Unashamed, The

by March Hastings

  Impulsively, she took the girl's hand and they began to walk faster now, their moist palms pressed tightly together.

  She felt the girl's thigh moving beside her own and suddenly her nerves caught fire. She knew an urgent and immediate need to possess.

  She laughed aloud. Comfort, indeed, she thought. Save that kind o f nonsense for Angie, old girl. Let's call a shovel a shovel.

  The girl glanced at her curiously and frowned. "What's wrong?"

  Carolyn laughed again, louder this time, happily. "Not a damn thing," she said. "Let's go."

  Her excitement was contagious. The girl laughed with her and they began to run, hand in hand.

  On Tenth Street the girl led her into a dingy tenement tucked in between two warehouses and down the hall to a first floor apartment.

  She did not stop to turn on the lights. "In here," she said. She pulled Carolyn after her into a tiny, airless room.

  They fell together onto the rumpled bed. The girl grabbed her and dragged her close. Her tongue probed between Carolyn's lips, her hand teasingly caressed the inside of Carolyn's thigh.

  Carolyn could not wait another second. She wanted the girl. Now. She put one leg behind the girl's calves and rolled her onto her back. She yanked the girl's shirt out of her trousers, pulled it up and unloosened her bra. She brought her mouth down onto one of the girl's breasts and teased the tips with her tongue.

  The girl opened her own belt and shoved at her trousers. They were both in a hurry. Carolyn helped her wiggle out of the tight pants.

  Then she stopped wasting time.

  She was all over the girl with her mouth and with her hands, arousing her, driving her wild. She felt the girl's long fingers twine in her hair and tighten, urging her on. She did not need to be led.

  She heard the girl gasp and suck in her breath as she touched her. Her need to possess became a frenzy.

  The fingers tightened in her hair till it hurt. She felt the girl's body convulse and she held onto her thighs as they quivered.

  Then it was done. The girl sighed contentedly and relaxed. She reached out lazily to take Carolyn in her arms.

  Carolyn suddenly was sober and very sad. She looked down at the girl lying there, her features shadowy in the light from a street lamp, her hair wispy and damp from perspiration.

  The girl was not Angie. She did not even know her name.

  Carolyn did-not know where the desire had gone to, but she could not let the girl touch her. She turned away from her and sat up on the edge of the bed. She heard the girl stir behind her.

  "Hey," the girl said. "I think you forgot something." She propped herself on one elbow and peered into Carolyn's face intently.

  Carolyn shook her head and tried to smile. "No," she said. "I didn't forget. I just sobered up, that's all. I can't."

  The girl sighed. "You've still got a conscience," she said. "Well, I tried."

  "So did I," Carolyn said.

  "You love her?"

  Her eyebrows drew together thoughtfully. "I don't know anymore," she said honestly. "A couple of hours ago I thought I was through for good. I wanted to go to bed with somebody else to prove I didn't care."

  "But now you're not sure?"

  Carolyn nodded.

  The girl leaned around her to switch on the light. "Maybe you smoke the wrong brand."

  "What?"

  "Try a guy."

  Carolyn frowned. "Was I that bad?" she said.

  The girl laughed, "Not at all." She sat beside Carolyn on the edge of the bed and slid her feet into a pair of sandals.

  Then she stood up and pulled down her shirt. "But your heart's not in it, honey. Believe me, it shows." She reached for her trousers.

  "You're not Angie," Carolyn said defensively.

  The girl cupped Carolyn's chin in her hand. "Have it your way," she said gently. "But give it a thought. Don't let this kid hang you up for life."

  Carolyn nodded. "You're probably right."

  The girl winked at her. "I'm always right for other people," she said. She pulled up her trousers and buckled her belt. Then she kissed Carolyn quickly on the forehead. "Now, scram," she said gently.

  CHAPTER 7

  Carolyn meandered down Tenth Street toward the river front. She didn't know where she was going or what she intended to do now. It didn't really matter. She felt lousy. Already a hangover pounded fiercely inside her skull. She felt nauseous and tired and she ached in every bone. More than anything in the world, she wanted to lie down on a soft bed and sleep.

  Yet she couldn't go home and face Angie. Not like this. She could just hear Angie, laughing at her, holding her close and cooing, "Poor little thing!" the way she always did. She couldn't take that from Angie tonight.

  An early morning breeze from the river brought with it the smell of rain but as yet there was no sign of relief from the heat. She crossed under the towering steel of the West Side Highway and strolled out onto an open pier.

  It was quiet on the pier. Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the thick planks. As far as she could tell, she was alone.

  It was a hell of a place for a girl to be at four in the morning. She took a closer look around.

  The tide had reached its peak and already begun to ebb. She watched reflections of city lights shimmer on the ripples, skip over the surface toward shore and drown in eddies along the bank. The smell of wet moss, of garbage and salt was everywhere. There were a few boats on the river, anchored near the opposite shore. On her left, a loaded coal barge, tied up for the night, thudded rhythmically against the pilings with the lapping of the tide. In a shack on the far end of the barge, a single bulb glowed dimly through filthy panes. She could see no other signs of life.

  Satisfied that she was alone, Carolyn lit a cigarette and sent a cloud of smoke billowing into the breeze. The quiet and the slight breeze felt good. The throb in her head settled to a dull ache. Yawning, she stretched her legs out on the pier, leaned back against the piling and turned her face toward the lightening sky, glad for the chance to be by herself.

  She let her thoughts drift aimlessly as the tide, wanting to forget the night and all that had happened. But she could not keep her mind from turning back, to Angie, to the bar. And finally she thought about the girl in the denim shirt.

  It had been strange, that whole business. She had wanted so much to lose herself in someone's arms, to dispel for a while the pain that was Angie. And when she had the chance, she had behaved like an idiot. She had obviously disappointed the girl.

  Yet, oddly, remembering it now, Carolyn felt no shame nor even embarrassment. For, in a way, the girl had been right. It was not just a woman Carolyn wanted, it was Angie. It had always been Angie, maybe it always would.

  But if she didn't have Angie—

  Would she want a man?

  She had wanted a man before she met Angie. Or at least she supposed she had. It had certainly never occurred to her that she might want a woman. She had to admit that she hadn't really thought about it much. Her life had always seemed a full one, with work and play and Walter to pal around with.

  It had bothered her parents that she hadn't married, yet to Carolyn it hadn't seemed strange at all. She had spent six years in school. Six years of study and working after class to pay her way. Six years with no time for play. Or for romance. She had always believed that life for a woman should mean more than feeding a husband and raising kids.

  She had wanted a career and she had worked hard to earn one. She hadn't meant to rule out marriage. But that was for later, when she was older and ready to settle down.

  Yet the first time she and Angie made love, she had realized how meaningless and incomplete her life had been.

  She had never felt the emptiness until it had been filled. She knew now how much she had always needed the excitements, the heartaches of love. How much she craved sexual fulfillment. Angie had never been generous that way, but she had awakened a need in Carolyn that could no longer be denied.

  Abruptly she sat up
and ground the cigarette under her heel.

  What about now? she thought. What about now?

  She and Angie were through, of that she was sure. There wasn't a chance that they could ever be happy together again. But Carolyn wasn't going to drop dead because of it. She could not go back to her old way of living, to a life without love or fulfillment. Even if she had failed with the girl from the bar, there must be someone to fill the emptiness.

  As though in answer, a match flared in the darkness close to shore.

  Startled, she jumped up and stood with her back to the piling, her hands behind her, clinging to the splintery wood.

  A pulse throbbed steadily in her temples and the breath caught in her throat. She knew fear such as she had never felt before.

  She watched a blob emerge from the shadows and gradually become a man. He stopped ten feet away, eying her curiously, sucking flame into the bowl of his pipe. She saw pinpoints of light reflect from his eyes. He flicked the match away and she heard it sizzle as it hit the water.

  Too frightened to speak, she stood there waiting for him to make a move. Her glance darted about quickly, seeking an alley of escape. He stood directly in front of her, in such a position that he could stop her no matter what she tried. She knew she didn't have a chance.

  She heard him take a step forward. She cowered against the post, close to the edge of the pier, ready to dive if she had to.

  Apparently sensing her terror, the man stopped.

  She could see him clearly now. A runt of a man with bowlegs and arms like a chimpanzee. He seemed neither young nor old, but ageless. He wore seamen's pants and a torn T-shirt. She realized he must have come from the barge.

  The silence became intolerable. She felt a trickle of perspiration slide along her ribs. He didn't try to move closer, just puffed on his pipe and peered at her.

  "What do you want?" she asked finally. Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  He puffed smoke over his shoulder, then cleared his throat. "Wasn't figurin' to take a swim, was you?" His voice rasped harshly like a rusty hawser. But he obviously meant to be friendly and he smiled around the stem of his pipe.

  Carolyn breathed a silent sigh of relief and loosened her grip on the piling. "No," she said. "I was just sitting here, enjoying the breeze." She was still nervous, but she felt the tension beginning to relax.

  "Good thing," he said. "Young girl went in here couple of months ago with all her clothes on. Pretty thing, they say.

  I never saw her." He clucked thoughtfully, holding the pipe in his hand and rubbing the stem along the edge of his jaw. "Haven't found 'er yet. Guess maybe she didn't want to be found. Had a fight with her fella, they say."

  Carolyn listened to the voice drone on without paying attention to the words. She knew he was only trying to calm her. And she no longer felt afraid of him. But the throbbing behind her temples caused by the shock of his sudden appearance drowned out everything else. She found that she couldn't concentrate on what he said or even on how to get rid of him. She was certainly in no mood or condition for a chat.

  She tried to light another cigarette to steady her nerves. Her hands shook. Match after match went out as she fumbled. She felt him watching her and became completely helpless. Finally she threw the cigarette into the river and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She felt light-headed and the pier seemed to sway beneath her feet. She could barely stand yet she did not have the strength to sit down.

  She heard him take a couple of steps toward her. She did not want him to touch her. Steadying herself as best she could, she lowered her hands and blinked at him.

  "You sick?" he asked cautiously.

  She started to shake her head no and felt suddenly limp with the pain. Her eyes began to tear. She felt her legs start to buckle. Knowing she was going to fall, she put one hand behind her and grabbed hold of the piling.

  He stepped forward quickly and took her arm. "Here," he said. "Let me help you."

  She sagged heavily against him. He put an arm around her and made her sit down on the pier with her head between her knees. She heard him running behind her and the thud as he jumped down to the barge. Almost immediately he was back on the dock.

  She looked up as he came close and tried to smile. "I'm all right now, I think." It wasn't so, she had never felt worse in her life.

  "Just the same," he said.

  He crouched down beside her and held a sopping wet handkerchief to her forehead, then crooked his finger to catch the drops that ran down her face. She felt the calloused knuckles rasp against her skin.

  The smell of him, as he kneeled close to her, was worse than the pain. He reeked of perspiration, of tobacco, of salt water, of God knew what else. His trousers brushed against the side of her arm and they felt stiff with filth and wear. She thought it was probably a blessing that she could not see the rag against her forehead. Yet she tried hard not to let him sense her revulsion. She was grateful for his help. Without him, she would have toppled into the river.

  He patted her cheeks with the damp cloth and wiped it gently across her lips. She swallowed hard so she wouldn't gag.

  "Feelin' better?" he said after awhile.

  "Yes, much, thanks." She hoped it sounded sincere.

  He stood up then, wadded the handkerchief in his fist and shoved it into his pants pocket. With the pipe still clamped tight between his teeth, he grinned and winked at her. He held out his hands to help her up.

  She let him pull her to her feet, but carefully held herself at arms' length. He seemed relieved to see her standing, but she knew he was still concerned.

  Something about his manner began to disturb her. "I'm all right now," she said, "I guess I'd better be getting home." She started to edge away from him. Without knowing why, she felt a sudden urge to run.

  Frowning, he came a step closer. He stretched out his hand, but did not touch her. "Can I help?" he said. "You need a doctor?"

  For one second she felt again the fear she had suffered when he appeared out of the shadows. But there was nothing in his behavior to cause it, she knew.

  She laughed then. "All I need is a large pot of coffee," she said. She held her head between her hands and shook it sadly. "I had a little too much gin." She was babbling, trying to relieve the tension she felt building inside her.

  He smiled triumphantly. "Coffee I can do," he said. "Pot's on the stove, over there in the shack." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

  For a long moment she hesitated, following the line of his thumb out to the barge. It looked lonely and dark and isolated from the world. There was not a sound on the pier, except for the murmur of the water. She had no sensible reason to fear going with the gnarled little man. Yet she was filled with apprehension at the prospect of being out on the barge.

  On the other hand, she could sure as hell use a cup of coffee. Now that she was on her feet again, she realized she was still in no condition to get herself home. The thought of the cup she might have to drink it out of revolted her.

  Yet she had no choice. Either she would have to drink his coffee or let him take her home. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She knew what Angie would think when she saw him. And she wasn't about to give Angie the satisfaction.

  She saw him waiting expectantly and smiled. "Why not?" she said.

  She followed his swaying stride across the pier, feeling, from the way her eyes focused, that she must be swaying, too. She waited while he jumped down onto the barge. When he turned and held up his hands to catch her, she let herself relax.

  He caught her under the arms and swung her easily off the pier. For an instant she hung suspended, feeling his powerful hands against the sides of her breasts, pressed hard against her.

  Then he lowered her gently to her feet and turned to walk along the edge of the barge, leading her by the hand.

  The center of the barge was piled high with coal. Once, as she stumbled, her foot slipped off the edge into the pile.

  A chunk dislodge
d itself, avalanching across the deck and into the water. She hurried to keep up with him.

  He yanked open the door of the shack and she followed him inside. It was a room about six feet square, unfinished, with a bunk on one wall and a latrine in the corner. A two-burner hot plate with a coffee pot sat on a shelf, a tin cup beside it.

  He put his fingertips tentatively against the pot. "Still hot," he said. "Have to take it black, though. Can't keep milk in this weather." He gestured toward the river. "Even spoils in the water."

  She stood there uncomfortably, peering around her. She looked at the soot-blackened sheet on the bunk, at the windows and the wall and the floor, cruddy with coal dust. And then at the man himself.

  His skin was the color of the sheets, gray with black coal dust ground into the pores. The hair on his arms and head and eyebrows was black with red at the roots, like a henna job done backwards. The only things about him that looked clean were the whites of his eyes.

  He caught her examining him and laughed. "Been on this tub a month now," he said. He handed her the tin cup half filled with grainy black coffee.

  She nodded thanks and stepped back away from him, toward the bunk.

  "Funny thing about that black stuff," he went on, nodding out the open door, "the way it seeps in."

  She held the cup tightly between her hands. Feeling the edge of the bunk against her calves, she lowered herself gingerly down onto the mattress.

  "Even gets in your teeth."

  She took a mouthful of the hot coffee and realized exactly what he meant. Running her tongue across her upper teeth, she felt a gritty slime and wrinkled her nose distastefully.

  But the coffee was strong and it calmed her. She drank it down and passed the cup for more.

  He poured her another cup gladly and handed it over.

  With the coffee inside her, she began to feel a little better. Her knees were still weak and she knew it would be a while before she could safely navigate under her own steam. She leaned back on one elbow and looked around the room curiously. As far as she could tell, there was nothing to indicate the habits of the man. There was not a picture or a book or a magazine in the place and the only newspaper had been spread out on the floor like a rug.