Sex Between, The (5 page)

Lee peered curiously at the girl, unable to catch the nuance of meaning behind her words. Instinctively she knew that Maggie had no intention of going to a movie with Andrew, and yet she knew, too, that Maggie did not want her to stay home.

Behind them, a horn blared angrily. Lee shifted her attention back to the wheel unwillingly. She had thought that she understood Maggie pretty well. Now, nothing the girl did made any sense.

But she refused to quibble. If Maggie wanted to get rid of her for the night, then she would make herself scarce. Probably the best thing for both of them—certainly for herself. Give her a chance to think, to figure, without having to look at Maggie. To want to touch her, to tell her...

She dropped them at the corner of Sixty-eighth Street and continued downtown and then across. On any other night in her life, the thought of Cleo, the thought of a night in Cleo's bed, would have blotted out everything... Maggie and Kate and Andrew and the whole stinking mess. But tonight, nothing inside her leaped with joy, with expectation, and she felt a little sorry for Cleo—knowing the girl would have to bear the brunt of her anger.

For a change, she found a parking space easily, directly across the street from Cleo's apartment house. She slammed the door and locked it, then turned to sprint across in front of a car.

Cleo had just emerged from the front doorway and stood watching as Lee came up to the house. She was dressed as Lee had first seen her the evening before, in tight fitting, unconservative black that emphasized every one of the many curves. Instantly Lee knew that Cleo was off to the bars, looking for another kick, another easy make. She remembered Maggie, all soft and gentle in fresh bright pink... Maggie who had never given herself to anyone...

And the taste of Cleo was bitter on her tongue.

Cleo looked deep into Lee's eyes and smiled. "I have just come down for some cigarettes," she said in her low, polished tone. "We are lucky to meet."

"I'll bet," Lee said caustically. She took hold of the woman's elbow and turned her around. "Let's see how fast you can get back up those stairs."

Cleo went without objection, moving gracefully and just slow enough to rattle Lee's disposition—not that anything could have rattled it much more than it was. As she followed, Lee banged her fist against the wall. Not wanting to touch Cleo at all and yet needing to touch her, to smash her because she was not Maggie, because she was a fraud.

"I was not sure you would come," Cleo said as they entered the apartment. "You were not very friendly."

Lee sighed and shoved the door closed with her heel. "I told you I'd see you later," she said. "Or weren't you listening?"

Cleo shrugged and dropped her silk lined coat over the arm of a chair. "I have never sat waiting for anyone. There is always someone else..."

"Okay," Lee said, "that's enough with the philosophy. You don't have to tell me how you have the world figured out, Cleo. I've been playing the same game all my life. Like the guy said—in the dark, they all look alike."

She watched Cleo pour drinks, hating her and in hating Cleo, hating herself. For they were very much alike. Cleo had never given a good damn for anything in her life. And neither had Lee... until Maggie.

It was that last part that galled. She took the scotch and drank it down fast, needing to blunt the sharp edges of her self-awareness, needing to put distance between herself and the memory of Maggie huddled miserably beside her in the car, telling her to go out and have a good time.

"You have a big car," Cleo said in a tone meant to be casual. Lee pricked up her ears, hearing the cash register clang behind the words.

"So?" she said.

Cleo spread the fingers of one hand and gazed down at her palm. "So you must have money," she said.

"Not necessarily," Lee said easily. "In this country, you don't need money, you only need credit."

"But you have," Cleo said seriously. She took Lee's empty glass and set it on a marble-topped coffee table. She leaned toward Lee, then she touched her forehead to Lee's arm.

Very gently, Lee put her hands on Cleo's shoulders and held her away. "I need a place to spend the night," she said. "I'll pay you, if that's what you want."

Cleo huffed impatiently. "Oh, you are foolish. It is not the night I am talking about."

"Then what the hell do you want from me?" Lee said. "You're in a pretty stupid position to try blackmail."

Cleo's palm caught her on the cheek, stinging smartly. Lee grabbed the girl's waist and held it tight between her fingers. But Cleo did not try to struggle.

"If only you liked me," Cleo murmured. "You would not talk to me like this."

"All right," Lee said. "Let's pretend I like you. Now, what is it I'm supposed to say?"

Cleo turned away from her and started toward the bedroom. "Come," she said. "Later we will talk, when you really like me."

Lee followed her and sat down on the edge of the bed. She had not been anxious to climb into that bed with Cleo. Now, she didn't want it at all.

Cleo sensed her aloofness. She came to the edge of the bed and moved close between Lee's knees. With long, gentle fingers, she stroked the short, straight bangs on Lee's forehead. "Tonight you do not care for me at all," she said lightly.

Lee sighed. It would never occur to Cleo that Lee might have other things on her mind. For Cleo, there was only one thing that counted.

She put her arm around the girl's waist and buried her face against the black, itchy material of the dress. Cleo's fingertips caressed the back of her neck now, moving into her hairline and tickling down behind her ear. Something choked in Lee's throat and stung at her eyelids. But she reached up and grasped the zipper pull at the back of Cleo's neck.

She had never seen a woman get out of her clothes as agilely as Cleo managed to do it. She was still in her underwear when Cleo bounced onto the bed. She let the slip drop over her hips and fall to the floor. Cleo grabbed her fingers and pulled her down to the mattress.

Cleo's mouth was warm and moist against hers. Cleo's tongue eager, darting to find hers, to tease, to torment. Cleo's fingers wise and knowing, catching a muscle here, a nerve there. Playing with her, until neither of them was playing any longer.

And she knew how Cleo wanted it. Hard and driving. Brutal. Knew that Cleo sensed the rage in her and wanted her to use it, to spend it. She gave it to her that way. Hating the woman still and hating herself. Not wanting Cleo, but taking her...

She clung to Cleo's hips, her fingertips biting into the flesh, her cheek against the woman's thigh. Cleo lay still now, her breathing deep and slow. Lee felt the woman's palm on the back of her head, knew that Cleo was soothing her. Yet the rage inside her would not be still. And she was thinking, not of Cleo whose body she had splotched with bruises, but of Maggie, whom she had never touched and never would.

Maggie... Mag the Nag. A girl not to be trusted, because she would love you and tie you down. A girl not to be wanted, because she could satisfy you like nobody else could satisfy you—and you'd be hung on Maggie for life. A girl not to be needed, because she would always be there when you needed her. Maggie... whom you loved and wanted and needed.

Cleo's fingers were gentle. Cleo's lips soft, persuasive. Yet she hardly felt them as they brushed lightly over her flesh. Her body responded because her body needed to numb itself, needed the fleeting sensation that was more pain than pleasure. But the mind part of her remained coldly separate, watching the spectacle like a dour critic.

For Cleo's benefit, she smiled a little, pretending it had been good. Cleo leaned over her, her lips pressed to Lee's throat, and one hand circled on the smooth flatness of Lee's chest.

She felt Cleo laugh against her throat. "What's so funny?"

Cleo pulled her face away and touched a fingertip to the end of Lee's nose. "You are like a little boy," she teased gently. "You have no breasts and no hair."

Lee smiled. "Look again," she said. "You must have missed something."

"Oh, silly." Cleo curled up small and pressed herself against Lee's side. "I know you are a woman that way. Besides, what use would I have for a little boy?"

Again Lee smiled, remembering the feel of Cleo, the need of her. "You have plenty of use for men, I gather," she said mildly. "How come you bothered with me?"

"Sometimes," Cleo said, her mouth against Lee's arm, "a man is much better than a woman." She laughed then and put her arms tight around Lee. "And sometimes, a woman is much better than a man."

Something about the way she said it put Lee instantly on guard. The familiar clink of gold that she had heard before in Cleo's tone had sneaked in again. She took a deep breath and waited, knowing that Cleo would not keep her waiting long.

"You are better than a man," Cleo said, sounding seductively breathless, yet somehow as though the speech were prepared. "A woman would always be happy with you."

It didn't hit her in the ego the way Cleo wanted it to. She'd had Cleo pegged from the moment she saw her. Yet she kept her mouth shut and let Cleo go on tying her own noose.

"I am happy with you," Cleo said dreamily. "I have never been really happy with my husband."

Ah, Lee thought. The plot sickens.

"Why'd you marry him?"

"Oh, I loved him then," Cleo said. "He is very handsome. And he was, good to me in the beginning. Then he started... " She shrugged. "He likes beautiful women. Many times I do not see him for weeks at a time, and I know he could come home to me if he wanted to."

"What does he do for a living?" Lee said, a little intrigued by a man who could beat Cleo at the con game of love.

"He is a gambler," Cleo answered, lowering her eyes as though not quite proud of the profession. "He follows the races from one track to another."

"So why don't you go with him?"

"He doesn't let me," Cleo said. "He says I am unlucky for him. When I am with him, every horse comes in last. But I know it is only because of the women. When he does come home, he cannot wait to get away from me. He never wants to... to...

She felt Cleo's tears wet on her arm and knew that they had moved into the pity-little-me stage of the game. In a moment, she was supposed to turn and take Cleo in her arms, comfort her, offer to take her away from it all, from the husband who would not go to bed with her.

She lay very still, letting Cleo snuggle against her, but not reaching to hold her. "Then why don't you leave him?" Lee said. "You could find somebody else in a minute."

Cleo moved away just enough to look into Lee's eyes. "I would leave him for you," she murmured.

No doubt, Lee thought. For me... or for anybody who has a buck. But to Cleo, she said, "How long would I last, Cleo? One week. Or two. Maybe a whole month?"

"It would not be like that with you, Lee. For you, I would be faithful. I would take care of you. Do anything for you, Lee." She leaned above her and put her palm against Lee's cheek. "I am all woman," she murmured, "and this is all any woman wants. You would see that I could love you."

To herself, Lee sighed. Maggie without the integrity, she thought. Maggie with claws.

And she could have grabbed the girl by the throat, strangled her, slammed her head against the wall till it squashed and all the festered, rotten ugliness inside it squeezed out. There was no truth in the woman, no good, no love for anything. There was no loyalty, no trust.

But she put her arms around her and held her, not close, but just close enough. She could almost hear the satisfaction bubbling through Cleo's veins, the pleasure of having taken Lee captive. And Lee let her believe it. Not because it was true. But because Maggie would be leaving soon. Maggie would be going away and leaving a hole in her life that needed to be filled. Cleo could not fill it nor an army of Cleos. But she would help a little, maybe—just a little.

The futility, the hopelessness of it banged like a cymbal inside her skull. And she wondered how Cleo could lie there beside her and not hear. But Cleo was smiling again, smoothing her warm flesh along Lee's body and purring against her ear like a kitten.

"You do love me a little," Cleo said. "Don't you love me a little?"

Lee wanted to tell her the lie that would make her happy. Wanted to soothe Cleo so that Cleo would be still and just leave her the hell alone. But she could not make herself say the words. They were words she had never said to anyone, and if she ever said them, it would not be for Cleo's ears.

She rolled over to the girl and hooked her toes between Cleo's to move her legs into position. Gently now, she pressed herself against the girl, needing to feel the welcoming rise of her response. Needing Cleo to want, to keep on wanting, to forget about love.

"You love me," Cleo crooned. Her long fingers entwined in Lee's damp hair. "You love me."

Maggie, Lee thought. Maggie...

She closed her eyes against the sting of tears, letting herself be drawn into the whirlpool of passion that Cleo called love.

CHAPTER FIVE

The noon siren screamed just as she unlocked the downstairs door and stepped into the house. But she took one look at Maggie, peering at her from the kitchen, and knew that the girl had not yet been to bed.

"Hi," she called, trying to make it sound like any other day. Yet she knew that Maggie would not be deceived. The nagging depression that had descended over both was not usual for either.

"I gather you spent the night in the wrong bed," Maggie said, moving aside to let Lee enter the kitchen. "That thing named Helga called every fifteen minutes from eight last night until eight this morning."

Lee had forgotten about Helga. She often did. "So why the hell didn't you shut off the phone?"

"What for?" Maggie laughed. "I had such fun telling her you weren't here."

Lee felt an eyebrow quiver in surprise and a kind of delight that eluded her. But she went to the stove and poured herself coffee from the pot Maggie always kept full. "I'll call her later," she said over her shoulder, "and apologize."

"You don't have to bother," Maggie said. "I already sent the usual orchid and the box of chocolates."