Sex Between, The (8 page)

"In many ways," Lee murmured, "you understand about things, you feel things..." She heard the sound of herself droning on, telling Helga the same line she had spun for her so often before. Felt her hands reaching out to Helga, still spinning the line, twining it around them both noose-like and strangling.

She switched off the lamp at the end of the couch and stretched out on the foam rubber, pulling Helga close against her.

In the dark, she thought, they all look alike. A body is a body in the dark. Arms only arms. Lips... All alike. A curve to touch here, a hollow there waiting for the tip of your tongue. You travel the road once and you know it by heart. All the bumps, the detours, the side streets and the avenues.

She had traveled the road so often she had worn it to a fine, polished smoothness. She did not have to think about Helga to make love to her. To know where to touch and how to touch and for how long. The response too, she knew. Helga's response, not really different from the others, not really Helga's, but nature's—inevitable, calculated, and rather dull.

It was not better this time when Helga came
to
her. She could tell that it was Helga, for she knew the special feel of Helga's hands. Warm hands and strong, that knew how and did what they knew to perfection. She felt her body react, come alive and welcome Helga, opening to her, giving of itself. Felt all of her blur for an instant, hang suspended, breathless for the length of a sigh.

Then it was there again, the thumping ache of her head, the queasy lurch in her stomach. She tried to tell herself that she was only tired—that she had not slept and had not eaten—that she needed to rest, to eat, and forget. Forget...

"Well, aren't you a drag tonight?" Helga said. She snapped on the light and peered down into Lee's face.

Lee put up her hand to shield her eyes, but Helga lifted it away. Glancing up, she could see the smirk, the cruelty in Helga's blue eyes. And she knew that she was not being spared anything tonight.

"So it's really true," Helga said with a kind of awe. "Little Lee Van Dingle Dangle's been hooked."

"Drop it," Lee said coldly. "I'm in no mood..."

"You're in no mood!" Helga shrieked. "Listen, butch, if you can't get it up for me, don't come around here like a sick cat..."

"I'm tired," Lee said. "That's all."

"Tired of what?"

"I haven't had any sleep for two nights," Lee said. "We've had some trouble in the family and..."

"Oh, no," Helga murmured. "Not that little snot who answers the phone."

Lee's hand shot out and clipped the side of Helga's chin.

Helga flopped backwards off the couch and Lee went after her. She grabbed the girl by both shoulders and slammed her back against the rug. She wanted to kill her, to blot out the stupid smirk still in Helga's eyes.

Helga was laughing, making a harsh sound that rasped in Lee's ears. And she knew that Helga would go on laughing. No matter if Lee killed her, Helga would laugh.

She rolled away from Helga and lay on her back. She could not hear herself crying, but there were tears in her eyes. The itchy nap of the rug scratched against her behind. Helga had stopped laughing and it was quiet in the big room.

"So," Helga said close beside her, "how low the mighty have fallen." With a fingertip, she traced the line of Lee's jaw.

Lee didn't bother to remove the finger. She just lay there, poking her chest out for the thrust of Helga's knife.

"I thought little Lee could have anything little Lee wanted," Helga's voice teased. "What happened, baby? Grandmother Kate doesn't love little Lee any more?"

Lee cursed the day she had told Helga her name. Helga had had a rundown made on her, knew everything about her from the size of her shoes to the toothpaste she used. Helga was like that.

"She's getting married," Lee said flatly. "Not that it's any of your damn business."

"But I'd find out anyhow," Helga said without shame. "And what is little Lee going to do all by herself in that great, big, empty house?"

Little Lee might put a bullet through her brain, Lee thought—if you don't shut up.

Helga was being sweet now, reminding herself of Lee's bank account. She moved in close to Lee, but slowly—making Lee touch her. Offering her ample bosom for consolation.

And Lee felt tired. So very tired. She put her cheek against Helga's breast and closed her eyes.

Helga's fingers stroked the back of Lee's head. "You'll be lonely," she murmured.

"Hmm," Lee mumbled.

"I wouldn't let you be lonesome, Lee."

Lee heard it like a fly buzzing inside her ear. But she didn't have to make out the words. She knew them by heart. For months she had kept Helga at arm's length, telling her about Maggie living in her house to explain why she couldn't move anyone else in. Maggie, a member of the family... it wouldn't look right. And now the obstacle had been removed.

Now Helga had her with her back against the wall. And she was tired, just too tired... "I'll cook for you," Helga murmured. "And clean and take care of you...
"

"Hmm," Lee grunted. And trapped in Helga’s arms, she fell asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lee glowered at herself in Helga's bathroom mirror.

For an independent soul who wanted no part of anybody, she had gotten herself into a hell of a fix. Come the first of the week, with Maggie gone, there would be three women ready to descend on her house like the plague. Trudel, whom she could not turn away for Maggie's sake. Cleo and Helga, whom she would need to help her forget about Trudel. It was a ridiculous situation and one which she hadn't the patience to think about. On the other hand, it would keep her too busy to think about Maggie.

Lee went quietly into the living room and glanced down at Helga, still asleep on the floor where she had curled up beside Lee. Helga would sleep there, Lee knew, until dark. She was not a creature of daytime habits.

Without disturbing her, she draped a bathrobe over the sleeping girl, then went out quickly to the foyer. It was nearly three. Cleo would be home now. Probably waiting for her, and angry that she had not at least called last night...

By the time she reached the sidewalk, Lee knew that she would rather face a firing squad than Cleo. She'd had enough of banter and barter, even enough of sex, to last her a long, long time. Yet facing Maggie wasn't exactly a pleasant prospect either. Maggie had been happy to see her leave and would not welcome her return.

"The hell with it," she muttered and a little old lady reared back angrily to stare at her.

She flagged a cab and sent it flying toward Sixty-eighth Street. If she couldn't find a little peace in her own home...

She threw a bill at the driver and banged out of the cab. A hot shower, some of that damned food Maggie was always harping about. About a gallon of scotch to wash it down with. More sleep. And tomorrow, back to work. No more of this stupid running around like a fool. She had a job to think about now, a whole damned company waiting for her to step into Kate's footprints.

Maggie was sitting by the window in the kitchen, staring out at the garden with eyes Lee knew saw nothing. At the sight of the girl, she stopped short and the swirl of her good intentions gurgled down the drain.

"What the hell's eating you?" she barked, knowing what the hell was. But something inside her could not be gentle.

"Nothing," Maggie sighed without turning around. She leaned forward and propped her elbows on the windowsill.

Lee realized that Maggie was trying to withdraw, to sneak away inside herself where Lee couldn't reach her. And in a way, she understood why.

"Say, look," Lee said, "I haven't eaten for about a week now and I thought maybe..."

Still sighing, Maggie lifted herself from the stool and came toward Lee sort of floating, as though afraid to touch the ground and reality.

"I've got some of that chicken left," she said tiredly.

"That's not what I meant," Lee said, her voice low and soft, absorbing some of Maggie's pain. "I thought maybe you'd like to go out for dinner with me."

A tiny spark flared in Maggie's eyes and, for just a second, she looked almost alive. Lee caught her breath, wanting to reach out, wanting to help—yet knowing that it was Maggie's fight and that Maggie had to wage it alone.

Then the spark was gone. A wrinkle etched its way across the smooth forehead. "I’d like that," she said dully.

"So let's go," Lee said, trying to pump some enthusiasm into the girl. "I'm so hungry I could eat the paint off the walls."

"I'll put on some lipstick," Maggie droned.

"Oh, the hell with it," Lee snapped. "You look better now than anything else on the streets."

She grabbed Maggie's wrist and pulled her outside. She did not want the girl to stay in the house another minute, feeding on whatever morbidity obsessed her. She wanted to get her out, force her to breathe, to look around. To see that there was still sunshine, still life on the planet...

But nothing she could say reached Maggie. Beside her in the car, the girl sat silent. She took her to an Italian restaurant and they ate in silence. And afterwards, Lee smoked a cigarette in silence and Maggie just sat.

This will never do, Lee told herself sharply. You've got to make that girl smile.

Lee's glib tongue, that had wound its way in and out of trouble all her life, failed to get a rise out of Maggie. After a while she quit trying and let the girl brood. But she turned the car toward the Battery Tunnel, seeking a familiar spot.

The last time they had been to Coney Island, Lee had been thirteen and Maggie, trailing at her heels like a puppy, had been an awed eight, witnessing the gaudy wonder for the first time. They had had a hell of a good time and Lee remembered Maggie, at every booth, grabbing her sleeve and whispering, "Win me a teddy bear." Lee had won her three, smashing baseballs into milk bottles with an aim perfected at the expense of Kate's greenhouse. If they could find a little of that feeling today, just a little...

"Remember the last time we were here?" Maggie said beside her.

Lee heard an edge of warmth in the girl's tone and she turned to glance at her. "I was," she said. Then she grinned. "Remember how Kate laid you out for getting chocolate down the front of your dress?"

"It was mustard," Maggie said. "And I still think it was your fault. If you hadn't bumped into my arm..."

Lee felt a well of fondness spreading inside her. Of tenderness for this girl whom she had known... and loved... for so very long. Now that it was too late, she began to realize just how much Maggie had always meant to her. And she to Maggie. If only... If only... Little, ugly words, if only. They strolled onto the boardwalk and into the stream of human traffic. It was still early, still warm, and mothers herded kids ahead of them, clucking like hens. The smell of corn, of hot dogs, of things frying in rancid grease cloyed in her full stomach and she led Maggie to the railing, away from the smells. The ocean sparkled, smoothly serene beneath the dying sun. She looked out and away to the horizon, past the heads and the umbrellas and the garbage, needing the feel of space, of distance to regain her own sense of perspective.

And she was no longer aware of the people or the odors or the noise. She was alone here with Maggie, on the edge of the world. Safe, where nobody could find them or hurt them. Together, where no one could step in between them. Unconsciously, her fingers sought Maggie's hand and she stood for a moment, letting the touch of Maggie seep into her.

"You've got an admirer." Maggie said lightly. She nodded down toward the beach.

Instantly, as though she had been stung, Lee let go of Maggie's hand. Following Maggie's gaze, she saw a bronzed-skinned girl, nearly naked in a red bikini, watching them.

"You'd think she'd be cold," Maggie murmured.

Lee laughed. From the size and the shape and the profession of her, she guessed the girl had never been cold in her life. "Not that one," she said easily. "She warms herself with dollar bills."

"Oh," Maggie said. "She's so pretty, I didn't think.. "

"You'd be amazed," Lee said. She touched Maggie's elbow and steered her away from the railing. "That kind you can pick up for a couple of bucks in Klein's basement."

It did not surprise her that the girl had been trying to pick her up. It was one of the phenomena of life she had accepted long ago. A girl out to hustle was rarely particular. The thing that bothered Lee had nothing to do with the girl at all. She was the thing she didn't understand. Never before in her life had she so casually overlooked a good lay. She had gone through her days with eyes trained forward, looking, looking... Just looking, sampling now and then when it looked especially good. But not even to have realized that...

Maggie. I was thinking about Maggie...

She remembered, then, holding Maggie's hand. A nothing thing, she used to think, holding a girl's hand. A nothing thing...

Maggie hooked her hand through Lee's elbow and moved in close beside her, matching her stride to Lee's. They moved down the ramp and into Playland, going slowly through the crowd.

A nothing thing, a girl hanging onto your elbow. A nothing thing...

Yet she was as much aware of Maggie as though the girl had suddenly caught fire. Aware of her and of nothing else. All of her interest and all of her desire funneling itself toward the tiny girl clinging to her elbow. And she knew that soon, she would have to take Maggie home and leave her there. Go to Cleo or somewhere. Anywhere. Just so that Maggie would not know. For Maggie must never know.

Maggie laughed suddenly and shook her arm. "Look," she said.

In front of a stall, a fat guy in a greasy apron jiggled change. Behind him, a row of skinny stuffed bears blinked plastic eyes.

"Win me a teddy bear, Lee."

Lee grinned. "Which one?"

"That one," Maggie said, pointing to a tan one with a bang of stiff hair down to its nose. "It looks like you."

The fat guy measured Lee with his eyes and yelled out, "Come on. Win the little lady a teddy bear."

She paid him a quarter for three balls, but took only one. She tossed it up lightly, caught it, then banged it home. The milk bottles splintered off in all directions.