Unashamed, The Read online

  THE UNASHAMED

  BY

  March Hastings

  The Unashamed

  By March Hastings

  First published in 1960.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce and redistribute this ebook or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. No part of this ebook may be copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the expressed written permission of the publisher.

  For information, contact: Digital Vintage Pulps

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  San Francisco, CA 94127 USA.

  Visit us on the World Wide Web: www.vintage-pulp-ebooks.com www.shewinked.com

  ISBN: 978-1-936456-36-9

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  She stretched one side of her body, then the other, slowly, careful not to disturb the big yellow cat curled asleep between her knees. As she moved, the soggy sheets clung to her nakedness and wrinkled under her back. Her head throbbed from the heat and the roar of the air conditioner in the living room. The whole world stank of sweat.

  Outside, the growing light and quickening throb of traffic noises along upper Broadway reminded Carolyn it was almost five. In a few minutes it would be time to get up, time to dress, time to rush for the train. When she took the laboratory job in Stamford five months ago, the money it paid seemed worth the daily trip from Manhattan. But every day it became more difficult to get up on time. She had been late twice this week. When she was late, it meant taking a taxi from the Stamford station to the lab. And no lunch. No lunch meant dropping delicate lab equipment and owing breakage fees. Debts meant worry and worry meant no sleep. And no sleep—

  She watched her life spin across her brain in an endless succession of equations that all added up to zero. Except for Angie.

  She turned on the pillow to smile at the girl sleeping beside her. She always smiled when she looked at Angie asleep with her blonde hair crimped into pin curls and goo smeared all over her face. Carolyn had never pinned a curl in her life. She wore her dark hair cut short and combed into sort of a wave on top. She wasn't masculine, she simply preferred to look natural. Angie called her gauche. Yet it delighted Carolyn that Angie primped and powdered and she liked the softness of her and the way her perfume smelled.

  The cat yawned and roiled over. Stretching, it dug its claws into Carolyn's thigh.

  "Hey!" Carolyn yelped. She swatted gently at the animal and missed.

  The cat, Bridgit by name and paranoid by nature, sprang away from Carolyn's hand and crawled up to snuggle its head between Angie's breasts. Angie sighed and stirred in her sleep.

  Carolyn sat up and grabbed Bridgit by the scruff. The cat's claws came out, dug into Angie's flesh, and hung on tight. Its face contorted, showing two curved teeth.

  "Get that damned thing off me!" Angie squealed.

  Frightened by her yell, the cat bolted from the bed and leaped to hide in the closet.

  "My God!" Angie moaned. She turned to look at Carolyn. "What time is it?"

  "Almost five. I have to get up."

  Angie snorted and slid back under the sheet. "Well, I don't," she said. "Not for hours. And if that cat wakes me again—"

  Carolyn leaned forward over the girl and pecked her quickly on the forehead. "She won't," she said. "It was my fault."

  Angie grunted her disbelief and turned away from Carolyn.

  Even her back was beautiful. With a fingertip, Carolyn traced the wing-shaped spray of freckles across the girl's shoulder blades.

  Angie emitted a long, annoyed sigh.

  "I love you," Carolyn said.

  "I love you too," Angie said. "But not at five in the morning."

  Carolyn laughed. "All you ever want to do is sleep," she said. "Go ahead. I’ll get back to you later."

  She put her legs over the side of the bed and found her slippers. Then, still naked, she shuffled out to the bathroom.

  "You can take that lousy cat with you," Angie called after her.

  Obediently, Carolyn turned back to the bedroom door and summoned the cat with little sucking sounds that she knew grated on Angie's nerves, but soothed Bridgit.

  "My God!" Angie screamed. "Will you please get out and let me sleep."

  "But you said—"

  "I don't care what I said. Get out." She sat up with a pillow raised over her head. Without bothering to aim, she threw it hard. It landed just inside the closet door. "Get out!"

  Bridgit and Carolyn fled.

  While water ran in the tub, Carolyn went into the kitchen, fixed a pot of tea, jotted a note on the wall pad to buy sugar. She filled Angie's special Chinese dragon cup and set it on the wooden tray. Then she went to her purse and took out the square pasteboard box that held the earrings.

  She had seen the earrings two weeks ago in the window of an antique shop in the Village. They were dangly things with pale blue stones and lots of filigree that she would never have picked for herself. An extravagance she couldn't afford and a bargain she couldn't resist. But Angie would love them. And besides, today was special.

  She put the box on the tray with the teacup and a pretty little card that said Happy Anniversary in six languages, including English. Then she carried the tray in and set it on the table by the head of the bed.

  She smiled down fondly at Angie's sleepy face and touched her shoulder. "Tea's ready," she said. She did not wait for the girl to respond, but went back to the john and shut the door.

  She lay back in the cool water, inhaled deeply and watched the way her breasts rose with the droplets glistening on them. She couldn't stand her breasts. They were the kind men whistle at and women abhor owning, pendulous and full, and just too damn heavy to carry around. She had permanent grooves in her shoulders from bra straps. And they were very sensitive. That was the worst part. Even the bath water against them sent shivers along her spine and when Angie touched them, she went wild. Which was fine when they were at home alone. But sometimes the madness hit her just looking at Angie, no matter who else was around, and then Carolyn would dig her nails into her palms and begin to shake. And the damned tips would spring to life, hard and erect, pushing against her bra and hurting till all of her ached.

  Even as she thought it, Carolyn felt a tremor of desire shiver through her. She was sorry that Angie had stopped her before, when she had wanted to take the girl in her arms. Yet it wasn't unusual. Angie often did. Especially in the morning.

  It had always seemed strange to Carolyn, the way Angie liked to make love by appointment once a week. Only as a special treat did she break her rule. Carolyn had learned to live with for Angie's sake. Still, there were times when she would look at Angie and, wanting her, know she dare not touch. And then the frustration would choke up inside her till she could scarcely breathe. Until the next time when Angie would creep over to her at night in bed and start to caress her.

  She scooped her hands through the water and rinsed the soap from her shoulders and back, wondering if Angie would wake up in time. Surely today Angie would make an exception.

  Carolyn had finished bathing and was standing in front of the mirror brushing her teeth when Angie opened the door and came in. She had taken down the pin curls and brushed out her hair. Most of the grease had been wiped off her face but her nose was still shiny. She had put on the earrings and a pink negligee.

  Carolyn pretended not to notice. Very deliberately, she took a mouthful of water and rinsed.

  Angie stepped up close behind her. "I'm sorry I yelled at you,"
she said.

  Carolyn studied the girl's reflection in the glass. "Why should you be?" she said. "You do every morning."

  Angie wrinkled her nose. "Well, today I'm sorry." She patted her hair and turned her head to bring an ear into full view. She touched the earring with a fingertip. "It's nice, isn't it?" She didn't wait for an answer. She rarely did. "I didn't get you anything because you said we couldn't afford it. I thought you meant it. But, if I had known you intended to get me something, I would have anyway. Even if you are the boss about money and I'm supposed to listen to you." She paused to grab a breath of air.

  Carolyn shook her head slowly at Angie's reflection and turned around to face the girl. She saw that Angie was close to tears, her lower lip trembling. She stepped close and cupped Angie's chin in her hands. "Honey," she said, "I didn't mean to upset you. Really. I thought you'd like the earrings."

  "I do, Carol. Really. I love them," Angie insisted. "It's just that I feel that I should have done something for you and I didn't and—"

  "But that doesn't matter, darling. There's no reason for you to feel guilty. I'm the one who was wrong, if anyone was." She kissed the tip of Angie's nose and brought her hands to rest on her shoulders. She stood back and tilted her head to study the shiny baubles. She nodded. "I don't feel guilty. They're beautiful on you." Angie lowered her head demurely and smiled. Carolyn turned her around and gave her a push on the behind. "Now get out of here,"

  she said. "I have to get dressed."

  She put on panties and a bra and followed Angie back to the bedroom.

  Bridgit sat squarely in the center of the bed, meticulously washing her face and serenely ignoring Angie's murderous glare.

  "Will you just look at that!" Angie gestured helplessly at the cat and sank down on the edge of the bed. "Sometimes I hate her. She knows I don't have to get up for another hour."

  "But you're up now," Carolyn said simply. She lifted the cat and set it gently on the floor.

  Suddenly Angie leaned forward and grabbed her around the waist. She pressed her face against Carolyn's hip and held her close.

  "Baby, what is it?" Carolyn tried to move away, but the girl held her.

  "Carol, I love you," Angie whispered. "I love you." She was crying.

  "Well, I hope so. I'd be in a bad way if you didn't. You know that."

  "But, Carol, you don't understand." She blinked and peered up at Carolyn. Her eyes were red, her face streaked with tears.

  Carolyn glanced at her watch, saw that she was already late, and sighed. "Then tell me," she said, "and I will."

  Carefully, she loosened Angie's hands from around her waist and sat down on the bed beside her. She watched Angie and waited for her to calm down.

  When she had finally exhausted herself, Angie took a tissue from Carolyn and blew her nose. Then she smiled with that special glow that was all her own. Carolyn felt herself responding and knew she was going to be very late for work.

  Angie leaned forward into Carolyn's arms. "It doesn't matter," she said.

  "It does to me."

  Angie snuggled against her. "Then promise you won't leave me."

  "Leave you," Carolyn exploded. "Girl, what's the matter with you? I’ll never leave you, Angie, you know that. I'm crazy about you."

  Angie moved her hands along Carolyn's ribs and cupped the heavy breasts in her palms. Then she bent to caress them with her lips. She reached behind Carolyn's back to unhook the bra.

  Carolyn grabbed Angie's arms and held them. "Tell me first," she said.

  "Oh, it really wasn't anything," Angie said. "I was just… thinking about Walter. You see him and talk about him a lot.

  I thought you might want to… marry him someday."

  Carolyn hugged her impulsively and laughed. "Honey, I've known Walter for ten years and it has never occurred to me once in all that time that I might want to marry him. Why should you think so?"

  "You were out with him till midnight last night," Angie said quietly.

  "That doesn't mean anything. We went to the theater and stopped for coffee after." Carolyn shook her head.

  "Besides, I'm married to you."

  "Oh, you know what I mean," Angie said impatiently. "Real marriage. With babies."

  Carolyn let Angie's retort pass without comment. But she felt the sharp pain of it like a kick in the ribs. She had never stopped to consider that Angie might regard their relationship as something like playing house. To her, it was the real thing.

  When she was breathing again, she patted Angie's hand and tried to speak lightly. "Well, I don't buy Walter earrings," she said.

  Angie looked startled, then she threw back her head and laughed. The idea obviously pleased her. "I wish you would," she said finally. She thought about it again and giggled.

  Carolyn had always loved the way Angie giggled, the way her nose quivered and the freckles danced on her cheeks.

  It made her feel all funny inside, like she was going to be sick, only not quite like that. And this time it made her want to be masterful with the girl, strong and aggressive.

  She put her hands on Angie's forearms and gently pushed her down on the bed. She leaned above her and brought her mouth down to the girl's and kissed her. Angie's fingers twisted in her hair and she felt a sudden shuddering twinge go through her as Angie nipped her shoulder.

  Carolyn forgot to be gentle then. She grabbed Angie to her roughly and bruised the girl's delicate flesh with her mouth.

  Angie moaned and whispered, "Hurt me."

  She did not know what demon goaded her on. She was drenched with perspiration and so was Angie. Yet there seemed no end to the girl's need and no end to her own desire. If she had stopped to think, she would not have abandoned herself to the wild passion inside her. But she was beyond thought, almost beyond reason. It was not love making as they had known it before. It was sex, it was rape, it was a sweet torture to them both.

  At the moment, it was perfect. And when the moment was gone, they were sad.

  She held Angie close in her arms and buried her face against the girl's shoulder. For some reason, she felt an insane desire to weep.

  After awhile Angie stirred and moved away from her to the other side of the bed. She turned her back and put one arm across her face. "You'd better go," she said. Her voice was dry and hard.

  Carolyn got up immediately and began to dress. She did not bother with breakfast. Her stomach was churning, her nerves on edge.

  Before she left, she went back to the bedroom and for a moment stood looking down at Angie, who had already gone back to sleep.

  Even in sleep, Angie was fretful. She would have a headache when she woke up.

  And would blame her for everything that had happened. She knew now that Angie had completely forgotten their anniversary and had thrown her little tantrum to cover up. And she realized that Angie had offered herself in place of a gift. It was the first time in months that they had really enjoyed each other, had really been free with each other.

  And Angie would hate her for that. For to Angie, sex was dirty, a destroyer of friendship and love.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was already after seven o'clock. Angie was nearly an hour late. The rice was cold and the chow mein mushy.

  It was not like Angie to be late without calling. She was usually very good about such things. For the twentieth time Carolyn glanced at her watch. She sighed and moved the pot off the burner, went back into the livingroom and tried not to listen for the phone.

  With a Kleenex she wiped out ashtrays, skimmed a layer of soot off the window sill. She put a candy dish back where she'd moved it from a few minutes before. Then she went to the table and touched her fingertips to the half dozen red roses she'd brought for Angie.

  Six red roses. One for each month.

  She felt her throat tighten in a spasm of sentimentality. Ordinarily she would have considered the sensation a sign of weakness. A thirty-year-old woman should surely know better, even if she were in love for the first time. Caro
lyn was aware that she had lost all sense of perspective where Angie was concerned. But tonight she did not care.

  She turned her back on the roses and stood for a moment contemplating her domain. Before she met Angela Simpers, that wonderful day in the Museum of Modern Art, Carolyn had lived in a dark and bug-infested apartment with second-hand furniture and a leaky john and she had called herself an old maid at twenty-nine. Then Angie had whispered, "I love you," and Carolyn had bloomed. She was a career girl now, with a new job and an expensive three-room apartment and a tiny Renault to run around in. And she was proud. The ceramic lamps and the couch and the sailcloth sling chairs were not the best. But they were hers and they were paid for. And she was proud of the home she had made for the girl she loved.

  Yet she realized that all she had done was not enough. It was never enough.

  Carolyn stared glumly at the stack of rock-and-roll records, the piles of paperback novels, the shoddy yellow curtains blaring out the discontent and lack of harmony that raged through Angie.

  And the roses, those foolish red roses. What good could they possibly do?

  The phone rang shrilly in the bedroom and Carolyn listened to it for several minutes without even realizing what it was. She was looking at the flowers again, feeling wretched, wondering if Angie could ever forget what had happened between them that morning.

  The phone had stopped ringing by the time she reached it, yet she picked up the receiver and pressed it to her ear.

  For a long while she listened to the steady hum of the dial tone.

  She put the receiver back gently and sat slumped on the edge of the bed with Bridgit's head on her knee. It wasn't that Angie didn't love her. She honestly believed that Angie did. It was just that the girl had suffered so when she was a child. She had been in London during the blitz, after all. Her parents were still there. And she was so young, only twenty-three, and alone and homesick. Well, nearly alone, anyway. And—

  Carolyn ran quickly through the list of rationalizations she always applied to Angie and knew, as she always knew, that she did not really understand. Not that it made any difference. She belonged to Angie completely and believed she always would.