It was three days after their marriage. They had eloped to Las Vegas. Now, they were headed back to Los Angeles. Bill had driven the last fifty miles in almost total silence, punishing the Porsche, without mercy, as he blazed down the freeway. His face was set in an unsmiling mask, his jaw jutting out, defiantly, his keen eyes raking the multi-laned highway, judging distances and speeds with practiced and aggressive arrogance.
Deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew that everything would be all right, but at the thinking, conscious level, his brain whirled, constructing defensive arguments; rebuttals designed to convince his uncle that he was, indeed, capable of making some decisions for himself, especially in making the selection of his own wife. The old bastard couldn’t run his life, forever!
The young engineer looked over at her. She sat, calmly, watching the traffic as he drove, her deep blue eyes cool, complacent and unafraid, the speed, somehow almost hypnotic but at the same time, exhilarating. Faye caught his sidelong glance and turned to look at him. He had turned his head, again, however, and was looking ahead through the windshield. Her eyes drifted over the handsome profile of his face, seeing the strong chin, long, straight nose, broad forehead and the slightly pouting lips that gave him that certain, appealing, little-boy look, especially when a lock of his unruly, curly black hair fell down over one eye. She smiled, now, as she saw him toss his head and, impatiently, brush his hand across his forehead in a futile attempt to control the recalcitrant curl. Her tinkling laugh caused him to turn, questioningly, toward her, again. “Something strike you funny?” he asked.
“Yes… the way you’ve been fighting that lock of hair all day… We’ll have to get you to a barber.”
A smile crinkled his face. “So! You’re trying to change me, already… and we’ve only been married three days!”
Knitting her brow, she calculated, rapidly, after consulting her watch. “For your information, Mr. Wright… we’ve been married exactly sixty-eight hours and twenty-three minutes!” she laughed. “It’s not quite three days, yet.” Then, seriously,”… And, you haven’t said one word to me for the last hour! I’m beginning to feel neglected!”
“I’ve just been thinking is all…”
“You mean… about what to say… how to… tell them…?”
“Yeah… and I still don’t know what I’m going to say. It’ll be touch-and-go… especially with Uncle Morris,” he said.
“Is he really… that hard to get along with?” Faye queried, remembering that all she knew about the man was what Bill had told her.
“Well, let’s say that he can be pretty ornery and when he’s really angry, he’s a fire-breathing dragon!”
“Do you think he’ll be angry… about us, Bill?” she asked. Her voice trembled, tension beginning to build in her.
Bill’s answer was candid. “Hell be mad as hell!”
The freeway traffic, again, absorbed his interest. He turned away from her, his jaw set, rigidly, worriedly.
Faye watched as he expertly passed a fast, high-performance sports car, the driver of which had churned up beside them, challengingly, the spitting roar of the car’s engine loud in their ears, as Bill tromped hard on the accelerator and showed the Porsche’s tail to the couple in the other car. His quick grin, as he picked them up in the rear-view mirror, was a boyish exultation of self in an easy victory. “That’ll show them something!”
Yes! She thought about it. Bill’s always showing somebody something! She asked herself what it proved for him. It was like the show-off stunts of a little boy… only Bill was a grown man, still feeling the need to show-off. Was their elopement to Las Vegas just another of the same sort of thing? She wondered, seriously, about it; running away to get married, against his mother’s and his uncle’s wishes, could be an act of defiance… a show-off stunt.
She would have been willing to wait to have a regular wedding in a church… begin their married life in a conventional manner, but now, she knew, they would be walking into a row with them, the first thing… only three days after their hasty marriage.
With unusual fervor, she hoped she would be able to say the right words to Bill’s uncle. Bill portrayed him as a testy, difficult man, yet he had raised Bill, paid for his engineering education, at a good school, had done everything possible to help him; she just couldn’t believe that sort of man could be the ogre her husband painted him.
Certainly, Bill knew, when he urged her to elope with him, that the old man would be hurt
So why had he insisted on their running off? Why? She didn’t know the answer… yet; of course, she had wanted marriage; to her, marriage was, somehow, the answer to many things, and when she had met Bill Wright, consented to date him, she had known that when he asked her, her answer would be a positive yes.
She had not expected him to ask her so soon, and the unexpected manner of his asking had been a great surprise for her, which had come only two weeks after their first date. It had been two weeks of fun, activity and surprising turns of event, capped by their going to Las Vegas, where they were married in one of the numerous, commercial wedding chapels.
No… Faye hadn’t wanted it that way, at all, but she knew, instinctively, that if she had insisted upon the proper procedure: Announcement of engagement, preparation of invitations, arrangement for church wedding, wedding gown; veil, flowers and a reception followed by a honeymoon, her marriage to Bill would never have taken place.
One might say it was womanly intuition guiding her, but Faye, sometimes wise beyond her years, saw in the boy-man the impulsiveness, the wildness of rebellion against his uncle… a rebellion that, perhaps, he didn’t even recognize in himself… and his need for stability.
Bill was almost twenty-eight years old. He had lived almost his entire life under the direction of his Uncle Morris, and Faye recognized the unnatural aspects of that kind of life. He should have been on his own, for several years, already. It was her hope, that in their marriage she would be able to provide Bill with the stability he needed, a stability in which he would be able to find himself… his true self. It was the stuff of which romantic dreams are made and dreamed by young brides. Faye was no exception; she knew she could do it, if only her husband were no longer under the direct influence of his uncle. To this end, she wanted them to establish their new home elsewhere than Santa Monica, the city in which he had been born and reared. She would insist they live out in one of the more pleasant suburbs; commuting on the freeways wasn’t all that difficult. Thousands of people did it every day.
She loved Bill. With her whole heart and soul, she loved him; she had known it from the first date she had had with him. Her recognition of it had been a revelation. Faye had been too sure that no man would ever capture her heart. The deep bitterness in her had been almost buried, in the deep recesses of her mind, and the man beside her, now her husband of three days, had penetrated the weakened defenses, made her come alive, again… something she had thought sure would never happen.
The psychic scars on her mind, the slowly healing lacerations of her soul and the deep, empty void in her heart had, somehow, been pushed aside, allowing her to hope, to live, again… and to love… replacing hate. Hate, she found, can only be destructive; love is generative. It was ever so!
It is one of the minor miracles of youth that tragedies are overcome with a tough resilience, a certain moral fiber and strength of character that one never knew existed in them.
Faye was young. She was just twenty years of age, having passed the all-important milestone from tender ‘teens into the magic of the sophisticated twenties and approaching majority.
Beautiful, downtown Burbank, that day, two months ago, when she had descended from the Greyhound bus, had been sunny and warm. She had looked out upon its streets, finding them new, yet there was a hint in them of the old life, something that reminded her of her own home town. Whether it was homesickness or nostalgia, an unspoken wish not to sever herself, completely, from something she had known, she didn’t really know, but she walked out of the bus depot into the street, finding herself at home, immediately.
She had almost chosen Burbank, blindly, when she had bought her ticket. Originally, she had wanted to go to Los Angeles, a place where she was sure she could lose herself. The sprawling city, its mass of humanity and its myriad activities offered her the anonymity she sought. It was, in her mind, the perfect place to hide, but on the spur of the moment, she had chosen Burbank. It was smaller, yet near Los Angeles; the deciding factor had been the knowledge that the NBC studios were located there.
Walking out onto the street, she was glad of her wacky decision. She knew that this city, a continent away, offered her, at once, a part of both the old life and the new one she must build for herself. Happily, she rushed back into the bus depot and claimed her three pieces of luggage. She became, on the instant, a citizen of the town named for the plant wizard. She was six weeks past her twentieth birthday, a stranger in a strange town… and alone.
Yes, she was a stranger, albeit a beautiful, young and vivacious woman… stranger; she didn’t stay a stranger for long. She moved fast.
First, she selected a clean and modest room, in a rooming house within walking distance of the downtown district. Secondly, the following day, she groomed herself, donning a demurely conservative suit and putting on her best smile, to apply for work. She returned to her room, in the late afternoon, happy and exhilarated with the prospect of starting work, as a clerk, the following day, in a combination book store and stationers.
Earlier that same afternoon, she had opened a bank account, depositing what was left of the six hundred and thirty three dollars she had withdrawn from the savings account her older brother, Robert, had opened for her. She remembered how painful it had been to make the decision.
It had been mostly her money. She had made deposits in the account, regularly, but she hadn’t wanted to take anything that wasn’t legally hers. Finally, she had resolved the problem in her own mind by withdrawing all but the fifty dollars Robert had first deposited. Now, she had her own checking account, for the first time; the figures in her bank book assured her the four hundred and seventy-four dollars were hers to do with as she chose.
Her own place to live, a job, starting tomorrow, and money in the bank gave her a comfortable feeling of independence and self-sufficiency, the very things that Robert had told her, over and over, again, she would never have, as he kept her dependent upon him. The tragedy, she realized, now, was that for too long she had believed him, clinging to him, after they were orphaned. It was a sick situation!
Catapulted into her final act of defiance and self-preservation had proved the lie. She had done exactly what he said she would never do; she had left him… packed her bags, withdrew the money, bought a bus ticket and left him.
She should have done it sooner. Robert would never be able to find her, and that was the way she wanted it… especially after that horrible night, before she left.
Never! Never would she return to that town or that house! She had been sure of that… after Robert, her own brother, had tried to make love to her. He had stripped her clothes from her… the memory of his actions, the mad light in his eyes… and the hugeness of his fully erect penis that he had tried to shove into her, as she struggled and squealed beneath him, was almost too painful to bear. Finally, she had escaped him, but she would never understand why he tried to do it to her. Of one thing she had been sure: She would never marry! Men! Men were beasts, and she hated them! She hated them all!
Then, she had met Bill Wright. She bad been living in Burbank for six weeks. To her, it seemed, already, that she must have lived in the city all her life. She seemed to belong there. That’s why she was shocked. Bill had called her a stranger. She was sure she knew almost everyone who came to the downtown area.
It had been during the slack time, in mid-afternoon, that Faye, following her employer’s directions, was restocking one of the higher shelves, behind the long counter. She was standing on a ladder reaching high up, her hands full of ledgers she had just price-marked when his voice startled her. She had not been conscious of his entry.
“When does the special sale start?” he asked, looking up to enjoy the view of shapely, tapering thighs.
Faye looked back and down at him. She started and lost her balance, momentarily; grasping at the ladder, she dropped the pile of black-bound books, emitting a little cry as they crashed to the floor. “Oh! Darn it!”
His amused eyes continued to look up at her, and she realized, suddenly, that her position on the ladder afforded him an unobstructed view of her legs and thighs… probably all the way up to her panties. She gasped and scrambled down from the ladder. He came around the counter, murmuring an apology, and scooped up the fallen account books, smiling down into her eyes as he handed them to her.
“I’ll take a dozen!” he said.
“A dozen… ledgers…?”
“No… a dozen just like you!”
Her face reddened, prettily. “Well!… Really… I’m…”
“You’re new… a stranger to Beautiful Downtown Burbank, aren’t you? I’ve worked around here for two or three years… thought I knew most everybody…”
“I’ve only been here a few weeks,” she confessed.
“I thought so…” he smiled.
Hastily, she added, “But I don’t feel like a stranger, here… just sort of transplanted.”
“Actually, I’m transplanted here only for work,” he grinned. “I live in Santa Monica.” Then, an afterthought, “You live with your folks, here…?”
I’m all alone, now!
His understanding was quick. “I’m sorry…” he said, “I didn’t mean to pry… By the way, I’m Bill Wright… and…?”
“Faye… Faye Andrews,” she supplied.
Then, he had made his purchase, a package of carbon paper. As he turned to leave, he said, almost offhandedly, “You’ll have dinner with me, tonight? I know a nice place out on Foothill… not too far…?”
“I’d love to!” She said it without thinking. Afterward, on reflection, she thought she had accepted too quickly, too eagerly, perhaps. It was the last thing she wanted: To be thought too eager… and she, certainly, didn’t want involvement, at least not yet, for a while.
Bill picked her up, promptly, at seven o’clock that evening. The atmosphere and decor of the restaurant was excellent, the food and wines outstanding. Bill acted the perfect gentleman; she the perfect lady. Her side of the conversation, when it drifted to her, was evasive, enigmatic, as she told him as little about herself, as possible.
At her door, he tried to take her into his arms to kiss her. She pushed him gently away, turning to open the front door. “It was a lovely dinner, Bill… but please… don’t hurry me!” she murmured, softly.
His frown was momentary; he regained his composure, quickly, in the face of her rebuff. “Lunch tomorrow?” he asked.
“No, thank you… I have only a half-hour for lunch…”
“Dinner… tomorrow evening?” He was persistent.
“Sorry… Ill be doing my hair!”
May I call you, then…?” he asked, refusing to be put off, completely.
“Yes… Good night, Bill… It was a lovely evening,” she said, closing the door in his face.
He stared at the closed door for a moment. Damn! What a cool brush-off!… Or, is it a come-on… playing hard to get?
Bill kept calling her, until she accepted a dinner-date with him three days later.
In a small, intimate place in Pasadena, they had an excellent meal, and Bill had drunk four or five martinis, she limiting herself to two. As they drove homeward, he turned off onto a darkened road, pulling the Porsche into a secluded turnout, under a spreading oak tree. Stopping the car and turning out the lights, he reached for her.
Faye tried to avoid his avid kiss, but his lips captured hers, holding her tight to him, his tongue searching, trying to penetrate the barrier of her lips and teeth; finally, she struggled free of his embrace.
“Bill… please…!” she breathed. “I don’t want any… involvement… like this!”
“Damn it, Faye! You’re so desirable… I-I want you! I can’t keep my hands off of you… any longer!” he groaned.
His hand groped and found a luscious, firm breast through her clothing, grasping and clawing, painfully, into the soft, mounding flesh. Both her hands darted to her bosom, trying to protect herself, wincing from the pain. Prying at his stronger hand, she grunted with the effort, terror striking at her as the memory of Robert’s attempted rape of her went whirling through her mind. She grasped at words and phrases to say; she even toyed with the idea of jumping from the car and running from him… anything to deflect him from his goal. His mouth, once again, captured her full, red lips.
Suddenly, she relaxed, dropped her hands to her lap and twisted her mouth aside. A peal of almost hysterical laughter exploded from her lips, grating into his ear. He drew back in surprise.
“What’s so funny… all of a sudden?” he queried, puzzled.
“You… Me… Us!” she gasped, giggling now. “I was just thinking… maybe I should be playing it for comedy… act the maiden in distress… who’s about to lose her virginity… jump out of the car… and walk home… or demand honorable intentions from you… both of which would be foolish… and would mean nothing to you… isn’t that right?” she gasped out, running her sentences together in a rush of words.
“What the hell…? Talk sense… will you?” Bill growled with exasperation.
“I am talking straight, Bill! Listen to me!” she chided.
“O.K.! I’m listening…!”
“… Or, I could let you have your way… with me… once!… And that would be that! I’d never let you have me… a second time!” She was deadly serious.
“… But, I-I love you…! I want you…!” he mumbled, not really meaning it. It was part of his practiced line.
“Aren’t you confusing love with sex?! They’re not the same, you know!”
Bill was thoughtful, for a moment, some reasoning returning to him, belatedly, his passion curbed, momentarily, now.
“Then… you wouldn’t…?” he began. “No!” she cut in, “To me… sex without love would be out of the question! Can you understand that…
“Not exactly… but I’ll try…” He hesitated, before going on, “… And, I do want to see more of you… I couldn’t give you up, just like that!” He snapped his fingers.
“Then, take me home… now! Please?” Reaching for the ignition key, he started the engine, rammed the transmission into reverse gear and backed around in the small turnout. He regained the road, the little car jumping forward, screamingly, toward the main road, under his torturingly heavy foot on the accelerator. He ground out at her, between clenched teeth, “All right… this’s your round!”
Faye touched his arm. “Bill… why don’t you give me a chance… to learn to love you? I could… you know… i-if you gave me time.
‘Time…? How much time… and why?” be grunted.
“Six months… a year, maybe… I’ve so much… t-to get straightened out… with myself… Things I can’t tell you about… yet… she said, guardedly.
“Why so long?”
“I want to be sure… sure of myself… Sure of you…”
“Are you talking about… rn-marriage…!”
Faye said, quite simply, “Yes… Bill!”