Carla

Chapter Fourteen

The next two days were almost perfect. They would have been perfect if she could have spent every single moment with Danny, but they were practically perfect even though the two had only their afternoons together. Carla found an incredible plateau of peace and contentment. She was a whole woman now, and she knew the joy that comes of giving one’s self completely and withholding nothing. It was a supreme joy, an unparalleled joy. Danny was everything to her and she loved him with a fervor that never failed to surprise her.

At the same time, she realized that their arrangement could easily become difficult — if only because it forced Danny to close the station for a few hours every afternoon. If they continued that way, it would only be a matter of time before the company checked on him and found out that he was taking time off, time that belonged to the company. He was supposed to keep the station open from seven in the morning to seven at night, and he generally stayed open until ten or eleven. But now he closed up at two and sometimes failed to reopen until six or later.

She was at home now, waiting for Ronald to come home for dinner. She had a book in her lap but the print swam before her eyes and she had to read paragraphs over and over before she understood them, Her mind was on Danny, not on the book.

Danny wanted her to marry him. Marriage to Danny would be a wonderful thing, she knew, because the type of love they had between them was the type which grew and grew through exposure and development. While the novelty would wear off a little at a time, the pleasure of getting more and more attuned to a loved one would replace the loss of novelty many times over. She could tell this already, and it made the prospect of becoming Danny’s wife a very attractive one.

But when she closed her eyes and remembered the relative squalor of the little room on Sagerties Avenue, some of the splendor of the picture vanished. Of course they would not live in a place like that. Danny lived there only because he was trying to save as much of his salary as possible. But they would live in a place almost as bad, and she would not have a car to drive or a closet full of clothes to wear. She could see herself getting old while still young from sweating over a hot stove and scrubbing floors and bearing children.

If she had never been poor these things might not have mattered. But Carla had been poor, and she knew how miserable she could be under those circumstances. And for this reason she wasn’t too anxious to divorce Ronald and plunge headlong into marriage to Danny — a marriage that would constitute the end of luxury.

She hadn’t made a decision. She explained in detail about Ronald’s case — which was going before the jury the following day — and Danny understood that any divorce plans and proceedings would have to wait until the case was won or lost. He assumed that she would marry him then, of course, but she had been cautious not to say so in so many words.

When Ronald came home that evening there was a strained look about him. The rigours of the case were telling on him, and for the first time he looked acutely old to her, old and tired and worn out. He was almost silent throughout dinner, answering her tentative questions with nods or shakes of his head and an occasional grunt.

When dinner was over they remained at the table for coffee and a cigarette. For several minutes each smoked in silence and sipped at the coffee; then Ronald looked up suddenly and cleared his throat.

“Carla,” he began, “there’s something I want to discuss with you.”

She panicked momentarily: had he found her out? But then she saw from the expression on his face that it was something else that was bothering him.

He drew on his cigarette and closed his eyes for a moment. When he began talking he spaced his words carefully and spoke softly, almost in a monotone.

“I’ve been unfair to you,” he said. “I’ve expected an impossible course of behaviour from you, and just recently I’ve come too see how grossly unjust these expectations have been.

“I’m an old man, Carla. I always considered myself young and vigorous, but this damned case is telling on me. It’s gilding the lily to say that I’m not as young as I used to be; however, that’s the plain truth of the matter. I’m not.”

“I don’t see—”

“Let me finish. I like to think of myself as the successful lawyer with the lovely young wife. I am that, in a way — but there’s another side to the picture. I’m also an impotent old man, and my lovely young wife is party to a pretty damned unnatural bargain. And when I see that side of the picture — well, I can’t say I think very much of myself.”

He stopped for a moment but she didn’t interrupt. She could see how it was hurting him to say these words, how hard it was for him to talk about his age and impotence. She put out her cigarette and waited for him to continue.

“You’re a young woman, Carla. I’ve been unfair, as I’ve said. But I don’t mean to be unfair any longer. Money and clothing aren’t enough; I don’t want my wife to be kept in a damned cage all her life like some animal in a private zoo. You deserve a good deal more than that.”

“I... I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? Let me explain. I don’t want you to cut yourself off from... from sex, Carla. I want you to feel free to take a lover if you wish — in fact, I’d prefer it if you did. Perhaps you already have; if so, that’s your business. You have a right to a full life and an impotent man has no right in the world to feel cheated upon if he’s made a cuckold.

“I’m serious about this, Carla. I wouldn’t feel cuckolded, because I wouldn’t feel that you were being unfaithful to me. And I’d rather have you sleep with another man than lose you entirely, or have you grow to hate me.”

“I could never hate you.”

He smiled. “Don’t be too sure about that. But at any rate I want you to know how I feel about the situation. I have just two requests to make. First of all, I want you to be as discreet as possible about any affairs you have. I don’t suppose I have to tell you this, but it’s especially important now with the case practically on the fire. You know how quickly the case would go to hell if anything were made public.

“Secondly, I don’t want you to tell me about... whatever you do. Although I can accept and even approve of it, I’m as human as anyone else. So... don’t tell me about it.”

He broke off abruptly and looked down at the tablecloth. Carla felt the tears coming to her eyes. He was such a good man, so sincerely good. She had never fully appreciated him before, not as she appreciated him now after what he had said. She wanted to say something but she couldn’t find the right words.

“Ronald,” she said finally, “I love you very much.”

He smiled. “You’re a wonderful woman, Carla.”

“You’re pretty fine yourself.”

“I think I’m just a selfish old man,” he said. “I’m afraid of losing you.” He stood up awkwardly and walked away from the table and into the living-room. She heard him put a record on the phonograph and listened to the opening notes of a Beethoven symphony. Closing her eyes, she could picture him sitting in his easy chair listening to the music.

She had not lied. She did love Ronald, not in the same way that she loved Danny but in a true fashion nonetheless. She loved him more like an uncle than like a husband, but she loved him because he was such a good man and because he cared so deeply for her.

The full weight of his words was beginning to hit her. He didn’t mind whether or not she slept with Danny; in fact, he was in favor of it. Now they wouldn’t have to rush their time together, and they could meet at night so that Danny could keep the gas station open. And they could spend a night together now and then without worrying about Ronald discovering them.

In short, the furtiveness was now a thing of the past. They could love openly, and she would never again have to be ashamed of being unfaithful to Ronald.

Marriage now seemed rather foolish. Why should she give up her home when she could have it and Danny at the same time? Why should Danny have to support her when he was making little enough money as it was? Marriage was little more than a formality anyway, and one she could well do without.

She was in an enviable position. Ronald was an ideal husband, Danny a perfect lover. And she could have them both with no difficulty.

She could, in fact, both have and eat her cake.

Lizzie had the night off.

It was, she decided, an excellent night to have off. She never expected to get the night off, but Mrs. Macon was in an exceptionally good humour and Lizzie thus got the night off as a sort of bonus.

Evidently Mrs. Macon had had a particularly enjoyable hour or two in somebody’s bed. Lizzie pictured her mistress in bed with a man and giggled softly to herself. It didn’t seem possible for a rich woman like Mrs. Macon to crawl in bed with anybody. For some reason it was hard to think of rich people bothering with sex or enjoying it if they did.

Lizzie silently thanked whoever had coaxed Mrs. Macon into the sack that afternoon, because this was definitely a good night to have off. If she hadn’t gotten the night for herself, she’d be home in the stuffy house on Nottingham Terrace. Besides, she would never have met Lou.

Lou was an experience; Lizzie had to admit that. And there was no sense turning down an experience, no sense at all.

Lou picked her up neatly enough, picked her up right off the street, and Lizzie wasn’t that easy a girl to pick up. So that was a feather in Lou’s little cap right at the start.

And Lou’s apartment — why, that was just the end of the world. It was in the Tiffany, the same hotel where Lizzie had spent a most enjoyable evening with Mr. Butler not long ago, but Lou’s apartment was far more exciting. The furniture was delightfully extreme — it seemed to be all angles and wrought iron and sharp corners — and the colour scheme was almost shocking — pinks and loud greens and yellow and god knew what else. The pictures on the walls were loud abstracts in ornate frames, and the books in the shelves were forbidding things with esoteric titles.

And Lou was so funny, so methodical. The performance was a ritual, a regular rigamarole as spooky as a KKK meeting. First they both undressed slowly and languorously, but Lou didn’t touch her or even try to kiss her. Then Lou had her take a bath in a perfumed tub. When she came out, Lou gave her perfumes to rub into her skin, and while she did this Lou filled the tub again and took a bath.

Lizzie sat nude on the edge of the bed. Her chocolate skin felt luxuriously smooth and clean from the perfumes. The bed had silk sheets — bright green silk sheets — and they were slippery under her bare skin. She waited patiently, and after a few moments Lou appeared from the bathroom and walked to a record player in the corner. The music that played was strange but pleasant, and it fit the room and the mood. Lizzie couldn’t recognize it, but it seemed vaguely oriental.

Lizzie stretched out on the bed. It was a remarkable bed, round rather than rectangular, and a good eight feet across. Would it be different to make love in a round bed? It would be interesting to find out.

“You’re lovely,” Lou said, sitting down beside her on the bed.

“Thank you.”

“Lovely,” Lou repeated. “Fragile and doll-like, more or less.”

Lizzie didn’t answer.

“Do you like it here?”

“Yes — very much.”

“I like it,” Lou said. “I like an apartment to have some individuality, so that it’s more than just a place to live in. It should reflect the personality of the occupant, don’t you think?”

Lizzie nodded.

“But we don’t want to talk about the apartment, do we? There are better things to do.”

“All right.”

Lou’s lips were very soft. Lou’s hands were soft, too, as they held her breasts and stroked her thighs. Lou’s body was soft, and Lou’s body was delicious against hers with the perfume all around her and the sheets all silky and the weird music playing in the background.

Lou was an expert.

Lizzie opened her eyes and noticed the ceiling for the first time. It was painted blue and spangled with little dots of white, so that it resembled a starry sky. Then she closed her eyes and listened to the oriental music growing louder and more penetrating.

“Kiss me,” Lou commanded.

Lizzie fastened her mouth on Lou’s soft lips and probed the mouth with her tongue. “All over,” Lou said.

Lizzie did as she was told, and a wave of pleasure ran through her as Lou turned to a thing of fire and crystal beneath her lips.

Then Lou was caught up in a wave of passion. Lizzie was held up in two firm but soft arms and pressed between silk sheets and silken skin. The stars on the ceiling seemed to wink at her and the music grew louder and louder, wailing in her ears like a Chinese banshee. It became impossible for her to lie still. She moaned and twisted and made strange sounds deep in her throat, and the world swelled up and let her sail at the very top of it, higher and higher to a wickedly sensual climax...

Lou’s arms still held her and Lou’s mouth was still soft against hers. Lizzie felt very sleepy, sleepy from the perfume and the music and the bath and the love-making. She wanted to go to sleep, and she wanted to go to sleep right there where it was so warm and sweet-smelling. She snuggled her head to Lou’s shoulder and shut her eyes tight.

Lou kissed her ear, and the sound was very loud. Then Lou nibbled gently at her ear lobe.

Lizzie purred like a kitten.

“Are you happy, dear?”

Lizzie purred again.

“I’m glad,” Lou said. “I’m happy, too.”

Lizzie flicked her pink tongue against the smooth skin of Lou’s neck.

“You know,” Lou whispered, “this is the first time I’ve ever slept with a girl who wasn’t white.”

“That makes us even,” Lizzie murmured sleepily. “This is the first time I ever slept with a woman.”