THE JEALOUS AND THE FREE
BY
March Hastings
The Jealous and The Free By March Hastings
First published in 1961.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE JEALOUS AND THE FREE
CHAPTER 1
The girl stretched herself in sleep and one naked breast slipped into a shaft of moonlight.
She sighed and wet her lips and rolled onto her belly.
Her legs stiffened for a moment, wide apart.
Then the whole, smooth length of her relaxed and she drew her knees up to her chest. "Michele," she said against the pillow, "aren't you coming to bed tonight?"
Michele stood in the other room between the two windows, her shoulders pressing against the cracked plaster. She heard the girl call her name, but did not move to answer her.
"Michele?" the voice came again.
"I'll be there in a minute," Michele snapped. The clipped words were sprung out of her mouth by a tension she could not control.
"Well, come on then. It's getting chilly."
Michele heard the rusty coil springs squeaking in response to Leda's growing restlessness. And then the thump-thumping of Boris's heavy tail from beneath the bed. It seemed that everything in the world, alive or otherwise, reacted to Leda.
The snap of plaster behind her made Michele realize that she wanted to crawl into the wall. And hide.
Her glance roamed the darkness for a last cigarette, a last swallow of cheap wine. All her courage had come from that bottle, empty now, lying on the sloping window-sill. And she felt empty and cold as that bottle. Her clammy cold palms touched each other, then reached up and pressed against her burning cheeks. Her long fingers crept slowly toward her temples. Through the short hair that still smelled of barber's tonic. She felt the peculiar draftiness on her neck where this morning there had been the protecting weight of a pageboy.
"Michele, please."
Leda called from only ten feet away. Beyond the yard high partition which made this a three room apartment. They shared the bathtub in the kitchen, a toilet that dripped all night and one good winter coat hanging on the hallway door. There was no room for privacy.
Yet Michele stood rigid and horribly private inside the core of her nerves. The world had spun away, leaving her here... alone and afraid. Her easy relationship with Leda had suddenly fallen to break like a cheap glass mirror. She saw it scattered around her in millions of tiny, razor-sharp pieces.
She could not walk across the room and get into that bed. Not tonight.
She watched Boris get up, yawn and pad toward her. Part Collie, part Dane his immensity seemed to fill the room. He sat down beside Michele's leg and lifted a heavy paw to her thigh.
Boris, at any rate, would never change. The thought gave Michele a moment's comfort. She reached down and scratched the great ruff of tan and white fur on his chest.
"So now it's turned into a party." The bed squeaked louder as Leda sat up. "All right. I'll get dressed. Who cares about school tomorrow anyway."
Michele started guiltily. "No, don't," she said quickly. "I'm coming right now."
She pulled Boris onto all fours and went with him toward the bedroom.
Slowly, with heavy fingers, Michele began to unbutton her shirt. A wild desire to run into the John and lock the door shivered through her thighs. But she dared not move. Dared not even turn her back on Leda. For almost a year they had lived openly together, sharing the expense of an apartment. Any sudden change would bring curiosity. And questions. Michele knew she couldn't stand up to Leda's probing. Even without questions, it would be just a matter of time before Leda discovered the change that had taken place in her.
Already it was beginning to show.
Michele forced herself to drop the shirt onto the chair seat, trying hard to appear nonchalant. She reached back and unhooked the narrow brassiere that held her firm breasts. Her fingers felt numb. The cotton bra slithered down toward her belly, then dropped away to the floor. Her glance followed to where it lay beside Leda's mocassins. But she did not bend down into the pattern of light and shadows to retrieve it.
"Michele, are you okay?" Leda pushed one foot beneath the rumpled sheet.
"Hmm?"
"I mean, are you catching a cold or something?"
It was a golden straw and Michele grabbed for it. "Yes. I guess I must be. I feel achy all over. Maybe I could find a pajama top someplace?"
"Put on a tee-shirt." Leda spoke softly.
"Good idea." Michele heard the eager relief in her own voice. Hurriedly, she pushed back the curtains of their makeshift closet and felt through the pile of folded clothing. Leda's neatness made the search easy.
"You'll be wanting the blanket, too" Leda continued, lifting it up and over her own body.
"Thanks."
She could leave her panties on and sleep at the far edge of the mattress. And if Leda asked, tell her she didn't want to spray her with germs.
Encouraged Michele stepped out of her loafers, folded her slacks over the partition and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. For a moment she sat still, gripping the sheets. She felt terrified and a little nauseous, now that she was so close to the girl.
She swung herself quickly onto her back and lay there blinking at the ceiling.
Prickles of heat and ice rushed along her ribs. She felt her heart slapping against her chest and wondered why Leda didn't hear it too. Tension knotted her calves. She would never fall asleep again as long as she lived.
The stale, acrid odor of wine floated toward her nostrils on a pre-dawn breeze. A bus rumbled somewhere, far away, down on First Avenue. She had lived in half the fifty states of America but nothing of interest had ever happened to her in any of them. Now, at the age of twenty-five when she thought she had seen it all...
Flames of self-hate and condemnation mingled with her confusion. Her throat tightened, wanting to fight this unknown quantity which had burst up suddenly to take control of her life. How was it that a simple thing like a haircut could make such a difference? Could bring to the boiling point desires she had not dared admit even to herself?
"Warm enough?"
Michele grunted angrily. She wished Leda would go to sleep so she could be alone with this strange new creature that was herself. Spar around with it for a while. Maybe win. Beat it back down into the darkness. Kick it to hell. Something. Anything.
"You don't sound sleepy."
"How the devil can I sleep with you yelling at me every two seconds?"
Michele heard the silence and knew Leda's sudden confusion. She felt the girl's arm move slightly as though she were recoiling from a slap.
"I didn't mean anything," Leda murmured.
The sweet fragrance of her skin came across as she spoke. Michele lay very still as she sensed Leda's foot moving and then felt the touch of a warm toe against her ankle. She shifted her weight toward the outside of the mattress. But even as she moved away, she knew she could not mov
e far enough. Leda's palm was on her shoulder now.
The fingertips grazed past the shirt sleeve to Michele's skin. "I didn't mean anything at all," Leda repeated. "Except what's good for you..."
The warm breath of her words touched Michele's ear-lobe.
"Leda, please." Her throat ached.
"... darling."
Michele's head swivelled around. She stared hard into the oval face nestled into the pillow. Leda's eyes were large and luminous. They seemed to be waiting. The pert, even features remained passive yet poised.
"What did you say?" she whispered. She felt Leda's palm now against the back of her neck.
"I said you look so much better without all that hair," Leda said, her voice gentle, a faint smile parting her lips.
Michele raised herself onto her elbow. She felt her own blood throbbing beneath Leda's touch. "I love you," she said hoarsely.
Slowly then, cautiously, afraid the girl might still reject her, Michele lowered the upper half of her body onto Leda's.
Leda did not resist.
Their breasts met and flattened against each other.
Leda's arms tightened around Michele's back. Her hands moved beneath the tee-shirt, searching out every tiny muscle, each curve of bone.
Then, moving lower, they found the band of elastic and tugged Michele's panties past her hips.
"Hold me... tighter."
The slim, willing body arched toward Michele's lips.
Her mouth found the curve of Leda's throat. She had never touched a woman before, had hardly even allowed herself to think of it. But the instinct of desire hurried steadily, surely toward the ways of fulfillment.
Her lips searched and discovered a warm breast. She clung and felt it harden against her tongue. The stretch of soft, yielding flesh made her dizzy with craving. Her hands and her mouth reached greedily, grasped and molded and probed. The world had suddenly exploded into a phantasy beyond all dreams.
"Touch me... oh, touch me," the girl moaned.
Leda's hand found hers and pushed it downward.
She heard the girl gasp. Her own temples were pounding wildly, her tongue felt thick and heavy with a thirst she would quench.
The protesting squeal of the old bed sang and screamed rhythmically.
Its tempo increased until the sound was of one high note.
And then the bed lay still.
CHAPTER 2
She watched Leda sleeping. Her arm tingled where the girl's head pressed against it. But she didn't want to move. Even the discomfort of Leda's weight was a pleasure. The horror, the loneliness of yesterday had been transmuted into the pure gold of this morning.
Or was it afternoon?
Cautiously she tilted her head past the girl's shoulder and squinted at the tiny alarm clock. Almost twelve-thirty. She had been lying awake for nearly eight hours too excited to sleep. Too thrilled by the surprise of Leda's love even to want to sleep.
The slurping of water in the kitchen reminded Michele that she ought to take Boris for a walk. Her shift at the beanery started at three o'clock this week. But at least her nights would be free. And maybe she ought to see about a job where the tips would be better.
Michele watched her own thoughts circle and swoop happily in the glorious sunshine of her new life. She could provide for Leda. They would continue living as before—with some added attractions.
She listened to the girl sigh in her sleep and wet her lips. Leda had always had an active dream life. Michele smiled to herself. Maybe now she was part of those dreams.
Once again, she ran the fingers of her free hand through the short hair.
Maybe she would even go back to college.
Anything would be possible... now.
The alarm clock leaped into life and Leda twisted away from her with a violent spasm.
Michele grinned happily as she watched the girl's eyelids flutter open. She reached across her and killed the bell with her thumb. Then she came back and tried to cradle the girl into her arms again.
"God, what a head," Leda groaned. She pressed the heels of her palms to her cheeks and exhaled a long breath.
"I feel fine. Absolutely magnificent." She took Leda's hands away and kissed her on the side of the nose.
"You would. Monster."
They smiled at each other for a long moment.
"Hey, I've got a dancing class."
In a single movement, Leda bounded over her and ran barefoot for the bathroom, her long blonde hair bouncing on her naked shoulders.
Michele sighed and sat up. She had forgotten all about Leda's career. It would slice precious hours from the time they could be together. She searched the ashtray and lifted out a crumpled butt. Straightening it gave her almost half a cigarette. She lit it and drew the smoke deep into her lungs.
Funny, how she had forgotten about everything except the feeling of Leda's body against her own.
The sound of the toilet and the sound of running water and the sound of brushing teeth... all the busy marks of daytime seemed to riddle Michele. She wished she could snuggle back into the bed, close her eyes again and start all over from last night. When there had been only love.
But Leda's dancing class was important Michele knew. She had no right to try to interfere with fifteen years of hard work and ambition. One day Leda would make the grade. And she knew she ought to wish her luck.
But the thought of her girl in black tights, surrounded by other girls... It wasn't exactly the sort of occupation conducive to...
To what?
Angrily Michele mashed out the cigarette stub and flung herself onto her feet. Tiny point of jealousy picked at her skin. She pulled on a pair of faded jeans and called to Boris. While he sidled in, she put on an old army shirt and rolled up the sleeves past her elbows. The billowing material camouflaged her bare breasts.
"Here, boy."
She kneeled to Boris and hooked his metal leash to the choke collar. He turned his long, narrow muzzle to her ear and wiped her cheek with his tongue.
"What's happening to me, Boris?" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Why am I so afraid?"
The sounds of Leda moving now from the bathroom to the kitchen punctuated Michele's thoughts. She heard Leda removing the metal lid from the bathtub. The hollow thudding of water against porcelain, the sliding of the window in its crooked sash, a coffee pot being set on the stove... All the infinite movements of living that had to continue despite what was going on in one's head.
Michele straightened up and wound the end of Boris's leash around her palm. She walked stiff-legged toward the kitchen, all of her tense and afraid.
Leda stood on tip-toe, peering into the wooden cupboard above the refrigerator. "We're out of soap," she said.
"I'm going down. I'll bring some back."
Leda turned to face her. The weight of her hair rested on her shoulders. Her breasts and belly made a pattern of white against the deep tan of her face and throat and legs. "Michele?" Her lips remained open, in question revealing the edges of her small, even teeth.
Michele stood at the doorway, pulling hard on the leash. Palmolive?" she asked dully. "Or Lux?"
"Michele come here."
Michele managed to get herself across the worn linoleum.
"You're not exactly the aggressive type, are you?" Leda laughed low against Michele's throat. She pressed her naked belly to Michele's jeans. "After last night, I'm sure you can kiss me good morning."
Leda's arms brushed across Michele's shoulders. Her fingers went into the stubble of hair along the nape of Michele's neck. "I'm going to do everything in this world to make you happy," she whispered.
"Then stay home with me this afternoon," Michele blurted.
Leda's head tilted back. Michele felt the blue eyes penetrating through to her own conscience, her uncertainty.
"Do you really want me to?"
Michele heard the note of challenge in Leda's voice, the testing. Yet she couldn't back away from the terrible compulsion inside her. "We'll
have a celebration," she said breathlessly. "Just you and me. We'll take a boat ride around the city, then go to Bruno's for dinner. And after that, we'll go uptown to Radio City."
She despised the words tumbling out so anxiously but she felt powerless to stop them. A wave of embarrassment heated her skin.
She dropped her glance from Leda's face to the pale curve of her breasts, then away to a corner of the room. "I'm sorry," she mumbled at last. "You know I didn't mean a word of it."
Leda's cool hand found Michele's chin and tilted it up. They were almost the same height and Michele felt the level gaze softer now. "I know how it is, the first time," Leda said. "Trial by foolishness, I guess you'd call it."
She moved to the tub and turned off the faucets. "Now, take Boris out before he loses his patience."
Michele let herself be pulled toward the door. Numbly she followed Boris down the five flights and out onto the street. She strolled along First Avenue without hearing the screaming kids or smelling sun-ripened fruit or tasting the heavy, dry layer of soot churned up by trucks and automobiles.
She had thought she knew everything there was to know about Leda. A mistake, obviously.
And if this wasn't the first time for Leda, how many times had she been through it before?
Jealous And The Free, The Page 1