THE JEALOUS AND THE FREE

BY

March Hastings

The Jealous and The Free

By March Hastings

First published in 1961.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce and redistribute this ebook or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. No part of this ebook may be copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the expressed written permission of the publisher.

For information, contact:

Digital Vintage Pulps

An imprint of SRS Internet Publishing

236 West Portal Avenue, #525

San Francisco, CA 94127 USA.

Visit us on the World Wide Web:

www.vintage-pulp-ebooks.com

ISBN: 978-1-936456-25-3

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.

THE JEALOUS AND THE FREE

CHAPTER 1

The girl stretched herself in sleep and one naked breast slipped into a shaft of moonlight.

She sighed and wet her lips and rolled onto her belly.

Her legs stiffened for a moment, wide apart.

Then the whole, smooth length of her relaxed and she drew her knees up to her chest. "Michele," she said against the pillow, "aren't you coming to bed tonight?"

Michele stood in the other room between the two windows, her shoulders pressing against the cracked plaster. She heard the girl call her name, but did not move to answer her.

"Michele?" the voice came again.

"I'll be there in a minute," Michele snapped. The clipped words were sprung out of her mouth by a tension she could not control.

"Well, come on then. It's getting chilly."

Michele heard the rusty coil springs squeaking in response to Leda's growing restlessness. And then the thump-thumping of Boris's heavy tail from beneath the bed. It seemed that everything in the world, alive or otherwise, reacted to Leda.

The snap of plaster behind her made Michele realize that she wanted to crawl into the wall. And hide.

Her glance roamed the darkness for a last cigarette, a last swallow of cheap wine. All her courage had come from that bottle, empty now, lying on the sloping window-sill. And she felt empty and cold as that bottle. Her clammy cold palms touched each other, then reached up and pressed against her burning cheeks. Her long fingers crept slowly toward her temples. Through the short hair that still smelled of barber's tonic. She felt the peculiar draftiness on her neck where this morning there had been the protecting weight of a pageboy.

"Michele, please."

Leda called from only ten feet away. Beyond the yard high partition which made this a three room apartment. They shared the bathtub in the kitchen, a toilet that dripped all night and one good winter coat hanging on the hallway door. There was no room for privacy.

Yet Michele stood rigid and horribly private inside the core of her nerves. The world had spun away, leaving her here... alone and afraid. Her easy relationship with Leda had suddenly fallen to break like a cheap glass mirror. She saw it scattered around her in millions of tiny, razor-sharp pieces.

She could not walk across the room and get into that bed. Not tonight.

She watched Boris get up, yawn and pad toward her. Part Collie, part Dane his immensity seemed to fill the room. He sat down beside Michele's leg and lifted a heavy paw to her thigh.

Boris, at any rate, would never change. The thought gave Michele a moment's comfort. She reached down and scratched the great ruff of tan and white fur on his chest.

"So now it's turned into a party." The bed squeaked louder as Leda sat up. "All right. I'll get dressed. Who cares about school tomorrow anyway."

Michele started guiltily. "No, don't," she said quickly. "I'm coming right now."

She pulled Boris onto all fours and went with him toward the bedroom.

Slowly, with heavy fingers, Michele began to unbutton her shirt. A wild desire to run into the John and lock the door shivered through her thighs. But she dared not move. Dared not even turn her back on Leda. For almost a year they had lived openly together, sharing the expense of an apartment. Any sudden change would bring curiosity. And questions. Michele knew she couldn't stand up to Leda's probing. Even without questions, it would be just a matter of time before Leda discovered the change that had taken place in her.

Already it was beginning to show.

Michele forced herself to drop the shirt onto the chair seat, trying hard to appear nonchalant. She reached back and unhooked the narrow brassiere that held her firm breasts. Her fingers felt numb. The cotton bra slithered down toward her belly, then dropped away to the floor. Her glance followed to where it lay beside Leda's mocassins. But she did not bend down into the pattern of light and shadows to retrieve it.

"Michele, are you okay?" Leda pushed one foot beneath the rumpled sheet.

"Hmm?"

"I mean, are you catching a cold or something?"

It was a golden straw and Michele grabbed for it. "Yes. I guess I must be. I feel achy all over. Maybe I could find a pajama top someplace?"

"Put on a tee-shirt." Leda spoke softly.

"Good idea." Michele heard the eager relief in her own voice. Hurriedly, she pushed back the curtains of their makeshift closet and felt through the pile of folded clothing. Leda's neatness made the search easy.

"You'll be wanting the blanket, too" Leda continued, lifting it up and over her own body.

"Thanks."

She could leave her panties on and sleep at the far edge of the mattress. And if Leda asked, tell her she didn't want to spray her with germs.

Encouraged Michele stepped out of her loafers, folded her slacks over the partition and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. For a moment she sat still, gripping the sheets. She felt terrified and a little nauseous, now that she was so close to the girl.

She swung herself quickly onto her back and lay there blinking at the ceiling.

Prickles of heat and ice rushed along her ribs. She felt her heart slapping against her chest and wondered why Leda didn't hear it too. Tension knotted her calves. She would never fall asleep again as long as she lived.

The stale, acrid odor of wine floated toward her nostrils on a pre-dawn breeze. A bus rumbled somewhere, far away, down on First Avenue. She had lived in half the fifty states of America but nothing of interest had ever happened to her in any of them. Now, at the age of twenty-five when she thought she had seen it all...

Flames of self-hate and condemnation mingled with her confusion. Her throat tightened, wanting to fight this unknown quantity which had burst up suddenly to take control of her life. How was it that a simple thing like a haircut could make such a difference? Could bring to the boiling point desires she had not dared admit even to herself?

"Warm enough?"

Michele grunted angrily. She wished Leda would go to sleep so she could be alone with this strange new creature that was herself. Spar around with it for a while. Maybe win. Beat it back down into the darkness. Kick it to hell. Something. Anything.

"You don't sound sleepy."

"How the devil can I sleep with you yelling at me every two seconds?"

Michele heard the silence and knew Leda's sudden confusion. She felt the girl's arm move slightly as though she were recoiling from a slap.

"I didn't mean anything," Leda murmured.

The sweet fragrance of her skin came across as she spoke. Michele lay very still as she sensed Leda's foot moving and then felt the touch of a warm toe against her ankle. She shifted her weight toward the outside of the mattress. But even as she moved away, she knew she could not move far enough. Leda's palm was on her shoulder now.

The fingertips grazed past the shirt sleeve to Michele's skin. "I didn't mean anything at all," Leda repeated. "Except what's good for you..."

The warm breath of her words touched Michele's ear-lobe.

"Leda, please." Her throat ached.

"... darling."

Michele's head swivelled around. She stared hard into the oval face nestled into the pillow. Leda's eyes were large and luminous. They seemed to be waiting. The pert, even features remained passive yet poised.

"What did you say?" she whispered. She felt Leda's palm now against the back of her neck.

"I said you look so much better without all that hair," Leda said, her voice gentle, a faint smile parting her lips.

Michele raised herself onto her elbow. She felt her own blood throbbing beneath Leda's touch. "I love you," she said hoarsely.

Slowly then, cautiously, afraid the girl might still reject her, Michele lowered the upper half of her body onto Leda's.

Leda did not resist.

Their breasts met and flattened against each other.

Leda's arms tightened around Michele's back. Her hands moved beneath the tee-shirt, searching out every tiny muscle, each curve of bone.

Then, moving lower, they found the band of elastic and tugged Michele's panties past her hips.

"Hold me... tighter."

The slim, willing body arched toward Michele's lips.

Her mouth found the curve of Leda's throat. She had never touched a woman before, had hardly even allowed herself to think of it. But the instinct of desire hurried steadily, surely toward the ways of fulfillment.

Her lips searched and discovered a warm breast. She clung and felt it harden against her tongue. The stretch of soft, yielding flesh made her dizzy with craving. Her hands and her mouth reached greedily, grasped and molded and probed. The world had suddenly exploded into a phantasy beyond all dreams.

"Touch me... oh, touch me," the girl moaned.

Leda's hand found hers and pushed it downward.

She heard the girl gasp. Her own temples were pounding wildly, her tongue felt thick and heavy with a thirst she would quench.

The protesting squeal of the old bed sang and screamed rhythmically.

Its tempo increased until the sound was of one high note.

And then the bed lay still.

CHAPTER 2

She watched Leda sleeping. Her arm tingled where the girl's head pressed against it. But she didn't want to move. Even the discomfort of Leda's weight was a pleasure. The horror, the loneliness of yesterday had been transmuted into the pure gold of this morning.

Or was it afternoon?

Cautiously she tilted her head past the girl's shoulder and squinted at the tiny alarm clock. Almost twelve-thirty. She had been lying awake for nearly eight hours too excited to sleep. Too thrilled by the surprise of Leda's love even to want to sleep.

The slurping of water in the kitchen reminded Michele that she ought to take Boris for a walk. Her shift at the beanery started at three o'clock this week. But at least her nights would be free. And maybe she ought to see about a job where the tips would be better.

Michele watched her own thoughts circle and swoop happily in the glorious sunshine of her new life. She could provide for Leda. They would continue living as before—with some added attractions.

She listened to the girl sigh in her sleep and wet her lips. Leda had always had an active dream life. Michele smiled to herself. Maybe now she was part of those dreams.

Once again, she ran the fingers of her free hand through the short hair.

Maybe she would even go back to college.

Anything would be possible... now.

The alarm clock leaped into life and Leda twisted away from her with a violent spasm.

Michele grinned happily as she watched the girl's eyelids flutter open. She reached across her and killed the bell with her thumb. Then she came back and tried to cradle the girl into her arms again.

"God, what a head," Leda groaned. She pressed the heels of her palms to her cheeks and exhaled a long breath.

"I feel fine. Absolutely magnificent." She took Leda's hands away and kissed her on the side of the nose.

"You would. Monster."

They smiled at each other for a long moment.

"Hey, I've got a dancing class."

In a single movement, Leda bounded over her and ran barefoot for the bathroom, her long blonde hair bouncing on her naked shoulders.

Michele sighed and sat up. She had forgotten all about Leda's career. It would slice precious hours from the time they could be together. She searched the ashtray and lifted out a crumpled butt. Straightening it gave her almost half a cigarette. She lit it and drew the smoke deep into her lungs.

Funny, how she had forgotten about everything except the feeling of Leda's body against her own.

The sound of the toilet and the sound of running water and the sound of brushing teeth... all the busy marks of daytime seemed to riddle Michele. She wished she could snuggle back into the bed, close her eyes again and start all over from last night. When there had been only love.

But Leda's dancing class was important Michele knew. She had no right to try to interfere with fifteen years of hard work and ambition. One day Leda would make the grade. And she knew she ought to wish her luck.

But the thought of her girl in black tights, surrounded by other girls... It wasn't exactly the sort of occupation conducive to...

To what?

Angrily Michele mashed out the cigarette stub and flung herself onto her feet. Tiny point of jealousy picked at her skin. She pulled on a pair of faded jeans and called to Boris. While he sidled in, she put on an old army shirt and rolled up the sleeves past her elbows. The billowing material camouflaged her bare breasts.

"Here, boy."

She kneeled to Boris and hooked his metal leash to the choke collar. He turned his long, narrow muzzle to her ear and wiped her cheek with his tongue.

"What's happening to me, Boris?" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Why am I so afraid?"

The sounds of Leda moving now from the bathroom to the kitchen punctuated Michele's thoughts. She heard Leda removing the metal lid from the bathtub. The hollow thudding of water against porcelain, the sliding of the window in its crooked sash, a coffee pot being set on the stove... All the infinite movements of living that had to continue despite what was going on in one's head.

Michele straightened up and wound the end of Boris's leash around her palm. She walked stiff-legged toward the kitchen, all of her tense and afraid.

Leda stood on tip-toe, peering into the wooden cupboard above the refrigerator. "We're out of soap," she said.

"I'm going down. I'll bring some back."

Leda turned to face her. The weight of her hair rested on her shoulders. Her breasts and belly made a pattern of white against the deep tan of her face and throat and legs. "Michele?" Her lips remained open, in question revealing the edges of her small, even teeth.

Michele stood at the doorway, pulling hard on the leash. Palmolive?" she asked dully. "Or Lux?"

"Michele come here."

Michele managed to get herself across the worn linoleum.

"You're not exactly the aggressive type, are you?" Leda laughed low against Michele's throat. She pressed her naked belly to Michele's jeans. "After last night, I'm sure you can kiss me good morning."

Leda's arms brushed across Michele's shoulders. Her fingers went into the stubble of hair along the nape of Michele's neck. "I'm going to do everything in this world to make you happy," she whispered.

"Then stay home with me this afternoon," Michele blurted.

Leda's head tilted back. Michele felt the blue eyes penetrating through to her own conscience, her uncertainty.

"Do you really want me to?"

Michele heard the note of challenge in Leda's voice, the testing. Yet she couldn't back away from the terrible compulsion inside her. "We'll have a celebration," she said breathlessly. "Just you and me. We'll take a boat ride around the city, then go to Bruno's for dinner. And after that, we'll go uptown to Radio City."

She despised the words tumbling out so anxiously but she felt powerless to stop them. A wave of embarrassment heated her skin.

She dropped her glance from Leda's face to the pale curve of her breasts, then away to a corner of the room. "I'm sorry," she mumbled at last. "You know I didn't mean a word of it."

Leda's cool hand found Michele's chin and tilted it up. They were almost the same height and Michele felt the level gaze softer now. "I know how it is, the first time," Leda said. "Trial by foolishness, I guess you'd call it."

She moved to the tub and turned off the faucets. "Now, take Boris out before he loses his patience."

Michele let herself be pulled toward the door. Numbly she followed Boris down the five flights and out onto the street. She strolled along First Avenue without hearing the screaming kids or smelling sun-ripened fruit or tasting the heavy, dry layer of soot churned up by trucks and automobiles.

She had thought she knew everything there was to know about Leda. A mistake, obviously.

And if this wasn't the first time for Leda, how many times had she been through it before?

With whom?... Where?... When?... Dozens of questions chased each other through Michele's thoughts.

She forced herself to cut them off sharply when she reached the grocery. She dug out two dollars worth of change for soap, cigarettes and a can of Medaglio d'Oro coffee. Leda loved Italian coffee almost as much as she loved dancing.

And that, simply enough, Michele realized, would be the answer to all her troubles. Instead of fighting Leda, she would do everything possible to help the girl's career. And everything possible to please her.

No more jealousy.

No questions.

No distrust.

With this decision, Michele felt the tension in her chest beginning to relax. And silently, she promised Leda that for the next eighty years of their life together, they were going to have a ball.

Even before she reached the last flight of stairs, Michele heard the table radio blaring Beethoven. It was a good sign. Leda only listened to classical music when she was concentrating on something else.

And that something else, Michele decided happily, could only be her latest love affair.

The realization gave her a feeling of self-importance. Leda must have been thinking about her often during the past few months. Certainly her response last night proved that. It was strange to feel herself part of Leda's thoughts, inside that head always so busy with rent budgets, practice schedules, tryouts.

Michele's thoughts had always seemed to her so sluggish by contrast. An occasional letter home to her mother, a short story attempted only to be abandoned half way through. Somewhere along the way she had reined in her mind like the blunt nose of an old dray horse. Her routine had become the blind circle of one restaurant or another. Big tips, small tips, white uniform, black uniform, rubber soled shoes, ripple soled shoes. A pretty boring companion for someone like Leda, who was all sparkle and light. But she knew she could change. She knew it.

If Leda would only be patient with her.

Michele opened the door, unhooked Boris's leash and proceeded with her bundle of groceries to the wooden table in the kitchen. The room was too small for the vibrating orchestration. Everything seemed to be shaking.

Except Leda, who reclined lazily in the tub. Wavelets lapped across her belly and up over the soft, pink breasts. One leg was extended, propped on its heel on the tub's edge. Her eyes were closed. Michele took the soap out, unwrapped it and went to the girl. Letting the soap sink away, she cupped the soft breasts in her hands and brought her face down, unmindful of the water against her chin.

When she lifted her gaze, the smile had returned to Leda's face but her eyes were still closed. Michele slid her hands downward through the water, found the bar of soap and brought it up along Leda's thighs. Leda's hands caught hers and held them still. She kissed the closed eyelids.

Leda blinked up at her. Neither of them spoke, surrounded by the music, smiling confidently at each other, engrossed in the sensation that pulsed louder than the symphony.

Michele helped Leda out of the tub and with the towel patted the outlines of the girl's body. She had never dared to stare at her before. In fact, she had deliberately avoided doing so all this time. But now Michele permitted herself to examine all the curves and hollows which she had touched last night. Impetuously she put her lips to the small of Leda's back, inhaling the soapy odor still fragrant and warm.

"We can't," Leda said.

Michele felt Leda's fingertips, stroking her temple. "I know," she muttered obediently. "You'll be late."

"I'll meet you when you're through today. We'll go out. You know, like you said?"

"That'll be late tonight. What'll you be doing in the meantime?"

Leda turned and took the towel from her. She wrapped it around Michele's head and kissed her nose. "Rob a bank. Kill a cop. Anything you'd like."

The mocking tone stabbed Michele. "I can't help it," she said. "I'm not so accustomed to this thing yet."

She saw the edges of Leda's mouth tighten for a moment. "Let's hope you never are."

Michele twisted away and started to make the eggs and coffee. She knew that Leda was being patient and loving with her. More patient than she could have hoped.

"Do you think I'll ever start acting like a human being again?" she asked. "I feel like such a jerk. It must be a terrible bore to you."

But when she turned slightly for Leda's answer, Michele discovered that she was alone.

So this is how it's going to be, Michele thought. Me ranting stupidly and her sneaking away from the sound of my voice.

Michele put down the pot holder and went to see how Leda had managed to escape.

She found the girl sitting astride the partition with the phone cupped to her mouth. Because of the music, Michele could not hear the words, nor could she see them forming on the girl's lips.

The pungent odor of coffee began wafting into the room. Michele smelled it but her feet refused to move her back toward the responsibilities of breakfast. She stood in the July sunlight as though she were frozen inside a cube of ice. Only the jabbing of her heart kept her aware of her own identity.

Leda put down the receiver, slid from the partition and landed lightly on the bare floor. "That was Margaret," she said before Michele could ask. "She wanted to know if I had an extra pair of sandals."

"You mean she called?"

Leda shook her head and spread the bangs with a quick ruffle of her fingers. "Why, yes. Didn't you hear it ring?"

Michele felt a crazy grin beginning to spread across her face. It felt as though her nose and eyebrows were going to take off for outer space.

In two strides, she crossed the room and lifted Leda into her arms.

"Put me down," Leda squealed. "I've got to make that class."

Their voices blended in laughter. "You make all the classes you want, honey," Michele said. "Just you come home again and make me."

CHAPTER 3

Aggressive.

She would have to learn to be aggressive. That's what Leda wanted her to be. The slang term for it, she knew, was butch. Some called it deisel dyke. And if that's what Leda wanted from her, then that's what she would be.

With Leda at school, Michele found herself beginning to unwind. She had no way of knowing, of course, how she measured up to the other women in Leda's life. But of one thing she was certain: she was damn well going to make the girl forget about every one of them.

What did she have to work with? Michele sighed as she glanced down from her five foot nine inches of slumped posture to the splotches of paint on the instep of her right foot. She knew she had nice straight legs, anyway. The men in her past had let her know it. But what good were legs if you wore pants most of the time? Michele took her hands out of the pockets and let her fingers wander along her hips, feeling to see if she were beginning to bulge yet in the rear. The solid curve of muscle there reassured her. And she knew, without feeling them, the flat belly and long waistline. As for the breasts, she could walk around all day without a brassiere. It didn't hurt her the way some women complained it did.

Nothing sagged yet, thank heaven. No wrinkles, no dimples of fat that didn't belong. The whole business would be just a question of attitude. Self-confidence was the other term for it. If Leda could only look at her with the same eyes of adoration that Boris did...

Michele smiled at the absurdity of this wishfulness. Nor would she really desire canine loyalty from the girl. The challenge of Leda was a challenge against which she could grow. Improve her appearance, her manner, her interests. Increase the tempo of her very being.

From shelves and pockets Michele gathered together the loose change from the tips which comprised most of her income. Twenty-two dollars and fifty cents. Enough to buy herself a new pair of slacks, loafers and a decent shirt. Something with a little color. There was nothing so drab as a drab dyke. She had seen them skulking around the Village, looking as though they worked at being repulsive. She didn't want to become like that. Leda wouldn't want that either.

What might Leda want?

She had black hair and green eyes from her Irish father, whose namesake she had become. Why not take on some of the devilment and liveliness that had been his personality?

Strange, thinking about her father again.

Michele lit a cigarette. The match flame trembled. She was not accustomed to thinking about Michael Daly. She did not remember him too well. Purposely. The things that she had to remember were not exactly complimentary to her mother, whom he had neglected to marry.

Squinting around the flume of smoke rising thickly in the airless room, she meandered through her memories. What was it that kept her mother by his side on the endless journey from one race track to another, year after year? By the age of five, Michele herself had seen through the glinting charm to the circle of narrow selfishness underneath. Why had her mother not known it, too?

But he had known how not to worry. How to make a decision and then forget it. Perhaps it had been this ability to trust himself, to believe in himself persistently that had attracted others to him, convincing them to believe in him, too.

And, if she never did anything else for the girl she loved, Michele knew she owed it to Leda to be strong in the same way that her father had been strong. For in the uncertain profession that was Leda's life all day, the girl would cherish this steadfastness.

Michele rolled the change she had accumulated into the paper coin containers that she had gotten from the bank. She felt a buoyant assurance that this realization about herself was the first step on the road of progress.

By three o'clock Michele had decided to quit her job and get one that paid better. She had enough experience to wait tables in a high class place. Anything would be better than counter service. It was surprising how much she had let herself slip in the past few years. As though a great burden had been dragging her slowly down.

And now that the burden no longer existed, she could bounce right back up again.

She shoved the rolls of coins into her jeans, refilled Boris's water dish and started out for the clothing stores on Eighth Street.

* * *

Michele's new attitude toward life spurred her on. Within an hour, she had made all the necessary purchases. She dropped the bundle of her old clothes into a trash basket. Along with it, she said goodbye to the niggling fears which had tugged at her all morning. Leda loved her. Leda would continue to love her.

How could the girl help it? she asked herself, gazing at the full-length reflection strolling beside her in a plate glass window. The white shirt looked light and crisp, the striped slacks jauntily outlined her buttocks and thighs, the thonged sandals emphasized the strong bone structure of instep and arch. She had calculated this appearance to flaunt her breasts and long, resilient muscles. Every inch of her walked as she walked, all of her body alive and happy to be seen. She knew she didn't at all resemble the female truck drivers clomping sullenly beneath the merciless eye of the sun. She might have turned into one of those if Leda had not come along in time.

But Leda had come along. And Leda had kissed her. And touched her. And loved her. Leda had showed her how to be proud of this body that she carried now erectly.

And she would be butch for Leda. Not by hiding herself behind a mask of pseudo-masculinity, but by being a woman unashamed of her sex and strong.

She knew that Leda would be out of class at five-thirty for her supper break. The vision of surprising her and taking her to a cozy little restaurant loomed large and pleasantly in Michele's imagination. She hastened along Sixth Avenue and turned east on Waverly Place, intent on catching the Fifth Avenue bus that would take her uptown to Leda. Money still jingled in her pocket. She could think of no better way to spend it than on making her girl happy. Her girl.

A chill shivered along the nape of her neck. There were few things that she had ever really wanted for herself. Her desire for Leda had burst full grown upon her consciousness. It pervaded every thought, every breath, every motive she could have for success, for life itself.

The bus was empty when she climbed aboard. Michele deposited her three nickels and sat down in the seat nearest the back door. At Fourteenth Street the rush hour crowds would begin to pile in. She didn't want to have to push her way through them. Her first memories of New York centered around the time she had tried to get off a late afternoon train. The surreptitious hands that had felt into all the private places of her body, the seeming accidents of pressure against her were vague thoughts that had guarded her ever since from making the same mistake twice. And she would have taken a cab this time except that she wanted to save enough money for any whim Leda might have. Or almost any whim.

Until she found herself a new job, they would both have to be frugal.

The bus jounced along and Michele sat up very straight, not wanting to wrinkle her new outfit. She tilted her head into the warm breeze. A wisp of hair lifted and fell across her forehead. She gazed above the heads of crowds waiting on corners, at the growing masses of people hurrying to and from train stations. A sense of promise seemed to hover around herself alone. An aura protecting her from futility, from the dullness of resignation that she sensed dragging at the shoulders of those she saw around her.

She still had a half hour when the bus pulled up to the Fifty Ninth Street stop. The bus had flown, it seemed, on the wing of her own eagerness. She crossed to the plaza and sat down on the concrete edge of the fountain. Better to remain still, she decided, than to stroll around and work up a perspiration. The heat of midday seemed to emanate from the crowds and from the street. Perhaps tonight she and Leda would go for a ride out to Coney Island. Sit on the boardwalk and listen to the white crests breaking in the night.

"Mind if I sit down?"

The man who spoke to her was already spreading a newspaper beside her. His cream colored linen suit looked hand starched and ironed.

Michele shrugged her shoulders. She moved slightly to give him more room, hardly noticing that he had a choice of places almost anywhere around the circle.

He crossed his legs and tipped up the pointed end of one brown and white shoe.

"This sure is a hot city."

The deep voice had a flat accent which reminded her of Wisconsin. She had spent a year at the University in Madison. The thought of the beautiful green campus rolled into her vision, making a pleasant contrast with the steaming city streets.

"It'll be getting hotter," she said, sighing wistfully.

"Well, I guess if we're all hot together..." His smile showed artificially even teeth turned bluish from too much nicotine.

"Doesn't help at all."

"Could, though." His glance dropped to the rounded flesh accentuated by her tight pants.

Michele licked her lips and stood up quickly. "Take it easy now."

His words, seemingly innocent, followed her as she rushed into the crowds. Recollections of other men slid up into her consciousness. Her first experiment in the garage with a neighborhood plumber... the odor of grease stained overalls... grease smeared fingers reaching down into her panties... Michele swallowed hard to drive the memory down again. She found herself standing in the doorway of a toy store. Her back felt drenched with cold perspiration. "Excuse me, please."

Michele pressed herself against the metal wall so that the woman could get by. The glitter of a crystal necklace caught her eye. A passing scent of verbana rose soothingly from the bare shoulders. And then the woman was gone.

Still, the moment's respite of femininity had been enough to relax Michele. She straightened her shoulders against the wall and let her thoughts flow back to Leda.

Somehow, she got through the remaining twenty minutes.

As she stood across the street from Leda's school building, Michele watched the upstairs windows for signs of the class to end. She glimpsed an arm or a leg extended to the bar and occasionally a girl circled into view. Then the lights dimmed and she shifted her focus to the doorway. Already she felt a smile of anticipation creeping toward her lips. Unconsciously she tightened the belt of her slacks a notch. Her breathing had become shallow and a little rapid. She felt ready to sprint across the street. Leap over the cars if necessary.

Michele knew it would take Leda a few minutes to change into street clothes. But Leda always moved rapidly. She watched the others hurrying out. None of them seemed to have the movement, the projection of self-confidence that marked Leda. It was a mere formality of time before the arrival of success for her girl. Comparison with these other girls emphasized this in her mind and she kept it purposely ready to tell Leda.

Then she saw her, strolling along the lobby, head tilted downward as she listened to the rush of words from the tiny girl beside her.

Michele felt her throat tighten. Her glance narrowed and sharpened involuntarily. She felt compelled to examine Leda's companion without knowing just exactly what it was she wished to discover.

But, as though because of telepathy, Leda glanced toward her and waved a hand in eager greeting.

Michele watched her say a quick goodbye to the girl and come running across the street. "Hi," Leda said.

Her cheeks were flushed beneath their tan. The roots of her blonde hair was darker at the temples and sleek from the water she had used to comb it back into a neat pony tail. Dark pencil outlined her eyes and gave them a large calmness. Her wide forehead and short nose gave off a newly scrubbed shine. She seemed all softness as she leaned toward Michele and brushed her hand ever so slightly against Michele's thigh.

"Hi," Michele echoed. The city noises seemed to fade as she absorbed Leda's smile.

"I like it," Leda said, taking a short step back and surveying her from the ground upward. When her examination reached Michele's face again, she said, "You're blushing."

Michele remained silent, feeling the prickle of heat in her cheeks intensify.

"I like you when you're embarrassed.”

"Let's get out of here," Michele managed. "You must starving by now."

"After all those burned eggs you fed me?" The conversation seemed relentless. And Leda's examination had become even more so. "If you don't stop staring at me, I'm going to melt.”

"Go ahead. I'd love it."

She had never before heard such gentle pleasure in Leda's voice. And the agony of such intense attention subsided a little as they walked.

"Let's drop in here," Leda said as they passed an Automat. "I only have half an hour."

A tiny wave of disappointment rippled across Michele's sense of well being. But she did not try to object. Perhaps later they would go someplace with dim lights and quiet.

The rattle and clatter of suppertime, the rushing and hovering of people with laden trays did not seem to bother Leda at all. She snaked her way to the change counter and unfolded two singles. Then she dropped the handful of quarters and nickels into Michele's cupped palms.

"I'll get us a place," Leda said. "You get the food.”

Michele nodded, feeling she had no choice but to go along with the businesslike attitude required.

As she pushed a tray along the front of the steam counter, she realized that she knew Leda's preferences as though by second nature. Expertly she moved the heavy weight of dishes back along a zigzagging path until she spotted Leda at a table for two in front of the plate glass window.

Michele began setting out the silver, trying to place the napkins neatly. "How come you didn't ask me what I'm doing here?" she asked, surprised at her own casualness.

"Because I know," Leda replied, helping with the dishes.

"Oh?"

"Not all women are equally mysterious," she laughed. "You least of all, my sweet one."

Michele adjusted her chair and sipped slowly on her glass of chocolate. "I didn't know I was all that transparent." She felt the wooden blocks of self-disappointment settling on her shoulders.

"One needn't be mysterious to be loved," Leda's voice lilted. "Besides which, I ought to give you a tip."

"Oh?"

"Yes." She sipped at her iced tea. "You're much too vulnerable to my needling."

Michele picked up half a sandwich without meeting Leda's gaze. This was the second blunder she had made ; today. It seemed that the safest place to be with Leda was in bed. No words, no snags, no revelations of inadequacy.

"We'll just see who's vulnerable," she said under her breath, thinking about Leda's eager response in the darkness.

Yet there were so many hours to go before she would have the girl home again. How many more traps and pitfalls would she stumble into before that? Michele sat there and watched the lamplights go on suddenly along the street, making but dim marks in the still blue sky.

Love with Leda had become a mined field. And her superficial appearance of confidence could not fill in the empty place that needed Leda's approval. She had seen too many people ignite on first meeting, only to fizzle out painfully because one or the other of them couldn't remain amusing. She believed that she could stand up to any test, any challenge and meet it, just so long as she knew that her insufficiencies would not come, in time, to bore the girl. Boredom seemed the worst humiliation of all.

And when it happened, it came on so irrevocably. "You look so far away," Leda interrupted her thoughts.

"I was."

"Where?"

"With the phantasms that tell me how to keep a big-city girl like you interested," she said dismally, but trying to keep a smile.

"Oh, Michele," Leda's hand clenched. "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet."

The appeal caught Michele and held her fast.

She leaned toward Leda earnestly. "Even if it's been only two minutes," she whispered, "I don't want to lose you. I don't ever want to lose you."

"Why on earth should you think such a thing?"

Why, indeed? Did it have anything to do with reality?

No answer came to Michele's lips. She could only sit on her side of the revolving condiment tray and watch Leda above the circle of ketchup, sugar, mustard and soy sauce.

No words could ever prove to Leda the depth of her feelings, Michele knew. Only by learning to behave like a human being would she be able to impress the girl. And she had certainly done nothing of the kind as yet.

It would take time... but she would learn.

"I'll pick you up at seven thirty," she said at last, her lips stiff with a determination that seemed to be pushing her to the edge of a high, unknown cliff.

CHAPTER 4

"The things I could tell you about women would curl your crew cut."

Michele nodded and sipped at her fourth glass of beer. She rolled her eyes up to the clock above the bar. "Better make it a synopsis." Her tongue stumbled over the syllables and she let her jaw fall shut.

He shook his head. "Couldn't do it." He took out a pipe and knocked it against the back of his palm. "These kinds of things you gotta show."

She heard him exhale heavily. A fan whirred someplace. The bartender was slowly drying glasses at the far end of the counter. "You're pulling my leg," she said.

"So think what you wanta think, girlie. But I seen women six times around this mother lovin' world. And I know what I know." He clamped the pipe between his teeth and blew into the stem.

Michele leaned her cheek on the heel of her hand. She felt a hiccough stuck in the center of her chest. Her left foot had fallen asleep and it tingled. But she felt no desire to move.

"You don't know a damned thing I don't know," she said. "What's to know, anyhow?"

"What's to know, she says." He laughed a short spasm with his thick shoulders.

"That's right," Michele repeated, "what's to know?" She turned slightly on the stool and squinted into the lined and bloated face with red stubble that glinted in the fluorescent lighting. She watched him shake his head.

"Well?" she said.

He inhaled a long breath. "I don't say such things in front of ladies."

Michele's attention swivelled back to the second hand circling the numbers relentlessly. Of course there was nothing to know. No new thrills to bring to Leda.

But what if there were?

What if she could surprise her with something... exotic?

I'm not so goddamned naive.

She fished out enough money to pay for the beers and pushed herself off the stool. The room swayed for a moment. She blinked it steady and marched stiff-legged out of the bar.

A faint breeze touched her skin. The red and blue neons of Lexington Avenue bounced on and off in a silent, nervous pattern. She felt an urge to throw a huge blanket over everything, to calm the world down. Carefully she made her way back toward the school, cursing the place under her breath for being such a damned nuisance.

But what did school really matter? You couldn't make love to a school. Not even Leda could do that.

She hailed a cab and got the driver to park right in front of the entrance. No more Automats. No more beers. Nothing was going to get in the way anymore.

When Leda came out, Michele opened the door and pulled her inside.

"Where're we going in such a hurry?" Leda asked, letting herself fall back against the seat.

"You know where." She turned to Leda.

"Do I?"

"Yeah. We've had enough red tape for one evening." She crossed her legs and took Leda's hand onto her lap.

"I think so, too."

Michele heard the acquiescence. She felt the pliable body fall against her as the taxi veered around corners. This was the way to be butch! A shiver of satisfaction trembled along her back. She put an arm around Leda's shoulder and held her close the rest of the way home.

They climbed the five flights in silence. She watched the tendons in Leda's legs stretch and contract with each step. A warm sense of possession expanded Michele's feelings. She would never have dreamed such docility could come from Leda.

Yet here they were. And it was pretty damned obvious who the boss was.

She waited while Leda unlocked the door.

"Not now, Boris," she heard Leda say, pushing the dog back from leaping up on her.

"It's okay. Let him go," Michele said with benevolence.

"In your condition? He'll knock you over." Leda's gentle laugh slapped.

"What condition?"

"Nothing, darling. I was only playing with you."

Michele grunted and wove her way around Boris's great furry bulk. The apartment seemed to welcome her. She let out a grateful breath at the thought of climbing back into her old jeans. Then she remembered what had become of them.

She leaned against the wall and grimaced down at the sandals rubbing the soft flesh of her toes.

"Come on, let's get those off," Leda said gently.

Before Michele could protest, Leda had bent down to undo the thongs.

For a moment Michele stared down at the round crown of Leda's blonde head. Then slowly she crumpled to the floor beside the girl. Her hands went to the sides of Leda's face and held her rigid while she pressed her lips to the mouth that seemed to be waiting, beckoning.

She pulled her along the floor until Leda's body lay stretched out beneath her own. Forcing a hand beneath the girl's back, she lifted her up slightly, moved by a wild strength that wanted to pick Leda up and run away high into the mountains with her prize... where no one could ever interest Leda in other things.

"Put your arms around me," Michele said with the roughness that overwhelmed her. "Hug me like you mean it."

She heard the breath go out of Leda in a gasp.

Then Michele felt a tongue on her ear. "Boris, get the hell out of here!"

She pushed herself up to her knees while Boris sat down and looked at her, his eyes sparkling, ready to play. From the floor she heard a giggle. Her glance whipped down to Leda. The giggle was stifled.

With an angry yank, she pulled Leda up from the floor and half-carried, half-dragged her to the bed.

"You don't have to rape me," Leda said, as she fell back onto the mattress. "I want to, baby. I really do."

"Then prove it."

"You know I do."

The gently soft, slow voice that could convince Michele of anything wound around her along with Leda's caress. They lay side by side now and began to undress each other, the episode with Boris forgotten.

Michele put her head between Leda's breasts and pressed them to her ears, wanting, needing to blot out all sound with the warm flesh.

She felt fingertips graze along the insides of her arms, then along the sides of her own breasts. Instinctively her head moved lower, searching along the yielding, fragrant flesh on which her head seemed to float with the gentle motion of Leda's breathing.

"Don't stop," Leda whispered.

Michele felt the pressure of an insistent hand.

"Love me, baby, please."

She wanted to answer to reassure Leda. Yet instinctively she knew there could be only one answer that would have meaning for them both. Her parted lips continued to search and she felt with the tip of her tongue for the passion that she wanted to capture for herself always.

Leda's thighs quivered and tightened. Her hips began to rotate, urging Michele. "Oh, hurry. Get there, honey. Do it."

I love you. The words rocketed inside Michele's head. She clung with her hands to Leda, rocking in a rhythm that grew ever faster.

Suddenly Leda's back arched and froze. A tense sigh escaped her lips.

Michele felt the perspiration running between her breasts. The girl reached out both hands and drew her up.

She took Leda in her arms and held her lightly, watching the girl drift off to sleep.

CHAPTER 5

To Michele it seemed but a moment that they had been together. And whoever was knocking at the door had no right to intrude.

She closed her eyes and lay very still.

But Leda said, "Aren't you going to answer it?"

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was." She twisted out of Michele's arms. "I'll go."

She heard Leda's little squeal of delight and knew that she had no alternative but to get up and dress. As Leda came bounding back into the room for her own clothes, Michele said, "Seems to me you see enough of those people all day without them coming around this time of night."

"What time do you think it is, dopey?"

Michele winced inside. She wanted to tell Leda it wasn't the time of night that really mattered. But then she would have to explain what did matter.

And what could she say to a girl who had so suddenly become interested in other people?

In silence Michele switched on the table lamp, pulled on her clothes and ran a comb through her hair. Their evening together was really only half complete. The nervousness she felt was a physical one rather than an actual grudge against Leda's friends. But how could she remind the girl of something that ought to be so obvious?

As she tied the sandals painfully back around her irritated feet, she heard two male voices and a female one in counterpoint to Leda's. Then she was in the living room, all three eying her with poorly veiled knowledge of her predicament.

"This is Jonny and this is Paul and this is Anne." Leda did a half pirouette in the way of a mime introduction.

Michele nodded, holding her breath as she looked for any signs of competition. She had met very few of Leda's friends and had ignored all of them. Now, suddenly, everything that touched Leda's life had taken on a great importance.

"You have a darling place," Jonny said.

Instinctively, Michele knew that she would have no trouble from this one.

"Just sit down anywhere," Leda said.

"I forgot to return these," Anne said, taking out a folded pair of black tights from her purse.

She seemed to be ignoring Michele, yet Michele knew that Anne had already assessed every inch of her. Michele pushed herself up onto the partition and dangled her legs carelessly.

She had to admit that this little redhead was attractive in a bitchy sort of way that made her skin crawl. She didn't like the wide olive and black skirt trying to proclaim her a bohemian. Everything about Anne from the dangling silver earrings to the spike heeled black shoes set Michele's teeth on edge.

How strange that Leda should be her good friend.

"I don't care if you're the Pope, those are my beads!" Jonny made a wild grab for the locket that Leda was hooking around her neck.

Everyone laughed except Michele.

She felt her teeth grind together. "Would anyone like some coffee?" she said, needing to break up the artificial rising of hysteria.

"I'd love some," Paul nodded. "Let me help you."

She had expected Leda to say this. And because Leda seemed to have ignored the offer, she blotted out Paul's response, too. Angrily, she swung off the partition and strode from the room.

In the kitchen, she turned the tap on full force into the aluminum coffee pot.

"I don't blame you," a voice said behind her. "My roommate used to have parties at three on Sunday nights. Some people have more stamina than others."

Michele waited until she felt sure that her voice would be under control. "We'll just blame it on the leotards this time," she said.

Paul leaned against the stove and watched her measuring out the coffee. "Espresso? That'll be a treat."

She looked into his wide spaced eyes and found them steady. "I bought it for Leda. It's her favorite coffee."

The eyes did not flicker. Nor did they make fun of her. "I'm sure she appreciates it."

"Are you?"

She didn't know what she wanted Paul to say to her. But silently she pleaded for any assurance at all, from anywhere. Desperation for a friend seemed suddenly to overwhelm her. There was no one she knew with whom she could talk about Leda. No one who might understand. In one night, she seemed to have changed worlds. And she felt vaguely as though she had left all her precious possessions back in the other one.

Paul struck a match and put it to the gas burner. "Leda never struck me as the type to show her feelings—her real, personal feelings, that is—out in public."

"Maybe not," Michele agreed. She liked the pitch of his voice. And she knew that he was trying to be friendly. Even if the words he said couldn't help her, maybe the tone of them would be able to soothe the ruffled edges of her feelings about the girl.

She reached into the cupboard and brought out five cups with saucers that didn't quite match.

Paul took them from her and set them on the table. He seemed to have caught her message and vaguely she could hear him rambling on while she kept her ears on the conversation going on in the other room.

Michele listened to the words and realized how much nothing was being said in exuberant sentences. Leda couldn't possibly be interested in something this inane.

When the coffee was ready, she lined the cups on a tray and let Paul carry it inside.

Anne had found a corner for herself on the window-sill. She had managed to seat herself and cross her legs in a pose that reminded Michele of the cheesecake photographs for Miss Laguna Beach. Yet the more she saw Anne flaunting her body, the more she relaxed, confident in the belief that Leda was made for finer, subtler things.

But did Leda know this?

"Do you dance?" Anne asked as Michele brought her a cup.

"No." She waited patiently for the calculated series of niggles.

A pencilled eyebrow went up as though to say, What else is there?

"I don't do anything," Michele continued, beginning to enjoy herself. "Except just what I'm doing right now."

But before she could go any further, Leda's voice interrupted. "We forgot to feed Boris."

"I didn't forget," Michele said. "He got it early tonight before I went shopping." She whistled and Boris came out from under the bed.

"Oh, Mary, look at that," Jonny said, his brassy blonde hair remaining slickly in place as he gestured violently with the upper half of his body.

Paul snapped his fingers. "Come here, Boris."

The dog obeyed instantly.

"I didn't know you had a way with dogs, too, dearie."

Michele, while ignoring Jonny, felt as though she were observing a new side of Leda. The sociable extrovert. She had never seen Leda tense before. Not in a way that made her smile without reason and gesticulate with the same wild mannerisms that Jonny used. Although Leda didn't use many words, her manner implied crudenesses that seemed forced.

And by the time everyone left and they were alone once more, Michele felt sure that Leda must be suffering the ravages of a splitting headache.

Without comment, they both proceeded to clean away cigarette butts and cups.

"Are those going to be our playmates?" Michele ventured when they were finished.

"Don't nag at me, please."

"I didn't mean anything, Leda. It would just be nice to know what's in store for me."

"You could have gone out if you didn't like it. You have before, you know."

Michele flushed, embarrassed by the implication in the girl's words. "I won't push," she murmured. She came up to Leda and put her arms around the girl's waist. "They happened to come at the wrong time, that's all."

She felt Leda sigh.

"I'm allowed," Michele continued, needing to press the issue until Leda admitted who was boss.

"Allowed what, honey?" Leda turned her head enough to kiss her on the chin.

"Allowed to gripe when our love life gets interrupted."

Leda took her by the wrists and carefully unclasped herself. "No doubt," she said, "that's the exact attitude to keep a girl starry-eyed forever."

Michele felt her mouth go dry.

Mistake number three in half as many days. She wondered if perhaps there really weren't some things she'd better learn about women before Leda slipped away from her.

"I love you," she said.

"I know it."

But Leda had turned away and was brushing her hair.

CHAPTER 6

Michele lay awake for many hours, watching the girl asleep beside her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing. She did not try to take the girl into her arms, but stayed alone and miserable on the far edge of the bed. Without knowing exactly why, she was terrified. Afraid to sleep, afraid to be awake. Afraid almost to move. For Leda had gone off to bed without a goodnight kiss. Without a word to mend the breach that had occurred between them.

And what, after all, was there to say?

Many times during the night Michele had asked herself that question and as the first soft glow of morning touched the rooftops, she had found no answers. For herself there was nothing to say but to pledge her love and her shame over and over again. To mutter, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. For she had no experience against which to measure what had happened between them. She had plunged in blindly, ready to give herself completely, without qualification to the girl she loved. And she had expected the same in return.

Yet she knew that it was not love the girl withheld from her, but submission. And why, after all, should she expect Leda to give up everything? Obviously, considering her friends and the admission the girl herself had made, Leda knew her way around perfectly well. She'd been through it all before, perhaps many times. Yet, no matter what the girl had experienced, she had maintained a stubborn core of independence that Michele knew she would not be able to break through.

But she loved the girl with all her heart. And she realized that, because she did, she would have to learn to accept Leda on any terms the girl wanted to make.

Yet she could not swallow the hard lump of jealousy and frustration lodged in her throat. She squeezed her eyes tight till the tears came, then turned away so that she might not disturb the girl.

And finally she slept.

When she awoke, Michele felt that she must have just dozed off. Yet the shafts of sunlight creeping into the bedroom indicated that it was past noon. She leaned on one elbow to peer at the clock. Its usual spot on the table was empty.

She hitched herself up against the pillows and searched over the partition into the other room.

Leda stood on her hands with her toes touching the wall between the windows. It was one of her favorite poses and one that always disconcerted Boris. The dog hovered near her, his head cocked far over to one side, trying to peer into Leda's face.

Michele whistled shrilly between her teeth and Boris came loping into the bedroom. He made a leap toward the bed.

Michele leaned forward quickly to block his jump. "Not on the bed, damn it," she murmured. Affectionately she grabbed his muzzle with both hands and shook the shaggy head from side to side.

She heard the gentle thud as Leda landed on her feet and stood up. She did not so much as glance toward the girl, but kept her attention fixed on Boris. Not knowing what to expect, afraid to guess, Michele waited for Leda to make the first move.

"You know, you're much nicer to Boris than you are to me," Leda's voice teased quietly.

Michele looked up quickly, relieved by the girl's tone, yet wary of the words.

Leda leaned against the partition, her chin cupped in her hands. Her body swayed slowly from side to side. The expression on her face was deadly serious.

A flush started at Michele's feet and burned its way up to her scalp. The fingers of one hand still clutched Boris's shaggy ruff. She didn't for a second suppose that Leda believed what she had said. The girl was playing with her, she knew. Leda rarely took anything seriously. Not even love, obviously. And this ability to cope easily with everything had been one of the most attractive qualities about the girl. Yet now Michele felt distinctly uncomfortable, knowing that she could never outsmart Leda at moments like this. And feeling a little humiliated that Leda chose to make light of a difference between them.

Still, she said nothing. She gave Boris a shove away from the bed. He sat down, watching her, waiting for her to go on with the game. Slowly, Michele eased herself down under the sheet, wishing she could hide from the cheerful accusation in Leda's eyes.

"Oh, no you don't," Leda said. In an instant she had pulled herself onto the partition and crouched like a cat ready to spring. "Michele, sit up and look at me."

Michele closed her eyes.

"Michele, look at me, damn it!"

The tone in Leda's voice left no room for disagreement. Michele glanced at the girl and found her smiling.

"That's better," Leda commented blandly. She pushed herself off the partition and sat down on the bed beside Michele's feet. "You know, my mother used to tell me that if I loved someone and we had a fight, never to go to sleep angry." She tilted her head and the blue eyes softened with emotion. "I'm sorry, honey. I was upset last night, but not with you."

Michele felt as though a tremendous burden had just slipped from her shoulders. But she kept her features stern, not yet ready to let the girl know her relief. She dared not allow Leda to think that she could get away with anything she wanted to, just by saying she was sorry. Not if she intended to be boss in this household. The girl would have to understand that their relationship came first, always, and that nothing else could ever really be of importance to either of them. After all, she herself was prepared to give up the world for Leda. And if the girl loved her, there was no reason why Leda shouldn't be willing to do the same.

If Leda loved her.

Nervously Michele peered into the girl's face, hoping to find there some trace of reassurance. For she realized suddenly that Leda had not yet said she loved her. Only that she wanted her. Not even that she needed her. A pulse began ticking in Michele's throat, throbbing, nearly choking her with her own fear. She swallowed hard, but the tight knot of worry would not dislodge itself.

"Well?" Leda said.

"Well what?" Michele heard the dismal croak in her own voice and knew that Leda would understand. Yet she did not even try to disguise her feelings. She had to know the truth now, once and for all.

One plucked eyebrow arched ever so slightly. "Are you going to forgive me or..." She hesitated and leaned forward, her lips parted, one hand moving to caress Michele's thigh.

Despite herself, Michele responded instantly to Leda's touch, all of her decisions to be strong beginning to vanish before the rush of physical desire. Yet she kept a tight rein on her feelings, afraid to let the girl realize the power she wielded. "Why should I forgive you?" she said hoarsely. "You sure as hell didn't give me any consideration last night."

"Oh, I see," Leda breathed. "That's the way it's going to be." Her voice was low, barely audible.

"That's the way it has to be," Michele said firmly. She began to feel a rise of confidence. "Either I come first... or not at all."

Leda crept up beside Michele, extending her body full length on the sheets. "Honey, if you don't know..." she began.

Michele felt herself tense as Leda snuggled close against her. She wanted Leda to say it, to tell her she loved and needed her. She didn't want it to end this way. Yet she felt her heart beginning to pound and a sudden wave of dizziness swept over her as Leda's lips touched her throat.

Unsteadily she reached up to grab the girl's wrists. "Leda, don't," she whispered. "Please don't."

The girl recoiled as though she had been slapped. "What's the matter with you?" she said with annoyance. "One minute you're claiming you love me and the next..." She pulled one hand away from Michele and gestured disgustedly. "I love you, too, but I don't know how to put up with your moods, Michele. I really don't."

A tremor of relief shivered through Michele. She raised herself on one elbow and peered intently into Leda's eyes. "You love me?" she asked. "Really?"

"Of course I do, you ninny." She laughed. "I did, long before you got any ideas."

Michele flushed. "What makes you so sure?"

"Oh, what difference does it make?" Leda said impatiently. "Nothing matters now, but us." She leaned up and forward suddenly, pushing Michele back against the bed. Her hand moved beneath the sheet to caress Michele's naked belly.

Michele sucked in her breath as Leda's fingers caught and squeezed a breast. Her arms went around the girl's waist, pulling her tight.

Leda's mouth came down hard on hers, her tongue darting, probing. Her fingers moved along Michele's ribs, trailed down to the quivering thighs.

Michele tried to raise herself, to turn the girl onto her back and be aggressive with her.

But Leda held her down. "You play femme this morning," she whispered against Michele's ear. "I owe you this one."

Michele smiled then and surrendered herself willingly to Leda's eager caress. Everything, everything was going to be all right for them. For always, just as it was at this moment.

She felt the girl's warm soft hands against her flesh, the lips touching her gently, moving downward.

And the world spun away from her as she climbed, breathless, toward completion. A low moan escaped her lips. Her fingers tightened in the girl's hair.

And then she lay still again, depleted, content.

Leda moved up beside her, her long blonde hair tickling across her ribs. "Feel better?"

"Feel great," Michele grinned.

Leda leaned forward and kissed her quickly on the lips. Then she jumped up and started toward the other room.

"Hey," Michele yelped. "It's my turn."

"I don't have time," Leda flung after her. "I'm late now."

Michele sighed and rolled onto her belly. She listened to the busy sounds Leda made in the kitchen as she prepared to leave for school. Already her body had forgotten the fleeting moment of satisfaction and she felt the dread weight of frustration settling into her limbs.

Or was it fear still?

Clutching the pillow tightly, Michele closed her eyes and tried hard not to think about Leda at school. Leda half naked in those damned tights, surrounded by other girls in the same condition. The girl had finally declared her love. And Michele knew in her head that she had neither right nor reason to be jealous.

Yet in her heart she was not so sure.

In a few moments she heard the girl's footsteps hurrying toward her. She rolled onto her back and tried to smile.

"Have fun," she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

Leda leaned down for a kiss. "You'd better take Boris out soon," she said. "He hasn't been yet."

"Okay," Michele nodded. "Then I think I'd better see about getting a new job." She glanced up for Leda's nod of approval. "We'll be needing the money."

"Will you be home when I get back?"

Leda got home precisely at seven thirty, Michele knew. If she set out now to find a job, she might herself be working till much later. "I'm not sure," she said slowly, almost angrily, not wanting to lose even a moment of the time she might spend with the girl. "But I'll try."

"I'll be late myself tonight," Leda said easily. Michele felt the skin crawl on the back of her neck. "Why?"

Leda turned away and picked up her purse from the desk. "I told you a few days ago. We're having a birthday party for one of the girls."

Vaguely Michele recalled Leda's having mentioned something of the sort. At the time it hadn't impressed her. Leda often went out. She had many friends. Yet...

"You aren't going, are you?" Michele blurted.

Leda did not look at her. "I said I would, Michele." Her tone was very gentle, as though she were speaking to a child. "You wouldn't want me to go back on my word."

Michele flushed self-consciously, feeling more than a little foolish, yet unable to control the rush of insecurity seething inside her. Her hands balled into tight fists. "Well, can't you make up an excuse or something?" she asked belligerently.

"I could," Leda said dubiously.

But you don't want to, Michele finished miserably to herself. You'd rather be with them than with me.

She decided to give it one last try. "Well, then, why can't I go with you?"

Leda turned to face her squarely, the beautiful young face struggling to conceal its annoyance. "Only the kids from class will be there," she said patiently. "I don't think you'd have a very good time."

Michele felt a terrible battle waging inside her head. She had promised herself to do everything she could to keep the girl happy. And certainly this was as good a place as any to start. She should kiss the girl and send her off with love and best wishes.

Yet something ugly inside her would not let her set the girl free. Demanded that the girl give in to her this time. To prove... To prove what?

Michele reached out for the girl's hand. "They have you all day," she said, trying to make her tone light. "I think I'm entitled..."

Quickly Leda stepped out of her reach. "I have to go," she said. "Right now."

"Wait," Michele said, sitting up. "I only..."

Leda shook her head sternly. "No, I won't wait," she said. "If you trust me, Michele, you'll trust me whether I'm holding your hand or a million miles away. And if you don't..." she spread her fingers helplessly.

Michele groaned. "But how can I trust you, if I don't even know where you are or what you're doing?"

Leda hesitated for just a second. Then she shrugged. "I guess you'll just have to work that out for yourself," she said finally. "But I might remind you that I haven't tried to put a leash on you. For your own good, I hope you'll understand that I don't need one either."

She blew Michele a kiss off her fingertips. "I'll be home about eleven," she said.

And then she was gone, leaving Michele to stare glumly after her.

For a long time Michele sat there, frowning deeply, trying to pluck a straw of courage from the chaos inside her.

How could she ever learn to live by Leda's standards? Yet she knew that she must, for certainly Leda would never accept hers.

And if she lost Leda...

Michele could not even finish the thought. She pushed herself off the bed and whistled softly for Boris.

CHAPTER 7

Sitting by the scarred and battered wooden table in the kitchen, Michele picked up another sheet of blank white paper and centered it neatly on the clipboard. Reflectively she tapped the pen against her front teeth and tried to recapture her train of thought. Six sheets of carefully printed prose rested in a pile at her elbow and already she had worked the heroine of her story into a hell of a mess. Yet, when she had glanced up at the clock just now, the heroine's plight had become considerably less urgent than her own.

Ten-thirty. Leda hadn't even called.

For some reason, Michele had managed to convince herself until the last minute that Leda would change her mind and come directly home. Even while she had tried to believe it, Michele had known in her heart that it was nothing but a vain hope on her part. Yet when Leda had not shown up and did not even bother to call, Michele felt somehow that she had been doubly betrayed. And she began to sense now a trepidation bordering on hysteria.

She brought the pen to the sheet of paper and tried to squeeze out a word. But nothing happened. Stupidly she stared down at the pristine page.

Boris ambled in from the livingroom and plopped down beside her. He rested his muzzle on her knee and peered up at her, the expression in his eyes as mournful as her own.

Michele laughed suddenly and reached down to scratch his ear. "If I look like you," she said, "I don't blame her for running out on me."

Carefully she screwed the cap back on the pen and stood up.

Boris stood up beside her, ready for attention.

Michele ignored him and went on into the livingroom. On the table by the radio she found four quarters and a dime, all the money she had left in the world. Leda still had a little, yet certainly not enough to keep them for long. And it would be another two weeks before Leda got her monthly check from home.

They could eat spaghetti for a week on that dollar ten. And tomorrow for sure she would go out and look for a job.

But tonight...

She glanced at the clock. Ten-fifty. And twenty seconds.

Michele sighed and dropped the coins into the pocket of her slacks. In exactly nine minutes and forty seconds, if Leda weren't here, she would walk out that door and...

And down to the corner bar? To drink a couple of beers and creep home and say: Look, Leda, I got even with you.

Michele snorted disgustedly. Even to herself she was beginning to sound childish.

Still, she felt like a child in relation to Leda. Leda, who knew all the answers and spoke about trust as though it grew on trees. How the hell could you trust somebody when you were nothing yourself? When you didn't know any of the answers or where to find them?

Michele jabbed angry fingers through her hair. Maybe it was about time she learned a few of the angles for herself.

At one second after eleven, Michele slammed the door shut behind her and started down the stairs.

She had no idea where she was going, except that her destination lay somewhere in the Village. Yet she knew exactly what she wanted to do. Somewhere in the Village she would find a bar. And in that bar she would find someone. Someone who had been around, who knew all the tricks of the trade. Almost anyone would do. Certainly anybody she found in a bar would know more about this business than she did.

Hurrying outside past the stench of garbage cans lined along the hall, Michele struck out for Fourth Street and the Village. She had gone barely a dozen steps when she heard Leda's voice calling her name.

She stopped dead in her tracks, listening to the running footsteps come toward her.

Leda grabbed hold of Michele's arm and waited to catch her breath. Tight lines of strain pulled at her mouth.

"You're late," Michele said.

"By two minutes," Leda answered. "I had to wait for a bus."

"You could've left earlier."

Leda closed her eyes. "Oh, God," she breathed. "I'm sorry I stopped you." She let go of Michele's arm and stepped back. "Go on," she said. "Wherever you're going.”

Michele's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Because I refuse to spend the rest of the night screaming with you in the street," Leda said quietly. "I'm tired. I need some peace and quiet."

A cold draft seemed to blow across Michele's heart. She felt desolate, alone. Miserable. She had expected that Leda would at least be sorry for her lateness. And she had not for a moment thought that the girl would encourage her to go to the Village. Surely Leda must know where she had been going. And why.

"I'm going for a drink," Michele said.

Leda nodded.

"To the Village," Michele added ominously.

"Yes, I know," Leda said. She sighed and glanced away to watch a drunk reeling along the curb.

"Don't you care?" Michele asked almost frantically.

Leda stared at her hard for a moment. Then she said, "Of course I care, Michele. But it's something we all do sooner or later." She smiled. "I was fifteen when I went through it."

"Through what, for God's sake?" Michele heard the desperation in her tone, but she no longer cared. Nothing was making sense any more. And least of all, Leda.

Leda laughed low in her throat. "Learning about life," she said. "With a capital L. For some foolish reason, you can't accept the fact that I love you unless I let you suffocate me. And you think you're going to find someone who'll let you do it."

"No," Michele protested. "No. I ... I just don't know yet what it means to be... to be gay," she said, using an expression she had picked up from Leda. "I mean, if we were married, you wouldn't dare run off to a party unless..."

"Don't be too sure." Leda's eyes twinkled.

Michele recoiled.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," Leda said. "I didn't mean to hurt you." She sighed again. "But I don't seem to be able to do anything else anymore."

Michele took a step away from her. "It's probably my fault."

"Yes," Leda said, "it probably is." She smiled then and gave Michele a little push on the behind. "Go on," she encouraged. "I'll be here when you get back."

Michele sneaked off like a sick dog with its tail between its legs. She had no idea why Leda should be sending her away, except to get rid of her. And at the moment she couldn't blame the girl at all, if that's what she had in mind. For Michele felt like a first rate fool. All through their brief encounter she had sensed Leda's appraisal of her behavior, Leda's disappointment. Yet she couldn't very well turn around now and run after the girl. Some hell of a butch she had turned out to be. All the way to the Village, Michele kept chiding herself for her own loss of esteem in Leda's eyes. She would hardly blame the girl if she despised her. Yet Michele felt far from ready to give up the fight. In fact, she had hardly started.

And by the time she finished, Leda would have reason to respect her.

Still, when she reached Washington Square Park, Michele was no longer certain just what she wanted to do. She hadn't the vaguest idea of how to go about picking up a woman. Or, for that matter, how one recognized a woman who would let herself be picked up and not yell for the police. Even in the Village there were women with babies and husbands. Not even all the ones in trousers and short hair were safe to pursue.

Dejected, uncertain, Michele wandered into the park, past benches crowded with people soaking up the welcome coolness of evening. Past shadowy figures lying too close together on the lawn. Her feet ached from the tight sandals and her shoulders drooped tiredly. She spent a dime for a Good Humor and strolled off toward McDougal Street.

Wherever she looked through the Friday night crowds, it seemed to Michele that she must be the only one in the whole city spending the evening alone. Here and there she glimpsed couples of girls, hurrying along, some laughing, others seriously intent. All of them obviously involved, obviously not interested in her or her predicament.

A cool wind blew up from the west off the river, bringing with it the imminent threat of rain. Somewhere off to the left, the rumble of thunder close at hand sent strollers rushing into bars and restaurants. Still Michele walked slowly along the narrow street, licking the last drops of ice cream from the stick.

Ahead of her she recognized the fringed canopy of a coffeehouse she had visited once with Leda. And across the street from it, the shocking pink facade of a bar she knew many Lesbians frequented. She slowed down for a moment, considering the choice presented her. Then, as the first huge drops of rain slapped at her back, she bolted in the direction of the coffeehouse.

Pausing in the covered entryway, Michele glanced at her reflection in the plate glass window and shoved a wet strand of hair back off her forehead. From inside Michele heard the clatter of cups, the whirr of the espresso machine, the scratchy roar of a radio.

And above it all floated a silvery, seductive, deep-throated laugh that caught her nerves and sent a shiver along her spine.

Peering through the rusty screen door, Michele easily identified the laughter.

The woman sat erectly in a high backed, antique chair, her figure tiny, yet somehow regal against the towering background. Impeccably groomed, obviously European, she might have been any age.

Michele knew only that the woman seemed to radiate a charm, a warmth that reached out to touch and welcome her. And, as she pulled open the door and stepped inside, she felt the woman catch sight of her and fall silent.

Michele walked the length of the nearly empty room to a corner table, painfully aware of the attention being focused on her now by the woman and her companions.

She ordered an iced cappuchino and lit a cigarette. Leaning back against the wall, she exhaled a cloud of smoke and peered through the screen at the beautiful woman with the silvery laugh.

The woman had taken out a small sketch pad and sat busily working with a pencil. Next to her, a girl younger than Michele, her dark hair close cropped and wavy, leaned forward as though to block the woman's view. The four women with them kept up a steady stream of chatter, glancing from the woman to the dark haired girl to Michele.

Watching the girl and her vain attempts to distract the woman's attention, Michele felt a surge of satisfaction sweep through her. For the first time in days, she knew the pleasure of being able to attract and hold someone's interest as she had not been able to hold Leda's. Instinctively she knew that the woman was strongly attracted to her. And she felt herself beginning to respond eagerly to the woman's interest.

She did not for an instant pause to consider why the woman might have been drawn to her. Nor did she examine into her own reaction. She busied herself instead with studying the competition, comparing her own attributes with those of the girl. The girl had a beautiful face, Michele decided, but probably not too much brains. Not much personality either, judging by the way she behaved. Anyhow, not too much of a challenge.

Challenge for what?

It had hardly occurred to Michele that she had to do more than sit there. For years she had been accustomed to that other world where all a girl had to do was wait till a guy came over and said hello. Yet she realized that in this new world, she didn't even know the ground rules. The woman obviously preferred a butch. Which probably meant that Michele was supposed to make the first move. Play the man in this mating game.

Yet she couldn't very well walk over to a table of strange women and ask one of them for a date. What the hell did one do?

She hadn't even the strength in her to move. Her hands felt clammy and her head throbbed with an excitement she had never experienced before. She stubbed out the cigarette and sipped at her coffee, trying hard to control the waves of nausea hitting her stomach.

The girl pushed back her chair and stood up.

Michele tensed, watching the girl take something from the woman, then turn away from her. The girl came toward Michele, walking slowly, her eyes probing into Michele's face.

Unfalteringly, Michele stared back. She caught her breath sharply as the girl stopped by her table and threw a sheet of paper in front of her.

"For you," the girl said. She nodded toward the woman. "From the madam."

Michele let her breath go slowly and leaned forward to peer at the sketch before her. And at the note scrawled beneath it.

You have a beautiful head, it read. May I paint it? "She collects heads," the girl commented blandly. "Among other things."

Michele ignored the comment and concentrated on the signature.

Corinne... WAtkins 4...

The girl put a dime on her thumb nail and flipped it onto the paper.

Michele glanced up at her questioningly. "That's to call her with." She smiled broadly. "Corinne thinks of everything," she said. "And pays for it."

Michele watched the girl retreat. She did not blame her for being bitter, considering the mission she had been sent to perform. But she had sensed more than bitterness in the girl's manner. And for a moment she felt an empathy toward the girl, feeling that somehow the dark-haired child was very like herself. That the girl's reaction to Corinne's betrayal was much like her own reaction to Leda. And for just that moment she felt as though she had found a friend, a fellow traveler on the bumpy road of love.

And then she saw the look in Corinne's eye and she forgot about everything but the leap of desire that burned through her. She had never been looked at like that by anyone. Not even Leda. She felt herself melting inside her clothes and her fingers clenched convulsively in her lap.

She wanted to get up and run, hurry home to Leda where she would be safe and loved. Yet she could not drag herself up out of the chair.

Long after Corinne and her friends had disappeared into the rain, she sat there smoking and sipping coffee. Finally she became aware of the old man behind the counter glaring at her and realized he wanted to close. She got to her feet stiffly, left him three quarters and went outside.

The rain had settled to a heavy drizzle that felt slimy against the skin. She had only a quarter left in her pocket and nowhere to go but home. She made her way cross-town slowly., almost oblivious to the weather and the water squishing inside her sandals. Her hand clutched the wad of paper in her pocket, as though seeking to draw forth a hidden and tantalizing meaning from the words written there.

Who or what was Corinne? And what would happen if she called her? Michele knew perfectly well it was not Corinne she wanted. That it never would be, really. It would always be Leda she loved. Yet she could not deny that she had been very much attracted to the woman from the instant she had heard her laugh. And she knew that Corinne had been just as attracted to her.

This knowledge gave her a sense of confidence she had rarely felt before. She didn't want to lose Leda. But if she should, it wouldn't be the living death she had thought it might be. Others would love her. Many others.

As she unlocked the door and let herself into the darkened apartment, Boris came out to meet her. She stooped for a moment to pet the animal, then straightened up and strode into the bedroom.

Leda was in bed, but still awake. Her eyes were wide and luminous in the dark.

"Hi," Michele said, a little sheepishly, feeling not at all confident now that she was face to face with Leda. She turned away a little and began to unbutton her wet shirt.

"Well?" Leda said.

"Huh?" Michele mumbled.

"Did you learn everything you wanted to?"

"I learned a couple of things," she said, making her voice imply far more than had happened.

"Well, good," Leda said. She patted the mattress beside her. "Now come to bed."

Obediently, Michele sat down and pulled off her sandals and slacks. Then she lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her hands clasped behind her head.

"Michele?"

"Hmm?"

"Kiss me?"

Michele turned on the pillow to peer at the girl. "I didn't know if..."

"Of course I want you to. I love you.”

She rolled over then and took the girl in her arms.

Leda's fingers twined in Michele's hair. "Love me, baby," she whispered.

Michele's lips found hers hungrily.

Suddenly she held Leda away from her. "You're crying," she said.

"I am not," Leda answered. "I got something in my eye."

"What?"

"You, idiot. Now shut up and kiss me."

Michele didn't have to be urged. She grabbed the girl roughly and pulled her tight, all thought of Corinne, of anything but the girl in her arms gone from her mind.

At least for tonight, Leda belonged to her alone.

CHAPTER 8

It seemed to Michele that she had spent most of her life waiting for Saturday mornings. Saturday meant no school, no work, just fun. Yet this morning she sat on the edge of the bed listening to Leda make breakfast and wondering how the hell you show a girl a wild weekend on a quarter.

Or rather, thirty-five cents.

Remembering the dime from Corinne, Michele smiled. Last night she had been ready to run to Corinne or maybe to anybody who wanted her. Ready to run as far as she could from Leda and the complications Leda had brought into her life.

But that had been last night.

This morning she felt vibrantly alive, her body relaxed and glowing with the remembered thrill of Leda's love. For many hours they had lain awake together, rejoicing in each other, talking about their future. And Leda had whispered, "I'm sorry," and given to Michele the promise she had longed to hear.

From now on there would be no trouble, no intrusions, no strangers coming around to complicate their lives.

From now on there would be just the two of them, alone together. Forever.

And as she heard Leda whistling in the kitchen, Michele knew that the girl was as happy as she. At least for the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you say?"

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

"You’ll what?" Michele prompted.

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

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

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

"Just what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michele glanced past her shoulder to the house beyond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I forgot all about it," Leda said.

"Who?" Michele repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She spun around.

"Hi, there," Paul said amiably.

"Oh," Michele murmured.

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

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

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

"Oh," she said again.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?" she said belligerently.

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

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

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

She made a motion to carry the cups into the living-room.

"Wait a minute," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean, by choice?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you two busybodies whispering about?"

Leda's voice interrupted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She knelt down and leaned over the hopper.

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

"I'm fine," Michele answered.

Then she was very, very sick.

CHAPTER 9

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

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

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

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

"Me, too?"

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

Leda sighed. "Come on, Boris."

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

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

She tossed fitfully till she finally drifted off to sleep.

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

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

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

But he, too, did not answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Out," came the placid reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why didn't you throw them out?"

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

"What were they doing here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm going out.”

"Where?"

"What difference does that make to you?"

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

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

"Where?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

And if Leda had loved them once...

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

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

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

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

"What's so funny?" Michele barked.

"You are," Leda said.

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

"What makes you think so?" she demanded.

"You called Corinne?"

"So?"

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

"Why the hell not? She likes me."

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

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

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

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

"But it's not you, darling."

"Who's not me?"

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

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

Leda laughed. "Haven't you?"

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

She turned then and slammed out the door.

CHAPTER 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michele turned to face the woman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Corinne laughed. "I am not," she said. "I hate the daylight. I am always at my best at night." She moved away from the doorway and came to stand close to Michele's chair. "I even paint sometimes at night," she said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

"It doesn't matter," Corinne said. "Whatever we do is only an excuse."

"An excuse?" Michele echoed.

"Hmm," Corinne murmured. "So long as we must be alive, we must do something to pass the hours."

Michele heard the sadness in the woman's voice and she wanted to reach out and comfort her. "You don't sound very happy," she said.

"Corinne has never known what it means to be happy," Toni said quietly.

Michele could not tell whether the tone was ironic or sincere. She glanced quickly at Corinne, feeling a little as though she were watching a sparring match.

Corinne glanced at Toni as though she would have liked to slap her. Then she turned to Michele and smiled. "We are not making it very pleasant for you," she said. "Toni, put on some music and let us stop being morbid with Michele. She is too young for such soulfulness."

"Toni's younger than I am," Michele blurted, feeling somehow insulted that the woman considered her a child.

Toni snorted bitterly.

"Toni has never been young," Corinne said. "She has the most beautiful head of them all and I keep her here just so that I might look at her. But she has never been young."

Michele glanced at the dark haired girl as she went to a wall cabinet and set a stack of records on the machine. The long, lean body, the smooth muscles hard in the thighs, the straight back and strong hands. Surely the girl could not be more than twenty. Yet Michele sensed about her something of the same tragic essence that characterized Corinne.

The first soft strains of a waltz floated on the troubled air.

Corinne turned to Toni and held out her hand. "Dance with me," she said. It sounded like a command.

Toni peered down at Corinne for several moments before she moved to take the woman into her arms. "You like me tonight," Michele heard her say.

"I always like you when I am not bored."

Michele watched them move off across the floor, blending in motion as though they had danced this way many times before. The more she saw of them together, the more uncomfortable Michele began to feel. Corinne used her body seductively, charming the girl in whose arms she was held. Yet Michele knew somehow that the performance was being conducted for herself alone. And she felt that Toni must sense this too.

She picked up her discarded drink and sipped at it thoughtfully. If she had any sense, she would get up right now and go home to Leda. Whatever this strange relationship she was observing might mean, it had nothing to do with her and she wanted no part of it. Yet she couldn't at all blame Corinne for keeping Toni around. She was indeed good to look at. And Michele knew without experimenting that the girl would be fun in bed. Everything about the way the girl used her body indicated that.

When the dance ended, Corinne stepped away from Toni and came over to Michele's chair. "You dance with her now," she said. "I like to watch."

Michele rose instantly to obey the woman's command. She let Toni take her in her arms and steer her across the floor. The dance was a slow one. And intimate. Toni held her tight, her long arms going about Michele and gripping her in close. Michele felt her breasts flatten against Toni's chest, her thighs moving in rhythm with Toni's. The girl's hand circled on her back.

Michele felt hot flushes of excitement race through her. She knew that she must be blushing. Yet she did not want to struggle out of Toni's embrace and call attention to herself. Better to be nonchalant, she decided.

Still, she could not deny that contact with the girl's body had brought her own painfully alive. By the time the dance ended and Toni set her free, Michele felt completely aroused.

She felt Corinne's hand on her arm. "Toni's a marvelous dancer, isn't she?"

"Yes," Michele breathed, almost afraid to trust her own voice. "She certainly is."

"It is my turn now," Corinne said.

Michele's cheeks went pale. Hot and cold prickles chased each other along her spine. "All right," she said. She held out her arms, just as Toni had done, and Corinne moved into them willingly.

Michele rested her cheek against the woman's hair. She had never danced with any woman except Toni in her life. Not even with Leda. And holding Corinne now, she knew that she could go on like this forever. The heady odor of Corinne's perfume reached her nostrils. She felt lightheaded and giddy, yet strong and aggressive, the way Leda had wanted her to be. She liked the way Corinne fit against her body, the way the woman's fingers trailed along her back.

She felt Corinne lean away from her and watched the woman turn to wave to Toni.

"Sleep tight," Corinne called.

"Never fear," Toni said.

The girl went off to the bedroom at the far end of the apartment and closed the door.

Corinne moved back into her arms and now Michele knew that the woman was deliberately seducing her. She felt Corinne turn on the charm, unloosen all her feminine wiles. For one instant Michele hesitated, sickened by the feeling that she was being a pawn in a little game that Corinne played with Toni.

Then she closed her eyes and let herself be drawn into the magic circle of Corinne's charm.

Corinne rested her head on Michele's shoulder. "You could make me very happy, Michele," she whispered.

Michele heard the plea in the woman's words. They said to her all the things she had prayed to hear from Leda. Her arms tightened around the woman and she let Corinne dance her to the couch.

Michele felt the backs of her knees touch the edge of the foam rubber mattress.

"Kiss me," Corinne sighed.

Michele opened her eyes and peered down at the woman. She wanted to tell her about Leda, about the girl she loved. She wanted to shout, "I can't. I love someone else."

But she brought her mouth down to Corinne's and touched the woman's lips gently with her own.

She felt Corinne's arms go around her neck and pull her head down harder. She let herself go. Her tongue darted eagerly between the woman's lips.

She felt herself being pushed back to the couch and she did not resist. She pulled Corinne down on top of her. The woman pressed herself hard against Michele.

"Make love to me," Corinne whispered. "Please, Michele."

Michele knew that the woman wanted her to be aggressive. Slowly she slid her hand in under the billowing folds of material, seeking the soft breasts.

Corinne moaned softly as Michele touched her. Michele felt her head begin to spin with an urgency and a need that she had never known before. She rolled over and pushed the woman down to the couch. Her fingers struggled eagerly with Corinne's gown.

And then she was all over the woman, caressing her with hands and lips and legs. She let her tongue trail down over the soft flesh of the woman's belly.

"Oh, yes," Corinne sighed. "Oh, yes, Michele." Michele approached the woman with all the skill she could muster. And yet she was afraid. For she had never known any woman except Leda. Surely Corinne had had many lovers. And suddenly it was very important to Michele to be better than any of them had been. Ever. Her lips moved gently, tenderly, searching, searching... She felt the woman's thighs quiver and she was blind suddenly and deaf to everything but the sound of the woman whispering her name. Crooning.

And then Corinne's hands were on her head, pulling her up, holding her close. She shut her eyes and kissed the woman a long kiss, full on the mouth.

She leaned away from the woman and looked at her closely for a long time.

"Are you happy?" she said finally.

"Yes," Corinne smiled. "I am happy, Michele."

CHAPTER 11

It was nearly noon when Michele got back to the First Street apartment.

She climbed the stairs slowly, not at all eager to face Leda after the night she had spent with Corinne. A night of love, of giving and sharing in the most satisfying experience she had ever known with anyone. Still, Corinne had not asked her to stay. She had pleaded that she had to work, that she worked every day, and that she would get nothing done if Michele remained. And Michele had not pressed the issue, but had left with the promise to return in the evening.

And she knew that she wanted to return. She did not love Corinne as she loved Leda. She realized she never would. Still, the hours she had spent with the woman had been happy ones for both of them. And she wanted more of the same.

As she unlocked the door and stepped into the quiet apartment, she whistled for Boris and the dog came bounding out to meet her. She knelt just inside the door and wrapped her arms around the dog's furry body.

"Where's Leda?" she whispered against Boris's ear.

"Michele, is that you?" Leda's voice called.

Michele gave the dog a final pat and stood up. She took a deep breath and steadied herself for the ordeal of facing the girl. Then she stepped into the bedroom.

"Well, I wasn't expecting you for at least a week," Leda said with amusement. "Were you disappointed, darling?"

Michele flushed but did not answer the girl's question. Instead she said, "It's a nice day. You ought to get up and go out for a walk."

"Never mind what I ought to do," Leda said sharply. Then her eyes softened once again. "I'm sorry, honey," she murmured, "but I'm not in the best of spirits this morning."

"Yeah, I know," Michele said. "I don't feel so good either." She knew she wanted desperately for the girl to apologize for her behavior, take the blame for the whole thing on herself. Still, she knew that it was she who must suffer for her own doings. She could not make it any easier for herself by taking it out on the girl.

"How's Toni?" Leda asked suddenly.

"What?" Michele said, startled. She had heard what Leda had to say about Corinne. But how could the girl know about Toni?

"Oh, yes," Leda said. "I know Toni. Who doesn't? She's been pimping for Corinne for years."

Michele wanted to slap the complacent smile right off Leda's face. "What the hell do you mean by that?" she snapped.

"Never mind," Leda said. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Well, all right. But I don't feel like talking about Corinne," she said with annoyance. "It's you I have problems with, not Corinne and Toni."

"No doubt," Leda breathed.

Michele sat down on the edge of the bed, trying hard to keep a rein on her temper. She realized that it was only her own guilt that kept her on edge and ready to leap at Leda's throat. Still she found it difficult to restrain herself.

"Look," she said evenly, "you know as well as I do that I don't give a damn about Corinne. The only reason I went to her last night was..."

She paused and stared at Leda blankly. "Was what, Michele?"

Now that she was faced with it, Michele found herself hard pressed for an answer. "Well, when I found out that you had had an affair with that girl, Anne..." She stretched her fingers in a helpless gesture.

"Michele, I told you before, that was a very long time ago. I haven't slept with anyone but you since that day I met you. And God knows it took you long enough to get the idea," she said angrily. "Why the hell I waited, I don't know. I really don't know what you want from me, Michele."

"I didn't want anything from you but love, Leda. You must believe that. But how can I think you love me..."

"Just because I happen to speak to someone I once went to bed with?" Leda said impatiently. "Oh, Michele, be reasonable. Until I met you, I never really loved anyone in my life. I've slept with lots of people by now. But so have you. You told me yourself about all the men you'd been to bed with."

"That's different," Michele said quickly. "Oh, is it, now?" Leda said sharply. "And what the hell makes it different, I'd like to know?"

Michele felt her tongue go dry and stiff. What, after all, was the difference? Surely she couldn't expect that Leda would have sat in a corner and waited for twenty-five years of her life until she came on the scene. "They weren't girls," she said limply.

"I can't help what you wasted your time with," Leda said, her tone lighter now. "I was about twelve when I decided little boys were made of snakes and snails. I never have had much to do with men, Michele. But I can't see what it matters now. The only thing that should matter is what we have between us."

Michele stood up and took a step away from the bed. "I'd better take Boris out for a walk," she said.

"You sit right down here and talk to me," Leda insisted. "You can't make love to a girl one minute and then turn your back and walk off, you know."

Sighing, Michele forced herself to turn around and look directly at Leda. "I have nothing to say," she insisted. "If you can't see things the same way that I do, then there's not much use in our going on."

Leda sat up suddenly and took hold of Michele's wrist. "Michele, do you love me?"

"You know I do," Michele murmured.

“Then we can work out something. You know we can."

Michele let herself be pulled down onto the bed. She waited for Leda to go on.

"Now," Leda said, "why don't you kiss me?" Startled, Michele peered at her intently for a moment, trying to determine what the girl might be trying to do to her. But she could see nothing in Leda's face but love. And trust.

She took the girl's face between her hands. "Oh, honey," she whispered, "what have I done to us?"

"I don't know," Leda said. "What have you done, Michele?"

Michele hesitated for a long moment. Then she sighed. "I went to bed with Corinne last night," she said dismally.

"Did you at least enjoy it?”

Michele flushed.

Leda laughed. "It's all right, baby. Everyone goes for Corinne's brand of charm. That continental, older woman approach gets all of us sooner or later." She laughed again. "Besides, Toni's so damned good looking."

"Why do you keep talking about Toni?" Michele demanded, beginning to feel a niggle of jealously at Leda's continued reference to the girl.

"Oh, Michele, don't you get the picture? Don't you know that Corinne uses Toni to pull in all the pretty children she lays eyes on? She would never have the nerve to approach anyone herself. And there's Toni, like a trained parakeet, talking for Corinne. Making love for Corinne. Dancing for Corinne. It's all so sick, honey. Corinne has never loved anyone but Toni. And yet she has a new lover every couple of weeks."

"But why?"

Leda shook her head. "Who the devil knows?" she said. "It's just their way of life."

Michele sat up away from the girl. She understood very little of what Leda had said. Yet, from her own observations, she had to admit that the girl seemed to be right.

Still, Corinne had responded to her with a wildness that made Michele's ears burn just thinking about it. That much she knew to be true. As for the rest of what Leda had said, she would reserve judgment until she found out more for herself.

"Will you be seeing Corinne again?" Leda interrupted her thoughts.

"I promised her I'd be back tonight," Michele said miserably. "I don't want to. Now."

"You don't have to, you know," Leda said. "You're old enough to make up your own mind." She laughed and her lips curled into a bow. "Butch."

Michele felt as though Leda had knocked all the wind out of her. Yet her sarcasm was well justified. After all, it had been Michele's raging desire to be the boss in the family that had led her into Corinne's arms. If she had stayed home where she belonged...

Suddenly her arms went around the girl and she pushed her back to the pillows. "Damn you," she whispered. "Why couldn't you love me..."

"But I do, darling. I really do." Leda pulled Michele's head down to meet her own. "I'll show you."

As their lips met, Michele felt her brain whirling like a propeller inside her head. The palms of her hands went slimy with perspiration. She grabbed the girl and squeezed her as though she wanted to love her to death. She rolled over on top of the girl's naked body and ground herself into the length of her.

"Oh, baby," Leda whispered. "Touch me. Please touch me.”

Michele helped Leda undress her. Everywhere Leda touched her, her skin felt on fire. She could hardly breathe around the aching in her chest. "I love you," she murmured.

Suddenly Leda wrapped her arms around Michele and pulled her down next to her on the bed. "Take me, honey," she whispered. "Please take me."

Michele didn't have to be urged. She buried her face against Leda, caressing her soft flesh with her tongue. The world spun away from her and she was caught up in the beauty of the moment, the girl.

She felt the girl's thighs quiver, then tighten in a spasm of ecstasy. And at the same time Michele felt her own body respond to the passion of the moment.

They lay together side by side, depleted, yet completely engrossed in each other and their love.

Michele listened to the clock ticking on the table near the bed, to the gurgling of water in the john. Everything seemed so normal here, so natural and right. How could she even for a moment have allowed herself to be led into an affair with Corinne? Even if all the things Leda had said about the two women weren't true, she'd had no business to get involved elsewhere. For she knew now that she had never really belonged to anyone but Leda.

She never would.

She moved finally and sat up. She turned to look down at the girl.

"Hi," Leda said. "You know, I think I'll keep you around for a while."

Michele grinned. "I think I might just take you up on that," she said.

Leda swung off the bed. "Well, now that that's settled..." She reached for a pair of slacks and pulled them on over her naked bottom. "We'd better take Boris out. He missed you last night almost as much as I did."

"Oh?"

"Um hmm. We sat up together until four o'clock. And by then he was practically sitting on my lap, asking to be consoled."

Michele knew that she should be feeling ashamed of herself. But instead she felt an insane desire to laugh, to sing, to get up and waltz around the room with this beautiful girl she loved. But she got up quietly and went to stand behind Leda. She put her arms around the girl's waist and pulled her close. "I'm sorry," she said against Leda's ear. "Are you ever going to be able to forgive me?"

Leda tilted her head back and kissed Michele on the side of the nose. "I already have," she said. "I told you before I know how it is the first time. We all learn by the messes we make."

"Well, I have certainly have," Michele said with confidence. "No more of this for me. From now on..."

"From now on what, Michele?"

"From now on I'm going to be acting like a human being. A good husband, I mean. And if you don't feel like being a wife..."

She paused, not really sure just what might happen if Leda put her through another episode like that business with Anne. Still she was determined that she would learn to put up with anything. And she knew she could. If only Leda would help her just a little.

"I didn't say I wouldn't act like a wife, Michele," Leda said. "I feel that way about you, I really do." She shook her head. "But, honey, please don't try to suffocate me. You don't have to. I'm not going anywhere."

Michele took hold of the girl's arms and turned her around. "You're damned right you're not going anywhere," she said, her voice low and full of emotion. She brought her lips down bruisingly on Leda's.

CHAPTER 12

The day that followed was the happiest she could remember in her whole life. Not that they did anything, really. Except take Boris for a long walk, holding hands like a couple of kids on a picnic and laughing at the disapproving glances of passersby. And then they stopped in for a spaghetti dinner at the place on the corner where they both gorged for a dollar apiece.

But Leda's attitude toward her was something that Michele had never expected. Leda treated her with all the deference due to an adequate human being, to a husband who worked hard all week to support a loving wife. And Michele found herself responding with the desire to be all that the girl wanted her to be. She forgot all about her brief fling with Corinne and began concentrating on her new life with Leda.

As they came out of the restaurant, Leda showed her a five dollar bill.

"That's all we've got," Leda said. "We can blow it on a movie or we can..."

"Oh, no," Michele interrupted. "I'd rather go home and make movies of our own. Besides, it might have to last for a few days. You don't always get paid right away on a new job."

"It would help if you had the job," Leda said, but she was smiling.

Michele frowned. "Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have quit the other one is what you mean." She sighed. "I'm slow, honey. But I'm learning. And I'll get a job first thing in the morning."

"I know you will, baby." Leda took Michele's hand and led her down the street toward home. "Which only gives us a few hours to get better acquainted."

Happily Michele allowed herself to be led along like a child. She wouldn't have objected to anything Leda did at that point. For she realized now that she was really in the driver's seat. That she could have any kind of relationship with Leda that she wanted to have. Which meant that...

Michele pulled the key out of her pocket and opened the door to the apartment. The heat, the odor of burnt bacon, the mustiness came out to smack her in the face. Funny, she had never noticed it before, though it must always have been this way. For an instant she recalled the vast, airy expanse of Corinne's apartment. She would never get the kind of money from waiting tables that Corinne had. But still, she might be able to provide a few comforts for her girl. An air conditioner, at least. Maybe a new apartment before too long.

As she unhooked Boris's leash, Michele looked around her critically. If she expected Leda to give up everything for her, then she had better get busy and make it worth the girl's while. After all, women like Leda appreciated pretty things. New clothes once in a while. Neither of them had ever known the luxuries of life.

It worried Michele that she didn't know how to do anything but wait on tables. It had always seemed like enough, before Leda. Now... She could go back to school in the evenings. Learn how to do something, anything that would earn them a decent living. Maybe she could even finish a story and sell it.

Michele became so engrossed with her schemes for success that, for the moment, she forgot all about Leda. She had taken it for granted that Leda would go along now with anything she wished and then she simply dismissed the girl from her mind. She stretched out on the couch with one foot extended up the wall. Boris sprawled out on the floor beside her.

For a long time she lay there, thinking about the future, oblivious to the scene around her. Finally Leda came over and sat down on the couch at her feet. She put two cups of coffee on the low table.

Michele glanced up at her and smiled. But she was still distracted with her thoughts so that she did not really absorb the fact of the girl's presence.

Finally she felt the girl's hand on the back of her leg, moving up slowly toward her knee. She reached down and stopped the girl's fingers.

"What's the matter?" Leda said. "Tired of me already."

Michele laughed. "Of course not," she said. "I've just been thinking."

"About what?"

"About us, naturally."

"Oh?"

Michele nodded. "You know, for the first time in my life I feel like I have an incentive to really do something."

"Like what, honey?"

Something about the girl's tone made Michele uncomfortable. She sensed a certain wariness about Leda's manner. But, for the moment, she could not discern the trouble. And she was too wrapped up in her own plans to take much notice.

"Well, I thought I might go back and finish school, for one thing," she said. "And I'd like to get busy with my writing. I've never even finished a story."

Leda frowned. "Well, it sounds wonderful," she said, "or you. But where do I fit into all this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know what I mean, exactly. It just sounds like…" She paused and glanced down at her feet. "Well, am I supposed to sit at home and twiddle my fingers, Michele?"

"Of course not," Michele said readily. "There'll be plenty for you to do. I mean, we'll have a new apartment. And..."

"That's not what I meant," Leda said. "I got the feeling at I'm supposed to stay at home and make like a wife while you go out and have all the fun."

Michele felt as though her heart had stopped beating. What Leda said was true enough. She had planned for the girl to stay at home. But she hadn't expected Leda to react in quite this way.

"It's true, then," Leda said quietly. "After all this, you still want me to give up school and be a housewife."

"I didn't say that," Michele murmured.

"But it's true, isn't it?"

"Well, damn it, what if it is?" Michele exploded. "If you loved me..."

"This has nothing to do with love and you know it," Leda said. "You want me to be at home so you'll know what I'm doing twenty-four hours a day. You'll leave Boris here to keep an eye on me, is that it?"

Michele sat up suddenly and her foot hit a coffee cup. The cup spilled and clattered to the floor. Neither of them bothered to pick it up.

Boris got up and came over to lap up the hot coffee.

"Well?" Leda insisted.

Michele sighed. "I didn't think of it that way at all. All I wanted was to provide for you. To take care of you so that you would never have to go out to work..."

Leda patted the couch. "Sit down," she said.

Michele sat.

"Now, please listen to me," Leda said. "When you came home today I thought you understood how things are with me. I love you, Michele. And I'll be faithful for life. You have my word on that. But I have no intention of giving up my career at this point. I've come a long way, Michele. Before long I'll be ready to appear professionally. I want that desperately. I always have. But that doesn't mean that I don't want you."

"But..." Michele protested.

"Let me finish," Leda said. "You will always come first, Michele. You know that. But you have to let me live, too." She shrugged. "I guess that's all."

Michele sat silent for a long time. She knew that the outcome of this moment would determine the course of their whole life together. For if she gave in to Leda now...

It griped the hell out of her that Leda should insist on having a career. If she herself had ever done anything worth doing, she knew, the girl would not be so insistent. If she had been successful as a writer, as anything that Leda could respect, the girl would have given in to her wishes. So it was not Leda at whom she directed her anger, but herself. How could she expect Leda to respect and admire her, when she had nothing to offer her but her own undeveloped self?

"Is that your final word?" Michele asked finally. Leda tilted her head to one side and smiled at Michele with her eyes. "Don't make it sound so ominous," she said. "It's not as awful as you seem to think."

Michele snorted. "We'll see," she said. Already her head was filled with visions of Leda at the school. Surrounded by Anne and girls like her. And later, dancing nearly naked in public. A hell of a way for a wife to behave.

Leda put her hand on Michele's shoulder. "Maybe we shouldn't have come home after all," she said. "We’ve been so happy all afternoon."

Michele turned to look down at the small, tense face. She shook her head. "Do you think we'll ever get through a whole day without disagreement?"

Leda laughed. "Why not?" she said. "At this rate, we won't have anything left to argue about in a couple of weeks."

Michele wished she felt as sure of that as Leda did. At the moment her heart felt cold and heavy inside her. She had begun to feel that no matter what she did, there would never be the kind of harmony between them that she dreamed of having. After all, how could she relax and be successful on a job when she knew that her girl was at school? Maybe with Anne. Maybe with... God only knew what Leda might find to do with herself. How could she ever concentrate on a school lesson when she did not know where the girl might be or what she might be doing?

Yet through it all Michele heard the voice of her conscience telling her that she was being a fool. It was unfair of her to insist on this point. Hadn't it been she, after all, who had been unfaithful to Leda? Had run to the arms of another woman while Leda waited patiently for her to come home?

How do you know, Michele? How do you know that she's been telling you the truth?

The battle of voices inside Michele's head was beginning to give her a headache. She lay back against the pillows of the couch and closed her eyes.

Leda touched her arm.>"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Michael said from stiff lips. "Just leave me alone for a while."

She felt Leda's cool palm touch the back of her neck. "If you have a headache," she said, "I can get rid of it for you."

"Maybe you'd better," Michele said. "You gave it to me in the first place."

"Oh, baby, why don't you relax and enjoy life a little?"

Michele sighed. Why indeed? How could she tell Leda the truth? That she did not feel she deserved the girl's love? That she would not have blamed Leda for walking out on her at any moment?

Leda's fingers moved expertly, gently massaging the cords of Michele's neck and down onto her shoulders.

The girl was very close to her now and Michele smelled the lingering odor of the shampoo Leda had used. Her head throbbed with her frustration and disappointment. She wanted to cry. She wanted to have a tantrum like a kid, kicking and screaming.

She put out her arms and the girl moved into them. They lay side by side on the couch, not speaking, not even moving. Each wrapped in a bitterness and unhappiness of her own.

Finally Leda stirred and rolled away from her. She raised herself on an elbow and peered into Michele's face. "Honey, is it really all that important to you?"

"What?"

"That I quit school."

Michele arched an eyebrow. What was the girl getting at now? "It's the principle," she said. "I have to know you're on my side."

Leda was silent for a moment. Then she glanced away to the window. "And if I quit, everything would be all right?"

"What do you mean, if you quit?" Michele asked. "You just said..."

Leda sighed tiredly. "Never mind what I said. I want you enough to give up breathing if I have to." Her voice lowered and she looked now at Michele. "But it wouldn't do either of us any good if I did, now would it?"

Michele did not even hear the sarcasm in Leda's tone. She heard only the words that told her Leda had given in. That Leda was willing to sacrifice everything for her.

She leaned forward and pulled the girl into her arms. "Honey," she said, "I'll make it all up to you. We'll have the most perfect life..."

"I know we can," Leda murmured.

Michele forgot everything then but the rush of tenderness she felt for the girl. Her tongue sought the hollow of Leda's throat. Her hands caressed the soft, warm flesh.

Michele made love to the girl with all the passion that had been aroused in her. She had never wanted the girl more nor needed her as much.

Yet, when it was done, Leda lay quiet and still, not like a person satisfied, but like one in a trance. Michele slid off the couch onto her knees.

"Honey, what is it?" she murmured.

For a second Leda stared at her. Then she whispered, "I love you."

She closed her eyes and turned away.

CHAPTER 13

By the time the alarm went off at noon, Michele had not yet fallen asleep. She had lain awake staring at the ceiling, too sick of herself and of Leda to be able to relax. She was beginning to feel as though she would never sleep again. Every muscle and nerve throbbed with pain. Yet she could find no release.

Leda had gone off to bed early with the pretext of a headache and Michele had strolled till late with Boris, trying to piece together the shattered remnants of her life. She could understand well enough everything that had happened. Leda's giving in to please her. And even more so, Leda's disappointment that Michele had accepted her surrender. In Leda's position, Michele knew that she would have felt no differently.

Still, what the hell could she do now without making a fool of herself in the girl's eyes? Whether Leda liked it or not, Michele felt relieved that Leda would not be going to school. And in time she would forget. They both would.

At least Michele tried to tell herself so. Yet, as she watched the girl sit up and reach to turn off the alarm, she knew that in her heart she did not believe it.

Leda licked her lips and lay back against the pillows. "I thought you were going out to look for a job," she said.

"I was," Michele said. "But I haven't had any sleep for two nights. And I have a head the size of a watermelon."

"That makes two of us. But I guess we can't just sit here and complain all day." She swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I'll fix breakfast."

"I’ll do it this morning," Michele said.

"Why should you? I'm supposed to be the wife."

Michele flushed. "Yeah, I know. But..."

"Well?"

"Look, you'd better go on and get dressed," Michele said. "You don't want to be late to class."

Leda stood looking at her for a long moment. Her eyes were calm and bright. "Are you sure, Michele?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Michele said. "Now get the hell out of here and get dressed."

With a whoop, Leda was out of the room and on her way to the john.

Michele watched her go. She didn't know whether to smile or cry. Leda had never been that happy about being with her.

She shoved the thought away and got up. She pulled on slacks and a shirt, then found an old pair of sneakers under the bed. She went on out to the kitchen.

What would she say if Leda asked her to explain? There was little about her feelings at the moment that Michele could clearly define. She knew perfectly well that she did not feel any better about Leda going to class now than she had before. Still, she felt that she had no choice in the matter. For if she refused to allow the girl to go, she knew that their relationship would be permanently damaged. Not that Leda would hold it against her so much. But Michele knew that she would never forgive herself for having deprived the girl of the chance to amount to something on her own. Michele herself knew all too well the desperation that could come of being a nobody in a world of somebodies. And she felt that she could not make the girl suffer as she herself had done.

Yet she had severe misgivings about her own ability to cope with the situation. Already she had wasted another day without looking for a job. They couldn't go on much longer unless one of them brought in a little money. And she knew that the only reason she had not gone was be-use she was worried about Leda. If only she could learn to accept...

She put up the coffeepot and reached for the skillet. Leda came bounding in from the bathroom. "Don't make any eggs for me," she said. "I'm not hungry.”

"Why not?"

"I'm just not. Just give me some coffee." She went to the tub and turned on both faucets full blast.

Michele sighed and shoved the skillet back on the shelf. "I hope you're not still upset about last night," she said. "I didn't mean..."

"Oh, honey, I'm just so excited, I haven't got room for an appetite," Leda bubbled.

Michele turned away to get down cups and saucers. She did not like the way the girl was reacting. Yet she couldn't very well blame her. Leda had everything just the way she wanted it now. Why shouldn't she bubble?

Michele set a cup of coffee for Leda on the ledge behind the bathtub. Then she wandered off to the livingroom and searched in a drawer for the manuscript she had been working on a few nights before. Standing by the window, the papers in one hand, a cigarette in the other, she began to read. As her eyes moved over the words, she felt an excitement generating inside her. The story was not bad. Not bad at all. With a little fixing, it would sell, she felt sure.

She sat down at the coffee table and spread the papers out before her. This was the answer she had been looking for. If she could just keep herself busy with her writing, she wouldn't have to care where Leda was or with whom.

She heard the girl let the water out of the tub. She picked up a sharpened pencil and moved it toward the paper.

Leda appeared in the doorway. "I forgot to tell you," she said. "There's a tryout tonight. I might not be home before midnight."

Michele stared at her as though the girl had thrown a bucket of cold water in her face. "What did you say?"

"I said..."

"Never mind. I heard you," Michele said. "Why the hell didn't you mention it before?"

Leda shrugged. "I never got a chance to. After I agreed to quit school, there didn't seem to be any point."

Michele stood up, her fists clenched, her heart pounding inside her chest. She knew she had to do something decisive now. Or be lost forever.

"Baby, what's the matter now?" Leda asked.

Michele waited till she felt her voice was under control. "How far are you going to take this thing, Leda?"

Leda frowned. "I don't understand. What's the difference between going to school and attending a tryout?"

Michele let her breath out in a long sigh. "Not much, I guess," she said finally. "But at least I'm used to your going to school."

"But what's the use of my going to school if I don't do anything with it?" Leda said. "Be reasonable, Michele."

Michele's stomach knotted as though she had been punched by a heavy fist. "What the hell do you mean, be reasonable?" she demanded. "I'm supposed to give up everything while you go your merry way, is that it?"

She wasn't at all sure what she had given up, if anything. Still, as she had told Leda, it was the principle that mattered. She was willing to go through hellfire for the girl. The least Leda could do...

"Nobody asked you to give up anything," Leda said simply.

"I didn't have to be asked. I love you. And if you felt the same way about me..."

Leda shrugged and turned away from her. "It's no use," she said over her shoulder. "'You can't see anything any way but your own. I'm not going to fight with you anymore, Michele."

Michele stalked to the bedroom and threw herself down on her back on the bed. Her chest was heaving and she felt that she must be suffocating.

Some hell of a happy marriage!

Some sweet little wife!

She tried not to listen as Leda bustled about in the kitchen, getting dressed, drinking a second cup of coffee. Yet her ears were filled with the sound of the girl. Her eyes clouded with the memory of the girl's soft beauty. Every thought led her back to Leda. And Leda's treachery.

Finally Leda came into the bedroom with Boris trailing after her.

Michele recognized the look on Leda's face and she knew that nothing she might say would sway Leda now. The stubborn desire for independence had come to the fore and Leda's eyes were bright with determination.

Leda bent forward to kiss her goodbye.

Michele could not take her gaze from the girl's eyes. She had never seen them so unrelenting.

"I'll be home about midnight," she said quietly.

Michele knew better, but she decided to give it one last try. "I'll expect you at seven-thirty," she said. "I'll have dinner ready."

Leda stepped away from the bed. She smiled, but there was no warmth in the expression. "I'll be home about midnight," she repeated.

Michele watched her go. She wanted to pick up the bed and hurl it after the girl. Why couldn't Leda give an inch? Even now? She knew that if necessary the girl would hang about the streets until midnight. But she would not come home a minute sooner.

It seemed preposterous to Michele that she had allowed the situation to get this far out of hand. And it had been all her own doing, she knew. For if she had been firm with the girl, if she had not gone back on her decision to have Leda remain at home with her, the girl would have gotten used to the idea in time. She would have learned to like being cared for, as Michele wanted to care for her. But now...

Michele shrugged. Now, there was almost nothing between them but bitterness. She loved Leda, she always would. But love, it seemed, was not enough. She could never accept Leda's way of life. She needed the girl to be available to her whenever she wanted her. Not whenever it happened to be convenient to Leda's career. And she knew that the girl would not accept her way now either. It was too late for that.

Michele shoved herself off the bed and went out to the kitchen to fix a large pan for Boris. She didn't like the idea of leaving the dog behind. Still, she couldn't very well take him with her to Corinne's place. The woman's fluffy gowns and golden spreads would not take well to Boris's rough-housing. And she had no idea when she might return. At the moment, she didn't care. Perhaps she would be better off if she never saw Leda again.

And Corinne would help her. When she learned that Michele needed a place to stay, surely she would put her up for a while.

The thought of having someone to run to gave a lift to Michele's spirits. Even the complication of Toni didn't seem like much of a problem now.

She hurried about the business of washing and changing her shirt, anxious now to get out of the dismal surroundings and into the bright new life that awaited her.

By one-thirty she had straightened up the apartment and was ready to leave. For a moment she hesitated on the threshold, thinking again of Leda and the fun they had had together here before they had declared their love. If only it could have gone on like that... She slammed the door behind her and hurried down the stairs. She had wasted enough time already being morose. It was time now for action. She didn't need Leda. She didn't need anybody.

The afternoon heat of the city streets hit her with the force of a blast furnace. She shuddered and slowed her pace. The bright glare bouncing up from the pavement nearly blinded her and she shaded her eyes with her hand. The street was nearly deserted, except for a few kids playing in the gutter, oblivious to the deadly heat.

Michele strolled slowly, breathing deeply to stifle the panic growing inside her. Perhaps she should call first.

Perhaps Corinne would be busy, as she said she was every day.

She decided against it and proceeded toward her destination. Better to barge in on the woman than be turned down. She did not want to be alone now to think about Leda. She didn't want to think at all.

She wanted to feel. Heat, cold, love, pain. Anything. Anything that would deaden the awful sense of loss she felt concerning Leda.

Michele hurried the last few steps to the door of Corinne's apartment house.

She rang the bell and waited.

No answer.

She rang again.

Just as she had given up hope and started away, the answering buzzer sounded. She turned back quickly and pushed her way into the hall.

CHAPTER 14

"Hello," Michele said, forcing a nervous smile.

Toni nodded and stepped aside. "You'll have to settle for me," she said as she closed the door behind them. "The madam went for a swim." She grinned. "Which means she's got her toes stuck in the damp sand out at Belle Harbor."

"Oh," Michele said, more than a little disconcerted at the prospect of spending time alone with Toni. "Maybe I'd better come back later."

"Of course not," Toni said. The dark eyebrows lowered. "She told me to keep you here if you showed up."

"Oh," Michele said again, beginning to feel even more uncomfortable.

Toni laughed. "My God, don't be so damned proper," she said. "Anybody would think you were a beginner." She waved Michele to a chair. "You aren't, are you?"

"What?"

"A beginner," Toni repeated.

Michele sat down slowly into the deep sling chair. She kept her glance averted. The truth was none of Toni's business. "Not exactly," she said. "I've been living with someone for over a year."

Toni stepped to the bar and took out two glasses. She dropped a couple of ice cubes into each one, then added a double shot of Scotch. She brought one glass over and handed it to Michele. "That'll cure anything that ails you," she said, a trace of bitterness in her tone.

"What makes you think something ails me?"

Toni sat down into another sling chair and peered for a moment into her glass. "If it doesn't yet, it will," she said finally. "Corinne's consistent that way."

"Oh?" Michele breathed. She was beginning to feel like a monosyllabic moron. She could not seem to relax with Toni. Something gloomy, almost cruel seemed to emanate from the girl as she talked about Corinne. Yet Michele felt too curious to try to stop her. She wanted to know as much about Corinne as she could. She didn't want to make the same mistakes with the woman that she had made with Leda.

"Hmm," Toni said. Suddenly she looked up at Michele and a smile touched the edges of her large, firm mouth. "But you’ll find that out for yourself," she said. "I didn't mean to bore you."

"I'm not bored," Michele said quickly. Too quickly. She saw Toni's eyes narrow with anger.

"Don't try too hard," Toni said. "Nobody's been able to move into my bed yet."

Michele took a quick swallow of her drink. It stuck in her throat and she gagged. Toni laughed nastily.

After a few moments, Michele managed to recover her poise. She blinked the tears out of her eyes. "I didn't mean anything like that," she said in a rasping voice.

"Forget it." Toni set her glass on the floor and stood up. "Shall we try the old routine?" she said. "Maybe we'll both feel better."

Michele watched her step to the record player as she had done the other evening and pile a stack of records on the machine. As the music started, she recognized the same waltz that Toni had danced with Corinne.

Toni turned from the machine, a look of anger struggling with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess," she said apologetically. "The madam and I had a little brush this morning. About you."

Michele waited, knowing that the girl wanted to say more. She felt again the rush of sympathy toward Toni that she had felt before. Yet now she could not afford to be too sympathetic. For she needed Corinne now as much as Toni did.

The girl cleared her throat. "We've been fighting a lot lately," she went on. "About everything." She shrugged. "After six years, I guess you have to expect it."

"Six years?" Michele echoed.

Toni arched an eyebrow. "Surprised? So am I," she admitted. "But the party's almost over. That's why I didn't take you as nicely as I've taken everyone else." She sighed. "Corinne's looking for a replacement. And you're probably it."

Michele's ears began to burn. She knew that the girl must have already given up the fight or she would not be confiding in her now. And she realized too that Corinne must have been talking about her with Toni. She had been good, then. She must have been. And if she had been able to satisfy a woman with Corinne's experience, then surely Leda…

But she had promised herself not to think about the girl. As soon as the thought popped into her head, she turned it off and concentrated on the goodlooking girl with the sweet, sorrowful face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But I know how you feel. I... I just broke up with my girl too. It hurts."

"Yes," Toni said. "It hurts." As the record player blared forth another tune, she held out her hand to Michele. "This is our dance. Remember?"

Michele remembered all too well the last time she had danced with Toni. And she was not at all sure that it would be wise to repeat the moment. She was too lonely, too unhappy to resist the comfort of a woman's body against her own. Yet, she felt that Toni meant nothing by it, more than her own need for comfort. She let the girl pull her to her feet.

She tried to hold herself away from the girl, aware that being too close might not be safe. Yet, as Toni's arms went about her, the desire to resist ebbed away. She let herself relax. Toni moved in close, both arms going around Michele's waist.

Michele felt more like a girl in Toni's arms than she had ever felt with a man. Toni stood a good four inches taller than she, her body tight and compact as a young athlete's. Michele closed her eyes and rested her head against Toni's jaw.

She felt the butt of the girl's hand begin to circle low on her back. Tiny sparks of need burst into flame at Toni's touch. A trickle of perspiration slid down the inside of her arm. She bit her lip and tried to pull away.

Toni stopped dancing and stood holding Michele tight in her arms. "Don't run away from me," she whispered. Her hands moved down to caress Michele's buttocks and she lifted Michele toward her. She ground herself against Michele demandingly.

Michele caught her breath as desire pulsed through her. She felt Toni dragging her toward the couch. She did not even try to resist.

Toni went down on her knees before they reached the couch, dragging Michele with her. She pushed herself down on top of Michele, her fingers tearing eagerly at the buttons of Michele's blouse.

Michele heard the material rip and she didn't care. She tilted her head back in an ecstasy of passion as Toni's lips caught at her breast.

"Jesus, I want you," Toni whispered. She nipped painfully at Michele's breast.

Michele did not even feel the pain. Her hands reached out to touch the girl and Toni shoved them away. She lay passive then, feeling her nakedness against the cool wood of the floor. Wanting Toni to love her. To hurt her.

She gasped as Toni touched her. Her back arched away from the floor and Toni caught her hips in her hands and held her. She felt herself going... going...

She heard the slap.

Toni rolled away from her, moaning in pain.

Michele felt as though the world had been pulled out from under her. Her body heaved painfully, trying to regain its equilibrium. She tilted her head back and moaned in an agony of her own.

"Get up! Both of you!" Corinne's voice dropped icicles.

Neither of them moved.

"Get up, do you hear!" She was almost screaming now.

Michele sat up, but avoided meeting the woman's eyes. She glanced around for Toni.

Toni sat on the other side of Corinne, curled up in a ball, one hand covering the side of her face. She looked ready to commit murder.

Michele reached for her shirt.

"Not yet," Corinne commanded. "When I tell you."

Michele glanced up at the woman. She stood spread-legged and regal, still clutching the leather belt with which she had slashed at Toni's head. Michele wondered how she herself had missed being cut by the blow.

"Now, stand up. Both of you."

Toni rose slowly to her feet and Michele followed her example. She knew by the expression on Corinne's face that it would be unwise to argue.

"Now, go to the couch and finish what you were doing," Corinne said in a steely voice. "It would not be fair to Michele to leave it like this."

For a moment Michele did not believe what she had heard. Then she looked at Toni. The girl's face was pale and contorted with rage.

"Not this time, Corinne," Toni said quietly.

Michele realized the effort it had taken Toni to retain her composure. And for a moment she sensed the superior strength of the girl in the situation with Corinne.

"Do as I say."

"Not this time," Toni repeated. She took her hand away from her face, revealing a long, ugly welt. "And don't try to hit me again or I'll break your neck."

For a moment Corinne was speechless. She looked like a person who had never before heard the word no. Then, very slowly, her face relaxed and she began to smile. "You have never defied me before," she said.

Toni grunted. "We're finished now," she said. "It doesn't matter what I do anymore."

"Oh, you are right about that," Corinne said evenly. "You have never done something like this to me, Toni. Why have you chosen to make love to Michele?"

Michele glanced from one to the other of them. They were ignoring her completely, engrossed in the throes of their last disagreement. She put her arms around herself and huddled together inside the circle of her arms, feeling foolish and embarrassed to be exposed nakedly before them both.

Toni shrugged. "She's a goodlooking kid," she said.

"No, no, that won't do at all," Corinne said shrewdly.

"I wanted to hurt you," Toni admitted. "The only way I knew how."

Corinne nodded. "You have hurt me very much," she said. "But I will forgive you. Sometime." She glanced finally at Michele. "Now, go and leave us alone," she said to Toni. "If you will not finish the job, then I must do so."

Toni bowed from the waist and smiled stiffly. "Your wish," she said, "is mine."

Michele watched the girl turn and stride briskly toward the hall door of the apartment. She understood very little of the scene she had just witnessed. She knew only that she had been tossed back and forth like a piece of third rate goods. And a hot flush of anger began to well up in her as Corinne came toward her smiling.

"My dear," Corinne said, "I must apologize to you for Toni's behavior. I do not understand her. She has always been so good before."

"It was my fault as much as it was hers," Michele said belligerently, not caring how the woman might respond. "We were both upset and..."

"Ah, yes," Corinne said. "Consolation. An admirable basis for sex, I have always thought." She fluttered her fingers in midair. "So ... so beneficial."

Michele sensed the cruelty and the disappointment blended in the woman's tone. Yet she knew that the woman was not really thinking about her. At the moment she didn't care. All she wanted was to put on her clothes and get out of this place fast. She wanted no part of Corinne. Nor of the sick life she led. She turned her back on the woman and stooped to retrieve her clothes from the floor.

She felt Corinne's hand on her hip. She stood up suddenly and moved away from her.

"Michele, do not hate me," the woman said, her voice low and full of pain. "I have lost someone today whom I love very much. It is not easy."

The woman's words caught Michele up short. No, it wasn't easy to lose someone you love. Yet today at least, it seemed to be a universal happening. For an instant she felt a pang of sympathy, almost of guilt. She waited for Corinne to go on.

"I found Toni when she was only a child," Corinne said. "Fourteen. And I brought her to live with me. I have not been sorry. Oh, she is much younger than me and she had not always been enough. I have known others, many others. But I have never loved the others. I have adored Toni. And until today Toni has been good to me. She has been faithful." The woman's eyes clouded with tears. "You are the only woman she has known, except for me." She reached out to touch Michele. "I could love you for that alone."

"Love me?" Michele echoed. "I should think you would hate me." She stared at Corinne incredulously.

"You are still a child, my dear," Corinne said sadly. "In time you will come to understand what it means to love as I have loved Toni."

Michele felt herself flushing all over and she knew that the woman could not help but see her discomfort. It was the second time Corinne had accused her of being a child. Michele felt her anger beginning to abate. And in its place rose a stronger need, a need to prove herself to the woman for the sake of her own self-respect. She would show Corinne who was a child! And she would make her forget Toni, too.

But before she could say anything, Corinne stepped toward her and rested one hand lightly on Michele's arm. "I will ask nothing else from you," she said. "But you must belong only to me. You must belong only to me for as long as I want you to."

Michele met the woman's gaze levelly. "And if I don't?"

"You will," Corinne smiled. "You will have no time for anyone else. I will give you everything, Michele. Everything. But you must belong to me alone."

Michele stood looking down at the woman, hearing in her head the echo of the words she had said to Leda. Not the same as Corinne's but with the same meaning. And she felt almost as though she were tying a noose around her neck as she nodded silently in agreement.

"That is good," Corinne said. "You will not be sorry. I promise you that." She took the clothing from Michele's hand and tossed it onto a chair. "You will not need this," she smiled. "We have things to discuss."

CHAPTER 15

It occurred to Michele sometime during the afternoon to wonder what Corinne had in mind for her future. Yet, holding the woman close in her arms, feeling the fragrant warmth of her so near, Michele did not waste much time in idle thought. For the woman awakened in her a passion, a strength of desire that Michele had never dreamed herself capable of. And she responded to the woman eagerly, feeling truly wanted and needed for the first time in her life.

Still, as darkness began to fall, Michele lay with the woman in her arms and found that her thoughts had returned to Leda. Perhaps their love life had been less exciting. Perhaps Leda was still too young to thrill her in the way that Corinne did. But with Leda there had been another dimension. A caring, a feeling that went beyond sex.

She glanced down at Corinne's face, shadowy in sleep. What did she feel for this woman, beyond the physical response? After all, she hardly knew Corinne. And what she had seen of the woman's personality had not struck her as particularly pleasing. Surely there must be more to the woman than the side she had revealed. Toni was far too attractive and too sensitive, as Michele had discovered, to be intrigued by morbidity.

Corinne sighed and turned over. Michele pressed her lips gently to the white shoulder. She had to admit that she found the woman attractive physically, whether she cared for her personality or not. The soft, well-tended skin, the perfumed fragrance of her hair, the voluptuous breasts still firm and young looking.

She touched her fingertips to the woman's chin and turned the lovely face to hers. Not a wrinkle, not a spare ounce, the chin firm.

But any way she looked at it... it still wasn't Leda.

Michele felt as though her heart were sinking right into her stomach. After the mess she had made with Leda this morning the girl probably wouldn't want to speak to her again. And Michele didn't blame her.

She moved Corinne's weight off her shoulder and got off the couch carefully, so as not to disturb the woman. She looked around for her clothes.

Maybe if she got home before Leda got there, the girl would never know that she had gone out today. She knew it sounded like a hell of a way to conduct a relationship. If only they could go back and start all over from the beginning. She sighed. At any rate, she was going to try. Do everything she could to set things right with Leda before she got too involved with Corinne to back out.

Slowly Michele pulled on her clothes and sat down on the floor to put on her sneakers. She felt like a ragamuffin in this elegant apartment. She didn't belong here at all, really. She had no business coming here in the first place. She belonged with Leda. In a cold water flat, if necessary. In a tent. What the hell difference would it make, so long as they were together?

She heard the woman stir and knew that she was being watched. She did not look up, but concentrated her attention on the shoelace. Her hands were trembling and she felt the first signs of a headache behind her eyes.

"You are not very flattering," Corinne's deep voice came at her gently.

Michele flushed. No matter what she did, it seemed that Corinne always spoke to her as though she were a child. She wanted to sit up and yell at the woman that she knew what she was doing and that she didn't need to be scolded like a naughty three year old.

Instead she went on with the shoelace. When it was tied, she stood up with her back to Corinne. "I have to leave."

"Oh, really." She laughed then, the same musical laugh that had first attracted Michele to her.

Michele stiffened. She had expected anything from Corinne but a laugh. She felt a prickle of irritation across her shoulders. She turned slightly toward the woman. "What's so funny?"

"It is personal," Corinne said. "I am not laughing at you, but at myself. There was a time, Michele, when I could not even get rid of the women I did not want. And today, two whom I want very much have walked away from me. Do you not think that is funny?"

Michele tried to laugh. But she didn't have it in her to be amused by Corinne's personal tragedies at the moment. She had one of her own that seemed devastating enough.

"Why don't you laugh?" Corinne insisted. "Perhaps it is because you have not known me long enough. There are many people who would be glad to see this."

Michele turned to face her squarely now. She saw that the woman's eyes were brimming with tears, though she managed to keep a faint smile on her lips. Yet to Michele it seemed that the woman had aged thirty years in the past few moments. The lovely face she had admired only moments ago had sunk now into a puffy mask of misery and self-pity. And Michele felt shaken by the transformation she was witnessing.

"Why do you stay?" Corinne asked pathetically. "You have said that you must leave. I will not keep you."

Michele swallowed hard. "I... I didn't mean to upset you," she said limply, unable to find appropriate words, yet feeling that she must say something. "I..."

"You what, Michele? You come here and make love to me like an angel and then you go away? And you think I will not be upset. Do you think I have no feelings? Do you think I am not human like you?"

"I didn't mean that," Michele said with irritation. She felt the tendrils of Corinne's fatal attraction beginning to wind out to pull her in. No wonder Toni had been so docile. The girl had never had a chance.

"What did you mean?" Corinne demanded.

Michele sighed. "I don't know anymore," she said. "I was going back to the girl I walked out on this morning."

"Why, Michele?"

Michele closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Because I'm still in love with her," she murmured.

She heard Corinne move off the couch. Then she felt the woman standing close in front of her. Corinne's hand touched her arm lightly.

"I do not ask you to love me," Corinne murmured. "That will come in time, I hope. But I do not ask it of you. I want you to stay with me, Michele. I need you. I cannot live without someone to love."

Michele felt her senses beginning to reel. She belonged to Leda. She would always belong to Leda. Yet Corinne's misery reached out now to touch her, filling her with the need to comfort, the need to help. She recognized the feeling for what it was and. tried to fight back. She pulled out of Corinne's grasp and stepped away from her.

"I can't," she said almost desperately.

"You don't want to," Corinne said. "Perhaps I would feel the same in your position. You are still young. There is nothing here for you." She lowered her eyelids and when she spoke again her voice was barely audible. "Except love," she said. "I could love you, Michele..."

Michele felt herself trembling all over. She was hearing from Corinne the words she had longed to hear from Leda. Words that promised forever. Words that said, I am yours, Michele. I will belong to you. And she did not remember Toni. She did not remember the stories Leda had told her. She wasn't even thinking.

She was remembering only the words Corinne had spoken. I could love you...

She let her arms fall limp at her sides. "If I stay," she said, "will you..."

"I will do everything for you, Michele," Corinne murmured. "I will give you everything. Only stay with me. For always. I need you, Michele."

The balm of Corinne's magic words spread soothingly over the damaged ego that Leda had left her with. She wanted to be needed like that. Completely. She wanted a woman to do everything for her. She knew in her heart it was what she had always wanted.

She took a step forward and Corinne nearly fell into her arms. Gently she stroked the bowed head, touched the soft, silver hair with her lips.

It was beginning to feel like the story of her life. Every time she got near Corinne, they wound up back on the couch. It occurred to Michele that she had never gotten as far as the bedroom with its huge round bed. And she wondered if it would always be like this. A few words, a few kisses. The breathless rise of desire. A moment's ecstasy before sleep.

Yet, as Corinne gave of herself, Michele forgot everything else in the heady excitement of the moment. She liked being aggressive with Corinne, liked making love to the woman even when Corinne made no motion to return her caresses. The sweet essence of the woman floated around her like a cloud. She closed her eyes and went to the woman eagerly.

Corinne sighed contentedly. "You are better every time," she murmured. "There has never been anyone like you. Never."

Completely relaxed now and completely enthralled, Michele did not try to conceal her pleasure. She grinned happily and kissed the woman on the forehead.

"It is dark already," Corinne said. "I did not realize that it is so late. You must be hungry, poor child."

Michele grinned again. She was beginning to feel like less of a child every moment. "To tell you the truth," she said, "I hadn't thought about it."

Corinne smiled, her features once more serene and happy. "You are naughty," she said. "But I like that. Come, put on your shirt and I will fix us some dinner."

Michele sat on the edge of the couch watching the woman dress. She had hardly bothered to look at the woman's body, she realized now with a shock. Yet now that she was observing her naked, she felt more content than ever with the prize that she had won. Won? Well, whatever the case. The woman was hers now and she intended to keep it that way. No wonder Corinne had been able to have any girl in the Village she wanted. She could have had anyone anywhere.

Buttoning her wrinkled shirt, Michele stood up and followed Corinne out to the kitchen. She stopped just inside the door and leaned an elbow against the cupboard. "This kitchen is almost as big as the apartment I had," she said.

Corinne laughed. "I took the apartment for that reason," she said. "I love to cook when there is lots of room."

Contented, Michele leaned there, watching as the woman went through the motions of making a salad and iced tea. She had hardly expected Corinne to be the domestic type. Yet she could not deny that the prospect pleased her. Corinne was everything that she had wanted in her woman. Everything. Yet even as she thought this, Michele could not quiet the part of her that still yearned for Leda.

Deliberately she forced her thoughts away from the girl and to the situation at hand. She had promised herself that she would learn to be firm. To make a decision and then stick by it, no matter what happened. She had decided to remain with Corinne. Whether her reasons were sound or not, she would have to abide by the choice she had made.

She helped Corinne carry the plates into the diningroom and set them on the small table. Then she waited for Corinne to be seated first.

"It is too late tonight," Corinne said, "but in the morning we will find you a place to live."

Michele felt the fork slipping from her fingers and gripped it tighter. She hadn't known what kind of dinner chatter she might expect from Corinne. But certainly she had been unprepared for these words. "Oh?" she said.

"Yes," Corinne said evenly. "For tonight you will stay with me. But I have decided that I must not make the same mistake with you that I have made with Toni. It is not good for one to see too much of one's lover. That way, there can be no mystery. And without mystery, love soon dies." She smiled. "You will like me better," she said, "in the evening when I am beautiful than in the morning when I have just waked up."

"That's not true," Michele blurted. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"It is sweet of you to say so, my dear. But I know better than you what I am speaking of. I do not wish to lose you, Michele. You will like me better as a mistress."

Michele felt a hard lump of desperation rise to choke her. Somehow she felt that she couldn't win with anyone anymore. She had expected that she would move in here with Corinne and that they would live together as she had wanted to live with Leda. But, watching the expression on Corinne's face, she knew that she would play the game Corinne's way or not at all, as Toni had done. As many others had probably done too. Yet there could be no backing out now. She had come too far.

She decided to make a last feeble attempt. "I don't have the money for an apartment," she said. "I lost my job."

"Oh, silly child," Corinne laughed. "There is plenty for both of us. I will find you a place to live. And buy you new clothes. Money is good for nothing if you do not spend it. And every night, you will come and visit me like a lover. We will have fun, Michele. You will see."

Some hell of a mistress, Michele thought. Supporting me. Well, she could always take the money as a loan and pay it back after she got herself a new job.

But she knew that she would not.

"What will you do all day?" she asked casually.

"I have my work," Corinne said seriously. "You must not forget that, Michele. There is only money for us to spend so long as I do not forget that I have a career."

Michele sighed. The further she got into this thing, the more it began to sound like the same business she had encountered with Leda. Nevertheless, she had no room to complain. She had walked into it of her own free will.

And maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all. Maybe with the free time she would gain by not having to work, she would be able to get something written. Do something with herself for a change. Maybe amount to something herself. And then Leda would know the mistake she had made by not having faith. She would send Leda copies of everything that got into print. And then...

She cut the fantasy off sharply and pushed the plate away from her, the salad barely touched.

"Is something wrong?" Corinne asked.

"Nothing at all," Michele said. And for the first time in years, she believed that it was so.

CHAPTER 16

By noon the next day, Corinne had found Michele a three room furnished apartment only two blocks from her own. After she had paid sixty dollars in advance for a week's rent, Corinne left Michele alone and went back home to work.

For a long time Michele simply stood in the middle of the livingroom, looking at her new surroundings. The three large rooms with their Danish modern furniture seemed stark and almost cold after the flat on First Street. Yet in an atmosphere like this she knew that she would be able to write. To think and make plans for the future. Except for a few hours during the evening her time would be her own. And she intended to make good use of her free hours.

She realized that she would have to see Leda at least once more, in order to let the girl know that she had moved out for good. Leda would be able to find another roommate easily. Someone perhaps from school, who would be more sympathetic to her career, someone who might even in time take Michele's place.

She went into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. It would be nice to take a shower for a change, instead of sitting in the rusty old tub and watching the cockroaches climb up the wall.

And soon she would have a new wardrobe. Corinne had promised her that. She felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. A little cleanliness, a little self-respect could help her forget. And she believed that in her new life she would finally come to the realization of all her ambitions.

She stepped into the shower stall and turned on both faucets. Hot water. Lots of it. A luxury that she had almost forgotten existed. Nice thick towels from Corinne's place and scented pine soap. She worked up a lather on the wash cloth and began to move it slowly down the length of her torso. Funny that she had never realized what a difference a little money could make. If she had had a decent income, none of this mess would have happened with Leda. She could have made life at home pleasant enough for the girl so that she would not have needed a career. So that she would have been content to spend her life at home with Michele.

The hot water felt good on her back. She stood for a long time, letting the stream rush over her. After the night with Corinne, her body felt relaxed and fulfilled. All of her felt good, alive. She had not had a decent night's sleep for a long time. Yet she hardly realized it now. She felt charged with purpose, direction.

And the first thing she would have to do would be to end things with Leda. It would be only fair to the girl. And while Michele tried to convince herself that this was her only reason for going back to the old apartment, she knew in her heart that she wanted to see Leda. And she had to admit that she hoped the girl would be jealous and beg her to stay.

Stepping out onto the shaggy white mat, Michele lifted a towel from the rack and began to dry herself. The prospect of the girl's jealousy pleased Michele immensely. She wanted Leda to put up a fight for her. Not that she would go back. Not now. But to know that Leda really wanted her, really cared...

Michele smiled to herself as she reached for her rumpled shirt. The anticipation of her last talk with Leda spurred her on. She would meet the girl after school tonight. She didn't have to be at Corinne's place until ten. She had plenty of time.

Standing in front of the mirror to comb her hair, Michele caught a look at the expression on her face and stopped short. There was something about complacency that did not sit well on her features. She frowned and stared glumly at her reflection.

What would she do if Leda begged her to stay?

A minute ago she had been positive that she would never go back to the girl, no matter what happened. But already, knowing that she would soon be face to face with the girl, Michele began to lose her nerve. If she went back to Leda, it would only be the same old story all over again. For both their sakes, it was better that they be apart. Yet, for all Corinne's love, for all the new apartments and clothes and cash, Michele knew that it was still Leda she wanted.

She could write her a note. Explain that she wouldn't even be back to get her things.

Michele slammed the comb down on the sink, disgusted with herself for this weak-kneed approach to the problem. Of course she would see the girl. See her and tell her the truth. And no more of this beating around the bush.

She wandered back into the livingroom and stood looking around her. Even before she got around to Leda, she had a few things to do to make herself comfortable in her new home. Corinne had left her with fifty dollars in cash and told her to buy some food. Ten dollars at the most would take care of all the food she would need for a couple of weeks. And with the rest... She would buy paper. Rent a typewriter. Maybe pick up a new shirt. She had never in her life had fifty dollars just to spend as she wanted. She hardly knew where to begin.

She folded the five tens and slid them into the pocket of her slacks. As she adjusted the bulge of bills against her thigh, her fingers touched the piece of paper in her pocket.

Paul's neat printing stood out starkly against the scrap of napkin. She remembered him standing in the kitchen, offering to help her in any way he could. Probably knowing by her unhappiness that she would be needing help. She realized that she hardly knew the man. And yet...

He was a friend of Leda's. And he had offered to be her friend too. She could use that help now. If he went with her to see Leda, Michele knew that she would not be tempted to make a fool of herself and abandon her plans. And besides, if she kept in touch with him, he would be able to tell her about Leda in the future. How she was getting along. If...

Quickly Michele strode out of the apartment and down the two flights to the street. At the corner she dropped into a candy store. She got change for one of the tens and stepped to a phone booth.

Paul answered on the first ring. His voice sounded vaguely disappointed and Michele realized that he must have been waiting to hear from Jonny. Yet he sounded pleased to hear from her. And of course he would be glad to meet her at five.

Michele hung up and sat for a moment staring at the phone. Then she stood up and pushed her way outside.

She had more than three hours to wander around by herself. And nothing, now, that she particularly wanted to do. Her thoughts had already leaped ahead to her meeting with Paul, their interview with Leda. She turned east toward the park, hardly realizing where she walked.

Michele could not understand what it was about Leda that had turned her into such a jellyfish. All her life, before she became involved with the girl, she had been her own boss. Strong-willed, independent. Oh, she had never done anything that amounted to much, it was true. Still, she had done whatever she wanted to do, without anybody being able to lead her around. And now she hardly knew what she was doing from one moment to the next. She was even afraid to face the girl alone now, knowing that she could never retain her determination if Leda smiled and said, "I love you." It would me so much easier if the girl would deny it. So much easier for both of them.

She dawdled through the afternoon, thinking about Leda, about all the unhappy things that had happened since Michele openly declared her love. Why had everything gone so wrong for them? Why?

Maybe it always does, Michele thought. She remembered the pain in Paul's face as he spoke about Jonny. The scenes she had witnessed between Corinne and Toni. Were these people any different from herself and Leda? Perhaps in the realm of twilight love there could never be happiness. For any of them. Perhaps there would always be the jealousy, the fear of losing.

Yet, even if it were so, Michele knew that she could not return to that other world, to that world in which she had never really belonged. Her life would always be filled with Ledas and Corinnes and Tonis. For only in a woman's arms had she ever known fulfillment and love.

By the time she climbed into a taxi for the ride uptown, Michele had fretted herself into a raging headache.

Shafts of pain shot up the back of her neck every time she moved her head. She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples and prayed that Corinne would be good to her tonight, when this was all over. She would need all the kindness and gentleness she could get.

She stood out in front of the Automat near Leda's school and watched up the street for Paul. Exactly at five, she caught sight of his pleasant smiling features and tried to smile in return.

"Hi," he said. "You look like the end of the world."

Michele snorted. "That would be mild in comparison with what's happened to me," she said.

"Oh?" Paul said. "Let's get some coffee and you can tell me about it."

She followed him inside the Automat and found an empty table by the windows while he went for the coffee.

Paul set a cup at her elbow. "Now," he said, settling himself across from her, "what's the good news?"

For a moment she hesitated, not quite sure how she ought to phrase it. "Well," she said slowly, "you know Leda and I were having a little trouble."

Paul nodded. "I got that impression from you."

"Well, Leda wasn't happy either," Michele said. She sighed. "You know, I don't really understand what happened at all."

"Why?"

"Well, Leda and I lived together for a year as roommates and we never had so much as one argument. And then, the minute..." Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

Paul laughed. "You think that's so unusual?"

"It was only a couple of days!" Michele wailed.

"It makes sense," Paul said. "You expected Leda to become a different person overnight just because you told her you loved her, didn't you?"

Michele flushed but said nothing.

Paul nodded. "Most of us make that mistake the first couple of times," he said. "After a while you find out that most people like themselves just the way they are. And they expect the same from the people who claim to love them."

"Now wait a minute," Michele said, feeling the anger begin to grow inside her. "I do love her. That's why..."

"That's why you expect her to give up everything and become what you want her to be rather than the person she is." He shook his head slowly. "It won't work, Michele. Even if she did, you wouldn't be happy because she wouldn't be."

For a moment Michele didn't answer. She had expected sympathy from Paul, understanding. Now she felt that she had made a mistake in calling him. Obviously he didn't know her side of the situation at all. And she didn't feel so positive about it herself that she could cope with his attitude.

"Maybe you're right," she said finally. "But it doesn't make any difference now. I've already moved out."

His sandy eyebrows lowered thoughtfully for a moment. Then without answering, he picked up his cup.

She watched him sipping at the hot coffee. Her head had begun to pound like a sledge hammer was at work behind her eyeballs. What the hell was she doing here with him, anyway? Surely his own relationship with Jonny did very little to recommend him as a creature of wisdom.

Paul set down the cup and folded his hands on the table. "I'm sorry. I guess there isn't much else I can say, is there? If you're sure you're doing the right thing."

She nodded. "I love her, but we just can't seem to live with each other. She..." She shrugged impatiently. "I don't want to talk about it. It's all over."

"And what happens now?"

Michele glanced away from him to the stream of pedestrians flowing past the window. "Well, Leda still has school and her career," she said quietly. "And me? Well, I've found someone else. I mean..."

"What do you mean, Michele?" His voice was steady, but the fingers of one hand began drumming lightly on the table top.

"I'm not living with her," she said. "I have my own apartment. But..." She met his gaze levelly now. "She's paying my rent."

"My God," Paul breathed. "You mean you're letting yourself be kept?"

The tone in his voice cut through to Michele's nerves. "What's wrong with that?" she said belligerently.

Paul shook his head. "I'm just surprised," he said. "I didn't think you'd let yourself get taken in like this. What's going to happen to you, Michele, when your friend gets tired and wants another playmate? It happens, you know."

Michele could not answer his question. It was one she had not been able to answer for herself. Angrily she picked up the coffee cup for something to do with her hands. But she did not drink. "I didn't come here to discuss my behavior," she said. "I wanted to ask you if you'd help me move my stuff from Leda's place. I don't have much, but it's more than I can carry."

"Of course I'll help you," he said. "But that's not the point. I can't just sit back and watch you make a fool of yourself. You don't know what it's like, Michele. You're too new at this game, I suppose, to understand. But for you to give up your job and let this woman support you..."

"I've already quit my job. A couple of days ago."

"Then get another one," he urged. "Right away. Before you get used to having someone take care of you. You don't want to spend the rest of your life leaping from bed to bed."

Michele felt her cheeks go hot with anger. Why was he lashing out at her like this? Couldn't he see that she was confused and unhappy enough as it was?

She pushed back her chair and stood up. "I'm sorry I asked you to meet me," she said between stiff lips. "I thought you were a friend."

"I am," he said. "Believe me, I am."

"Then you wouldn't talk to me like this." She turned her back on him and started to walk off.

"Michele, wait," Paul called after her.

Michele heard him but did not bother to look around. She pushed her way through to the revolving door and hurried out onto the street.

She turned in from the street at the entrance of Leda's school and took up a post near the door.

The clock at the end of the hall said quarter of six. It would be over an hour before Leda showed up. But she did not want to go outside for fear Paul might be looking for her. She could not face him now. Or ever again. She felt unsure enough of herself about this business with Corinne. She certainly didn't need his advice to make her feel worse.

The minutes dragged finally into an hour. Her throat felt dry and sore from too many cigarettes. Her head pounded. All of her ached and all she wanted out of life was to lie down on something soft and sleep. Forever. If Leda asked her to come along home...

At five minutes after seven she saw the girl's familiar figure emerge from an elevator and start toward the street.

Michele stepped out of her corner and directly into Leda's path. "Leda, can I talk to you a minute?"

Leda stopped abruptly and peered into Michele's face. "I wasn't expecting you so soon," she said.

"I just want to talk to you," Michele said, taking the girl by the arm and pulling her away from the door.

"You're moving out," Leda said.

"Yes," Michele mumbled. "I've got a new place." She hesitated. "I thought I ought to help you with the rent for next month, since I didn't... give you much warning." Her hand moved toward her pocket.

"Uh uh," Leda said quickly. "I don't need Corinne's money, thank you. I can manage all right for myself."

"But..."

"It's all right. I got that part I tried out for." She giggled. "I'll be on stage exactly three minutes and forty seconds a night."

Michele's tongue felt like a wad of dirty cotton. "That's great," she said. Leda didn't need her for anything now. Not for anything.

Leda smiled bitterly. "I knew you'd be thrilled."

Michele gazed at the girl levelly for a moment, trying to determine what Leda was out to do. But she could see nothing on Leda's face but that damned contented smile. She wanted to reach out and choke the girl.

Instead she glanced away. "I thought I'd better come for my things," she added. "And Boris..."

"Boris is just fine. And I wish you'd leave him with me." She winked. "After all, you have Corinne to keep you warm."

Michele backed away from the girl. "All right. If you want him."

"I want him," Leda said. "That's all I'll have until you come back."

Michele did not like the look on Leda's face. It accused her of many things and none of them were complimentary. "Look," she said, her voice hard and tightly controlled. "I'm leaving for good. I won't be back."

Leda was silent for a moment, then she shrugged. "Anything you say, darling." Come by for your things any time you want. You have the key."

A wave of dizziness hit Michele suddenly and she felt that she must be losing her mind. Leda was playing this scene all wrong. Michele hadn't planned it this way at all. Where was the jealous scene, the pleading to come back home? Where were the words that said, "I love you, Michele. You can do no wrong."

She looked down at the girl and she could find nothing more to say.

Leda waited for a moment and then, realizing Michele's silence, parted her lips slightly in a smile. "I have to go now," she said. "Or I'll be late for rehearsal." She turned to leave. "Have fun, Michele."

Michele watched the girl leave her, darting nimbly between passersby, obviously glad to be going wherever she was going, glad to get away.

Then she stepped to the curb and raised her arm for a cab.

CHAPTER 17

By ten o'clock, Michele was thoroughly depressed. She had tried with three bottles of beer to forget her talk with Paul, the few moments with Leda. Yet nothing seemed to touch her. Even the prospect of the hours ahead with Corinne did not relieve the aching loneliness she felt. She would have given up everything for one kind word from Leda.

Still she had promised Corinne that she would be there at ten. And be there she would. As she pushed herself away from the bar and tried to stand up, Michele knew that she was very, very drunk. The floor seemed to be waving under her feet like an incoming tide. She took a deep breath and started toward the door. Her feet seemed to be working by themselves. She floated across the floor and outside.

She made it as far as the gutter.

Sighing, Michele stood up and leaned against a trash can. She looked down at the front of her slacks. With a scrap of paper from the can, she wiped at the splotches on her now creaseless and baggy pants.

Staggering a little, stopping every few steps to catch her breath, Michele made her way across the Village to Corinne's apartment house. It was five after ten when she rang the bell.

Corinne herself opened the door. It surprised Michele a little not to see Toni there, as she had always been before. She leaned against the doorjamb and peered inside.

"What a lovely sight you are," Corinne said scoldingly. "And you are late, Michele. Where have you been?" She took Michele by the hand and brought her inside.

Michele allowed herself to be led to the couch and stretched out prone. She did not even try to answer the woman's question. Her tongue felt thick and wooden. Her head throbbed.

Corinne untied the tight sandals and slid them from Michele's feet. Then she went into the bathroom and came back with a dampened cloth. She sat down beside Michele on the couch.

"Here." She spread the cloth across Michele's feverish brow. "This will make you feel better." Her fingertips touched Michele's chin. "Now, you must tell me where you have been."

Michele heard the edge of command that had crept into the woman's tone and she groaned inwardly. She didn't feel like talking at all. Not to anyone. Why the hell couldn't the woman go away and just let her sleep?

"Been nowhere," she mumbled.

"What?" Corinne said. She took hold of Michele's shoulder and shook her impatiently. "Michele, you must speak to me."

Michele sighed and tried to focus on the woman's face. Her forehead creased with her effort at concentration. But she could see nothing through the fog filling her brain.

Corinne raised her hand. She slapped Michele sharply and hard.

Michele's eyes popped open as though they worked on springs. She stared at the woman in amazement, too surprised to say a word.

"Who have you been with?" Corinne demanded.

"I wasn't with anyone. I..." She thought quickly, not wanting to tell the woman about Leda. "I was lonesome by myself all day. So I had a couple of beers."

Corinne looked skeptical. "Well," she said, "you must not do this again. If you want to drink beers, Michele, you will drink them with me."

Michele frowned. Something about this discussion sounded uncomfortably familiar. She wondered if she herself had seemed as unreasonable to Leda. Surely she must have. "I didn't mean anything by it," she said weakly. "I just..."

"We will have no more of it," Corinne said firmly. "I will be enough for you, Michele. You will see." She took Michele's face between her hands and kissed her tenderly on the lips. "You will see. I will love you so much it will make your head spin."

Michele didn't say a word. She had nothing to say. She felt as though she had been caught in a trap of her own making. And there was no way out.

She let Corinne take her into her arms.

We're on the couch again, she thought. I'm supposed to make love to her now. She's paying me to make love to her. She's paying my rent and she thinks she's bought my soul, too. She doesn't love me. She doesn't love me.

The words went round and round in Michele's drunken thoughts as she held Corinne and made love to her that night. She felt as though she had stepped onto a merry-go-round that was going too fast for her to leap off again.

And as the night grew into another day and the days grew into weeks, Michele began to find herself almost enjoying the ride.

Despite her demands on Michele's time and attention, Corinne proved to be a marvelous and amusing companion. Their evenings were hardly ever spent alone or at home. As Corinne had said in the beginning, she seemed to come alive at night, ready to run and play till the early hours of the morning. They visited every bar, every coffeehouse, every dive in the Village. Life took on a note of constant hilarity, a constant seeking of release from boredom, from depression, from living itself.

And at dawn they would creep home alone, back to Corinne's apartment, and fall together onto the huge round bed. Corinne's demands for physical satisfaction seemed to increase with each day, with each meeting of their bodies. And Michele responded always with eager passion, anxious to please, anxious to keep the woman wanting and needing her.

Yet sometimes when she left Corinne in the morning, Michele returned to her empty apartment with a heavy heart. She felt that she should be on top of the world, happy and content with the excitement of her life with Corinne. She had clothes, she had money, she had an expensive apartment, she had everything she ought to want.

Still, when she woke up in the early evening with a hangover, her throat sore and aching from too many cigarettes, her body unrested, Michele knew that there was no sense or meaning to any of it.

She hadn't written a word. There never seemed to be time. She hadn't thought a thought or made a plan for her future. She hadn't done anything that she could look at with pride. Her days and her nights were filled with Corinne.

She would dress carefully, elegantly, turning herself into a reflection of Corinne's taste, Corinne's conception of how she should appear. She would shove her disappointments aside and hurry off to Corinne for another wild night on the town. Another escape. And always Corinne would be waiting, happy to see her, anxious to be off for a round of fun. Eager to come home again and fall into bed.

* * *

Corinne's infatuation lasted exactly a month.

It happened so subtly that Michele never understood just when it began. Or why. Yet one night as she was dancing with Corinne in a gay bar, Michele became suddenly aware that the woman's attention was no longer exclusively her own.

She followed Corinne's line of vision to the back of a dark, close cropped head at the bar. She felt the woman sigh.

"I thought for a moment it was Toni," Corinne murmured. "I was mistaken."

Michele felt the cold draft of dread pass over her heart. She had managed, somehow, to forget about Toni. To forget about everything but the mad whirl they had been having. And she had not for a moment felt insecure in her position with Corinne. They were together constantly, except for the few hours when Michele slept and Corinne claimed that she painted.

Michele knew that night that the party was over. She went to the woman eagerly, with all the intensity of her insecurity. Needing to prove to herself that Corinne wanted her as breathlessly as she always had.

And Corinne kissed her and begged off with a headache.

Lying beside the woman in the dark, Michele knew a terror greater than anything she had ever felt before. What would happen to her if she lost Corinne? For all the money the woman had given her, Michele had managed to save little more than a hundred dollars. She could certainly never manage to support her apartment on the money she could earn waiting tables.

She knew it was petty, thinking only of the money and not of the woman she realized she was losing. Yet in her heart Michele had to admit that it was not really the woman she would miss. Oh, it had been fun, making love to Corinne. Sometimes it had even been good. But it had never been like it had with Leda. There had never been love with Corinne, only greed. Each of them demanding, taking all she could get from the other.

A feeling of self-disgust settled over Michele and she could remember now only the way Paul had tried to warn her. He had known that it would end like this. Had known she would lose Corinne. She had long ago lost what little there was of herself.

Yet it was a blow to her ego that Michele did not take kindly. The realization that she could not hold the woman nagged at her constantly, making her restless and on edge. They began to argue, in little ways. Michele would show up a half hour late and Corinne would fly into a jealous rage. Or Corinne would glance at a pretty face and Michele would become sullen and silent. Their hours together were filled with irritation and argument. And their feverish love-making could not hide from either of them their unhappiness with the other.

One evening when Michele showed up drunk, Corinne made it clear that she had had enough. She left Michele sprawled on the livingroom couch and went into the bedroom to dress.

It was some time before Michele realized what was going on. When she understood that Corinne intended to leave without her, she forced herself to stand up and staggered after the woman.

Corinne was sitting at her dressing table, weaving her long silvery hair into a chignon low on her neck. She glanced up at Michele in the mirror.

"Well, you are still alive, I see. I thought you had passed out for the night."

Michele heard the contempt in the woman's voice and she felt the anger beginning to seethe inside her. She leaned against the door jamb for support and tried to look nonchalant. "I'm alive," she said. "Where would you like to go?"

Corinne made a nasty sound in her throat. "With you, nowhere. It is enough that I have to look at you. I do not wish to be seen with you like this, Michele."

"What the hell's the matter with me all of a sudden? You used to like me well enough."

"You were young and beautiful then, Michele. Now you have become possessive and jealous." She shook her head. "These things do not become you. You have a look about you that is nasty and narrow."

"You're a hell of a one to talk about jealous and possessive," Michele spat back. She stepped away from the door and came toward the woman. "You hardly let me out of your sight. You buy my clothes and tell me who I can talk to. You don't even let me burp for myself."

Corinne turned to face her and her eyes were bright with disgust. "You have been paid well for your sacrifice," she said evenly. "If you were at all interested in me, as you have sworn a million times to be, perhaps you would not feel so cheated."

Michele's hands balled into fists. "God damn it," she said, "you know I love you."

Even as she said the words, Michele knew they were not so. That she had never loved Corinne. Yet she couldn't lose the woman now. There was nothing else.

Corinne stood up and patted the back of her hair. "It would have been nice if it were true," she said. "I hoped you would, Michele. But you are like all the others. You want to receive, but you are not willing to give."

Michele felt a wave of nausea rock her stomach. Somewhere, some time, she had been through all this before. And she knew that anything she said now would be a final condemnation. As it had been before, with Leda. "But I've given you..."

"Nothing that I couldn't get somewhere else," Corinne said. "The part of you that I have needed, you have clutched selfishly to yourself." She picked up her purse from the dresser and checked quickly through its contents. "Now, I am going out," she said. "Wait for me, if you wish. I will be late."

Michele sighed. She should kick the woman in the teeth and get the hell out of here. She had learned an awful truth about herself tonight. And about Corinne. Still, she had no place else to go. "I'll be here," she said.

Corinne smiled. "That is fine," she said. She reached up to pat Michele's cheek. "For some things, you are still very useful."

CHAPTER 18

Michele knew that her usefulness was at an end the night they ran into Toni in a bar.

She had been sitting with Corinne and some friends at a corner table for hours, talking about nothing, getting drunker by the minute. Corinne had had hardly a word to say to her all evening. And Michele had gradually allowed herself to lapse into silence.

When she spotted Toni standing just inside the door, Michele felt as though her heart had dropped into her shoes. Casually, so that Corinne might not notice her shift of attention, Michele lit a cigarette and leaned her head back against the wall. From where she sat, she could see Toni clearly.

The girl was alone, but looking around as though she were expecting to find someone. When her glance reached their table, she hesitated for just a moment, then turned away.

For a moment Michele thought that the girl intended to leave before Corinne noticed her. Instead, Toni stepped to the bar and ordered a drink.

Michele began to tremble as though she had felt a sudden chill. She clenched her hands on the table. The cigarette snapped between her fingers.

"What's the matter with you?" one of the women asked, turning toward her. For an instant she focused her attention on Michele. Then she glanced past her to the bar. "Oh," she breathed. "No wonder."

Corinne had noticed the byplay and turned to the woman with annoyance. "What is it?" she said. "Is Michele getting drunk for a change?"

The woman nodded in the direction of the bar. "So is Toni."

Michele watched Corinne stiffen and sit up very straight in her chair. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then, without turning to look at the girl at the bar, Corinne took Michele's hand and squeezed it gently.

"Ask her to join us," she said.

"What for?" Michele asked. "I thought you were finished with Toni for good."

Corinne's face remained an expressionless mask. "It is not for you to ask questions, Michele. Please do as I ask."

Before Michele could move out of the chair, she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Toni's eyes.

"Don't bother," Toni said. She pulled a chair over from the next table and sat down facing Corinne, her back almost directly to Michele.

"I can only stay for a minute," Michele heard her say. "I have a date."

"An important one?" Corinne asked quietly.

"No," Toni said. "Just a date."

Corinne leaned forward in her chair. "You must call me sometime, Toni."

Michele watched the back of the girl's head and saw her nod slightly.

"I'd like that," Toni said. "If you mean it."

"I told you I would forgive you sometime."

"Have you?"

Corinne was silent for several moments. "Yes, I have forgiven you," she said finally. "I forget now why I was angry."

Michele did not even bother to listen to the rest of the conversation. She didn't have to. She knew that Toni had, without any effort at all, quietly eased her out. It hurt Michele to realize that the two of them were sitting there completely oblivious to her presence, ready to take up again where they had left off, ready to forget that she had ever existed. Probably they had been through this many times before. Undoubtedly, they would go through it all again. Many times.

But Michele knew they weren't going to get rid of her quite as easily as they might wish.

When she took Corinne home, Michele felt more sober and determined than she had been since the night they met. Maybe Toni would win out in the end. Maybe Corinne would tell her to go. But before that happened, she would show them both that she was not somebody to be pushed around.

"Should I fix us some coffee?" Michele asked as they came into the apartment. Corinne had a weakness for coffee at five in the morning.

Corinne flung herself down on the couch. "No coffee," she said. "Tonight I need love."

Michele had always enjoyed Corinne in this mood. Carefree, happy and oh, so willing. Yet now she felt herself responding with anger and the need to hurt. For she knew all too well that Corinne's joy had nothing to do with her. They had not been happy together even in bed for a long time. She did not want to make love to the passion Toni had aroused in Corinne. Yet she wanted to possess the woman even now. To make love to her and demand with her body that Corinne want her in return.

She came over to the couch slowly and stood looking down at the woman for a long time. She got hold of her anger and wrapped it up into a tiny ball of hate. Hate for Toni, for Corinne, for herself. She wanted to grab the woman and slam her against the wall. She wanted to beat her with her fists, smash that beautiful face, that gorgeous body until no one would ever desire her again.

She felt Corinne eying her curiously and smiled to cover her nervousness.

"Is something wrong, Michele?"

Michele cleared her throat. "I was thinking how beautiful you are," she murmured. She leaned one knee on the couch and bent toward the woman. Her fingers moved to unloosen the long strands of Corinne's hair.

Corinne shook her head and fluffed out the hair with one hand. "You still like me a little, don't you, Michele?"

It was not so much a question as a command. Michele watched the woman's mouth as she spoke. The soft, sweet lips that had lured so many to destruction as she was being led now. She wanted to laugh and she wanted to cry.

How could she tell the woman what she really felt, when she did not even know herself?

"I like you," Michele said, her voice barely audible. "I like you very much, Corinne."

Corinne held out her arms. "Show me how much. Michele."

Michele let herself be drawn into the circle of Corinne's arms, as she had done so often before. Yet tonight she felt no rush of desire, no longing to hold the woman and caress her. She felt only the weight of her own futility pressing down on her, driving her.

Her tongue sought the hollow of the woman's throat and moved slowly down. Slowly she undressed her, touching with her lips the flesh she knew so well and had once desired so strongly.

She felt Corinne's hand on her thigh.

"Both of us," the woman whispered. "I want you, too."

Michele helped Corinne undress her. The woman's fingers trailed across her back, along the sides of her breasts. She rolled onto her back and pulled Corinne on top of her.'

For a moment she tried hard to resist the need surging up in her. She felt the woman's body moving against her own, her mouth trailing a path of flame across her belly.

And then she surrendered herself to her need, to the blinding necessity to possess the woman. Immediately and brutally. She pulled Corinne up beside her on the couch.

Her lips mashed bruisingly against Corinne's. Her fingers sought a breast and pinched it hard. She wanted to hurt, to bruise. To leave the woman with a memory of her that she would never forget.

But at the last, she touched her tenderly, kissing her, kissing her...

Afterward she lay beside the woman, staring into the darkness, feeling neither sorrow nor joy. She felt ashamed and sick. And tired. Just plain tired. She could not bear the sight nor the feel nor the weight of her own body. The body she had pledged to Leda forever and which had been turned into a tool for someone else's pleasure.

She understood now that she had never really been anything to Corinne. That no one ever had, except perhaps Toni. And she hated the woman for using her. And hated herself more for having been used. She had lost the woman, she knew. Lost her without ever really having had her at all. She had been another of Corinne's whims, a toy. And now that she had served her purpose, she would be thrown back on the pile.

Dejected, defeated, Michele managed to drag herself through the dregs of Corinne's interest in her. For three days and three nights they played, they laughed, they drank, they made love. And for three days and three nights, Michele tried to tell herself that everything would be all right. Yet for all their noise and their laughter, they could not kill the truth.

On the evening of the fourth day, Toni opened the door to Michele's ring.

"Oh," Michele said.

Toni laughed. "Is that the best you can do?"

Michele shrugged. "I guess I expected you," she said frankly. She started to take a step forward.

Toni put out her arm to block the door. "Uh uh," she said.

Michele looked at her for a long minute. "I'd like to see Corinne," she said at last.

"She's asleep. She asked me to tell you goodbye."

Michele sighed. "Well, I guess that's it," she said tiredly.

"That's it," Toni said. "I told you a long time ago that nobody could move into my bed." She smiled. "But don't feel too badly. You lasted longer than most."

Michele didn't even bother to argue, but simply turned away and rang for the elevator. She heard Toni close the door behind her. She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes and shut them tight for a moment to get control of herself.

Out on the street she stood still for a long time, fighting down the rise of panic threatening to overwhelm her. When she had composed herself enough to know what she wanted to do, she turned and hurried along Bleecker Street.

She turned in at the nearest bar.

By the time she got back to her own apartment, Michele was feeling no pain. She undressed on the way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing behind her. Almost before she hit the pillow, she was asleep.

But like all the good things she had wanted, even the sleep had to come to an end. It was already afternoon when she sat up and blinked her eyes. She had a head on her she wished belonged to someone else and her mouth felt like the bottom of a sewer. She got off the bed and started for the john.

Aspirin and coffee and cigarettes. She'd had hangovers enough by this time to take them with a smile.

More aspirin.

More coffee.

More cigarettes.

Nothing she could do would quiet the pounding in her head. She wandered restlessly through the apartment, looking for a place for herself. But she could not find a moment's peace. She picked up paper and pencil and put them down again. She tried to read. She switched on the radio and switched it off.

Nothing...

She had had everything. Everything...

As darkness came on, Michele realized that she would go stark raving mad if she didn't get the hell out of there. She didn't want to be alone with herself. Didn't want to think. Didn't want to feel. Didn't even want anymore to live. Everything she had ever wanted was gone. Everything. She was alone. Without money. Without friends. Without love...

If Leda had only loved her...

Leda...

Michele grabbed her jacket and slammed out of the apartment.

CHAPTER 19

Michele sobered up with a shock the afternoon the landlady stopped her in the hall and asked for the rent.

For several moments Michele simply stared at the woman as though she thought she had lost her mind. Then she put her off with an excuse and went off upstairs to her apartment.

From jacket pockets and the drawer by the bed, Michele scrounged out every cent she could find. She counted it. She counted it again. But no matter how she rearranged the few singles and loose change, the total came out the same. Fifteen dollars and twenty cents. And one last, beautiful hangover.

She felt too numb to be surprised or worried. Corinne had been picking up the tab for everything for so long that Michele had allowed herself to forget that this day might come. Yet here she was, with a closet full of gorgeous clothes she had hardly even worn, an apartment she couldn't afford to pay for, and no place to run.

She threw herself down on the bed, but the tears would not come. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense out of this thing that had happened to her. Where had she gone wrong?

She let her thoughts drift back over the past two months searching for an answer to the riddle of her life and failure.

The mess she had made with Corinne seemed to her simple enough to understand. And she was not ready to assume the blame for the way things had turned out between them. From what she had learned of Corinne, she realized that no one else would have fared any better. Corinne would never be satisfied with anyone for long, not even with Toni. Afraid of growing old, afraid of losing her attractiveness, Corinne had to prove to herself constantly that she could have any lover she wanted. With an insecurity as deep as hers, it only made sense that she demanded so much and gave so little in return. For Michele realized, as Corinne never had, that dollar bills were a poor substitute for love.

Yet, what about Leda? Leda had offered her love and she had been unable to be happy with her either.

It felt strange to Michele, thinking about Leda now. She had done everything possible to keep the girl from her thoughts during the past weeks. For each time she considered the girl she could remember clearly only the last time they had seen each other. And the memory had been a bitter one. And again and again, Michele had told herself that, if Leda had been kind to her then and asked her to return, she would not have gone through this business with Corinne.

Now she understood that it was all a lie.

She could never rely on anyone to tell her how to live or to do the living for her. She knew that now. Corinne had tried, in every way she possibly could. And Michele had responded by feeling trapped, suffocated. She hated Corinne's possessiveness, her jealousy, even while she understood them. Had suffered them herself with Leda.

It had been simple enough to understand that Corinne's behavior grew out of her own sense of inadequacy.

It hadn't been quite as easy to apply the conclusion to herself. Yet she could deny it no longer. And she understood finally what Leda had meant. Until she learned to respect herself, she would neither receive nor deserve the respect of others.

And there was no time like the present to begin.

With no one to help her now but herself, Michele considered the gravity of her position. She had barely enough money on which to eat until she got a job. Certainly not enough to keep the apartment. She could find an inexpensive room on the upper West Side. And get a job in the neighborhood, close enough to save carfare. Waiting tables, she'd get one meal a day on the job. With a little scrimping, she ought to be able to make out.

The first thing she needed was a place to live.

Michele got up and washed and dressed carefully in the nicest suit she had. And heels. She rolled a pair of slacks into a neat bundle and stuffed them into her purse. The little money she had she crammed into a pocket. Then, without so much as a glance behind her, she slammed out of the apartment.

An hour later, she stood in a dingy room on West Seventy Eighth Street. Not much to look at. No sheets on the stained mattress. No rug on the floor. A community john at the end of the hall and enough cockroaches for everybody. But it was only eight dollars a week.

And, for the moment, it was home.

She tried hard not to notice the smell of dust and soot and sweaty bodies that seemed to have been painted into the walls. It was a far cry from Corinne's place. From the apartment of her own she had just left. She smiled. It was even a step down from the cold water flat on First Street. But in a way she liked the idea. If she could work her way up from rock bottom, she would have proved herself... at least to herself. And if she could do that, perhaps in time she could even convince Leda.

Maybe the girl would still give her a chance.

Maybe.

She wasn't ready yet to think about that, Michele realized. She had a long way to go before she could face the girl and say: "I'm all better now."

And now that she had a place to live, the next thing on the schedule was to find a job.

The job proved to be a little more difficult than the room. It took her two days to find a job close enough to walk to. And another two to get used to the idea of being back at work. Gradually her life began to take on a semblance of order, of purpose. She got to work on time, worked hard. The tips were good. And at the end of two weeks, she found that she had a little left over after she had paid the rent and bought a week's supply of food.

Saturday night is the loneliest night…

Michele kept humming it over and over to herself as she walked toward the shabby brownstone that housed her shabby littil room. No matter how busy she kept herself all week, she always seemed to wind up on Saturday night with a good case of the doldrums. She could always go to a bar... She dismissed the idea almost as fast as it came to her. There wasn't a woman anywhere in the world she wanted, except Leda. And she didn't need a beer muddled brain for anything. Besides, she didn't want to take the chance of running into Corinne. Or even Leda herself. Yet.

As she climbed the stairs to her room, Michele realized that she was becoming rapidly depressed. She didn't want to sit in the smelly little room and listen to the neighbors fighting and the plumbing dripping. She wanted to talk to someone. Anyone. She hadn't spoken to anyone for almost three weeks except for the men who ate lunch in the diner where she worked.

Maybe, if she called Paul...

She had thought about him often during the past weeks. About the words he had said to her at their last meeting. She had had to admit that he had been right. That he had seen her problem and tried to help her before it was too late. It had galled her to realize that if she had listened to him, all this would not have happened. But she could no longer be angry with him. If she wanted to be angry with anyone, it would have to be with herself.

Still, they had not parted on very good terms. She could not be sure that Paul would want to see her again, after the way she had behaved. Why should he, after all?

She decided it would at least be worth a try.

Paul wasted no time talking on the phone. They made arrangements to meet on a bench inside the entrance to Central Park. And within a half hour, Michele was watching him make his way toward her along the walk.

Paul sat down beside her and took both her hands in his. "I thought we'd lost you for good. How are you, Michele?"

Michele felt herself trembling with anticipation. She didn't even bother to answer the question. "How's Leda?"

Paul drew back an inch and peered at her curiously. "Leda's fine," he said. "We don't see much of her these days, she's so busy going to school and working. But as far as I can tell..."

"Has she been… seeing anyone?" Michele interrupted. "I mean..." She frowned self-consciously.

Paul laughed. "I know what you mean. No, she hasn't."

Michele withdrew her hands from Paul's grip and leaned back against the bench. A profound feeling of relief flooded through her. She knew it didn't necessarily mean that Leda was still waiting for her after all this time. But at least she felt that she might still have a chance. If she could only bring to the girl proof of her new approach to life...

"What have you been doing with yourself?" Paul asked.

Michele sighed. "That's a long story," she said. "And not a very interesting one." She paused and took out a cigarette. "You were right, you know. It lasted a whole month."

She had expected him to smile with satisfaction. Instead he merely nodded. "It's an old story," he said. "And the ending is always the same." He brought out a slim silver lighter and held it to her cigarette.

"In a way, I'm not sorry," Michele said. She took a deep drag and let the smoke out slowly between her teeth. "I've learned a lot in the past couple of months.”

"Oh?"

"Hmm," she murmured. "Something to do with the old philosophy of live and let live, I guess you'd say. At any rate, I'm beginning to make sense out of the troubles I had with Leda."

Paul stood up suddenly and held out his hand. "Let's walk."

She got up beside him and they strolled out of the Park, walking uptown under the trees.

"I've worked out a few things for myself," he said after a while. "I'm not living with Jonny anymore."

"Oh?"

"You know, after I gave you hell that evening, I did a lot of thinking. About a lot of things. I realized I couldn't very well blame you for not wanting to listen to me, when my own life was so completely fouled up. Funny, I'd been spouting the wisdom of experience for years and, on a practical level, I hadn't done a damned thing about it myself." He was silent for a moment. "That's all changed now."

Michele watched his profile in the light of a street lamp. "You don't look very happy about it," she said.

He looked down at her and smiled. "I'm not happy," he said. "I know it's hopeless with Jonny. I just haven't found anything to take his place."

As they walked together beside the park, Michele felt herself warming to Paul, liking him, wanting to help and comfort. Yet she knew there was nothing either of them could do for the other except listen sympathetically. But even that would help a little to stifle the loneliness.

They saw each other often in the days that followed. For supper, for coffee, sometimes just for a stroll in the park. Paul told her of Leda and at each mention of the girl's name, Michele felt the yearning for Leda growing more intense within her. More than anything, she wanted just to see the girl, to look at her.

Yet what did she have to offer now that was any different from before? What could she show to Leda to indicate that she had changed? A crummy job, an even crummier room. A lot of lousy memories and an ache in her heart for a girl she didn't deserve.

On Saturday after work, Michele rented a typewriter and bought herself a ream of bond paper and a pack of cigarettes.

She had emptied a pack of cigarettes and started on the butts by the time the story was done. She felt a flush of triumph suffusing her. Carefully she picked up the stack of neatly typed sheets and straightened their edges against the table top. It was only twenty pages worth of prose. Not much, maybe, for someone else. But to Michele it seemed like a monumental achievement. It was the first story she had ever completed. And it was a good one. She knew it. Something she could take pride in having written.

Still, she knew better than to allow herself to depend on one story to solve all her problems. Never again would she permit herself to become blinded to the fact that she must keep herself involved, busy with many things. She had let herself forget it once, in her relationship with Corinne. And the result had been something that she had no desire to repeat.

So she dropped the manuscript into the mailbox on her way to work Monday morning with very little concern for its fate. Already she had started on a second. And when she had finished that, there would be a third.

September came and with it, a relief from the stifling heat afflicting the city. Through the cool evenings she worked steadily, feeding into the mails half a dozen manuscripts. Her days were busy with her job and with Paul.

Yet never for an instant could she close her mind to her need for Leda. At night she could not sleep, and at work, she was plagued by a constant restlessness. She began to lose weight and her fingers trembled when she lit a cigarette. A nagging frustration tortured her body.

Still she waited.

And finally one Tuesday morning her patience and her work were rewarded.

Her hands shook as she tore open the envelope and extracted the check.

It was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen in her life. Fifty dollars. Fifty dollars!

As she folded the check and slipped it into her purse, Michele knew that the time had come. She was ready now to face Leda. Not because of the money. It wasn't all that great.

But because of the promise she had made to herself and was finally fulfilling. She still had a long way to go. But she would be a somebody. She knew she would.

If only Leda still cared...

CHAPTER 20

From Paul, Michele learned the address of the theater where Leda worked. And Tuesday evening, when she was finished at the diner, Michele hurried downtown.

She had dressed very carefully for the occasion in the only outfit she had and the new trench coat that made her look older and debonaire. Her hair had grown in a little and waved softly over her ears and down almost to her collar. She was thinner and paler than when Leda had seen her last. And she felt that she had aged at least fifteen years. But her spirits were high and she knew her feelings must reflect in her face. Leda had found her attractive once.

Michele sat down on a loading platform across from the theater exit and trained her eyes on the door. She had no idea when Leda might be getting out of work. But she would wait all night if she had to. It was cold in the alleyway, with a gust of wind stirring the dust and soot of late summer and sending it into her eyes. Yet she scarcely noticed the discomforts. She felt warm and content and full of excitement.

She had no idea how the girl might react to finding her there. Michele knew that Leda would not send her away without speaking to her, at least. And if she could just communicate to Leda the confidence she had gained in herself, the hope she had for the future... Even if the girl no longer loved her as she once had, maybe in time they could become friends again. Even that would be better than the nothingness of life without the girl.

And then, perhaps, as she got a chance to prove herself, Leda would begin to love her again. Would begin to find her worthwhile.

Michele knew that she would die if Leda no longer loved her. Her arms ached to hold the girl, her lips yearned for the feel of Leda's flesh. Through the long nights she had dreamed of holding the girl, of making love to her as she had before. She had not looked at another woman since her affair with Corinne. There was no one for her but Leda.

She watched the lights blinking out across the city, heard the hum of traffic taper off. The theater crowd had already left the building. The cigarette butts at her feet had grown into a mound. Still she watched the door and waited, stiff and shivering with cold, her head aching from the intensity of her vigil.

It was nearly twelve when the door finally opened and a couple of girls hurried out. They glanced at Michele curiously, then went on down the alley toward the street.

Michele slid down from the platform and stepped into the shadows.

Leda came out alone. Michele watched her descend the steps. She looked very tired, her shoulders drooping a little and the bounce Michele remembered gone from her step. It pained Michele to see the girl like this. And pained her more as she realized that she herself had probably been responsible for the dragging unhappiness she felt emanating from the girl. She wanted to take Leda in her arms right there and hold her close. Just stand there and hold her and let the rest of the world go on without them. For she knew that neither of them needed anything else. They needed only to be together.

As she moved out of the shadows and came up behind Leda, Michele felt a little afraid. It had been so long. So long. Perhaps it was already too late.

She touched her gently on the arm. "Leda?"

She heard her draw her breath in sharply. But the slow step did not falter. She fell into step beside her. Leda did not glance at her. Michele felt she might as well be invisible for all the attention Leda seemed to be paying her.

"I thought maybe we could have supper," Michele said. She heard the nervousness in her own voice and fell silent.

They turned onto Broadway. Leda headed toward the bus stop at the corner.

Michele followed her. "Aren't you even going to say hello to me?"

Leda glanced at her now, but there was no happiness in her eyes. She looked drawn and tired. "You surprised me."

Michele felt herself relaxing. She didn't care what Leda said, so long as the girl spoke to her. "Are you sorry?"

Leda shook her head slowly. "No. Just surprised."

"Look," Michele said, "can't we go somewhere and talk. I mean, you don't have to go home this minute, do you?"

Leda sighed. "There's no one there but Boris," she said. "If that's what you're worrying about."

I deserve that, Michele thought.

Somehow it hadn't occurred to Michele that Leda would not see the change that had taken place in her. If it were so obvious to herself, surely it should be obvious to Leda, who knew her so well. Yet, she could hardly expect Leda to know all that had gone on since the last time they met.

"I wasn't worrying about anything," Michele said as gently as she could. "I simply wanted a chance to speak with you. For old time's sake, if nothing else."

"Times have changed," Leda said. Her voice sounded flat and dead.

Michele felt her temper beginning to stir. What the devil had happened to the girl to make her behave like this?

"Damn it," Michele blurted, "so have I!" She took Leda by the arm. "And you're going to listen to me, if I have to tie you down and sit on you!"

She watched the shadow of a smile flit across Leda's lips.

"Don't bother," Leda said. She nodded up the street. "The bus is coming. Ride downtown with me."

Michele followed the girl onto the bus and paid both fares. She couldn't figure out what kind of a game Leda might be playing with her. But she didn't like it. She felt as though she were being manipulated, though she didn't know why this should be so.

Their conversation on the bus did anything but ease Michele's nerves. Leda hardly spoke at all, except to answer an occasional question, and Michele began to feel that the situation between them might indeed be hopeless. She leaned back against the seat and stared glumly into the night. It was her own damn fault, after all. She could hardly blame Leda. Why should the girl welcome her back with open arms, after the way she had carried on?

Leda led her into the house and Michele followed docilely. It felt strange, being in the old place. She remembered the broken steps, the odor of urine in the downstairs hall, the light socket at the top of the third flight that had been empty of a bulb since they moved in. The door with the lopsided number nine done in white paint.

And Boris. She had tears in her eyes as she went down on her knees to hug the dog and scratch him behind the ears.

"Sit down," Leda said. "I'll make some coffee." She dropped her purse on the couch and went out to the kitchen.

Michele trailed after her with Boris hugging her heels as though determined never to let her out of his sight again. She stopped just inside the door. Boris sat down on her foot.

Leda filled the coffee pot and set it on the stove. She struck a match and touched it to the gas burner.

Suddenly she turned toward Michele and faced her squarely for the first time. "Why did you come back?" she said. "I was just beginning to get used to it."

Michele felt as though she had been hit over the head with a boulder. She felt the wind go out of her and she leaned against the door for support. Then she saw the tears filling up in Leda's eyes, the misery etched on the girl's face.

Yet she did not dare touch the girl. Not yet. She reined her desire in sharply and took a deep breath. "I came back because I love you," she said quietly.

"You loved me when you left. That didn't stop you."

Michele shook her head. "I loved you," she said. "But not the right way, Leda. Not the way I do now."

Leda's eyes narrowed and the smooth forehead creased into a frown. "Who told you that? Corinne?"

Michele flushed. "Nobody told me," she said. "Though a couple tried. Including you. I had to find it out for myself."

"Did you?"

The sarcasm in Leda's tone hurt, yet Michele knew now that the girl was merely protecting herself, holding herself at bay. "Yes," she said. "I found out. I... I can't tell you, Leda. But if you'll give me a chance, I think I can show you." She took a step forward.

Leda backed away. "You said that before, Michele."

Michele sighed. "Yes, I said it before. But that was a million years ago," she murmured. "Look, I've been doing a lot of things the past few months."

Leda smirked. "Like Corinne," she said.

"Like Corinne," Michele echoed. "But only Corinne and not for very long. She got just as bored with me as she does with everyone else."

Leda stepped to the cupboard and reached down cups. "So what have you been doing?"

Michele could not see the expression on the girl's face, but she heard clearly enough the relief in Leda's voice. She stepped forward and took the cups from her hand.

"Well," she said, "I have a job. Not a very good one, but I manage. And a room." She smiled. "That's not so hot either. But I've been writing, Leda." She paused to let the point sink in. "And I've sold a story."

Leda turned slowly to face her. "I'm glad," she said. "It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

Something about the gleam in the girl's eyes warned Michele that she was about to be set firmly in her place. But she nodded her head eagerly in agreement.

"Well, then," Leda breathed, "what would you say to me if I asked you to come live with me... on the condition that you never write another word?"

Michele saw the trap gaping wide before her and deliberately stepped into it. "I'd tell you that my career has nothing to do with you. And that, if you loved me, you wouldn't try to make such demands."

Leda's face relaxed into a complacent smile. "You have changed, haven't you?" she said. "Or do these rules only work for the man of the house?"

Very carefully Michele set the cups on the table. 'There's something we'd better get clear right now," she said.

Leda raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Michele?"

"I don't give a damn if you spend the rest of your life being a career woman outside this house. But in this house..."

"Yes, Michele?"

"In this house," Michele repeated, "I'm going to be boss." She grinned. "Which means, when I say: come here and kiss me... you'd better jump."

Michele watched Leda's face closely, searching for the answer she needed to know. If Leda still loved her...

Leda lowered her head.

"Well?" Michele murmured.

Leda looked up at her then and smiled with her heart in her eyes. "Yes, Michele," she whispered.

Michele moved to take the girl into her arms. Her own arms were shaking and her knees felt weak. She grabbed the girl to her and lifted her off the floor. Her lips, her tongue sought Leda's. She would never leave the girl again. Never.

"The coffee's boiling," Leda said against her ear. "Let it," Michele said. Her hand fumbled with the buttons of Leda's blouse.

Leda sighed and relaxed against her.

For a moment Boris sat watching them.

Then he got up and padded politely out of the room.

~~~

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) – posters, refrigerator magnets, t-shirts, notecards and more!