April North (12 page)

April found nothing to say. Frank let out a long sigh and followed it with a mirthless chuckle.

“So there’s my tragedy. And it’s not all that tragic. You need a heroic figure for real tragedy and I’m afraid I don’t quite fit the bill. But how about you, April North? My God, you’re far too young to be tragic. Why don’t you go home?”

She stared at him. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“You should go home. You’re getting yourself in for the wrong kind of scene here, April North.”

“Why do you call me by my full name?”

“Because it’s a remarkable name. You’re just messing yourself up, hanging around with a crowd of has-beens and nymphomaniacs and alcoholics. Has-beens? Never-wases is more like it. Stick around here and you’ll be just like everybody else. Are you living with Craig, April North?”

She flushed. “I live at home,” she said. “With my parents.”

“But you sleep with Craig?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Probably not. It’s your business, though.”

“What do you mean?”

His pipe had gone out. She waited, trembling slightly, while he thumbed the butane lighter and sucked at the pipestem, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth. When the pipe was lighted evenly he closed the lighter and dropped it into his pocket. He regarded the bowl of the pipe thoughtfully, drew on it a few more times, and then took it again form his mouth.

“I mean he’ll ruin you,” he said.

She said nothing.

“He’ll make a mess of you, April North. He’ll have you crawling on your hands and knees and when he shoves you away you’ll be rotten inside. He’s worked that way with more women than you’ve lived years, which isn’t saying too much, I suspect. He turns decent girls into whores and takes their backbones away in the process. He’s no good, April.”

“He has what he wants,” she said.

“He does?”

“He isn’t working for five thousand a year in a job he hates,” she said angrily. “He doesn’t dream about a New York job he’ll never have or a book he’ll never write. He’s far away in front of you, Mr. Evans.”

The words hurt him. She saw his shoulders sag and felt sorry for what she had said but not sorry enough to apologize. He stood up slowly, turning to her.

“Some day you’ll realize that Craig is a failure himself,” he said. “And by then it will be too late. For you, I mean.”

He left her to wonder what he meant.

Larry Ellis was short and stocky, with a sneer always present on his thin lips and a look of profound disenchantment never leaving his icy blue eyes. He had backed her into a corner and she held a cigarette ready before her, knowing that nothing could stop an aggressive male the way a lighted cigarette could. Yet he did not seem ready to make a pass at her.

“Don’t go into the bedroom,” he said. “Sue Maylor’s in there. Know what she’s doing, kid?”

“What?”

He laughed wickedly. He said, “I guess you are interested, aren’t you? You know I could kind of go for you.”

“I’m complimented.”

She felt herself blushing. His hand reached out, calmly and dispassionately, and encircled her breast. He squeezed and her own reaction completely surprised her. She loathed Larry Ellis with a vengeance and would not go to bed with him for all the coffee in Brazil, but his hand on her breast was enough to set her off. She felt the nipple stiffen, seemingly of its own accord, and she felt familiar jolts of desire coursing through her firm young body. She hated Larry Ellis, hated him and wished he would leave her alone. But the fact remained that she was getting excited.

He said confidently, “How about it, April, kid? How do you want it?”

“You’re disgusting. Let go of me.”

He released her breast, then neatly flicked the nipple with his thumbnail. Her knees felt weak and she wanted to cry. “I suppose you think that’s funny?”

She finally got rid of him. He tried to shock, she knew, but he had merely disgusted her.

Something else gave her the shock.

She was on her way to the bathroom. She paused to light a cigarette, and a bedroom door, opened. Two people came through that door.

The girl was Sue Maynor. And April recognized the man.

Craig.

There was a long minute, a long, unhappy and uncomfortable minute while she simply stood staring at him, her mind making the necessary connections haltingly.

The picture sickened her.

Craig, her Craig, a participant in the action. Her man with that red-haired slut.

Craig was looking at April, saying something to her. But she could not hear a word. Her mind was doing cartwheels and she knew that any moment she would be sick to her stomach. Craig was saying something to her, and the red-headed whore was looking at her, smirking at her, and it was all too much.

April ran.

She scurried past them, and raced down the carpeted hallway and into the bathroom. The room was empty. She ducked into it, pulled the door shut, and twisted the key in the lock. She drew a deep breath, shuddered. Her stomach was doing handstands. She went over to the toilet, yanked up the seat, and spent several minutes throwing up.

When she had finished, she washed her hands and face with cold water and sat down, trying to think.

Craig.

That hurt her.

Her man, the man she loved, had made love to another girl. Her man, who meant everything to her, had cheated on her. And now what was she going to do?

She had no idea. She could leave, give up Craig forever as Frank Evans had advised her to do. But she did not want to leave, could not face going back to life as an average little student at Antrim High. Craig was too important, and his friends were too important—no, she could not do that.

What could she do?

She wasn’t sure. She stood up finally, unlocked the door, went back to join the party. Fortunately not many people had seen her headlong flight, and those who had did not know what had prompted it.

Craig was at the bar.

“Hi,” she said. “I could definitely use a drink.”

He asked her what the matter was.

“Too much scotch,” she said. “I guess I don’t hold my liquor very well. At least I didn’t ruin the hall carpet.”

“You went by so fast—”

“I know,” she said. “I was getting green around the gills. But I’m ready to start again.”

He gave her a drink and she drained it.

9

SHE was very drunk.

She sat on the couch, alone now, listening to the music that played on the hi-fi system and watching the proceedings. There were not too many proceedings left to watch. Most of the guests had managed to pair off into couples, or to make up otherwise acceptable groups, and had hence repaired to bedrooms for fun and frolic. Larry Ellis was off taking a shower with a girl; April had seen them stroll by, Larry’s hand buried in the girl’s blouse and his nasal voice explaining quite explicitly just where he was going to soap her, and just where she was going to soap him, and just what they were going to do standing up.

One couple was dancing now. The girl had removed dress and bra and the man had taken off his shirt. Both were barefoot and naked from the waist up. They swayed slowly together, their bodies tight in passion. Once they parted momentarily and April could see the girl’s pink nipples. They were hard as little rocks.

Craig had been with her for awhile. Craig had taken her into a bedroom, and Craig had undressed her, and Craig had made love to her. That had been good in a way, and she had needed it. But somehow it had left her unsatisfied. She was still hot as a pistol, still needed something desperately. Craig was gone now and she did not know whom he was with or what they were doing. Nor did she give a damn.

God, she was drunk.

Not just high, with her head pleasantly light and her eyes pleasantly glazed. That stage had come and gone long ago. Now she was unable to stand without swaying, unable to walk without reeling. Her head was off in its own private world and her body was at once tired and hungry.

And they were having an orgy.

Not exactly an orgy, she thought. The Romans would have thought it pallid beyond description. And Craig had told her of orgy scenes he had been in which were far more shocking than what was going on at the Jeffers home. Yet it was still an orgy as far as she was concerned. Men were going off with girls, carting them to bedrooms, laying them and leaving them, taking fresh partners and starting in anew. If that wasn’t an orgy, then what in the name of hell was it?

She turned slightly and her head ached. There was a girl sitting next to her.

“An orgy,” April said.

“Really, honey? It’s an idea, I suppose.”

April tried to focus her vision. The girl, she saw, was Margo Long. Margo, who had waxed so vitriolic on the subject of Craig’s parties and the people attending them. Margo was about half in the bag herself, she realized. But she carried her liquor better than April North. She looked cool and detached, calm and relaxed.

“Jus’ a goddam orgy,” April said. “All at once every thin’ starts happenin.’”

“Is something the matter, honey?”

“I don’t know. I need a drink.”

She stayed where she was while Margo obediently crossed the room and poured liquor on ice. She returned, gave the glass to April.

“It was scotch, wasn’t it?”

“It started that way. I tried vodka somewhere in the middle, but I’m back with scotch now.”

“Then may the Lord help you in the morning. You need this drink like a hole in the head, honey.”

“I guess so.”

While she sipped the scotch, Margo looked at her quizzically. “Someone must have handed you a rough time,” she said softly. “You want to talk about it?”

“Gotta talk to someone.”

“You can talk to me, honey.”

“Can I?” April pursed her lips. “Everybody talks. Chatter, chatter, chatter. Like magpies. Ever see a magpie?”

“Nope.”

“Neither did I. Gotta talk to someone who listens. You wanna listen to me?”

“Sure, honey,” Margo said. She reached out, patted April gently on the knee. Her hands were very soft, April noticed. Soft and cool and infinitely gentle.

“Come with me, April.”

“Where?”

“Outside. There’s a chaise in the garden. We can talk there without interruption.”

“Okay.”

“And the cool air will sober you up a little.”

“Don’t wanna sober,” April said. “Wanna drunk.”

“Come with me, honey.”

She was standing now, with Margo supporting her, an arm around her waist. And she was walking, managing somehow to make one foot go before the other in a relatively orderly fashion. They walked through Craig’s house, out the back door and into the garden. As they passed closed doors, she wondered just which door Craig was behind, and with whom. Not that she really cared, of course. Not that she gave a damn—

The fresh air jolted her. She filled her lungs and her head cleared a little. She was still drunk, of course, still stoned out of her ever-loving mind, but the fresh air did make a great difference. She didn’t feel sick any more and her head worked a good deal better.

“Sit down with me, April.”

The chaise where they sat was larger than the usual run of garden furniture, about the size of a double bed. A plastic affair with a pale yellow terrycloth cover, the chaise was springy and comfortable.

“Kick off your shoes, April. Relax a little.”

She took her shoes off.

“You could take off your dress, too. Just sit around in bra and panties. The cool night air would feel wonderful on bare skin, April.”

That sounded fine. But she remembered that sitting around in bra and panties might be difficult, since she had neither. She looked at Margo. The older woman was perfectly calm, perfectly lovely in the half-fight that filtered out to them from the noisy house. An opulent figure, April thought. Lush breasts and a lush belly and a lush behind. A big woman, and a lushly pretty one.

And I, she thought, am just a lush.

“Can’t strip,” she said. “Nothing under the dress.”

“Left your underwear inside?”

“Nope. Left it home. Didn’t wear any.”

“Really?”

“Wanted to be sexy,” she said. “For Craig, because I love Craig. But he laid another girl.”

“He generally does,” Margo said.

“That Sue Maynor.”

“Oh, hell. Everybody lays Sue Maynor.”

“Guess so. I didn’t want him to. He can lay me and nobody else, the bastard.”

“Poor April,” Margo said. “Listen, honey, I’ve got an idea. Why not take off that dress, after all? Then you can stretch out on the couch here and I’ll massage your back. It’ll make you feel a hell of a lot better.”

“But I’ll be naked.”

“So what? I’ll strip down, too. Nobody is going to see us, April. They’re all in the goddam house laying each other. And there’s not a neighbor for five miles in any direction. Strip down, honey.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a little voice was telling her to for God’s sake not be a damned fool, because something fishy was going on. She chose not to hear the voice. Margo was a friend, a gentle and considerate friend. And Margo was going to rub her back, and it would make her feel wonderful.

What was wrong with that?

Nothing at all.

She got out of the dress. Margo had gotten out of her own leotards and tunic in the meantime, and was left with bra, half-slip, panties. Margo’s figure looked even better now, April noticed. Margo looked feminine, warm, ample.

“Want to help me with the bra, April?”

She fumbled drunkenly with the clasp, finally got it open. Margo turned then, and she saw how perfect Margo’s breasts were, how large and well shaped.

“See anything interesting, honey?”

April blushed.

“You really shouldn’t have to stare at me,” Margo went on. “Not the way you’re built. God, I wish I were young again. Although I never shaped up that perfectly, not at any age. You look good, April. You really look wonderful.”

She sat silently while Margo took off April’s own undergarment. For a moment April was embarrassed. But then Margo told her to lie down on her stomach, and she stretched out and closed her eyes and the embarrassment vanished.