The Story of RINA MARLOWE 4 page

"Wouldn't you like a Martini? You haven't had one for a long time."

He hesitated a moment, then reached for the bottle of gin. It wasn't until he turned around that he realized there were two cocktails in his hand. Habit was a strange commander. He turned to put one of them back on the sideboard.

"May I, Father? I'm past sixteen. There are many girls at school whose parents allow them a cocktail at dinner."

He stared at her, then poured half of one drink back into the shaker. He gave her the half-filled glass. He raised his glass in a toast.

She smiled, sipping delicately at her glass. "This is delicious," she said, in exactly the same words and tone of voice he had so often heard his wife use.

He felt the hot, uncontrollable tears leap into his eyes and turned away swiftly so that she would not see. Her hand caught at his sleeve and he turned back to her. Her eyes were deep with sympathy. He let her draw him down slowly to the couch beside her.

And then, for a moment, he wasn't her father. He was just a lonely man weeping against the breast of his mother, his wife, his daughter. He felt her young, strong arms around his shoulders, her fingers lightly brushing his hair. He heard the rumble of her whispered voice within her chest. "Poor Daddy, poor Daddy."

As suddenly as it had come, the moment was gone and he was aware only of the firm, taut breasts against his cheek. Self-consciously he raised his head. "I guess I made a fool of myself," he said awkwardly.

"No, Father," she said quietly. "For the first time in my life, I didn't feel like a child any more. I felt grown up and needed."

He forced a tired smile to his lips. "There's time enough for you to grow up."

Later that night, after dinner, she came over and sat on the arm of his chair. "I'm not going back to school any more," she said. "I'm going to stay home and keep house for you."

He smiled. "You'd get bored with that quickly enough," he said. "You'd miss the excitement of school, of boy friends— "

"Boys!" she said scornfully. "I can do without them. They're a bunch of grubby little animals always mooning after you. I can't stand them."

"You can't, eh?" he said quizzically. "Just what kind of man would please your majesty?"

She looked down at him seriously. "I think an older man," she said. "Someone like you, maybe. Someone who makes me feel safe and secure and needed. Boys are always trying to get something from you, show that they're stronger, more important."

He laughed. "That's only because they're young."

"I know," she answered, still serious. "That's why they frighten me. They're only interested in what they want; they don't care about me." She leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "Your hair is so nice with that touch of gray in it." A note of regret came into her voice. "Too bad I can't marry you. I love you, Father."

"No!" he said sharply, so sharply that he surprised even himself with the inexplicable violence of his reaction.

"No what, Father?" she asked, startled.

He got to his feet and stared down at her. "No, you're not staying home. You're going back to school tomorrow. I’ll have Peters drive you up."

She stared up at him and her eyes began to well with tears. Suddenly, she was a little girl again. "Don't you love me, Father?" she cried. "Don't you want me to stay with you?"

He stared at her for a moment, then compassion filled him. "Of course I love you, darling," he said quietly. "But don't you see, we can't put ourselves in a shell to protect ourselves from the world around us."

"But all I want is to be with you, Daddy!"

"No, child, no," he said patiently. "I know that's the way you feel now but someday, when you're older, and maybe married with children of your own, you'll understand."

She tore herself from his arms and faced him angrily. "No!" she stormed. "I’ll never get married! I’ll never have children! I’ll never let some boy get his dirty hands on me!"

"Rina!" he exclaimed in a shocked voice.

She stared at him dumbly, then her face dissolved into tears again. "Oh, Father!" she cried in a hurt, broken voice. "Can't you see? It's not I, it's you who don't understand!"

"Rina, darling," he said, reaching for her. But she had already fled the room. He heard her running footsteps on the staircase, then her door slammed.

He came back to the present slowly, looking down the long dining table at the teacher, then at Rina. Her eyes were shining, brightly expectant.

"I am sure that if Rina's mother were alive, Miss Bradley," Marlowe said in his oddly formal manner, "she would be as happy as I am to entrust our daughter to your very capable hands."

Margaret Bradley looked quickly down at her soup, so that he could not see the sudden triumph in her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Marlowe," she said demurely.

THEY STAYED ON DECK UNTIL THEY HAD PASSED the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, until the water was a bottle green beneath the ship and they could no longer see the shore.

"Excited?" Margaret Bradley asked.

Rina's eyes were sparkling. "It's like a dream."

Margaret smiled. "It will get better and better. Right now we'd best go down to our cabin and rest up a bit before dinner."

"But I’m not the least bit tired," Rina protested.

"You will be," Margaret said firmly but pleasantly. "We'll be aboard the Leviathan for six days. You'll have plenty of time to see everything."

She nodded in silent approval as they entered their cabin. Harrison Marlowe wasn't cheap when he did something for his daughter. It was a first-class cabin, with twin beds and private bath. He hadn't hesitated, either, when she'd suggested that Rina would need a new wardrobe. Instead, he'd simply written a check for a thousand dollars and told her that if it wasn't sufficient, she should let him know.

They had got only a few things in New York; the rest they would get in Paris. But without saying anything to Rina, she had ordered several things and had them sent directly to the ship. She couldn't wait to see the expression on Rina's face when she saw them.

The boxes were on the bed but she did not call attention to them. She wanted the moment to be just right. She took off her light spring coat and sank into a deep, comfortable chair. Opening her purse, she took out a package of cigarettes. It wasn't until after she had lit one that she became aware that Rina was staring at her. Then she realized that Rina had never seen her smoke.

She held out the package. "Have one?"

Rina hesitated.

"Go ahead," she urged. "It's all right. You'll find most European women smoke; they're not so provincial as we are."

She watched Rina light a cigarette and laughed as she coughed. "Don't swallow the smoke."

Rina held the smoke in her mouth and let it out slowly. "How's that?"

Margaret smiled. "Fine."

"This is fun, Miss Bradley."

Margaret looked at her. "Now that we're really on our way, I think we can dispense with formalities. From now on, you may call me Peggy." She got to her feet. "Would you like to bathe first, Rina?"

Rina shook her head. "No, Miss Bradley, you can go first if you like."

Margaret shook her head, smiling. "Peggy."

"I mean Peggy."

'That's better," Margaret said.

She looked up as Rina came out of the bathroom, tying the belt of her robe. Her long blond hair fell to her shoulders, looking even more silvery against her dark tan. There was a low knock at the door. Rina looked at her questioningly.

"I ordered sherry," she explained. "It's good for your appetite the first day at sea. I find it helps prevent mal de mer."

She took the tray from the steward and gave one glass to Rina. "Cheers," she said, smiling and sipping the wine slowly.

"It's nice," Rina said.

"I’m glad you like it."

Rina put the glass down. "Shall I wear my new blue suit tonight?"

Margaret assumed a shocked expression. "First-class dining is formal, Rina."

"I have a few of my party dresses," Rina said. "I can wear one of them."

"Not those horrible dresses they wear at the school dances?"

A hurt expression appeared on Rina's face. "I thought they were very pretty."

Margaret laughed. "For children, perhaps. But not for a young lady going to Europe."

"I don't know what to wear, then," Rina said helplessly.

She had teased Rina enough. "Those boxes on the bed are yours," she said casually. "I think you might find something to wear in one of them."

The expression on Rina's face as she opened the boxes was all that Margaret had hoped for. Rina put on a stark black cocktail gown that clung to her figure, revealing her naked shoulders. As they walked into the dining salon, an hour later, every male eye followed them.

Possessively Margaret reached across the table and patted Rina's hand. "You look lovely, my dear."

Margaret put down the towel and turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror. Pleased with her reflection, she ran her hands down along her sides, then stretched luxuriously. Her small breasts with their tiny nipples were no larger than many men's, and her hips were flat and her legs straight.

She slipped into the silk pajamas, quickly buttoning the fly front of the long, man-tailored trousers, then fastening the tightly fitting bolero jacket. She brushed her dark hair straight back and pinned it. Once more, she glanced at the mirror. At a quick glance, few could tell her from a male.

Pleased, she left the bathroom and entered the stateroom. "You can go in now, Rina."

Rina stared at her in amazement. "Miss Bradley — Peggy, I mean — those pajamas!"

Margaret smiled at her. "Like them?"

Rina nodded.

Margaret was pleased. "They're made of genuine Chinese brocade. A friend sent me the material from San Francisco. I designed them myself." One thing she could always say for Sally — she had good taste. Of all the things she had ever given her, these pajamas were her favorite.

Rina got out of her chair and took a cotton nightgown from the bureau. She started for the bathroom.

"Wait a minute," Margaret said. She went to her bureau and took out a small box. "While I was at it," she said, "I also bought you a few nightgowns."

She watched Rina's face as she opened the box. "They're real silk!"

"I was afraid that all you had were those horrible school shifts."

Rina looked down at the box. "There's a different color for every night in the week," she said. "They're all so beautiful, I don't know which to wear first."

Margaret smiled again. "Why don't you wear the white one tonight?"

"O.K.," Rina said. She picked it up and started again for the bathroom. She stopped at the door. "I don't know how to thank you, Peggy," she said gratefully. "You make everything seem so wonderful."

Margaret laughed happily. "That's just the way I want it to be for you," she said. She looked at Rina as if the idea had just come to her. "What do you say we celebrate tonight? While you're changing, I’ll order a bottle of champagne. We'll have a little party all by ourselves."

"That would be fun." Rina smiled. "I always wanted to drink champagne but Father would never let me."

"Well, this will be a secret between us." Margaret laughed, reaching for the telephone. "I promise I won't tell him."

Rina put down her glass and began to giggle.

Margaret leaned back in her chair, still holding hers by its fragile stem. "What's funny?"

"My nightgown crinkles and gives off tiny sparks when I move."

"That's static electricity," Margaret said. "Silk is a very good conductor."

"I know," Rina answered quickly. "I remember that from your class." She ran her hand down along the gown. "It gives off tiny blue sparks. Can you see them?"

"No."

Rina leaped to her feet. "I'll turn off the lights," she said. "You'll be able to see them then."

She turned off the lights and stood in front of Margaret. "Watch," she said. She ran her hands down the sides of her gown. There was a faint crackling and tiny sparks appeared at her fingertips. Rina picked up her glass and emptied it. She held the glass toward Margaret. "May I have some more, Peggy?"

"Of course," Margaret answered, refilling her glass.

Rina held it to her lips and sipped. "Champagne is nothing but pop made from wine," she said seriously. "But it tastes better. It's not as sweet."

"It's getting warmer in here, don't you think?"

"It is getting warmer," Rina answered. "Do you want me to turn on the fan?"

"Oh, no," Margaret said quickly. "We'd only catch cold in the draft. I’ll just slip off my jacket."

She felt Rina's eyes on her small bosom and she picked up her glass quickly. "Do you mind?"

Rina shook her head. She lifted her glass and took another sip. "Do you hear music?"

Margaret nodded. "It's the orchestra from the ballroom. They're playing a waltz."

Rina got to her feet. She swayed in time to the music. "I love to dance," she said. She glided lightly around the room, the white gown flaring out as she turned, showing her long, tanned legs.

Margaret felt a weakness in the pit of her stomach as she got to her feet. "I love to dance, too," she said, making a mock bow. "May I have this dance, Miss Marlowe?"

Rina looked at her, smiling. "Just this one. All the others are taken, Miss Bradley."

Margaret shook a reproachful finger at Rina. "Mr. Bradley, if you please."

Rina laughed. "Of course. Just this one, Mr. Bradley."

Margaret put her arm around Rina's waist. They both laughed as the tiny blue sparks crackled from Rina's gown. Margaret felt her legs tremble as the warmth from Rina's breasts came through the gown. Holding the young girl firmly, she led her into the dance. They spun furiously in a circle as the music reached a crescendo, then abruptly halted.

Rina looked up into her face. Margaret smiled at her. "We'd better have some more champagne." She poured Rina a glass and picked up her own. "You're a very good dancer, Rina."

"Thank you. You lead better than any of the boys that ever came to the school dances. You do everything so well." Rina swayed slightly. "The dancing made me dizzy."

"Perhaps you'd better lie down on your bed for a moment."

Rina shook her head. "And break up our party?"

"Lie down for a minute. You won't break up the party. I'll come and sit on the bed."

"O.K.," Rina said. She walked over to the bed and put her glass on the night table, then stretched out on the white sheet.

Margaret sat down beside her. "Feel better?"

"The room is still spinning," Rina said.

Margaret bent over her and stroked her forehead lightly. "Close your eyes for a moment."

Obediently Rina closed her eyes. They were silent for a moment while Margaret continued to stroke her forehead. "That's better," Rina said softly. "The spinning has gone."

Margaret didn't answer, but kept stroking her head lightly. Rina opened her eyes and looked at her. Margaret reached for her glass. "A little more champagne?"

Rina nodded. She sipped and handed it back to Margaret, who smiled at her, then put the glass down.

"I'm glad we're going to Europe together," Rina said suddenly. "I've never really had a close girl friend before. The girls at school always seemed such ninnies to me. Always talking about boys."

"They're nothing but silly children, most of them," Margaret said. "That's why I liked you the moment you came into my room that night. I knew you were different, more mature."

"Ever since Laddie died, I couldn't stand boys," Rina said.

"Laddie?"

"My brother," Rina explained. "He and my father are the only two men that I ever really liked."

"He must have been very nice," Margaret said.

"He was." Rina turned her head away. "I think I was in love with him."

"That's nothing," Margaret said quickly. "All girls love their brothers."

"He really wasn't my brother, you know. I was adopted."

"How do you know you loved him?" Margaret asked, faint jealousy stirring within her.

"I know," Rina answered. "And I think he loved me, too."

"You do?" Margaret asked, the jealousy stronger. "Did he— did you?"

Rina looked away. "I never spoke to anyone about it before."

"You can talk to me," Margaret said. "I’m your friend. We have no secrets between us."

"You won't be angry with me?"

"I won't be angry with you," Margaret said almost sharply. "Tell me!"

Rina's voice was muffled by the pillow. "I wouldn't let him touch me because I was afraid of what would happen. Then one day, he came into my room and tied my hands to the bed with his belt and he did it to me. He hurt me so bad!"

"He couldn't have loved you so much if he hurt you."

"But he did!" Rina said wildly. "Don't you see, Peggy? I wanted him to. All the time I kept daring him and when he did, I knew I loved him. But he went out in the boat with Mother and they died." She began to sob. "It was my fault because I wanted him to. Can't you see that I was the one who was supposed to die, not Mother? She took my place in the dream. Now I don't even dream the dream any more."

"You'll dream your dreams again," Margaret said slowly, holding Rina's head against her bosom.

"No, I won't!"

"Yes, you will," Margaret said firmly. "Tell me about it and I’ll help you."

Rina stopped sobbing. "Do you think you could?" she asked, her eyes searching Margaret's face.

"Tell me and we'll see."

Rina took a deep breath. "I dreamed that I was dead and everybody was around my bed, crying. I could feel how much they loved me and wanted me because they kept begging me not to die. But I couldn't do anything about it. I was dead."

Margaret felt a cold shiver of excitement tremble through her. Slowly she got to her feet. "Close your eyes, Rina," she said quietly, "and we'll act out your dream. Whom do you want me to be?"

Rina looked up at her shyly. "Will you be Laddie?"

"I'll be Laddie," Margaret answered. "Now you close your eyes."

Margaret looked down at the girl. Suddenly her eyes began to fill with tears. A sudden fear began to tear through her. Rina was dead. Rina was really dead. "Rina!" she cried hoarsely. "Please don't die! Please!"

Rina did not move and Margaret fell to her knees beside the bed. "Please, Rina. I can't live without you." She leaned over the bed and covered Rina's face with kisses.

Rina opened her eyes suddenly, a small, proud smile on her face. "You're really crying," she said, her fingers touching Margaret's cheek. She closed her eyes again contentedly.

Slowly Margaret slipped the nightgown off. "You're beautiful," she whispered. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world. You're much too beautiful to die."

Rina looked up at her. "Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

Margaret nodded. She ripped off her pajama bottoms and let them fall to the floor. "All you have to do is look at me to see how beautiful you really are." She caught Rina's hand and pressed it to her breasts, then down across her stomach to her thighs. "Feel how flat I am, just like a man?"

Slowly she sank down onto the bed beside Rina, gently caressing her breasts, pressing her lips to the soft, cool cheeks.

"I feel so safe with you, so good," Rina whispered. "You're not like the other boys, I don't like them to touch me. I'm afraid of them. But I'm not afraid of you."

With a cry of agony, Margaret rolled, her knees forcing Rina's legs apart. "I love you, Rina! Please don't die!"

She pressed her mouth against Rina's. For a moment, she felt the fire of her tongue and then she heard Rina's voice whispering huskily. "Laddie, fuck me, fuck me! I love you, Laddie!"

RINA LOOKED DOWN AT HER WATCH. IT WAS HALF PAST two. "I really must be going," she said.

"To hurry after such a lunch?" Jacques Deschamps spread his hands. "It is sacrilege. You must have a liqueur before you go."

Rina smiled at the slim, graying avocat. "But— I— "

"You have been in Paris for more than a year," Jacques interrupted, "and you still have not learned that one does not hurry after a meal. Whatever it is, it will wait." He hissed at a passing waiter, "Psst!"

The waiter stopped and bowed respectfully, "Monsieur?"

Rina sank back into her chair. Jacques looked at her questioningly. "Pernod. Over ice."

He shuddered. "Over ice," he repeated to the waiter. "You heard mademoiselle."

The waiter looked at her quickly with that glance of appraisal that all Frenchmen seemed to share. "Over ice, monsieur," he said. "The usual for you?"

Jacques nodded and the waiter left. He turned back to Rina. "And how does the painting go?" he asked. "You are making progress?"

Rina laughed. "You know better than that. I'm afraid I'll never be a painter."

"But you are having fun?"

She turned and looked out at the street. The faint smell of May that came only to Paris was in the air. The truck drivers were already in their shirt sleeves and the women had long since begun to abandon their drab gray and black winter coats.

"You do not answer," he said.

She turned back to him as the waiter came with their drinks. "I'm having fun," she said, picking up her drink.

"You are not sure?" he persisted.

She smiled suddenly. "Of course I'm sure."

He lifted his glass. "À votre santé."

"À votre santé," she echoed.

He put his glass down. "And your friend?" he asked. "How is she?"

"Peggy's fine," Rina said automatically. She looked at him steadily. "Peggy is very good to me. I don't know what I'd do without her."

"How do you know?" he said quickly. "You have never tried. You could be many things. You are young, beautiful. You could marry, have children, you could even— "

"Be your mistress?" She smiled, interrupting.

He nodded and smiled. "Even be my mistress. That is not the worst thing that could happen. But you remember my terms."

She looked into his face. "You're a very kind man, Jacques," she said, remembering the afternoon she had first heard them.

She and Peggy had been in Paris a few months and had just found their apartment, after her father had given his permission for her to stay in Paris for a year. Peggy had taken her to a party given by a professor at the University, where she had just begun to work.

Rina felt very alone at the party. Her French was not good enough to let her mix easily and she had retreated to a corner. She was leafing through a magazine when she heard a voice. "Miss Américaine?"

She looked up. A slim, dark man with a touch of gray at his temples was standing there. He was smiling gently.

"Non parle fran— "

"I speak English," he said quickly.

She smiled.

"And what is a pretty girl like you doing all alone with a magazine?" he asked. "Who is fool enough to bring you to a party like this and then— " He gestured expressively.

"My friend brought me," Rina said, indicating Peggy. "She has just got a job at the University."

Peggy was talking animatedly with one of the professors. She looked very attractive in her slim, tailored suit. "Oh," he said, a strangely quizzical look on his face.

"And whom did you bring?"

"No one." He shrugged. "Actually. I came in the hopes of meeting you."

She glanced at his hands and saw that he wore a wedding ring, as so many Frenchmen did. "You don't expect me to believe that?" she said. "What would your wife say?"

He smiled and laughed with her. "My wife would be very understanding. She could not come with me. She is very, very pregnant." He held his arms out in an exaggerated circle in front of him.

She laughed again and just then, Peggy's voice came over her shoulder. "Having fun, darling?"

Some weeks later, she was alone in the apartment one afternoon when the telephone rang. It was Jacques and she met him for lunch. And several times after that.

Then one afternoon — it had been a day just like this one — they sat dawdling over their liqueurs. "Why are you so afraid of men?" he asked her suddenly.

She felt the red fire creep up into her throat and over her face. "What makes you say that?"

"I have the feeling," he said. "Inside. I know."

She looked down at her drink. She didn't speak.

"Your friend is not the answer," he said.

She looked up at him. "Peggy has nothing to do with it. She's a good friend, no more."

He smiled knowingly. "You are in France, remember? There is nothing wrong, we understand such things. But I do not understand you. You are not the usual kind who lives like that."

She could feel her face flaming now. "I don't think that's very nice of you."

He laughed. "It is not," he admitted frankly. "But I do not like to see you waste yourself."

"You'd like it better if I went to sleep with some clumsy fool who knows nothing and cares less about the way I feel?" she said angrily.

He shook his head. "No. I would not like that at all. I would like you to come to bed with me."

"What makes you think it would be any different with you?"

He looked into her eyes. "Because I am a man, not a boy. Because I would want to please you. Boys are like bulls; they think only of themselves. In this you are right. But because of this, do not think that it is only women who know how to make love. There are men also who are aware of the sensitivities."

"Like yourself?" she asked sarcastically.

"Like myself. Do you think I see you again and again only because I have a purely intellectual interest in you?"

She laughed suddenly. "At least you are honest."

"I am a great believer in the truth."

A few months later, on a rainy afternoon, she went to his apartment and it was just as he said. He was kind and gentle and she did not hurt at all. And all the while, she felt the power in her, the power to bring him to a point of ecstasy from which he would never return, a power that could never turn into terror for her because she could always control it or him.

She watched him buttoning his shirt in front of the mirror. "Jacques."

He turned. "What is it, my sweet?"

She held out her arms to him. "Come here, Jacques."

He came over to the bed. He bent swiftly and kissed her naked breast. "When you make love, my darling," he said, "your nipples are full like bursting purple plums. Now they are like little pink poppies."

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 625