The Sudden Star Read Online Free Page B
Author: Pamela Sargent
had lost her shyness after her third drink, and she was not awkward in bed, although Simon sensed her skill was the product of an eagerness to please rather than experience. She continued to caress him after they had finished, until he impatiently brushed her hands away and turned on his side, facing her. She looked at him with her sad eyes, opened her mouth as if she was going to speak, closed it again, then turned over with her back to him.
Simon lay there silently. He began to doze, feeling as though he were being pulled under the surface of water and then left to float, drifting near the surface, unable to sink and unable to rise. He remained dimly conscious of the woman at his side. Something about her—he could not be sure what it was—made him feel isolated and alone as he drifted. His arms twitched. Something heavy settled on his chest, but instead of pushing him under, into unconsciousness, it pushed him up, up—he was awake.
A sound buzzed in his ear. Someone was calling him. He pushed the visual black-out button on his phone and picked up the receiver.
"Simon, it's me." It was Jeanne's voice. He turned on the small screen and saw her pug-nosed face peering at him. "Marvin will be away on Sunday. You may come over here then." She sounded calm enough. He looked over at Yola, who still slept.
"I can't," he said recklessly. "I don't want to meet you there. I don't want to meet you here."
"When, then?"
"I don't know." He paused, suddenly apprehensive, trying to think of an excuse. "I've been busy lately. I haven't slept well. I need to rest up."
"Who is there with you?" Jeanne lifted her head, pointing her chin at him.
He felt a movement next to him and looked over his shoulder. Yola was awake, staring at the screen. Her eyes widened a bit.
"I'll talk to you some other time, Jeanne," he said at last. Jeanne's image watched him unblinkingly, silently. Then she shrugged.
"Very well," she said, and the screen went blank.
Simon hung up, worried. Jeanne was rarely calm. He turned over on his back.
Yola was still watching him. "Jeanne Steinman?" the young doctor said. Her green eyes narrowed.
"You know her?"
"I know of her." The words sounded flat. "I saw her at a party just after I arrived. She didn't leave with her husband." She lay down again, her back to him.
He was tired. He reached over to grab the bottle of gin at the side of the bed, and swallowed two mouthfuls. He could not tell whether Yola was upset or simply disappointed. But he did not care what she thought. He reached toward her and grabbed her arm, digging his fingers into the flesh. She pulled her arm away and curled up tightly, pulling her knees to her chest.
He did not feel up to forcing her. He burrowed under the covers, hoping he could sleep. He tried not to think about Jeanne and what she might have told Marvin. But Marvin didn't care about Simon and had nothing to gain from him. He stretched out his legs, trying to relax.
He was not going to sleep if he kept thinking about Jeanne. None of it would matter soon, anyway. He would leave and go south; he'd have enough money soon. Once he got out of New York, he could get help from Titus Echeverria. He'd made a good bet with Titus, and it hadn't cost him much: helping him steal when they were kids, taking an exam for Titus so Titus could get a civil service job and make connections. He had known helping his friend would pay off eventually. Now Titus was down south, in business for himself, and he had promised Simon he'd help him if he ever followed. Titus had in fact planted the idea of escape in Simon's mind, of going south, away from the cold, the dirt, the clouds.
He dreamed of sunshine warming his body, warm air brushing his face, and at last fell asleep.
Simon awoke feeling thirsty. His mouth was cottony and his eyes were sore. It was still dark outside.
Yola stood by the sink, washing up. From the back, she looked like a tall, redheaded boy, with her flat ass and muscled legs.
Simon lay there silently. He began to doze, feeling as though he were being pulled under the surface of water and then left to float, drifting near the surface, unable to sink and unable to rise. He remained dimly conscious of the woman at his side. Something about her—he could not be sure what it was—made him feel isolated and alone as he drifted. His arms twitched. Something heavy settled on his chest, but instead of pushing him under, into unconsciousness, it pushed him up, up—he was awake.
A sound buzzed in his ear. Someone was calling him. He pushed the visual black-out button on his phone and picked up the receiver.
"Simon, it's me." It was Jeanne's voice. He turned on the small screen and saw her pug-nosed face peering at him. "Marvin will be away on Sunday. You may come over here then." She sounded calm enough. He looked over at Yola, who still slept.
"I can't," he said recklessly. "I don't want to meet you there. I don't want to meet you here."
"When, then?"
"I don't know." He paused, suddenly apprehensive, trying to think of an excuse. "I've been busy lately. I haven't slept well. I need to rest up."
"Who is there with you?" Jeanne lifted her head, pointing her chin at him.
He felt a movement next to him and looked over his shoulder. Yola was awake, staring at the screen. Her eyes widened a bit.
"I'll talk to you some other time, Jeanne," he said at last. Jeanne's image watched him unblinkingly, silently. Then she shrugged.
"Very well," she said, and the screen went blank.
Simon hung up, worried. Jeanne was rarely calm. He turned over on his back.
Yola was still watching him. "Jeanne Steinman?" the young doctor said. Her green eyes narrowed.
"You know her?"
"I know of her." The words sounded flat. "I saw her at a party just after I arrived. She didn't leave with her husband." She lay down again, her back to him.
He was tired. He reached over to grab the bottle of gin at the side of the bed, and swallowed two mouthfuls. He could not tell whether Yola was upset or simply disappointed. But he did not care what she thought. He reached toward her and grabbed her arm, digging his fingers into the flesh. She pulled her arm away and curled up tightly, pulling her knees to her chest.
He did not feel up to forcing her. He burrowed under the covers, hoping he could sleep. He tried not to think about Jeanne and what she might have told Marvin. But Marvin didn't care about Simon and had nothing to gain from him. He stretched out his legs, trying to relax.
He was not going to sleep if he kept thinking about Jeanne. None of it would matter soon, anyway. He would leave and go south; he'd have enough money soon. Once he got out of New York, he could get help from Titus Echeverria. He'd made a good bet with Titus, and it hadn't cost him much: helping him steal when they were kids, taking an exam for Titus so Titus could get a civil service job and make connections. He had known helping his friend would pay off eventually. Now Titus was down south, in business for himself, and he had promised Simon he'd help him if he ever followed. Titus had in fact planted the idea of escape in Simon's mind, of going south, away from the cold, the dirt, the clouds.
He dreamed of sunshine warming his body, warm air brushing his face, and at last fell asleep.
Simon awoke feeling thirsty. His mouth was cottony and his eyes were sore. It was still dark outside.
Yola stood by the sink, washing up. From the back, she looked like a tall, redheaded boy, with her flat ass and muscled legs.