Jealous And The Free, The

by March Hastings

  But because of the promise she had made to herself and was finally fulfilling. She still had a long way to go. But she would be a somebody. She knew she would.

  If only Leda still cared...

  CHAPTER 20

  From Paul, Michele learned the address of the theater where Leda worked. And Tuesday evening, when she was finished at the diner, Michele hurried downtown.

  She had dressed very carefully for the occasion in the only outfit she had and the new trench coat that made her look older and debonaire. Her hair had grown in a little and waved softly over her ears and down almost to her collar. She was thinner and paler than when Leda had seen her last. And she felt that she had aged at least fifteen years. But her spirits were high and she knew her feelings must reflect in her face. Leda had found her attractive once.

  Michele sat down on a loading platform across from the theater exit and trained her eyes on the door. She had no idea when Leda might be getting out of work. But she would wait all night if she had to. It was cold in the alleyway, with a gust of wind stirring the dust and soot of late summer and sending it into her eyes. Yet she scarcely noticed the discomforts. She felt warm and content and full of excitement.

  She had no idea how the girl might react to finding her there. Michele knew that Leda would not send her away without speaking to her, at least. And if she could just communicate to Leda the confidence she had gained in herself, the hope she had for the future... Even if the girl no longer loved her as she once had, maybe in time they could become friends again. Even that would be better than the nothingness of life without the girl.

  And then, perhaps, as she got a chance to prove herself, Leda would begin to love her again. Would begin to find her worthwhile.

  Michele knew that she would die if Leda no longer loved her. Her arms ached to hold the girl, her lips yearned for the feel of Leda's flesh. Through the long nights she had dreamed of holding the girl, of making love to her as she had before. She had not looked at another woman since her affair with Corinne. There was no one for her but Leda.

  She watched the lights blinking out across the city, heard the hum of traffic taper off. The theater crowd had already left the building. The cigarette butts at her feet had grown into a mound. Still she watched the door and waited, stiff and shivering with cold, her head aching from the intensity of her vigil.

  It was nearly twelve when the door finally opened and a couple of girls hurried out. They glanced at Michele curiously, then went on down the alley toward the street.

  Michele slid down from the platform and stepped into the shadows.

  Leda came out alone. Michele watched her descend the steps. She looked very tired, her shoulders drooping a little and the bounce Michele remembered gone from her step. It pained Michele to see the girl like this. And pained her more as she realized that she herself had probably been responsible for the dragging unhappiness she felt emanating from the girl. She wanted to take Leda in her arms right there and hold her close. Just stand there and hold her and let the rest of the world go on without them. For she knew that neither of them needed anything else. They needed only to be together.

  As she moved out of the shadows and came up behind Leda, Michele felt a little afraid. It had been so long. So long. Perhaps it was already too late.

  She touched her gently on the arm. "Leda?"

  She heard her draw her breath in sharply. But the slow step did not falter. She fell into step beside her. Leda did not glance at her. Michele felt she might as well be invisible for all the attention Leda seemed to be paying her.

  "I thought maybe we could have supper," Michele said. She heard the nervousness in her own voice and fell silent.

  They turned onto Broadway. Leda headed toward the bus stop at the corner.

  Michele followed her. "Aren't you even going to say hello to me?"

  Leda glanced at her now, but there was no happiness in her eyes. She looked drawn and tired. "You surprised me."

  Michele felt herself relaxing. She didn't care what Leda said, so long as the girl spoke to her. "Are you sorry?"

  Leda shook her head slowly. "No. Just surprised."

  "Look," Michele said, "can't we go somewhere and talk. I mean, you don't have to go home this minute, do you?"

  Leda sighed. "There's no one there but Boris," she said. "If that's what you're worrying about."

  I deserve that, Michele thought.

  Somehow it hadn't occurred to Michele that Leda would not see the change that had taken place in her. If it were so obvious to herself, surely it should be obvious to Leda, who knew her so well. Yet, she could hardly expect Leda to know all that had gone on since the last time they met.

  "I wasn't worrying about anything," Michele said as gently as she could. "I simply wanted a chance to speak with you. For old time's sake, if nothing else."

  "Times have changed," Leda said. Her voice sounded flat and dead.

  Michele felt her temper beginning to stir. What the devil had happened to the girl to make her behave like this?

  "Damn it," Michele blurted, "so have I!" She took Leda by the arm. "And you're going to listen to me, if I have to tie you down and sit on you!"

  She watched the shadow of a smile flit across Leda's lips.

  "Don't bother," Leda said. She nodded up the street. "The bus is coming. Ride downtown with me."

  Michele followed the girl onto the bus and paid both fares. She couldn't figure out what kind of a game Leda might be playing with her. But she didn't like it. She felt as though she were being manipulated, though she didn't know why this should be so.

  Their conversation on the bus did anything but ease Michele's nerves. Leda hardly spoke at all, except to answer an occasional question, and Michele began to feel that the situation between them might indeed be hopeless. She leaned back against the seat and stared glumly into the night. It was her own damn fault, after all. She could hardly blame Leda. Why should the girl welcome her back with open arms, after the way she had carried on?

  Leda led her into the house and Michele followed docilely. It felt strange, being in the old place. She remembered the broken steps, the odor of urine in the downstairs hall, the light socket at the top of the third flight that had been empty of a bulb since they moved in. The door with the lopsided number nine done in white paint.

  And Boris. She had tears in her eyes as she went down on her knees to hug the dog and scratch him behind the ears.

  "Sit down," Leda said. "I'll make some coffee." She dropped her purse on the couch and went out to the kitchen.

  Michele trailed after her with Boris hugging her heels as though determined never to let her out of his sight again. She stopped just inside the door. Boris sat down on her foot.

  Leda filled the coffee pot and set it on the stove. She struck a match and touched it to the gas burner.

  Suddenly she turned toward Michele and faced her squarely for the first time. "Why did you come back?" she said. "I was just beginning to get used to it."

  Michele felt as though she had been hit over the head with a boulder. She felt the wind go out of her and she leaned against the door for support. Then she saw the tears filling up in Leda's eyes, the misery etched on the girl's face.

  Yet she did not dare touch the girl. Not yet. She reined her desire in sharply and took a deep breath. "I came back because I love you," she said quietly.

  "You loved me when you left. That didn't stop you."

  Michele shook her head. "I loved you," she said. "But not the right way, Leda. Not the way I do now."

  Leda's eyes narrowed and the smooth forehead creased into a frown. "Who told you that? Corinne?"

  Michele flushed. "Nobody told me," she said. "Though a couple tried. Including you. I had to find it out for myself."

  "Did you?"

  The sarcasm in Leda's tone hurt, yet Michele knew now that the girl was merely protecting herself, holding herself at bay. "Yes," she said. "I found out. I... I can't tell you, Leda. But if you'll give me a chance,
I think I can show you." She took a step forward.

  Leda backed away. "You said that before, Michele."

  Michele sighed. "Yes, I said it before. But that was a million years ago," she murmured. "Look, I've been doing a lot of things the past few months."

  Leda smirked. "Like Corinne," she said.

  "Like Corinne," Michele echoed. "But only Corinne and not for very long. She got just as bored with me as she does with everyone else."

  Leda stepped to the cupboard and reached down cups. "So what have you been doing?"

  Michele could not see the expression on the girl's face, but she heard clearly enough the relief in Leda's voice. She stepped forward and took the cups from her hand.

  "Well," she said, "I have a job. Not a very good one, but I manage. And a room." She smiled. "That's not so hot either. But I've been writing, Leda." She paused to let the point sink in. "And I've sold a story."

  Leda turned slowly to face her. "I'm glad," she said. "It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

  Something about the gleam in the girl's eyes warned Michele that she was about to be set firmly in her place. But she nodded her head eagerly in agreement.

  "Well, then," Leda breathed, "what would you say to me if I asked you to come live with me... on the condition that you never write another word?"

  Michele saw the trap gaping wide before her and deliberately stepped into it. "I'd tell you that my career has nothing to do with you. And that, if you loved me, you wouldn't try to make such demands."

  Leda's face relaxed into a complacent smile. "You have changed, haven't you?" she said. "Or do these rules only work for the man of the house?"

  Very carefully Michele set the cups on the table. 'There's something we'd better get clear right now," she said.

  Leda raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Michele?"

  "I don't give a damn if you spend the rest of your life being a career woman outside this house. But in this house..."

  "Yes, Michele?"

  "In this house," Michele repeated, "I'm going to be boss." She grinned. "Which means, when I say: come here and kiss me... you'd better jump."

  Michele watched Leda's face closely, searching for the answer she needed to know. If Leda still loved her...

  Leda lowered her head.

  "Well?" Michele murmured.

  Leda looked up at her then and smiled with her heart in her eyes. "Yes, Michele," she whispered.

  Michele moved to take the girl into her arms. Her own arms were shaking and her knees felt weak. She grabbed the girl to her and lifted her off the floor. Her lips, her tongue sought Leda's. She would never leave the girl again. Never.

  "The coffee's boiling," Leda said against her ear. "Let it," Michele said. Her hand fumbled with the buttons of Leda's blouse.

  Leda sighed and relaxed against her.

  For a moment Boris sat watching them.

  Then he got up and padded politely out of the room.

  ~~~

  AFTERWORD

  A new revolution was underway at the start of the 1940s in America—a paperback revolution that would change the way publishers would produce and distribute books and how people would purchase and read them.

  In 1939 a new publishing company—Pocket Books—stormed onto the scene with the publication of its first paperbound book. These books were cheaply produced and, with a price of twenty-five cents on their light cardboard covers, affordable for the average American.

  Prior to the introduction of the mass-market paperback, as it would come to be known, the literary landscape in America was quite different than what it is today. Reading was primarily a leisure-time pursuit of the wealthy and educated. Hardcover books were expensive and hard to find, so purchasing books was a luxury only the rich living in major metropolitan areas could afford. There simply weren’t many bookstores across the country, and only gift shops and stationary stores carried a few popular novels at a time.

  The Pocket Books were priced to sell, however, and sell is what they did… in numbers never before seen. Availability also had a great effect on sales, in large part due to a bold and innovative distribution model that made Pocket Books available in drugstores, newsstands, bus and train stations, and cigar shops. The American public could not get enough of them, and before long the publishing industry began to take notice of Pocket Book’s astonishing success.

  Traditional publishers, salivating at the opportunity to cash in on the phenomenal success of the new paperback revolution, soon launched their own paperback ventures. Pocket Books was joined by Avon in 1941, Popular Library in 1942, and Dell in 1943. The popular genres reflected the tastes of Americans during World War II—mysteries, thrillers, and “hardboiled detective” stories were all the rage.

  Like many of the early paperback publishers, Dell relied on previously published material for its early books, releasing “complete and unabridged” reprints under different titles by established authors. Within a couple of years it was focused exclusively on mysteries, identifiable by the Dell logo on the cover—a small keyhole with an eye looking through it. Many of the Dell mysteries also featured a colored map on the back cover representing the various locations pertaining to the story’s crime. These “mapback” editions became extremely popular and by 1945, Dell was publishing four new books a month.

  The new paperback industry was faced with some difficult challenges during World War II. In particular, the War Board’s Paper Limitation order placed serious restrictions and rations on the use of paper. Publishers began to worry whether they would have enough paper to satisfy both the civilian and military appetite for paperbacks. Manpower shortages and transportation difficulties were also proving to be difficult challenges. In response, some publishers—Pocket Books, for instance—reduced their publication schedules and reset their books in smaller type thereby reducing the number of pages per book. Others simply rejected longer books in favor of shorter ones.

  In the end, World War II proved to be a boon to the emerging paperback industry. During the war, a landmark agreement was reached with the government in which paperbound books would be produced at a very low price for distribution to service men and women overseas. These books—Armed Services Editions, as they were called—were often passed from one soldier or sailor to another, being read and re-read over and over again until they literally fell apart. Their stories of home helped ease the soldier’s loneliness and homesickness, and they could be easily carried in uniform pockets and read anywhere—in fox holes, barracks, transport planes, etc. Of course, once the war was over millions of veterans returned home with an insatiable appetite for reading. They were hooked, and their passion for reading these books helped launch a period of unprecedented growth in the paperback industry.

  The reading tastes of these veterans were directly reflected in the popularity of certain genres at the turn of the decade. In the mid-to late 1940s, mysteries, romance, thrillers, and hardboiled detective stories seemed to sell better. In the early 1950s new genres—science fiction, westerns, gay and lesbian, juvenile delinquent and “sleaze”, for instance—gained in popularity as readers were presented with stories never before seen in print. Publishers also came to realize that sex would sell books… lots of books. In a competitive frenzy for readers, they ditched their conservative and straightforward cover images for alluring covers that frequently featured a sexy woman in some form of undress, along with a suggestive tag line that promised stories of sex and violence within the covers. Before long, books with sensational covers had completely taken over the paperback racks and cash registers. To this day, the cover art of these vintage paperback books are just as sought after as the books themselves were sixty years ago.

  Science fiction titles reflected the uncertain times during which they were written. The Cold War was just beginning, the threat of nuclear annihilation was on everyone’s mind, governments in Eastern Europe were falling to Communists, and Senator Joseph McCarthy was looking for “un-American activities” everywhere in the Unite
d States. Many science fiction stories in the early days of the paperback revolution were little more than soap operas or westerns set in space—good guys taking on bad guys while rescuing damsels in distress—that were short stories taken from the pulp magazines. In 1952, however, Ballantine Books changed all that by becoming the first paperback publisher to release novel-length science fiction stories that were sophisticated, intelligent and thematically serious. In 1953, Ballantine Book No. 41 was released—Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451—and the paperback’s science fiction genre launched like a rocket heading to Venus.

  The popularity of this new genre wasn’t lost on new paperback publisher, Ace Books, which became known primarily for its publication of sci-fi titles. Not content with publishing one science fiction novel at a time, Ace came up with an interesting gimmick—the double novel. Priced at thirty-five cents, the “Ace Double” featured two paperback novels bound back-to-back with the back cover appearing upside-down in the racks. The stories contained within these “double” paperbacks were novellas or long short stories, rather than novels, but the reading public didn’t care—they loved getting two books for the price of one! The format also worked to the advantage of Ace Books, as they were able to combine the work of an unknown (and, therefore, less expensive) writer with that of a prominent and popular author. As a result, the careers of more than a few aspiring science fiction writers were launched via the innovative “Ace Double.”