The Insiders

by Rosemary Rogers

  Stella began to cry, leaning her head against Marti's shoulder.

  "Marti, don't! Please don't make me unhappy, because I do love you, you know I do! I'm just afraid, that's all. What's there for us, Marti? In the end, I mean? I don't want to end up old and living with another old maid. Old maids—old dykes, they'd call us. And laugh, and snigger at us. And—I've seen it, Marti! We'd get to looking so ugly; all square-bodied and thick, like men. Oh, I couldn't stand that. I'd kill myself first!"

  "Stop it, baby, stop it! You're young and you're beautiful and you'll never get old—all it takes is money and face-lifts. So cut out the tears. Go out with George; take him for whatever you can get; go out and fool the god-dam world, then. But baby, come back to me afterward —never stop coming back to me!"

  Marti's hands touched Stella, stroked her trembling body, caressed it until the trembling had become a need that made her gasp and squirm.

  "Oh, God—yes, baby—yes, yes! Do it to me—let me, too—Marti—Marti, darling—darling!"

  They fell together onto the thick shag rug, tugging at their clothes, touching, kissing greedily. Marti kept thinking that at least she'd leave nothing of the life, the passion, the loving that brimmed up in Stella for old man George with his distinguished gray head and manicured hands.

  Marti made Stella climax, screaming and whimpering with desire and lust—that soft, babyish mouth was open —little tongue licking greedily out at Marti's nipples. Of course Stella loved her back! Stella would use George, but it was Marti that Stella loved. Stella was hers, hers!

  Marti gave herself up at last to pure feeling, ceasing to think and to calculate. Midnight-black hair and blond were all mixed up; their bodies met and tangled and entwined in the age-old Sapphic patterns.

  Marti had never been so forceful, so demanding, so generous, and so tender. Under her avid, seeking mouth she felt with joy how Stella seemed to quiver and burn and then melt. Stella's beautiful body lay opened to her hands and lips—possessed completely by her. And as for her own needs—had Stella ever loved her so well? Stella was usually shy and inhibited about the things she would or would not do. But tonight, as if she had to prove something, Stella seemed to go wild. Her hands and tongue were merciless, taking Marti to peak after peak of joy.

  After it was all over, they lay panting against each other like animals. Stella's sldn still quivered and shrank with sensation—she lay on her bade with eyes closed and her pink lips parted, still moaning softly. Marti, lying on her stomach with an arm and a leg thrown possessively over her love, was, at that moment, content.

  Now let her go out with George—let her try finding out if that was what she wanted, whether George could give her pleasure.

  It was only after Stella had left, still half-dazed with the passion that had exploded between them, that Marti let the depression catch up with her again. The last thing Stella had said as they kissed good-bye at the door had been, "Marti, I love you. Please understand!"

  So Stella would go out with George after all. How could George resist her? Marti was well aware of Stella's loveliness—and Stella's selfishness. Always, Stel would come first—to Stel. If it hadn't been George, then eventually there would have been someone else. Marti knew that, had always known it. But how could you stop yourself from loving, from needing one particular person?

  The last record had ended, and the silence hurt her ears. Why couldn't Eve have stayed up? They might have gotten smashed together, consoled each other. Poor Eve, as unhappy over her stupid, undeserving David as she was over Stella.

  Her drink was finished. Should she have another, maybe? Standing up, Marti felt herself sway. A sudden wave of nausea hit her, and she felt beads of sweat pop out on her brow as she clutched onto the arm of the chair. No more drinks—she hated to get sick, hated the agony of vomiting. Carefully, she began to walk toward her bedroom.

  On the way, she leaned against Eve's door for a moment. Eve, wake up—I need someone. Hold my hand; talk to me; tell me she'll be back. But there was only silence. Well, she could cry herself to sleep!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IN THE WOMEN'S WASHROOM at Hansen, Howell & Bernstein, Stella Gervin studied her reflection in the mirror. Thank goodness last night didn't show, except as a very faint shadow under her eyes, hardly noticeable under her makeup. Stella's lips curved in a smile. Smiling, she gazed back at her mirrored self with a kind of complacence. No wrinkles. And her hair looked pretty this morning; she was glad she was letting it grow again.

  Stella's new blue dress brought out the color of her eyes; its demure ruffled collar made her neck look slender, and the skirt was midlength enough to show that she had extremely pretty legs. She wondered suddenly if David would notice. She had had the feeling that just recently he had been noticing her a lot and trying to hide it. Well, men who knew she was Marti's special friend were usually intrigued. Every man wanted to be the one who could make a lesbian come.

  Under her pale skin, Stella flushed. More of Marti's philosophy—she herself hated the word. I am not a lesbian. Bisexual, maybe. It sounded properly clinical, better than lesbian, les. Never. I can always get it from somewhere; it doesn't have to be a woman. A man with soft hands who understands women and likes to go down on them could have the same effect. Against her will, she thought of Marti as she had been last night.

  Beautiful, slender Marti with her hard-muscled dancer's body, giving her pleasure—and such pleasure! Could a man ever do the same for her?

  One of the other secretaries came in, and Stella turned away hurriedly, the flush still on her face. She picked up her purse and started to hurry out, smiling at the other girl. Thank goodness it hadn't been Gloria. Gloria always managed to make her feel plain and insecure. Privately, Stella knew it was because Gloria had her eye on David Zimmer, who was Stella's boss. To Gloria, any female who worked around David had to be competition, especially since Eve was out of the picture now. So Gloria invariably made it a point to remind Stella of her position, which was outside David's office, and safely behind her desk.

  Back at her desk, Stella put her purse away and sat down, crossing her legs. David wasn't in yet Mr. Zimmer. She always called him that in the office; it made for better business relations, and it kept Gloria off her back. It was Gloria, in fact, who had made a point of bringing George Cox into her office, on the pretext that he wanted to see David. Gloria knew very well that David was out that afternoon! Stella guessed that Gloria had also known very well that George would prefer to meet David's secretary. Well, she had no complaints about Gloria on that score, at least. George had seen her, George had liked her looks, and it hadn't been long before his phone call had come, asking her if she'd care to have dinner with a lonely old man. Stella had known that George Cox had been married at least three times and wasn't exactly lonely for female companionship, but the fact that he had asked her out was flattering—and he was such a rich man!

  Behind her desk was a window that looked out over the city. Stella loved her view of all the white buildings that seemed to glimmer in the sun when the fog went away, and the faint cresoent of blue in the distance that was San Francisco Bay. She had hated Los Angeles, but the first time she had seen San Francisco she had felt as if she belonged here. Perhaps, she mused, it was because here, for the first time, she had been really free, and able to choose her own friends, make her own life. Thanks to contacts she had made through Mim, she had been lucky enough to land the legal secretary job at H. H.&B.

  Mim, whom she hadn't thought of in months, started a whole new train of memory. Mim led to Kevin, and the thought of Kevin, hateful even now, reminded her of herself as she had been just a few years ago—a naive, uncomplaining child-woman, Southern small-town style. Brought up to believe in church and marriage and a life just like her parents had led, raising lots of kids. Well, she'd been lucky that there had been no children. Some kind of trouble with her ovaries, the doctor had said. No children for her ever unless she wanted to stand some kind of operation that might even b
e risky for her. A good thing Kevin had wanted to wait.

  Kevin Maynard. She didn't like to remember now that she had once been Mrs. Kevin Maynard. Married to her high-school sweetheart, the only boy she had ever dated, because he had been the only one her parents approved of.

  He had been a quiet, ruggedly handsome man, and she had believed herself deeply in love with him. She had taken secretarial training while Kevin did his hitch in the Army, just so that she would be able to help him when he started back to college afterward.

  They had been married soon after Kevin got his discharge from the Army, and Stella settled down to the routine of a working wife while Kevin studied hard— he was ambitious and she had admired and encouraged his ambition. And she had even found keeping house kind of fun, at first.

  Being a conservatively brought-up Southern girl,

  Stella had never questioned the fact that she didn't really enjoy doing "that" with her husband. She wasn't supposed to, was she? It was something a woman submitted to, when the man was her husband. Kevin was kind enough to her, and this was what she had expected from marriage. She did not question the fact that he never tried to caress or arouse her—just rolled onto her and off her, and then they'd both fall asleep. The only time it had hurt was the very first time, and of course she had expected that.

  They might have gone on that way forever, except that Mim happened to them. Kevin's big sister, the one his family hardly ever talked about because she had run away from home to make herself a somebody; landing a job on TV, making herself a home somewhere on the West Coast. Mim had become something of a legend in their hometown.

  Mim just happened to be visiting the city where Kevin attended college, and what could be more natural than her staying with them? If Kevin's acceptance of Mim was a trifle stony-faced, Stella had thought nothing of it. Kevin had always been the quiet type, and of late he seemed to have become quieter than ever—in fact, she hardly ever saw him anymore. She worked all day, of course, and he was having to study very hard so he could get good grades—this was the only reason he spent so much time at the library. She must fight back that devil-instinct that suggested to her that the blonde assistant librarian might have something to do with it.

  Then—Mim. An invasion; perfumed, long swinging hair, pale face with big made-up eyes. Kevin became quieter than ever and stayed away more after Mim arrived, but Stella blossomed. Stella loved Mim, loved to hear of the life Mim led and the people she met in Los Angeles and San Francisco.

  Mim was beautiful, fascinating. Stella felt she could listen to Mim talk for hours, watching those expressive eyes and hands, loving it when Mim's soft fingers touched her arm or cheek fleetingly. Even when she was in bed with Kevin she was aware of Mim's presence on the living-room couch, wishing she could be out there talking to Mim or just listening—sitting on the rug as they sometimes did, with their shoulders touching.

  It was very hot that particular summer, a moist heat; and their apartment had no air conditioning. Stella fainted at work one afternoon, and they sent her home early. She thought she was going to faint again when she walked into the hot, sticky little apartment.

  Miraculously, she found Mim there. Mim had planned to go shopping, meeting some people she had to interview, but it had turned too hot, and so here was Mim lying on the couch, reading—wearing the briefest bikini she possessed.

  As Stella came in the door, half-staggering, Mim caught her—made her get undressed right down to her bra and panties. Then, because the bra was so tight, Mim took that off, too, in spite of Stella's shy, halfhearted protests.

  "Come and sit over here, baby—I've got the fan turned so the breeze hits the couch, see? There's just us in here! You've got such lovely breasts, Stella. Bet Kevin loves them all the time...."

  Mim's soft hands stroked her lightly, and Stella felt a sudden, different kind of thrill shoot up through her whole body. No—Kevin never did that to her. Mim talked soothingly to her, soft fingers tracing patterns on Stella's gold-tinted skin. Oh, it felt beautiful! Mim's hands cupped, molded, teased.... Stella closed her eyes. They were lying on the couch together now, and it was really too hot to move. Besides—did she really want to move?

  "Take your panties off, too, luv—let's get you all cooled off, huh?" Mim's voice had gurgles of laughter in it—or was it something else? Stella lifted her hips, letting Mim slide the panties down and off her body. How cool it felt now; how cool Mim's fingers felt against her skin.

  "Let me massage your shoulders for you, Stella; you look too tense. Turn over—yes, like that."

  Mm, that was good! Did she say the words aloud? Afterward she thought she might have. Why else would Kevin have jumped to the conclusion he did, walking in on them lying that way?

  Suddenly, the apartment seemed to explode with his anger and the words he flung at them both.

  "You! Dirty lesbian! I thought maybe seeing that doctor had cured you by now, turned you into a normal woman, but he didn't, did he, and now you—and you, you bitch, my wife! I always did guess there was something wrong with you, Stella, I knew it. No one could be as pure as you pretended to be. You were a virgin for me because you preferred making out with the girls, isn't that it?"

  His voice had an ugly, hysterical ring. Now he grabbed for Stella, jerking her off the couch and onto the floor, and then back up onto her feet, holding her arm with one hand while he slapped her mercilessly.

  "No, Kevin, no!"

  Both she and Mim saying it at the same time, making him even wilder.

  "Dirty, cold, frigid les! Never giving, always lying there, stiff. And I tried to be patient with you, gentle. What a laugh! I'm going to give you something to remember, now—both of you. Because you're going to watch, Mim, dear. Else I'll spread the story of what I just saw as far as it will go. Your career will be finished then, sister—you'll be finished."

  Her head throbbing and spinning from his slaps, her face starting to swell, Stella could do nothing to stop him as he pushed her ahead of him and into their bedroom. She felt him shove her roughly onto the bed and tried to struggle, sobbing hysterically. Again she heard Mim crying out for him to stop.

  "Liars—lying, unnatural bitches, both of you! Just don't scream too loud, or everyone's going to find out what's been going on between you two while I've been working my ass off," Kevin advised, his voice rough and hoarse.

  Stella had to He there and watch him as he took his pants off, took the belt out of them. She turned over as she saw him coming, muffling her screams of fear and horror, and then he was beating her. She wrapped her arms around her pillow and stifled her pain-filled screams in it while her body struggled and twisted, trying to avoid the blows that kept coming and coming mercilessly until she was in an agony of hurt, throbbing and stinging all over.

  When he was through beating her, he threw the belt at Mim, who was kneeling crouched in a comer of the room, sobbing, her hands over her eyes. Only half-conscious now, Stella felt him turn her over; she lay there not able to move as his weight came down on her and he raped her, pulling her legs apart and upward. He seemed bigger than he had ever been, she was dry, and she could feel him tearing his way up inside her, battering into her vitals. She screamed out loud, and his hand slammed down across her mouth, cutting her lip and loosening her teeth. She could feel herself bleeding, and that must have made it easier for him because soon he discharged himself inside her and at last she felt him leave her.

  From very far away Stella heard his voice, threatening, cruel.

  "Be out of here by the time I get back—both of you. You got two hours, that's all. And you better not contest the divorce, bitch. Get out—and I don't want to hear anything from either of you "again, understand?"

  She heard him go stamping out of the apartment, but she couldn't move, couldn't stop her own cries of pain. Oh, God, what pain!

  Mim washed her protesting body gently. Mim kissed her all over, stinging her cuts with salty tears. And Mim, her mouth and fingers so very gentle, gave Stella her
first orgasm, there on Kevin's bed.

  Afterward, leaving most of her clothes behind, Stella let Mim take her away. They went to Los Angeles first, and Stella became beautiful again as the bruises healed. Mim taught her things she hadn't dreamed about, even bought her books to read, and gradually she began to understand about Mim and about herself.

  Never again would she let a man touch her, never! She didn't care what they called her; she was going to be like Mim, accepting herself for what she was, accepting her own needs.

  That's what she thought at first, until the ugliness of the looks and sly little innuendos and the feeling of merely existing on the fringes of life began to get through to her. Stella still wanted no part of men, but she did want to be accepted by other people. After months of protests and tears and arguments, Mim said at last that she understood; and it was Mim who had helped her get the job. "I suppose I owe you something, after what I caused," Mim said, her big eyes sad and pleading. Somehow, from somewhere, Stella had found the strength to resist that pleading. She had grown tired of Mim, in any case. Never again would she let someone dominate her completely.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE TELEPHONE RANG, sending shock waves through Stella's body. She closed her eyes for an instant before she answered the insistent ringing. This was the present; both Kevin and Mim were tucked safely in the past. She picked up the phone, hoping it wouldn't be Marti.

  But it wasn't Marti; it was David Zimmer.

  "Stella, I won't be in this morning—looks like we're going to be tied up in court for quite a while yet. Be an angel and get my correspondence all sorted out, would you? Answer whatever you can, leave the rest for me."