Unashamed, The

by March Hastings

  This time Angie smirked. "Most wives aren't virgins after they've been married ten years," she said. "Walter must be quite a man."

  Carolyn could have slapped her. "Apparently you tried to find out," she said sharply.

  Angie blushed, but she said nothing.

  "Oh, I didn't mean that," Carolyn said quickly. "I've got no reason to yell at you. Besides, you're right. I've never been to bed with Walter." She frowned. "I don't know why, really. It just never happened, that's all."

  "Uh huh," Angie said sarcastically. "And this is what you're going to marry?" She laughed. "That's funny, Carol, coming from you."

  "There are more important things in life..." Carolyn began piously.

  "Oh, Carol, please!" Angie moaned. "Don't philosophize at me."

  Carolyn expelled a long breath and sat down on the bed beside the girl. There was a painful amount of truth in Angie's words. She felt her enthusiasm about marrying Walter begin to ebb. She loved him deeply as a friend. But how did she feel about him as a man?

  She realized she had not thought about it. Walter had seemed so safe, so secure after Angie. She had forgotten that she had never found him attractive physically.

  Maybe she could learn to love him that way. He was so right for her in every other respect. And sex wasn't the most important part of a relationship, after all. At least...

  She remembered suddenly that only a few horns before she had decided that she could never go back to a life without physical gratification. Angie, even with her aversion to sex, had taught her its importance. She recalled vividly the thrill she had felt the first time Angie had kissed her. Every nerve tingled, her stomach tied in knots.

  Then Angie had kissed her all over, her tongue probing, teasing, finding little oases of shock and pleasure Carolyn had never known she had. And then the ecstatic moment of completion.

  It hadn't been the same for them since that first night. She supposed maybe it never was. Yet even the little they had was the thing that made all the suffering worthwhile. That and the hope of repeating the initial sensation.

  It would be different with a man. Maybe better, maybe worse. Maybe just different. She had no way of judging. She thought for a moment of the man on the barge. But just for a moment. Already she realized that her decision never to let a man touch her was foolish. It wouldn't be the same with Walter, with any other man. She knew she had not been revolted just because he was a man, but simply because of the circumstances. Anyone would have been.

  Still, a little part of her rebelled against the idea of being touched the way a man would touch her. She glanced at Angie and even in a glance realized that she was still much attracted to the girl. She had been since the first time she saw her and she had known even then that she had wanted her. She had never felt that way about Walter.

  Maybe she never would. But she needed to be involved again, so she could forget Angie, could become herself again.

  Maybe if she gave herself a chance...

  Angie put her hand on Carolyn's knee and squeezed it. "I'm sorry, puss," she said quietly. "I didn't mean anything."

  You know I'm just jealous."

  The purring voice grated sharply across Carolyn's nerves. But she was sunk too deeply into her own thoughts to respond. She had a lot to learn about herself and her feelings, a lot to consider. She knew she had no right to marry Walter in the state she was in. Maybe, with his help, it would be all right. But she had to be sure before she made another mistake like Angie.

  Oddly, at the moment she was not concerned with Angie, except as something to be expunged from her life. Yet she realized that Angie did not sense her lack of interest. She felt the girl's hand slide across her shoulders and down her back, soothing her, setting her up for the kill. Still she did not respond, feeling the caress only slightly and not aroused by it at all.

  "If you're going to marry Walter, I guess you'll be going out with him a lot," Angie murmured. Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper and as soothing as her hands.

  "I guess so," Carolyn said, not really paying attention. "I have a date with him tomorrow night."

  Angie pulled Carolyn's shirttail out of her pants and slid her hand in under the material. Her fingers circled lightly, continuing to massage. "Well, I suppose I can put up with that," she said. "Though I won't be going out," she added piously. "I've already told Jimmy I won't be seeing him anymore."

  Carolyn understood then what Angie was trying to do. She wanted none of it. If Angie were going to stay, it would have to be on Carolyn's terms. No more playing games.

  "Look," she said gently, "it's no good, Angie. You know that. It's not the same with us anymore. I don't mind if you stay here, but don't expect..."

  "Carol!" Angie said indignantly. "I didn't ask you for anything." She stuck out her lower Up, pouting. "You can do anything you want. I'll even sleep on the couch, if you want me to."

  Carolyn stared at the girl for a moment, not really trusting her, yet caught off guard by the earnestness of her tone.

  She knew better than to believe anything that Angie said, yet part of her still wanted to.

  She lifted Angie's hand out from under her shirt, held the hand between her own palms, and peered anxiously into the girl's eyes.

  "Angie," she said, "I meant it about Walter." Angie smiled. "You meant it about me, too, an hour ago," she said.

  "I don't think you know what you want, Carolyn. Do you?"

  "Angie..." she said desperately.

  Pulling her hand out of Carolyn's grasp, Angie twisted suddenly toward her. She caught her across the ribs and pushed her down on the mattress. She leaned over her, holding her down by the arms.

  Carolyn knew it was no use. She tried to break away but Angie had her pinned down.

  Then Angie's lips mashed against her own. She felt the wound reopen and tears came to her eyes. Her arms went around the girl as Angie released her. Their tongues met and teased.

  Angie's hand was at her belt.

  "Angie, don't," she whimpered. "Please don't."

  Angie opened the buckle. "I owe you this one," she whispered. "Then we'll be even."

  Carolyn heard the words but they made no impression. She was aware only of the fire that raced through her at Angie's touch. That much had not changed. It was still Angie she wanted, only Angie who thrilled and could satisfy her. She made a last feeble attempt to resist, then she relaxed and offered herself to the girl.

  Her body arched eagerly to meet the girl's lips, aching with the need to be fulfilled.

  Angie caressed her slowly, lovingly with her lips and Carolyn felt as though she were being consumed by flames.

  She caught her breath and waited.

  Suddenly, Angie retreated and held herself away, not touching Carolyn's body with hers, but trailing a fingertip across Carolyn's stomach and down to her thigh.

  Carolyn reached out to pull her close, but Angie stopped her hand.

  "Carol," Angie murmured, "do you love me? Do you still love me?"

  "Oh, Angie," Carolyn groaned. She felt an exquisite agony shiver through her.

  "Do you love me?" Angie insisted.

  She didn't know anymore what she felt about the girl or how sorry she might be tomorrow. But right now she needed her. Desperately.

  "Yes, yes," she whispered. "I love you." Angie caressed her then, expertly and torturously slow. Craving raced through her. It circled in her belly and spread long fingers of desire downward. The center of her being began to swim.

  When it was done, Carolyn lay cradled in Angie's arms, serene, content, depleted. She knew Angie had won again but she no longer cared. If they could have moments like this, nothing else mattered. Blindly, yet willingly, she entrusted her life to Angie's hands.

  She put her arms around the girl and snuggled her face against Angie's belly.

  "My baby," Angie crooned.

  "I love you," Carolyn whispered.

  Angie kissed her tenderly and rocked her in her arms. "My baby. My own darling Carol
."

  CHAPTER 10

  The days that followed were the happiest of their life together. Angie behaved like an angel, rushing home from work to cook dinner, being affectionate, attentive and kind. Not for an instant did she give Carolyn reason to doubt her sincerity.

  Carolyn tried at first to maintain a clear perspective. But holding Angie close at night, feeling her respond with the fervor of a bride, she soon turned a deaf ear to experience. She found herself completely beguiled, as she had been at the start of their relationship. When Angie asked her on Wednesday not to see Walter again, Carolyn flatly refused. But by bedtime Thursday, she had made the promise.

  It took Carolyn the better part of Friday to get up the courage to call Walter. She had been awake most of the night, planning what she should say. She knew that nothing she said would matter, really. Walter would still be deeply hurt. He didn't deserve that from her after all they had meant to each other. He would probably tell her as much.

  And she knew that it was shame as much as concern for his feelings that kept her from calling. Still, she had promised.

  She was painfully aware that she hadn't been fair to Walter all week, since he had proposed. She had seen him every night and never once had she mentioned her reconciliation with Angie. Partly it was purely selfish. In the beginning she had been afraid that it might not last and she would need him to help her put the pieces back together. But partly it was something else. She knew that he would be disappointed in her, that he would not understand how she could go back after all that Angie had done.

  She had tried sincerely to give Walter an equal chance. He had still made no attempt to approach her as a lover, but she had not really expected him to. She had known he would take things slowly. She enjoyed his company and their evenings were pleasant. Not exciting, not thrilling, but pleasant.

  Still, when he brought her home, she found that she was almost glad to see him go. For Angie was waiting, already in bed, soft and sweet and willing. And when five o'clock came and she had to get up, they had sometimes not slept at all.

  She could not tell Walter these things, could not even tell him that she needed sexual gratification. It wasn't something to talk about, like politics. It was something you felt and acted upon.

  Yet she would have to tell him something.

  The more she thought about it, the less sorry she felt that she had promised Angie she would not see him again.

  She still loved him as a friend, she always would. But he no longer thought of her that way. He took for granted that she belonged to him. But she had chosen to belong to Angie. She knew that if she continued seeing him, it would simply make it more difficult for him later.

  She deviled herself with the problem all afternoon. Finally, after she had fouled up an experiment she had been working on for three months, she gave up and went to the phone.

  She reached him at his office. He did not seem at all surprised to hear from her, though she almost never called him at work. He even seemed to know what she was going to say. He listened without interrupting while she told him she had gone back to Angie.

  When she had finished, he said simply, "So I won't be seeing you anymore." There was no hint of his feelings, just the plain statement of fact.

  He waited for her to answer and when she didn't, went on. "Only one comment, Carolyn. I think this whole business with Angie is pretty stupid, as you know. But it's not up to me to tell you how to live. You've just made that perfectly clear. I only hope you get out of it before it's too late."

  She heard the click as he hung up on her. She stood for a long while staring at the phone. Then she put down the receiver and went back to the lab. Very calmly, she cleared away the mess she'd left on her table and prepared to begin the experiment again.

  She had expected him to say more. She knew she was a little disappointed that he had not yelled at her and told her how he really felt. It would have eased her conscience.

  After work, she drove directly to Brooklyn for. her usual evening with the folks. She had promised Angie that she would be home by ten and throughout dinner she was nervous and withdrawn, glancing often at her watch. When her father suggested poker at a neighbor's, Carolyn hesitated for just a second, then begged off with a headache.

  Seeing the disappointment in her father's eyes, she felt a flash of guilt, but she had made her choice and she stuck by it.

  It was barely eight thirty when the Renault charged through the Battery Tunnel into Manhattan.

  On a whim, she turned off the highway at Fourteenth Street and drove crosstown to a dingy East Side street. In a cellar shop, smelly with fried onions and bubbling grease in deep vats, she waited while a man in a filthy apron finished drinking a beer.

  He came forward, wiping the foam off his mouth onto a hairy arm. "Yeah?"

  "Fish 'n' chips," she said. "Large."

  He took a section of newspaper and rolled it into a long cone. With a tin ladle, he scooped bits of greasy fish and puffy french fries out of one of the vats.

  She dropped coins on the counter and took the cone, carefully tucking in the corners to keep the contents warm.

  When she reached the car, the paper was already glazed and drippy with grease. She found Kleenex in her purse, spread it on the back seat and laid the cone on it gently.

  Hummmg and happy, she proceeded uptown. She had never before felt as she had the past few days. Something inside her knew that it could not last forever. But she ignored the little voice. Her love for Angie was blind. When she had spoken to Walter on the phone that afternoon, he had called it stupid as well. She knew she had hurt him deeply. Just as she had hurt her parents. But there was nothing she wouldn't do now to keep the girl happy. Her parents would forgive her. So would Walter, in time, But if she lost Angie, she would never forgive herself.

  She parked on Columbus Avenue, half a block from home. Almost running, she turned in at the driveway. She saw instantly that the tenth floor apartment directly above the lobby was dark. She counted up the rows of windows to be sure.

  Feeling fear reach out to grip at her heart, she ran into the house. Surely there would be a note, some kind of explanation.

  As she came out of the elevator, Carolyn heard Bridgit scratching at the inside of the apartment door. It was not a friendly sound. She recognized the symptom. The cat had not been fed. It was Angie's job to feed it every Friday night.

  Cautiously she inched open the door. Bridgit's nose appeared in the crack.

  "You silly animal," Carolyn said, grabbing the cat as it tried to squeeze out. She picked the cat up and it swatted at the paper cone. She pulled it out of Bridgit's reach. "You're as bad as Angie," she scolded. "Always trying to sneak away behind my back."

  She frowned as she heard the words come out of her, not yet willing to admit that Angie was gone. Switching on lights as she went, clutching the paper cone in one hand and the cat under her arm, she stalked through the apartment, seeking some token of the girl.

  There was nothing, not even the usual morning mess. Everything was neat, tidy, almost pristine. As this peculiar fact dawned on her, Carolyn became increasingly sure of something that bothered her more. Angie had obviously not gone to work that morning. Though she switched jobs often, it was Angie's special point of pride that she was never absent. And if she had stayed home, what had she done? Where had she gone?

  Bridgit, by now half delirious with the odor of grease and fish, took another swat at the package and clawed Carolyn across the back of the hand. Startled, Carolyn loosened her grip. The cat leaped away from her and fled into the kitchen.

  Slowly, miserably, Carolyn sank down on the edge of the couch, holding the cone clenched between her hands like a shy suitor's bouquet. It was not easy for her to admit that she had done this thing to herself. Yet this time she could not really blame Angie. She had known what Angie was, had learned not to trust her. And she had deliberately allowed herself to be blinded to the truth by her desire for the girl.

  She no longer eve
n thought of it as love.

  It was not pity she felt for herself but, finally, contempt. She heard the cat noisily pushing her empty plate across the kitchen floor. She could hardly expect the animal to realize that the bottom had just fallen out of her world. Still, the sound annoyed her. It only compounded her guilt. Lately she had been ignoring all the important things, like Bridgit, her parents, Walter. And for what? For Angie? Because the girl loved her so?

  It was too late now to go back and start over. She had already done the damage.

  But maybe—

  She shoved herself off the couch. In the kitchen she dumped the paper cone into the garbage bag and rinsed out Bridgit's dish. The cat crouched on top of the refrigerator, watching her open a can of cat food.

  Carolyn squatted beside the dish and spoke gently to the cat, luring it down to the floor. She picked up a wad of cat food on her fingertips and held it out.

  Bridgit eyed her suspiciously, then, rubbing hunchbacked along the wall, moved in on the food. Carolyn kept her arm perfectly still for the first mouthful. On the second, she held her hand closer to her body.

  By the time the plate was empty, the cat was sitting on Carolyn's foot and pushing its head against her legs. She held it for a moment and stroked it. The cat began to purr.

  "I'm glad you're easy to please," Carolyn murmured. "That was good for my morale."

  Unemotionally then, she considered what she had to do. Another scene with Angie would be ridiculous. Angie would neither listen to nor understand her now any more than she had in the past. And things would wind up just as they had before. She understood now that she did not really love the girl, that she no longer even desired her. But Angie would never believe it. If anybody was going to leave, she would have to do it herself.

  She went into the bedroom and dragged down two valises and opened them on the floor. Most everything she could leave behind. She would not need souvenirs to remind her. She could stay with her parents for a while. Maybe find a new place. Maybe marry Walter, if he would still have her. Whatever happened, so long as Angie was not involved, it would be good. She smiled, enjoying the rosy future stretched out ahead of her.