Queer Patterns

by Lilyan Brock

  Now the road followed the lazy curves of the Indian River in whose smooth waters the drooping palms were mirrored— here in clusters; there, on a point where a spur of land pushed its way far out into the stream, one solitary palm leaned perilously low, almost caressing the waters with its fronds.

  Sheila’s eyes drank in the beauty of the countryside. The air was sweet and warm as it floated in through the open windows, and in her heart was the echo of the peace with which Nature seemed to have blanketed her creation. Sheila, revelling in the utter serenity of it all, brought her gaze to rest on Nicoli’s face. It was so heavenly to be riding along with her—to know that henceforth nothing could take her away—to know that year in and year out she would be hers to love and cherish, until the day when one of them must pass beyond.

  Sheila’s arm stole around Nicoli’s shoulder. “I’m so happy, darling; life is so complete, so full, now that I have you. It is so wonderful, Nicoli, to belong to you, to feel that always it will be just we two.” She drew a deep sigh—one of supreme contentment—then went on: “Surely there can be no greater happiness than this!”

  Nicoli lessened the speed of the car, removed one hand from the wheel, and drew Sheila’s head close to her own. Then with eyes ahead intent on the road, she gently brushed her lips. “Before long, dearest,” she said, “we will be free to live our lives in our own way—free to love each other away from the people who can’t understand. We will go somewhere where they can never again take from us our right to live. Somewhere there is such a place, I’m sure.”

  Shelia’s fingers wandered through the soft strands of Nicoli’s hair. Her words sounded deep and musical: “I love you so, my darling—you’re everything I want from life. You alone can make it worth the living.”

  With hearts closely attuned one to the other they drove on until late afternoon. The sun was fast sinking, and the clouds hanging low on the horizon had taken on a purplish cast. In the distance tall feathery Australian pines were silhouetted against the deepening rose and gold of the sky, while high above rode the pale moon, as yet barely visible in its faint outline. Later, its glorious deep blue rays would paint the semi-tropical woods with a magic brush, lending an air of romance to the world and its lovers. High above the earth it would ride on its journey through the night; lacy clouds and glittering stars would enhance its splendor until dawn, stealing across the sky, should at length obliterate it from view.

  *

  The swift current of gay winter life in Miami soon engulfed Nicoli and Sheila. Inevitably Nicoli knew dozens among the throng, and the threads of acquaintance were quickly picked up and knitted into close companionship.

  “We must meet people, must be a part of all this, Sheila. After all, you must play, and I must make contacts. Later on I shall want to write, and you will have friends for the hours when we shall necessarily be apart.” Nicoli had said in answer to Sheila’s complaint that they were almost never alone any more.

  They had taken a small apartment at the beach and a cabana at one of the numerous sun clubs, and the days were spent lounging about on the soft white, sands and bathing in the blue-green waters. Now, as Sheila removed her smart white bathing cap and prepared to lie down beside Nicoli, a merry crowd came up. A tall, handsome, sun-tanned boy detached himself from the rest, and rushing forward, grasped Sheila’s hands and pulled her back to her feet. “Oh, no you don’t! No loafing —we’re on our way home to change clothes for the tea dance at the Roney. We’ll drop you at the apartment and be back in fifteen minutes to pick you up.”

  Sheila looked at Derek Van Pelt as he stood holding her hands; with a sigh of resignation she answered, “All right—see you later, Nicoli,” and was gone.

  As they tramped toward Derek’s car, she thought how little of real life this harum-scarum bevy of youngsters really knew, as they raced about bent only on excitement and a good time. Particularly there was Paula, Derek’s sister, scarcely twenty-one—knowing life only as a place in which to swim and dance until dawn, with never a serious thought in her chic bobbed head.

  Dancing that afternoon in the open air beneath the swaying palms of the Roney Plaza’s gay Palm Garden, Derek’s arm tightened about Sheila’s shoulder as he whispered, “I’m mad about you, Sheila, and have been ever since I first met you. Can’t we steal away from the others and go for a drive alone?”

  Sheila’s glance took in the flushed, excited face of her partner. Such an impetuous youth… so young… what could she possibly offer him ? Wasn’t it wrong to go on dancing and playing with him—whiling away the hours in his company, allowing him to become more and more attached to her? For love at his age was such a serious thing; anything might happen if she continued this. Derek’s persistent voice broke her train of thought: “Say ‘yes’ dearest; do come! I must be alone with you.”

  Sheila’s soft voice answered, “Some other time, Derek; not this afternoon.” Then seeing the hurt expression in his eyes, she added quickly, “We really shouldn’t leave the rest, you know.”

  “Tonight, then,” insisted Derek. “We’ll have dinner somewhere on the beach and then drive. What about it, darling?”

  “Very well, Derek, tonight then,” murmured Sheila, though instantly she questioned the advisability of her decision.

  True, Nicoli would be busily engaged with her writing, and she would be free to pursue her own pleasures—but was she free? It was all very well to talk of mingling with people, but when one did, such situations as this were bound to arise. Was it fair to be so apparently foot loose and yet so securely tied? Wasn’t it rather a shabby sort of way to go about living—allowing men, and boys such as Derek, to become fascinated by her wealth of experience, her glamorous career? Yet how to live otherwise…

  At any rate, Sheila gleaned comfort from the thought that soon they would be back in the city busy with rehearsals; then the season—and then best of all, life would straighten out, and she and her beloved Nicoli would be safely settled in their new home wherever they might choose to make it. At least, they had both decided that it would be secluded, thus doing away with almost all social contacts. Yes—it would be good to forget pretense and to live only for each other. Until that time should come, she had little choice but to be the woman she seemed to the world, and to live that woman’s life.

  The music ended, and Derek’s strong young arm guided Sheila through the maze of tables toward the one where Paula and her same merry crowd were just settling themselves. As they came up, Paula raised her large, heavily fringed gray-green eyes, and with a bright gesture toward the chair next to her own, “Here, Sheila, next to me; I want to talk to you—I haven’t had a moment for days with you. Derek seems to have had a monopoly on your time.”

  There was a ripple of good natured laughter from the rest of the party; they all realized how true Paula’s words were.

  “What are you drinking, Sheila?’ asked Derek, ignoring Paula’s statement and the ensuing laughter. “The same as usual ?”—this with an air to show his familiarity with her tastes.

  “Yes,” answered Sheila, apparently confirming the intimacy between them.

  As they sat talking gaily over their drinks, Paula leaned close to Sheila and spoke in a hushed voice: “Am I never going to see you away from this mad crowd? I’ve tried for weeks— there’s always someone.”

  Sheila glanced quickly at the serious face of the girl beside her. Had she misinterpreted the tone in which Paula had spoken, or… surely she was mistaken. Why, Paula was a baby. Carefully she began to study Paula’s perfect features: the deep pools of color which were her eyes, the firm, determined chin, and lastly the full sensuous mouth which when parted disclosed strong, white, flashing teeth. Her dark auburn hair, closely cut and waved back from a high forehead, conformed perfectly with the outline of her well shaped head.

  Was it possible?

  Paula continued, “Let me pick you up for luncheon tomorrow at one—just you and I. I do so want to spend some time with you. I’ve so much to say, and so
on you’ll be leaving us.”

  Sheila scarcely recognized her voice as she replied, “I’d be delighted, Paula; at one, then.”

  The strains of a melodious rhumba floated through the palms, and there was a general confusion as members of the party arose to dance—then Derek’s voice above the chatter saying, “That’s enough, Sis. Save your gossip—this is my dance with Sheila.”

  “Yes, they all are,” Paula retorted, removing her arm from the back of Sheila’s chair; and lifting her glass to her lips, she drained its contents.

  Two hours later Derek’s sleek, powerful car came to a stop before Sheila’s apartment. “See you at eight, dearest,” he whispered as he helped her from the car. Amid the noisy goodbyes of its occupants, Sheila walked swiftly through the entrance.

  Upstairs she found Nicoli engrossed in her work. Sheila went toward her; Nicoli raised her head for their customary kiss.

  “Did you have a good time at the Roney, darling? Any excitement?”

  “Same old thing, dearest—dancing, a few drinks, and worlds of chatter—they’re a grand crowd, but I’d gladly have given it all just to be sitting here quietly with your arms around me.”

  Nicoli smiled. “Well, it won’t be long before we’ll have just that, Sheila, but until this”—Nicoli indicated the loose pages of manuscript scattered over the desk—“is finished, I’m bound to my work. In other words I’m a slave.”

  Sheila’s arms tightened about her. “But I do miss you all through the day, horribly—I feel so incomplete without you. I’ll be glad when it’s all over and you’re free again. How much longer will it take?”

  “Not long,” Nicoli replied. “I’d say a week at the outside.”

  Sheila’s face lighted up. “I’m so glad—but say, how ever did you manage it? I was under the impression you had weeks of work.”

  “I would have had, darling, but fortunately there weren’t a great many changes to be made in what I had already written.”

  Sheila seated herself on the arm of Nicoli’s chair; her fingers came to rest on the woman’s cheek. “I can’t wait to read it,” she said. “In fact I think you’ve been mean not to let me see it before now. What’s it like, Nicoli? Please tell me.”

  Nicoli’s eyes grew serious. “I haven’t wanted to say much about it, Sheila, until I could see just how it would shape up—but now I will tell you this: I honestly believe it is the best thing I’ve ever written. I don’t see how it could be otherwise…” Nicoli’s voice took on an added tenderness. “You see, every line was written especially for you. I wanted this last effort to be your greatest success as well as my own—but here, now, that’s enough of this, I have to get back to work.”

  Nicoli pulled Sheila down to her and kissed her, first gently, then fiercely, lingeringly—then pushing her away, in a voice shaded with reluctance, she whispered, “Not now, devil… later. I said I must work—do you understand?—work.”

  Sheila sang softly as she went about her shower and dressing, and the plaintive words and melody of “Always” drifted out to Nicoli as she wrote, causing her to lay aside her papers. A suggestion of a smile played on her strong features as she thought of her happiness with Sheila, her great love for her, and of the untold joys the years would bring to them both.

  Remembering suddenly that Sheila was dressing, she called, “Where are you going tonight?”

  Sheila, in answer, appeared in the doorway wrapped in a robe. “Out with Derek for dinner and a drive. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not—you know I don’t. I’ll probably be hard at it when you come home,” Nicoli answered, then resumed her writing.

  Somehow the sentences would not come. Did she mind? Wasn’t Sheila with Derek most of the time when she was in his set? Oh, it was foolish! “You’re being silly,” she told herself. “They are children to Sheila, even though the actual difference in their ages and hers is little. But Sheila is fascinating, attractive,” her brain reminded her. “And Derek is young, and eager for love… suppose—oh, it’s too improbable even to think about. Sheila would never encourage him.” With a shrug Nicoli threw off her brief worries and resumed her task.

  Across the intimate table with its tiny amber light, Sheila and Derek lingered over their liqueurs. On the dance floor couples swayed gracefully to the haunting music of the excellent orchestra as they played one of the season’s most popular tunes. But Derek was not in the mood to dance. He chose rather to sit quietly in conversation with Sheila. To him she was quite the loveliest creature there: her golden skin tanned by the Florida sun, together with her fair hair, made of her a striking figure—a woman to draw the eyes of anyone who came in contact with her, and to hold them. Tonight, in the shimmering ivory satin sheath-like gown she wore, she was more beautiful than ever before to the boy who sat across from her so completely fascinated.

  “You’re exquisite, Sheila,” Derek said earnestly as he leaned across the white surface of the table to light the cigarette Sheila held poised in her fingers.

  Accepting the proffered match, Sheila’s gaze met his. “You’re sweet, Derek—always saying such flattering things to me.”

  “But they’re true—all of them—you know they are!” Then in a lower tone, “I do love you so, Sheila. I’ve thought of nothing else for weeks—I simply must tell you. How can I allow you to leave me? What can anything possibly mean to me when you are no longer here?”

  “Sh-h, Derek—you mustn’t say such things to me. Why, in a few weeks you will wonder how you could even have thought them.” Sheila laughed, nervously, and continued, attempting to speak lightly. “It’s the exotic beauty of everything here: the music—the soft glow of the lights—and outside, the ocean, with its metallic band of moonlight streaming across it.”

  A fleeting hurt expression passed over the features of the earnest boy opposite her. “Suppose we drive in that moonlight you speak of—I want to, terribly.”

  “I’d love it,” Sheila replied, and prepared to retouch her makeup. Derek summoned the waiter.

  The drive along the bay front with the windows open and the tangy salt air floating in was heavenly, thought Sheila. How like the nights when, close beside Nicoli, they had driven for hours… content simply to be alone, close to each other… seldom speaking, and yet in their hearts a perfect communion. At the thought of Nicoli, her mind rushed back to the boy beside her, to his arm that held her pressed to his side as they sped along the road.

  Yes, she would be glad when the time came to go north. It would be best, for Derek was undoubtedly in love with her, and something must be done quickly to break the spell. After all, his youthful infatuation might pass away if she were gone. Sheila’s thoughts were interrupted by the stopping of the car as it glided to a standstill. A feeling of panic swept over her.

  The pressure of Derek’s embrace tightened. “Sheila,” he whispered. His warm young mouth found hers, crushing her lips passionately against his own feverish ones; then forsaking them, it sought eagerly the smooth white softness of her breast.

  “Tell me you do love me. I’m so mad about you! I’ve wanted you so long, it seems. I want to feel your body close to mine—to know I possess all of you!” Derek’s voice took on a harsh note. “Marry me tonight—now—I can’t wait, darling, I can’t!”

  Sheila’s answer was devoid of life as she endeavored to mask her impatience. “That’s impossible, Derek, now and always impossible. I do care so much for you, but I could never love you as you want me to. I’m sorry—genuinely so—but that is the way it is.” Raising her eyes to his face she questioned, “You do want me to be honest, don’t you? We’ve been real comrades, and I couldn’t be otherwise with you.”

  Dejectedly, “Yes, I do want the truth, Sheila, at any cost. I was a blind, impetuous fool to imagine for an instant that you could care for me in… that way.” Then in a worried, anxious tone he pursued, “We can still be pals, can’t we? You won’t take that away from me?”

  Sheila gripped the strong young hand. “Yes, we w
ill always be friends, and pals.”

  The ride home was a silent one. There was nothing to say, it seemed. Sheila knew there was nothing she could say that would ease the anguish in the heart of the youth beside her. Words were so futile at such a time as this.

  Home again, they made an attempt at the old familiarity as they bid each other good night… somehow, it could not be recaptured.

  Sheila’s heart was heavy as she walked upstairs; heavy because of the hurt in Derek’s heart, heavy because of his kiss. No one else had kissed her since the day when Nicoli had come to her as she lay ill, and now, even though she knew she had not responded to his passionate lips, she felt as though something had been taken away from Nicoli. She had not wanted anyone else’s caresses to come between the closeness of their embraces. She belonged utterly to the woman who waited for her in the apartment above—now and always.

  Later, as she lay clasped tight in Nicoli’s arms, feeling the warmth of the beloved form next to her own, a sense of a barrier known only to herself overwhelmed her. The caresses always given so freely heretofore were restrained. Somehow she could not abandon herself to the wild ecstasies of their love. The thoughts of Derek’s mouth on her own and of his mad embraces persisted, widening the distance between her and the woman in whose trembling arms she lay. How could she accept the wealth of passion showered so freely upon her when within herself she felt that she had become besmirched, soiled, in that brief moment with Derek? It was torture to feel so far away from Nicoli—yet how to tell her… to hurt her when she loved her so? Gradually tears stole through Sheila’s closed lashes. A storm of emotion swept swiftly across her being; sobs shook the slender silk-clad body.

  Nicoli raised herself from the pillow and cradled Sheila closer to her. “What is it, darling? Won’t you tell me?”

  Between sobs the story of the evening with Derek was told, until at last with a burst of grief Sheila clung to her: “Don’t you see I didn’t ever want anyone to touch me? I’ve wished a thousand times that no one ever had—I’ve wanted to belong to you so completely.”