It Stings So Sweet (15 page)

That catches me by surprise. The idea that Leo would worry about anything,
much less how I judged him. He’s always exuded a strong confidence in his sexual desires. I’ve
been embarrassed by the things I want to do for him; is it possible he feels vulnerable because
he wants me to do them? The idea of hurting him is so awful that I tell the truth. “I’m sorry. I never
did that under the boardwalk. I did plenty of other things but not that.”

“Why did you want
me to think that you did?”

“I don’t know,” I say, but that isn’t true.

He’s getting into
me too deep. He’s seeing more of me than I ever let anyone see.

“Is it a fantasy?”

“No.”

“Then you’re looking for the escape hatch,” he says, his stare unblinking. “But you can’t shake
me, Clara. I have you in my sights. Go on. Try to shock me. Tell me the
worst
thing you’ve ever
done—something that doesn’t involve another person walking away supremely satisfied.”

He makes
me feel so foolish all of a sudden, that I can’t do anything but bite my lower lip.

“Did you
cheat on your tests at school?”

“No.”

“Did you lie to anyone?”

A blush creeps onto
my cheeks. “Whenever the truth seemed too dull.”

He chuckles. “Did you steal anything?”

My cheeks get hotter and he seems to know that he’s hit upon something that genuinely shames me.

“What did you steal, Clara?”

“Other women’s husbands . . . well, I’ve just borrowed them,
really.” I try to make light of it because it pains me. I’ve always steered clear of married men.
The few I
have
taken to bed were special cases like Teddy Morgan, whose wife isn’t lucid enough
to care what he does. But the thought that I might have hurt some poor woman haunts me.

Leo
knows it’s not something to joke about. “Do you think you’ll do it again?”

“No,” I reply, suddenly
sure of it. “No, I won’t ever.”

“What else have you stolen, other than hearts?”

I squirm
in discomfort at the memory. “When I was ten years old, I pinched a sparkly silver hatpin from a
shop. I thought I could pawn it for bread money, but then I couldn’t part with it. It was too pretty
and shiny.”

“What a little magpie you are,” he says, dragging me over his knees and giving
me a slap on the rump. He has me half turned in his lap so that he can see my face, but my bottom is
still in easy reach of his warm palm, which he slowly rubs in a circle. And now I’m squirming with
more than just discomfort. “What else did you steal, Clara?”

“Cotton candy. My mother called
it ‘fairy floss.’ We couldn’t afford it, of course. When she took me to Coney Island she only had
enough for hot dogs. But when I saw that sweet spun sugar displayed in a rainbow of colors, it seemed
like magic. Then the devil got into me. I grabbed a pink one as big as my head and ran!”

Leo
throws his head back and roars with laughter. “Did you get away?”

“I did. I ran like the wind,
stopping only to shove little sticky bits into my mouth. It was so sweet it made my teeth hurt,
and I loved it. I still love it. I could eat it until it makes me sick.”

“Bad girl,” he says,
giving me a harder spank. As the sting of it spreads across my bottom, we both stop laughing. I look
up at him, and he looks down at me, and something magnetic passes between us. I wonder if he’s going
to bend his head and press his mouth to mine. Instead, he says, “I’d have liked to see you then
 . . .”

“No you wouldn’t. I was skinny as a rail. Built like a boy. Nobody wanted to kiss me.”

“I don’t believe that for one second.”

“Well, when they tried, I had a mean right hook
and I licked ’em good every chance I got. When they came after me, they couldn’t catch me. I ran track
in school and even won a shiny trophy or two.”

“Then I shouldn’t feel too badly that you almost
beat me racing up this hill.”

“I
did
beat you, Ace. Least, I woulda beat you if you didn’t
cheat and tackle me.”

He flashes me a pearly white smile. “Was that against the rules? You
need to remember what you said before. I don’t follow anybody’s rules but my own . . . which makes me
the perfect partner for you.”

Though the grass feels wonderful on my feet, I sit up to look
for my shoes because he sounds like he’s working up to a conversation I don’t want to have. “Who says
I need a partner?”

“You need one for the movies you want to produce, don’t you? Unless you
plan to finance them yourself.”

Now he has my full attention. “That’s bad business. No smart
filmmaker takes on all the financial risk.”

“What if I give you the money to produce a picture
about American aviation? In honor of all the pilots who didn’t get to come home to a hero’s welcome.
A film about the friends I lost.”

I throw my hair over my shoulder and look at his face to
see if he’s on the level. To be able to produce a film like that . . . why, that’d be a dream. And even
though he’s dangling it before me like a sparkling trinket, I’m smart enough to be wary. “I dunno,
Leo. You’d have to tell me those stories. The ones you don’t like to talk about. You’d have to tell
me all the details so we could shape a film out of it. What makes you so sure you could even do it?”

“I’m not sure I
can
do it, but if you were the one listening, I’d try. I want to make a fitting
memorial . . . I just never thought about putting it on film before today. Hearing you talk about
the kind of movies you want to make got me thinking . . . so what do you say?”

The weight of
his proposition settles over me and my confidence wavers. “I’ve only made small films before. Nothing
for the public. Why would you trust something like that to me?”

He takes my hand, lacing my
fingers with his. “You gave me
your
movie. Seems right that I should trust you with mine.”

I don’t think we’re talking about films anymore and I’m struck with a pain in my heart so sharp I can’t
bear it. I want him. More than that, I want to take his face in my hands and kiss his mouth, his
cheeks, his eyelids. I want to kiss him so hard that I forget who I am.

And the urge scares
me worse than waking up to a blade against my throat.

“Looks like rain,” I say, lifting my
eyes to the sky.

He reaches for my cheek, brushing it with his hand, but when he can’t make
me look at him, he says, “Alright, Clara. We’ll go back.”

He puts the top up on the way home
because it does rain. It’s a long drive and I drowse in the seat next to him, lulled by the pitter-patter.
He insists on walking me in, holding his coat over me to shield me from the rain. When we get
inside, he goes up with me to the front door. I lean back, pushing wet tendrils of hair out of my
eyes. “Why don’t you come in?”

“You know I want to, but I can’t,” he says, lifting my hand
to his lips and kissing it.

Just then, the door opens from the inside.

Leo has to catch
me before I stumble back. We both turn to see Pops standing there, gray hair all askew, an umbrella
in one hand. My father clears his throat, darting a quick glance at me, then at Leo. “I was just on
my way out. Don’t let me interrupt . . .”

Leo should step aside, but instead, he leaps into
the breach, extending a hand to my father. “Mr. Flannagan, I presume? I’m Leo Vanderberg. Your daughter
and I had a splendid picnic this afternoon and I was just seeing her home for the night.”

I’ve never let my parents catch me with a man before and Pops has no idea what to do. I have to jerk
my head to the side to prompt him.

Then the two men clasp hands, and Leo gives my father’s
a firm shake. “With your permission, sir, I’d like to call on Clara tomorrow afternoon.”

My
jaw drops open at this farce. I positively gape. “I’m a big girl, Leo.”

But my father huffs.
“Let a man be a gentleman if he wants to. God knows none of the rest of them ever bothered.”

“Oh, dry up, Pops!”

My father, the drunk who never did a thing with his life, looks the war
hero up and down. “What did you say your name was again? Leo Vanderberg? I’ve heard of you. Famous pilot.
Like Lucky Lindy, right?”

Leo nods, managing not to grind his teeth. “You should know, I think
quite highly of your daughter. Quite highly indeed.”

At hearing this, my father’s chest puffs
up and his eyes shine. “Clara is a smart girl. Everybody knows she’s pretty, but she’s smart, too.
Always was a little scamp, too clever by half. But she’s the best thing her mother and I ever did.”

The lump that rises in my throat keeps me from hushing them both.

“I’ll take good care
of her, Mr. Flannagan,” Leo says.

“See that you do.” My father clears his throat. Then Pops
ambles down the stairs, leaving us quite alone.

My eyes sting with tears and I give Leo a shove.
“That was quite a performance!”

“I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean, Clara.”

“Don’t,
Leo. Don’t act like this is something different than it is. I don’t want any more games.”

He moves in, one palm flat to the wall behind my head. “No? What about the game I have planned for you
tomorrow? You want that badly, don’t you? I’m going to pick you up and take you to the movie palace.
We’re going to meet another man there, and then I’m going bury myself inside you like I’ve wanted
to do from the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

I stare at him, breathless. Leo has always
told me exactly what to expect. I should know better than to think I can make him deviate from his
plan. But I try. “I don’t think I can go through with it . . .”

“Why not?”

I have a thousand
reasons, starting with the fact that he’s already got too much over me. More important, he’s
starting to make me see myself a different way. I’ve had a few dangerous glimpses at a different reflection
that’s going to shatter the moment I give him everything he wants.

“Are you scared?” he taunts.
“Remember that I told you that you would be.”

“I want to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted
to be with any man, but I don’t think I can do it.”

He presses his forehead to mine and I feel
his breath on my cheeks. “I told you that I wouldn’t let you down, Clara. I’m a man of my word.
I’ll be here to pick you up tomorrow afternoon, but you’re the one who has to decide whether or not
to answer the door.”

I hold him against me, hoping to say with my body what I can’t with my
words, and we cling together. Then Leo kisses my forehead, slowly pulls away, and turns to go. He gets
only two steps before he stops. “Clara . . . there is something else you need to know. I told you
before that I was Dutch. That’s not true. My mother was, but not my father. He came over from Germany
before the war.”

I tilt my head and stare at his back. “You’re the strangest man I’ve ever
met.”

When he turns to face me he’s shamefaced and his head is bowed. “What with the way people
are . . . you know they’d hold it against me. As it is, I always feel like I have to prove my loyalty.
Maybe I wouldn’t have killed so many men in the war if I wasn’t afraid that someone might think
I was a collaborator. So, I lie about it.”

He’s grim, his expression touched with an emotion
that other people might confuse with aloofness. But I recognize it as fear. He’s squeezing his damp
hat in his hands, waiting for me to say something. “Oh, Leo. Were you worried that I’d think you were
a Mad German Brute, like the giant ape carrying off the girl in those war propaganda posters?”

He winces and I realize that it’s no joke to him. One more wrong word can wound him. An answering
sharp pain in the middle of my chest tells me that I’m in trouble. Big trouble. I wanna wrap my
arms around this man and never let him go. And I know now why they call it a crush. Because it
hurts
so very much. “I don’t care where your people are from, Ace. I’d want you whether you were
German or Dutch or a green man from Mars.”

He lets out a long breath. “I just don’t want to
lie to you, Clara. Not about this or anything else.”

“Don’t try so hard to be an angel, Leo,
when we both know you’re the devil himself.”

He smiles a little, shoving his hands into his
pockets. “I’ll be back with the pitchfork and brimstone tomorrow.”

“I might not open the door
when you come knocking,” I say.

“If you do, make sure you’re not wearing much, because it’s
only going to get in the way.”

CHAPTER

Eight

In spite of all my bold talk, there isn’t any possibility
that I won’t open the door for him.

I’ve never been one to turn down an adventure, sexual or
otherwise.
My body is anx
ious and eager. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know who the other man is.
The truth is, I’d go to bed with a turnip, just as long as Leo was there with me. It doesn’t matter
that it’s the foolish thing to do—the one thing I can do that will tarnish the last bit of shiny
goodness he may see in me. In the end it all boils down to the fact that I want him so badly I’d sleep
with Leo Vanderberg and
anybody
.

Something’s happening to me. Something awful. And I’m afraid
it’s only getting worse. This man has somehow gotten inside of me, without even taking me to bed.
I feel him, just beneath my breastbone, where I breathe in and out. How empty and hollow is that place
going to be when we finally part?

I’ve never been so afraid to lose a man before; certainly
not before I’ve even had him.

I wear the siren red dress again, with the feather headdress.
I’ve no illusion it will serve as any defense against Leo’s charms, but I’m sentimental. When Leo shows
up at the door, I paint my lipstick on thick then go to meet him.

He’s wearing an overcoat
and a hat that shadows his eyes. His nearness burns a hole through me, but neither of us says a thing.
We stand there by the mirrored bureau near the front door, locked in each other’s gaze. He takes
a fur from the coatrack and holds it open for me. I step closer and he wraps it around my shoulders,
pulling me against him until I inhale his scent and close my eyes.

He hears my sigh and knows
it’s surrender. “Are you scared, Clara?”

“Yes.”

“Are you needy?”

“So much that I’m
shaking.”

“Does that embarrass you?”

My cheeks must be scarlet. “More every time I admit
it.”

“Then I think it’s finally time you get what you want, isn’t it?” he says, stroking me
softly, his warm hands carrying the promise of deeper intimacy. “And today, you don’t have to worry
about anything . . . except pleasing me.”

“I’d like that. I’d like to please you,” I admit.

“You will,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

On our way out past the doorman,
Charlie gives a tip of his hat, as if this were any normal day and I weren’t filled with a craving
for wickedness. I’m silent during the car ride. Leo takes me to the Moroccan Theatre and escorts
me past the velvet ropes into a side door before the crowds catch a glimpse of me.

Then we
push through the beaded curtains into the plush anteroom. They used to serve champagne here, before
Prohibition, but now the room is reserved for big shots and performers. I don’t know what I’m doing
here. The truth is, I love not knowing. I love the idea that any man here might be Leo’s friend who
saw my stag film, might be the one he wants to share me with. I love it so much I think I might be the
most wicked woman ever born, and it twists inside me with every step I take.

Amidst the opulent
Eastern decor of the movie palace, we make small talk with a few people who know me. They seem
surprised to see me with Leo, especially when he touches me in ways that leave no doubt that he’s taken
me as a mistress. Maybe he wants to show me off. If so, I don’t mind, because I feel a thousand
stabs of envy from all the women in the room.

They all lust for the dashing aviator, but he’s
mine, at least for one more night.

After a few minutes, Leo spies a young usher with a mop
of blond hair. The two men exchange a knowing glance and I think my heart is going to beat its way out
of my chest. Leo squeezes my arm in reassurance while he presses an envelope into the usher’s white-gloved
hand. The young man tucks the envelope into his jacket, beneath the shiny metal buttons, then
bows smartly. “If you’ll follow me . . .”

I begin to sweat at the back of my knees.

The
band’s already playing and the lights are low, so the usher uses his flashlight to guide us up the
stairs and through the aisles to the balcony box, shrouded with crimson silk draperies embroidered
with gold. The empty chairs are carved, polished wood. Only when the usher leaves with our coats do
I dare to show my astonishment. “You rented the whole box?”

“I think we’ll want the privacy,”
Leo says, crossing his legs and smoothing the crease in his pants.

Apprehension dawns slowly.
“Oh, no. Leo, you can’t mean . . . you can’t mean to make love to me
here
. A movie palace is about
as close to a church as it gets for a girl like me.”

“Oh, come now, the whole place is a petting
pantry. With all that chatter going on down there, they probably wouldn’t even hear you if you
screamed.”

He might be right. Over the balcony, I can’t see individual faces but I hear a sea
of voices. People laughing, clapping, engaging with the band. The projectionist has his part to play,
too, speeding the movie up and slowing it down for artistic effect. I wonder how it will be when
people have to be quiet to understand a movie because they can’t read words on the screen.

As always, I go with hubris. “So what’s the main feature, Ace? I didn’t even ask the name of the movie.”

Leo shifts against me and goose bumps race up my arms. His proximity is something that I’m always
aware of, but now he seems to loom over me. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, taking a feather from
my headdress. “You’re not going to be able to pay much attention.”

In the darkness, the feather
tickles its way down my neck, over my bare shoulder, and down my arm. I react as if he’s singed
me with a lit candle, hissing at the trail of heat.

“You’re so responsive. You say a thousand
words with every move you make,” Leo says with admiration, as if it weren’t exactly my talent. “Remember
how you said that you’d like to please me?”

I nod.

“Then pull up your dress, spread your
knees, and touch yourself.”

It doesn’t even occur to me not to comply, so I slide my hand over
my trembling belly, burying my fingers into the heat of my own sex. I’m wet enough to ease the friction,
so it doesn’t take but a moment before the sound of the musicians below fades away and I’m
slowly pumping my hips in reverie.

“That’s my girl,” Leo says. “Close your eyes and keep doing
that. Don’t stop unless I tell you.”

With my eyes closed, the sensation of the feather over
my skin intensifies. The tickle of it drives me to distraction as I rub myself. I’m vaguely aware of
the curtains rustling near the back of the booth and I gasp, but Leo grips me hard by the knee. “Don’t
stop and don’t open your eyes until I say.”

There’s someone else here. Maybe it’s the usher
with his flashlight cutting through the darkness. I don’t know. But my desire to please Leo, to do
as he wants me to do, is so strong that it overcomes my terror. I tremble from head to toe, but continue
to gently stroke myself.

“Good afternoon, Miss Cartwright,” someone says.

The breath goes
out of me at the sound of a stranger who knows who I am. Of course he does. The shame of my position,
with my dress up around my hips and my fingers sticky with my own arousal, turns my blood to liquid
fire. I think I’m going to melt into a puddle, just melt away into nothing.

“You can open your
eyes, Clara,” Leo says.

I do but it’s too dark to see more than shadows as the stranger takes
the seat next to me.

The stranger’s voice is rich, like he hails from some wealthy New England
town. “Don’t let me interrupt. You’ve got the body of a goddess. I can’t blame you for wanting to
touch it . . . I know I do.”

Leo laughs indulgently. “Don’t tease her. She’s had about all
the teasing she can handle . . .”

“I just want to lend her a hand,” the stranger says, laying
his palm on my knee.

My breathing stutters the way delicate ladies breathe just before they
faint dead away.

“Let him touch you, Clara,” Leo says. “This is what you wanted. And it’s what
I want, too.”

And nothing else matters. Not now. There’s no fight in me. I drift away to a
place of such frightful submission, that I don’t even think I remember my own name. This is by design.
This is happening exactly the way Leo engineered it to happen and that’s all that I care about. He
said he wanted to choose my next lover, and he has. I embrace the idea with an open heart . . . and
widespread legs.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please touch me.”

The stranger shifts closer, bringing
with him the scent of expensive forbidden liquor, and kisses my neck. In a moment, both men are
kissing my neck in perfect symmetry. Leo cups my breast with his right hand, squeezing it, kneading
it until I sigh with delight. The stranger reaches between my legs and after a few moments of soft
petting, he increases the tempo until he’s rubbing my pussy the way one scrubs a pot.

I’ve
never been touched that way. I shouldn’t like it. The stranger is touching me the way men masturbate
themselves. I’ve passed through fear and shame into eagerly embracing the depravity. I moan low in
my throat. I’ve allowed my lover give my body over to a man I don’t even know and I’ve never felt so
excited by anything.

It also makes me frantic. I’ve lost my moorings. I need something to anchor
me. “I want to touch you, Leo. I
need
to touch you.”

“That makes me a very happy man,” he says,
alleviating my panic by drawing my hand between his legs where he’s hard as iron. I know how to
stroke a man through his trousers, and Leo growls his approval of my technique. “Clara, do you want
to stroke him, too? You can if you want. Go on.”

With only this slight encouragement, I fumble
with my other hand, running it up the stranger’s leg. When I find his rigid erection, the stranger
groans. I stroke both men, one in each hand, surprised that it comes so naturally. As if I were born
knowing how to do it. The harder they get, the harder I fall. I’ve forgotten the music. The audience.
The wispy curtains. The whole movie palace could burn down around me and I wouldn’t care because
I’m already consumed with the flames of desire.

Leo’s mouth clamps over my nipple, sucking
it through the thin fabric of my dress, and the heat of it shoots straight through my body. The stranger
dips his head and catches the other nipple, and then they’re both doing it. Both of them leaving
wet spots over each nipple, and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but pleasure.

I squeeze
my eyes closed as the explosion flashes white behind my eyelids. I swallow back a silent scream
as the orgasm washes over me, thrashing my head from side to side. I think both men know they’ve
brought me off, but how? It must be that I stop breathing. That I go perfectly still everywhere but
my sex, which pulses steadily against the stranger’s palm.

Only when I’m done do I take big
gasping drags of air, like I’ve just been born.

Leo whispers, “That makes one.”

“Well,
isn’t she splendid?” the stranger asks.

“That’s not all she can do,” Leo says. “Let her put
those pouty lips of hers on you and you’ll be a goner . . .”

“Not a bad way to go,” the stranger
replies.

Leo pushes gently on the back of my neck, and I know what he wants. It’s the same
thing I want, so I slide to the floor. I’m all vamp now, looking up with seductive eyes, ready to perform.
I’m kneeling there on the floor of a public theatre, ready to suck off two men. There’s a moment—just
a moment—that I hate myself.

Then I see through the haze of low light and smoke that both men
are staring at me like I’m a sex goddess. And I remember that I’m Clara Cartwright. I can make a
grown man shake in his shoes. Now I’ve got
two
grown men. I’m kneeling in front of them, but they’re
both mesmerized by what I might do.

And I’m going to do
everything
.

I start with Leo,
wrapping my lips around just the swollen head of his cock until it jumps on my tongue. He growls at
me and I’m not sure if it’s with pleasure or frustration. Frankly, I don’t care. I wriggle my tongue
up the underside while I stroke the stranger with my other hand, and now I have both men squirming.

Glancing up at the shadowed face of the stranger, I pause to lick my lips and he lets out a
quick, sharp gasp of arousal. Unlike Leo’s, the stranger’s erection isn’t a ramrod-straight bar of steel.
His manhood curves upward, and I want to taste him so badly that I inch towards him like a jungle
cat. I slowly slide my lips over the stranger’s shaft a little bit at a time, taking him so deep
that he bumps the back of my throat. I pull up, then do it again, which causes the stranger to grip
the arms of his chair.

Leo slides into my seat so I can take turns licking each cock, savoring
the differences in taste and texture and sound. Leo mutters a dark oath that makes me feel like
he wants to devour me. And the stranger jolts every time I suck him, like my lips are electric. I could
go on like this forever, back and forth, sucking these men, but Leo is just not the kind of man
who can let me have my way with him. “I can wait, Clara. Give him your best.”

He shifts me
so that my face angles into the stranger’s lap. Running my hands back to the warm recesses behind the
stranger’s hips, I start sucking so hard he mutters a string of whispered curses that would shock
a sailor. I’m going to make him come. I’m going to make a stranger come and it turns me on so much that
I won’t—I can’t—deny myself.

I start touching myself with my free hand, and am startled when
Leo stops me. “You can wait, too, Clara. Perform just for him.”

The challenge and the frustration
mix inside me. He wants me to show another man how good a cocksucker I can really be? He wants
me to do it, like a whore, without any pleasure for myself? Fine. I’ll show him.

Covering my
teeth with my lips, I bob my head up and down in the stranger’s lap with utter determination. I’m
good at this. And I know the stranger is perilously close to orgasm. “Good god!” the stranger grinds
out through clenched teeth.