"When the loving gets rough" - читать интересную книгу автора (Scope Perry)

CHAPTER THREE

Karen Martin, her full breasts heaving below the tear-stained pretty face, glared at her husband. She was too angry and hurt to speak. His stubbornness angered her, but his calm during these all-too-typical fights infuriated her.

"All I'm saying, Karen, is that I'm getting sick of your excuses." Allen's soft voice was its usual steady tenor. He looked like what he was, a busy young man with a number of things on his mind. He looked at the wonderful curves of his wife's young body. Wanting her had become an ache. He couldn't afford that kind of ache. There was too much he had to do. Working all day, going to school evenings, and studying whenever he found the time, drained too much out of him. He sighed deeply. "What is it you want of me, Karen? Just tell me, and I'll try to understand."

"That's the trouble," Karen answered bitterly. She choked on her tears. She was tired of crying over her marriage. She was, she admitted to herself, just plain tired of marriage. "I shouldn't have to tell you."

Allen gathered up his books with his usual efficiency. He knew what the problem was, but it baffled him. He sorted the books carefully, then looked at the girl. At twenty-one Karen looked like a fine-boned, big-eyed, big-busted teen-ager. Her waist was unbelievably tiny. Allen longed to wrap his fingers around the small middle and lift the girl into his arms. But he hadn't the time. Besides, even with time, all such a move would produce would be more tears.

God! I'm sick of the tears! he thought, rubbing his eyes wearily with his free hand. "Look, baby, I've told you before, and I'll tell you again: I love you. I really do. Only when people have been married a while, it's natural that they sort of take each other for granted a little. Why can't you understand that?"

Karen's large, round, brown eyes flamed again. "If you'd only try to be a little more sensitive…"

"Sensitive!" Allen interrupted, at last jarred out of his matter-of-factness. "I swear to Christ, Karen, if I hear that word one more time, I'll go off my nut!" He laid the books down for a moment, glanced at the clock and picked them up again. "You talk like a sixteen-year-old who's been reading too many love stories!"

He started for the door, his slim, Ivy League-suited body and tired face making him look years older than his twenty-three years, but turned toward his wife again. "Karen, sex is a normal, natural and, hopefully, pleasant act. But it's no damn testimonial of love! Sure, it's a part of it, but just because I won't kiss your feet or something before I get on top doesn't mean I don't love you!"

Karen turned her back on her husband before he was through. He didn't understand! He would never understand! "You act like a-an – animal!" Karen blurted out, catching the new tears with her wet hands. "That's all right, too, I guess?"

Allen remembered going through this scene so many times that he gave up in disgust. Besides, he would be late to school if he didn't leave immediately. He'd never get his degree in accounting. It would mean so much to both of them. Why didn't she see it? Did she want him to be a clothing salesman at the department store all his life, never making enough money to support a family? "Forget it!" he mumbled, slamming the door behind him.

Once he was gone, Karen breathed a sigh of relief and immediately stopped crying. At that moment she hated Allen. She threw herself across the faded and torn couch and wondered why they had ever gotten married in the first place.

But then she remembered how much she had loved him when they were going together, and wanted him. Allen Martin was the first boy Karen had ever really known. She had been too busy with school, her widowed mother, and making her home pleasant, to think of dating boys. She didn't remember her father, and men and boys had always made Karen uncomfortable – she never knew how to act with them. But with Allen – it had been different. He had been as shy as she.

Karen had been attracted to Allen's slim boyishness as she had never been attracted to the aggressive masculinity of the more popular males at school. She had felt safe with Allen. She had always felt vaguely threatened with other boys, as if by size alone they might suddenly overwhelm her. His first kiss had been so gentle, so shy and hesitant, that Karen had been the one to laughingly pull his face back to hers for a second.

She had agreed that they should wait until Allen finished his schooling before getting married. Allen had stressed that he didn't want his wife to work to support him through school, nor did he want a marriage in which the first few years were pure poverty. He wanted them to have every chance for happiness. Karen had been impressed when Allen very practically recited to her the statistics on divorce between young marrieds in the United States.

But when her mother died suddenly after graduation, Karen had become terrified at the prospect of remaining alone for several years. She had pleaded with Allen and cried, until, reluctantly, Allen agreed that they might as well get married at once. He had wanted to wait until he could afford a wife, but Karen seemed so lost he could not bring himself to resist. He immediately got a job as a salesman, and was forced to fit school in around his working hours. It would take much longer this way, but he allowed himself to be drawn into Karen's enthusiastic plans with some excitement. However, the plan which had promised such happiness for both of them turned into chaos on the first night of their married life.

Neither could she explain to Allen what had happened that night. He hadn't been too rough, nor had he been unkind. But, having felt the shocking pain of the first intruder her tender insides had ever known, Karen had tightened up immediately, making further entrance impossible. Allen, unbearably aroused by what was also his first introduction into sex, couldn't hold back. With a low grunt he rolled off her to his side of the brand new bed.

Karen had wanted to throw up. All the beauty, the emotional and physical ecstasy for which she had been preparing herself had come to a callous numbness which left her feeling used and deified. Speechless, Karen looked at the man from whom she had been expecting such pleasure.

"Relax, baby," Allen had said, trying to sound experienced and understanding. "Girls are always a little nervous the first time. This time it will be better."

And then he was on top of her again. She was too stunned to cry out, too tense to protest. But when she felt him begin to groan and breathe heavily again, Karen tried to push him away. Allen mistook her motion for passion and, with a final strong lunge, finished. Karen cried out finally with misery and despair. Allen, tired and content with the happiness he believed he had brought both of them, rolled off her aching, bruised body and, with a light last kiss, fell asleep.

Karen's hand, childishly small and protective, covered the violated flesh until she fell asleep also, her eyes wet with tears of fear and disappointment.

But Karen was realistic enough to admit later that Allen hadn't been deliberately cruel. He had simply not understood. He had not been, nor was he now, sensitive enough to be aware of her needs. He had tried for months afterwards to make his young wife enjoy sex. But, somehow, just at the point when Karen thought she might become aroused, Allen would mount her and the rest of the act would be a repeat of the first night – Karen would lie there, feeling used and cold. She knew that Allen thought she was frigid, and lately, Karen had begun to wonder if he might not be right.

No! she thought, hitting the old couch with a curled-up small fist. It was he, not she. A gentle lover, a thoughtful, sensitive lover would surely deliver her to the heights she had heard of so often. There were times, even with Allen, when she thought she might feel the first tremor of real desire, if only he would slow down, caress her more, let his mouth and teeth cling more to her firm, tender, pointing nipples…

Karen got to her feet unsteadily. She had to get away from the house for a while. She couldn't stand another night of looking at the walls. That was another thing – she was so lonely. Al was gone so much of the time, and when he was home it seemed they were either on the bed, or they were fighting about her reluctance to get on the bed. Or he would retire to the bedroom alone to study.

She appraised herself honestly in the mirror. She knew she was unusual looking, not so much beautiful as adorable, like the frilly drawing on a box of fancy chocolates. Her heart-shaped face was smooth-complicated and the large brown eyes made her naturally blond, shoulder-length hair look even lighter. Long dark lashes made moon shadows on her cheeks and her lovely lips were naturally bowed. Her small, womanly body was a perfect complement to the child-like, woman-like beauty of the girl. But her looks brought her no pleasure now. Her body, a thing she had taken pride in from the time it began developing at an age when other girls were washboard thin, had brought her only agony. She scooped up her purse and ran out of the house.

It was a drab house in the rundown section of Santa Monica, a house they had decided to rent because it was so close to the beach which they both loved, and because it was so cheap. But Karen hated the tired looking neighborhood. Somehow it reminded her sharply of her life, her marriage. She walked to the beach, liking the emptiness and majesty of the never pausing ocean as it crashed rhythmically against the infinite sands.

The sun was rapidly sinking into the gray-green ocean. It was a big ball of brilliant tangerine. Karen felt better as she walked. She took her shoes off and let the sand form into tiny dunes between her toes. She hadn't realized how far she had gone until she saw the queerly lit coffeehouse called, rather whimsically, Karen thought, Neverland West. She had been by the restaurant many times, had wanted to go in, but Allen had dismissed the place as a "hangout for weirdos" and wouldn't take her in. Now, remembering the dollar in her purse, Karen pushed open the door and walked in.

The girl found a vacant table, sat down and pushed the windblown strands of blond hair out of her eyes before looking around. She felt an instant uplift. The people, the paintings on the walls, even the mismatched furniture, sent images to Karen's brain that made her feel strangely alive for the first time in months. The people were, for the most part, young and attractive. The men sported beards and longish hair, although one broad-shouldered giant proudly displayed a face as clean shaven as his enormous skull. The girls were uniformly appealing, with fine bodies shown off by clinging leotard outfits. They wore their hair long and Indian straight. But, like the hairless man, there was one girl who stood out sharply from the others. Once Karen noticed her it was almost impossible to tear her eyes from the girl Karen wanted to study the interesting paintings that coated the walls more closely, but the girl held an irresistible fascination for her.

The short blunt cut of the girl's hair served to outline the perfect oval shape of her head and the exquisite features of her face. Her cropped hair was a rich brown, and the blemishless skin was dark, contrasting vividly with the lightest blue eyes Karen had ever seen. The girl looked taller, slimmer, and a little older than Karen. She wore tight jeans and a short-sleeved sweat shirt. The blackness of her apparel made the beautiful face with the oddly disconcerting eyes appear to float bodilessly in the smoke-filled room. Karen noted the one pierced ear from which dangled a small silver cross.

Karen admired the girl openly. She wished she could look more like her. It wasn't so much the dark girl's undeniable beauty that Karen envied, it was more the feeling of absolute freedom the girl generated. She looked like a bird in her black clothing, prepped for flight at a moment's notice. Karen took in the easy, relaxed way the girl sat, her long legs outstretched comfortably. She was sitting alone at the table, confidently looking around the room. Karen couldn't imagine this girl being uncomfortable anywhere. It was this unperturbed air of self-contentment which attracted Karen. It made her realize how miserable and trapped she was. Karen remembered some terms which were used in astrology. Air and water, she thought with some amusement. The dark girl was air, free and unpredictable. And she was water, locked in by banks and barricades. Karen almost smiled at her sudden mood of whimsy. Even water, she continued the thought, could break free in the case of a disaster!

Karen looked around for someone who might bring her a cup of coffee. She couldn't tell the waitress from the customers. At least she couldn't see anyone in a special uniform. Giving up for the moment, Karen glanced back at the girl across the room. She was unprepared to find the girl staring at her. Karen looked away quickly. She hoped she hadn't been caught gazing like a tourist or something. But after an uncomfortable pause, Karen sneaked another look at the girl. This time she met the sky-colored eyes squarely, was staggered by the depth of sensitivity she read in them. She felt a sinking sensation, as if she were herself in the clear pools. Karen thought the dark-haired girl looked like an artist. There was the kind of vulnerability and suffering in her face which Karen had always associated with truly creative individuals. She resisted a mad urge to go to this stranger and comfort her… Karen felt a pang of regret that she hadn't the courage to approach another human being and offer friendship honestly. Everything had to happen according to conventions… Wasn't that part of forfeiting freedom? Didn't the demands of society insist on the surrender of certain freedoms? Karen was confused. She had to smile, though, as she thought of the way Allen would react to her speculations if he could hear them. He would think she had become a hippie.

Karen looked around again for the waitress. The coffeehouse was becoming a madhouse. People were packed tightly into the small building now. When she turned back to the table, the girl was there.

"Hello." The dark-haired girl smiled charmingly. "You aren't leaving yet, I hope."

Karen felt as if she were looking into the face of an old and beloved friend. The sensation made her aware of how much she needed the stimulation of someone new, someone who could inject the essence of fun and excitement into her life. Her problems with Allen, and the prison of her depressingly dreary house faded completely. "I… I had hoped to get a cup of coffee… No one's come…"

"In this place you have to fend for yourself. Let me do the honors. Be back in a moment."

Karen watched the slim back lose itself in the mob. She felt very pleased. It was more than her delight at having someone to talk to – Karen felt flattered at being noticed by this beautiful girl. The attention made her feel like a desirable human being.

She realized suddenly that it was amazing she had never thought of seeking another man. She had felt so worthless and unresponsive with Allen for so long. A gentle, sensitive man might restore to her a sense of womanliness, even spark a sensual reaction. Karen felt like she had been dragging dead flesh around with her since their wedding night. But the image of another man, a man who could excite her, was impossible to evoke. She had really never known a man other than Allen, well. There had been no male figure in her childhood or adolescence. The idea of turning to a strange man now for the happiness she lacked seemed unreal. Yet, Karen knew it was a deep and gentle love she needed. She had been so sure that Allen would give her that love… She had dashed from her mother's funeral into marriage, only to find that the warmth she had known in her mother's house was denied to her in her own.

The girl had returned as soundlessly as she had first appeared by Karen's table. "Sorry I took so long. It was packed up there." She indicated the area by the makeshift stage with a nod of her fine head.

A man by Karen's side lifted his arm to wave to someone, pushing Karen aside. He leaned over to yell a greeting, blocking her view of the girl. Karen twisted around in her seat so that his heavy body wouldn't touch her. She tried to look around the man. Instead of seeing the girl. Karen was confronted again with the bold paintings on the walls. Their colors blended into a tapestry of paralyzing spots of brightness, while the rich, smoky smell of the coffeehouse was abruptly oppressive. She imagined she could feel the heat of so many bodies pressed together in the limited space. It seemed a very long time before the man noticed her, grumbled an apology, and got out of her way to join a group he came in with.

"This place gets even busier later," the girl assured Karen, pushing one of the ceramic mugs toward her. "My name is Pat Collins. Patricia, actually, but I dropped the ending when I was old enough to talk."

"Patricia. That's a pretty name."

"Pat suits me better." She leaned across the table, putting her weight on her elbows. She studied Karen closely…

Karen hoped she passed inspection. She wanted this girl to like her. "My name is Karen. Mrs. Karen Martin…" Karen cursed herself savagely. Why had she added the Mrs.? What was she trying to protect herself from, anyway?

Amused, Pat grinned at her. "Can I call you Karen?"

"Please do," Karen answered, embarrassed. She found herself smiling back at Pat helplessly.

"I hope you don't think this sounds weird, but do you believe in an instantaneous rapport between two people, Karen?"

Karen didn't understand. She saved herself haying to answer immediately by lifting the steaming cup of coffee to her lips. She was grateful for the burning sensation in her mouth.

"I'm talking about the kind of spontaneous recognition between two people which has no logical beginning." Pat shook her head excitedly. "I believe that for some reason you and I have this rapport. I didn't want you to leave without finding out if you felt it, too."

Karen frowned, striving to understand what the girl was trying to say. All she really understood was that for some reason they had been attracted to each other. "Are you talking about a kind of personal magnetism?" Karen asked, sure that this wasn't what Pat meant.

"No, it's not really magnetism, exactly," Pat said thoughtfully. "In the study of mysticism you find words like vibrations, which tells you that you have an affinity for someone. I sensed that about you as soon as I saw you."

Karen felt both uncomfortable and exhilarated at the same time. "I… I think I know what you mean, Patricia," Karen said hesitantly.

"Don't call me Patricia, please," Pat said, a trace of annoyance passing over her face. "I really do hate being called that. I always wanted to be a boy. I guess this is the closest I'll ever get to it, though."

Karen noticed the charm bracelet that encircled Pat's wrist. Religious symbols of every kind glittered from it. "I guess every girl wants to be a boy at one time or another. I did, when I was twelve or so."

"Well," Pat sighed, carefully moving her full coffee cup in large arcs over the table, "it's just as well we're not. Men are bastards. They sicken me thoroughly."

"It's hard to live without them, though," Karen said lightly.

"I can, and I do!" Pat replied, abandoning the game she had been playing with the cup. She tasted her cooling coffee and frowned. "Well, almost," she amended. "Men are occasionally handy for money. Outside of that, forget it." Pat's low voice was emphatic. "The only thing men have ever done for me is to give me money for a few fast minutes in the sack. Other than that, I try to avoid the entire sex."

Karen stared openmouthed at the girl while Pat fumbled in her sweat shirt for cigarettes. She watched the girl light one and suck the smoke deep into her lungs, her frank confession of occasional prostitution apparently forgotten.

"I have always felt a greater affinity for women. Men are too insensitive, too selfish. When I tell even the brightest, most understanding man that the only life worth a damn is the one which is devoted to self-realization and what I call the inner search, he doesn't even try to pick up on my meaning. He thinks it's a joke!" Pat moved her head easily from side to side, making the small silver cross twinkle as it caught the dim light and flashed it brightly around the room. "I find that men demand insincerity from women. It's vital to their egos. Men don't even want to have a go at pretending a little show of sensitivity. Or am I wrong?" Pat asked innocently, her slitted eyes distorting the smile her lips attempted. "Is, perhaps, your husband the exception, Karen?"

Karen passed a suddenly trembling hand over her eyes. "Well…" Karen felt a compelling urge to explain. "We just don't seem to be getting along… Al… he's busy all the time. You know, work, night school. He's really a nice guy. Pat. It's probably me. He just doesn't seem to understand me."

Pat looked at the girl appraisingly. "How long have you been married?"

"Four years." Karen was surprised at the intimacy she felt towards Pat. Next, she chided herself, she would be telling Pat about her sexual frustrations, also.

Pat went on looking at Karen with the same remote appraising eye until she appeared to have satisfied herself about the girl. When she spoke again it was with an abrupt change of mood. "You know, Karen, sometimes I think I must become a hermit."

"A hermit!" Karen couldn't repress a smile. Her thoughts of Al again dissolved in an instant. She tried instead to picture this lovely young girl munching unripe berries in a cave. "Why?"

"Well," Pat answered dreamily, "it would be easier. Sometimes relating to people is an enormous task. How do we know if this affinity of ours will last or not?" Pat grinned. "We start this business of becoming acquainted – starting up a personal relationship, right?"

Karen thought Pat looked amazingly like a beautiful boy when she grinned in that way. "Right." She grinned back.

"So-o-o, you begin by comparing likes and dislikes. Maybe you find you like the same kind of ice cream or have a mutual cousin or some such nonsense. Next you get into personal values and maybe religious and political affiliations." Pat's grin broadened even more. "Then, if you can still stand each other, you eventually become friends – until your kids beat hell out of each other one day and bust the whole damn carefully formulated relationship."

Karen laughed. She was rapidly becoming charmed with this girl.

Then Pat stopped smiling. She leaned across the table until Karen thought crazily that Pat was going to swoop down on her like a graceful woodpecker. Her eyes were very soft. "I feel know you so well. I've known you for a hundred years! Yet, I've got to tell you what I am, bit by ragged bit of me, until you know me, too. And then you'll probably decide that I'm not the sort of character you'd want to know. Outside of a far-out coffeehouse, that is. Until tonight rd just about given up believing in immediate communication between people." Her smile, which reappeared in miniature in Karen's coffee cup, faded again.

"Why wouldn't I want to have anything to do with you, in or out of a coffeehouse?" Karen asked, honestly surprised.

"I see by your uniform…" Pat swept her eyes quickly over Karen's simple cotton shift. Its brown shades brought out her eyes, but Karen knew she looked almost hickish compared to the interesting and creative attire most of the girls present wore. Even Pat, in her battered black jeans and matching sweat shirt, looked more vibrant and sophisticated. "You belong to a world I either left as a very young child, or one of which I never was a part." Pat resumed her explanation after a second penetrating look at Karen. "You're a product of a society in which someone like myself would be put way down. I live different, I look different, and I think different. Like I said, if I were to go that route to make us friends, tell you about myself honestly, you would run away and probably never look back!"

Karen felt rather hurt and insulted. She had been lumped into a category and judged, without a chance to defend herself. She felt like telling Pat that she would run and not look back anyway, without knowing these deep, dark secrets at which Pat hinted. But Karen knew it was just a pretense on her part. She didn't want to leave Pat. With this girl, Karen felt as if she had found a spark she had lost years before. Pat's erratic moods were a challenge. She found herself wishing that Al was less dull, could have just a drop of this girl's intensity. "That isn't very fair, is it? You really have no idea what I think about anything," Karen objected, trying to retain a trace of her former outrage.

Pat studied Karen's pretty face speculatively. When she spoke again her voice was bolder and more challenging. "Baby, if I told you about my life you would be shocked out of your head."

The girl made it sound like a dare! Karen began to feel breathlessly exhilarated. "Try me," she countered.

Pat grinned quickly, then composed her features so that they maintained a somber expression. "You're not gay, are you, Karen?"

"Gay?" Karen wondered if Pat was about to switch over to still another subject.

"You don't even know what the word means, do you, baby? You are a sheltered lamb, aren't you, honey?" Pat laughed softly.

Karen didn't like being laughed at. She was about to reply when she remembered a novel she had once read. "Homosexual?" she asked in surprise. "Who, me?"

This time Pat's laugh was very loud. It pierced the boisterous noises, making Karen aware of the others in the room for the first time in many minutes. "Yes, you!"

"Of course not!" Karen found her face coloring. She hoped Pat wouldn't notice.

"How do you know? Have you ever tried it?" Pat cut out the bantering tone she had been using. She watched Karen steadily.

"No! Naturally not." Karen became aware of a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Pat nodded her head slowly. She brought a finger to her mouth and chewed reflectively on the nail. "Naturally…" she repeated finally. "You used that word because you don't believe that love between two women could ever be natural, right?"

Karen frowned in confusion. "I didn't say that, Pat." She wished Pat would change the subject. She was beginning to get nervous. "There's all kinds of love between women. Mother-daughter… Between close friends…"

Pat shook her head patiently. "How about the physical, emotional, and intellectual love of two women for each other? The kind of love that women usually waste on men… Don't you believe such a feeling can exist?"

"Of course. I know about that. Only…" Karen thought of the rough-looking women she had seen in the beer-bars by the ocean. For the most part they appeared degenerate. The thought of a beautiful and meaningful love between them was remote to Karen. Then Karen thought of her own marriage. What had happened to the love between her and Al? It had been wonderful at one time – and now it was just as remote.

"Only you don't really believe it's possible," Pat finished. She tapped a cigarette out of her pack. Instead of lighting it, Pat rolled the white cylinder between her fingers. She looked very lonely and vulnerable in this pose. She sighed deliberately, thinking without guilt that she would have made a great actress. "That's what I mean. Didn't you ever have a crush on a girl when you were younger?"

"But that's not the same thing!"

Pat leaned back in her chair. She lit the mutilated cigarette before she spoke. "Isn't it?" She released the smoke slowly, watching the gray swirl rise until it was swallowed up in the misty air. "Love is love. Age is unimportant. Can you remember how you felt with this girl?"

Karen felt a tingling begin at the base of her spine. This girl made half-forgotten events float to the top of her mind. Karen found herself remembering the time during her early teens when she and Lennie had evolved a world of their own. She thought back to the moments of agony when an unkind word would cause a fight between them, and the longer periods of ecstasy when the two girls would be in perfect unison. "Well, we were very close friends." Karen bit her lip nervously. She suddenly remembered one warm spring night when she was fifteen. She was spending the night with Lennie… Their whispered chattering had centered on boys, their ominous strangeness. Karen couldn't recall which girl had turned the conversation to kissing.

"Was it so terrible?" Pat asked softly.

Karen pretended to study a large painting on the wall over Pat's head. She tried to trace this confusing conversation back to its beginning. Pat had a way of making her mind spin dizzily. There had been that crazy talk about not wanting to know Pat if… "Are… are you…" Karen recalled the word, "… gay, Pat?" Karen kept her eyes on the painting. She felt her pale skin begin to burn. A furious pounding started up in her chest.

Pat watched the glowing tip of her shrinking cigarette die out in the ashtray. When she looked up her eyes were coated with a thin layer of tears. They caught and clung to Karen's. "The only happiness I've ever know was in a woman's arms."

Karen didn't know what to say. She felt embarrassed and uncomfortable. She thought again of the obviously homosexual women she had seen. Karen could not imagine Pat fitting into the unnatural world of effeminate men and crude-looking women any better than she.

A pretty girl with long black hair got up and walked to the small stage. She shuffled some papers in her hands and then waved to Pat. Pat waved back. "That's Paula!" Pat leaned over the table. "She's a poet. She's written some fabulous poetry! Listen to her!" Pat turned her chair slightly toward the stage, then twisted back to Karen for a second. "She's gay, too."

Karen was relieved to have something to distract them. She only pretended to listen to the attractive girl on the little stage. Instead, she glanced rapidly from Paula to Pat, trying to conceive a love restricted to women. She had felt tremendously attracted to Pat from the first. And Pat was a lesbian! No wonder other girls met Pat, then fled from her when they found out.

Karen leaned back to listen to the second page of the blunt, sensual poetry Paula was reciting. But she could not concentrate. Once having decided to take Pat's admission with a degree of casualness, Karen was at a loss to explain the peculiar sensation of excitement she still felt. She imagined her-self poised on the swaying edge of a fascinatingly distorted world. She no longer felt like the lonely, frustrated young wife whom nobody understood. Now she was urgently being asked to understand someone else! Karen studied Pat's beautiful face fondly. Then a sudden vision of Pat lying nude over the body of another girl passed before Karen's eyes. Her body started shivering uncontrollably. What was she thinking? Her gaze fell to Pat's naturally-colored lips. She found herself wondering how they would feel on her own…

"The poem I've brought tonight is still untitled." Paula moved her papers again and started to read slowly.

"Days go by and she doesn't comb her hair… She stops nude in a doorway to examine herself, her brain the sudden familiar prophecy of antennaed fingers…"

Karen experienced a quick flash of anger at her husband. He had done this to her! He had allowed her to feel so unloved that the suggestion of warmth from any source, even one so far removed from normalcy, was preferable to none! She had found so much to detest in her husband's bed that Karen was unable now to imagine herself in another man's bed.

"Dead eruption in the stomach. A pulsating mouth continuously breaking, endless rows of gleaming white soldiers. Their heads like hats…"

Karen found her stomach turning slightly as she listened to the last few lines of the strange poetry the girl was reading. "… heads like hats…" she thought, remembering a time shortly after her marriage when Allen had looked down at himself proudly before coming naked to her. The little man with the hat wants in… he had said. Karen shivered.

"Freckled-faced little boys who didn't grow up and marry her. The mischievous angels of childhood, their grubby little hands under the covers at night. Now I lay me down to play…"

Karen wondered if it was a few unhappy relationships, like the one she had with Allen, which made Pat and girls like her the way they were. Did they find what they wanted with other women? Then Karen wondered if Pat found her attractive, if she wanted her. The thought was strangely disturbing.

"I pray the Lord my nucleus to keep, secure with the light on in the hallway. And Mom and Dad fornicating in front of the television set. We couldn't have known then that none of us would have a choice. Once wings of boyhood flew out of her thighs. Leaving only a narcissistic leg to put in or out of the tub."

It never really seemed to occur to Allen that he could do anything definite about her unhappiness… Karen wondered if two women together wouldn't be more sensitive to each other's needs, if the other's needs, in fact, would be their own. She looked again at the clear beauty of Pat's face and a small thrill passed through Karen's body. She had been so lonely and frigid… and now she was finding herself almost titillated by the undercurrent of sexuality emanating from the body of another woman. Karen no longer cared about the why! She was suddenly too grateful just to be feeling anything, anything at all.

"And the lonely fondling of one's own breast…" Paula looked up slowly from her papers, acknowledging the approval the room full of people showered on her with a nod of her head. She moved off the stage leaving it empty and the room too quiet until the vacuum was filled with the sudden chorus of unrelated voices.

"Isn't she too much?" Pat demanded enthusiastically. "She has real talent. Better than most of the stuff." Pat examined Karen's flushed face. She liked the way the blond hair made the brown eyes sink deeply into the face. She reached out and touched Karen's hand gently. "Are you terribly shocked? I won't try to rape you, you know."

Karen felt the heat from Pat's slender fingers. "Don't be silly!" She felt immune from shock. She wished she were as immune to the growing excitement in her, or to the way she felt from Pat's light touch.

Pat's normally husky voice lowered still more. Her full lips were naturally moist. "I could make you happy, Karen. I'd like nothing more than to try. Now are you shocked and ready to run?" Pat let one of her long legs straighten out and come to rest against Karen's bare calf.

A sharp awareness shot through Karen's body at the words and touch of Pat's denim-covered leg against her. She did not try to understand her reaction to this strange girl, this part-time prostitute, this full-time lesbian. She only knew that Allen had never excited her in this wild, delirious way… that for all her husband's passionate molesting of her body she had never before felt so desirable. Karen made herself notice the time. It was late. "I'm not shocked, and I'm not ready to run away, either." Karen forced a smile. "But since you mention it, it is late. Very late. I have to go home. Al will be home from school soon. He'll be furious if I'm not there." She had said the wrong thing again. Now she was making Al sound like a slave driver and a tyrant. Poor little Karen, she thought. Want the nice pretty lady to dry your eyes?

"I am scaring you away," Pat stated positively, with a small, dejected shrug of her shoulders. "I didn't want to do that. But before you go, I hope you'll let me tell you a few things… and not be mad."

"Of course. I'm not mad! Honestly, I have to go because Al will get angry and we fight so much…" Karen felt the leg shift slightly on her body. She wanted to close her eyes, but had to settle for just pretending that it wasn't happening. Yet, she knew she didn't really want it to stop, the leg or this night. She wanted to stay here with this girl who told her crazy, exciting things. This girl who seemed to understand her even better than she did herself…

"Poor baby." Pat's eyes rested sympathetically on Karen's pretty face. "You're unhappy with your husband. You could be happy with me, you know. I'm sure of it! My apartment is big enough for both what am I saying?" Pat smiled sadly. "You must think I'm nuts. Well, I suppose I am. But that's the way I feel. I felt it when I first looked at you. It's better that you know it. I just couldn't act casual around you, Karen. I know you're not like me, but at least you know how I feel. Don't hate me for what I cannot help." Pat hoped that didn't sound too hammy.

"Don't say that," Karen begged, genuinely touched by Pat's sadness. She wished she had the courage to tell Pat that no one, no man had ever been so tender with her. She would have liked to stay on with Pat, now, if only to show the girl that she was not running from her. She felt alive in every pore of her body. "I would stay, if it were possible. I'm going because I have to go. I want you to believe that. It's late," she added apologetically.

"Where do you live?" Pat felt the softness of the knees which parted slightly to allow her own to slip between them in a casual but intimate embrace. She wanted this girl more than she had ever wanted any other person.

"In Santa Monica. It's not too far." Karen felt the knees inch up the insides of her legs. Her body was tingling unbearably. She felt the mature tips of her breasts harden and begin to throb.

"It is late, Karen. Let me walk you home. You shouldn't be walking alone around here at this time of the night."

"Why would it be less safe for me than you, Pat?" Karen asked, a bit delighted and yet a bit amused by the older girl's protectiveness.

"Simple, my sweet," Pat answered smoothly, getting up and fishing in her pockets for some change to cover their coffee. "If you were to be raped on the street you would mind terribly, wouldn't you?"

"Why… why, of course!" Karen smiled suddenly at Pat. The wild-eyed girl had the power to delight, confuse, heat and startle her all in the same conversation.

"Well, that's the difference. If I were to be raped, it wouldn't hardly matter at all. I would forget it as soon as it happened. You don't understand that, do you?"

"No, I don't. How could you forget something like that?" Just the thought of a strange man taking her body sent a chill down her spine, cooling the warmth Pat's presence stimulated in her.

"That's what I meant when I talked about the inner search, baby. Nothing matters except what you want to matter to you. I could forget the horrors of being molested by some filthy scum, but I could never forget this excitement I feel just by being with you… Because the first doesn't mean anything in my life, but the second means everything!"

The walk home seemed very short. Karen hardly heard what Pat was saying to her. Her comments about the true meaning of life seemed less vital to Karen than the fact that Pat was walking beside her. They reached the house much too quickly.

"Here's where I live, Pat. Thanks for walking me home. Do you want to come in? I could make us some coffee."

"No. No, thanks, Karen." The girl turned abruptly and started away from the house.

Karen opened her mouth to call Pat back, but she could think of nothing to say.

As if sensing Karen's wish, Pat turned slowly and returned to the girl. "It's a shame, Karen, your being here, stuck with a man you don't love. I feel we belong together. I want you, Karen. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you." Pat yanked out a crumpled cigarette from her jeans and lit it with a battered lighter. "Okay. There… you have it all down, now. That's the way I feel in a nutshell. Now, shall we play this dramatic little scene to its bitter end? Shall I ask you to leave your unhappy home and come away with me? Shall I, do you think? And will you say yes? Will you?"

The lightness of Pat's eyes picked up the glow of her cigarette and the faraway streetlight. She took a final look at the charming heart-shaped face, a quick glance at the large breasts that pushed against the brown bodice of her dress. Then she turned on her heel and started away.

"Wait!" Karen called, finding her voice. "Will I see you again?"

"Do you want to?" Pat asked, her voice rising to make up for the distance between them.

Karen felt wonderfully carefree. It was crazy. It was exhilarating, saying whatever she wished to this woman, not giving a damn what it sounded like to anyone else. This is what Pat did to her – this is what it meant to be free! "Yes!" she shouted. "I do!"

Pat smiled faintly. "I go to the coffeehouse often."

"Good night!" Karen called, but the strange girl had already been swallowed up by the oncoming fog. "Goodnight!"