***
She saw the car—shining silver and black top—when the taxi dropped her off in front of the motel.
The night clerk looked up from the switchboard in the office. “Your friend came in a couple of hours ago. I gave her the key to your room.”
JeriLee nodded.
“Are you leaving tomorrow, Miss Randolph?”
“No. Monday.”
“Okay. Just checking.”
She went outside and down the walkway to her room. A faint light filtered through the drapes. She tried the door. It wasn’t locked.
Licia was sitting on the bed, the pillows propped behind her, reading. She put down the newspaper and smiled as JeriLee came in. “Pittsburgh ain’t New York,” she said. “The late show goes off at two am.”
JeriLee smiled and glanced over at the table. The portable electric typewriter Licia had given her was exactly as she had left it, the page still in the roller. “You’re right about that,” she said. “It’s not New York.”
She put down the small suitcase she had brought back from the club. “Care for a drink?” she asked, opening the door of the refrigerator.
“Orange juice, if you have it,” Licia said.
“We have it.” She placed the bottle of Tropicana on the small table. From the shelf above she took down a jar of iced tea mix and a bottle of vodka. “I’ll get some ice,” she said and went out in the corridor to the machine. When she got back to the room, Licia was rolling a couple of joints. JeriLee fixed the drinks—iced tea and vodka for herself, orange juice on the rocks for Licia. “Cheers,” she said, slumping into the easy chair.
Licia passed her a joint. “I figured you can use one of these.”
“You were right.”
“How’s it coming?” Licia asked, nodding toward the typewriter.
“It’s not,” she said flatly. “I can’t seem to get it on.”
“What you need is a vacation,” Licia said. “You’ve been on the road for four months. You can’t work both ends of the clock.”
“That’s not it,” she said. “It seems that I’ve suddenly forgotten how to put words together. Like I can’t get down on paper what I mean.”
“You’re tired. You got to stop pushing yourself, honey, or you’ll push yourself into a breakdown.”
“I’m okay.”
Licia looked at the glass in JeriLee’s hand. “How many of those do you put away a day?”
“Not that much,” JeriLee said, knowing it wasn’t true. It seemed that almost every time she went for a drink lately the vodka bottle was empty. “It’s cheaper than coke and bennies and it works almost as well.”
“Alcohol does things to your gizzards,” Licia said. “At least when the other stuff is out of your system it’s out.”
“I don’t know about that,” JeriLee answered defensively. “Too many reds can scramble your brains.”
“I’m not talkin’ about speed,” Licia said.
JeriLee fell silent.
“Look, honey,” Licia said quickly. “I’m not preachin’ to you. I just worry about you.”
“I’m okay,” JeriLee answered quickly, then changed the subject. “I didn’t expect to see you this weekend. Where’s Fred?”
“He got held over at the Fairmont in San Francisco,” Licia answered. “He comes into the Waldorf next week.”
“I thought it was this week,” JeriLee said. The grass and the vodka were reaching her head. She giggled. “How does he take to being married?”
“He’s not complaining.” Then Licia laughed too. “Not that he’s had much of a chance. In the four months we’ve been married, I don’t think we’ve had more than ten days together. He’s really getting it together.”
“I’m glad,” JeriLee said. “He’s beginning to get more airplay. I hear him all the time.”
“F.M. mostly,” Licia said. “They dig middle of the road. We’re pushing A.M. radio though. That’s the one that pays off.”
“You’ll get it,” JeriLee said confidently. She took another drag of the joint, leaned her head back against the cushion on the chair and closed her eyes.
“Tired, honey?”
JeriLee opened her eyes. Licia had come around behind her chair and was bending over her. She nodded without speaking.
Gently Licia began to stroke her forehead with her fingers, then moved slowly down to her neck to massage the taut muscles. “How does that feel?” Licia asked.
JeriLee closed her eyes. “Good.”
“How would you like me to fix you a nice warm bath?” Licia asked. “I brought some new bath oil with me.”
“Sounds lovely,” JeriLee said, her eyes still closed. She heard Licia begin to run the water in the tub. A few moments later she felt rather than heard her return. She opened her eyes.
Licia was kneeling at her feet, unfastening her shoes. She massaged her feet. “Poor tired little feet,” she murmured. She looked up at JeriLee. “You’re beautiful, do you know that?”
“You’re beautiful yourself,” JeriLee said, looking at her steadily.
Licia ran her tongue across her lips. “I can smell your perfume from here.”
“Is it strong?” JeriLee asked quickly. “I didn’t have time to shower after the turn.”
“It’s fantastic.” Licia smiled. “It’s a real turn-on. I’m wet already.”
JeriLee stared into her eyes. “So am I,” she said.
Chapter 12
Except for the faint rays of sunlight coming through the cracks in the drapes, the room was dark when JeriLee opened her eyes. She rolled over on her side and looked at Licia, half buried in the pillow, one arm over her eyes.
In the semi-darkness the black girl’s nudeness was like a statue carved out of the night, the full breasts and long jutting nipples like antennas on top of twin peaks falling down into the valley of her flat hard belly, then rising abruptly to the abundantly fur-covered mountain of her pubis. She fought the sudden impulse to touch her, to feel again the hot wetness of her, to taste the mildly salty flavor of her skin. But Licia was fast asleep and she didn’t want to waken her. Silently she crept from the bed and went into the bathroom.
Licia was sitting up in bed when she returned. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Almost one o’clock.”
Surprise echoed in Licia’s voice. “I don’t believe it!”
JeriLee laughed. “We didn’t get to sleep until seven this morning.”
“I never had sex like that,” she said. “I never wanted to stop. I just kept on coming and coming and coming.”
“The same thing was happening to me,” JeriLee said.
“I’ve never tasted cunt like yours,” Licia said. “It’s like you’re flowin’ pure honey. I even lick my fingers after we ball.”
“You better stop talkin’ like that.” JeriLee laughed. “You’re turning me on again.”
“Keep the good thoughts,” Licia said, starting for the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Just then the telephone began to ring. “You expectin’ any calls?” Licia asked.
“No.” The telephone kept on ringing. JeriLee picked it up. “Hello.”
She held the phone toward Licia. “It’s for you, Fred’s calling from New York.”
“Hello. This is Mrs. Lafayette.” She paused, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “The operator’s getting him,” she said in a worried voice. “I hope nothing’s wrong.”
There was a crackling in the phone. “Fred, darling, is everything all right? I thought you were staying on in San Francisco.” She listened a moment, then her voice lightened. “That’s fantastic! Of course I’ll be there. If I leave now I can be in New York by nine o’clock, it’s turnpike all the way. No, it’s perfectly all right. I had some business with the club down here and since I didn’t expect you back until next week, I thought I’d stay over and kill some time with JeriLee and see how she was doin’…. Yes, she’s fine. Going on to Gary tomorrow…. Sure I will. Bye, honey. Love you.�
��
JeriLee looked at her without speaking.
“It’s okay,” Licia said quickly. “He’s cool.”
“You sure?”
Licia nodded. “He’s too up to think of anything. Lou Rawls came down with laryngitis and they called Fred to replace him on the Pearl Bailey special that they’re taping tonight. It’s the break we’ve been waiting for.”
JeriLee was silent.
“I’ll grab a shower and get started,” Licia said. “I don’t want to get caught in the weekend traffic going into the city.”
“I’ll order some breakfast meanwhile.”
“Just orange juice and coffee for me, honey.” She saw the expression on JeriLee’s face. “Don’t be upset,” she said quickly. “I tol’ you everything was cool.”
“I’m okay.”
Licia laughed. “There’s nothin’ to worry about. Fred’s just like every other man. They can’t imagine anything in the world’s better than their cocks.”
Through the window JeriLee watched the silver car turn out of the motel driveway onto the approach road leading up to the turnpike ramp. She let the curtain fall and absently began to straighten up the room. The odor of grass and last night’s sex hung over the unmade bed. She pressed the vent button on the air conditioner and the whine of the compressor filled the room with a low hum.
Then she went and stared down at the page in the typewriter. Suddenly she was depressed. Angrily she pulled the sheet from the machine, crumpled it, and threw it on the floor. “Fuck it!” she said aloud.
She opened the refrigerator door. There were still some ice cubes left in the bucket. She threw them into a glass and made herself a vodka and tea. Sipping the drink, she crossed the room to the bed and lit one of the joints that Licia had left on top of the night table. The grass picked up on last night’s high and almost immediately she was up there.
She threw off her terry cloth robe and lay back on the bed. She dragged on the joint slowly and with her free hand began to manipulate herself gently. A slow easy lassitude crept over her. She closed her eyes.
Licia’s head was between her legs, Licia’s tongue was licking at her clitoris, Licia’s mouth was sucking the juices from her.
Suddenly she felt herself pop, almost like a balloon deflating. She opened her eyes. The empty room was a prison and the walls were closing in on her.
Quickly she reached for her drink and drained the glass. Then she pulled open the drawer of the night table and took out the vibrator.
This was a modern Green Hornet. It had been made in Japan. Executive size, they called it—no cords, battery-powered with two speeds.
She turned the vibrator on low. Closing her eyes she pressed it gently around her pubis, stroking lightly over her clitoris. She squeezed her eyes closed and inserted the phallus-shaped vibrator.
Now she could see Licia stopping the car and running into the apartment. Fred was sitting at the piano and when he stood up he was naked, his cock hard as a rock. Then Licia was naked too and kneeling in front of him, peeling back the thick black skin exposing the glistening glans. He disappeared into her gobbling mouth but then suddenly he pushed her backward onto the white carpet and her legs were going up in the air to encircle him. Her cunt gaped open and he began to bore into her.
“No!” JeriLee screamed. “That’s mine!” Torn from her fantasy, she opened her eyes and stared down at the vibrator tingling in her hands. It was nothing.
Switching it off, she threw it down on the bed and rolled over on her side, fighting back the tears.
JeriLee didn’t know why she was so upset. Licia had said she would get jobs for her and she had kept her word. She was supporting herself and writing and should have been happy, but she wasn’t.
“I’m not jealous,” she said over and over to herself. “I’m not jealous.” But every time she blinked she saw Licia and Fred fucking on the soft white rug.
She looked down at her hands. They were shaking again. She went into the bathroom and popped a Quaalude.
In the mirror she saw the black hollow circles under her eyes. She looked awful. She splashed some cold water on her face.
If she was jealous, was it of Fred because Licia was fucking him? Or of Licia because Fred was fucking her? She just didn’t know.
It had been nine months since her affair with Licia had begun, and almost a year since she had been with a man. Until now she had not thought about it.
***
It was almost midnight when she came in to the club. The music was blasting and a girl was writhing in the amber spot on the platform behind the bar. She went through the dark club to the manager’s office in the back.
Danny looked up from his desk as she came in. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” he said with surprise.
“I had nothing to do,” she said. “I was bored.”
He gave her a shrewd glance. “I thought your friend came down to see you.”
He knew, but how? How did they all know everything about everybody? “She had to go home to her husband,” she said.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“A cock,” she said flatly. “The biggest, hardest cock in town.”
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “Wild Billy has an eye for you.”
“I had that last night,” she said. “Tonight I want cock.”
“There’s a half dozen guys out there, any one of them would spring for fifty or a hundred. I get half.”
“You can keep all the money,” she said.
“Okay. Want to come outside and take your pick?”
She laughed and for the first time he saw the contracted pupils in her eyes and knew that she was coked out of the world. “Don’t bother,” she said. “Just collect your money. I’ll take all of them.”
Chapter 13
At the back of the club there was an old rickety wooden porch that looked out on the ocean. Off to the right JeriLee could see the Santa Monica Pier and overhead the landing lights of the jet planes as they turned over the water and headed for the airport. The night air was turning cool and she pulled the terry cloth robe more tightly around her. She listened abstractedly to the muffled sound of music coming from the club.
Just one more turn and she was finished for the night. The club owners hated it but she was grateful for the California two o’clock law. In some states she worked until four in the morning, in others until daylight. She wondered vaguely if Mike would pick her up. You never knew about him. He lived in a world all his own.
She had met him the day she arrived in California almost a month ago. It was a Sunday and he’d been working in the real estate office she went to when she decided that she wanted to rent an apartment instead of staying at a motel. Besides being cheaper, she had thought it would be easier to write there than in a motel. It would be quieter and she had eight weeks of bookings in the Los Angeles area.
Tall, tan and with his hair bleached almost white from the sun, he didn’t look at all like a real estate agent. In jeans and bare feet he looked out of place seated behind the desk.
“What do you do?” he asked, beginning to fill in the information form.
“I’m a writer,” she answered.
“A writer?”
“Anything wrong with it?”
“With your body and your legs, I figured you for an actress or a dancer.”
“I do that too.”
“I got a three-month sublease I think would be perfect for you.
“I only need it for two months.”
“I think I could talk the owner into it,” he said.
He closed the office and took her out to his car. It was a customized VW with giant balloon tires. The top was completely cut away, with a roll bar running from side to side over the middle of the car. “This is a great place,” he said as he moved the car out of the parking lot. “Quiet. Two minutes from the beach. Great bathroom. Even has a bidet.”
“A bidet,” she repeated. “Sounds expensive.”
>
“You’ll love it,” he said confidently. “Only three hundred a month. A French lady fixed it up.
“Sound too good to be true. Why did she leave it?”
“Her romance broke up. She went back to France.”
The bedroom was small, as was the living room, and the kitchen was little more than a closet. But he was right about the bathroom. By far the biggest room in the apartment, it had a shower stall, sunken tub, two sinks and a bidet.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s small,” she said.
“Great for a writer. You alone?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t need anything bigger then.”
“But I only want it for two months.”
“No problem. Give me a check for two months plus seventy-five dollars cleaning charges and you can move in this afternoon.”
“Okay,” she said, taking her checkbook from her purse. “Who do I make the check out to?”
“Me,” he said. “It’s my place.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out a small linen tobacco pouch tied with string. With his other hand he pulled out a pack of Zig Zag cigarette papers. “Do you smoke?” he asked.
She nodded silently, watching him roll the joint expertly with one hand. From his back pocket he took out a wooden match and struck it along the side of his jeans. He lit the joint carefully and held it out to her.
“Two tokes of this and you’re away,” he said. “Got it straight from Mexico.”
She took a deep hit. He was right.
“Sit down,” he said. “It’ll only take me ten minutes to get my shit together and put it in the car. Then we’ll go and pick up your stuff.”
“What about the office? Don’t you have to go back?”
“I only work there Sundays because the owner likes to go fishing. Besides I did all the business I have to do today.”
“Where do you work the rest of the week?”
“I don’t. Gave it up when I got out of the army. Ruins your sex life and gives you ulcers.”
“What do you live on then?” she asked.
“This apartment. It’s enough to keep me.”
“Where do you stay when you’re not here?”
The Lonely Lady Page 33