch. She knew she could sit there and gripe till she turned purple and in the end she would do as Kate wanted. She had always done as Kate wanted.

She glanced at Maggie and saw that the girl was grinning triumphantly. It relieved her a little to know that, in a moment, Maggie would get her share of the crap.

Miss Ida Winkle, who was never referred to by any other name, pattered quietly into the room and set a tray on the round table at Kate's elbow.

"What's that?" Kate demanded.

Miss Ida Winkle darted a glance at Lee. "It's for Miss Lesley," she said timidly. "She asked..."

Kate turned a sour eye in Lee's direction. "You don't like our cocoa, Lesley?"

"I haven't tasted it." Lee admitted.

"Bring Lesley a cup of cocoa," Kate said. "It's about time she became acquainted with our product."

Lee leaned back and watched her glass of dandelion wine disappear with Miss Ida Winkle. She could almost hear Maggie giggling.

Uncle Andrew cleared his throat and leaned forward take a cup from Kate. "It's good," he said to Lee. “It's beginning to sell, now that..."

“Yes, yes, yes, Andrew," Kate said irritably. "I heard you delivering that speech as you came in the front door." She turned once again to Lee. "Have you thought about it?"

"I didn't know I was supposed to." Lee said nastily. Then she shook her head and leaned forward to press her palm against the old lady's hand. "I didn't mean that, Kate. I'll do the best I can."

"That's all I ask of anyone," Kate said self-righteously. "I ask no less of myself."

Lee knew she had been properly squelched. When Miss Ida Winkle returned to hand her a steaming cup of cocoa, she took it and sipped at it almost gratefully.

Kate set her cup back onto the tray. "We haven't discussed the matter of Ravensway as yet," she said, talking again to Lee. "It will, of course, belong to you—along with everything else now in my name. By the end of the week, everything will have been signed over to you." She closed her eyes slowly, then opened them again. But she was looking away to the window now and down the long green run to the river. "I don't suppose you'd want to live here?"

It was a matter they'd settled between them many years ago. Kate had vowed that she would never force Lee to move back to the big, dark house. And Kate would not go back on a promise. She was simply trying, hopefully.

As much as she loved the old woman, Lee did not even pause to give it a second thought. "No," she said flatly. "You know..."

"Yes, I know," Kate sighed. "But I had hoped..."

They were both silent for a moment. Then Kate said, "And there is still no chance that you will ever marry?"

That was another thing they had settled. Kate had known since the first time Lee got expelled from boarding school exactly why Lee would never marry. She had refused to discuss the matter, beyond telling Lee that she must never do such things to nice girls. She had made a special concession for Lee—that she would not arrange a marriage for her, as marriages were arranged for all the family's girls.

"No," Lee said. "There's no chance."

"Well, then," Kate said, her voice crisp and sharp again, "I suppose that takes care of you. Now," and she turned her complacent glance to Maggie, "Margaret.”

Now it was Lee's turn to gloat. She sat back and stretched her legs out in front of her, prepared to enjoy the scene of Mag the Nag versus Grandmother Kate.

But Kate did not direct her words about Maggie to the girl herself. She looked directly at Lee as she said. "We have found Margaret a husband."

It took a second for Kate's words to register on her brain. And yet, she should have expected exactly that from Kate. Maggie was the logical choice to be moved onto the estate. Maggie... with a husband. It didn't occur to her to tell Kate that Maggie might like to find a husband of her own. Kate had not had that privilege. None of the family's women had. As for love, it was a subject that simply never came up. It was not a thing that nice people discussed.

She was afraid to glance at Maggie. "Who?"

"Pieter Ten Broeck," Kate said evenly.

"My God," Lee breathed.

Maggie let out a squeak not meant to reach Kate's ears and Lee peered at her sharply. The girl looked absolutely ill, paler than Lee had ever seen her.

"But he's almost forty," Lee said desperately, using the nicest thing she could think to say about him. "He's twice Maggie's age."

Kate lowered her head slightly and looked at Lee levelly. "Pieter may have his limitations, Lesley. But he happens to be the only one available."

Lee laughed harshly, but there was no humor in her. She knew she dare not criticize Pieter—who came from Kate's side of the family—too severely. Yet the thought of marrying off Maggie to Pieter Ten Broeck was like gall in her throat.

"There are probably a couple of million men in this country who would be glad to marry Maggie. Why in hell—"

"That's enough, Lesley," Kate said quietly. "Everything has been arranged. Pieter will call tomorrow evening. I expect you to extend him the courtesy of your family and your home."

Everything has been arranged. How often had she listened to those words from Kate's mouth? And how often she had swallowed them and crept away with her tail between her legs, knowing there was no room for dispute when Kate had made up her mind. Desperately, she glanced at Maggie, searching the girl's face—not knowing what she wanted to find there, but needing to know that Maggie was all right, that she had not died as Kate made her pronouncement.

But if she expected Maggie to be stretched out on the floor, she had not counted on the spunk she had seen flare up in the girl so often before. Maggie waited until Kate and Lee had finished their private argument. Then she said, "It's all right, Lee. Daddy and I discussed it this morning before you came home. It's best for everyone this way."

Lee opened her mouth and gulped air like a fish. But she could not form the air into sounds. There was absolutely nothing to say. Just nothing.

"Well, Lesley?" Kate said.

Lee had the uncomfortable feeling that Kate wanted something from her. She could not tell if it were agreement or a fight. But she simply looked at the old woman and shook her head.

Uncle Andrew rubbed his hands dryly together and bounced up onto his stumpy legs. "Good," he said. "Good. Kate, I've got some papers for you to sign, if you'd like..."

Lee turned away, unable to bear the sight of any of them. She heaved herself up from the couch, crossed to the terrace door and went outside.

It was quiet on the terrace. She stepped to the stone wall and peered down toward the river, to the acre of tombstones nearly at the water's edge. When she was a kid and had the blues, she used to go down there and curl up on her mother's grave and lean her head against the stone and wait to die. She felt like that now, like there wasn't much use any more.

She balled her hands into fists and jammed them into her jacket pockets, but it did not quiet the rage of frustration inside her. She took one of Kate's flowerpots and turned it upside clown on top of the wall, then picked up a handful of stone from the path leading around the house. One by one, she pegged the stones at the pot, smashing it, smashing each piece of it, smashing each piece of the pieces.

Damn Andrew... Damn Kate... Damn Andrew...

With each phrase, another stone. And still she raged.

"That won't help a bit," Maggie said behind her. "Why don't you try throwing them at me?"

Lee whirled to face her. "You, you dumb bitch," she roared from the depths of her despair. "You're worse than the rest of them. What the hell'd you lie to me for? You know damned well you didn't know about Pieter before we came out here."

"No," Maggie admitted. "But Daddy... "

"Daddy what, for chrissake?"

"Well, he… he let me know not to argue. I'm not sure just why, but I heard him talking to Kate and I guess it has something to do with money. You know he's in debt and if Kate's dragging him off to Holland..."

"I'd have lent him the money," Lee barked. "Given it to him, damn it. What the hell right does he think he has to sell you like a stupid cow?"

"Why are you blaming Daddy?" Maggie said angrily. "It's Kate's fault that..."

Lee felt the fight fizzle out of her. She had forgotten about Kate. Deliberately. She didn't want to think about Kate at all.

"Well, you don't want to marry that... that lump, do you?" she said, knowing the futility of arguing, but unable to stop.

Maggie looked at her steadily for a long moment. Then she glanced away. "I don't suppose it makes much difference."

Lee raised her hands in impotent fury. "I could shake you."

"It would be just like you," Maggie said. When she looked up, she was smiling.

CHAPTER FOUR

All the way back to the city, Andrew blessed her with a steady stream of advice from the back seat. About her driving sometimes. Sometimes about her new job, her new responsibilities. Once, about finding herself a new secretary on the sprawling family tree. Lee let him babble, too engrossed with her own rage, with Maggie's quiet misery beside her, to interrupt the nervous jabbering. The smell of Andrew's guilty conscience reeked hotly through the perfumed words.

Yet Lee knew that she could not look to Andrew for help. He had never in his life done anything against Kate's will. And it was Kate's will that Maggie marry the family's one available male and that she bear him a son.

Nor would Maggie fight on her own behalf. Not out of fear of Kate so much, but out of a blind, stupid loyalty to Andrew. As she glanced at the girl, Lee knew without asking the unhappiness in Maggie's soul. The discontent. She wanted to reach out and touch her, to tell her that somehow, some way...

In her frustration, Lee gripped the wheel till her knuckles ached. It was not so and she knew that it was not. For she was as impotent as Maggie, as afraid as Andrew. She could not go to Kate and look her in the eye and tell her to go to hell. She could not... and would not... do anything. Except lose Maggie.

She turned off the East River Drive at Seventy-third Street and into the clog of crosstown traffic. The tail end of a warm sun painted the streets with shadows and the promise of more sun tomorrow. Tonight it really felt like spring—like a time for being outside, for walking in the early darkness, for holding hands. It was not a night for being morbid, for slumping down into one's misery and telling the world to just go away.

Yet somehow, Lee could not shake off the doldrums and she leaned against the car door, staring sourly at a fat woman crossing against the light.

"Are you going out tonight?" Maggie said in a tiny voice.

Maggie's last words had been a good-bye to Miss Ida Winkle, and her voice sounded cracked now and dry, as though her throat had gone rusty. Lee peered at her for a moment, hearing more the tone than the words. She knew that Maggie was not feeling sorry for herself... it wouldn't be like Maggie. But the girl was damned sorry about something.

"Why?" Lee said at last. "Did you have something in mind?"

Maggie shook her head.

"Well, I have a sort of date," Lee said reluctantly. "But I could forget it, if you want company."

"No, you go," Maggie said too quickly. "I'll make Daddy take me to a movie."

Lee peered curiously at the girl, unable to catch the nuance of meaning behind her words. Instinctively she knew that Maggie had no intention of going to a movie with Andrew, and yet she knew, too, that Maggie did not want her to stay home.

Behind them, a horn blared angrily. Lee shifted her attention back to the wheel unwillingly. She had thought that she understood Maggie pretty well. Now, nothing the girl did made any sense.

But she refused to quibble. If Maggie wanted to get rid of her for the night, then she would make herself scarce. Probably the best thing for both of them—certainly for herself. Give her a chance to think, to figure, without having to look at Maggie. To want to touch her, to tell her...

She dropped them at the corner of Sixty-eighth Street and continued downtown and then across. On any other night in her life, the thought of Cleo, the thought of a night in Cleo's bed, would have blotted out everything... Maggie and Kate and Andrew and the whole stinking mess. But tonight, nothing inside her leaped with joy, with expectation, and she felt a little sorry for Cleo—knowing the girl would have to bear the brunt of her anger.

For a change, she found a parking space easily, directly across the street from Cleo's apartment house. She slammed the door and locked it, then turned to sprint across in front of a car.

Cleo had just emerged from the front doorway and stood watching as Lee came up to the house. She was dressed as Lee had first seen her the evening before, in tight fitting, unconservative black that emphasized every one of the many curves. Instantly Lee knew that Cleo was off to the bars, looking for another kick, another easy make. She remembered Maggie, all soft and gentle in fresh bright pink... Maggie who had never given herself to anyone...

And the taste of Cleo was bitter on her tongue.

Cleo looked deep into Lee's eyes and smiled. "I have just come down for some cigarettes," she said in her low, polished tone. "We are lucky to meet."

"I'll bet," Lee said caustically. She took hold of the woman's elbow and turned her around. "Let's see how fast you can get back up those stairs."

Cleo went without objection, moving gracefully and just slow enough to rattle Lee's disposition—not that anything could have rattled it much more than it was. As she followed, Lee banged her fist against the wall. Not wanting to touch Cleo at all and yet needing to touch her, to smash her because she was not Maggie, because she was a fraud.

"I was not sure you would come," Cleo said as they entered the apartment. "You were not very friendly."

Lee sighed and shoved the door closed with her heel. "I told you I'd see you later," she said. "Or weren't you listening?"

Cleo shrugged and dropped her silk lined coat over the arm of a chair. "I have never sat waiting for anyone. There is always someone else..."

"Okay," Lee said, "that's enough with the philosophy. You don't have to tell me how you have the world figured out, Cleo. I've been playing the same game all my life. Like the guy said—in the dark, they all look alike."

She watched Cleo pour drinks, hating her and in hating Cleo, hating herself. For they were very much alike. Cleo had never given a good damn for anything in her life. And neither had Lee... until Maggie.

It was that last part that galled. She took the scotch and drank it down fast, needing to blunt the sharp edges of her self-awareness, needing to put distance between herself and the memory of Maggie huddled miserably beside her in the car, telling her to go out and have a good time.

"You have a big car," Cleo said in a tone meant to be casual. Lee pricked up her ears, hearing the cash register clang behind the words.

"So?" she said.

Cleo spread the fingers of one hand and gazed down at her palm. "So you must have money," she said.

"Not necessarily," Lee said easily. "In this country, you don't need money, you only need credit."

"But you have," Cleo said seriously. She took Lee's empty glass and set it on a marble-topped coffee table. She leaned toward Lee, then she touched her forehead to Lee's arm.

Very gently, Lee put her hands on Cleo's shoulders and held her away. "I need a place to spend the night," she said. "I'll pay you, if that's what you want."

Cleo huffed impatiently. "Oh, you are foolish. It is not the night I am talking about."

"Then what the hell do you want from me?" Lee said. "You're in a pretty stupid position to try blackmail."

Cleo's palm caught her on the cheek, stinging smartly. Lee grabbed the girl's waist and held it tight between her fingers. But Cleo did not try to struggle.

"If only you liked me," Cleo murmured. "You would not talk to me like this."

"All right," Lee said. "Let's pretend I like you. Now, what is it I'm supposed to say?"

Cleo turned away from her and started toward the bedroom. "Come," she said. "Later we will talk, when you really like me."

Lee followed her and sat down on the edge of the bed. She had not been anxious to climb into that bed with Cleo. Now, she didn't want it at all.

Cleo sensed her aloofness. She came to the edge of the bed and moved close between Lee's knees. With long, gentle fingers, she stroked the short, straight bangs on Lee's forehead. "Tonight you do not care for me at all," she said lightly.

Lee sighed. It would never occur to Cleo that Lee might have other things on her mind. For Cleo, there was only one thing that counted.

She put her arm around the girl's waist and buried her face against the black, itchy material of the dress. Cleo's fingertips caressed the back of her neck now, moving into her hairline and tickling down behind her ear. Something choked in Lee's throat and stung at her eyelids. But she reached up and grasped the zipper pull at the back of Cleo's neck.

She had never seen a woman get out of her clothes as agilely as Cleo managed to do it. She was still in her underwear when Cleo bounced onto the bed. She let the slip drop over her hips and fall to the floor. Cleo grabbed her fingers and pulled her down to the mattress.

Cleo's mouth was warm and moist against hers. Cleo's tongue eager, darting to find hers, to tease, to torment. Cleo's fingers wise and knowing, catching a muscle here, a nerve there. Playing with her, until neither of them was playing any longer.

And she knew how Cleo wanted it. Hard and driving. Brutal. Knew that Cleo sensed the rage in her and wanted her to use it, to spend it. She gave it to her that way. Hating the woman still and hating herself. Not wanting Cleo, but taking her...

She clung to Cleo's hips, her fingertips biting into the flesh, her cheek against the woman's thigh. Cleo lay still now, her breathing deep and slow. Lee felt the woman's palm on the back of her head, knew that Cleo was soothing her. Yet the rage inside her would not be still. And she was thinking, not of Cleo whose body she had splotched with bruises, but of Maggie, whom she had never touched and never would.

Maggie... Mag the Nag. A girl not to be trusted, because she would love you and tie you down. A girl not to be wanted, because she could satisfy you like nobody else could satisfy you—and you'd be hung on Maggie for life. A girl not to be needed, because she would always be there when you needed her. Maggie... whom you loved and wanted and needed.

Cleo's fingers were gentle. Cleo's lips soft, persuasive. Yet she hardly felt them as they brushed lightly over her flesh. Her body responded because her body needed to numb itself, needed the fleeting sensation that was more pain than pleasure. But the mind part of her remained coldly separate, watching the spectacle like a dour critic.

For Cleo's benefit, she smiled a little, pretending it had been good. Cleo leaned over her, her lips pressed to Lee's throat, and one hand circled on the smooth flatness of Lee's chest.

She felt Cleo laugh against her throat. "What's so funny?"

Cleo pulled her face away and touched a fingertip to the end of Lee's nose. "You are like a little boy," she teased gently. "You have no breasts and no hair."

Lee smiled. "Look again," she said. "You must have missed something."

"Oh, silly." Cleo curled up small and pressed herself against Lee's side. "I know you are a woman that way. Besides, what use would I have for a little boy?"

Again Lee smiled, remembering the feel of Cleo, the need of her. "You have plenty of use for men, I gather," she said mildly. "How come you bothered with me?"

"Sometimes," Cleo said, her mouth against Lee's arm, "a man is much better than a woman." She laughed then and put her arms tight around Lee. "And sometimes, a woman is much better than a man."

Something about the way she said it put Lee instantly on guard. The familiar clink of gold that she had heard before in Cleo's tone had sneaked in again. She took a deep breath and waited, knowing that Cleo would not keep her waiting long.

"You are better than a man," Cleo said, sounding seductively breathless, yet somehow as though the speech were prepared. "A woman would always be happy with you."

It didn't hit her in the ego the way Cleo wanted it to. She'd had Cleo pegged from the moment she saw her. Yet she kept her mouth shut and let Cleo go on tying her own noose.

"I am happy with you," Cleo said dreamily. "I have never been really happy with my husband."

Ah, Lee thought. The plot sickens.

"Why'd you marry him?"

"Oh, I loved him then," Cleo said. "He is very handsome. And he was, good to me in the beginning. Then he started... " She shrugged. "He likes beautiful women. Many times I do not see him for weeks at a time, and I know he could come home to me if he wanted to."

"What does he do for a living?" Lee said, a little intrigued by a man who could beat Cleo at the con game of love.

"He is a gambler," Cleo answered, lowering her eyes as though not quite proud of the profession. "He follows the races from one track to another."

"So why don't you go with him?"

"He doesn't let me," Cleo said. "He says I am unlucky for him. When I am with him, every horse comes in last. But I know it is only because of the women. When he does come home, he cannot wait to get away from me. He never wants to... to...

She felt Cleo's tears wet on her arm and knew that they had moved into the pity-little-me stage of the game. In a moment, she was supposed to turn and take Cleo in her arms, comfort her, offer to take her away from it all, from the husband who would not go to bed with her.

She lay very still, letting Cleo snuggle against her, but not reaching to hold her. "Then why don't you leave him?" Lee said. "You could find somebody else in a minute."

Cleo moved away just enough to look into Lee's eyes. "I would leave him for you," she murmured.

No doubt, Lee thought. For me... or for anybody who has a buck. But to Cleo, she said, "How long would I last, Cleo? One week. Or two. Maybe a whole month?"

"It would not be like that with you, Lee. For you, I would be faithful. I would take care of you. Do anything for you, Lee." She leaned above her and put her palm against Lee's cheek. "I am all woman," she murmured, "and this is all any woman wants. You would see that I could love you."

To herself, Lee sighed. Maggie without the integrity, she thought. Maggie with claws.

And she could have grabbed the girl by the throat, strangled her, slammed her head against the wall till it squashed and all the festered, rotten ugliness inside it squeezed out. There was no truth in the woman, no good, no love for anything. There was no loyalty, no trust.

But she put her arms around her and held her, not close, but just close enough. She could almost hear the satisfaction bubbling through Cleo's veins, the pleasure of having taken Lee captive. And Lee let her believe it. Not because it was true. But because Maggie would be leaving soon. Maggie would be going away and leaving a hole in her life that needed to be filled. Cleo could not fill it nor an army of Cleos. But she would help a little, maybe—just a little.

The futility, the hopelessness of it banged like a cymbal inside her skull. And she wondered how Cleo could lie there beside her and not hear. But Cleo was smiling again, smoothing her warm flesh along Lee's body and purring against her ear like a kitten.

"You do love me a little," Cleo said. "Don't you love me a little?"

Lee wanted to tell her the lie that would make her happy. Wanted to soothe Cleo so that Cleo would be still and just leave her the hell alone. But she could not make herself say the words. They were words she had never said to anyone, and if she ever said them, it would not be for Cleo's ears.

She rolled over to the girl and hooked her toes between Cleo's to move her legs into position. Gently now, she pressed herself against the girl, needing to feel the welcoming rise of her response. Needing Cleo to want, to keep on wanting, to forget about love.

"You love me," Cleo crooned. Her long fingers entwined in Lee's damp hair. "You love me."

Maggie, Lee thought. Maggie...

She closed her eyes against the sting of tears, letting herself be drawn into the whirlpool of passion that Cleo called love.

CHAPTER FIVE

The noon siren screamed just as she unlocked the downstairs door and stepped into the house. But she took one look at Maggie, peering at her from the kitchen, and knew that the girl had not yet been to bed.

"Hi," she called, trying to make it sound like any other day. Yet she knew that Maggie would not be deceived. The nagging depression that had descended over both was not usual for either.

"I gather you spent the night in the wrong bed," Maggie said, moving aside to let Lee enter the kitchen. "That thing named Helga called every fifteen minutes from eight last night until eight this morning."

Lee had forgotten about Helga. She often did. "So why the hell didn't you shut off the phone?"

"What for?" Maggie laughed. "I had such fun telling her you weren't here."

Lee felt an eyebrow quiver in surprise and a kind of delight that eluded her. But she went to the stove and poured herself coffee from the pot Maggie always kept full. "I'll call her later," she said over her shoulder, "and apologize."

"You don't have to bother," Maggie said. "I already sent the usual orchid and the box of chocolates."

Lee sat down at the table and smiled Maggie her thanks. For months Maggie had been helping her nurse along her affair with Helga. Remembering—when Lee forgot—the cafe-au-lait orchids and the exquisite little French chocolates that kept Helga's temper on an even keel. Maggie, who believed in thrift, had a special thing against Helga, who would not settle for the free samples of Dutch miniatures that found their way into Lee's house. She had always called Helga "that thing" but this morning, there was something extra in her tone. Something...

"Pieter called this morning," Maggie said drearily. "He and Trudel will be here at eight."

Lee sighed and leaned back against the chair. "Trudel," she said in Maggie's tone. "Now how the hell could I have forgotten about Trudel?"

It made sense to forget somebody like Helga, who had the usual pretty face, the usual nice body, and the usual compliment of details that she sought in a woman. But to forget Trudel Ten Broeck was like forgetting her own name.

"I didn't forget," Maggie said. She laughed then—a sick little sound that stuck in her throat. "I wonder if we'll all sleep in the same bed."

Lee laughed too, not because it was funny, but because she couldn't think of anything else to do with it. She remembered too well, now that she thought about it, the stories she had heard about the Ten Broeck twins.

For many years Lee had taken for granted that it was the Ten Broecks people meant when they talked about dumb Dutchmen. They were tall—like Kate—but in structure, not like Kate at all. Pieter at least had a shape to him, but Trudel managed somehow to look more like a cube than anything human. Both had flaming red hair, and standing side by side—as they always were—they looked like a team of oxen waiting for the yoke. Kate usually refused to discuss the fact of the red hair all too obvious in a family that had never produced anything but blonde. But Miss Ida Winkle had once confided to Lee that Kate had her suspicions. There had been a hired hand used to work at the Ten Broeck farm...

But whatever private thoughts Kate might have had, she had kept them to herself and treated the Ten Broecks like anyone else in the family. She had given Pieter a good job in the firm and, as a special grace, had allowed him to incorporate Trudel as his private assistant. Separating the two was a feat no one had ever undertaken. They moved in lock step, spoke as though from the same mouth and, except that occasionally one or the other of them had been seen to move independently, they stuck together like Siamese twins.

Yet, when one looked at it carefully, one could discern a truth that Pieter would have denied. It was simply that Trudel, on her own, hadn't sense enough to survive. The family, being the family, said that Trudel wasn't quite bright. Lee had stronger feelings on the subject. But whatever the case, wherever he went, Pieter dragged Trudel with him like some swollen, obscene appendage.

Remembering this, Lee felt a twinge of pity curl through her. Not, God knows, for Pieter, though he may have deserved it, but for Maggie, who certainly didn't deserve Trudel.

"Look," Lee said, "it still isn't too late, you know. If you want, I can talk to Kate and try to pound some reason into that unreasonable skull of hers. I mean, after all, she can't expect you to marry Trudel."

"No," Maggie said flatly.

"But..." Lee sputtered.

"No," Maggie said again. She took Lee's empty cup and carried it over to the sink.

Lee got up and went to stand behind her. She could feel the waves of unhappiness that emanated from the girl. Knew from her voice that she was close to tears. She put out a finger and, very gently, pushed a blonde lock back into place.

"Why don't you let me help you?" she said quietly. Maggie was so close. So very close that she could smell the warmth and the sweetness of her. Could reach out and touch her...

Maggie turned on the water and carefully rinsed the cup. Then she took a clean towel, dried the cup and stepped away from Lee to set it into the cupboard.

Lee felt a prickle of irritation teasing along her spine. For a girl who usually had such good sense, Maggie was acting like a jerk.

Maggie turned to face her, and as she did she smiled. Lee knew instinctively that Maggie had pulled all her loose ends together and was ready for anything. She was thankful, glad for Maggie and glad for herself, for she had come so close, so very close...

"Don't you think we'd better get down to some work?" Maggie said, changing the topic as though something had been settled. "We still haven't finished that letter and Daddy says—"

"You want to know something?" Lee said. "I'm a little sick of hearing what Daddy says. Lee says she didn't get any sleep last night and she didn't get any sleep the night before and if she doesn't get some damned soon, she's going to fall flat on her face. And from the looks of you, Miss Maggie, you could use a little yourself."

"I could," Maggie agreed without hesitation. "I feel like something ready for the garbage pail."

"So the hell with it," Lee said. She grinned. "Besides, you have to look gorgeous tonight. We don't want Pieter to feel he's getting gypped."

She shooed Maggie off upstairs and poured herself another cup of the strong, black coffee. It was true that she was tired, worn thin like she had never been in her life. Her stomach felt like somebody had been working it over with a mallet, but she knew that she would not sleep. That she would lie there in the big empty room and stare at the ceiling and think about Maggie and wonder...

About many things. And dream a little, too. Like about how simple it would all have been, if she had been the son she was supposed to have been. Maggie would have belonged to that son. Maggie would have been Kate's gift to her only heir and the family, the lousy family, would have sanctioned and approved.

But it wasn't safe to have dreams like that. They hurt too much, cut to the quick in all the wrong places. She had heard from the day she was born that she was supposed to have been a boy. In every generation there had been a boy. Only one—but that had been enough to keep the family line going. Each son had produced another. She remembered the portraits in Kate's library and silently, she cursed them, as she had often done-cursed the waning maleness in each generation that had finally produced her. She felt like a eunuch, like something that wasn't quite a woman and certainly was not a man. She loved Maggie as much, as well, as deeply as any man could. Yet she could not marry her, she could not give her sons. She could not go to Kate and say, Maggie is rightly mine.

She couldn't really, she knew, go to Kate and say anything. Kate had an empire to worry about, a family to propagate. Kate, if she had ever loved anything, had not let love get in her way. Lee could not persuade herself that Kate would listen to her, for Kate had not softened with age. She had grown hard, believing that only she had the strength, the fiber to keep the family going.

After a while, she gave up on the subject of Kate and climbed up the spiral stairway to the living room. There was little point in beating herself over the head about Kate. She'd been doing it all her life and gotten nowhere.

She poured scotch into a glass and carried it to the couch and stretched out with the glass propped on her stomach. The sun beat warmly through the front windows, burning a path across the rug toward her. She was too warm in the suit jacket and too tired to get up and take it off. Every now and then, she sat up enough to slug down a swallow of the scotch. But it didn't reach her. The pounding inside her head went on inexorably.

Only for a moment did she concern herself with regrets over Cleo. Cleo, like any woman but Maggie, was just one of those things. She would probably move Cleo and her tons of clothing into the house for a while—just long enough to take the edge off Maggie's departure. Cleo would at least keep her mildly entertained, and it was a hell of a lot easier than digging up a new body every night.

Helga, she could hardly spare a thought for. The fire had gone out of that flame a couple of months ago. Still, Helga had her good points as well as her dull ones. And she would need someone on the string, someone to hold her head when Cleo started kicking it in. Helga would do nicely for that. Helga loved to hold heads. It made her feel secure.

By the time she had worked up a good fat hate for the whole world, the glass was empty and the sun gone below the windowsill. She heard Maggie coming down from the top floor and glanced up to watch her descend the staircase.

She had always thought the spiral stairs a little silly until she watched Maggie coming down them. It was like a game of hide and seek, the way her knees peeped out from the edge of her skirt, then disappeared when she rounded a spiral, then were there again. Maggie had nice knees and good legs, legs that had walked a lot and been out in the sun.

The rest of her looked damned good too. Lee sat up slowly, taking in the whole picture a little at a time, so it wouldn't touch off the scotch. She had on a green dress Lee had not seen before that fit in a way that was at once both demure and exciting. Her hair looked softer, shinier, and it waved neatly, but not tightly against her head. She had taken a long time with the make-up and done a good job. Lee felt all of her reaching toward the girl, wanting to go to her, to hold her...

"Do you like it?"

"If I answered that honestly," Lee said, "you'd slap my face."

She watched the color deepen in Maggie's cheeks and she knew, for one moment, that if she reached out to Maggie, Maggie would run to her arms. She knew it and it was all she had ever wanted to know. But she could not tell this to Maggie. Not now and not ever.

She sat very still as the girl went on down the stairs to the first floor. In only a few moments, she would have to sit there and watch Pieter eyeing Maggie, feeling her up with that stupid, stolid expression of his, taking her measurements with his little pig eyes. She had seen Pieter look at women before. Pieter, who liked women the way some men did, as though they were nothing but flesh to be pawed over and mauled. Pieter, who had probably never done anything to a woman but look and drool.

She heard the bell and the click of Maggie's spike heels. And then the three of them coming up the stairs.

Maggie, quick and alive. Pieter, plodding and slow. Trudel, moving over the earth like a mongoloid Neanderthal. Lee got up as they came in and crossed to the liquor cabinet.

"May I fix anyone a drink?" she said automatically, looking straight at the cocoa-filled pot in Maggie's hand.

"We're having cocoa," Maggie said.

Pieter said, "Yah."

"Yah," Trudel echoed.

The Ten Broecks had not changed, as she had known they would not have. They never seemed to age, to lose or gain weight, to grow or shrink an inch. And still they said, yah—as if they had just climbed off the boat. Lee poured herself more scotch and knew that it wouldn't help a bit.

Maggie set the ceramic pot on the coffee table and stepped to the walnut cabinet for cups. Lee heard the girl fiddling around behind her, getting things out, but she was not looking at Maggie. She had fastened her eyes on Pieter—on his bloated, red face—and she had decided that it might be fun to kill him.

The Ten Broecks sat down together on the couch, dropping like two hinged halves. Carefully, Lee forced herself to look away from Pieter's face and went to sit down behind her desk, needing the advantage of distance.

"It is warm today," Pieter said in his foghorn voice. "We have hyacinths in the yard."

Lee had never quite known how to respond to Pieter's brilliant dialogue. He sounded, somehow, like a children's reader that was badly out of date. Neither he nor Trudel had ever set foot in the Netherlands. But they spoke and moved and behaved like classic examples from the old sod.

"We have a few things growing," Maggie said brightly. "I was out just this morning digging around the tulips." She retired with her cocoa to a sling chair across from the couch, and Lee watched the three of them sitting there, drawn into themselves now that there was nothing more to say.

Finally she pulled open the top drawer of her desk and searched around till she found a fresh pack of cigarettes, then offered them to the other three.

"We do not smoke," Pieter said, speaking at once for the three of them. He did not even glance at Maggie for her reaction.

"Maggie doesn't either," Lee said pointedly, knowing that no point she could throw would dent that thick skull. Still she had to try, for Maggie's sake. At the rate Pieter was going, Maggie would be dead of suffocation... or boredom... in a week.

She lit a cigarette and sat back to watch them through her smoke screen. It was like being at a play for which she had memorized the dialogue, the movements of all the characters. Yet it might be interesting, just for the hell of it and for the scotch in her veins, to try to shake it up a bit—see how the characters behaved when someone threw a rotten tomato onto the stage.

"I suppose Kate has made arrangements for the marriage," Lee said off-handedly, directing herself not to Pieter, but to a spot on the white wall behind his head.

"Yah," Pieter said. "For Sunday. In the morning."

Trudel said, "Yah.”

She felt Maggie watching her, but she would not look at the girl as she spoke. "In that case," she went on, "I'll be needing a secretary the first of next week. You know, Kate's made me head of the firm."

"Yah," the Ten Broecks said together.

It had a slightly different ring. Just enough to tell Lee what she wanted to know. Kate had set things up very comfortably for her. She would get from the Ten Broecks and from the rest of the family—the same deference, the same obedience that Kate got. Not because she had earned it, but because Kate demanded it.

"Well, I've been thinking it over," Lee said slowly, feeling a little sick at what she was about to say, "and I've decided on someone to succeed Maggie."

"Yah?" they said, sounding like a caricature of themselves.

"Yes," Lee said. It almost came out yah, but she caught herself just in time. "I would like you, Trudel, to take over Maggie's job. It's not exactly an easy one, you know."

She watched the pink and purple chase each other through Trudel's cheeks. She knew that Trudel dare not refuse, for fear of enraging Kate, and that Trudel dare not accept, for fear of losing Pieter.

"I need someone to live here at the house," Lee went . "I do a lot of my work here, see people here, that sort of thing. And since Pieter's getting married, I thought you'd be the logical choice. I mean, he'll be moving to Ravensway and I didn't think you'd want to stay on at the farm by yourself."

She sat back and folded her hands on the desk and waited.

Maggie said, "It's not such a bad idea, Trudel. Really it isn't. Lee's very easy to live with."

She sounded hopeful, almost anxious, and Lee didn't blame her. Living with Pieter was enough for any one person to have to endure. But she wasn't at all sure Maggie wasn't getting the better part of the deal.

"Trudel has worked for me," Pieter said.

His few words said it all. That he intended to keep Trudel working for him. But that he would give up without a fight if she waved Kate under his nose.

"Kate's put the choice in my hands," Lee lied blithely. "I need someone with experience in the firm. Trudel has that. And I think we can probably find someone else for you without too much trouble." She turned to Trudel. "What do you say?"

No one had ever heard Trudel speak three consecutive words. Now she stared dumbly at Lee, unable to find even two.

"Trudel will do what you want," Pieter said dully.

"I asked Trudel," Lee reminded him gently.

He touched his sister's arm and it looked as though he wanted to shake her. But he said nothing and his hand remained still on the heavy tweed of Trudel's sleeve.

"I will do what Pieter says," Trudel rumbled from behind her chins. "He is my brother."

Lee heard the gurgle of delight Maggie could not contain. And she sighed, settling into herself, content that she had been able to do something, some very little thing, to make Maggie's life bearable. Still, it was almost like nothing, there was so much she wanted to do for Maggie. So very much.

Maggie poured another round of cocoa, then refilled Lee's glass and brought it back to the desk. As she set it down, she touched Lee's hand and looking up, Lee saw that she was smiling.

"I could kiss you," Maggie murmured.

And Lee said, "Yah."

CHAPTER SIX

The Ten Broecks stayed only an hour, but it was long enough to give Lee a headache no amount of aspirin could cure. She stayed at her desk while Maggie showed them out, sitting with her feet propped on a drawer and her arms folded on her chest. And she thought about Trudel. Trudel, who never spoke, who had nothing to say anyhow, who had a shape like a sausage. Trudel, who would be sharing her house.

And she sighed. In a way, it was a kind of justice that she should be stuck with Trudel Ten Broeck for the rest of her life. A twisted, perverted justice such as Kate might have conjured up. It was her punishment for having refused to live at Ravensway and carry on the family tradition. Her punishment, for forcing Kate to find Maggie a husband so that the estate would have tenants. For in her heart she knew that not even Kate would have chosen Pieter for Maggie except under dire circumstances.

She heard the girl coming up the stairs and watched her head emerge above the level of the floor. Maggie looked pretty good, all things considered. Tired around the eyes, a little drained of spirit, but not by any means deflated. She admired the spark of self preservation in the girl that kept her smiling when Lee herself would have been in tears. And yet, it irritated her.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," Maggie said as she came over to the desk. She picked up the ashtray Lee had filled to overflowing and dumped it into the basket. "The two of them together make me nervous."

"You look as though you might live," Lee said, more caustically than she had intended, but annoyed by Maggie's tone. It was not fair that Maggie's mood should be soaring when her own was drooping so low.

"Why not?" Maggie said cheerfully. "Now that you've got Trudel all tucked away..."

"Oh, for chrissake," Lee exploded. "Don't try to tell me you've got stars in your eyes for that bumbling Dutchman. You can't stand him any more than I can and you know it."

"True," Maggie said gently. "But I'm going to be married to him, Lee."

The finality and the futility of it knocked the venom out of Lee. She picked up the empty glass and rolled it slowly between her palms. "I didn't mean to give you a hard time," she said. "You know that."

Maggie took the glass and set it onto the tray with the cups and spoons. "We're going for the license tomorrow morning," she said. "So I'll be a little late for work."

It was the last straw. Lee knew she could not spend the rest of the evening facing Maggie's quiet, simple acquiescence. To marry Pieter was one thing. But to take it sitting down...

She stood up roughly, knocking the chair back against the wall. "There won't be any work tomorrow,'' she said crisply. "I won't be here."

"Oh," Maggie said. But it was not surprise. Lee wanted to grab her and shake her until she stopped smiling, until the facade cracked and the truth started spilling out. Yet she dared not do that to Maggie. A little self-deception was necessary for Maggie right now. When she got around to facing the facts, then it would be time enough to worry.

Lee strode briskly across the living room, down the stairs, and out to the kitchen. She poured a mug of cold, bitter coffee and drank it standing, her nerves too edgy now for relaxation. In a minute, she would slam out the front door, slam into the car, and then speed to somewhere, anywhere that promised oblivion. If she had any sense at all, she would stay there, stay away from Maggie until the girl had been safely married off, safely bedded down with Pieter.

But she had no sense now—only fear—fear for Maggie and fear for herself. Maggie would die, married to Pieter. Of boredom, frustration, misery, and probably disgust. And Lee would die, too, if Maggie married Pieter—just die.

She slammed out the front door, but left the car where it was and flagged a cab at the corner. She'd had too much scotch, too much aggravation for driving. All she wanted was to sit back and close her eyes and stare at the blank wall of her mind.

The cab did not take her far, hardly a dozen blocks, and then she was out again, standing on the sidewalk blinking up at the front of Helga's house and wondering why the hell she had come to Helga.

It was one of the few mysteries in her life for which she had an answer. If anybody could take her mind off Maggie, Helga could do it.

The apartment door swung open in her face and Helga's catlike litheness pounced.

"My roaming Romeo," Helga boomed in her whisky-thick voice. "Where in the hell have you been?"

Lee felt herself grabbed by both arms and pulled into the room. She heard the door slam loudly behind her. And then she was facing the girl, alone with her in the center of the ring, looking for a corner to back into. For Helga was angry—very, very angry. And Helga in a rage was a power to contend with.

"You lousy bastard," Helga steamed. "Two nights in a row. You've got your damned nerve, Lee Van Tassel. I could have been out having myself a time, instead of sitting here like a fool waiting for you."

She was almost, but not quite, too angry to speak. Lee had never seen Helga reduced to a state beyond words. In fact, Helga had more words to say on any subject than anyone else Lee had known. She especially delighted in railing at Lee. Before, the sight of Helga's beautiful face pinched and drawn to a white-hot fury had always stirred something in Lee, had made her capitulate and promise. Now, she just watched—curiously detached—seeing Helga clearly for the first time and not liking what she saw.

She had never liked it much. Helga was tall and Lee liked her women tiny. Helga thought of herself as a sophisticate and Lee liked her women uncomplicated. Helga was cold, her skin, her long blonde hair, her pale blue eyes like something preserved in ice. Lee liked her women warm, tender, uninhibited.

But in bed, Helga dissolved, Helga became a flame, Helga forgot to be smooth and chic. And in bed, Lee liked Helga very much.

She watched her now and waited, knowing that the storm could not lastknowing that in a moment Helga would start to thaw. Then Helga would be good to her, good for her. Helga would hold her and...

"Well, who the hell is she?" Helga screamed. "Do I have to stand here and yell all night?"

"You may stop any time you please," Lee said mildly. "You'll only give yourself a headache." She didn't tell Helga about her own headache. Helga wouldn't have cared.

"I hate you," Helga said coldly. "You treat me like—"

"I probably treat you like you deserve to be treated," Lee interrupted. "Did that ever occur to your thick skull?"

Helga was quiet finally, standing still and breathing deeply as though readying another charge.

Lee did not press her advantage. She walked to the window and for a moment, looked across to the next apartment at a woman combing her hair. Then she lowered the blind.

"You think I'm going to bed with you?" Helga screamed. "Do you think I'm crazy? I'm through with you, Lee. Do you hear that?"

"Uh-huh," Lee murmured. "And if you took a poll of the building, I imagine everyone else did too."

"Oh!" Helga exploded. But it was quieter now.

Lee waited till Helga had cooled off enough to sit down on the couch. Then she said, "Now, about what you were saying. I apologize. I should have called but something came up that..."

"I know what came up," Helga said nastily. "You can't look at a behind without following it home."

Lee smiled without humor. "That's not quite true," she said. "I once saw one in Brooklyn that didn't do a thing for me."

"Oh, shut up," Helga said. She patted the couch. "Come here."

Lee went to the couch, but stood up, towering over Helga, not quite so sure now that it was worth the effort. She knew by heart the little game that Helga played—knew Helga would grind her down first, make her be sorry. But she was not sorry at all. She didn't give a good damn.

Helga's left eyebrow arched high. "Well," she breathed. "Don't tell me the prime bastard of them all has finally fallen."

"That's what I like about you," Lee said, carefully avoiding the accusation. Even Maggie's name didn't belong in the same room with Helga. "You're so gracious, so ladylike, so…

"Can it," Helga spat. "Who is she, Lee? If you don't tell me, I'll find out anyhow."

"What difference does it make to you?" Lee said, knowing Helga had her pegged. "You've got no claim on me."

Helga sighed and shook her head. She looked at Lee levelly for a moment. Then she said, her voice quiet now and subdued, "I once thought I had."

"Oh, come off it," Lee said, turning away in disgust. "You don't care a damn about me."

Again Helga sighed. "You're a fool," she said, still quietly. "But I guess that's beside the point." She reached to touch Lee's hand. "How come you're so hung up over this chick, whoever she is? It's not like you to let a woman give you trouble."

Lee was silent for a moment. It was useless to deny that she was indeed hung up for someone. Even Helga had brains enough to see that. But she didn't want to tell Helga about Maggie. Not even a little bit. Helga couldn't help her and wouldn't if she could. But Helga could hurt her, Helga could twist the knife in her wound.

"Well?" Helga prodded.

Finally Lee said, "It's just no good. She's straight."

She had expected to be laughed at. It was in keeping with Helga. The girl threw back her head and howled and when she had finished, peered at Lee as if she were a specimen on the end of a pin.

"I told you you were a fool," Helga said triumphantly. "Don't you know that no woman is so straight she can't be bent a little?"

"Not this one," Lee said. "She..."

"Oh, come along," Helga said disgustedly. "Look at me. I didn't furnish this apartment by working for a living. Believe me, Lee, I like sex like nobody likes it. I've been sleeping around since I was twelve, you know that." She laughed. "And then one day you followed my behind down the street and right into the house and..." She spread her hands. "I know you think I'm a liar, but I've been faithful to you for three months, and that's something I've never been able to say for anybody else."

Lee heard the subtle shift of subject and knew that Helga had moved from interest in Lee to interest in herself, which, with Helga, was predictable. She wasn't ready to accept Helga's plea of faithfulness. But she did know that she had been a good thing in Helga's life, a very rich plum that had supplied its own share of furnishings. Helga would not let go without a fight.

"But you're different," Lee said, taking Helga's lead and putting Maggie back into her heart where she belonged.

"How am I different?" Helga murmured, secure again, now that they were back on her favorite topic.

Lee sat down beside her on the couch and took Helga's hands between her own. She could look into Helga's eyes and not see Helga at all, but only a pair of arms, a pair of lips... It was a knack she had developed a long time ago to cover up the feeling of lonesomeness, of uselessness.

"In many ways," Lee murmured, "you understand about things, you feel things..." She heard the sound of herself droning on, telling Helga the same line she had spun for her so often before. Felt her hands reaching out to Helga, still spinning the line, twining it around them both noose-like and strangling.

She switched off the lamp at the end of the couch and stretched out on the foam rubber, pulling Helga close against her.

In the dark, she thought, they all look alike. A body is a body in the dark. Arms only arms. Lips... All alike. A curve to touch here, a hollow there waiting for the tip of your tongue. You travel the road once and you know it by heart. All the bumps, the detours, the side streets and the avenues.

She had traveled the road so often she had worn it to a fine, polished smoothness. She did not have to think about Helga to make love to her. To know where to touch and how to touch and for how long. The response too, she knew. Helga's response, not really different from the others, not really Helga's, but nature's—inevitable, calculated, and rather dull.

It was not better this time when Helga came to her. She could tell that it was Helga, for she knew the special feel of Helga's hands. Warm hands and strong, that knew how and did what they knew to perfection. She felt her body react, come alive and welcome Helga, opening to her, giving of itself. Felt all of her blur for an instant, hang suspended, breathless for the length of a sigh.

Then it was there again, the thumping ache of her head, the queasy lurch in her stomach. She tried to tell herself that she was only tired—that she had not slept and had not eaten—that she needed to rest, to eat, and forget. Forget...

"Well, aren't you a drag tonight?" Helga said. She snapped on the light and peered down into Lee's face.

Lee put up her hand to shield her eyes, but Helga lifted it away. Glancing up, she could see the smirk, the cruelty in Helga's blue eyes. And she knew that she was not being spared anything tonight.

"So it's really true," Helga said with a kind of awe. "Little Lee Van Dingle Dangle's been hooked."

"Drop it," Lee said coldly. "I'm in no mood..."

"You're in no mood!" Helga shrieked. "Listen, butch, if you can't get it up for me, don't come around here like a sick cat..."

"I'm tired," Lee said. "That's all."

"Tired of what?"

"I haven't had any sleep for two nights," Lee said. "We've had some trouble in the family and..."

"Oh, no," Helga murmured. "Not that little snot who answers the phone."

Lee's hand shot out and clipped the side of Helga's chin.

Helga flopped backwards off the couch and Lee went after her. She grabbed the girl by both shoulders and slammed her back against the rug. She wanted to kill her, to blot out the stupid smirk still in Helga's eyes.

Helga was laughing, making a harsh sound that rasped in Lee's ears. And she knew that Helga would go on laughing. No matter if Lee killed her, Helga would laugh.

She rolled away from Helga and lay on her back. She could not hear herself crying, but there were tears in her eyes. The itchy nap of the rug scratched against her behind. Helga had stopped laughing and it was quiet in the big room.

"So," Helga said close beside her, "how low the mighty have fallen." With a fingertip, she traced the line of Lee's jaw.

Lee didn't bother to remove the finger. She just lay there, poking her chest out for the thrust of Helga's knife.

"I thought little Lee could have anything little Lee wanted," Helga's voice teased. "What happened, baby? Grandmother Kate doesn't love little Lee any more?"

Lee cursed the day she had told Helga her name. Helga had had a rundown made on her, knew everything about her from the size of her shoes to the toothpaste she used. Helga was like that.

"She's getting married," Lee said flatly. "Not that it's any of your damn business."

"But I'd find out anyhow," Helga said without shame. "And what is little Lee going to do all by herself in that great, big, empty house?"

Little Lee might put a bullet through her brain, Lee thought—if you don't shut up.

Helga was being sweet now, reminding herself of Lee's bank account. She moved in close to Lee, but slowly—making Lee touch her. Offering her ample bosom for consolation.

And Lee felt tired. So very tired. She put her cheek against Helga's breast and closed her eyes.

Helga's fingers stroked the back of Lee's head. "You'll be lonely," she murmured.

"Hmm," Lee mumbled.

"I wouldn't let you be lonesome, Lee."

Lee heard it like a fly buzzing inside her ear. But she didn't have to make out the words. She knew them by heart. For months she had kept Helga at arm's length, telling her about Maggie living in her house to explain why she couldn't move anyone else in. Maggie, a member of the family... it wouldn't look right. And now the obstacle had been removed.

Now Helga had her with her back against the wall. And she was tired, just too tired... "I'll cook for you," Helga murmured. "And clean and take care of you..."

"Hmm," Lee grunted. And trapped in Helga’s arms, she fell asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lee glowered at herself in Helga's bathroom mirror.

For an independent soul who wanted no part of anybody, she had gotten herself into a hell of a fix. Come the first of the week, with Maggie gone, there would be three women ready to descend on her house like the plague. Trudel, whom she could not turn away for Maggie's sake. Cleo and Helga, whom she would need to help her forget about Trudel. It was a ridiculous situation and one which she hadn't the patience to think about. On the other hand, it would keep her too busy to think about Maggie.

Lee went quietly into the living room and glanced down at Helga, still asleep on the floor where she had curled up beside Lee. Helga would sleep there, Lee knew, until dark. She was not a creature of daytime habits.

Without disturbing her, she draped a bathrobe over the sleeping girl, then went out quickly to the foyer. It was nearly three. Cleo would be home now. Probably waiting for her, and angry that she had not at least called last night...

By the time she reached the sidewalk, Lee knew that she would rather face a firing squad than Cleo. She'd had enough of banter and barter, even enough of sex, to last her a long, long time. Yet facing Maggie wasn't exactly a pleasant prospect either. Maggie had been happy to see her leave and would not welcome her return.

"The hell with it," she muttered and a little old lady reared back angrily to stare at her.

She flagged a cab and sent it flying toward Sixty-eighth Street. If she couldn't find a little peace in her own home...

She threw a bill at the driver and banged out of the cab. A hot shower, some of that damned food Maggie was always harping about. About a gallon of scotch to wash it down with. More sleep. And tomorrow, back to work. No more of this stupid running around like a fool. She had a job to think about now, a whole damned company waiting for her to step into Kate's footprints.

Maggie was sitting by the window in the kitchen, staring out at the garden with eyes Lee knew saw nothing. At the sight of the girl, she stopped short and the swirl of her good intentions gurgled down the drain.

"What the hell's eating you?" she barked, knowing what the hell was. But something inside her could not be gentle.

"Nothing," Maggie sighed without turning around. She leaned forward and propped her elbows on the windowsill.

Lee realized that Maggie was trying to withdraw, to sneak away inside herself where Lee couldn't reach her. And in a way, she understood why.

"Say, look," Lee said, "I haven't eaten for about a week now and I thought maybe..."

Still sighing, Maggie lifted herself from the stool and came toward Lee sort of floating, as though afraid to touch the ground and reality.

"I've got some of that chicken left," she said tiredly.

"That's not what I meant," Lee said, her voice low and soft, absorbing some of Maggie's pain. "I thought maybe you'd like to go out for dinner with me."

A tiny spark flared in Maggie's eyes and, for just a second, she looked almost alive. Lee caught her breath, wanting to reach out, wanting to help—yet knowing that it was Maggie's fight and that Maggie had to wage it alone.

Then the spark was gone. A wrinkle etched its way across the smooth forehead. "I’d like that," she said dully.

"So let's go," Lee said, trying to pump some enthusiasm into the girl. "I'm so hungry I could eat the paint off the walls."

"I'll put on some lipstick," Maggie droned.

"Oh, the hell with it," Lee snapped. "You look better now than anything else on the streets."

She grabbed Maggie's wrist and pulled her outside. She did not want the girl to stay in the house another minute, feeding on whatever morbidity obsessed her. She wanted to get her out, force her to breathe, to look around. To see that there was still sunshine, still life on the planet...

But nothing she could say reached Maggie. Beside her in the car, the girl sat silent. She took her to an Italian restaurant and they ate in silence. And afterwards, Lee smoked a cigarette in silence and Maggie just sat.

This will never do, Lee told herself sharply. You've got to make that girl smile.

Lee's glib tongue, that had wound its way in and out of trouble all her life, failed to get a rise out of Maggie. After a while she quit trying and let the girl brood. But she turned the car toward the Battery Tunnel, seeking a familiar spot.

The last time they had been to Coney Island, Lee had been thirteen and Maggie, trailing at her heels like a puppy, had been an awed eight, witnessing the gaudy wonder for the first time. They had had a hell of a good time and Lee remembered Maggie, at every booth, grabbing her sleeve and whispering, "Win me a teddy bear." Lee had won her three, smashing baseballs into milk bottles with an aim perfected at the expense of Kate's greenhouse. If they could find a little of that feeling today, just a little...

"Remember the last time we were here?" Maggie said beside her.

Lee heard an edge of warmth in the girl's tone and she turned to glance at her. "I was," she said. Then she grinned. "Remember how Kate laid you out for getting chocolate down the front of your dress?"

"It was mustard," Maggie said. "And I still think it was your fault. If you hadn't bumped into my arm..."

Lee felt a well of fondness spreading inside her. Of tenderness for this girl whom she had known... and loved... for so very long. Now that it was too late, she began to realize just how much Maggie had always meant to her. And she to Maggie. If only... If only... Little, ugly words, if only. They strolled onto the boardwalk and into the stream of human traffic. It was still early, still warm, and mothers herded kids ahead of them, clucking like hens. The smell of corn, of hot dogs, of things frying in rancid grease cloyed in her full stomach and she led Maggie to the railing, away from the smells. The ocean sparkled, smoothly serene beneath the dying sun. She looked out and away to the horizon, past the heads and the umbrellas and the garbage, needing the feel of space, of distance to regain her own sense of perspective.

And she was no longer aware of the people or the odors or the noise. She was alone here with Maggie, on the edge of the world. Safe, where nobody could find them or hurt them. Together, where no one could step in between them. Unconsciously, her fingers sought Maggie's hand and she stood for a moment, letting the touch of Maggie seep into her.

"You've got an admirer." Maggie said lightly. She nodded down toward the beach.

Instantly, as though she had been stung, Lee let go of Maggie's hand. Following Maggie's gaze, she saw a bronzed-skinned girl, nearly naked in a red bikini, watching them.

"You'd think she'd be cold," Maggie murmured.

Lee laughed. From the size and the shape and the profession of her, she guessed the girl had never been cold in her life. "Not that one," she said easily. "She warms herself with dollar bills."

"Oh," Maggie said. "She's so pretty, I didn't think.. "

"You'd be amazed," Lee said. She touched Maggie's elbow and steered her away from the railing. "That kind you can pick up for a couple of bucks in Klein's basement."

It did not surprise her that the girl had been trying to pick her up. It was one of the phenomena of life she had accepted long ago. A girl out to hustle was rarely particular. The thing that bothered Lee had nothing to do with the girl at all. She was the thing she didn't understand. Never before in her life had she so casually overlooked a good lay. She had gone through her days with eyes trained forward, looking, looking... Just looking, sampling now and then when it looked especially good. But not even to have realized that...

Maggie. I was thinking about Maggie...

She remembered, then, holding Maggie's hand. A nothing thing, she used to think, holding a girl's hand. A nothing thing...

Maggie hooked her hand through Lee's elbow and moved in close beside her, matching her stride to Lee's. They moved down the ramp and into Playland, going slowly through the crowd.

A nothing thing, a girl hanging onto your elbow. A nothing thing...

Yet she was as much aware of Maggie as though the girl had suddenly caught fire. Aware of her and of nothing else. All of her interest and all of her desire funneling itself toward the tiny girl clinging to her elbow. And she knew that soon, she would have to take Maggie home and leave her there. Go to Cleo or somewhere. Anywhere. Just so that Maggie would not know. For Maggie must never know.

Maggie laughed suddenly and shook her arm. "Look," she said.

In front of a stall, a fat guy in a greasy apron jiggled change. Behind him, a row of skinny stuffed bears blinked plastic eyes.

"Win me a teddy bear, Lee."

Lee grinned. "Which one?"

"That one," Maggie said, pointing to a tan one with a bang of stiff hair down to its nose. "It looks like you."

The fat guy measured Lee with his eyes and yelled out, "Come on. Win the little lady a teddy bear."

She paid him a quarter for three balls, but took only one. She tossed it up lightly, caught it, then banged it home. The milk bottles splintered off in all directions.

The fat guy made a grab for her right arm. "Hey, butch," he leered, "where'd you learn that?"

Calmly, Lee shook off the hand. "Throwing bricks at bastards like you," she said. Then she reached for Maggie's teddy bear.

"Wait a minute," the guy said. "I don't like being talked to that way."

He folded his ham-like hands on his hips and Lee knew that the time had come for a discreet withdrawal.

"I don't blame you," she said. She took Maggie's elbow and turned away. "Neither do I."

Before the big guy could get any madder, she maneuvered them away from the booth and around the corner into another aisle.

"Do people often talk to you like that?" Maggie said seriously.

"Only sometimes," Lee said. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's just that I never realized that... " She bit her lower lip and hugged the teddy bear under her arm.

Lee laughed. "That I look queer as a three-dollar bill? I don't to everybody," she said. "But sometimes I feel like I have two heads, the way guys like that pick me out."

"Does it bother you?"

"No. Why should it?"

'"I mean, well, he was ready to wipe up the ground with you."

"It's a funny thing," Lee said. "Some men are like that. I don't know why, exactly. But it's always a big, tough looking guy like that one."

"Like Pieter," Maggie said so quietly Lee almost didn't hear it.

She stopped and turned to look down at the girl. "Why did you say that?" she demanded.

Maggie shrugged. "Nothing."

"Oh yes, something, Miss Maggie. Now spit it out."

Maggie sighed. "Well, after we went for the license. Pieter came back to the house with me. Trudel wasn't there for a change. He left her at the office. He... he wanted... "

Lee had a fair idea of what he wanted. 'To get acquainted," she said mildly. "That figures. But what the hell has that got to do with me?"

Maggie leaned back against the wall of a booth and peered at Lee with round frightened eyes. She clung to the teddy bear like it was salvation.

"I'm waiting," Lee said patiently. Something in Maggie's eyes told her not to push.

"I couldn't," was all Maggie said.

"You couldn't what, damn it?"

"He... " Maggie glanced about her, at the people, the too many people moving around them.

"Come on," Lee said. "Let's go back to the car."

Angrily now, she grabbed the girl's hand and propelled them through the crowd to the sidewalk. Her jaw worked against the tension building inside her. She did not want to hear what Maggie would tell her. And yet, she knew she had to.

When they reached the car, she shut Maggie inside, then went around to join her. Before she got in, she spun on her heel and stalked off to a liquor store a couple of doors away.

When she came back to the car, Maggie said, "I thought you didn't drink when you drove."

"I don't," Lee snapped.

"Then why the bottle?"

"It's for the teddy bear," Lee said. She slammed the car into gear and headed back toward the highway.

It would be dark by the ocean. And quiet. There, she would hear Maggie out and help her if she could. There she would listen and try to make Maggie understand...

She did not let Maggie go on with her tale until they had reached the beach. It was, as she had prayed it would be, empty of people and of light and of noise. Too early in the season yet for the summer people. And too early in the night for lovers. She took Maggie's hand and led her across the sand to the water's edge. Then she spread out a blanket from the trunk. "Sit," she ordered.

Maggie sat, still holding the teddy bear under one arm. Lee sat down beside her and pulled off her shoes. She took the bottle out of her jacket pocket and burrowed it into the sand.

"Now," she said. "Tell me."

Maggie had had plenty of time to pull herself together. Now she told Lee easily, without hesitation, without embarrassment.

"Pieter was with me for a long time," she began. "He said about six words. You know how he is. But he made himself pretty clear. He wanted to make love to me. At least, I guess that's what he would have called it."

"Somehow I doubt it," Lee said. "But what did you call it?"

Maggie shook her head. "I wouldn't know what to call it. He's… he's like a bull, Lee. Remember, when we went down to the Ten Broeck's farm and we saw that bull go after the cow?"

Lee nodded. "Very well," she said. And an image of Pieter the bull flashed across her mind, churning up a disgust she could not swallow. Poor Maggie...

"Well, he tried," Maggie said. And she shivered as though suddenly cold. "I couldn't, Lee. I just couldn't."

"What happened?" Lee said, needing now to hear it all, to gorge herself until she vomited.

"I told him I wanted to wait. It's only a few days. But he said... he said... "

Lee felt a cold hand reach out to squeeze her heart. Pieter, the son of a bitch... the impotent fool…

"He said you were queer," Maggie finished quietly, "and that you ruined me. He said he'd tell Kate if I didn't..."

Maggie was crying now, but very quietly. Lee reached for the bottle and unscrewed the cap. "Here," she said. "I know you don't drink, girl, but sometimes..."

Maggie took a swallow and choked. Then she took another and it went down smoothly.

"Well, it had to happen sooner or later," Lee said, resigning herself along with Maggie to the girl's fate.

"But it didn't," Maggie said. "I just couldn't..."

Lee lowered the bottle halfway to her lips.

Maggie shrugged. "I wanted to, Lee. So he wouldn't tell Kate. I mean, it's a lie, after all. But he doesn't know it."

Lee sighed. "Don't worry," she said gently. "He won't tell Kate anything. He's getting a dowry with you that would shut any man's mouth." She took a long pull from the bottle, then wiped her palm across the top. "That's not what worries me."

Maggie put the teddy bear on the blanket and lay back with her head on its belly. "I know what worries you."

"So what's the answer, Miss Maggie?"

"I'll have to, that's all. But I'm scared out of my mind.”

"It's one thing to be revolted," Lee said. "But why are you scared?"

"Suppose I get pregnant?"

"That's the whole idea," Lee answered. "For you to make little Ten Broecks to run around the estate."

"But I don't think I... " Maggie paused. "Give me another swallow of that stuff."

In the darkness, Lee grinned. "You’ll be a lush in no time at this rate."

"I had some last night," Maggie admitted. "After you went out." She took a drink and handed the bottle back to Lee. "I had to think."

Again Lee laughed. "Did it help?" Then she grew serious. "So tell me what the gripe is."

"My mother died in childbirth," Maggie said quietly. "And so did yours, trying to have a baby that was dead anyhow. I don't want to die that way, Lee. I think I'd rather..."

"Now, you listen to me," Lee insisted. "Your mother died because Andrew was so damned drunk he couldn't get her to the hospital. And mine died because she had a bad heart and shouldn't have gotten pregnant in the first place. You're as healthy as a horse. There's no reason..."

"Lee," Maggie interrupted, "it's your family too. You know half the women have died in childbirth. Even Kate had a hard time. Would you take the chance?"

It wasn't something she thought about often. But she knew she had to answer Maggie and answer her the right way. "I would," she said carefully, "for someone I loved."

"So would I," Maggie murmured. Very gently, her fingers closed over Lee's hand. "For someone I loved."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lee drove Maggie home and left her at the curb. She did not even have to tell the girl that she would not be back. It was a thing they understood and accepted between them.

Yet as she drove away, Lee looked up to the rear-view mirror for a last glimpse of Maggie and cursed the whole lousy, stinking world. The last thing she wanted tonight was Cleo. But to Cleo she would go, dragging her tail behind her.

An hour ago, she could have had Maggie on any terms she wanted her. Maybe it had been the scotch. Or the beach in the early darkness. Maybe it had just been the two of them, accepting a simple truth about themselves. They had not spoken about what they felt. They had sat close, but they had not touched. They had dreamed the same dream, Lee knew. Yet both had known that it was only a dream.

On Sunday, come hell or the atom bomb, Maggie would belong to Pieter. It was a blunt, unalterable fact. And perhaps it was this bluntness that had held Lee in check, For she knew that it could do neither of them any good to take a brief fling at love. For herself, it would make losing Maggie intolerable. And for Maggie, it would make Pieter's brand of love-making all the more revolting, for Pieter would not know how to be gentle. Pieter would not know how to thrill Maggie...

Lee heard a horn blare into her ear and, glancing around, saw a man shaking an angry fist. She grinned back and, maneuvering carefully, skimmed by the end of his bumper. But it had been close enough to scare her, and she realized that she was not quite as sober as she might be. She reached to her jacket pocket for a cigarette and felt her fingers tremble as she stuck it into her mouth. Without lighting it, she flipped the cigarette out the window and looked down the street for a place to park.

She was not sorry that she had fortified herself with scotch. It would help her forget that Cleo was only Cleo. And she needed to forget that tonight. She pressed the bell under Cleo's mailbox and waited, leaning her shoulder against the door.

Cleo took her time about answering. Which, Lee knew, was par for the course. She expected to find the woman in a foul mood, full of resentment and anger-annoyed because Lee had not kept their date the evening before, suspicious that someone else might be trying to climb into the niche she had carved for herself.

But Cleo was all smiles. She opened the door for Lee, then walked into the living room, tying the sash of a green silk robe.

"I was in the tub," Cleo said, running fingers through her damp hair. "You are earlier than I expected."

Lee smiled dourly to herself. So this was Cleo's mode of attack. To be feminine, to be passive, to give Lee just enough rope to hang herself with. An effective approach to a free-wheeler like herself... at least a woman like Cleo would think so. She could not expect Cleo to know she had changed—she had only begun to realize it herself.

"I'm sorry about last night," Lee said, knowing she did not have to explain, but she couldn't just stand there, or Cleo, like Helga, would know that Lee's mind was elsewhere. And she didn't want Cleo to know that. She wanted Cleo to be good to her tonight. Very good. "But something came up and I..."

Cleo fluttered fingers in Lee's face. "You do not have to tell me," she said pleasantly. "I know you are a very busy person. A woman learns to wait patiently, when she wants something enough."

Lee took off her jacket and threw it over the arm of a chair. If she avoided meeting Cleo's eyes, perhaps Cleo would not discover the contempt hidden there. Maybe Cleo would never know…

"Oh my, we have a sour face tonight." Cleo's hand rested gently on Lee's arm. "Have I said something?"

Lee sighed. Funny thing about women, she thought, how they never seemed to understand anything. But to Cleo she only said, "Of course not. I'm just tired."

"Well, sit down then," Cleo said, taking her by the hand. "Shall I rub your back? It helps sometimes to ease the tiredness."

Lee lowered herself to the edge of the couch. Already Cleo's hands were seeking beneath her collar, the thumbs massaging the back of her neck. If she could just relax and enjoy it... But, somehow, it was too easy this way. Cleo, being Cleo, would have her naked in five minutes. And it was too soon. The memory of Maggie, sitting in the car beside her, hugging the teddy bear in an excess of loneliness and frustration, still nagged. The touch of Maggie's hand was still warm against her own. She needed to relax from the inside out, untie the knots slowly so that they would not strangle her.

She reached up and caught hold of Cleo's hands and brought them to her lips. She kissed them gently.

When she looked up, Cleo was watching her with eyes half-closed. Quickly, Lee smiled. "Don't be scared." she said. "I'm fine. But I've got a hangover that's too big for my head and..."

Cleo laughed lightly, but there was something wary in her eyes. “Put up your feet," she murmured, "and I will bring you my hangover special."

Obediently, she stretched out on the couch and watched Cleo hurry down the hall toward the back of the apartment. Cleo's hangover special, whatever it was. couldn't be any worse than the feel of Cleo's fingers against her flesh. And for a moment Lee wondered if she would ever be the same again. If ever again she would chase a behind down the street just because she liked the shape of it. Or whether she would spend the rest of her life looking for Maggie. Looking... and not finding her.

In a moment Cleo reappeared with a tall glass of grayish liquid. She sat down beside Lee and held it out to her.

Lee's nose wrinkled up at the smell of it. "What the hell is it?" she croaked.

"Clam juice with bicarbonate of soda," Cleo intoned like a druggist explaining a prescription. "It sounds sickening, but it will get rid of the hangover."

Lee drank it down without letting herself think about the ingredients. If it made her sick enough, she could curl up in a corner and go to sleep. Then she would not have to touch Cleo or make love to her.

For one dangerous moment, the concoction stayed in her throat, not sure of which way to run. Then it went down smoothly.

"See?" Cleo said after a moment. "Already your eyes are blue again instead of red."

Despite herself, Lee laughed. And Cleo was right. Already her stomach had stopped sloshing around between her ribs. She took the cigarette Cleo held out to her and dragged the smoke deep into her lungs.

Cleo set the empty glass on the rug. She turned then and snuggled down beside Lee on the wide couch.

Lee took her hand and held it limply. She did not want that hand roaming over her. Not yet.

"I have missed you," Cleo murmured. Then she sighed. “I don't think you have thought about me at all."

"Oh, yes I have," Lee said honestly. "I've been thinking about you a lot."

"Oh?" There was a greedy pleasure in Cleo's eyes. "And did you remember what we said?''

"Every word," Lee answered, knowing that Cleo was interested in only one thing.

"Then you still want me to come live with you?" With her free hand, Cleo reached to touch a fingertip to Lee's chin.

Lee, who was in no mood to play octopus, gave up trying to ward off Cleo's wandering hands. She lay back with her eyes closed and felt Cleo's fingers working at the buttons of her blouse.

"Why not?" Lee murmured. "It'll save wear and tear on the car."

The fingers moved inside her blouse and under the edge of her slip. They barely touched her, yet she was aware of them trailing featherlike across one breast.

"I think I must be getting used to you," Cleo said calmly. "I do not want to kill you any more when you talk like that."

"You mean you're bored already?" Lee said, half wishing it were so.

"No, of course not, silly." Cleo ducked her lips to the hollow of Lee's throat. "It is just such a strange way for someone to say I love you."

Oh, baby, Lee thought, if you only knew.

"What makes you think I do?" Lee said. The fingers were moving down now, unfastening her skirt. In a moment, she would have to untie the sash of Cleo's robe. Have to touch her, fondle her. She had known sex to be exciting, funny. She had known it to be a bore or an aggravation. But never had she known it to be like this. A sick thing, filling her with guilt, with anxiety.

"If you did not love me," Cleo murmured, "you would not be here with me."

Lee took hold of one end of the sash and pulled it free. Then she turned on her side and buried her mouth against the soapy sweet flesh. Was it only three days ago that she had come panting to Cleo's bed? Three days ago...

Cleo's palm caressed the back of her head. "Love me, Lee," she crooned. "Love me and I will make you happy."

Lee closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of herself crawling over Cleo's voluptuous frame. In a few days, this body would be beside her in her own bed. This woman would be demanding that she be loved. That she be cherished and pampered. This woman would move into her house, into the kitchen... Maggie's kitchen.

The thought of it churned up the alcohol and clam juice and for a moment, Lee held her breath. Then the wave of nausea passed and she swallowed hard, seeking equilibrium.

Cleo's hand cupped her chin. "You do not want to make love to me," she said accusingly, but gently.

Lee shook her hands against the confining hands. "I do," she lied. "The clam juice just came up to say hello."

"Then hold me," Cleo said. "It is all right."

With infinite relief, Lee took the woman in her arms and held her close, letting her hand circle on Cleo's back. If she could only lie like this, feeling the warmth of Cleo without the lust of her, it would be just fine. In a few moments, she would be asleep. And in sleep, nothing could hurt her. Nothing...

But she should have known better. Cleo was predictable that way. She felt the warmth become feverish. Felt Cleo's body moving in on her, pressing up against her. Not hard, but with insistence. Demanding that Lee want her, just as she demanded that Lee love her.

"Lee..." Cleo murmured.

It sounded almost like a prayer.

Lee rolled to her, burying her face against Cleo's neck. Maybe, if she didn't look... Maybe, if she didn't think about it...

The breath fizzled out of her and she knew it was no good. She could not make love to Cleo tonight if her life depended on it. And, in a way, it did.

Cleo was crying against her shoulder, the tears soaking hotly through Lee's blouse.

"I'm sorry," Lee whispered, her cheeks hot with shame. "I..."

"You do not want me," Cleo said bitterly. She pushed away from Lee and hung on the edge of the couch. "I knew it last night, when you did not come to me. I knew it tonight, when you walked in the door."

"Don't be silly," Lee tried to soothe her. "I wouldn't be here if—"

"You would be here for many reasons," Cleo said sharply. "You would be here because you want someone you cannot have."

It was like a barbed dart straight through her heart. She waited for Cleo to yank it out again and leave her to bleed to death.

"Do you think I do not know why you have wrinkles in your forehead?" Cleo went on. "They speak very clearly to a woman. They say that you are in love with someone, but you are running away."

Lee lay very quiet, listening to Cleo's words, but not really hearing the words. Cleo was not raucous or coarse as Helga had been. But she was just as observant. Lee wondered vaguely if she were as transparent to Maggie as she was to these two.

"Why are you running away?" Cleo asked quietly.

For a long moment, Lee was silent. Then she sighed. "If I told you, you'd laugh in my face," she said lightly.

"I will not laugh," Cleo said seriously. "I like you too well."

Lee peered at her curiously for a moment. Then she said, "Am I supposed to believe that?"

"That I like you?"

"Uh-huh."

"But I do," Cleo said. Then she laughed. "Not like I would love a man, that is true. But as I would love a child I think. I have said you are like a little boy. And it is so. You are trying to be like me, running and looking and pretending you do not want anything but excitement. For me, it is true. But for you, it is a lie."

"Which means what?" Lee said angrily.

"That you are fooling yourself. That you want someone to put a collar around your neck and lead you home." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Lee's forehead. "You want a woman to be a wife to you, Lee," she said solemnly. "Not a toy."

Lee sat up on the edge of the couch, very carefully avoiding Cleo's glance. "If you're such a damned authority on what I want," she growled, "why the hell am I so miserable with you?"

Cleo's laugh tinkled through the room. Lee waited, fiddling with the buttons on her blouse. "I did not mean to laugh," Cleo murmured. "But you are a fool, Lee. You should not have come to me, when you wanted to be with someone else. You should have gone to her."

It was Lee's turn to laugh now. It was a bitter, rasping sound in her ears. Cleo made it sound so simple. Like all she had to do was go home and find Maggie and tell her that...

All of a sudden, she smiled and a warm glow of peace began to filter through her nerve-racked body. She turned to Cleo then and kissed her full on the mouth.

"You are smiling," Cleo observed. "For a change, I have said something right."

"You have indeed," Lee grinned. She stood up quickly and began to straighten the rumpled mess of her clothes.

"Then we are saying good bye," Cleo murmured sadly.

The question brought Lee up short. For a moment, she turned it over in her mind curiously. She knew she would not care if she never saw Cleo again. She also knew that on Sunday, Maggie would still be marrying Pieter... no matter what happened between them tonight.

She turned to look down at the girl. "No, not good-by," she said slowly.

"You still want me?" Cleo said incredulously.

"I still need you," Lee said simply. "Will that do?"

Cleo nodded. "It means even more than to be wanted." She touched Lee's hand. "When will I see you?"

"Soon," Lee said. "I have to take care of something I should have done a long time ago. But I'll be back." She paused. "And you might as well be packed and ready to go."

Sadly, Cleo shook her head. "You do not make any sense," she said gently. "You do not make any sense at all."

Lee retrieved her jacket and slid into it quickly. "I do," she said, "but not the kind you would understand."

She left Cleo gaping after her and slammed out of the apartment. She went down the steps by threes and burst out into the warm quiet of night. It was past midnight and dark with a feeling of more rain in the air. And she needed the darkness and the damp, needed to be alone with herself, to think and to walk. To breathe and to pull the pieces of herself back together again.

She headed the car crosstown, away from home, wanting the river and the blinking of lights on water. There, she always found peace, when there was no peace anywhere else in the world. There, she could turn off Cleo and Helga and the long parade of females that had preceded them. There, she could think about Maggie and maybe, if she were lucky, she would know what to do.

She lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl past her head to drift out over the river. Bathed in the stream of Cleo's words, she had felt so sure of herself. And so sure of Maggie. It made sense, then, that they could be adults about the whole thing. Take whatever hours of pleasure they could find together, then move on to the lives Kate had predestined for them without sorrow and without regret. She wasn't at all sure she could be so flip about it herself, but she was willing to try. It would be worth a lifetime of nothing-after to spend one night with Maggie. It really would. After all, there had not really been anything before.

But it was for Maggie that she was afraid. Maggie, who would have to move from her bed into Pieter's. Maggie, who needed love and gentleness. Maggie, who loved her...

She would rather die than do anything to hurt Maggie. She would rather die than live with the thought of Maggie, miserable and frustrated with Pieter, remembering a moment's joy...

And yet, why not? Better, Lee tried very hard to convince herself, to have the memory of one perfect moment than to have no memories at all. Better for Maggie... and better for herself.

Disgustedly, she flipped the cigarette over the railing into the breeze. Who was she to decide what was good for Maggie? And heaven knows, she had never been particularly smart about what was good for herself. If she had any sense, she would just leave the girl alone— avoid trouble by not starting it. If she had any sense, she would hop a plane for Europe and just get lost.

If she had any sense...

Glumly, Lee lit another cigarette and stared out at the water.

CHAPTER NINE

At three o'clock, Lee finally decided it would be safe to go home.

It was a warm night—clear, with stars sparkling so close she felt she could reach out a hand and touch them. Around her, lovers still huddled together on benches. It was spring, the season for love, the season for benches. But none of it touched her now. Her body felt dragged out and smoked out and weary beyond words. For hours she had toyed with the idea... to do or not to do. Knowing that she wanted to, yet knowing that she did not really believe that it was right. She had had too many one-night stands in her life, knew too well the subtle damage they could do. She could not do that to Maggie, not even in the name of love.

But by now the girl would surely be asleep. And in the morning there would be work to do. Busy work, to keep both of them distracted and occupied.

She parked the car and strolled along the quiet street, wondering how many years it would be before she felt sleepy again. She had not slept soundly since the knowledge of what she felt for Maggie had begun to niggle at her brain. Now, she was filled with a wild restlessness. It was as if she would never again find a place for herself.

As she neared the house, her eyes automatically followed a line up to the top floor.

Maggie, apparently, was as restless as she. Lee stopped in the shadow of a tree, staring up at the lighted windows. As she watched, Maggie's shadow moved across the light, then her face appeared against the pane. Lee could not see her clearly. Yet she knew instinctively that Maggie was looking for her—just as she had looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Maggie.

And she knew that she should keep right on walking, straight across town and into the Hudson River. Away from Maggie, as fast as her legs could carry her.

But her steps turned toward the house and she hurried a little. Suddenly not tired any more. Wanting Maggie and needing her and not caring now about right or wrong or about anything else. They had so little time...

So little time. But time enough. Time enough for her to do it right, to pay court like a gentleman, to woo Maggie a little. To pretend that tomorrow was only tomorrow and not the end of the world.

She went through to the kitchen and made a pot of cocoa, because she knew that Maggie liked cocoa before she went to sleep. She fixed the tray neatly, as Maggie would have fixed it, with white cups and crisp linen napkins. She cocked her head to look at it, then went out to the garden for a bright red tulip. When she was satisfied with the effect, she lifted the tray carefully and went out to wind her way up the steps to the fourth floor.

She balanced the tray securely on one palm while she tapped at the door.

Instantly Maggie called, "Come in."

The pleasure in Maggie's voice told Lee everything she had never wanted to know. Gingerly she turned the knob and pushed her way inside.

Maggie—in soft, clinging, baby-blue pajamas—jumped up instantly to take the tray. Lee watched as she moved to set it down on a low table near the bed. It was the first time since they were kids that she had seen Maggie in anything less than full battle dress. And Maggie in pajamas was the sexiest thing she had ever laid eyes on.

"I didn't hear you come in," Maggie said in a tone that admitted she had been listening. She poured a cup for each of them and handed one to Lee.

Lee sat down with her cup into one of Maggie's black leather sling chairs. "I've only been here a few minutes," she said. "I saw your light on when I came in, so..."

"I'm glad you did," Maggie said. She sat down on the edge of the bed and balanced the cup on her knee. "I couldn't sleep, for some reason. I guess I'm just so upset that..." Her voice trailed away into silence.

Lee tilted her head and peered at the girl curiously. Something was biting Miss Maggie. And Lee had a feeling it had nothing to do with her.

"About what?" Lee said.

Maggie took a sip of the hot cocoa and glanced at Lee over the rim of the cup.

There was fear in Maggie's eyes. Fear, and other things that Lee could not quite define. Suddenly she knew that something had gone all wrong. That Maggie would be leaving her even before she had expected. "Is it Kate?" Lee said gently.

Maggie sighed. "In a way," she said. "Daddy called tonight and said we have to be at Ravensway tomorrow afternoon. Something about papers and a financial settlement. I don't really know what she wants. But anyhow, Pieter and Trudel will be there too. Daddy says Kate wants me to move in tomorrow so I can begin to get used to the idea. But from the way Daddy said it, I have an idea that Pieter must have said something to Kate about... well, you know, Lee."

Lee heard her cup rattle in its saucer. Very carefully, she leaned across to the table and set it down.

"I'm so sorry, Lee," Maggie whispered.

"The dumb son of a bitch," Lee said incredulously. "What in the hell did he think he could gain by doing that?"

"Trudel," Maggie said simply. Lee stared at her.

Maggie shrugged. "Daddy says Kate turned you down about Trudel. Supposedly because she thinks Trudel isn't bright enough for the job. But I think it must have been because..."

"That figures,” Lee interrupted bitterly. She thought for a moment, then said, "But I'm not so sure. There must be something else Pieter wants."

"What?"

Something clicked over in the back of Lee's mind, but not quite loudly enough to catch her attention. She shook her head. "Damned if I know," she admitted. "Did you say you'd move out there tomorrow?"

"Did I have a choice?"

Maggie looked very tired, worn down by her nerves to a fine edge of misery. Anxiously, Lee searched her face, looking for some clue, some little sign...

Maggie set down her cup and leaned back on the bed. "I guess that's it," she said numbly.

"You guess what's what?" Lee said.

Maggie sighed. "It seemed so far away this morning. Now, it seems like... like there's no time at all."

In her heart, Lee smiled. "No time for what?" she prodded gently.

Maggie's hand reached out to the teddy bear propped against the pillows and pulled it close. "No time to be happy," she said. "Tomorrow I'll be all signed away and paid for. I feel like an antique put up for auction."

Lee laughed softly. "Baby," she said, "I only wish you were. I could have outbid Pieter any day."

She watched Maggie's eyes turn to look at her and she waited. It was out in the open now, where it should have been a long time ago. And it was Maggie's move. Maggie's choice, to welcome her or to send her away.

Maggie did neither. She merely smiled at the teddy bear and said, "Would you have?"

Lee didn't like the sound of it. Not one little bit. Something about Maggie's tone called Lee a couple of dirty names. She looked at the girl curiously, a little annoyed with herself and not quite knowing what to do.

"Well?" Maggie said.

"Well, you just ran me up a tree," Lee said edgily. "So either give me a ladder or saw off the limb, will you?

Maggie looked at her squarely. She was not smiling now. "Do you know something, Lee Van Tassel?" she said, her voice tight. "I'm in love with you. I think I must have been born in love with you."

Lee felt a little of the tension begin to ebb out of her spine. She leaned forward in her chair. Then she looked into Maggie's eyes and the tension edged back.

"I must have been out of my mind," Maggie said bitterly.

"Why?" Lee blurted. But in her heart she knew why. for she realized that Maggie could not possibly know how she felt. That she had never given Maggie any reason to understand it. For months she had done nothing but run around, done nothing but tell Maggie that she wanted to be free, that she would not be tied down. How could Maggie know that this had changed?

"Because you've never loved anything in your life," Maggie said. "You're afraid to love anything. You're afraid to trust anything. And it's Kate's fault and I hate her."

The blasphemy fell harsh on Lee's ears. She felt the blood leave her face, her arms, and plummet into her stomach. "What the hell are you talking about?" she said, her voice low and harsh. "Kate's got nothing to do with—"

"Oh, hasn't she?" Maggie interrupted. "I know what Kate's drummed into you since you were a baby, Lee. Don't ever depend on anybody for anything. Build your own empire with your own two hands... just like she built hers. Don't love anything because you’ll learn to need it and then you're lost. Be a self-made woman, Lee. Don't..."

Maggie's harsh, bitter words were not new to Lee's ears. She had said them to herself often, unconsciously mimicking the thesis by which Kate lived. Unconsciously accepting Kate's way as the right way. Until Maggie had begun to get under her skin, she had believed that Kate could do no wrong. And until this moment, she had never questioned Kate's authority.

"Stop it," Lee spat. "Stop it."

Maggie laughed mirthlessly. "Is it too much for you, Lee? Does it hurt, because it's true?"

Lee took a deep breath and held onto it. She could not tell Maggie... not even Maggie... the things she was thinking about Kate. About Kate making puppets of them all, pulling the strings that controlled their lives. She could not tell Maggie, because she had no answer. She could not fight Kate and possibly hope to win. Slowly, she exhaled and in her frustration, hit a fist against one knee.

"Well," Maggie said with satisfaction, "somewhere a light dawns in your thick skull."

Lee had had just about enough. Enough of Kate, enough of the whole damned family. What she had to say to Maggie had nothing to do with any of them. It was private, just for the two of them. And they had so little time...

"Would you like to know something, genius?" Lee said softly.

Maggie hugged the teddy bear in both arms. "What?" she said against its fur.

"You think you're so precious smart. Did it ever occur to you that you might be wrong for once in your life?"

"About you?" Maggie laughed. "I doubt it. You'd still rather buy me at an auction than fall in love with me."

"My God," Lee breathed, her cheeks stinging from the force of the verbal blow. She got up and came to stand beside the bed. "Is that really what you think?"

"Well, didn't you just say so yourself?" Maggie complained. "What's any different about that than sending orchids and chocolates to Helga?"

Lee sat down on the edge of the bed, but she made no move to touch the girl. "I apologize for that," she said quietly. "And you're quite right. I am used to buying women, in one way or another. But that's not what I meant about you, Maggie." She smiled ruefully. "It so happens I was making a pass at you. A clumsy one, obviously."

Maggie buried her face against the teddy bear's belly.

"But then," Lee said very gently, "I've never been in love before, Maggie. This whole business is new to me. So if I make a couple of mistakes..."

Slowly, as though afraid to face it, Maggie turned onto her back to look into Lee's eyes. She was silent for a long time. Then she said, "Do you really mean that?"

"Yes," Lee said seriously, "I really do. I came up here to tell you so. Then," she grinned, "I took a good look at you in those damned pajamas and I forgot to be a gentleman."

For a moment, Maggie's eyes were dark and troubled. Then, very gently, she laughed.

"You know something?" she murmured. "I wish you'd forgotten that a long time ago."

Lee reached out and took the teddy bear from Maggie's arms and tossed it toward a chair.

Maggie leaned away from the bed to meet her.

Almost savagely, Lee caught the girl and pulled her tight. Her mouth mashed down on Maggie's. Needing her. Needing her so very much...

Eagerly her hand moved beneath the pajama top, seeking the firm, full mound of breast. She heard Maggie suck in her breath.

"Be gentle, darling," Maggie whispered against her ear. "I've never..."

It wasn't good manners that motivated her to comply. Never in her life had a girl responded to her as Maggie did. She felt the girl trembling beneath her hands and she was gentle, knowing the fullness of Maggie's need. Teaching Maggie how, drawing from each of them every thread of desire. Taking the love, the passion Maggie had saved for her.

Maggie's lips were warm and moist against hers. Maggie's hands caressed her. Maggie's body surged to meet hers.

Maggie was everywhere and everything.

And still Lee was gentle.

And she was lost, wandering in the maze of desire. Unable to feel enough, to touch enough. Needing more hands, more lips to know Maggie. Mad with the need to take her, to possess her. Yet moving slowly, not wanting it to happen too soon. Needing to prolong this moment to last a lifetime.

Very gently she unbuttoned the pajamas and took them off. But slowly. Loving Maggie's body with her eyes as she had felt it with her hands. Touching the smooth, fragrant flesh with her lips. Kissing her. But slowly.

"I love you," Maggie murmured. Lee kissed her tenderly on the mouth. "Say it, Lee," Maggie whispered. "I've waited so long..."

"I love you," Lee said. "I think I've always loved you, Maggie." And she knew that it was so. That before Maggie, there had been nothing. And after Maggie was gone...

She put her cheek against the girl's belly and closed her eyes. Listening to the rhythm of Maggie's breathing, the beat of her heart, caressing her lightly. Wanting to be with her always, yet knowing she must let her go.

The beat of Maggie's heart told her that it was time. And still she lingered a moment, kissing her, a little afraid...

She went to the girl then. Quickly. Surely. Knowing that Maggie was hers and that Maggie would always be hers. Telling Maggie with her hands and with her lips that she knew this and that she loved her.

Maggie's fingers held her and told her that it was good.

Then Lee felt the fingers tighten against her skull and she felt the surge of desire tremble through Maggie's thighs. Her own body caught fire and she knew that she could not wait. Clinging to Maggie, she felt them hurdle together toward infinity. And together, still together, they knew love...

They lay silent for a long time. Not sated, not really wanting to be. But together in an hiatus of calm, enjoying each other now. Yet knowing that the moment could not last. Soon, too soon, it would be dawn and then afternoon. And too soon, Lee would be driving Maggie to Ravensway to be Pieter's bride.

Maggie sighed and turned her face against Lee's arm.

"I know," Lee murmured. "I was just thinking the same thing myself."

"But I'm glad," Maggie said softly. Lovingly her lips caressed Lee's shoulder, moved down the side of her arm. "Even if... if I never see you again, I'm glad."

Lee turned onto her side and took the girl into her arms. Even in the midst of their quiet, she could hear the wings of fate beating inexorably in her ears. "Don't be afraid," she whispered. "It'll be all right."

But the words echoed hollowly. And somewhere deep inside, Lee knew that she was crying.

CHAPTER TEN

Lee scrawled her name at the bottom of the letter, then pushed it across the desk to Maggie. "Is that the last one?"

Maggie picked up the letter and turned back toward her typing table. "That's it," she said over her shoulder. "Just let me make an envelope and we'll have some lunch."

Lee propped her feet on the corner of the desk and leaned back. From behind a screen of cigarette smoke, she watched Maggie sit down and roll an envelope into the machine. In the blue pajamas and a soft robe, Maggie looked baby-faced and sleepy. But she had insisted that they work this morning, to clear away the pile of miscellaneous junk cluttering Lee's desk. And Lee knew that had been the best thing for both of them.

Maggie folded the letter and slipped it into the envelope. Then she set it on top of a neat pile. "That makes an even dozen," she commented aloud.

"You know," Lee said lightly, "I'll miss you. You're the most efficient secretary I've ever had. I don't know where I'll find another one like you."

Maggie's eyes twinkled. "That's easy. Just find one who's in love with the boss."

Lee laughed and swung her feet to the floor. "That's a hell of a way to run a business," she said. She crossed to Maggie's chair in three strides. "Business is supposed to be a cold, impersonal thing."

"Yes," Maggie said, "but look at all the money you could save in salaries. Just move them in here with you and..."

"Uh-huh," Lee murmured. "But look at the time I could waste in..." Leaning forward, she grabbed Maggie by the shoulders and pulled her out of the chair.

Maggie's arms went around Lee's neck as Lee kissed her.

"You know, you're right," Lee said after a while. "There's something about the personal touch..."

Maggie laughed against her throat. "Just be glad it won't be Trudel. You couldn't even get your arms around her."

They were trying very hard, Lee knew. Both of them. Trying too hard to pretend it didn't hurt. But they dared not stop the little game. In three hours, they would be on their way to Kate. It would be over then, the pretending. There would be nothing left for either of them but the hurt they would no longer be able to hide. In just three hours...

"Lee, hold me," Maggie whispered.

And Lee knew that Maggie was thinking the same thing. They had not slept, yet both were vibrantly, almost violently alive. Feeding off their nerves, afraid to relax for even an instant.

She put her arms around the girl and put her face against the sleepy-smelling sweetness of her neck. They stood very still, very close—as though poised, waiting for the fatal plunge that would destroy them both.

Then she felt Maggie's body lift toward her. Her hands slid down to Maggie's behind and pulled her tight. Slowly they moved against each other, stirring up the glowing embers of their desire. Maggie's mouth opened against hers and Lee darted her tongue past the eager lips.

Suddenly, she could not stand it, the farce they were living. Suddenly, the tight-strung nerves snapped and the strength went out of her. She went down to her knees with her arms around Maggie's thighs. A sob stuck like a bone in her throat. She put her cheek against the girl and felt Maggie's fingers touch the back of her neck.

And then Maggie was beside her, kissing the tears from Lee's face. Cradling Lee against her and crooning.

"Don't cry, darling," Maggie murmured. "Please don't cry."

For Maggie's sake, she hated the tears. But she could not stop the flow of them. She was not crying for herself, but for the two of them. For the loneliness and for the uselessness. For Maggie, because she must marry a man she could never love. And for herself, because she knew what life would be without Maggie. She had lived it all before. Too much sex and not enough love. Too many-women, not one of whom meant a damn.

"Don't cry," Maggie said, "or I'll start too."

Lee heard the quiet desperation in Maggie's tone.

Heard it and knew that Maggie needed her, as she had needed Maggie. Knew that Maggie wanted her.

Maggie lay back on the rug and stretched out her arms. She was smiling. "We have time," she said gently, "if we skip lunch."

And Lee laughed through her tears. "You used to tell me food was more important."

"I was very young then," Maggie said. "I think I've aged twenty years since last night."

Lee kissed the point of Maggie's chin. "And what makes you think I want an old hag?"

They were playing the game again, pretending. But at least it was bearable that way. Gently she lowered herself to the girl.

Maggie's hands went beneath Lee's robe.

A shudder rolled through her. "Whew!" she said against Maggie's ear. "You learn pretty fast."

Maggie laughed softly. "And why not?" she said. "I've had a good teacher."

Loving Maggie was like nothing Lee had ever known. It wasn't just two sweaty bodies banging away at each other for the sake of a moment's thrill. It wasn't punishment or greed or any of the other things sex could be. It was fun, it was play. And it was more than that. So much more. It was as if, for the first time in her life, she had become a part of somebody else and somebody else had become a part of her, so that they were one and indivisible. She had thought it was a lot of crap, this business about spiritual union. Just a lot of crap.

And then she had loved Maggie...

The throw rug prickled across her shoulders and the bare floor was cold against her behind. Yet she felt comfortable and warm lying there with Maggie curled small against her side. She took Maggie's hand and held it tight, wanting to tell her how right it was, this thing that had happened between them. Needing to reassure her, to let her know…

"Don't say it, Lee," Maggie said into her thoughts.

"Say what?"

"What you were just thinking," Maggie said.

Lee sighed. "You read minds too?"

"Yours," Maggie said. "But it's no good, honey."

Lee turned onto her side and looked down into Maggie's face. "I can't let you go just like," she snapped her fingers, "that."

"But you have to, you know," Maggie said.

"But you don't want that any more than I do," Lee persisted. "You could come here or we could meet somewhere. Pieter would never know the difference. And—"

"No," Maggie said gently.

"But—"

"No," Maggie repeated, more firmly this time.

Again Lee sighed. She didn't have to ask any questions. She had known, really, how Maggie would play the game. Even if she despised Pieter, once she was married to him she would be faithful. And loving Maggie, Lee could not argue with her.

"It's not that I don't love you," Maggie murmured. "You know that don't you?"

Lee put her palm against Maggie's cheek. "Yes, I know," she said softly. She tried to smile, but the expression did not fit naturally on her lips. "But in a way, it's funny, you know. All my life I've been telling people to take what they could got and like it. Now I'm in the same position and I don't know what the hell to do with it."

Maggie kissed Lee's palm and moved it away from her face. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

Lee looked at her, wide-eyed with amazement over the gall she'd been spreading like poison all her life. Maybe, if she had ever taken the trouble to look, maybe some of those women had loved her. Helga, maybe. Maybe if she had stopped to think about it, she might even have...

"No," she said aloud. For she knew that it was not true. That none of them—and there had been so many—had ever done to her what Maggie could do. It wasn't that Maggie was the most beautiful, the kindest. She wasn't quite sure just what it was. But something about Maggie clicked. Something fitted, like nobody else ever had. And now that she'd found it, now that she knew what it meant to love...

"No, what?" Maggie said.

"Hmm?" Lee swallowed down the anger threatening to choke her. She could curse Kate from now till doomsday and that would not change a thing. "Oh, nothing," she said lightly. "I was just feeling a little sorry for myself." She grinned. "But that's against the rules, isn't it?"

Maggie shook her head. "I don't think so," she murmured. "I feel the same way myself. But..."

She held out her arms then. Lee hesitated for only a second. Every kiss they shared, every dream was just like rubbing salt into the wounds. They had only a few hours.

Only a few. But if they tried, in these few hours they could live a lifetime.

"Kiss me, Lee," Maggie whispered. And Lee moved to oblige.

After a long time, Maggie sighed and rolled away from her.

Lee glanced at her watch. "It's late," Maggie said.

"Urn," Lee grunted. "I'd better pack.”

"I guess so," Lee said.

She looked at Maggie then and saw the blue eyes bright with tears she knew Maggie would not let fall. She stood up and held out her hand.

Maggie let Lee pull her up. Then she turned away and, without saying anything more, hurried up the stairs to her apartment.

Lee went to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a triple scotch. If they were very lucky, Kate would not keep her at Ravensway this afternoon. It would be too much for both of them, to sit there looking at each other, wanting each other. And not allowed to touch.

But Lee knew that she would not be that lucky. Especially if, as Maggie believed, Pieter had told Kate... Told Kate what? A lie? Once it had been a lie. But now, it was the only truth she and Maggie knew. What could she tell Kate, when Kate asked her? For Maggie's sake, she knew that she could not tell Kate this truth. It would not free Maggie from her marriage to Pieter. If anything, it would only encourage Kate to make life a little more unbearable for all of them. For Kate did not believe in love. Lee realized that now. Realized it and felt powerless to fight.

She finished the drink and went up to her own room to dress. She felt like wearing slacks and flat shoes and looking like what she felt. Rough and angry and crude. But Kate had made rules about that too, as she had made rules about everything. A lady wears a skirt, Lesley. A lady is never seen...

The hell with it, a voice roared inside her head. She went into the bathroom and stepped under the scalding hot stream of the shower. If she didn't get Kate out of her brain, she knew she might very well tell the old bat what she thought of her. And one did not do that to Kate. If one did...

If one did, what, Lee? You think you'll be struck dead for telling Kate you hate her guts? And admit it, kid, you've been wanting to tell her that for a hell of a long time. Not just for Maggie. But for everything. The way she never let you breathe without telling you that you were doing it wrong. The way she screwed Andrew into becoming her personal slave. The way everybody jumps when Kate thumps that damned cane of hers. And yes, for Maggie too. Because you love Maggie and Kate's giving her away...

When she came out of the shower, Lee took a pair of navy blue slacks from the closet and pulled them on. She did not feel like a lady. And she was tired of pretending. She put on a white shirt with a button down collar and pushed onyx links through the cuffs.

Still barefooted, she went into the hall and up the spiral stairs to Maggie's room.

Maggie had already showered and dressed in a soft blue that did something miraculous to her eyes. Lee stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the girl lift things from a dresser drawer into a valise. "Well," she said finally, "you look as though you're about ready to go." She heard the anger and resentment in her tone and knew that Maggie must have heard it too.

Maggie jumped, startled. "I didn't even hear you come up," she said, turning to face Lee. She glanced down at the bare feet, then looked up the length of her and into her eyes. "Are you going out to Kate like that?"

"I might put on my shoes," Lee said, her tone gentler now. She nodded toward the open valise. "You need any help with that stuff?"

"In a minute," Maggie said, turning back to the dresser. “You can sit on the lid for me."

Lee sat down on the edge of the bed and watched while the girl finished packing. She went through the motions quickly, efficiently, as she did everything else. And inwardly Lee sighed, hating the precision that was moving Maggie so rapidly out of her life. If only Maggie could forget her responsibility to Andrew, her responsibility to the damned family... They could go away somewhere, to the other side of the earth if necessary—anywhere where Kate could not find them. But it would be foolish to suggest this to Maggie. Maggie didn't play it that way. She did it the right way. Wore skirts when she was supposed to, married whom she was supposed to...

"Damn it," Lee said. "Why the hell couldn't you be like all the other women I've known?"

Maggie paused in mid-stride. "Meaning what?"

Lee rubbed her palm against the side of her chin.

"You're so damned proper," she said. "Anybody else I could pick up and run away with. But you... "

Maggie laughed. "If I were like all the others," she murmured, "you wouldn't be in love with me. Would you, now?"

Lee opened her mouth to make a brilliant rejoinder but nothing came out. She poked in her shirt pocket for a cigarette, then changed her mind and walked away to the window.

Sunlight beat hotly through the panes, warming her legs where it slanted against her. She felt the heat creeping up through her body, scorching her flesh as it moved. If Maggie really loved her, how the hell could she be so stubborn? If Maggie really loved her, then why—

"I'm ready," Maggie said.

Lee turned around to face her, ready to spew out her rage and her hurt.

She saw Maggie reach to retrieve the teddy bear from the chair where Lee had tossed it. For an instant Maggie clutched it against her shoulder, pressing her cheek to the stubbly fur. Then she went to the valise and laid it carefully inside.

"You're taking the teddy bear?" Lee said very gently, feeling suddenly all soft and mushy inside where a moment ago she had felt only pain.

"Of course," Maggie said.

"Well," Lee said, stepping across to the valise, "I guess you can give it to one of your kids."

Maggie looked at her sharply, as though expecting something unpleasant.

But Lee merely shut the lid and leaned her weight against it till the locks snapped into place.

"No," Maggie said softly. "This one's mine. But someday, if I have children, you might take them to Coney Island and..."

"Would you like that?" Lee said seriously.

"I'd like to see you, Lee. I mean, if only to say hello now and then, just to know that you're all right."

Lee put her hands on Maggie's shoulders and pulled her close. "I'll be all right," she said. "If you will. Promise me you will."

"Of course I will," Maggie murmured. She snuggled her face against Lee's chin. "Whenever I get blue, I'll remember."

Lee sighed. "I guess that goes for both of us."

Maggie stirred in her arms and looked up into her eyes. "And I'm not scared any more, Lee."

Lee glanced at her questioningly. She knew what Maggie meant, remembered too well their evening on the beach. "What happened?"

Maggie shrugged. I'm not sure," she said. "I suppose I'm just a sentimental fool. But I'd almost like to have a son. I'll name him Lee and he'll look like you."

Lee laughed. "Suppose he has red hair like Pieter?"

"Oh, hell," Maggie said. "Or that shape."

They laughed together and Lee held her tight, feeling even closer now than when she had been making love to the girl. And it was good, so very good, this feeling that transcended sex. It was what you could dream of and search for and never find. But they had found it, she and Maggie. And no matter what happened, it would always be there.

"You'd better put on your shoes," Maggie said. "It's getting awfully late."

"Hmm," Lee murmured. "We'll be about a half-hour late." Then she smiled. "Do you think Kate'll whip us?"

"She just might," Maggie said. "But you know something?"

"Yeah," Lee said. "It'll be worth it."

And still she held Maggie, kissing her slowly and with love. Knowing that this was the last time, that this was good bye. She knew that it would not be the way Maggie dreamed. Pieter would not welcome Lee into his house.

"Lee..."

It was a frightened little whisper. And it told Lee that Maggie understood.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Andrew was waiting at the front door when they came around from the car.

He grabbed Lee's arm. "You're late," he said breathlessly.

Andrew had changed in the few days since she had seen him. Almost as much as she had changed herself. The red lace had become redder, but the paunchy roundness of his body looked deflated and stooped. He was no longer full of the usual robust breeziness and looking at him sharply, Lee knew that he had been drinking, probably for days. Yet he wasn't drunk either. Just sort of half dead and less than half alive.

"We had a flat on the way out," she lied, knowing that Andrew was not the proper target for the rage boiling inside her. "Where's Kate?"

"In her sitting room," he rasped. "She wants to see you." His eyes, a watery blue behind a crisscrossing of red lines, blinked at her as though not quite able to focus. "Alone."

Lee took a deep breath and turned to Maggie. "Go on in with Andrew," she said. "I'll send somebody out for your bags."

"I will bring them," Pieter's voice said from the doorway. "It is for me to do."

He came across the stoop and down the two steps to the drive without so much as a glance at Lee. He nodded to Maggie, then went around the house to the parking area in back.

Trudel was right behind him, her fat rear end swishing grotesquely under her pleated flannel skirt. As she reached the corner of the house, Trudel turned around and looked straight into Lee's eyes. And she giggled.

"Well," Lee said, "I'm popular today. I can see that."

"Just wait," Andrew said. "You haven't talked to Kate yet." He glanced down at her trousered legs. "And you're not making it any easier for yourself."

Maggie touched her arm. "Go ahead, Lee," she murmured. "Don't make it any worse than it has to be."

Lee snorted. Then she turned to Andrew. "Just tell me one thing," she said. "Has Kate signed all those damned papers she kept talking about?"

He blinked at her foolishly and she wanted to reach out and grab the flabby throat.

"I mean, am I head of the firm now?" she went on patiently.

"Yes, of course," he said.

"And head of the family?" she persisted.

"Yes," Andrew said. Then his eyes narrowed shrewdly. "What are you thinking in back of that bald head of yours?"

Lee ran her palm across her short cropped crown. Then she grinned. "Nothing much," she said. She reached out to pat his flabby red cheek. "I've just decided that it's time a few changes were made around here."

He opened his mouth to say something, but she turned away from him before he got the chance and hurried inside. She took the broad steps by threes and strode rapidly down the hall to Kate's apartment.

The door was open. Kate sat stiff-backed and regal in her wicker rocker directly across from the entrance. Both hands were firmly clamped over the head of her cane.

"Hi," Lee said, still breaking the rules. She was supposed to enter demurely and pay court to Kate. Instead, she grabbed the top of a straight-backed chair and spun it around.

"You're late," Kate said.

Lee glanced at her watch as she straddled the chair. "That's right," she said. "Thirty-eight and a half minutes to be exact."

Kate’s sharp blue eyes darted to the sacredly precise clock on the mantle. "Thirty-nine," she said. "Your watch is slow."

Lee laughed. "You're in a good mood today," she said. "Like everybody else around here." She folded her arms on the back of the chair and propped her chin where they crossed.

The cane thumped loudly into the room. "If both of us were ten years younger," Kate said solemnly, "I'd lay this thing across your backside."

"Oh-oh." Lee reached a hand around to caress her behind, remembering too well the many times Kate had done exactly that. "Whatever I've done, it must have been pretty wild."

Kate sighed and leaned back against her chair. "You are a fool," she said simply. "But then, one expects that from a Van Tassel."

Lee felt the tips of her ears begin to burn. She was used to Kate by now. She knew the old bird never pulled her punches. But until now, Lee had been immune from the most scathing of Kate's criticism. It was a lot easier to take, directed at someone else.

Yet she waited, knowing that Kate needed to lash out at something, at someone. She didn't understand exactly why, but Lee sensed that something had gone wrong with the old lady's plans. That for once in her life, Kate had been caught off-guard.

"Your father and his father before him were fools," Kate went on. "If either of them had lived to be head of this family, there would be nothing left by now. Are you aware of that, Lesley? Do you realize that an empire cannot be built or run on sentiment? Your grandfather wanted nothing more from life than to sit down there on the river bank and fish. And your father was no better. He liked to walk in the garden with your mother and write little poems to send up with her breakfast. Neither of them did a day's work in his life."

The old lady paused to catch her breath and still Lee waited, absorbing the familiar story and the bitterness that went with it. For it was one of Kate's favorite roles, this martyr bit, and she had fed it to Lee along with her pabulum even as an infant. Yet today there was a subtle difference about the tale, as though Kate might be seeking to justify her behavior as well as explain it.

"If I had not been here to do the work they refused to do," Kate said, her voice dry and slightly brittle, "where do you think this family would be?" She paused again and her blue eyes darkened. "Do you understand what I am saying to you, Lesley? How very important—"

"Of course I understand," Lee interrupted, a little bored by the oft repeated tale. "I'm supposed to roll up my sleeves and flex my muscles and get out there and start scrubbing floors.” She heard the edge of bitterness that had crept into her tone and waited calmly for Kate's rebuke.

But it did not come. Instead, Kate folded her hands in her lap and leaned her head against the back of the high chair and closed her eyes.

"No," Kate said, speaking as if to herself now and barely audible, "not quite that. I want you to feel the responsibility of it, Lesley. And that is the one big thing I have not been able to instill in you. I have taught you to work and you are not afraid of that. I have even taught you something of shrewdness and you are not afraid of that either. But the responsibility? Of that you are afraid. You want no part of it. Like the others, you will not inconvenience yourself for the good of the whole."

Lee's fingers went around the slats of the chair back and tightened till the knuckles went white. Now, she knew, they were getting down to cases. And in a minute, Kate would have her stretched on the rack.

Kate opened her eyes and tilted her head toward Lee. "Pieter has been to see me," she said, speaking quietly now, but holding onto a twist of anger. "He expressed... hesitation about marrying Margaret."

"Good," Lee snapped, knowing better, but unable to keep it back. "He's not fit to marry her anyhow."

"And you are?"

Kate's tone was so quiet, yet so straight to the target, that Lee opened her mouth and shut it again without saying a word.

"That is what I meant," Kate said pointedly. She nodded thoughtfully. "You are no different from the others. For the sake of a cheap pleasure, you are willing to sacrifice the welfare of the whole family."

"But goddamn it," Lee exploded, "I'm in love with her, Kate."

They stared at each other levelly for a moment. It was the last thing in the world Lee had intended to say to Kate. And yet she was not sorry. She watched the old lady's eyes narrow and a satanic smile touch one corner of her mouth.

"Love is a childish emotion, Lesley," Kate said evenly, "when duty is at stake."

Lee let her breath go in a long sigh. "I expected you to say something like that," she commented. "You never tried it, so how the hell would you know?"

"That's enough, Lesley," Kate's voice bit out at her. "You are in no position to know whom or what I have loved. That is a secret I have kept to myself."

Lee stared at her dumbly. It seemed impossible that the granite-hard core of Kate's heart had ever melted for anyone. And yet... Deep in the old lady's eyes she saw the pain, the frustration of a remembered something stirred up by Lee's angry words. And in that moment, Lee knew.

Kate touched a fingertip to the corner of one eye.

"I'm sorry," Lee said quietly.

Kate held up her hand. "Sorry is not important, Lesley. I need more than that from you. I need your promise."

Lee nodded.

"I have finally convinced Pieter that Margaret will make a suitable wife." She smiled and the tired eyes sparkled. "It cost me considerably, but it was worth it, I think. You understand, don't you, that I had no choice. Margaret is the only female of childbearing age available. Pieter is the only male."

"It sounds as though you're breeding cattle," Lee said mildly.

Again Kate smiled. "There's very little difference, I suppose. We need to produce a thoroughbred to continue the family line." She waved a hand vaguely. "Here too, sentiment plays no part. You could not father a child, whether Margaret were willing or not."

Lee flushed darkly. "She's willing."

Kate nodded. "I've suspected that. Since the two of you were children..." Her face clouded for a moment, then she was suddenly businesslike once more. "But that is of no importance, Lesley."

Lee sighed and pushed herself off the chair. She jammed her hands deep into the pockets of her slacks and turned away from the sight of the old lady's face. "What is important, Kate?"

"Tradition," Kate said. "Honor. Family. All the values I've tried to pound into you since you were a child. I've let you have your way about almost everything, Lesley. You haven't married. You refuse to live at Ravensway. But about Margaret, I will be firm."

A firm Kate had never been known to be moved by anything. "So what's the promise you want from me?" Lee said to the ceiling.

She heard the old lady sigh and braced her shoulders.

"Simply that you will not interfere," Kate said in clipped words. "That you will never see Margaret again. I have already arranged for Pieter to be retired from the firm. He is to receive a dowry of one hundred thousand and an income of ten thousand a year for life."

Lee whirled to face her. "For sitting on his fat can?"

"For giving you an heir," Kate said flatly.

Lee felt that the wind had been knocked out of her. She balled her hands into fists and let them fall to her sides.

"It sounds a trifle different when it's put that way," Kate said to the wall of Lee's rage. "But that is, after all, the whole point. And as far as Trudel is concerned—"

"What the hell do I care about Trudel?" Lee barked. "As far as I'm concerned, she can... "

"You should be concerned," Kate reminded her. "She's part of the family."

Lee went to the mantle and put her head down on her arm. It was too much. Just too much. She didn't give a good damn about any of them except Maggie. Not even Kate, when you got right down to it. But she could not tell this to Kate. Kate would wave the red flag again, the flag with RESPONSIBILITY spelled out in big gold letters.

"What about Trudel?" she said against her arm.

"I understand from Pieter," Kate said calmly, "that Trudel is... Well, we've always said that Trudel is not quite bright, Lesley. But I believe that the truth of the matter is that Trudel is not quite right."

Despite herself, Lee smiled at the old lady's attempt at humor. "I could have told you that years ago," she said, turning now to face Kate.

Kate nodded. "Of course. I suppose we've all known it really. But it's worse than we might have suspected. Pieter is afraid to let Trudel out of his sight. I understand she has had... fits, I suppose you'd call it. She is sometimes violent and he is afraid that..."

"For chrissake," Lee breathed. "And you expect me to walk out of here and leave Maggie with Pieter and a raving maniac?"

"That is precisely what I expect, Lesley. I have insisted that Pieter have a full-time companion for Trudel, so that she will be no threat to Margaret. And, of course, Pieter will no longer be working, so..." She lifted her shoulders eloquently.

Slowly, Lee shook her head. "You think of everything, don't you?" she said caustically.

"I try to," Kate said, ignoring the jab. "And from now on, you will have to do the same." She held out the cane to Lee.

Lee took it and watched the old lady grab the arms of the rocker to heave herself to her feet. There had been a time, and just a few months ago, when Kate had been as spry as she. Now, every movement was an effort that paled Kate's cheeks and made her breath come shallow. Still, Lee could not see her as a feeble little old woman, not even now. She was still Kate, the Rock of Gibraltar undaunted and undauntable.

She crooked her arm and handed the cane back to Kate. "Come on," she said gently. "They're probably going nuts down there."

It was a long walk for Kate, but it took them only a few moments. Still it was long enough for Lee to know what she had to do. Any way she looked at it, she had no choice. Not even for Maggie.

Just outside the library, Kate paused. "Well?" she said.

And Lee nodded. "I promise," she said. "Hands off."

She turned Kate over to Andrew and went around the side of the room, carefully avoiding Maggie's glance.

Kate thumped her cane and four heads snapped to attention.

The fifth bowed against a pane of the French door and glared dismally out at the lawn.

"Lesley," Kate said, her tone firm but still kindly, "would you care to join us?"

Lee sighed and straightened her shoulders. Then she went to stand near Kate, her back against the wall under the portrait of her father. Here, she could look straight at any of them. And here, she was like a portrait of herself, on display as the last member of a family she had come to despise.

For she did not feel real somehow. The haggling, the signing of papers, Andrew strutting around pretending he was glad about the whole thing, Kate trying to soothe Maggie with the promise of a brilliant future as mistress of Ravensway—none of it made any sense to her.

What the hell is a family, anyhow? Is it two people who love each other and live together because that's the way they want it? Or is it a corporation? Is it something good and tender and warm or is it a monster—impersonal and all devouring?

She had no answers. She glanced out past the fog in her brain and looked at them. Her family. Kate... Andrew... Pieter, his foolish red face dropping "yahs" every time Kate opened her mouth... Trudel...

She took a long look at Trudel, seeing her clearly for the first time in her life. Seeing more significantly the blankness behind her eyes and the droop to her mouth. A moron? Not quite. Insane? She wasn't quite sure of that either, despite what Pieter had confided to Kate. Peculiar, certainly. Trudel had been the kind of child who liked to kill things. Cats mostly. Once a turtle Lee had found by the edge of the river. A little nuts, but, nothing dangerous. And she looked from Trudel to Pieter, wondering...

Pieter bowed low before Kate's rocker and accepted a pale green slip of paper. Lee watched him fold it and slip it into his pants pocket. The movement was meant to be casual. Rut the fingers trembled and she could almost feel Pieter's greed oozing toward her. The puzzle of Pieter expanded and twisted in her mind. He had always seemed such a simple-minded gink. But now, Lee wasn't at all sure.

She had let her glance roam from one to the other of them. Their business did not concern her now. If she tuned in on them, it would sicken her more than she already felt. And what she felt now was deadly.

Once, she allowed herself to glance at Maggie and found the girl looking directly at her. Lee tried to smile and Maggie tried to smile back. But it was a total loss for both of them, and quickly, before she broke her promise to Kate, Lee glanced away.

She heard the familiar sound of Andrew's palms being rubbed briskly together. It was the sound that told her everything was arranged. That she could stand there and die now and nobody would notice. Kate's will would be done, as Kate's will was always done.

Andrew popped across her vision, on his way to Maggie to kiss her resoundingly on the cheek.

"It's settled," he roared. "You're a lucky girl Margaret."

Lee glanced past Andrew's bulky shoulder to the pallor of Maggie's face. It was not a face that felt lucky.

Pieter came up behind Maggie's chair and dropped one big hand possessively on her shoulder. "It is I who am lucky," he said to Andrew. "Margaret will make a good wife."

It was probably the first time in his life that Pieter had had a good word to say about anyone. If it could be called that. And Lee smiled wryly, appreciating how a little money could oil a tongue.

Pieter turned suddenly to Trudel and put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close against him. "We are lucky, Trudel," he said, squeezing her arm.

"Yah," Trudel said.

Lee shot a glance at Kate. And for a change, saw an honest emotion cross her face. An undisguised, undiluted distaste. And for a moment, Lee paused, holding her breath. Then the expression was gone and Kate smiled into the chattering group.

Lee took a last look at Maggie.

Then quietly, she made her way to the French door and went outside.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lee took the back road driving home, needing the aggravation of traffic and red lights to keep her mind off Maggie. It was bad enough that she had lost the girl she loved. But even worse, she felt like a traitor. She had turned Maggie over to the wolves. And she had left without so much as a good bye. She hadn't fought, she hadn't argued. She had simply given in to Kate, as she always did. And even if she had kept Maggie's love, she had the lousy feeling that she had lost the girl's respect.

If Maggie had ever respected her...

And Lee sighed. It wasn't a pretty thought. It had never bothered her before what anyone might think of her. Certainly, respect had been the least of her worries. But it was different with Maggie. She wanted Maggie to feel proud of her, to believe that Lee had done the right thing. Yet she did not expect this from Maggie when she did not even feel it herself.

She crossed the river at Third Avenue and turned onto the East River Drive. It was barely seven o'clock. Time for dinner, time for an evening on the town. Time for... Just time. Years and years of it stretching out before her, empty, useless. Just time to sit and to think. To remember Maggie and know that she had done wrong.

And suddenly Lee knew that she could not go back to the house on Sixty-eighth Street. Knew that she would sit there in the empty house and listen for the sound of Maggie. And there would be no sound. Only the emptiness, the alcohol and the endless packs of cigarettes. She needed to be somewhere where she could forget, where she could think about...

She remembered that Cleo was expecting her. She had not told the girl when she would be back. She had not known. But Cleo would be waiting and Cleo would be wanting. Anything she wanted, Cleo could have, so long as she kept Lee from thinking...

She turned off the Drive at Ninety-third Street and sped crosstown cheating on the lights. She was in a hurry now, running from Maggie and running from herself. She parked the car too close to a fire plug and sprinted across the sidewalk to Cleo's house.

Cleo answered immediately, as though she had been standing beside the bell waiting for it to ring. Lee shoved open the door and hurried into the dark coolness of the downstairs hall.

Cleo's door was ajar when she reached it. But Cleo was nowhere in sight. Lee closed the door quietly behind her and stood for a moment, waiting.

"I am in here," Cleo called from the kitchen. "Come." It wasn't like Cleo to play the domestic bit. It would have made more sense if she had been sprawled naked across the bed. But Lee was in no humor to quibble. She lifted a bottle of scotch on her way past the liquor cabinet and carried it down the hall to the kitchen.

Cleo turned from the stove with a big spoon in her hand. When she saw Lee, a shadow passed behind her eyes and the spoon trembled.

Lee paused on the threshold, cautious suddenly. "You look surprised to see me," she said. "Were you expecting somebody else?"

Cleo recovered herself quickly. "Of course not." She smiled. "It is just that you are so early tonight. I have net yet had dinner."

"Well, neither have I," Lee said. She opened a cupboard door, then another, looking for a glass.

"Here," Cleo said, handing her one. "Are you on a liquid diet today, my friend?"

"Hmm," Lee grunted. She poured a triple shot, then swallowed it quickly. Almost instantly, she felt the fire creeping through her veins, stirring up the blood and warming her. It was just what she needed. She poured some more and tossed it off.

Cleo turned back to the stove. "This will do you more good," she said. "If you do not pass out before it is finished."

Lee sniffed. "Paella?"

Cleo smiled. "You like it?"

"I like it," Lee said. She finished her third drink and banged the glass down on the cupboard. "Got enough for two?"

"Enough for a dozen," Cleo said. "One never makes just enough paella for two."

Lee came up behind her and put her arms around Cleo's waist. She pressed her cheek to the thick black hair. "You smell almost good enough to eat yourself," she murmured.

Cleo turned in her arms. "We will see about that later," she said, her arms going around Lee's neck.

Lee pulled her tight and kissed her long and hard, trying to make herself feel something. Almost desperately, she clung to Cleo, demanding that the girl make her respond.

"Hmm," The tip of her tongue flicked out to caress the ear lobe. "You are lovely when you are like this."

Lee felt the handle of the big wooden spoon move down the middle of her back. Then Cleo's arms were around her hips and Cleo was tight against her, needing her. And she wanted to pick the girl up and carry her into the bedroom. Lie her naked and panting on the bed. Love her and make her feel. Kiss her and...

And she knew that she did not really want Cleo at all. Carefully she stepped back out of Cleo's grasp.

Cleo glanced at her sharply. "Something is wrong."

Lee shook her head. "It's just that I like paella. After dinner we'll... "

Cleo waver her away. "Then go and let me cook." Then she softened and her eyes smiled. "Like a man, you are just in the way here."

Lee took the bottle and the glass with her and went back into the living room. As she lowered herself to the couch, she noticed the round table in the corner set for two... complete with candles. Again, a feeling of caution ebbed through her. Cleo had not expected her for dinner. But almost as soon as it came, the feeling was gone. And she shrugged, stretching her legs out along the soft cushions and burrowing in with her spine. She had better things than Cleo to think about. Much better things…

Like Kate. Funny thing about Kate, the way she could show a soft spot now and then. Like this afternoon, all of a sudden sitting there and blinking away a tear. She had never seen Kate cry before. Not when her only child had died. Not when... Well, just not ever. But Kate, who called love a childish emotion... Kate could cry about love. Funny thing, Lee, that Kate could cry about love...

She heard the blithering going on inside her own head and knew that before very long she would be quite drunk. Stoned, blind, dead of feeling, dead of desire. And then she would put her head into Cleo's lap and Cleo would touch her temples and soothe her and she would sleep. And if she could just sleep, just for a little while, when she woke up it would be all better. She would go home and Maggie would be there, as she was there every morning. With hot coffee and a lecture about women who didn't feed her breakfast. And they would go up to the study as they did every day and there would be work to do, letters to write....

"Lee."

Cleo's hand touched her arm. Angrily, not wanting to lose the dream, Lee pulled away from her, burying her face against the couch.

"It must have been a very bad day," Cleo. Her fingertips went into the bristles on Lee's neck murmured

"Come, darling. You must eat and then we will talk and you will feel better."

You wanna bet? Lee thought. But she only sighed and turned over, blinking up at Cleo, trying to bring her into focus.

Cleo kissed Lee lightly on the forehead. "Come," she said again. "It will be cold."

Lee allowed herself to be led to the table and sat down on the satin-covered chair. The table was beautiful and the paella and the wine. And squinting past the candles, she knew that Cleo was beautiful too. She couldn't have cared less. If she ate the spicy mess, she would be in the john in three seconds flat, hanging over the can and heaving her guts. If she tried to love the girl, the same thing would happen. Any way you looked at it...

She picked up a fork and jabbed at the food. Manfully, she shoveled it toward her mouth.

The first swallow went down smoothly. And the second. Then she reached for the glass of wine, knowing she'd had it.

"You are no fun to cook for," Cleo scolded. "You pick."

"I'm just not hungry," Lee said apologetically. She pushed the chair back from the table. "Besides, I don't feel too well. I... "

"You are drunk," Cleo said, but she was not angry. She came around and took Lee's hand. "Come. Lie on my bed and rest. When you feel better..."

Lee didn't remember how she got into the bedroom. Didn't remember falling asleep. Certainly didn't remember Cleo creeping in beside her and snuggling up. But she was aware suddenly of a cramped, creepy feeling in her right arm. Then of Cleo's legs, wrapped around hers like a strangling vine. Then of Cleo's nakedness, pressed sweatily against her.

She tried to move without disturbing the girl, needing to stretch. But Cleo was not asleep. Immediately Lee stirred, Cleo seemed to be on top of her and all around her and everywhere.

She put her arms and her legs around Cleo, wanting to roll the girl onto her back. Wanting to get away from her. Wanting to get out of the darned bed and run...

Stubbornly Cleo held her, her tongue darting to part Lee's lips, her hands touching Lee in all the places that left her weak. And slowly, Lee felt the resistance draining out of her. Felt her need for Maggie become merely an animal need. And she let Cleo's hands move over her body, touching her, caressing...

The sound from beyond the doorway was just barely audible, but it roared through Lee's brain like the blast of a cannon.

She held Cleo still and strained her senses toward the other room.

She heard it again. More clearly now. And recognizable.

She grabbed Cleo's hair and yanked her head back on her neck. "You lousy son of a bitch," she muttered.

Cleo's dark eyes were wide and terrified. "He made me do it," she whispered back.

Unconvinced, Lee shoved the girl angrily away from her. Without a sound, she sat up on the edge of the bed.

At least she had not been caught with her pants down. She glanced at her jacket, hung neatly over the back of a chair. And then at her wallet, as neatly placed on the dresser. And finally she glanced at Cleo, cowering against the pillows.

"It is Tony," Cleo whispered.

It figured, though she didn't quite know how. But she knew that she would have smelled the trap if she had not been so upset. For even in her anxiety she had realized that Cleo was expecting someone else. Cleo, with her paella and her table set for two. But then...

Cleo touched her arm. "He called today. I did not know where to reach you."

Lee peered for an instant into the terror-stricken eyes. And somehow she believed the girl. "It's okay," she said aloud. "It's not the first time."

She stood up then and stepped to the doorway.

Tony Amato turned from the window to face her. He was not much taller than Cleo, but stocky and somehow greasy looking. His hair was plastered flat to his head with a shiny goo she could smell from clear across the room. He had used the same stuff to polish the slim mustache. Still, he was an attractive man when he smiled, as he did now. And Lee could understand Cleo's romantic soul having fallen prey to him.

"So, you are awake," Tony said. He took a step toward her. "We can become acquainted."

He had the same way of rubbing his hands together that Uncle Andrew had, the same way of implying that everything had been arranged and she might just as well sign her name on the dotted line. But there was something shifty, almost cowardly about his eyes. And watching him, Lee smiled to herself.

"I am Tony Amato," he said. "Cleo's husband." He smiled again and his eyes became pinpoints of light. "You are Miss Lesley Van Tassel. Is that correct?"

She knew he had, by now, read everything in her wallet. And there was enough there to tell him plenty. She flicked her fingers impatiently. "Let's skip the preliminaries," she said brusquely. "How much do you want?"

Again Tony smiled and there was something almost benign about his expression. "Fifty thousand," he said evenly. "It is so little to ask."

Lee laughed harshly. "For what?" she said. "Your honor?"

"In my country," Tony said, not smiling now, "a man does not take his honor lightly. Many men have died defending honor."

"And in my country," Lee said quietly, "a man does not take his money lightly. Fifty thousand is a hell of a lot to ask for a couple of rolls with an old hand like Cleo. Even a high-class pimp..."

"I am not a pimp," Tony spat. "I am a husband. You have defiled my wife and my home."

Lee grinned. "Come off it, buddy. You know as well as I do what your wife is."

"Oh! You pig!" Cleo screamed behind her. "Tony, you know this is not true."

Curiously Lee glanced at Tony's face and watched the questions come and go behind his eyes. She could not believe that he did not know the story of Cleo's little hobby, wouldn't even believe she was the first sucker he had nailed in Cleo's bed. Yet...

Then she glanced back to Cleo and the whole scene began to make sense. For dear little Cleo had been planning a neat double-cross. Had planned to move out on Tony, go home with Lee and have the whole ripe plum to herself. Lee could see it in her eyes. Yet she could see too that Cleo was frightened, that she dared not let Tony discover what she had planned.

"Well," Lee said, talking directly to Cleo now, "it almost worked. I was going to take you home with me tonight." She laughed then and shrugged. "If you'd had sense enough to tell me he was coming, we could have been out of here before he arrived."

She watched Cleo's facade of rage begin to crumble. And she waited, knowing that the girl would betray herself.

"I did not believe you would do that," Cleo said. "You did not love me."

Lee knew then why Cleo had not warned her off. "But I needed you," she said. "If you had trusted me..."

"What the hell's going on here?" Tony said, moving to get between them. He grabbed his wife's arm. "You didn't tell me..."

Furiously, Cleo pulled away from him. "Let me go," she screamed. "I can't stand you to touch me."

And Lee smiled, watching the pendulum of Cleo's attention swing back to her. In a minute, Cleo would be begging Lee to take her away...

Tony's big hand shot out and caught Cleo full in the stomach. The girl went down in a heap, sobbing, tearing at the legs of his trousers.

Lee glanced down at her dispassionately, not caring if Cleo lived through it or died on the spot. At the moment, not really caring much about herself either. She had been a fool to mess around with a married woman. She had known it. Now, all she wanted was out. Any war she could get there.

"Fifty thousand," she said. "It'll take me a couple of days..."

Tony's right hand balled into a fist. "The price has gone up," he said. "I have been even more offended than I knew."

Lee kept an eye on the fist. "Collect the rest from Cleo," she said. "She's the one who owes you."

She ducked, but not fast enough. Tony's fist caught her cheek bone and spun her backwards. She felt her shoulder hit the windowsill and her head cracked into the wall.

She doubled over, clutching her shoulder against the barbs of pain. "Queer!" Tony came toward her, moving like a snow plow, ready to finish her.

And suddenly she was filled with a rage bigger than her fear and a hatred bigger than her guilt. She grabbed the foot arching toward her head and twisted it to the side. She wasn't heavy enough to throw him, but he was off-balance. Before he could charge again, she was on her feet and ready to kill.

It was the old one-two she had learned from a book. She had never tried it before. But she nailed him in the groin with one knee and slashed the side of her hand down on the back of his neck as he doubled over. The breath went out of him like a sigh. She leaned over him and grabbed hold of his lapel to roll him onto his back.

He blinked once, then closed bis eyes. She blinked back at him.

"He is dead," Cleo said from beside her shoulder.

Lee turned her head. "No," she said. She heard the surprise, the something like awe in her tone.

"You are very strong," Cleo said, her palm moving up the muscle of Lee's arm.

Lee caught Cleo's hand with her fingers. "No," she said again. "Just lucky." She shook her head. "I never would have believed it." She laughed. "But when you're a little squirt like me, it pays to know a couple of tricks."

Cleo put her forehead against Lee's shoulder. "I love you," she murmured.

Lee laughed. She jerked her head toward Tony. "For that?"

"No," Cleo said. "For you. I have loved you..."

Lee patted the hand Cleo had started roving along her thigh. "You'll get over it," she said.

"You do not believe me."

"No," Lee said. "I do not believe you."

She got up then and went into the bedroom. She glanced at her reflection in the dresser mirror and saw the lump beneath her right eye. Before long, she'd have a good shiner. It would go well with the ache in her head. She pulled on her jacket and stuffed her wallet into the pocket. Then she reached for the bottle of scotch and took one last swallow.

"Lee," Cleo wailed as she came back into the living room, "take me with you."

Tony had not moved. Lee gave him a shove with her foot. "Better see what you can do about him."

Cleo came across the floor toward Lee on her knees, "please take me with you," she begged. "He will kill me."

Lee looked at her for a moment. Then she said, "It wouldn't be much of a loss."

Without glancing back, she strode across the living room and banged out the front door.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Where do you run, when you're running away from yourself? How far? Where do you hide, when you can't stand to look at yourself? Is there any place big enough, dark enough?

She took the ticket out from under the windshield wiper and got into the car. What the hell was a ticket more or less? A few bucks she would never miss, an envelope, a stamp. And what the hell would it have mattered, paying Tony fifty thousand dollars? It was only money and she had made mistakes that had cost Kate more. But it wouldn't have stopped there with Tony Amato. He would have been on her neck for the rest of her life. Wanting money...

Money. She had heard from people like Helga what it meant to be without the stuff. How a woman would sometimes do anything for the sake of a buck. For herself, she had never known. There had always been money. To buy cars, to buy whisky, to buy women. To buy anything she could think of, anything she might want. And always before, there had been something she could think of. Something to make her a little less lonely, a little less aware of the nagging restlessness.

Now, she could think of nothing. Wherever she went, Maggie would not be there. Wherever she went, whoever she found, it would be like Cleo. In one way or another, it would be like Cleo. A dame out to get whatever she could and with nothing to give in return. And Lee couldn't take that now. Not now...

Gingerly she touched her fingertips to the growing knob on her cheek. It hurt, but not enough to penetrate the other pain. The pain that was Maggie and the guilt. She could clobber a fool like Tony Amato, a bastard who didn't matter a damn. But when it came to something important, when it came to Maggie, she just stood there like an impotent fool...

She could go home and listen to the quiet, but she knew that she would go insane if she had to sit in that house by herself. She could go to Helga, but that wouldn't be much of an improvement. She could go to a bar—finish off the drunk she had gotten started on. Take herself a nice long, lost weekend and wake up in a strange bed beside a strange body. She had done it often before. It never helped anything much, but for a few hours...

She headed south, driving slowly, almost aimlessly. She hated the Village, she hated the bars. There was something stigmatizing, almost dirty about hanging around downtown, obviously looking for a make. But she was wearing pants and sporting a black eye. Her mood didn't belong uptown either. It was an ugly thing, nasty and sadistic. A thing that wanted to get even... with herself and with all women, for the ones like Cleo. A thing that forgot, for the moment, that now and then a Maggie appeared.

By the time she found a parking space, she could have left the car at home and walked downtown. But it didn't matter. Filled with rage, with disgust, she did not expect anything to go right, wouldn't have known what to do with it if it had.

She hadn't made the rounds for a long, long time. But she had heard the rumors. Knew that the city had been cleaned up and had supposedly remained that way. It happened every few years, around election time. For a few weeks or months, the movement went underground, the bars becoming restaurants or dress shops, the dykes and the fags hanging around on street corners like lost birds without a nest. Then somebody would find a quiet little bar that felt like home. The word would get out.

The word was out about a place she wouldn't have been caught dead in a couple of years ago. It had been a posh place then, expensive, loud with jazz and very, very straight. Now, it was the place to go... the only place.

Lee could smell the stench of beer and pizza even before she shoved open the leather-trimmed, nail-studded door. And she knew, from too many years of experience, what she would find inside. The kids—eager, too anxious, hair shorn to a bristle, fat behinds stuffed into Brooks Brothers suits. The regulars—drunk before they got there, blasé and bored. The old timers—bent, hollow-eyed and lonely over their drinks, too tired, too bored, unable to care or even to get drunk any more. The pattern didn't change. Just the bars and the faces.

She pushed past the kids, standing three deep and noisy at the bar, and went on into the back room. A waitress in a tight black uniform waved her to a corner table.

"Scotch," Lee said. She spread a ten-dollar bill on the spotty white cloth. "Bring me a bottle."

The girl snatched up the bill and went out toward the bar.

The back room, big and brassy and filled with couples gazing into each other's eyes, was like many she had seen. But with a difference that jarred. Most of the places were so dark you needed a guide to get to the john. But here, a candle burned too brightly on each table and orange bulbs flickered near the ceiling. She turned her head to watch an elderly woman, sleek in black with a tight knotted bun of blonde hair, approach a couple sitting close together on the padded leather seat. The woman held up thumb and forefinger, stretched as far as she could get them. Sheepishly the girls grinned and moved apart.

She let her eyes rove over the room, looking at faces that were nothing but faces, bodies that were nothing but bodies. She saw the big signs plastered around die wall. NO DANCING. NO TABLE HOPPING. And she sighed, almost wistful, remembering the old days when bars had been dark, and women, in the darkness, had seemed mysterious. There was no mystery now, nothing to lure her out of the morbid depression rapidly creeping over her.

The waitress came back after what seemed hours and banged the bottle down on the table. "The bartender didn't like it," she said, holding the change clutched tight in her left hand.

Lee smiled. "Of course not," she said. "He makes more of a profit when he gets to water it down." She nodded toward the fistful of singles. "Keep it."

Deftly, the girl folded the bills around two fingers and stuffed the wad down the front of her dress. "Thanks," she grinned. "I'm Julie."

"Julie," Lee repeated. Carefully she worked the cork out of the bottle and set it into the ashtray While she did so, she let her eyes move slowly up Julie's frame to the pale white face.

It was an okay body. An okay face. Nothing you'd flip a lid about, but it would do just fine once you got too drunk to care anyhow. She poured herself a drink, aware that Julie had not moved, except to take the cork out of the ashtray.

"Look," Lee said after a moment, "I haven't been in the Village for a couple of years. What's a person supposed to do for fun?"

Julie laughed. "Same thing you always did, butch," she teased. "Pick up a girl and..."

"I didn't mean that," Lee said quickly. "I mean, well, this place is like a morgue. I'm used to... " She shrugged.

Julie tilted her head, then sighed deeply. "Yeah," she said. "It used to be great, wasn't it? But you know the damned cops. They never let anybody have any fun."

Lee laughed. "Anyhow, where's to go in this town?"

"No place," Julie said. She picked up the ashtray and wiped out the inside with a napkin. "Unless... "

"Unless what?"

"Well, I'm finished here at three, unless you've got something better to do."

Very slowly, Lee emptied her glass, letting the scotch burn over the surface of her tongue. It was barely eleven o'clock. By three, she might be out under the table. By three, she might be dead. By three...

"Why not?" she said finally. She cocked an eyebrow and frowned. "But I'm warning you, Julie. You might have to carry me out of here. I aim to get very, very—"

"I know," Julie said abruptly. "Your behind was dragging when you walked in here."

She grinned suddenly and Lee saw the glint of gold caps on her back teeth. But they could have been solid brick for all she cared. Julie was just another body, after all. Just another night she had nothing better to do with.

"But that's okay," Julie went on. She patted the hollow between her breasts. "Besides, I've got enough for a cab."

Lee felt her eyebrows jerk hard. It didn't take a genius to add up the score with Julie. Julie liked to get knocked around. And Lee didn't blame the girl for the conclusion she had jumped to. By now, her right eye must look like it was wearing a disguise.

But that was fine. Just fine. She could use Julie tonight. And she leaned back, watching the girl go off to another table. Feeling the itch in her fingers, the need to smash, to beat, to hurt. She would give Julie what she wanted. And more.

She tilted the bottle over her glass and poured it full. Then she drank and smoked and tilted the bottle again. It felt like hours, the minutes between drinks. It felt like hours that she sat, getting stiff in the behind and achier in the head. People came, people went. Julie bustled around the smoky room, ignoring Lee except once to brush against her knee when she stopped at the adjacent table.

Still Lee sat and still she drank. And she knew after a while that she couldn't make it as far as the ladies' room if she had to. And she had to... But she waited, shifting uncomfortably, feeling like a swimmer beyond his depth.

Eventually, candles flickered and sputtered out, tables remained empty, singles became couples. One by one, the orange lights along the ceiling died. Still Lee did not move, except to reach for the bottle. Finding it empty, she set it beside her on the floor and blinked around for Julie.

The girl came up behind her and put her hand on Lee's shoulder. "Come on, lover," she murmured. "It's closing time."

"Want a drink," Lee mumbled. "What?"

"Want a drink," Lee repeated.

Julie looked from Lee's battered face to the empty bottle and back again. "You had enough," she said shortly.

With her fists, Lee shoved herself up from the table. "I want a drink," she roared angrily.

The blonde in the sleek black dress touched Julie's arm. "Get that lush out of here," she muttered.

Suddenly, Lee was fighting mad. Drunk as she was, she wasn't so drunk that she couldn't hear. And the woman had said the wrong thing... No matter what she had said, it would have been the wrong thing.

Groping beneath the table, Lee found the neck of the empty bottle and her fingers closed over it tightly.

But the woman in black was not drunk. And she moved a hell of a lot faster. Before Lee knew what had happened, she was on her knees with the woman's spike heel grinding through her palm.

She let out a shriek of pain. "You damned bitch!"

The woman released her, then glanced at Julie. "Throw her in a cab," she said. She took a ten-dollar bill from the tiny waist pocket of her dress. "We don't want the cops snooping around here."

"I will," Julie promised. She stooped down beside Lee and took hold of her arm. "Come on, baby."

Furiously, Lee shook off the restraining hand. She got to her feet under her own steam and started toward the door.

Julie was right beside her when she reached the sidewalk. She felt the girl's soft breasts pressed against her side, moving her like a tug boat toward the corner and a cab.

Julie opened the door and shoved Lee inside, then gave an address to the driver. Dimly Lee knew that it was not her house Julie had mentioned. She reached out to grab the girl's hand and yanked her inside.

Julie landed full on her lap. And Lee, knowing only that she was there and that she was warm and that she was a girl, put her arms around Julie and hugged her close Furiously her mouth smashed down on Julie's, her tongue parting the girl's lips. Her hand was on Julie's knee. Then moving along her thigh.

"Hey, can that crap!" the driver barked. "A cop'll see you."

Julie's thighs slapped together, pinning Lee's hand. "Save it, baby," she muttered against Lee's ear. "We got all night."

Foggily, Lee considered for a moment, then decided Julie was right. She had all night, didn't she? And all day tomorrow. And all day the year after that. What the hell?

Dimly, something tried to come through. She couldn't quite put a finger on it, but something itched inside her brain like a bit she couldn't reach. Something about...

When the cab stopped, Julie took her hand and led her into the grease-scented hallway of a tenement she knew could only be somewhere on the Lower East Side. Not that it mattered—any more than anything else mattered. She let herself be led by the hand, like a child afraid of the dark. And when they reached the entrance of Julie's flat, she took the key from the girl and opened the creaking door.

The room smelled as though it didn't know about fresh air. There were maybe three pieces of furniture in the place and none of it looked sturdy enough to sit down on. Lee looked around for Julie, waiting to be told what to do.

Julie waved her toward the bed. "Sit," she said. "Let me get out of this uniform."

Docilely, because there was nothing better to do, Lee sat. She leaned back against the wall and tried to focus on a cockroach crawling up the cracked plaster beside her arm. Finally, when she got him in range, she swung her hand in a wide arc. Her palm caught him squarely and squashed him across the wall. For a moment, she stared at the sick looking mess in her palm.

"I can't get rid of them," Julie said. "Especially in summer."

Lee's tired, swollen eyes followed a line up from the flat bare feet. The girl was naked. She had looked better in the uniform somehow. Now Lee could see the too heavy thighs, the roll of fat around her middle. But the breasts were nice. Firm, big. She watched the girl turn slowly, giving her the full show. And she saw the welts, thick and ugly, some still half raw, that striped the girl's back like caning.

Lee wanted to say something. Throw some line of bull. Not that Julie wanted or needed it. But Lee herself liked a bit of polish. Her tongue felt a foot thick and stiff as a board and the inside of her mouth tasted like a summer sewer. She opened her mouth, trying. Nothing came out.

Finally, feeling almost desperate, she reached out clumsily to grab the girl.

Julie caught her wrist and held it still. "Not yet," she murmured. "Wait."

She went to the unpainted dresser in the corner and opened the top drawer. Lee watched her take out a heavy leather belt. A lethal looking thing, studded with diamond shaped metal slugs and with a buckle the size of a saucer. Julie turned from the dresser and tossed the belt onto the bed.

Lee looked at it curiously for a moment, knowing what was expected of her, yet hesitant. She had never beaten a girl before. Oh, she'd hit a couple, when they needed it. But this? Julie would want to see her own blood flow.

She would want to be smashed like the cockroach. And when she was bloody and half dead, then she would want Lee. Then she would want...

Lee slid the end of the belt through the buckle, making a grip for her hand. Then she made herself stand up, holding onto the wall to steady herself. Julie threw herself face down across the unmade bed, her arms hugged to her sides.

Lee brought her arm up, then swung. The sound of the crack nearly split open her head.

Julie turned onto her side. "Not that way," she said, her eyes betraying her impatience. "The other end. The buckle."

Lee took a deep breath and hunched her shoulders. Earlier, she remembered, she had wanted to tear somebody apart. Earlier, she had been mad enough about something to want to kill. But now...

Now there was nothing but the throbbing ache behind her eyes, the pain from her swollen cheek. And the memory, the damned memory that kept niggling, wanting her to hear.

And suddenly she did hear. Not clearly. But something. A word... a name. Maggie... Maggie, who loved her...

"Maggie," she said aloud, her voice thick, slurred.

"I'm Julie," the girl said, shoving her with bare toes. "Remember me?"

Lee stared down at her stupidly, not remembering the girl nor where she had found her. Not remembering where she was or how she had gotten there. And searching through her brain, she could find nothing that went with the face, the figure. Nothing but a blank, where a night should have been.

"Well, for chrissake," the girl complained, "either come across or beat it."

Lee didn't even hear her. She unwrapped the belt from around her hand and let it fall to the floor. Then she groped in the pocket of her slacks for the wad of bills she always kept there.

Julie turned onto her back and propped herself on her elbows. "I lifted it in the cab," she said matter-of-factly. "A girl has to get something out of a sot like you."

“Yeah," Lee said. Then she tried to smile around the aches in her skull. "Do you suppose you could let me have enough for a taxi?" Julie laughed. "Sure, big shot. How far you goin'?" Lee put her palm against the back of her neck and sighed. "To hell," she slurred.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Helga was anything but glad to see her. She shoved Lee away and stepped back out of her reach.

"What's a matter?" Lee grinned. "Aren't you happy I'm here?"

"Are you crazy?" Helga screamed. "It's five o'clock in the morning." She took a deep breath and jabbed a finger at the air. "If you think you can come sneaking in here…”

Lee clapped her hands over her ears. "Don't shout," she mumbled. "I've got a glass head."

"I’ll shout all I damn please," Helga shouted. She glared at Lee with fists on hips, daring her, challenging…

"All right," Lee said gently, still holding her head between her hands. "I'm sorry. Now, will you please try to be a lady. Just this once."

Helga relaxed enough to snatch a cigarette from the box on the coffee table. Still, she watched Lee warily.

Lee pulled out a lighter for Helga's cigarette, waited till the girl had taken a couple of puffs, then took it for herself.

Helga sighed and sank down onto the couch. "Your hands are shaking," she commented. "It must have been quite a binge."

"It was." From the pain thumping behind her eyeballs, she knew that it had been. But the details? Those she didn't remember and it was probably just as well.

"What happened?" Helga said, a twist of curiosity creeping into the words. She smoothed the pillow beside her, inviting Lee to sit.

Lee remained standing. Not because it was more comfortable, but because she didn't trust her knees. If she tried to sit, she would probably wind up sprawled on the floor. She took a drag on the cigarette and closed one eye against the sting of smoke.

"Well, what happened?" Helga repeated, her tone frankly demanding now.

And even through her fog, Lee heard the tone and knew that, whatever she said, Helga would be taking notes. Storing up information for discreet use at the proper time. She shook her head, but carefully. Her eyes swam in a film of tears and Helga drifted away from sight.

"Well, hell," Helga said. "You've got a black eye and you're stinko. I presume you didn't spend a quiet evening at home."

"That's right." She watched a length of ash sift to the carpet, then rubbed it in with her toe. She had forgotten about the black eye. About Cleo and Tony. Had that been tonight? Or years ago? Nothing fitted. Her brain felt like a handful of confetti. If only she could remember...

Helga came and took the cigarette from her fingers. "Before you burn down the house," she said, jabbing it into an ashtray.

"What day is it?" Lee said suddenly.

"Thursday," Helga said. "Almost." She turned to look into Lee's bleary eyes. "You're way out tonight, aren't you?"

Lee grunted. How do you tell a practical soul like Helga what it feels like to be one of the living dead? Not to know where you've been or what you've done or why the hell you did it. She simply stared back at Helga dumbly, too confused, too miserable to speak.

Finally Helga took her hand and led her down the hall to the john. Lee stood patiently while Helga undressed her, trying to be co-operative, yet hardly able to move her useless limbs. And she stood patiently too when Helga shoved her under the shower and turned the cold water on full blast. Despite herself, the iciness of the water forced her to respond, made her shiver and reel back against the tiled wall to escape. She had wanted, almost, to believe that she was dead. That she could feel nothing.

But she felt the roughness of the big towel Helga rubbed over her back and chest. Felt the lye-like burning of a sour brownish liquid Helga made her swallow. And by the time Helga had taken her into the bedroom and made her stretch out on the cool, fresh sheets, she had begun to remember.

"Now, get some sleep," Helga said, gently for her. She snapped off the bed lamp and lowered herself to the edge of the mattress. "You can tell me about it in the morning."

And Lee could have laughed, except for the dull ache still splitting her skull. Tell Helga in the morning? Tell her what? Tell her about Maggie? That she had traded the only girl she loved for some nebulous thing Kate called honor? Or tell her about Cleo? Tell her how she'd played muscle boy and slugged a coward who was all words and no bite? Or tell her about Julie and how she had to borrow five bucks of her own dough for a cab? Anything she told Helga would get nothing but a horse laugh. No sympathy, no empathy, no love.

What's the use? Lee thought. What the hell is the use?

She turned on her side and reached out for the girl, knowing that only in one way could she keep Helga from laughing at her. Helga had no respect for anything but the gratification of her own desires, her own lusts. And what, after all, did it matter? Helga, like Julie, like Cleo, meant nothing.

"Hmmm," Helga murmured, drawing away from Lee's kiss. "You've been practicing, lover." She let her long fingers glide lightly over Lee's naked back. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"You," Lee countered, too quickly. "If you'll just shut up and..."

She rolled to the girl, needing to suffocate the irony, the stupidity of it all. If she looked at Helga, if she looked at herself, she would not be able to go through with it. Hungrily, almost savagely, she sought Helga's mouth, needing Helga to need, to lie quiet and wanting. Needing herself to feel something... anything, to quiet the frustration seething through her. She must not think of Maggie, must not spend the rest of her life remembering. She must...

Helga put her hands against Lee's shoulders and held her off. "You didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"Who's the girl, lover?" Her tongue slid along Lee's earlobe. "You've never had hot pants like this for me."

"Don't be so damned suspicious," Lee said. But she heard the quaver in her own voice and knew that Helga had heard it too.

Helga held herself rigid, touching Lee all the way up, but not letting Lee move to caress her. "What happened to your little friend Maggie?"

It was a loaded question. Lee swallowed hard, but she realized that Helga could not possibly know the truth, that she was simply making a stab in the dark. Assuring herself, as Helga must forever be assuring herself, that she had Lee where she wanted her and could keep her that way.

Which was exactly what Lee wanted Helga to believe. The fewer the questions she had to answer, the less she had to think about Maggie, the better things would be for all of them.

"My little friend Maggie," Lee said evenly, "is now safely ensconced at Grandmother Kate's house." She smiled against Helga's shoulder. "Which means I'm now a free agent. I came here to tell you that."

The tip of one finger circled on the swollen mound of Lee's eye. "It took you a long time to get here," she murmured, her tone still suspicious, still unrelenting.

"Never mind that," Lee said sharply. "Do you still want to live with me or don't you?"

"I don't know," Helga said slowly.

"For Chrissake," Lee snorted. She rolled away from Helga and lay on her back, staring up at the shadowy ceiling. "You've been after me for months to move you in. Now, when I finally can, you don't know. Woman, you can be aggravating. How the hell—"

"That's just it," Helga interrupted. She moved close to Lee's side. "How the hell am I supposed to know from one minute to the next what's going on with you? I thought if I moved in with you, I'd be able to hold you. I mean, you'd at least have to come home every now and then to change your clothes. But now..."

Lee turned her head to peer at Helga's sharp chin. "Now what?"

"Baby, I couldn't hold you with a pair of handcuffs," Helga said, her voice tight and quiet. "So what's the use of my kidding myself?"

Lee let her breath go in a long sigh. Sometimes, there was just no figuring women. Helga the leech, Helga the goldbug... all of a sudden talking about fidelity and love. It didn't make sense. Unless...

Lee propped herself on one elbow and stared toward the window. It was already light. Time to move herself out of bed and get on with the business of life. Time to accept Helga's polite brushoff and go looking... Looking for what, Lee, old girl? Another Helga. Another Cleo. Maybe just another bottle. What the hell did it matter?

Helga's hand touched her arm. "It's all right," Lee said. "I get the message."

"I'm sorry, Lee," Helga said gently.

"Don't be," Lee said coldly. "I told you in the beginning I never play for keeps."

"It's not like that," Helga said. "It's just... Well, I met this guy who wants to marry me." She laughed suddenly, a sound that sent a chill through Lee's bones.

"That's funny?" Lee said.

"In a way," Helga said. "All my life I've played it cool, bed hopping like you do. And then this guy asks me to marry him. Can you imagine? In ten years, it's the first proposal I ever got. Everybody else just wanted to..."

Lee put a finger across Helga's lips. "Watch the language," she smiled. "You're being a lady tonight, remember?" She took Helga's hand then and held it tight. "I'm glad for you," she said. "I hope you’ll be happy."

"Oh, I’ll probably be miserable,” Helga said happily. "But I’ll be married. And he's got plenty of money. I won't have to worry about a thing."

Lee turned her off about there. She got out of bed and began gathering her clothes where Helga had draped them around the room. Behind her, Helga chattered on, telling Lee about how wonderful—how very wonderful—life could be. Privately, Lee felt sorry for the poor guy, whoever he might be. Marriage with Helga would be like living on a merry-go-round that never stopped. And she knew that, in a way, she was responsible for the misery the poor guy was in for. If Helga had believed she could hold onto the Van Tassel bank account, then she would not be marrying. Somehow she must have known, must have realized after their last session together just how much Lee belonged to Maggie.

Yet she could not have known it half so clearly as Lee. A feeling of infinite relief began to surge through her as she dressed and half-listened to Helga. Relief that she had not made love to Helga... nor to Cleo nor to Julie. The thought of loving any of them, after Maggie, was enough to choke on. And it would be no different with any girl. With anyone, she would feel the guilt, the betrayal to Maggie. And to herself. For there was no one and nothing that could take Maggie's place. Just nothing.

When she finally faced herself in the mirror, she was surprised that she still looked as she usually looked. It didn't seem right, somehow, that her whole life could have changed so radically without a trace of it showing through on the surface. She borrowed a powder puff from Helga and deadened the shine around her eye. It didn't help much. But it didn't matter. Maggie would love her anyhow. Maggie would kiss it and make it better...

"Where are you going?" Helga said when Lee leaned to kiss her good-bye. "It's hardly daylight."

Lee laughed and glanced at her watch. "It's nearly eight," she said. "You'd be surprised how much of the world is stirring at this hour."

"You going home?" Helga prodded.

Lee knew that Helga couldn't really care less. But she knew too that the girl felt a little guilty somehow. She didn't bother to soothe her. "No," she said. "Not home."

"Then where?"

Lee thought for a moment, not quite sure herself where the revolution ought to begin. Knowing only that she had .a lot to do and so little time to do it in. She had to see Kate... and Andrew... and Pieter... And a lawyer. She had to find her car, parked somewhere down in the Village. She had to get to the bank. She had to...

Lee spread her arms wide and grinned at the frown on Helga's face. "Everywhere," she said lightly. "I'm after the Holy Grail."

"What?" Helga boomed.

"It's all right," Lee assured her. "I'm not nuts." She smiled mysteriously and winked. "I got me a mission."

Helga snorted. "It's about time," she said nastily. "A girl who waits till you get around to doing something could die of old age."

Lee laughed. "Lend me five, will you?"

Helga glanced at her curiously.

"I got rolled."

Helga waved fingers. "On the dresser," she said. "And keep it. I've rolled you a couple of times myself."

Lee threw her a kiss from the doorway and scooted out of the apartment. With a little luck, she would be at Ravensway before Kate went up for her nap. And with a little luck beyond that, she would not have to destroy the old lady and her lifelong dream. But if so, then it would just have to be that way. After all, it was Kate who had taught her, Kate who had made her hard, Kate who had told her about honor and integrity. And without Maggie, she would be nothing—a drunken sot who didn't know from one hour to the next what was happening to her life. A fool at loose ends, not able to work, to think, to concentrate. Without Maggie...

Within an hour she had found the car and made a stop at the bank. Within two she had contacted Kate's lawyer. And within three, she was on her way out of the city, speeding north along the thruway.

She had not visited the Ten Broeck farm since she was a kid. Visiting the Ten Broecks was the sort of thing one did only for funerals. Or emergencies like this. The place had not changed—if Pieter had painted, it didn't show. Not that the place looked shabby, it just had that feeling of being lived in by people who were happy there and kept it the same year after year, its tulips precise, its bushes trimmed, its windows washed. As she parked, Lee reflected that to take Pieter out of this well-worn rut and dump him into Ravensway would be less than an act of kindness. And watching Pieter stroll across the front yard to meet her, she knew that he felt it too.

He had a look about his eyes that told her he knew why she had come and that he was glad. She glanced behind him toward the house and saw Trudel framed in the doorway. In home clothes, worn thin and colorless like the little farm, they looked more like shadows of each other than ever.

"Hi," Lee said as Pieter laid his big hand on the door beside her elbow. "I want to talk to you."

"Yah," Pieter said. "Will you come in for some cocoa?"

Lee shook her head. "I'm in a hurry," she said. Narrowing her eyes, she scanned Pieter's face, wondering how much it would cost her. If she had pegged him right...

"It is about Margaret," Pieter said, his voice dull as always, yet edged with something anxious.

"Partly," Lee said. Then she glanced toward the house. "And partly, it's about Trudel."

She watched his red face grow darker and knew that she had hit home. And she smiled to herself, knowing that, if she played it right, it wouldn't cost her a soul.

"Kate told me what you had to say about Trudel," Lee said. She raised one eyebrow and tilted her head to peer at him. "Am I right in assuming that you would rather stay with Trudel than be married to Maggie?"

She hadn't meant to be quite so blunt. Pieter blinked his little pig eyes, then shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"Oh, come on," Lee said. "You don't have to play coy with me, Pete. It's plain enough that you don't want to get married or you wouldn't have been pulling all this crap about me and Maggie."

"Yah," he said, "it is so." He shrugged. "I am forty. I am used to Trudel. She is used to me." He shrugged again. "We are a habit with each other."

And Lee smiled. "Well, what would you say if I told you the wedding's been called off?"

She had never seen him grin before. Now relief spread itself from ear to ear.

"I would say good," Pieter said. He turned to wave to Trudel.

Lee saw Trudel nod and knew that the woman was responding to a signal they had arranged between them. She would have no problem with the Ten Broecks. None at all.

She reached out and tapped Pieter on the arm. “I’ll have that cocoa now," she said.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lee shooed Miss Ida Winkle out of Kate's room and closed the door behind her.

Kate sat propped against pillows in the high old bed. She looked tired—more tired than Lee remembered ever having seen her. And for a moment she regretted what she had to do to Kate. But only for a moment. She would do anything for Maggie. It wasn't a matter of choice. It just had to be.

Kate smoothed the light blanket across her flat stomach. "You might have waited," she said. "You know I nap at one."

Lee sat down on the edge of the mattress and crossed her arms. "I've waited too long already," she said. "I'm tired of waiting, Kate."

She saw a flush of annoyance touch the old lady's cheeks. At the same time she saw that, in a way, Kate had been expecting her. That if she had not come, Kate would have been disappointed. And for a moment she hesitated, not quite knowing that Kate wished her well.

Then she said, "I've just been to see Pieter."

Kate nodded. "I thought as much," she said. "I don't suppose he gave you much trouble."

To cover her surprise, Lee smiled. "None at all," she said. "He practically kissed me, he was so pleased."

Kate's shrewd eyes narrowed. "How much did it cost you?"

"Another hundred grand," Lee said.

Kate clucked her annoyance. "You fool," she said. "He would have settled for half that."

This time, Lee laughed aloud. Kate still thought she knew all the answers. But for once, Lee had an ace up her sleeve. "It's not for him," she said. "In fact, he doesn't get a cent."

She watched something flit behind Kate's eyes. Surprise. Pleasure, maybe. Curiosity, most of all. She leaned back smugly and clasped her hands around her knees, waiting. Wanting Kate to have to ask.

"I don't think I'm going to like it," Kate said, and her tone was gentle. "But I suppose you'd better tell me anyhow."

Lee shrugged. "It's a gem of simplicity," she said. "You used to tell me that money applied in the right places could work wonders, so I decided to try it out. I wanted something. Wanted it enough to buy it, if that was the only way I could get it. And," she grinned, "it's mine, by right of purchase."

"I presume you're referring to Margaret," Kate said mildly.

"Of course," Lee said. "You sold her to Pieter for a price. And I bought her back."

Kate sighed profoundly. "If your intelligence matched your conceit," she said, "you would go far. As it is, you simply managed to overlook a few dozen details that can't be ignored."

For the first time in her life, Lee refused to let Kate's acid tone deflate her. For she knew, as Kate did not, that she had not overlooked a thing. She could not expect Kate to bless her for the manipulations she had pulled. But Kate would have to accept, because she could not do anything but accept.

She stood up and walked away from the bed, moving to the wall by the window where she could watch Kate without being distracted by the nearness of her disapproval. "I haven't overlooked any details," she said gently. "Everything has been taken care of. I've come here to get Maggie and take her back with me, where she belongs. And if you don't like it, Kate..." She shrugged. "Well, as the kids say, that's the way the cookie crumbles."

"If I don't like what, Lesley?"

There was venom in the old lady's tone. And something else. A kind of curiosity, a wonder, as though gauging how far Lee might dare go. Lee squared off her shoulders and looked Kate straight in the eye. "The first thing I did this morning," she began, "was to get your lawyer..." She smiled. "Excuse me, my lawyer to take care of Andrew's debts and give the poor bastard enough to live on, so he won't be dependent on you. That lets him off the hook where Maggie is concerned. And I know damned well the only reason he agreed in the first place was because you had him over a barrel."

Kate merely nodded. But there was a faint smile in her eyes. Seeing it, Lee plunged on. "Then I went to Pieter. I knew he didn't want to marry Maggie any more than she wanted to marry him. He says it's because he and Trudel are twins and so much a part of each other that any third person would be an unwelcome intrusion. I let it go at that. What he and Trudel do in their spare time is nobody's business but theirs."

"Lesley!" Kate's tone was a near scream. "How dare you suggest—"

Lee smiled. "I didn't suggest anything," she said mildly. "I left that up to your own dirty mind."

The old lady chuckled. "Sometimes," she said, "you show signs of promise." She waved Lee on.

"Well, according to Pieter, the only reason he finally agreed to marry Maggie was because you offered him a hefty price and gave him Ravensway. He and Trudel have never had much money. He figured that finally he would be able to give Trudel some of the thing's he's always wanted to." She smiled wryly. "I gather you were never too generous with salaries."

The old lady huffed. "That's something you'd better learn, Lesley. You don't become wealthy by spending every cent you earn. The corporation is doing very well. But that is largely because we've put so much of the capital into expansion and improvements. You may not realize it, but—"

"I realize one thing," Lee said sharply. "And that is that I don't have to starve my employees just because they happen to be relatives. You know damned well they only work for the corporation because they hope to come into a little something when I die. They all know, bless them, that I'm not about to have any children. And until you cooked up this thing with Maggie and Pieter, they all expected to cash in when I died." She took a deep breath. "Well, I've decided I don't like people sitting around waiting for me to die. I might be here a long time yet. The second thing I did was authorize a ten percent increase for everyone in the company." She grinned. "Including me."

Kate sighed. But she said nothing.

"But about Pieter," Lee went on. "He gave me an idea. It's probably the only good one he ever had in his life. He said that one of the things he wanted to do with the money you gave him was to set up a kind of school or home here at Ravensway for retarded children. He said his parents had wanted to do something for Trudel when she was a kid, but could never manage because in those days all these places were terribly expensive. He said maybe I wouldn't understand, but that he's spent every day of his life looking at Trudel and thinking it might have been him. I mean, they're twins after all and I guess it was just fate that gave him half a brain and gave Trudel none at all. Anyhow..."

Kate held up her hand and Lee swallowed back the flood of words.

"Do you mean to stand there and tell me that you've agreed to turn Ravensway into a home for—for children?"

Lee knew that she had hit Kate in her weakest spot. Knew that Kate despised children, even healthy ones. And certainly knew that the idea of children running across the lawns, playing in the halls of the old house would sit sourly in Kate's stomach.

“That’s right," Lee said. "The money I agreed to give Pieter is partly for making this place habitable. It needs a new heating system, new lighting, a paint job..."

"Lesley," Kate thundered, "you know I will not permit this."

Now, Lee knew, was the time. Now she had to put it to Kate squarely. Without hesitation and without fear.

"It's not up to you to permit," Lee said levelly. "Remember?"

Kate stared at her, speechless with rage. Lee waited till the old lady had swallowed the bitter pill. She turned her back on the bed and peered out the window, down the long hill to the jutting tombstones by the river. Something would have to be done to protect the graves, to hallow the ground. Someday, she would come back to Ravensway... she and Maggie.

"Lesley," Kate said after a while, "will you do one thing for me?"

Lee turned to face her. Kate was pale now, her face drawn, but her eyes were bright with spirit. And Lee breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Kate still had a long way to go.

"Will you see that Miss Ida Winkle has a home?" Kate said gently. "I had promised her that she might stay on here at Ravensway for the rest of her life."

"I remember," Lee said. She smiled at Kate's concern. "Miss Ida Winkle will be taken care of."

"Thank you," Kate said. She bowed her chin to her chest and looked for a moment as though she had fallen asleep. Then suddenly she glanced up.

Lee held her breath and waited.

"Lesley," Kate said, her head bobbing slightly with an old lady's failing strength, "I'm proud of you."

Lee beamed, realizing now that she had it how desperately she had needed Kate's approval. Realizing too that she had known in her heart that Kate would give it. "I hope so," she said. "I did the best I could, just like I told you I would."

Kate smiled and held out her hand. "Come sit by me for a moment," she said. "I want to tell you a story about your old fool of a grandmother. Perhaps then you’ll understand..."

Lee sat down beside Kate, holding the soft, pale hand warmly in her own. "Okay, old fool of a grandmother," she murmured. "What terrible sins have you got to confess?"

Kate leaned back and closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was gentle and touched with tears. "You accused me once of knowing nothing about love," she said. "Well, you were very wrong to believe that, Lesley. I have been in love, most of my life, with a memory. His name was Dirk. I was fifteen when I met him. But in those days, girls did not marry young as they do now. I was to wait until I was twenty. Then, just before my twentieth birthday, I was summoned to America to marry your grandfather."

The pale lips smiled. "My parents did not ask me if I wanted to come to America or if I wanted to marry Jonas. They simply put me on the boat and kissed me good-by. You know the story of my life with Jonas. It was unbearable. To be married to Jonas after loving a man like Dirk..." She sighed. "Well, to make it brief, after Jonas died, Dirk came to America to ask me to marry him. He still loved me and I him."

"But you didn't marry him," Lee said very gently, watching a tear slip past the old lady's lashes and onto her cheek.

"No, I didn't marry him," Kate said, her voice nearly a whisper now. "I managed somehow to convince myself that I owed my life to my son, to the family, to the creation of a fortune and a name for my son and his heirs." Suddenly, Kate laughed bitterly.

Lee squeezed her hand. In some small way, she knew what Kate must feel. Remembered what she had felt, believing that she had lost Maggie. "Then you must understand," she said quietly, "that I couldn't let this happen to me."

Kate opened her eyes and looked directly at Lee. "Oh, yes," she said. "I understand, Lesley. And that is why I am proud of you. I have never really been proud of myself for the mistake I made."

Gently, Lee kissed the old lady's fingers. "It wasn't a total waste," she said. "You made a lot of people happy."

"Lesley," Kate said, sprightly and business-minded again, "about the estate. What happens... "

"When I die?" She patted the old lady's cheek. "That's another thing I did today. Made a will. When I'm gone, half will go to the home Pieter's founding here. And what's left, the relatives can divvy among them. Equal shares to all and not enough for anybody to make him feel superior."

Kate nodded. "I approve," she said. Then she sighed. "I suppose it's just as well. Pieter's not a Van Tassel anyhow. It wouldn't have been quite the same."

Lee stood up and stepped away from the bed. She had said all she had to say to Kate. Time now to get on with it. Time to... "Where's Maggie?" she said.

Kate tilted her head and smiled with her eyes. "In your room," she said. "She asked to be put there."

Lee banged out the door and hurried down the hall. When she reached the threshold of her old room, she paused, wanting to surprise the girl, but not to startle her.

Maggie was sitting in a big arm chair by the window, her back to the door. She looked tinier than ever, as though the life had dried out of her. On her lap she clutched the teddy bear, hugging it against her.

Quietly, hardly making a sound, Lee crossed the room to stand behind the chair. She gazed out the window, following the line of Maggie's vision, to the bleak, dull, perfectly trimmed lawn.

"Hideous, isn't it?" Lee commented blandly.

Maggie's head spun to face her, the blue eyes wide with shock. "Lee!"

Lee grinned. "Well, who did you expect?"

"Pieter," Maggie stumbled. "He... I... I mean... Oh Lee, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop by and say hello," Lee said lightly. "Besides, I felt I ought to pay Kate a last visit before she leaves for Holland."

"Oh," Maggie said, her voice thin with disappointment. Her glance settled on Lee's swollen cheek.

Lee waited for the question that should have come. Not wanting Maggie to know the answer, but realizing she would have to tell her the truth. If she wanted to have any kind of anything with the girl, it would have to be the truth all the way even if it hurt.

But Maggie said, "I gather Helga wasn't very glad to see you."

And Lee laughed. "She wasn't, as a matter of fact. She gave me the old heave-ho."

"Well, I'm glad," Maggie said with a touch of triumph "I never did like that girl."

"You want to know something?" Lee said. "Neither did I." She reached out and took the teddy bear from Maggie's grasp and tossed it behind her onto the bed. Then she held out her hands to Maggie.

Maggie stared at her, but she did not move.

"Come on," Lee said. "I'll help you pack."

Still Maggie did not move.

Lee sighed. "What's the matter, girl? You playing hard to get?"

"Oh, Lee," Maggie breathed. "Don't tease me. Please.”

"Now, would I do a thing like that?" Lee said, grinning. She put her hands under the girl's arms and lifted her to her feet.

She felt the girl trembling and suddenly Maggie's hands were against her chest, pushing her away.

"What's the matter?" Lee whispered against her ear.

"Lee. Please," Maggie murmured. "Don't make me...”

Lee's arms went around Maggie then, pulling her close. She felt the girl holding herself stiff, resisting their need. And she smiled against the soft blonde hair loving the girl and wanting her.

"I'm not kidding," Lee murmured. "I came to take you home."

"Lee, we can't..."

"Do you love me, Maggie?"

"You know I do."

"Then we can," Lee said. "We can do anything." Eagerly, her lips sought Maggie's, wanting to tell Maggie it was all right. Wanting Maggie to know as she knew.

Still the girl resisted. But only for a moment. Then slowly, she let herself relax against Lee, let herself be drawn into the whirlpool of desire.

And it happened again as it had happened before. The fire boiling through her veins at Maggie's touch. The need to be gentle, to be good with the girl she loved. She moved with Maggie in her arms to the edge of the bed and pulled the girl down to her.

"No, Lee," Maggie whispered. "No. Please don't... "

Lee shut her up with a kiss. Her hands roamed over Maggie's behind, pressing the girl against her. And suddenly she felt the girl sobbing and tasted the salt of her tears.

She rolled Maggie onto her back and leaned over her. She knew that she had been cruel, taunting the girl that way. And seeing Maggie's tears, she hated herself. She had been too full of herself, too full of her joy... and too much in a hurry.

"Why are you crying?" she said gently, touching fingertips to the dampness on Maggie's cheek. "I told you it's all right."

"But I promised Daddy," Maggie sobbed.

"Daddy won't mind," Lee said. "I told him you'd be moving back to the house as my private secretary."

"Kate..."

"…gives us both her blessing," Lee finished.

Maggie stared at her wide-eyed, not daring to believe. "But," she blubbered. "Pieter..."

"Damn it, girl," Lee exploded. "You didn't think I'd let you marry that dumb Dutchman, did you?"

And suddenly Maggie was laughing through her tears. Not asking the million questions there were to be asked, not caring about the answers. She held out her arms to Lee and Lee held her.

"I love you," Maggie whispered.

"I might as well tell you right now," Lee said. "I'm a pretty tough boss to work for. I like the personal touch with my secretaries. And I'm a lecherous bastard. I like to pinch behinds and I have sometimes been known to seduce young innocents like you, but..."

"Well, now, I don't know," Maggie said seriously. "It sounds like it might be fun. But then, a girl has to think about her future. What if you decide you don't like the way I... I type after a couple of months?"

Lee laughed softly. "Well," she said, "if you take the job, honey, you get a guarantee of lifetime employment. I mean... " She felt herself flush. "Well, I'm strictly a one-secretary boss from now on. So if you think you can stand it, I'm all yours."

Maggie kissed her gently on the sore cheek. "No more black eyes?"

"Not unless you give 'em to me," Lee said.

Maggie reached to the teddy bear and turned his face to the wall. "In that case..." she murmured.

And happily, lonely no more, Lee moved into the waiting arms.

~ ~ ~

AFTERWORD

A new revolution was underway at the start of the 1940s in America—a paperback revolution that would change the way publishers would produce and distribute books and how people would purchase and read them.

In 1939 a new publishing company—Pocket Books—stormed onto the scene with the publication of its first paperbound book. These books were cheaply produced and, with a price of twenty-five cents on their light cardboard covers, affordable for the average American.

Prior to the introduction of the mass-market paperback, as it would come to be known, the literary landscape in America was quite different than what it is today. Reading was primarily a leisure-time pursuit of the wealthy and educated. Hardcover books were expensive and hard to find, so purchasing books was a luxury only the rich living in major metropolitan areas could afford. There simply weren’t many bookstores across the country, and only gift shops and stationary stores carried a few popular novels at a time.

The Pocket Books were priced to sell, however, and sell is what they did… in numbers never before seen. Availability also had a great effect on sales, in large part due to a bold and innovative distribution model that made Pocket Books available in drugstores, newsstands, bus and train stations, and cigar shops. The American public could not get enough of them, and before long the publishing industry began to take notice of Pocket Book’s astonishing success.

Traditional publishers, salivating at the opportunity to cash in on the phenomenal success of the new paperback revolution, soon launched their own paperback ventures. Pocket Books was joined by Avon in 1941, Popular Library in 1942, and Dell in 1943. The popular genres reflected the tastes of Americans during World War II—mysteries, thrillers, and “hardboiled detective” stories were all the rage.

Like many of the early paperback publishers, Dell relied on previously published material for its early books, releasing “complete and unabridged” reprints under different titles by established authors. Within a couple of years it was focused exclusively on mysteries, identifiable by the Dell logo on the cover—a small keyhole with an eye looking through it. Many of the Dell mysteries also featured a colored map on the back cover representing the various locations pertaining to the story’s crime. These “mapback” editions became extremely popular and by 1945, Dell was publishing four new books a month.

The new paperback industry was faced with some difficult challenges during World War II. In particular, the War Board’s Paper Limitation order placed serious restrictions and rations on the use of paper. Publishers began to worry whether they would have enough paper to satisfy both the civilian and military appetite for paperbacks. Manpower shortages and transportation difficulties were also proving to be difficult challenges. In response, some publishers—Pocket Books, for instance—reduced their publication schedules and reset their books in smaller type thereby reducing the number of pages per book. Others simply rejected longer books in favor of shorter ones.

In the end, World War II proved to be a boon to the emerging paperback industry. During the war, a landmark agreement was reached with the government in which paperbound books would be produced at a very low price for distribution to service men and women overseas. These books—Armed Services Editions, as they were called—were often passed from one soldier or sailor to another, being read and re-read over and over again until they literally fell apart. Their stories of home helped ease the soldier’s loneliness and homesickness, and they could be easily carried in uniform pockets and read anywhere—in fox holes, barracks, transport planes, etc. Of course, once the war was over millions of veterans returned home with an insatiable appetite for reading. They were hooked, and their passion for reading these books helped launch a period of unprecedented growth in the paperback industry.

The reading tastes of these veterans were directly reflected in the popularity of certain genres at the turn of the decade. In the mid-to late 1940s, mysteries, romance, thrillers, and hardboiled detective stories seemed to sell better. In the early 1950s new genres—science fiction, westerns, gay and lesbian, juvenile delinquent and “sleaze”, for instance—gained in popularity as readers were presented with stories never before seen in print. Publishers also came to realize that sex would sell books… lots of books. In a competitive frenzy for readers, they ditched their conservative and straightforward cover images for alluring covers that frequently featured a sexy woman in some form of undress, along with a suggestive tag line that promised stories of sex and violence within the covers. Before long, books with sensational covers had completely taken over the paperback racks and cash registers. To this day, the cover art of these vintage paperback books are just as sought after as the books themselves were sixty years ago.

Science fiction titles reflected the uncertain times during which they were written. The Cold War was just beginning, the threat of nuclear annihilation was on everyone’s mind, governments in Eastern Europe were falling to Communists, and Senator Joseph McCarthy was looking for “un-American activities” everywhere in the United States. Many science fiction stories in the early days of the paperback revolution were little more than soap operas or westerns set in space—good guys taking on bad guys while rescuing damsels in distress—that were short stories taken from the pulp magazines. In 1952, however, Ballantine Books changed all that by becoming the first paperback publisher to release novel-length science fiction stories that were sophisticated, intelligent and thematically serious. In 1953, Ballantine Book No. 41 was released—Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451—and the paperback’s science fiction genre launched like a rocket heading to Venus.

The popularity of this new genre wasn’t lost on new paperback publisher, Ace Books, which became known primarily for its publication of sci-fi titles. Not content with publishing one science fiction novel at a time, Ace came up with an interesting gimmick—the double novel. Priced at thirty-five cents, the “Ace Double” featured two paperback novels bound back-to-back with the back cover appearing upside-down in the racks. The stories contained within these “double” paperbacks were novellas or long short stories, rather than novels, but the reading public didn’t care—they loved getting two books for the price of one! The format also worked to the advantage of Ace Books, as they were able to combine the work of an unknown (and, therefore, less expensive) writer with that of a prominent and popular author. As a result, the careers of more than a few aspiring science fiction writers were launched via the innovative “Ace Double.”

Science fiction would not be the only genre with titles flying off the shelves in the early 1950s, however. And, it is unlikely that even Gold Medal Books knew, in 1950, just how successful its first lesbian-themed paperback original novel—Women’s Barracks—would be. Written by Tereska Torres, and based on her experiences in London with the French Resistance movement during World War II, the book was not intended to launch an entire lesbian genre—it was a story about women during wartime, some of whom happened to be romantically involved with other women. The story simply resonated with men and women alike—both straight and gay—and by the end of 1950 had sold more than a million copies for Gold Medal.

Women’s Barracks also caught the attention of the government, unfortunately, and was singled out by the Gathings Committee as an example of how the paperback industry was subverting the morals of America. The threat of fines and incarceration made the paperback industry skittish about publishing anything that could be considered “indecent” and before long, a sort of self-censorship was in full swing. Many stories featuring characters that lived their lives outside the rules of the prevailing morality of the times soon became dark and punishing, as there could be no happy endings for those who defied convention. Still, the lesbian titles were enormously popular and soon paperback publishers—beginning with Gold Medal—realized sales would skyrocket if they moved from reprints to “paperback originals.”

This move toward of the publication of original fiction by paperback companies created an immediate and strong demand for writers and provided unprecedented opportunities for women writers in particular. While it is true that some of the lesbian titles during the 1950s were written by men using female pseudonyms, a good number were written by women, many of whom were lesbians themselves. And although they were still required to write within the prescribed moral guidelines set by their editors, quite a few were able to portray the lesbian lives of their characters with a significant degree of honesty and compassion.

For lesbians across the country, especially those living isolated lives in small towns, these books provided a sense of community they never knew existed… a connection to women who experienced the same longings, feelings and fears as they did—the powerful knowledge that they were not alone. With the birth of the lesbian-themed pulp novel, women who loved women could finally see themselves—their experiences and their lives—represented within the pages of a book. They finally had a literature they could call their own.

We are excited to make these wonderful paperback stories… these pulp novels, as they have come to be known, available in ebook format to new generations of readers. We present them in their original form, with very little modification, so as to preserve the tone and atmosphere of the time period. In fact, much of the language—the slang, the colloquialisms, the lingo, even the spellings of some words—appear as they were written fifty or sixty years ago. We hope you will enjoy this nostalgic look back at a period in American history when dames were dangerous, tough-guys were deadly and dolls were downright delicious.

— Kathryn James, Editor

For more classic pulp ebooks, visit us online at www.vintage-pulp-ebooks.com!

Love the book cover? Get fabulous gift products featuring pulp cover art at our online store, Vintage Pulp Cover Art (http://www.cafepress.com/pulpcoverart) – mugs, refrigerator magnets, t-shirts, notecards and more!

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