Jealous And The Free, The

by March Hastings

  She made it as far as the gutter.

  Sighing, Michele stood up and leaned against a trash can. She looked down at the front of her slacks. With a scrap of paper from the can, she wiped at the splotches on her now creaseless and baggy pants.

  Staggering a little, stopping every few steps to catch her breath, Michele made her way across the Village to Corinne's apartment house. It was five after ten when she rang the bell.

  Corinne herself opened the door. It surprised Michele a little not to see Toni there, as she had always been before. She leaned against the doorjamb and peered inside.

  "What a lovely sight you are," Corinne said scoldingly. "And you are late, Michele. Where have you been?" She took Michele by the hand and brought her inside.

  Michele allowed herself to be led to the couch and stretched out prone. She did not even try to answer the woman's question. Her tongue felt thick and wooden. Her head throbbed.

  Corinne untied the tight sandals and slid them from Michele's feet. Then she went into the bathroom and came back with a dampened cloth. She sat down beside Michele on the couch.

  "Here." She spread the cloth across Michele's feverish brow. "This will make you feel better." Her fingertips touched Michele's chin. "Now, you must tell me where you have been."

  Michele heard the edge of command that had crept into the woman's tone and she groaned inwardly. She didn't feel like talking at all. Not to anyone. Why the hell couldn't the woman go away and just let her sleep?

  "Been nowhere," she mumbled.

  "What?" Corinne said. She took hold of Michele's shoulder and shook her impatiently. "Michele, you must speak to me."

  Michele sighed and tried to focus on the woman's face. Her forehead creased with her effort at concentration. But she could see nothing through the fog filling her brain.

  Corinne raised her hand. She slapped Michele sharply and hard.

  Michele's eyes popped open as though they worked on springs. She stared at the woman in amazement, too surprised to say a word.

  "Who have you been with?" Corinne demanded.

  "I wasn't with anyone. I..." She thought quickly, not wanting to tell the woman about Leda. "I was lonesome by myself all day. So I had a couple of beers."

  Corinne looked skeptical. "Well," she said, "you must not do this again. If you want to drink beers, Michele, you will drink them with me."

  Michele frowned. Something about this discussion sounded uncomfortably familiar. She wondered if she herself had seemed as unreasonable to Leda. Surely she must have. "I didn't mean anything by it," she said weakly. "I just..."

  "We will have no more of it," Corinne said firmly. "I will be enough for you, Michele. You will see." She took Michele's face between her hands and kissed her tenderly on the lips. "You will see. I will love you so much it will make your head spin."

  Michele didn't say a word. She had nothing to say. She felt as though she had been caught in a trap of her own making. And there was no way out.

  She let Corinne take her into her arms.

  We're on the couch again, she thought. I'm supposed to make love to her now. She's paying me to make love to her. She's paying my rent and she thinks she's bought my soul, too. She doesn't love me. She doesn't love me.

  The words went round and round in Michele's drunken thoughts as she held Corinne and made love to her that night. She felt as though she had stepped onto a merry-go-round that was going too fast for her to leap off again.

  And as the night grew into another day and the days grew into weeks, Michele began to find herself almost enjoying the ride.

  Despite her demands on Michele's time and attention, Corinne proved to be a marvelous and amusing companion. Their evenings were hardly ever spent alone or at home. As Corinne had said in the beginning, she seemed to come alive at night, ready to run and play till the early hours of the morning. They visited every bar, every coffeehouse, every dive in the Village. Life took on a note of constant hilarity, a constant seeking of release from boredom, from depression, from living itself.

  And at dawn they would creep home alone, back to Corinne's apartment, and fall together onto the huge round bed. Corinne's demands for physical satisfaction seemed to increase with each day, with each meeting of their bodies. And Michele responded always with eager passion, anxious to please, anxious to keep the woman wanting and needing her.

  Yet sometimes when she left Corinne in the morning, Michele returned to her empty apartment with a heavy heart. She felt that she should be on top of the world, happy and content with the excitement of her life with Corinne. She had clothes, she had money, she had an expensive apartment, she had everything she ought to want.

  Still, when she woke up in the early evening with a hangover, her throat sore and aching from too many cigarettes, her body unrested, Michele knew that there was no sense or meaning to any of it.

  She hadn't written a word. There never seemed to be time. She hadn't thought a thought or made a plan for her future. She hadn't done anything that she could look at with pride. Her days and her nights were filled with Corinne.

  She would dress carefully, elegantly, turning herself into a reflection of Corinne's taste, Corinne's conception of how she should appear. She would shove her disappointments aside and hurry off to Corinne for another wild night on the town. Another escape. And always Corinne would be waiting, happy to see her, anxious to be off for a round of fun. Eager to come home again and fall into bed.

  * * *

  Corinne's infatuation lasted exactly a month.

  It happened so subtly that Michele never understood just when it began. Or why. Yet one night as she was dancing with Corinne in a gay bar, Michele became suddenly aware that the woman's attention was no longer exclusively her own.

  She followed Corinne's line of vision to the back of a dark, close cropped head at the bar. She felt the woman sigh.

  "I thought for a moment it was Toni," Corinne murmured. "I was mistaken."

  Michele felt the cold draft of dread pass over her heart. She had managed, somehow, to forget about Toni. To forget about everything but the mad whirl they had been having. And she had not for a moment felt insecure in her position with Corinne. They were together constantly, except for the few hours when Michele slept and Corinne claimed that she painted.

  Michele knew that night that the party was over. She went to the woman eagerly, with all the intensity of her insecurity. Needing to prove to herself that Corinne wanted her as breathlessly as she always had.

  And Corinne kissed her and begged off with a headache.

  Lying beside the woman in the dark, Michele knew a terror greater than anything she had ever felt before. What would happen to her if she lost Corinne? For all the money the woman had given her, Michele had managed to save little more than a hundred dollars. She could certainly never manage to support her apartment on the money she could earn waiting tables.

  She knew it was petty, thinking only of the money and not of the woman she realized she was losing. Yet in her heart Michele had to admit that it was not really the woman she would miss. Oh, it had been fun, making love to Corinne. Sometimes it had even been good. But it had never been like it had with Leda. There had never been love with Corinne, only greed. Each of them demanding, taking all she could get from the other.

  A feeling of self-disgust settled over Michele and she could remember now only the way Paul had tried to warn her. He had known that it would end like this. Had known she would lose Corinne. She had long ago lost what little there was of herself.

  Yet it was a blow to her ego that Michele did not take kindly. The realization that she could not hold the woman nagged at her constantly, making her restless and on edge. They began to argue, in little ways. Michele would show up a half hour late and Corinne would fly into a jealous rage. Or Corinne would glance at a pretty face and Michele would become sullen and silent. Their hours together were filled with irritation and argument. And their feverish love-making could not hide from either of them their u
nhappiness with the other.

  One evening when Michele showed up drunk, Corinne made it clear that she had had enough. She left Michele sprawled on the livingroom couch and went into the bedroom to dress.

  It was some time before Michele realized what was going on. When she understood that Corinne intended to leave without her, she forced herself to stand up and staggered after the woman.

  Corinne was sitting at her dressing table, weaving her long silvery hair into a chignon low on her neck. She glanced up at Michele in the mirror.

  "Well, you are still alive, I see. I thought you had passed out for the night."

  Michele heard the contempt in the woman's voice and she felt the anger beginning to seethe inside her. She leaned against the door jamb for support and tried to look nonchalant. "I'm alive," she said. "Where would you like to go?"

  Corinne made a nasty sound in her throat. "With you, nowhere. It is enough that I have to look at you. I do not wish to be seen with you like this, Michele."

  "What the hell's the matter with me all of a sudden? You used to like me well enough."

  "You were young and beautiful then, Michele. Now you have become possessive and jealous." She shook her head. "These things do not become you. You have a look about you that is nasty and narrow."

  "You're a hell of a one to talk about jealous and possessive," Michele spat back. She stepped away from the door and came toward the woman. "You hardly let me out of your sight. You buy my clothes and tell me who I can talk to. You don't even let me burp for myself."

  Corinne turned to face her and her eyes were bright with disgust. "You have been paid well for your sacrifice," she said evenly. "If you were at all interested in me, as you have sworn a million times to be, perhaps you would not feel so cheated."

  Michele's hands balled into fists. "God damn it," she said, "you know I love you."

  Even as she said the words, Michele knew they were not so. That she had never loved Corinne. Yet she couldn't lose the woman now. There was nothing else.

  Corinne stood up and patted the back of her hair. "It would have been nice if it were true," she said. "I hoped you would, Michele. But you are like all the others. You want to receive, but you are not willing to give."

  Michele felt a wave of nausea rock her stomach. Somewhere, some time, she had been through all this before. And she knew that anything she said now would be a final condemnation. As it had been before, with Leda. "But I've given you..."

  "Nothing that I couldn't get somewhere else," Corinne said. "The part of you that I have needed, you have clutched selfishly to yourself." She picked up her purse from the dresser and checked quickly through its contents. "Now, I am going out," she said. "Wait for me, if you wish. I will be late."

  Michele sighed. She should kick the woman in the teeth and get the hell out of here. She had learned an awful truth about herself tonight. And about Corinne. Still, she had no place else to go. "I'll be here," she said.

  Corinne smiled. "That is fine," she said. She reached up to pat Michele's cheek. "For some things, you are still very useful."

  CHAPTER 18

  Michele knew that her usefulness was at an end the night they ran into Toni in a bar.

  She had been sitting with Corinne and some friends at a corner table for hours, talking about nothing, getting drunker by the minute. Corinne had had hardly a word to say to her all evening. And Michele had gradually allowed herself to lapse into silence.

  When she spotted Toni standing just inside the door, Michele felt as though her heart had dropped into her shoes. Casually, so that Corinne might not notice her shift of attention, Michele lit a cigarette and leaned her head back against the wall. From where she sat, she could see Toni clearly.

  The girl was alone, but looking around as though she were expecting to find someone. When her glance reached their table, she hesitated for just a moment, then turned away.

  For a moment Michele thought that the girl intended to leave before Corinne noticed her. Instead, Toni stepped to the bar and ordered a drink.

  Michele began to tremble as though she had felt a sudden chill. She clenched her hands on the table. The cigarette snapped between her fingers.

  "What's the matter with you?" one of the women asked, turning toward her. For an instant she focused her attention on Michele. Then she glanced past her to the bar. "Oh," she breathed. "No wonder."

  Corinne had noticed the byplay and turned to the woman with annoyance. "What is it?" she said. "Is Michele getting drunk for a change?"

  The woman nodded in the direction of the bar. "So is Toni."

  Michele watched Corinne stiffen and sit up very straight in her chair. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then, without turning to look at the girl at the bar, Corinne took Michele's hand and squeezed it gently.

  "Ask her to join us," she said.

  "What for?" Michele asked. "I thought you were finished with Toni for good."

  Corinne's face remained an expressionless mask. "It is not for you to ask questions, Michele. Please do as I ask."

  Before Michele could move out of the chair, she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Toni's eyes.

  "Don't bother," Toni said. She pulled a chair over from the next table and sat down facing Corinne, her back almost directly to Michele.

  "I can only stay for a minute," Michele heard her say. "I have a date."

  "An important one?" Corinne asked quietly.

  "No," Toni said. "Just a date."

  Corinne leaned forward in her chair. "You must call me sometime, Toni."

  Michele watched the back of the girl's head and saw her nod slightly.

  "I'd like that," Toni said. "If you mean it."

  "I told you I would forgive you sometime."

  "Have you?"

  Corinne was silent for several moments. "Yes, I have forgiven you," she said finally. "I forget now why I was angry."

  Michele did not even bother to listen to the rest of the conversation. She didn't have to. She knew that Toni had, without any effort at all, quietly eased her out. It hurt Michele to realize that the two of them were sitting there completely oblivious to her presence, ready to take up again where they had left off, ready to forget that she had ever existed. Probably they had been through this many times before. Undoubtedly, they would go through it all again. Many times.

  But Michele knew they weren't going to get rid of her quite as easily as they might wish.

  When she took Corinne home, Michele felt more sober and determined than she had been since the night they met. Maybe Toni would win out in the end. Maybe Corinne would tell her to go. But before that happened, she would show them both that she was not somebody to be pushed around.

  "Should I fix us some coffee?" Michele asked as they came into the apartment. Corinne had a weakness for coffee at five in the morning.

  Corinne flung herself down on the couch. "No coffee," she said. "Tonight I need love."

  Michele had always enjoyed Corinne in this mood. Carefree, happy and oh, so willing. Yet now she felt herself responding with anger and the need to hurt. For she knew all too well that Corinne's joy had nothing to do with her. They had not been happy together even in bed for a long time. She did not want to make love to the passion Toni had aroused in Corinne. Yet she wanted to possess the woman even now. To make love to her and demand with her body that Corinne want her in return.

  She came over to the couch slowly and stood looking down at the woman for a long time. She got hold of her anger and wrapped it up into a tiny ball of hate. Hate for Toni, for Corinne, for herself. She wanted to grab the woman and slam her against the wall. She wanted to beat her with her fists, smash that beautiful face, that gorgeous body until no one would ever desire her again.

  She felt Corinne eying her curiously and smiled to cover her nervousness.

  "Is something wrong, Michele?"

  Michele cleared her throat. "I was thinking how beautiful you are," she murmured. She leaned one knee on the couch and bent towa
rd the woman. Her fingers moved to unloosen the long strands of Corinne's hair.

  Corinne shook her head and fluffed out the hair with one hand. "You still like me a little, don't you, Michele?"

  It was not so much a question as a command. Michele watched the woman's mouth as she spoke. The soft, sweet lips that had lured so many to destruction as she was being led now. She wanted to laugh and she wanted to cry.

  How could she tell the woman what she really felt, when she did not even know herself?

  "I like you," Michele said, her voice barely audible. "I like you very much, Corinne."

  Corinne held out her arms. "Show me how much. Michele."

  Michele let herself be drawn into the circle of Corinne's arms, as she had done so often before. Yet tonight she felt no rush of desire, no longing to hold the woman and caress her. She felt only the weight of her own futility pressing down on her, driving her.

  Her tongue sought the hollow of the woman's throat and moved slowly down. Slowly she undressed her, touching with her lips the flesh she knew so well and had once desired so strongly.