by John Coyne
“Honey,” she whispered, but he didn’t answer. She knew he wouldn’t; he never spoke when they made love. She wondered then if all men were the same. Did they all have sex like animals, silent and purposeful, without words of endearment? Or was it her? Did she somehow make men behave in a certain way?
She gasped. He was inside her, and she fell forward onto the wet sheets of the hotel bed. Her face was pressed against the hard mattress, and she grabbed its edges as he came, driving her down. It was not the way she wanted, but as he seized her by the shoulders, drove deep into her, she felt her own orgasm in a dizzying rush. It grew and grew, took her breath away, and she gasped with pain as her body shook and quaked, and then she came again and again, in wave after wave of sweet pleasure.
She awoke in the silence of the big house and heard the rooms speak to her, whispering. Her teddy bear and Raggedy Ann listened, too, and kept her safe. She pulled them both close to her and slipped farther down beneath the warm blankets. Through the window she could see the moon, and the moon’s shadow, as ghostly as her dreams, seeping across the rug.
She loved her room, it was safe and cozy, and full of her toys, and she spent hour after hour in it, playing with Barbara Ann, and Sally, and ail her dolls. She would make tea and sandwiches and have parties, just herself and her doll friends. And she’d have parties for Sam when he came home from boarding school. They would lock the door, and she would sit on his lap and pretend that there was no war in Europe, pretend that they were all alone in the big house, with Mommy and Daddy far, far away.
But at night, after everyone went to bed, she was afraid to be alone. Afraid of the ghosts and goblins, bats and little lizards that lived in the comers of her room. They waited for her beneath the stairs, too, and in the rafters of the attic and behind the sofa in the living room, and they darted from sight whenever anyone entered, and they came out at night to hunt down all the humans. Sam told her as much, whispering in her ear, and she didn’t want to believe it, but she knew it was true, and she wanted to be held by Sam in his arms, protected by his embrace.
Sam had first told her about the flying lizards and the ghosts when they spent a warm summer afternoon up in the attic, lying together in piles of their mother’s old clothes. Sam was looking for his football pads. That was the summer he turned fourteen, and he wanted to take them with him to prep school. They had rummaged together through the trunks, and Sam had told her to take off her white skirt and summer shorts and try on Mommy’s clothes. Okay, she had grinned. She liked the idea of taking off her clothes. It was hot in the attic, with the sun pouring through the small windows, and Sam had seen her without clothes before, wrapped up in a towel after her bath. But it was different now. She had breasts, tiny little breasts, and her mommy had already told her she’d need a brassiere before school started.
So she had taken off her skirt and shorts and tried on clothes for a while, posing for Sam, preening in the mirror propped against the attic wall. He searched for and found the farmyard set, then assembled it in a box to carry downstairs. But they didn’t want to leave the attic, and she got bored with trying on old clothes, so she lay down in the soft pile of discarded dresses. It was warm, and she liked the way her brother looked at her, so she didn’t put on her clothes again. As she lay there, in the pile of velvety dresses, she fell asleep, and when she moved again, Sam was lying next to her, holding her, touching her. He told her that he missed her, that he missed not being home with her all year, that he hated going to boarding school. Then he began to cry, and she kissed his soft cheek and held him and told him she would write him every day. Then he started to kiss her on the mouth like they did in the movies. She told him to stop, that they would both get in trouble, but he said it was okay, that he wouldn’t tell. And he asked her if she would, and she shook her head, too frightened and excited even to speak. Something was happening between them, and she didn’t know what or why, but she knew she couldn’t stop, nor did she want to stop, and she waited and watched for her brother to do whatever he was going to do.
He took off her panties then and tossed them away, and then he took off his own trousers, and she began to giggle. But she loved the way her body suddenly felt, all tingling, and then Sam showed her what boys did and what girls did, and it was wonderful. It hurt a little, but he said that was okay, that it wouldn’t hurt again, not the next time. She was so happy that he told her that; she knew she wanted to do it again.
Afterward, they lay quietly together in the warm, musty attic, and he told her that he loved her, and she told him that she loved him, too. He said that they couldn’t tell their parents, and she nodded. She didn’t want to tell them. She wanted it to be their secret forever.
Later, when they were getting dressed, he put his hands on her breasts and then he put his arms around her and hugged her, and they kissed like in the movies-She asked if they could do it again, and he said yes, at night, when Mommy was asleep and the house was quiet. He would come into her bedroom, and they would sleep together every night until he went away to school. She smiled. She would never again be so happy in her life.
After he left for school, she had written almost every day. But the next time he came home, he was different. He had begun to smoke, and their mother had yelled at him. Here they were paying two thousand dollars a year for his education, she had said, and he looked like one of those young toughs who hung around on city streets.
She had thought he looked neat, but when she hugged him, he acted funny, as if he didn’t like her anymore, and her feelings were hurt. Later, in bed, she had cried into her pillow, muffling the sound so he wouldn’t hear.
Now she wondered if she should creep down the hall to see him, but she was afraid to leave her bedroom. It was always safer in her bed, he had explained, because it was at the end of the hallway, farther away from their mother’s bedroom at the top of the stairs.
She tossed off the blanket and went over to stand against the windowpane, feeling the cold air seep in from outside, staring at the snow on the lawn. Tomorrow they could make a snowman, she thought. She and Sam could make a big snowman all by themselves. She hoped the snow was good for packing.
Maybe he had a girlfriend. She knew there was a girls’ school across from his. The thought made her jealous.
She heard a sound in the doorway, and when she looked up, she saw Sam slip into the room. He closed the door.
“Sam!” she whispered, bounding onto her bed.
“Shhh, for chrissake!”
“They won’t hear us!” she insisted. “Come here, please. I’ve been waiting for you.”
He sat down slowly on the bed and immediately she wrapped her thin arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth.
“Don’t.” He pushed her away and wouldn’t look at her.
“What’s the matter?” She sat back, near tears.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward so that his long hair fell over his face and she couldn’t see him. He had lost weight since he left for school.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked in a small voice.
He shook his head, then looked up and tossed his hair back. “No,” he admitted. “I’m not mad at you.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart.”
“I thought you were coming home for Thanksgiving.”
Sam shrugged. “I couldn’t. I got sick. Mom told you, didn’t she?” He stretched out on the bed and put his head on the pillow.
“But I thought you’d come home to see me.” She curled down next to her big brother and embraced him. “I’ve missed you,” she told him again.
He just nodded.
“Did you miss me?” she asked.
“Sure I missed you, dopey.” He turned around and tickled her.
“Don’t!” she laughed, struggling, trying to keep his hands off her body.
He stopped then, and they lay together, smiling, staring at each other. Then she asked, “Do you have a gi
rlfriend or something at school?”
“No, dopey, you’re my only girlfriend.” He hugged her, and she kissed his neck.
“Can I come up to school and see you sometime? I mean, I asked Mom and she said it was okay.”
“I don’t know. Where would you stay?”
“Couldn’t I just stay with you in your room?”
“No, you can’t stay with me, for chrissake.” He turned away from her and stared up at the ceiling.
“What’s the matter, Sam?” She curled closer to him, and wrapped one leg over his.
“Nothing’s the matter.” He pulled loose from her and sat up again on the edge of the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“Hey, look, Nora, we can’t do this anymore.”
“Sam, I didn’t tell Mom.”
“Jesus, you’re just a kid. You don’t know what you’re talking about, it’s not right, you know.” He stood up and walked to the window, and his face was silhouetted in the pale moonlight.
“But I love you, Sam. Besides, it makes me feel good.” She got out of bed then and scampered across to the window to wrap her arms around him. He had grown since he went back to school.
He slipped his arm around her thin shoulders and hugged her. She turned her face into his chest and kissed the cotton top of his pajamas. She loved the way he smelled. After he had left for school, she went through his dresser drawers, took one of his summer shirts, and slept in it all fall. When her mother discovered it in her room, she only smiled and shook her head, then kissed her daughter on the forehead. She had been pleased that the two of them were such good friends.
“But don’t you like me, Sam?” she asked, looking up.
He shrugged. “You’re only thirteen. You know I could get put in jail or something.”
“They can’t put you in jail, Sam. You’re sixteen. They don’t put sixteen-year-old kids in jail. And I’ll be thirteen years old next month. I read in a book that girls in Europe because of the war are getting married when they’re thirteen.”
“Not to their brothers, they aren’t.” He pulled himself from her arms and stretched out again on the bed.
She followed him onto the bed. “And I’m not your real sister, anyway. I’m only your half sister. We could get married, I bet. I have to ask Mom if we could.”
“Don’t you say anything!” Sam grabbed her arm.
“I wouldn’t. Sam, let me go. That hurts!” Her eyes filled with tears and she pulled loose from him. “I didn’t say anything to Mom, you jerk!”
“Shhhh,” Sam whispered, putting his hand over her mouth.
Both of them listened hard.
“I don’t hear anything,” she whispered, slipping down into bed and tucking her teddy bear and doll into their corners by the pillow.
Sam listened for a few more minutes, turning his head so he could catch any noise from the hallway, and then he relaxed and lay down beside her with a sigh. “I’m tired. I want to go to sleep.”
“With me, please,” she begged, edging closer to him, but he didn’t say anything, just lay beside her with his eyes closed. “We could just sleep together in my bed,” she said. “We don’t have to do anything. Please?”
He didn’t answer. He just pulled the blanket down, slipped his long legs underneath it, and then pulled it up over them both. Pleased, she turned on her side and snuggled down close to him, then took his arm and wrapped it around her body.
He touched her then, and she opened her eyes and stared across the room at the moonlight coming through the window. She did not move. She let him find his own way. He had begun to breathe harder, deeper, and then she began to match his ragged breath. He had put his hand beneath her long woolen nightgown and slipped it up to touch her breasts. His hand was cold for a moment on her flesh.
He was struggling now to get closer to her, to slip his other arm between her legs, and he was breathing hard, as if he had run a long way to reach her. She told him to wait, jumped out of bed, and quickly reached down to pull the nightgown over her head.
She felt a sudden draft of cold air between her legs, then the lights flipped on. With her nightgown caught in her arms, high above her head, and her brother lying there beneath the blankets, she turned to see her mother standing in the doorway.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN JENNIFER AWOKE, TOM was gone and the room was dark. She had been conscious for only a few minutes when the phone rang. Clearing her throat, she said “hello” out loud a few times before answering so that her voice wouldn’t betray that she had been asleep so early in the evening.
“Jennifer? It’s me. Eileen. Did I wake you?”
“Of course not. I was reviewing some reports. They always make me sound sleepy.” Jennifer sat up. “Thanks for telephoning. I needed a break.” She tried to sound alert and businesslike.
“Well, I don’t want to bother you. I know you’re here on business…”
Jennifer smiled. She was suddenly glad that Eileen had called.
“I thought if you weren’t busy… I mean, if you didn’t have a meeting, we might have dinner together.”
“I’d like that, but don’t you have a meeting yourself with Kathy Dart and her friends?”
“Not till nine-thirty. Jennifer, if you’re busy, or whatever, I mean, I understand.”
“Eileen, I’d like to. What time is it, anyway?” She reached for her watch.
“Seven-twenty.”
“That’s all? My body feels like it must be eleven. I went jogging this afternoon.”
“Jennifer, you jog? That’s a new you!”
“Yes, well, I guess there’s a lot new about both of us.” Fully awake, she realized she was hungry. “Eileen, I’ve got to change clothes. Can you give me twenty minutes?”
“Of course. Why don’t we meet downstairs at eight?”
“Sure.”
“See you in the lounge, then,” Eileen said, and quickly added, “Oh, if you have the time, maybe you’d like to come to this evening’s session with Kathy Dart and Habasha. I have an extra ticket.”
Jennifer laughed. “Thanks, but no thanks. One session with your guru. But I do have some questions about her. See you at eight. ‘Bye.”
Eileen Gorman, of all people, she thought, hanging up the telephone receiver. Slowly she got out of bed and walked naked to the shower, still bruised from the long run and from Tom’s fierce lovemaking.
“I first heard Kathy eight months ago,” Eileen said. They were both looking over the restaurant menu as they talked about the meeting earlier that day. Jennifer asked how Eileen had first heard about the channeler.
“As soon as I saw Kathy trance-channeling Habasha, I knew that was what I was looking for in my life.”
“What do you mean, looking for?”
Eileen set down the large menu and sighed. She sat directly across from Jennifer, but she looked off across the room and into space. “I was lost. I mean, I had my marriage, but Todd has his work, you know, and what did I have? Bridge? A tennis game? Shopping? I mean, I was living out there on Long Island. I had—I have—everything that I could possibly want. I’m lucky, I admit, and I had no reason to feel at a loss for anything, but I did. I did feel lost. Lonely. I’d go to the malls and just wander around, do endless, useless shopping, and it didn’t bring me any satisfaction. I don’t wear most of the stuff I have jammed into our closets. I started to have affairs, you know, just to do something, to bring some sort of meaning into my life, or whatever.”
“Eileen, I thought—”
“Listen, Jennifer, I’m not the only one. Half the women on Long Island are like me. I mean, you’re lucky. You have this wonderful career. You have a life of your own, interesting friends.”
“Eileen, so could you! You’re attractive, you’re intelligent. You were our valedictorian!”
Eileen was shaking her head, cutting off Jennifer’s reply.
“You know I got married right after school. The truth was, we had to get married. There was this guy,
Tim Murphy— I met him at Jones Beach. We were both lifeguards. Well, I got pregnant.” She shrugged her shoulders, looked over at Jennifer, and grimaced, as if to say that was it, her life was over, a fait accompli. But her eyes were glistening. Then she leaned forward and smiled. “But it doesn’t matter. I was meant to have that sort of life. It was my karma.”
Jennifer frowned. “Eileen, we make our own lives. We’re in control. Why do you think women fought so hard for equal status? What do you think the ERA is all about?”
“This is not a woman’s thing, Jennifer. It’s beyond the here and now, beyond all these daily problems.”
“Eileen, the feminist movement wasn’t—isn’t—a little daily problem.”
“Jennifer, you’re not listening to me. You’re not hearing what I’m trying to say.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
Eileen cut her off. “Kathy Dart is the most remarkable woman I have ever met. Maybe the most remarkable woman alive today.”
“Eileen, please.” Jennifer looked down at her menu.
“I mean it! You don’t know. You haven’t been exposed.” Her voice had picked up, and there was anger in her tone.
“I’m sorry,” Jennifer soothed. “You’re right. I asked about Kathy Dart, and I haven’t given you a chance to explain. Here’s the waitress. Let’s order and then I’ll be quiet. Promise.” She smiled at Eileen and for a moment tried to concentrate on her oversized menu but found she was too anxious. When the waitress arrived, she asked for the special of the evening.
“I saw her on television, the first time,” Eileen began. “It was the ‘This Morning’ show, and they had three or four people, mediums, psychics. I had never thought about any of that stuff in my life. But I had the TV on, and I was sitting at the counter in the kitchen watching
killing time, you know, and trying to decide what to cook for dinner. It was September seventh, I remember, and it was rainy and cold, and I couldn’t play tennis, but I was thinking maybe I should go to the club anyway. Then Kathy came on and I sort of started to listen, and it was as if she were talking just to me. She was telling me her life story, and what had happened to her as a child, and I found myself crying as I listened. I mean, she was talking about me, the mess I’d made of life, my feelings of being out of it, left behind, in the wrong crowd.”