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Authors: Rosemary Rogers
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Greenwich Village pad, maybe; or in someone's beach house. Sometimes alone with one guy, and sometimes with the rest of the gang. And I'd lie there and let them do it to me because I felt it was the done thing to get laid. But inside I felt nothing. And I hadn't learned to pretend too well, so some of the guys I ended up with would get damn disgusted at me because of my lack of enthusiasm. Word got around that I was too aloof—cold."
Ice clinked emptily in Marti's glass, and she blinked down at it as if she were surprised. She drew a deep breath, and Eve heard herself sigh, too.
"Oh, well—I'm nearly through, in case you're starting to wonder. Well—then I just happened to meet Brant. He'd come up to town for a few days to inspect the current crop of debs—that was the way one reporter put it. We met at a party—by chance, I thought—and I was even flattered that he singled me out, but a girl friend told me afterward that some of the guys had been talking about me. Miss Iceberg, they called me, and they thought he'd be the best one to teach me a few things. They picked well, I suppose. Brant's a good teacher!"
Something in Marti's voice made Eve want to reach out her hand to her, tell her she didn't have to go on talking, but at the same time she felt she wanted to hear what Marti had to say. Maybe it would help Marti to talk about it. Maybe, as Marti had intimated, it might help her to hear. After a slight pause, Marti continued speaking, her voice low and somehow harsh.
"Brant asked me out. My parents knew about him— they at least had heard all the wild stories about him, but he was richer even than they and a bachelor, so they nagged at me until I accepted his invitation.
"I was supposed to be one of a party of six, including a chaperone, that would cruise to the Bahamas and back on Brant's yacht. Well, I was one of six, all right, but he'd lied about the chaperone, and the other five were all men." Marti shivered slightly.
"We were away for a week—ten days—what does it matter? They brought some other girls aboard, in Jamaica, I think. They were black—high-breasted, with proud, outthrusting buttocks. They were really something, those girls. And that was the only time I was able to reach orgasm—to come, over and over, with those girls—I was past caring by then that all the guys watched. After that, they had me pegged for what I was —am—and they didn't bother me too often on the cruise back. Brant even took me to see a doctor before he escorted me back to my parents' house. He advised me, on the way, to stick to my own kind from now on, that I’d be happier and more contented that way, and I followed his advice. It's always better once you adjust to knowing yourself. Ever since then, I've accepted the fact that I am what I am."
Eve, her eyes filled with shock and horror, could hardly contain her angry reaction. Dear God, poor Marti!
"But—didn't you tell your parents? Surely there was something they could have done to have him punished? I mean, what he did to you—that was horrible, unforgivable! A man like that ought to be locked away somewhere. I'd have tried to kill him if I could!"
Marti's eyebrows lifted.
"Sweetie, I thought about it. But he was careful. And he had my parents figured out. They're the type who are more afraid of gossip than of God Himself; and dear, careful Brant took lots of pictures, especially of the scenes with the girls. It was actually Brant who suggested afterward that I ought to become a model. He said I didn't have the talent to learn to act, but I should do well at modeling, and he was right. So you see, Eve—"
"I see. God, Marti, if I ever set eyes on him again, I think I'll run, not walk, to the nearest exit."
"Don't get me wrong, though, Eve. Brant can be very, very charming when he wants to be. I've seen him that way, too. But underneath—if there's anything underneath, it's rotten. Maybe he's some kind of misogynist; maybe he's a closet queen trying to
Ice clinked emptily in Marti's glass, and she blinked down at it as if she were surprised. She drew a deep breath, and Eve heard herself sigh, too.
"Oh, well—I'm nearly through, in case you're starting to wonder. Well—then I just happened to meet Brant. He'd come up to town for a few days to inspect the current crop of debs—that was the way one reporter put it. We met at a party—by chance, I thought—and I was even flattered that he singled me out, but a girl friend told me afterward that some of the guys had been talking about me. Miss Iceberg, they called me, and they thought he'd be the best one to teach me a few things. They picked well, I suppose. Brant's a good teacher!"
Something in Marti's voice made Eve want to reach out her hand to her, tell her she didn't have to go on talking, but at the same time she felt she wanted to hear what Marti had to say. Maybe it would help Marti to talk about it. Maybe, as Marti had intimated, it might help her to hear. After a slight pause, Marti continued speaking, her voice low and somehow harsh.
"Brant asked me out. My parents knew about him— they at least had heard all the wild stories about him, but he was richer even than they and a bachelor, so they nagged at me until I accepted his invitation.
"I was supposed to be one of a party of six, including a chaperone, that would cruise to the Bahamas and back on Brant's yacht. Well, I was one of six, all right, but he'd lied about the chaperone, and the other five were all men." Marti shivered slightly.
"We were away for a week—ten days—what does it matter? They brought some other girls aboard, in Jamaica, I think. They were black—high-breasted, with proud, outthrusting buttocks. They were really something, those girls. And that was the only time I was able to reach orgasm—to come, over and over, with those girls—I was past caring by then that all the guys watched. After that, they had me pegged for what I was —am—and they didn't bother me too often on the cruise back. Brant even took me to see a doctor before he escorted me back to my parents' house. He advised me, on the way, to stick to my own kind from now on, that I’d be happier and more contented that way, and I followed his advice. It's always better once you adjust to knowing yourself. Ever since then, I've accepted the fact that I am what I am."
Eve, her eyes filled with shock and horror, could hardly contain her angry reaction. Dear God, poor Marti!
"But—didn't you tell your parents? Surely there was something they could have done to have him punished? I mean, what he did to you—that was horrible, unforgivable! A man like that ought to be locked away somewhere. I'd have tried to kill him if I could!"
Marti's eyebrows lifted.
"Sweetie, I thought about it. But he was careful. And he had my parents figured out. They're the type who are more afraid of gossip than of God Himself; and dear, careful Brant took lots of pictures, especially of the scenes with the girls. It was actually Brant who suggested afterward that I ought to become a model. He said I didn't have the talent to learn to act, but I should do well at modeling, and he was right. So you see, Eve—"
"I see. God, Marti, if I ever set eyes on him again, I think I'll run, not walk, to the nearest exit."
"Don't get me wrong, though, Eve. Brant can be very, very charming when he wants to be. I've seen him that way, too. But underneath—if there's anything underneath, it's rotten. Maybe he's some kind of misogynist; maybe he's a closet queen trying to
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