Carla

Chapter Ten

The next morning was a living hell. The house was empty when Carla awoke a few minutes after ten, and it was past noon before Lizzie arrived. In the interim, for two deadly hours, Carla had her breakfast and took her shower and answered the phone half a dozen times. Each time it was Danny, driving her out of her mind with protestations of love.

She didn’t want to talk to him, not in the least. She especially wanted to avoid him after the experience of the previous night. A love affair with a stranger was not her style, that was sure. The memory of the man in the hotel room — his clumsy pawing and bad breath — was enough to discourage her from anything of that nature. The memory of the hotel room episode linked itself in her mind with the memory of the grease-room floor, and this link only served to intensify her loathing for Danny Rand.

The first time he called, she was taken by surprise. She stammered at first, then told him not to call again and rang off. His next call consisted of the same phrases on his part, but this time she didn’t bother to speak to him. He kept on calling and she continued to hang up the phone in disgust.

Worse, however, was an effect she noticed. The power and force of Danny Rand’s personality was present, and she could feel his voice drawing her and stimulating the animalism in her. It was ridiculous, she told herself forcefully. It was absurd, and Danny was certainly a man she didn’t want.

And yet there was no denying the fact that he attracted her, drew her to him with a crude and strangely powerful quality that rivalled Charles. For a moment she tried to imagine a lover who would combine Charles Butler’s suavity and skill with her raw brutality and devotion of Danny. It was an interesting picture.

When Lizzie arrived, Carla was so glad to see her that she almost took the girl in her arms. She didn’t even think of scolding her for being late. Rather, she was so relieved at no longer being alone in the large house that she started talking to Lizzie immediately.

“Did you have a pleasant evening?” she asked.

“Yes,” Lizzie replied, smiling.

“I’ll bet you had a date.”

Lizzie smiled again without answering. Carla guessed that the girl had quite definitely been with a man, and that she’d enjoyed the venture a good deal more than Carla had enjoyed the scene in the Pearl Street hotel. But then it was easy to see that Lizzie usually enjoyed what she did. Carla envied her — so at ease all the time, so sure of herself. She wouldn’t be the one to get caught up in such a hopeless mess.

“Lizzie,” she said, “there’s a man trying to reach me on the phone. He’s been annoying me all morning long, and he’ll probably call again this afternoon. If he does, just tell him I’m out and you don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t tell him anything else. If he makes a pest of himself, just hang up on him.”

The girl nodded.

“He’s just a nuisance,” Carla added. “I don’t even know him.” As she spoke, she wondered why she was bothering to explain all this to the girl. After all, Lizzie was just a servant and had no concern in her private life. But Carla had an idea that the girl knew a lot more of the situation than she was letting on. Well, it would be all right so long as she kept her mouth shut. And Lizzie didn’t appear to be a blabbermouth. On the contrary, she was the most tight-lipped and inscrutable person Carla had ever met.

But the phone didn’t ring for the next half-hour. Carla went to her room and dressed, wanting to look as perfect as possible for Charles. She had decided to drop in on him without calling, intending to force the issue to a head. Now would be the time to hit him with an ultimatum. After a night without her it should be easier to make demands upon him. She would get him to marry her as soon as Ronald’s case was over, then get her divorce and marry Charles and never have to worry about secrecy again.

She dressed automatically, donning brassiere and panties before she suddenly changed her mind and stripped naked once again. She ran her hands luxuriously over her body, stroking the smooth skin and whispering compliments to herself. No, bra and panties weren’t really necessary today. Instead she put on a tight jersey dress that hugged every swell and indentation of her body. She looked at herself in the mirror, stunned at first by the vivid color of the dress. It was a bright scarlet, and Carla hadn’t worn it since she bought it over a year ago. She didn’t realize that it was so bright.

She also hadn’t realized what a difference it made to wear the dress with nothing on underneath it. When she was in high school she had often enjoyed wearing tight sweaters without a bra and watching the reactions of the boys. But this was different: what a sweater did for the top half of her body, the jersey dress did for the entire body. Carla looked more naked than a nudist. Although the dress covered her from her neck almost to her ankles, it made her look delightfully obscene.

But she couldn’t go out of the house looking like that, no matter how much she wanted to show herself off to Charles. Fortunately she got an assist from nature. It began to rain, and a shapeless raincoat quickly camouflaged the dress. While it forced her to put up the top of the MG, it made matters infinitely easier. Then the rain miraculously stopped by the time she reached the Tiffany, so she was able to leave the raincoat in the car and walk into the lobby in full glory.

The imperturbable doorman didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow.

Charles, on the contrary, raised both eyebrows. “Good Lord,” he exclaimed. “Carla, you’re magnificent!”

She grinned. “I’m glad you approve.”

“Approve? God, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” He ushered her into the apartment, closing the door behind her. Carla walked to the sofa and sat down, tucking her long legs beneath her. She stretched like a kitten, enjoying the way her breasts pressed against the front of the jersey dress, and pulled a cigarette from her purse. Charles held the light for her and she drew deeply on the cigarette, not speaking until she had filled her lungs with smoke and blown a thin column of smoke at the ceiling.

“If I’m that pretty,” she said carefully, “why won’t you marry me?”

Charles sat down and shook his head. “Are you going to start that again?”

“Why not?”

“What’s the matter, Carla? Aren’t you satisfied with things as they are?”

“No, I’m not.”

He lit a cigarette of his own and extinguished the match with a flick of his wrist. “Why not? Things are good the way they are. You’re married to Ronald and you have the security of the Macon name. We meet every afternoon and we have the pleasure which we give each other. Our lovemaking is a beautiful and rhythmic thing. What more do you want.”

Carla closed her eyes. “That’s easy for you to say,” she said after a moment. “You’re a man, and so it’s an easy way for you to look at things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m a woman and you’re a man. You can’t look at things from a woman’s point of view. A woman wants more than beauty, Charles. Oh, I get as much pleasure from our love as you do. I won’t argue with you on that score. But a woman needs security — not just the security of a rich husband. A woman wants her husband and her lover to be the same person.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “It’s hard to explain to a man. I know you love me, Charles, but I need a more tangible proof of your love. Marriage give a woman that sort of proof. Do you understand?”

He nodded slowly. “I know what you mean,” he said. “I know what you mean, but I’m not going to marry you.”

“Why not?”

He flicked his cigarette in a heavy copper ashtray and studied the glowing tip thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s because I’m a man,” he replied. “Perhaps it’s because I’m Ronald’s friend, and I know how much he wants and needs you. But neither of those things are the main reason.

“The big thing is the value I place on my freedom. Carla, I don’t want to be responsible for anything, and definitely not for another person’s happiness. Look at the world we live in. Our every action is in the shadow of the bomb. For God’s sake, this is the first generation which can’t expect the world to outlast its own lifetime. Any day some madman might drop a bomb and blow the world to hell.”

“I know that,” she said.

“Of course,” he said. “Everybody knows that. But you have to realize how it affects our lives. Do you think it makes sense to plan for eternity, or even for ten or twenty years? I don’t. I think a person ought to live for the moment — because the sun may not rise tomorrow, and tomorrow it’s entirely possible that we’ll all be dead. Very possible. And for that reason, and for some other reasons that are imbedded in my particular personality, I believe that a person should have as much fun as he can out of life. Why worry about the future when there may not be one? Why bother with marriage?”

Carla sank into her seat. She understood what Charles was saying, and she could appreciate his philosophy. But this didn’t alter her own situation. She didn’t want to think about living for the moment. She wanted to worry about the future, about tomorrow and the next day and the one after that. If you couldn’t plan ahead, there didn’t appear to be much sense in anything.

“Charles,” she said finally, “don’t you love me?”

He sighed. “The eternal feminine question,” he said. “The question women have asked ever since Adam berated Eve for eating the damned apple. Of course I love you.”

“Then—”

“Then what?”

“Then,” she said triumphantly, “why won’t you let me divorce Ronald and marry you?”

He waited before replying, and the only sound in the plush apartment was the rhythmic ticking of the clock. “I love you,” he said at last, “but you’re not the first woman I’ve ever loved.”

“So what? I hardly came to you a virgin.”

He held up a hand. “Wait a minute; let me finish. I’ve loved women before, and I expect to love women after you. I expect to keep on loving women until I die, or at least until I become too old to participate in active love sessions.”

Carla’s cigarette had burned down, and she put it out in the ashtray. “Every man says that,” she said shortly. “Every man thinks one woman isn’t enough for him. But do you think you can handle more loving than I can give you? I’m a fairly passionate woman, Charles.”

At any other time, Carla would have blushed upon uttering such a statement. But she was caught up in the argument now. She realized that tonight was the night, that it would end in either a proposal or a break-up, and it was no time for modesty.

“Carla,” he said softly, “you are as passionate a woman as I have ever met.”

“So?”

He shook his head slowly and there was sadness in his eyes. “I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said. “You’re enough woman for me, as far as that goes, but I need more than one woman. There’s something wrong with me, Carla. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had to work for anything, because I’ve always been able to get whatever I wanted. But one single woman can never satisfy me.”

“You’re just talking through your hat,” she snapped. “You don’t want anybody else after we’ve been together.”

“Carla—”

“Well? Do you?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I didn’t want to tell you this,” he began. “I didn’t want to say anything about it, but I suppose it’s the only way to convince you. Please listen carefully, and please forgive me in advance if I hurt you.

“I told you not to come last night. I told you that I was busy. Right?”

She nodded.

“That wasn’t altogether true. I was busy, but I was busy with another woman. I had another woman spend the night here.”

“What?”

He closed his eyes, and she could see that it was hurting him to tell her. “Yes,” he said thinly. “I was spending the night with another woman.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s the truth.”

“You’re just making it up,” she said. “You’re just looking for an excuse, but I don’t believe it for a minute. Who was this ‘other woman?’”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Because she doesn’t exist?”

“No — she exists.”

“Then who was she?”

He swallowed. “Miss Lizzie Barkin,” he said. Lizzie — the girl who works for you.”

Carla was too stunned to speak.

“I called her on the phone,” he went on. “She remembered me from the time I had dinner at your house, and fortunately it was her night off. She came up here and we made love in the same bed where I’ve made love to you so many times. She—”

“You’re lying.”

“No,” he said. “I’m telling the truth.”

For a moment she was unable to reply. Charles wasn’t lying, she knew. Much as she wished he were, it was obvious that his words were true.

“Why?” she demanded at last, her voice little more than a whisper. “Why?”

“Because I wanted her.”

“You—”

“I wanted her,” he continued. “I wanted her the moment I saw her, just as I wanted you. I wanted her in my bed with the covers pulled over us, and I got her there, just as I got you there. I—”

“You son of a bitch!”

“Don’t talk like that. It’s the way I am, Carla, and I can’t help it. I told you all along that our affair was just that, an affair and nothing more. But—”

“You rotten son of a bitch!”

“Carla—”

There was a note of anger in his voice, but she ignored it. “You rotten bastard,” she said. “You miserable bastard. You let me fall in love with you and then threw me over for a cheap little—”

He slapped her across the face and his fingers left red marks on her cheeks.

“A cheap little slut. You have to go cheat on me with a little tramp of a—”

He slapped her again, harder this time, and she clutched her hand to her cheek.

“Don’t talk about her that way,” he commanded. “She’s as much of a woman as you are.”

“She’s a tramp,” Carla said. And he slapped her again, harder still, almost knocking her from her feet. It hurt and her eyes began welling up with tears.

“You bastard. I love you, you bastard.”

She went to him with her cheek still smarting from the slaps. Her arms went around him, around the maroon dressing gown, and her mouth sought his feverishly. He kissed her back and her teeth sank hungrily into his lower lip. He bent down and lifted her in his arms, lifting her easily with a strength that surprised her, and carrying her into the bedroom. While he removed the dressing gown and tossed it casually onto a chair, she slipped the jersey dress over her head and dropped it on the floor. His eyes widened in surprise at seeing that she was wearing nothing under the dress.

“Bastard,” she said.

He slapped her again. She repeated the word and he began slapping her again and again, slowly and methodically, slapping her and hitting harder with each slap. She wanted him to hurt her, wanted him to slap her again and again, wanted to force this man to master her completely. Each slap increased her passion until it welled up in her and overflowed.

With a little cry she fell against him. It was all over and she knew it was all over, but now and only for now he was right and only the moment mattered. Tomorrow everything would be past and no longer important, but now all that was important was his hands encircling her breasts and his fingers making music against her thighs.

She whispered his name over and over, the whispers rising in intensity until she was fairly screaming in his ear. Her passion mounted like a house of cards, rising higher and higher until at the final beautiful instant it collapsed and she drifted into a whirlpool of ecstatic and desperate fulfillment.

She could hear nothing, not even the solemn ticking of the clock.