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therapy?" And then, after my furious response, "It could
give you some insight..."
I opened my eyes. You're a victim of incest, an inner
voice said. I sat up. "No, I'm not," I said aloud. "My
father made films of me, that's all."
But was that all? And weren't the films made for men to
find pleasure in the things my father did to me?
Suddenly resolute, I swung my legs over the edge of the
bed. If I denied the actuality of my father's offenses
against me, I'd be repeating what I'd done for so many
years hiding from the truth.
The ringing phone broke into my thoughts. "Hi!" said
Reyne.
"Oh, darling..." I stopped, disconcerted by my use of an
endearment. I made an absurd effort to explain.
"Actually, I don't call people darling..."
"I should hope not."
I tried to match her light tone. "It must have slipped out
because I'm quite fond of you."
"That accounts for it," said Reyne agreeably.
We made arrangements to meet. The first opportunity
would be late that night, since Reyne had a full day of
appointments and I had a dinner where I was to give a
talk titled, Erotica the Sex Drive Tamed? My
address originally had a rather more mundane title, but
some publicist had changed it, and, as Hugh pointed
out, "Who cares what it's called, as long as they come
to see you?"
As I hung up, there was a peremptory knock.
"Victoria? You ready?"
"Hugh," I said, opening the door a crack, "you're not
going to believe this, but I'm running a little late..."
Reyne was staying in the Greenwich Village apartment
of a work colleague who was overseas on assignment. I
insisted that I would come to her, using the excuse of
wanting a change from the sameness of hotel rooms.
The real reason was that I knew if we were to have an
equal relationship it had to be based on equality, and
that meant I had to put myself out for Reyne, rather than
always expect her to fit in with me.
Late Friday night in New York was exhilarating. The
buildings, the lights burning in empty offices, thrust
themselves into a sky made pale with the glow of the
city, as people and vehicles poured through the streets
in impatient streams. The doorman of the hotel where
my dinner engagement had taken place imperiously
beckoned one of the ubiquitous Yellow Cabs and
handed me into it. The vehicle was noisy with radio
music, grubby, and driven by a bearded man with a
well-developed death wish. As we joined the lurching
traffic to honk our way to the Village, I found myself
enjoying the maelstrom of sound and activity. The city
was alive with a vibrancy that made me tingle with a
matching energy.
Reyne had been watching for my cab and came down
to greet me. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt,
and I felt over-formal in my lime-green dress. Her smile
was broad as she said, "I hope you notice I hurried right
down. Don't want any good-looking New York woman
whisking you away."
I smiled at her, delighted by the actuality of her
presence. She'd been so close to me for weeks in
my thoughts, on the telephone but now I could touch
her, see her cool expression fired by the warmth of her
smile, taste her mouth...
"I'm so pleased to see you." I knew I sounded
awkward and over-careful.
She gave me a quick, tight hug. "Called anyone else
darling, today?"
"No."
"Lucky for you!"
The apartment had a shabby, clean comfort that relaxed
my formality. I sat in a well-worn leather chair and
grinned up at her. "I was on a TV panel show this
afternoon," I said. "And we were discussing, of all
things, sex." I shook my head. "You wouldn't believe
the other panelists!"
"Yes I would. This is New York and anything goes."
I was suddenly solemn. "Do we go, Reyne?"
"Together, you mean? I think we do."
"There are some things you should know..." I stopped,
defeated.
Reyne took my hand, linking our fingers. "There's no
hurry."
I was driven by a compulsion to confess. "I didn't
mention it, but I saw my Uncle David before I left. He's
in a nursing home. He's bedridden and he doesn't
remember very much." I bit my lip. "Reyne... I shook
him when he wouldn't tell me what I wanted to know."
She tightened her fingers. "You're going through a tough
time."
I wanted more than the comfort of her words. "Can we
go to bed?"
She grinned at me. "I was rather thinking of supper, first
but if you insist..."
I lay on my back staring at the patterns of light on the
ceiling. "Reyne, I'm not enough for you."
She stretched lazily against me. "You're what I want."
"Will you always be content with this?'
The light from the street outside was enough to
illuminate the serious lines of her face. "It's going to take
a long time, Victoria."
The memory of my failure raw, I said caustically,
"What? For me to have an orgasm?"
"For you to heal."
Provoked, I pulled myself away from her and sat up.
"I'm all right."
"During the last couple of weeks I've seen a couple of
people, asked some questions "
"About me?" Fury made my voice thick. "Am I one of
your projects, now?"
Her voice was quiet. "You're a victim of incest."
I got out of the bed, swearing as I stumbled over my
discarded clothes. "I can cope with it. Everything
happened a long time ago, and my father's dead. I have
to get on with my life."
Reyne snapped on the bedside lamp and sat blinking in
the glare. "Most incest victims need professional help to
get over the trauma."
"I don't!"
She shocked me with her sudden anger. "I love you,
Victoria, but I don't relish the thought of being tied to
someone who needs help and won't accept it."
Rage burst through my controls. "Jesus, Reyne! I'm the
victim, not you."
She smiled at me ruefully. "Right now, I'd say we both
are."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hugh was enthusiastic about the final day's program. I
was too, for a different reason. I'd be spending four
days free in New York with Reyne, who was also
taking a break before returning to Australia. Hugh
rushed me through the revolving doors of the hotel and
into a cab fully as yellow and as dirty as the one the
night before.
The first item on our schedule was a visit to the offices
of Rampion Press. As our cab joined a traffic jam,
Hugh said, "They've put a larger-than-life photograph of
you up in the lobby." His manner was that of one who
had achieved this coup single-handed.
"Should I be impressed?"
"Well, of course you should, Victoria! The company
only does that for major authors."
In the afternoon rain began in fitful heavy showers. To
add to the discomfort, a vicious, gusty wind sprang up.
My last official duty was a radio interview, and
afterward I insisted on walking the three or four blocks
back to my hotel, no matter how unpleasant the
weather. "I need to clear my head, Hugh. And it doesn't
matter if I catch cold now. The tour's over."
I strode along the sidewalk, hands jammed into the
pockets of my coat, enjoying my freedom, enjoying the
cold wetness against my face. My thoughts revolved
around Reyne. Last night we'd gone back to bed with
our conflict apparently resolved, but I hadn't slept well. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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therapy?" And then, after my furious response, "It could
give you some insight..."
I opened my eyes. You're a victim of incest, an inner
voice said. I sat up. "No, I'm not," I said aloud. "My
father made films of me, that's all."
But was that all? And weren't the films made for men to
find pleasure in the things my father did to me?
Suddenly resolute, I swung my legs over the edge of the
bed. If I denied the actuality of my father's offenses
against me, I'd be repeating what I'd done for so many
years hiding from the truth.
The ringing phone broke into my thoughts. "Hi!" said
Reyne.
"Oh, darling..." I stopped, disconcerted by my use of an
endearment. I made an absurd effort to explain.
"Actually, I don't call people darling..."
"I should hope not."
I tried to match her light tone. "It must have slipped out
because I'm quite fond of you."
"That accounts for it," said Reyne agreeably.
We made arrangements to meet. The first opportunity
would be late that night, since Reyne had a full day of
appointments and I had a dinner where I was to give a
talk titled, Erotica the Sex Drive Tamed? My
address originally had a rather more mundane title, but
some publicist had changed it, and, as Hugh pointed
out, "Who cares what it's called, as long as they come
to see you?"
As I hung up, there was a peremptory knock.
"Victoria? You ready?"
"Hugh," I said, opening the door a crack, "you're not
going to believe this, but I'm running a little late..."
Reyne was staying in the Greenwich Village apartment
of a work colleague who was overseas on assignment. I
insisted that I would come to her, using the excuse of
wanting a change from the sameness of hotel rooms.
The real reason was that I knew if we were to have an
equal relationship it had to be based on equality, and
that meant I had to put myself out for Reyne, rather than
always expect her to fit in with me.
Late Friday night in New York was exhilarating. The
buildings, the lights burning in empty offices, thrust
themselves into a sky made pale with the glow of the
city, as people and vehicles poured through the streets
in impatient streams. The doorman of the hotel where
my dinner engagement had taken place imperiously
beckoned one of the ubiquitous Yellow Cabs and
handed me into it. The vehicle was noisy with radio
music, grubby, and driven by a bearded man with a
well-developed death wish. As we joined the lurching
traffic to honk our way to the Village, I found myself
enjoying the maelstrom of sound and activity. The city
was alive with a vibrancy that made me tingle with a
matching energy.
Reyne had been watching for my cab and came down
to greet me. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt,
and I felt over-formal in my lime-green dress. Her smile
was broad as she said, "I hope you notice I hurried right
down. Don't want any good-looking New York woman
whisking you away."
I smiled at her, delighted by the actuality of her
presence. She'd been so close to me for weeks in
my thoughts, on the telephone but now I could touch
her, see her cool expression fired by the warmth of her
smile, taste her mouth...
"I'm so pleased to see you." I knew I sounded
awkward and over-careful.
She gave me a quick, tight hug. "Called anyone else
darling, today?"
"No."
"Lucky for you!"
The apartment had a shabby, clean comfort that relaxed
my formality. I sat in a well-worn leather chair and
grinned up at her. "I was on a TV panel show this
afternoon," I said. "And we were discussing, of all
things, sex." I shook my head. "You wouldn't believe
the other panelists!"
"Yes I would. This is New York and anything goes."
I was suddenly solemn. "Do we go, Reyne?"
"Together, you mean? I think we do."
"There are some things you should know..." I stopped,
defeated.
Reyne took my hand, linking our fingers. "There's no
hurry."
I was driven by a compulsion to confess. "I didn't
mention it, but I saw my Uncle David before I left. He's
in a nursing home. He's bedridden and he doesn't
remember very much." I bit my lip. "Reyne... I shook
him when he wouldn't tell me what I wanted to know."
She tightened her fingers. "You're going through a tough
time."
I wanted more than the comfort of her words. "Can we
go to bed?"
She grinned at me. "I was rather thinking of supper, first
but if you insist..."
I lay on my back staring at the patterns of light on the
ceiling. "Reyne, I'm not enough for you."
She stretched lazily against me. "You're what I want."
"Will you always be content with this?'
The light from the street outside was enough to
illuminate the serious lines of her face. "It's going to take
a long time, Victoria."
The memory of my failure raw, I said caustically,
"What? For me to have an orgasm?"
"For you to heal."
Provoked, I pulled myself away from her and sat up.
"I'm all right."
"During the last couple of weeks I've seen a couple of
people, asked some questions "
"About me?" Fury made my voice thick. "Am I one of
your projects, now?"
Her voice was quiet. "You're a victim of incest."
I got out of the bed, swearing as I stumbled over my
discarded clothes. "I can cope with it. Everything
happened a long time ago, and my father's dead. I have
to get on with my life."
Reyne snapped on the bedside lamp and sat blinking in
the glare. "Most incest victims need professional help to
get over the trauma."
"I don't!"
She shocked me with her sudden anger. "I love you,
Victoria, but I don't relish the thought of being tied to
someone who needs help and won't accept it."
Rage burst through my controls. "Jesus, Reyne! I'm the
victim, not you."
She smiled at me ruefully. "Right now, I'd say we both
are."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hugh was enthusiastic about the final day's program. I
was too, for a different reason. I'd be spending four
days free in New York with Reyne, who was also
taking a break before returning to Australia. Hugh
rushed me through the revolving doors of the hotel and
into a cab fully as yellow and as dirty as the one the
night before.
The first item on our schedule was a visit to the offices
of Rampion Press. As our cab joined a traffic jam,
Hugh said, "They've put a larger-than-life photograph of
you up in the lobby." His manner was that of one who
had achieved this coup single-handed.
"Should I be impressed?"
"Well, of course you should, Victoria! The company
only does that for major authors."
In the afternoon rain began in fitful heavy showers. To
add to the discomfort, a vicious, gusty wind sprang up.
My last official duty was a radio interview, and
afterward I insisted on walking the three or four blocks
back to my hotel, no matter how unpleasant the
weather. "I need to clear my head, Hugh. And it doesn't
matter if I catch cold now. The tour's over."
I strode along the sidewalk, hands jammed into the
pockets of my coat, enjoying my freedom, enjoying the
cold wetness against my face. My thoughts revolved
around Reyne. Last night we'd gone back to bed with
our conflict apparently resolved, but I hadn't slept well. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]