JC1 The Carpetbaggers

by Robbins, Harold

  She took the tray from the steward and gave one glass to Rina. "Cheers," she said, smiling and sipping the wine slowly.

  "It's nice," Rina said.

  "I’m glad you like it."

  Rina put the glass down. "Shall I wear my new blue suit tonight?"

  Margaret assumed a shocked expression. "First-class dining is formal, Rina."

  "I have a few of my party dresses," Rina said. "I can wear one of them."

  "Not those horrible dresses they wear at the school dances?"

  A hurt expression appeared on Rina's face. "I thought they were very pretty."

  Margaret laughed. "For children, perhaps. But not for a young lady going to Europe."

  "I don't know what to wear, then," Rina said helplessly.

  She had teased Rina enough. "Those boxes on the bed are yours," she said casually. "I think you might find something to wear in one of them."

  The expression on Rina's face as she opened the boxes was all that Margaret had hoped for. Rina put on a stark black cocktail gown that clung to her figure, revealing her naked shoulders. As they walked into the dining salon, an hour later, every male eye followed them.

  Possessively Margaret reached across the table and patted Rina's hand. "You look lovely, my dear."

  * * *

  Margaret put down the towel and turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror. Pleased with her reflection, she ran her hands down along her sides, then stretched luxuriously. Her small breasts with their tiny nipples were no larger than many men's, and her hips were flat and her legs straight.

  She slipped into the silk pajamas, quickly buttoning the fly front of the long, man-tailored trousers, then fastening the tightly fitting bolero jacket. She brushed her dark hair straight back and pinned it. Once more, she glanced at the mirror. At a quick glance, few could tell her from a male.

  Pleased, she left the bathroom and entered the stateroom. "You can go in now, Rina."

  Rina stared at her in amazement. "Miss Bradley — Peggy, I mean — those pajamas!"

  Margaret smiled at her. "Like them?"

  Rina nodded.

  Margaret was pleased. "They're made of genuine Chinese brocade. A friend sent me the material from San Francisco. I designed them myself." One thing she could always say for Sally — she had good taste. Of all the things she had ever given her, these pajamas were her favorite.

  Rina got out of her chair and took a cotton nightgown from the bureau. She started for the bathroom.

  "Wait a minute," Margaret said. She went to her bureau and took out a small box. "While I was at it," she said, "I also bought you a few nightgowns."

  She watched Rina's face as she opened the box. "They're real silk!"

  "I was afraid that all you had were those horrible school shifts."

  Rina looked down at the box. "There's a different color for every night in the week," she said. "They're all so beautiful, I don't know which to wear first."

  Margaret smiled again. "Why don't you wear the white one tonight?"

  "O.K.," Rina said. She picked it up and started again for the bathroom. She stopped at the door. "I don't know how to thank you, Peggy," she said gratefully. "You make everything seem so wonderful."

  Margaret laughed happily. "That's just the way I want it to be for you," she said. She looked at Rina as if the idea had just come to her. "What do you say we celebrate tonight? While you're changing, I’ll order a bottle of champagne. We'll have a little party all by ourselves."

  "That would be fun." Rina smiled. "I always wanted to drink champagne but Father would never let me."

  "Well, this will be a secret between us." Margaret laughed, reaching for the telephone. "I promise I won't tell him."

  * * *

  Rina put down her glass and began to giggle.

  Margaret leaned back in her chair, still holding hers by its fragile stem. "What's funny?"

  "My nightgown crinkles and gives off tiny sparks when I move."

  "That's static electricity," Margaret said. "Silk is a very good conductor."

  "I know," Rina answered quickly. "I remember that from your class." She ran her hand down along the gown. "It gives off tiny blue sparks. Can you see them?"

  "No."

  Rina leaped to her feet. "I'll turn off the lights," she said. "You'll be able to see them then."

  She turned off the lights and stood in front of Margaret. "Watch," she said. She ran her hands down the sides of her gown. There was a faint crackling and tiny sparks appeared at her fingertips. Rina picked up her glass and emptied it. She held the glass toward Margaret. "May I have some more, Peggy?"

  "Of course," Margaret answered, refilling her glass.

  Rina held it to her lips and sipped. "Champagne is nothing but pop made from wine," she said seriously. "But it tastes better. It's not as sweet."

  "It's getting warmer in here, don't you think?"

  "It is getting warmer," Rina answered. "Do you want me to turn on the fan?"

  "Oh, no," Margaret said quickly. "We'd only catch cold in the draft. I’ll just slip off my jacket."

  She felt Rina's eyes on her small bosom and she picked up her glass quickly. "Do you mind?"

  Rina shook her head. She lifted her glass and took another sip. "Do you hear music?"

  Margaret nodded. "It's the orchestra from the ballroom. They're playing a waltz."

  Rina got to her feet. She swayed in time to the music. "I love to dance," she said. She glided lightly around the room, the white gown flaring out as she turned, showing her long, tanned legs.

  Margaret felt a weakness in the pit of her stomach as she got to her feet. "I love to dance, too," she said, making a mock bow. "May I have this dance, Miss Marlowe?"

  Rina looked at her, smiling. "Just this one. All the others are taken, Miss Bradley."

  Margaret shook a reproachful finger at Rina. "Mr. Bradley, if you please."

  Rina laughed. "Of course. Just this one, Mr. Bradley."

  Margaret put her arm around Rina's waist. They both laughed as the tiny blue sparks crackled from Rina's gown. Margaret felt her legs tremble as the warmth from Rina's breasts came through the gown. Holding the young girl firmly, she led her into the dance. They spun furiously in a circle as the music reached a crescendo, then abruptly halted.

  Rina looked up into her face. Margaret smiled at her. "We'd better have some more champagne." She poured Rina a glass and picked up her own. "You're a very good dancer, Rina."

  "Thank you. You lead better than any of the boys that ever came to the school dances. You do everything so well." Rina swayed slightly. "The dancing made me dizzy."

  "Perhaps you'd better lie down on your bed for a moment."

  Rina shook her head. "And break up our party?"

  "Lie down for a minute. You won't break up the party. I'll come and sit on the bed."

  "O.K.," Rina said. She walked over to the bed and put her glass on the night table, then stretched out on the white sheet.

  Margaret sat down beside her. "Feel better?"

  "The room is still spinning," Rina said.

  Margaret bent over her and stroked her forehead lightly. "Close your eyes for a moment."

  Obediently Rina closed her eyes. They were silent for a moment while Margaret continued to stroke her forehead. "That's better," Rina said softly. "The spinning has gone."

  Margaret didn't answer, but kept stroking her head lightly. Rina opened her eyes and looked at her. Margaret reached for her glass. "A little more champagne?"

  Rina nodded. She sipped and handed it back to Margaret, who smiled at her, then put the glass down.

  "I'm glad we're going to Europe together," Rina said suddenly. "I've never really had a close girl friend before. The girls at school always seemed such ninnies to me. Always talking about boys."

  "They're nothing but silly children, most of them," Margaret said. "That's why I liked you the moment you came into my room that night. I knew you were different, more mature."

  "Ever s
ince Laddie died, I couldn't stand boys," Rina said.

  "Laddie?"

  "My brother," Rina explained. "He and my father are the only two men that I ever really liked."

  "He must have been very nice," Margaret said.

  "He was." Rina turned her head away. "I think I was in love with him."

  "That's nothing," Margaret said quickly. "All girls love their brothers."

  "He really wasn't my brother, you know. I was adopted."

  "How do you know you loved him?" Margaret asked, faint jealousy stirring within her.

  "I know," Rina answered. "And I think he loved me, too."

  "You do?" Margaret asked, the jealousy stronger. "Did he— did you?"

  Rina looked away. "I never spoke to anyone about it before."

  "You can talk to me," Margaret said. "I’m your friend. We have no secrets between us."

  "You won't be angry with me?"

  "I won't be angry with you," Margaret said almost sharply. "Tell me!"

  Rina's voice was muffled by the pillow. "I wouldn't let him touch me because I was afraid of what would happen. Then one day, he came into my room and tied my hands to the bed with his belt and he did it to me. He hurt me so bad!"

  "He couldn't have loved you so much if he hurt you."

  "But he did!" Rina said wildly. "Don't you see, Peggy? I wanted him to. All the time I kept daring him and when he did, I knew I loved him. But he went out in the boat with Mother and they died." She began to sob. "It was my fault because I wanted him to. Can't you see that I was the one who was supposed to die, not Mother? She took my place in the dream. Now I don't even dream the dream any more."

  "You'll dream your dreams again," Margaret said slowly, holding Rina's head against her bosom.

  "No, I won't!"

  "Yes, you will," Margaret said firmly. "Tell me about it and I’ll help you."

  Rina stopped sobbing. "Do you think you could?" she asked, her eyes searching Margaret's face.

  "Tell me and we'll see."

  Rina took a deep breath. "I dreamed that I was dead and everybody was around my bed, crying. I could feel how much they loved me and wanted me because they kept begging me not to die. But I couldn't do anything about it. I was dead."

  Margaret felt a cold shiver of excitement tremble through her. Slowly she got to her feet. "Close your eyes, Rina," she said quietly, "and we'll act out your dream. Whom do you want me to be?"

  Rina looked up at her shyly. "Will you be Laddie?"

  "I'll be Laddie," Margaret answered. "Now you close your eyes."

  Margaret looked down at the girl. Suddenly her eyes began to fill with tears. A sudden fear began to tear through her. Rina was dead. Rina was really dead. "Rina!" she cried hoarsely. "Please don't die! Please!"

  Rina did not move and Margaret fell to her knees beside the bed. "Please, Rina. I can't live without you." She leaned over the bed and covered Rina's face with kisses.

  Rina opened her eyes suddenly, a small, proud smile on her face. "You're really crying," she said, her fingers touching Margaret's cheek. She closed her eyes again contentedly.

  Slowly Margaret slipped the nightgown off. "You're beautiful," she whispered. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world. You're much too beautiful to die."

  Rina looked up at her. "Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

  Margaret nodded. She ripped off her pajama bottoms and let them fall to the floor. "All you have to do is look at me to see how beautiful you really are." She caught Rina's hand and pressed it to her breasts, then down across her stomach to her thighs. "Feel how flat I am, just like a man?"

  Slowly she sank down onto the bed beside Rina, gently caressing her breasts, pressing her lips to the soft, cool cheeks.

  "I feel so safe with you, so good," Rina whispered. "You're not like the other boys, I don't like them to touch me. I'm afraid of them. But I'm not afraid of you."

  With a cry of agony, Margaret rolled, her knees forcing Rina's legs apart. "I love you, Rina! Please don't die!"

  She pressed her mouth against Rina's. For a moment, she felt the fire of her tongue and then she heard Rina's voice whispering huskily. "Laddie, fuck me, fuck me! I love you, Laddie!"

  10

  RINA LOOKED DOWN AT HER WATCH. IT WAS HALF PAST two. "I really must be going," she said.

  "To hurry after such a lunch?" Jacques Deschamps spread his hands. "It is sacrilege. You must have a liqueur before you go."

  Rina smiled at the slim, graying avocat. "But— I— "

  "You have been in Paris for more than a year," Jacques interrupted, "and you still have not learned that one does not hurry after a meal. Whatever it is, it will wait." He hissed at a passing waiter, "Psst!"

  The waiter stopped and bowed respectfully, "Monsieur?"

  Rina sank back into her chair. Jacques looked at her questioningly. "Pernod. Over ice."

  He shuddered. "Over ice," he repeated to the waiter. "You heard mademoiselle."

  The waiter looked at her quickly with that glance of appraisal that all Frenchmen seemed to share. "Over ice, monsieur," he said. "The usual for you?"

  Jacques nodded and the waiter left. He turned back to Rina. "And how does the painting go?" he asked. "You are making progress?"

  Rina laughed. "You know better than that. I'm afraid I'll never be a painter."

  "But you are having fun?"

  She turned and looked out at the street. The faint smell of May that came only to Paris was in the air. The truck drivers were already in their shirt sleeves and the women had long since begun to abandon their drab gray and black winter coats.

  "You do not answer," he said.

  She turned back to him as the waiter came with their drinks. "I'm having fun," she said, picking up her drink.

  "You are not sure?" he persisted.

  She smiled suddenly. "Of course I'm sure."

  He lifted his glass. "À votre santé."

  "À votre santé," she echoed.

  He put his glass down. "And your friend?" he asked. "How is she?"

  "Peggy's fine," Rina said automatically. She looked at him steadily. "Peggy is very good to me. I don't know what I'd do without her."

  "How do you know?" he said quickly. "You have never tried. You could be many things. You are young, beautiful. You could marry, have children, you could even— "

  "Be your mistress?" She smiled, interrupting.

  He nodded and smiled. "Even be my mistress. That is not the worst thing that could happen. But you remember my terms."

  She looked into his face. "You're a very kind man, Jacques," she said, remembering the afternoon she had first heard them.

  She and Peggy had been in Paris a few months and had just found their apartment, after her father had given his permission for her to stay in Paris for a year. Peggy had taken her to a party given by a professor at the University, where she had just begun to work.

  Rina felt very alone at the party. Her French was not good enough to let her mix easily and she had retreated to a corner. She was leafing through a magazine when she heard a voice. "Miss Américaine?"

  She looked up. A slim, dark man with a touch of gray at his temples was standing there. He was smiling gently.

  "Non parle fran— "

  "I speak English," he said quickly.

  She smiled.

  "And what is a pretty girl like you doing all alone with a magazine?" he asked. "Who is fool enough to bring you to a party like this and then— " He gestured expressively.

  "My friend brought me," Rina said, indicating Peggy. "She has just got a job at the University."

  Peggy was talking animatedly with one of the professors. She looked very attractive in her slim, tailored suit. "Oh," he said, a strangely quizzical look on his face.

  "And whom did you bring?"

  "No one." He shrugged. "Actually. I came in the hopes of meeting you."

  She glanced at his hands and saw that he wore a wedding ring, as so many Frenchmen did. "You don't expect me to believe t
hat?" she said. "What would your wife say?"

  He smiled and laughed with her. "My wife would be very understanding. She could not come with me. She is very, very pregnant." He held his arms out in an exaggerated circle in front of him.

  She laughed again and just then, Peggy's voice came over her shoulder. "Having fun, darling?"

  Some weeks later, she was alone in the apartment one afternoon when the telephone rang. It was Jacques and she met him for lunch. And several times after that.

  Then one afternoon — it had been a day just like this one — they sat dawdling over their liqueurs. "Why are you so afraid of men?" he asked her suddenly.

  She felt the red fire creep up into her throat and over her face. "What makes you say that?"

  "I have the feeling," he said. "Inside. I know."

  She looked down at her drink. She didn't speak.

  "Your friend is not the answer," he said.

  She looked up at him. "Peggy has nothing to do with it. She's a good friend, no more."

  He smiled knowingly. "You are in France, remember? There is nothing wrong, we understand such things. But I do not understand you. You are not the usual kind who lives like that."

  She could feel her face flaming now. "I don't think that's very nice of you."

  He laughed. "It is not," he admitted frankly. "But I do not like to see you waste yourself."

  "You'd like it better if I went to sleep with some clumsy fool who knows nothing and cares less about the way I feel?" she said angrily.

  He shook his head. "No. I would not like that at all. I would like you to come to bed with me."

  "What makes you think it would be any different with you?"

  He looked into her eyes. "Because I am a man, not a boy. Because I would want to please you. Boys are like bulls; they think only of themselves. In this you are right. But because of this, do not think that it is only women who know how to make love. There are men also who are aware of the sensitivities."

  "Like yourself?" she asked sarcastically.

  "Like myself. Do you think I see you again and again only because I have a purely intellectual interest in you?"

  She laughed suddenly. "At least you are honest."