69 Barrow Street (8 page)

A perversion, he decided, was only something that everybody wanted to do in secret but that very few people ever got around to doing. Almost any individual you could select had within him the basic desire to commit almost any act you could conceive of. If the average spinster schoolteacher got rid of her inhibitions for an hour of two she would be no better and no worse than a twisted, vicious woman like Stella.

But there had to be a difference. He thought suddenly of Susan Rivers, the girl he had met just yesterday. Was it only a day ago that he and Susan had met for breakfast? It seemed impossible. So much had happened since then, so much…

Stella had told him that the girl was a lesbian, and it was probably the truth. Stella had a second sense about things like that; she seldom made a mistake.

So Susan was probably a lesbian.

And that, of course, was a perversion.

But there was a difference between Susan and Stella. Christ, there had to be. There had to be some way of distinguishing between a deviation from the sexual norm and cruel, vicious decadence. Common human decency and kindness had to count for something. Anything a person did was all right, but when a person did things that hurt other people it stopped being permissible.

That had to be it.

He stood very still, his hands at his side and his mind working double-time. In the bedroom Stella was still asleep; he could hear her slow, rhythmic breathing. Outside on Barrow Street there were more people walking around than usual, but the street was still very quiet.

Ralph was thinking.

He couldn’t let himself go to seed, not completely, not yet. There was still a chance that he could find a normal life for himself and he had to follow that chance up. He had to go to Susan, to paint her picture, to use his paints and brushes as the tools to dig his way back to a decent sort of an existence.

He still had a chance.

Hell, it wasn’t much of a chance. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to paint worth a damn any more. Maybe whatever talent he once possessed was gone now and he wouldn’t be able to draw a straight line with a ruler. But as long as there was a chance he had to take it. As long as there was a single course open that might lead him out of the pitfall of perversion, that was the course he had to follow.

He walked to the closet and opened the door. On the top shelf with the painting of Stella was a small flat wooden box that contained his brushes and his tubes of paint. Next to the box was his palette, and beside it was a fresh canvas. He took them all down and laid them out on the couch.

His easel was standing on the floor of the closet behind several of Stella’s coats. He took it out and shut the closet door again.

It was hard to carry all his paraphernalia at once but he managed. He loaded himself up and opened the apartment door. Then, not bothering to close the door, he walked to the staircase and began to mount the steps to the fourth floor.

Ralph didn’t shut the door to his apartment.

Now normally he did shut the door. On this occasion, however, he was too encumbered with painting equipment to do so without putting all his things down and then picking them up again. This seemed a lot of trouble to go through just to shut a door, especially since Stella was home and since there was nothing much worth stealing in the apartment anyway and since it was mid-afternoon and a rather ridiculous time for a burglary. Perhaps a psychiatrist might argue that Ralph left the door ajar unconsciously because he was hoping that someone would come in and kill Stella in her sleep.

But this we may leave for the psychiatrists to puzzle out among themselves. What is important is the fact that Ralph left the door open.

This made it possible for Maria Raines to walk into the apartment while Stella slept.

Maria was a mess. Her beautiful black hair was tangled and snarled; her clothes looked as though they had been slept in. In a manner of speaking, this was not far from the truth. What sleep Maria had had, she had in her clothes.

Larry and Sally had gone home together. They didn’t even tell Maria they were leaving and when she looked around for Larry he had already gone. She had to walk all the way home to their apartment by herself. When she arrived there Larry told her she couldn’t live with him anymore.

The rest of what had happened was a large blur in her mind. She wandered all over the Village, her head in a whirl and tears pouring periodically from her eyes and running down her cheeks. She was very tired but there was no one for her to go to, no place for her to sleep. She didn’t even have enough money for a room at a cheap hotel.

Finally she managed to find her way onto the subway and collapse into a seat. She couldn’t really sleep, but every once in a while her mind would wander and her eyes would close for five or ten or fifteen minutes. It wasn’t very satisfactory but it was better than no sleep at all.

After a time she tired of the subway. She got off in the Village and wandered some more. After a good bit of walking she ran into a man with whom she had spent the night once and talked him into buying her some breakfast.

The food stuck in her throat. She couldn’t eat at all at first, but she knew it was important for her to eat something and she managed to bolt the food down and keep it down.

When her feet led her to 69 Barrow Street she hesitated outside in the vestibule. She didn’t want to ring Stella’s bell. She waited instead until somebody else left the building and caught the door before it slammed shut. Then, once inside, she was relieved to find Stella’s door ajar.

She entered the apartment. The sight of it sent her head reeling as she remembered what a bad girl she had been the night before. She was always such a bad little girl, such a horrid child. That was why Larry had thrown her out, and that was why nobody ever loved her, not even her own mother. Why, she must have been bad all her life. Why else would her mother hate her so much?

She paused at the door of Stella’s bedroom. She knew how bad it was to walk into someone’s bedroom without knocking. Why, she could remember so very clearly the time she was a very little girl and she walked into her mother’s bedroom without knocking and her mother was with her father and they were…

Well, at the time she hadn’t the slightest idea what they were doing. But she was being very bad and her mother punished her for that. She could remember it all very clearly, every bit of it.

But what if she knocked and Stella was sleeping? Then Stella would be very angry with her, and she didn’t want that to happen.

She compromised with herself by knocking three times, very gently so as not to disturb Stella if she was asleep. There was no answer, so she turned the doorknob carefully and pushed the door open and walked in.

Stella was asleep.

Maria looked down at her, looked at her superb naked body and her full rich mouth. She remembered the first time, with all the men taking her and then with Stella holding her and petting her like a little puppy dog and telling her that everything would be all right.

She loved Stella.

And at the same time she hated Stella.

It was all very confusing.

Moments after Ralph knocked, the door opened and Susan motioned for him to come into the room. He followed her inside and glanced around her apartment, mentally contrasting the quiet nearness of it with the filth and disorder of the apartment he had just left. The furniture in Susan’s apartment was all freshly dusted and nothing was out of place.

As an artist, Ralph naturally was convinced that an apartment, like clothing and grooming, reflected a certain facet of a person’s personality. The impression he got walking into Susan’s living room tended to reinforce this opinion.

So did Susan.

She had obviously been up for only a short while. Her breakfast dishes were still on the table in the kitchenette and the coffee cup was only half empty. But she was already wide awake, neatly dressed and perfectly self-possessed. Her eyes were shining and her hair was combed.

“I’m glad to see you,” she said, helping him set up his easel and unload the rest of his equipment.

“For a while I thought you weren’t coming,” she continued. “You had me worried.”

“I was up late last night. Just got up.”

“Well, I’m glad you came. You know, I’ve been pretty excited since yesterday.”

“About what?”

“About getting my picture done.”

“Oh, it’s hardly anything to get excited about.”

She sat down at the dinner table and he took a seat across from her. “I think it might be,” she said. “You’ve got to remember that this is something completely new to me. I’ll probably do everything all wrong.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Will you let me know when I goof?”

“I’ll probably yell at you.”

“I wish you would,” she said, grinning. “I can take it, and I want to know what I’m doing wrong.”

She finished her coffee and carried her dishes to the sink. Automatically he joined her and picked up a dish towel, drying the dishes as she washed them.

“Let’s get started,” she said as soon as the dishes were all put away in the cabinet. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Fine.”

“How do you want me to pose?”

“First you better pick out some clothes that you like. This may take a lot of sittings and it’s easy to get tired of putting on the same clothing all the time.”

She thought for a minute. “Would you rather I posed nude?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Tell me,” she persisted.

“Well,” he said, “I’d rather do you nude. Otherwise the clothes sort of get in the way. The artist spends as much time getting the folds right in a skirt as he does on the person he’s painting. It’s a pain in the neck.

“Besides,” he added, “I’ve always been able to get more of the subject across with nudes. But it’s entirely up to you, Susan.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” she said. “And it might be fun, in a way.”

She disappeared into the bedroom. When she returned a few moments later he had to catch his breath. She was stark naked—and she was far and away the most attractive woman he had ever seen in his life.

It took him a moment to realize that he was staring at her, and as soon as he realized it he flushed. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

She didn’t say anything.

“You’re almost unbelievably beautiful,” he said. “I couldn’t help myself. It’ll be a pleasure to paint you.”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly he was all business. He moved the easy chair about twelve feet from the window and set up the easel midway between chair and window. He raised the shade all the way and flung the window open.

“Good light,” he said.

“Do you want me to sit in the chair?”

He nodded. “For one thing, I don’t want to give you a difficult pose. It’s hard enough to remain in a comfortable position for a long stretch and there’s no sense looking for trouble.”

“What’s the other thing?”

He looked at her.

“You said for one thing. What’s the other?”

“Oh.” He walked to the chair and showed her how to sit in it, facing the easel head-on with both feet on the floor and her legs spread slightly. He had her fold her hands and rest them over her groin.

“This is the other thing,” he explained. “This pose should be perfect for you.”

“How do you mean?”

“A pose is very important, Susan. It has a lot to do with the effect that the artist is trying to capture. Keep your back straight—that’s right. You see, whatever the painter is trying to get across in a portrait, that effect is either enhanced or destroyed by the way he poses his subject.”

“What effect are you trying to put across?”

He hesitated. “It’s an emotional thing, of course. It’s hard to translate it into a word.”

“Can you give me some idea?”

“Well—innocence.”

She smiled. “Really?”

He nodded.

“Is that how I impress you?”

“Yes,” he said. “Sort of an inner innocence, if you know what I mean. As if nothing has ever really touched you. A knowing innocence, but an innocence nevertheless.”

“Wow,” she said. “I feel as though I’ve taken off my skin as well as my clothes.”

He grinned. “That’s perfect,” he said. “Hold that pose. And don’t smile like that—I don’t want to make you look
too
knowing.”

Maria walked to Stella’s side. Hesitantly she reached out with one hand and touched Stella on the shoulder. Then she jerked her hand away, fearing that she had done something wrong.

Stella woke up at once.

For a moment she stared at Maria without recognizing her. Then she smiled.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

Maria nodded.

“What are you doing here?”

“Larry threw me out,” she said. “I was a bad girl and he threw me out.”

“What did you do that was so bad?”

“I don’t know.”

Stella considered. “Well, where are you going to live now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have any money?”

The girl shook her head.

“How about your family?”

“They would never let me come home,” Maria stated solemnly. “I’m a bad girl. My mother would never let me come home.”

“I see.”

“And I don’t have any place to go.”

Stella closed her eyes for a second, thinking. “There’s a vacant room in this building,” she said. “It’s just a room with no place to cook, just a single room. Would you like to live in it?”

“I would like that,” Maria said.

“It’s not very big.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“And you’ll have to do whatever I tell you to do,” Stella went on. “I’ll be paying your rent and buying your meals, so you’ll have to obey me all the time.”

Maria nodded.

“Will you do that?”

Maria nodded again.

“You’ll have to try to be a good girl.”

“I’ll try.”

“And when you’re bad I’ll punish you.”

“I’m very bad,” Maria said. “All the time I’m bad. I’m a bad little girl.”

“If you’re bad I’ll punish you.”

“That’s what my mother said,” Maria said dreamily. “She always punished me when I was bad.”

“How?”