by Randy Salem
Of this fact Chris had already become aware. Her eyes had traced a slow straight line from the polished tip of a shoe up to the thin dark face of a handsome young man. The eyes were laughing at her. They meant to be friendly.
Chris did not like this young man. She had never met one she did like, in fact. She sometimes dreamed of finding a cure for them, like for polio. But most especially she did not like this one. She knew instinctively that a mother would simper and pat her hair and consider him an ideal catch for a daughter. His nails were clean and his clothes were tailored to fit. He would have money and a car.
She looked from the young man back to Dizz. With discomfort so terrible that she could grab it in her hands. Chris watched her beloved turn to the young man, smile and reach up to smoothe back her hair.
"Darling," Dizz breathed, "this is George Randolph." She said it like he was one of the Elgin marbles. She said it like there'd never been anybody around before he happened.
Then she turned to Chris. "Christopher Hamilton," she said crisply.
Dizz was at her best like this. The nerve center of a social situation, enthralling the mob. Arid in essence apologizing for the existence of Chris, her idiot child.
Chris did what was expected of her. She rose pointedly to the peak of her five-ten and extended her hand. George took it and shook vigorously, the way Chris hated.
"This is a real pleasure," he said. He beamed at her like he almost meant it.
"I'm glad to know you," Chris answered. She wasn't, but obviously Dizz wanted her to be.
"George is a lawyer," Dizz said. "A highly successful one, I hear."
George remained modestly silent.
Chris just remained silent.
"Would you like a drink, George?" Dizz asked. "Or maybe some coffee?"
"I can't, Sheila," he said. "Much as I'd like to. I promised Mother I'd take her out to dinner tonight" He adjusted his tie. "I try to see her at least once a week," he grinned. "I'm the baby, you know, and she misses me."
"I'm sorry you have to go," Chris said, relieved and all of a sudden amiable. "I hope we'll be seeing you again." Some day she'd have her tongue cut out for lies like that.
"Oh, yes. You will," he replied. "I promise to make a nuisance of myself. Sheila's a delight and from what she's told me of you, I expect I'll find you the same."
Chris stole a quick look at Dizz. Dizz was paying her no heed at all. She was absorbed in enchanting this creature.
Together they walked with George to the door. Together they said their goodbyes.
Dizz closed the door and turned on her.
"Would you mind, darling, explaining the little performance you put on for us?" Her voice was cold, her eyes bright with contempt.
Chris sighed and walked back to the living room. She stood looking through the French doors to the terrace. The late afternoon sun threw long shadows across the bricks. It was getting chilly with the oncoming of evening. She remembered that September was already half over. She should be getting out in the garden and bedding it down for the winter.
"Chris, don't stand there like a fool. I asked you a question."
"I heard you," Chris said. She walked across to the French doors and pulled them closed. She tugged the cord on the drapes, then reached down to unfasten one where it had caught against a stool.
"Well?" Dizz was becoming overtly impatient. In a minute she would be angry. Then she would take a drink.
Chris moved to a leather sling and sat into it. She took out a cigarette and sat turning it end over end in her fingers. She did not look at Dizz.
"Will he?" she said.
"Will he what?" Dizz answered.
"Make a nuisance of himself?"
"Chris," Dizz began, "I want you to understand something. I like George. I like him very much. And if he wants to see me, I'm going to see him." She crossed to the chair and stood glaring down at Chris. "You know how bored I am here. You're always busy writing or something. We hardly ever go out. I need somebody who's fun for a change."
"Dizz," Chris said, "you know you're free to do as you please. You told me that four years ago."
"Then what's the matter with you?"
"I just like to know where I stand. I don't feel that George is vital to my happiness. But I occasionally suffer the delusion that you are." She still did not look at Dizz.
"Darling, you're jealous," Dizz announced. She said it with delight, as though it offered a moment's diversion.
"I haven't decided about that yet," Chris said. "Right now I'm simply annoyed."
"Silly darling," Dizz laughed. She bent down before Chris and laid her cheek against the girl's knee. "My silly darling."
Chris did not move to lay a hand on the proferred head. She took out the lighter and lit the cigarette.
Dizz sat back on the rug and hugged her knees close to her breasts. Chris looked at her and wanted to cry. She always wanted to cry when she looked at Dizz. Dizz with her angel's face and the delicious mouth that curved up at the corners in a perpetual smile. Dizz whose eyes promised everything. Dizz who-did not know the meaning of love. "Honey," Dizz said coyly, "you know I'm yours. I'm not going to fall for George. I just want to have a little fun." She put her hands behind her on the carpet and leaned back. "Besides, he knows all about us. I told him."
"And what, precisely," Chris asked, "is there to know?"
"Darling, don't be vulgar. I told him that we've been living together and that we love each other. He understands. He's been around."
"He understands? He understands what?" Chris asked.
"That I'm not available."
"He's a whole man, complete with the usual equipment?"
"Of course."
"Then he doesn't understand," Chris said. "There's never been a man who didn't believe he could take a girl away from another woman. Why should he be different?"
Dizz picked herself up from the floor and started toward the kitchen. She turned at the door and faced Chris. "You give me a pain sometimes. Just because all you think about is sex doesn't make it universal." She went on into the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready in an hour."
Chris knew she had been dismissed. She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray beside her and pulled herself out of the chair. She crossed to the bedroom on the left and went in. She shut the door quietly, then flopped down on the bed.
With her hands folded behind her head and her legs stretched up the wall, Chris found a crack in the plaster and focused her attention on it. She wanted to take an ax and hack away at it, beat at it. She wanted to hurt and destroy.
If that bastard lays a hand on Dizz–
She thought back to the night she had met Sheila Elizabeth Dizendorf. It was at a party especially arranged for the purpose by mutual friends. Somebody had decided that it was only right that these two most beautiful of God's creatures should meet. And mate. She had stood for fifteen minutes just looking at the girl, memorizing the lines. Dizz was the most everything woman she had ever seen. She still was. And Chris had been making a careful survey of the field for fifteen years.
It was not a question of falling in love. Chris had been in love with Dizz all her life. Dizz was, in one gorgeous package, all her dreams and aspirations. Dizz was it.
Chris never recovered from that initial shock. She knew only one thing: that she wanted this woman to be hers. She would love her and cherish her and slave for her.
"I'm going up to Nova Scotia for a month," Chris had said. "They're after the Oak Island treasure again and I'm out to do an article about it."
"Oh yes. That's the one where there's supposed to be a couple of million pounds under water, isn't it?"
"Right. I want to see for myself. Would you like to come along?"
"Yes, Chris. I would love to," Dizz had smiled. Chris had called her Dizz from the start. She'd thought it was cute at the time. Now it just sounded ironic.
So they went to Nova Scotia. Chris remembered with a poignant ache their first night together. She had gon
e to Dizz with the simplicity of an adolescent in love, wanting only to make her woman happy, not knowing that from her happiness could come misery and pain. She felt again the dizzy sweetness of the moment, the mounting desire and the headlong fury with which she sped to her doom.
And Dizz. The way she had lain unfulfilled in her arms, moaning a little in her anguish. Then turning away from her to stare blankly at the wall.
Chris recalled vividly her own horror, her feeling of impotence and shame. She had lain there trembling in the dark, very alone. She had failed as a lover, she had failed Dizz.
It wasn't till a month later that she found out she'd had lots of company at failing Dizz. After a half dozen abortive attempts she had wept and confessed her shame.
"Don't be foolish, Chris. You're better than anyone I've ever had," she'd said. "I just can't, darling. I never could."
Looking at it objectively, Chris knew she'd been a fool not to walk out then. But it was already too late. You couldn't call Dizz a habit. She was more like an addiction.
And when they'd gotten back to New York, Dizz had found them this gorgeous apartment. They'd settled into a pattern of something called living. Dizz, the beautiful wife, the perfect cook; the eternally bored dilettante, the artist, the music lover, the sculptor. Bored, bored, bored. And Chris. Solid, steady, plodding Chris. Hard-working and diligent, keeping her darling in cash enough to feed her whims.
But Chris had never been able to look at Dizz without little prickles of heat chasing up her spine. She could clench her fists and jam them in her pockets. But that didn't kill the tingling in her fingers, the yearning to reach out and grab Dizz and pull her close. Nothing could ease the pain of it.
It had been Dizz's idea that she go out that first Saturday night. She'd been blunt enough, Chris remembered. "Chris, if you want it–" Not that Dizz didn't care. She did. Oh, not about the sex part. Just that Chris was so vulgar about it. She got drunk first.
And that's how it had been for them. Dizz did have her sentimental moments. She would creep into bed with Chris on Christmas Eve, sometimes even on a birthday. She would tease her with kisses. She would let Chris make love to her. But it never changed. The moment of greatest joy invariably became one of utter defeat.
Chris smiled wryly to herself. With all its frustrations, its denial, she knew she would not have missed a second of her years with Dizz. She was obsessed and she knew it But she loved Dizz with all her being. She would always love her, even if George came back—even if Dizz left her.
There was a light rap at the door. It opened and Dizz stood there glowing. She had changed into a crisp blue dress that caught her essence and elaborated on it. She looked all soft and warm and ready to be loved. It was long minute before Chris had the strength to sit up and get off the bed.
"Darling," Chris whispered. "You... you..." There were no words for what she was feeling. It stuck in her throat. It blinded her.
"Chris," the low voice vibrated. "I'm sorry I got upset about George. You know I didn't mean it." She moved very close to Chris, so close their thighs were touching and their breasts. "Darling, you do forgive me?"
Chris would have forgiven her a knife in the ribs. "Of course I do." She stood still, afraid to breathe, afraid Dizz would move suddenly and leave her alone.
"Darling," Dizz said, oh so tenderly. "Kiss me, darling." I'm going mad, Chris thought. Stark, raving mad.
Chris put her arms around Dizz and gently held her tight. She kissed her and Dizz returned the kiss. They stayed close for a long time. "Dinner's getting cold," Dizz murmured in her ear. "Hmm. I guess it is," Chris murmured back. She could not let go of Dizz. She felt she might faint.
Dizz took her hand and led her out to the kitchen. Chris did not protest. She could put up with George, with anything—just so long as once in a while Dizz would look at her like that and touch her.
Nor did she question when Dizz got in bed beside her that night and snuggled close. They had spent a quiet evening of being pleased with each other. Too happy to think, Chris had let herself be mesmerized by the nearness, the very existence of Dizz.
She did not try to make love to Dizz. Being beside her in the dark, holding her close, pressing her lips to the baby soft hair was a more exquisite joy.
It was just before she fell asleep that Chris realized what was wrong. That it was only when she had found something new to interest her that Dizz knew content. And that the interest must be indeed profound to have produced an evening like this one.
Chris knew a moment of fear. She shivered in the suddenly cold room and pressed herself tight against the girl.
CHAPTER 3
Chris finished her third cup of coffee and lit a cigarette. She had been sitting at the kitchen table for a half hour. She was fascinated. Dizz was cleaning out the oven, cleaning out drawers, cleaning out the sink. Dizz was cleaning and enjoying it.
"Chris, come get that platter down for me, will you?" Dizz paused to smile at her, then dampened the sponge in her hand and went back to the stove.
"Are we expecting company?" Chris said as she unwound from the chair and stood up. She walked to the cupboard and stretched to reach the platter. She set it on the table and returned to the chair.
"Not that I know of," Dizz answered. "I'm full of energy, that's all. You know I like to keep the house clean for you."
Chris picked the cigarette up from the ashtray and took a long drag. "What's the platter for?"
"Turkey. We haven't had it for ages. I thought you'd like it for a change." Dizz came over to the table and stood looking at her. She reached out a hand and ruffled the close-cropped hair on Chris' head. "Honey, in case it doesn't show, I like you sometimes."
Chris did not answer. It was too good to last, she knew, but why not enjoy it while she could?
The phone rang in the living room and Dizz moved to answer it. "I'll get it," she said.
Chris sat quietly smoking, not listening to the conversation. She knew without being told that the hiatus had ended. She wanted to drain it of every precious moment. She could not think beyond the second, beyond the reality of caressing Dizz and, for that second, possessing her.
Dizz came back into the kitchen and sat down facing Chris. She seemed suddenly subdued, yet her eyes betrayed an inner excitement. She folded her hands on the table.
"Darling," Dizz said, "that was, George. He's driving up to Connecticut to see a client. He asked me to ride along."
"Are you?"
"Yes. He’ll be here about noon."
That does it, Chris thought.
But she said nothing. She put out the cigarette. Then she picked up the platter, stepped to the cupboard and returned it to the top shelf. She went through the living room and out to the terrace.
The garden, she thought. There's enough to be done to keep me busy, all afternoon. Dig up those bulbs and get them inside. Should have some straw. Some fertilizer.
She turned back to the house. Dizz was standing at the door watching her.
"Chris, what's the matter?" Dizz said quietly. She stood aside to let Chris pass.
"Who said anything's the matter?" Chris was in no mood for this. But she knew Dizz would force the issue.
Chris crossed to the couch and sat down. Dizz sank into the sling across from her and leaned forward.
"I wish you'd hit me or something when you're feeling like this," Dizz said. "I can't stand it when you get sullen."
Chris sighed and, leaned back. She shoved her hands deep in her pockets and stretched out her legs.
"Damn it, say something," Dizz said. "Talk to me."
"What would you like me to say, Dizz?" Chris replied.
Dizz sat back in the chair and glared at her. "Don't play games with me, Chris. Say it and get it over with."
"To be perfectly honest, I can't think of a thing."
"Darling," Dizz said, "do you really think that you have any reason to feel insecure?"
"No," Chris said slowly. She knew that Dizz had been faithful
to her. She had no reason to doubt her now. But there was a terrible sickness in Chris. Something funded in her head, an ugly something. What, it said, will happen to me if he can do for her what I can't? What if she goes to bed with him and finds out what it means to be fulfilled? It's not very likely to happen, I know that. But it could. It could!
"Then, darling," Dizz went on, oblivious to the voice in Chris' head, "Why are you so upset? All that's going to happen is that I'll have a nice drive in the country. Even you can't find anything ominous in that."
Wanna bet, Chris thought. But all she said was, "I guess I'm just being silly."
"Of course you are," Dizz said earnestly. She got up out of the chair and came to sit by Chris. She ran a long pointed nail around Chris' ear and down her neck over the bruise.
Chris took the finger in her own. "Don't distract me," she said.
Dizz turned on that smile and it hit Chris where it hurt. She leaned over and pecked Chris quickly on the lips. "So you won't be jealous, will you?" she said.
"Look, honey," Chris said. "You know all I care about is that you should be happy. If it makes you happy to go out with George, go. What more can I say?"
Chris had no more to say that she wanted Dizz to hear. She dared not tell her that she was afraid, and that it was not George who made her so, but her own sense of inadequacy. She could not tell Dizz, who had never known it, of the kind of thing that happened when two people fulfilled all each other's needs. She had prayed that Dizz would never know it with somebody else. She had hand-picked their friends to include no one who might tempt her away. But George was something she hadn't counted on. And Dizz was obviously attracted to him.
Dizz curled up beside Chris and put her head against Chris' shoulder. "Well, anyhow, we'll be home early. You don't mind eating out this once, do you?"
Chris moved her head to look down at Dizz. "No, darling," she said, "I don't mind." She felt herself slipping. Dizz was so soft, so sweet. She wanted Dizz to have fun and come home early. Maybe she'd even be glad to get home.
Chris slid her arm around Dizz's waist and Dizz nestled against her. Their heads were close together. We fit so well, Chris thought. We belong this way. And she felt that Dizz must know it too.