The Insiders (28 page)

Eve ... Even Marti had been closemouthed as to what had
really
happened, and David wasn't the talking kind; still, from what he'd
implied. . .
. She wondered what was really going on between David and Mr. Bernstein's niece. The girl had a crush on him, that was obvious; and Gloria was mad, which gave Stella a secret pleasure, because
that
was something Gloria couldn't do a damn thing about
!

Stella glanced toward the telephone. One of the lines was busy—David had kept it tied up for most of the day.

She couldn't help wondering if David had
done
anything after she'd told him that Eve was expected back from New York and Marti wouldn't be at the airport to meet her. He'd taken the afternoon olf yesterday, but she hadn't seen anything different in his manner when he'd come in this morning, except for his preoccupation.

Marti . . . Stella couldn't help sighing. Marti didn't know yet, although she'd made it a point to be honest with Marti, right from the time she'd begun dating George. She
wanted
Marti—maybe she always would —but marrying George was the best, most practical thing for her. He was rich, and
she'd
be rich—free at last. No more nine-to-five job. Money really made you free; whoever said money couldn't buy everything had to be kidding.

There was another line that she could call out on if she really needed to. . . . Stella reached for the phone and then pulled her hand back, frowning. No, she was crazy. Let Marti call
her.
She knew that Marti should be back from LA, from that mysterious trip she wouldn't say too much about. Something to do with a job in the movies—maybe it was supposed to make her jealous. And in a way she was; only—why couldn't Marti
understand?
They could still see each other, still share and enjoy the fire that always erupted between them. But not in public—Marti's preference for women was too well known, and Stella regretted that they'd ever been seen out together. But if she could make Marti see why she had to marry George, make her see that it didn't really have to change anything for them...

The large diamond on Stella's finger winked and glimmered under the lights as she reached for the telephone. Why shouldn't she call Marti? Just to explain, of course. She owed her that much.

Marti answered the phone on the first ring, but her voice stayed flat, almost indifferent, even when she knew it was Stella.

"Los Angeles? Oh, it was okay. I met lots of people, and a few old friends." Did Marti's voice take on a strange inflection when she said 'old friends'?

"Marti, didn't you miss me at all?"

"Sure I did, baby. But I was busy, very busy most of the time. In fact..." Marti paused, evidendy wondering if she should tell Stella something, and then went ahead. "In fact, Stel, I might get a small apartment in LA— stay there some of the time. I was offered this part that sounded really interesting, and"—there was that little pause again—"very challenging."

"Marti!" Recovering herself, Stella said quickly, "But that's wonderful. I'm very happy for you." So Marti was trying to play hard to get?

Her voice soft, Stella said, "I've got some news, too. I'm going to be married." She wished she could see Marti's face when she said that. How would she react?

"George, I suppose. I'm glad for you, Stel, if that's really what you want."

God, how could Marti sound so polite, so indifferent, when only a few weeks ago she had actually
cried. ...

"I'm glad you're not upset, Marti. I knew you'd understand. But we can still see each other sometimes, can't we?"

How difficult it was to let go when you'd shared something good with somebody. Marti had really loved her.
Had?

"No reason I should be upset, Stel. You've told me often enough that this life wasn't really for you. It's just as well."

"Just as well what?" Was that really her voice, sounding so sharp?

"Just as well for us both, baby. Don't worry, I'll be around here sometimes, and we can get together if you still want to."

"Marti, of course I'll want to. Don't you?"

"Sure." But Marti's voice didn't sound convincing.

After she'd hung up, Marti stayed by the phone, staring at it. Well, so much for Stella. Lovely, wanton, selfish Stella. No more love; no more heartbreak. Let someone else do the falling in love with
her
for a change.

I'm stronger than Eve, Marti thought. Stronger than Stel, too, because I know when it's time to let go, even if I feel like it's going to tear my guts out.

She knew by now how it felt to hurt, to agonize, and she wasn't going to let it happen again. Not in LA, Celluloid City; the atmosphere there just wasn't right for love, anyhow.
Lust
counted; that was what everyone was paying for down there, one way or another.

Marti thought about the movie she'd made, and smiled. You sure as hell didn't need to be an actress to star in one of those! And her partner in some of the scenes—she had been really delicious. So damned experienced for a kid that young; so damned
good.
There was lots more where that came from—why should she mourn for Stella?

Suddenly the phone started to ring again, and she picked it up, making a wry face when she recognized the voice.

"No, David, I don't know where she is. I haven't heard from Eve since I've been back—maybe she changed her mind and stayed on in New York. . . . Oh! Well, Stella had no damn business telling you when Eve was due to arrive, and you—you men can be such
bastards
sometimes!" Marti's voice was vicious, and David flinched from the venom in it.

Goddam lesbian bitch! he thought furiously, wondering why in hell he felt driven to call and keep calling, again and again. Eve hadn't been home last night—she was probably partying it up with Brant Newcomb and his friends.

"I'm sure she's enjoying herself—you needn't bother to tell her I called." Filled with rage and frustration, David slammed down the phone. He shouldn't have bothered. He'd only gone out to the airport out of a sense of obligation, and he'd been careful to take Wanda with him. Thank God she, at least, wasn't Eve's kind. She was still naive, still idealistic. And he was pretty sure she was a virgin. He hadn't been able to teach Eve anything; she'd done it all before she'd met him. He'd accused her of being a bisexual once, and she'd denied it, although later he'd dragged a reluctant admission from her that she
had
tried it once—yes, widi Marti, dammit! He hadn't told her that he'd already known because Stella had told him. Her confession, and the details he'd wrung out of her, had excited him so damned much at that point that he'd stopped his questioning and started to fuck her. But he'd hoarded her admission as a kind of weapon to use against her if he had to. He'd always felt, with Eve, that he needed to have a weapon, something to use in order to keep her from clinging too close—from smothering him with her love.

Love, hell! He should have treated her as he had treated Gloria. The Four F's—find 'em, fool 'em, fuck 'em, forget 'em! Eve didn't deserve any more. Not that he had ever considered
marrying
her. When he married, it would be someone like Wanda. But he'd like to fuck Eve one more time at least, to prove to her, and to himself, that she was a cheap, too-easy lay—nothing more.

Eve—damn her! He wondered what, exactly, she was doing right now.

She was helping Brant moor his boat at the dock, her hair pulled back decorously now and held in place by a scarf. There was an unaccustomed soreness between her thighs that made her feel strangely shy and yet strangely proud, too. She couldn't believe that the woman on the boat had been
her,
letting go completely.

Such an unusual feeling, to have a guy of her own suddenly—to be engaged to be married, and
not
to David. She wondered if she'd ever get used to the idea, or to the fact that she was going to be Brant's wife, of all things.

Later, in the car, she asked him if he would take her back to her apartment.

He looked at her quizzically.

"Tired of me already? I thought you might be resigned to being my kept woman for a few days."

She managed to laugh, shaking her head.

"It's not
that.
But Brant, I really should go back just long enough to check with Marti if she's back, and pick up the rest of my clothes, and— God, I'm suddenly beginning to realize how damn many things I have to do, like call New York and—"

He touched her hand.

"Okay, okay. We're on our way."

David would have become impatient with her or grumbled—he hated having his plans delayed or interfered with. Brant was just as polite and reasonable as he'd been all day. Would he ever lose his temper with her, or were all his rages held inside and as carefully controlled as his other emotions?

When Eve started to let herself into the apartment, Marti came out of her room at once, heaving an exaggerated sigh of relief.

"Well, for God's sake! I was beginning to think you'd developed amnesia!
He's
been calling all afternoon, driving me nuts! I..." Marti's voice trailed away almost ludicrously when she saw whom Eve had brought back with her.

"Oh, my God!" she burst out spontaneously. "Not
you!"

"Hi, Marti. I'm afraid it is." Brant's voice was cool and slightly moc
ki
ng, as usual.

"Marti," Eve stammered, "I—well, we—" She couldn't seem to get the words out in the face of Marti's obvious shock.

"Wiry don't you get whatever clothes and stuff you need and attend to your telephone calls, sweetheart, and I'll explain to Marti."

Telephone calls! Eve glanced sharply at Brant. Did he mind that David had called her? Had there been a touch of sarcasm in his voice?

But he had turned away from her already. He and Marti were eyeing each other coolly, like adversaries. Weakly, Eve decided to let Brant take over; he was good at that..

"Explain!"
Marti was saying furiously. "Explain what? Eve's not going anywhere with you, Brant Newcomb. I won't let her. You forget, I know exact
l
y what kind of a bastard you are!"

Eve retreated, closing the door of her room on their voices. For a moment, she leaned against it, closing her eyes. David had called. David—wanting what of her?

Automatically, even as she was thinking this, Eve had started to walk toward the telephone. But she stopped, stood looking at it for a moment, and then turned away. She
knew
what David wanted. His willing and accommodating mistress—giving in, expecting nothing, making no demands. This time, he wasn't going to get her back. This time, Eve Mason wouldn't be available, and he could think what he pleased. I can be stubborn, too, Eve thought. I can be practical and cool (learning from Brant?), even if I feel it's going to kill me inside, in that secret part of me that still wants David.

Hastily, almost frantically, Eve began to snatch things out of her closet, rummage through drawers, dumping everything out on the bed. She wanted to tear down the mirror that reflected her every movement back at her. Not wanting to think about David and the times he'd shared this room, this bed with her.

God—if he called
now!
What would she do? Or say to him? Where in the past she had always prayed silently for David's call, now she found herself hoping fervently that he would not—not until she was safely gone.

Presently, Marti came in to help her pack, sorting out things she could send for later. Marti's magnolia-skinned face was paler than usual, and she wore a stunned, disbelieving look.

"I can't believe it!" Marti exploded, the minute she walked in. "Eve, are you sure you know what you're doing? I keep thinking that this is
Brant,
and he has to be playing some kind of cruel game. I— Oh, Eve baby, I'm just fond of you, you know that. I just don't want to see you cut to pieces by a—a barracuda!"

Eve shrugged helplessly.

"It's too late, Marti. I've committed myself, and we're going to be married in a few days. I even signed all kinds of papers this morning, and—it's as good as done, I suppose. Don't look that way, I can hardly believe it myself."

"You're making a mistake, Eve. I warned you about him, remember? But it's your life. Damn, I guess I feel almost protective—you don't need any more hurt. First David, and now—" Marti glanced toward the door.

"And what about David? What am I supposed to tell him if he calls again—or are
you
going to do that?"

"I don't want to talk about David! Oh, Marti, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap, but—something happened with us and—and it's over. David did it—I guess he opened my eyes for the last time."

"So you're marrying Brant to get even?"