She felt her heart pound as she met his eyes, wondering if that was all he meant, or if he meant more. “I … okay … sure …” She was afraid to turn him down again, for fear he wouldn't ask her again. It wasn't easy being young and in New York for the first time, even worse if you were a virgin and he was an older man of twenty-four. She followed him into his apartment, and dropped her bag of laundry near the door, glad that she had put her personal things near the bottom where they wouldn't fall out, and he couldn't see them now.

He made tuna sandwiches for them both, and cold lemonade, which she liked. And she was surprised at how relaxed she was, as they sat and talked and munched potato chips from the bag.

“Do you like New York?” She could feel his eyes bore into her and she had to concentrate on his words. There was something so intense happening between them, but oddly enough it didn't frighten her. She felt as though she were almost floating on a wave of his thoughts, and the air beneath them was soft and warm, and sensual. The air around them was deathly still, and there was a thunderstorm brewing that afternoon, but the only world that seemed to exist was in that room, between them.

“I like New York a lot.”

“Why?” His eyes dug deep into her soul, as though he were looking for someone, for something that she had brought with her, and she met his eyes now.

“I don't know yet. I'm just glad I'm here.”

“So am I.” His voice was soft and sensual, and she felt herself physically pulled toward him, unaware of his hands pulling her close, his hands reaching for her thighs, touching them, caressing her, kneading her flesh, and then suddenly she felt his lips on hers and his hands on her breasts, and desire exploding from beneath her legs as his fingers moved deftly there, and she was breathless as they lay back on his couch, and then suddenly she was begging him to stop. He seemed surprised, and sat up, looking down at her where she lay.

“Don't, please …” He had never raped anyone before, and he had no intention of starting now. He looked almost hurt, and didn't understand what was happening, as tears sprang to her eyes. “I don't … I've never …” And yet she wanted him, and suddenly he understood and he held her close to him, and she could feel his warmth and smell the sweetness of his flesh, it had the smell of lemon spice and she wasn't sure if it was soap or eau de cologne, but she liked the smell, and she knew she liked him, and he was looking down at her gently now, having understood everything, but it only made him want her more.

“I didn't realize …” He leaned away from her and gave her room to breathe and think. He didn't want to overpower her. Not now, not the first time. “Would you rather wait?” She was embarrassed for her honesty but slowly she shook her head. She didn't want to wait at all, and a moment later, he was carrying her to his bed, as though she were a little rag doll, and he lay her gently down, and peeled away the few clothes she wore, her shorts, the sleeveless shirt, the underpants, the bra. She felt like a little girl beneath his hands, and he slid into bed next to her, turning away after he shed his clothes, so he wouldn't frighten her. He thought of everything, and he touched her everywhere, and she lay in bed with him in ecstasy as the thunder and lightning came, and she was never quite sure if the storm were real or part of what he made her feel. But when they were spent, he lay next to her and the rain beat on the windowpane, and she smiled at him. There was blood on his sheets but he didn't seem to care, he said her name again and again, and touched her face with his hands, and her body with his lips and then he parted her legs again and let his tongue play with her until she screamed, and then he entered her again, and this time the storm was not in the sky, but only in her head as she shouted his name in ecstasy, and she felt herself drift away in his powerful arms.





CHAPTER 30




“Action!” The director screamed for the eleventh time, and Valerie had to dash across the set again with red paint streaming from her ears and down her cheeks, and from her nose. And each time she had to wash it off, in order to start again. It was the most tedious thing she had ever done, except that after this she would be a big star … she just knew it … someone would discover her … and she would end up playing a role with Richard Burton, or Gregory Peck, or Robert Redford … even Dustin Hoffman wouldn't be bad…. The director shouted “Action” for the nineteenth time and she did it again. The paint kept running into her hair and he was yelling at the makeup man that it was the wrong consistency. And when he yelled “Cut” again, Faye tiptoed off the set. Valerie had never known she was there, and Faye was embarrassed for her. It was a pathetic little role, as she told Ward that afternoon. In fact, it was worse than that, it was embarrassing.

“I wish she'd do something decent with herself like go to school.”

“Maybe she'll make something of herself, Faye. You did.”

“That was almost thirty years ago for God's sake. Times have changed. She can't even act.”

“How can you tell in a role like that?” He was trying to be fair, and he thought Faye was being unduly harsh.

“Let's put it this way, she doesn't even walk across a stage well.”

“Would you, with paint pellets shoved up your nose, and into your ears? Personally, I think she's a hell of a good sport.”

“I think she's a damn fool.”

But she got another role like the first, as soon as she completed that, and she was thrilled although Faye was worried about it. She tried to ask her tactfully if she was happy doing films like that, but Valerie took it as a slur and there had been pure hatred in Val's eyes when she had answered her.

“You started with soap flakes and cereal, I'm starting with blood, but basically it's the same. And one day, if I want to, I can be right where you are.” It was an ambitious goal, and as he watched the two women spar, Ward was sorry for Val. She so desperately wanted to compete with Faye that she forgot to be herself sometimes. Unlike Anne, who seemed to have come into her own finally, in the last few months. She seemed quieter, more mature, and she seemed to love her new school. She had a new friend, whom she spent time with constantly, a child whose mother had died a few years before apparently, and the two girls went everywhere as a team. The father doted on his child, and seemed willing to chauffeur them everywhere, take them to every possible kind of show and game, drop them off, pick them up. It was a blessing for Ward and Faye. Since the last Academy Award, they had had no free time at all. They were grateful to Bill Stein for taking such good care of Anne. Ward knew vaguely who he was, their paths had crossed once or twice, but in a strictly friendly way. He seemed like a nice man, and if he spoiled his child, it was understandable, she was the only one he had, and he had no wife. He had no one else to spoil, except now Anne, and of course Gail.

He was always giving Anne nice things, a sweater when he bought one for Gail, a little red Gucci bag, a yellow umbrella from Giorgio's on a day when it was pouring rain, and he wanted nothing in return from her. He just had a sense of how lonely she was, and how little time Faye and Ward spent with her. It made him happy to do little things for her, just as he did for Gail.

“You're always so nice to me, Bill.” He let her call him that, in fact he wanted her to, he had said so several times, and she finally did, still feeling a little shy with him.

“Why shouldn't I be? You're a nice person, Anne. We enjoy your company.”

“I love you both too.” The words had poured out of her starved little soul, and his heart went out to her at times. He suspected that there was a sorrow there that no one knew, and he didn't know what it was, but it never left her eyes, no matter how much love you lavished on her. He knew she had run away to the Haight almost two years before, and he wondered if it was something that had happened there. He asked Gail about it once, but she didn't seem to know.

“She never talks about it, Dad. I don't know … I don't think her parents are real nice to her.”

“I suspected that too.” He had always been honest with Gail.

“It's not that they're mean to her or anything. They're just never there. No one is. Her brothers and sisters are all grown up and gone, and she's always alone there with the maid.” Most nights she even ate dinner alone, and she was used to it by now.

“Well, she doesn't have to be anymore.” The Steins took her under their wing, and Anne basked in the warmth of the love they gave. She was like a little flower in full bloom, and Bill loved to watch her play with Gail. They did homework together sometimes, or just sat and talked, and sometimes they dove into the pool, and giggled for hours at some private joke. He loved to buy them both pretty things, and make them smile. Life was short, he had learned that when his wife died, and he was thinking of her one day, as he sat by the pool with Anne. It was a warm autumn day, and Gail had just gone inside to get them something to eat.

“You look so serious sometimes, Anne.” She was comfortable with him now, and she didn't look frightened at what he said, although she had sometimes at first, although she was afraid he would ask her something she didn't want to tell anyone. “What do you think about then?”

“Different things …” My brother's friend who died … the baby I gave up … already at fifteen, there were ghosts that haunted her, but she didn't tell him any of that.

“Your days in the Haight?” He had wondered about that and she didn't run away from him. Her eyes met his, and he saw something there that broke his heart. There was a pain in her which no one could reach, and he hoped he would one day. She was like another daughter to him, and he was surprised at how much she had come to mean to them in a few months. They were deeply attached to her, and she to them. Other than Lionel and John, they were the first people who had ever taken care of her, or given a damn, or so she thought.