Petals on the Wind by V. C. Andrews
"Blackmail!" I cried. He laughed and grabbed my hand, and we dashed to look at his new car parked outside our apartment building. My breath pulled in, it looked so new! "Oh, Julian, I love it! You couldn't blackmail her if she didn't want you to have one of her pets--she knows you will pamper it--and don't ever, ever sell it."
"Oh, Cathy," his eyes shone brilliantly with unused tears. "Can't you see why I love you so? We're alike--why can't you love me, just a little?" Proudly he swung open the door to give me the rare privilege of being the first girl to ride in his first Cadillac.
We had a wild and crazy kind of day from there on. We drove through Central Park and all the way up through Harlem, to the George Washington Bridge and back. It was raining but I didn't mind. It was warm and cozy in the car.
Then Julian started in again. "Cathy . . . you're never going to love me, are you?" It was a question he put to me at least once or twice a day, in one form or another. I longed to tell him of my engagement to Paul, to put an end to his questions once and for all. But I steadfastly kept my secret.
"It's because you're still a virgin, isn't it? I'll be so gentle, so tender, Cathy . . . give me a chance, please."
"Good God, Julian, is that all you ever have on your mind?"
"Yeah!" he snarled. "You're damned right it is! And I'm sick and tired of the game you play with me!" He guided the car out into a heavy stream of traffic. "You're a cockteaser. You lead me on while we dance, then kick me in the groin when we're not!"
"Take me home, Julian! I find that kind of talk disgusting!"
"Right! You bet I'll take you home!" he spat at me as I crouched near the passenger door he had locked. He shot me a fierce, distraught look then bore down hard on the gas pedal! We sped down all those rain-slick streets, and every so often he'd glance my way to see how I was enjoying the terrifying ride! He laughed, wild and crazy, then braked so fast I was flung forward so my forehead struck the windshield! Blood trickled from the cut. Next he snatched the purse from my lap, leaned to unlock my door, then he shoved me out into the pouring rain!
"To hell with you, Catherine Dahl!" he shouted as I stood there in the rain, refusing to beg. My coat pockets were empty. No money. "You've had your first and your last ride in my car. I hope you know your way around!" He saluted me with an evil smile "Get home the best way you can, puritan saint," he spat out, "if you can!"
He drove off leaving me on the street corner in the downpour, in Brooklyn where I'd never been before. I didn't have even a nickel. I couldn't make a phone call, or use a subway, and the rain came down strong. My lightweight coat was soaked through. I knew I was in an unsavory district where anything could happen . . . and he'd left me here, when he'd sworn to take care of me!
I began to walk, not knowing north from south, east from west, and then I saw a cab cruising by and hailed it. Nervously I leaned forward to watch the meter click away the miles--and the dollars. Damn you again, Julian, for taking me so far! Finally we reached my apartment building--at the cost of fifteen dollars!
"What do you mean you ain't got it on yuh?" the cab driver flared. "I'll drive ya straight to the police precinct!"
We bickered back and forth, with me trying to explain he couldn't be paid unless he let me out to go for money, and all the while the meter was running. Finally he agreed. "But you'd better be back, chicky, in five minutes--or else!"
An English fox chased by a hundred hounds couldn't have run faster than I did. The elevator crawled upward, creaking all the way. Never did I step in that thing when I wasn't afraid it would stop between floors and I'd be trapped Finally, the door opened, and I raced down the hall to bang on the door, praying April or Yolanda would be there to let me in. Crazy Julian had my hand bag and my key!
"Take it easy!" bellowed Yolanda. "I'm comin' Who is it anyway?"
"Cathy! Let me in quick! I've got a taxi driver waiting with his meter running!"
"If you think you're going to put the bite on me, forget it!" she said, swinging open the door. She wore only nylon briefs, and her freshly shampooed head was wrapped with a red towel. "You look like something the sea coughed up," she said invitingly. I wasn't one to pay much attention to Yolanda. I shoved her aside, ran to where I hid my secret cache of emergency money-- then I went slack. The small key to my locked treasure chest was in the bag Julian had--if he hadn't thrown it away. "Please, Yolly, loan me fifteen and a buck for a tip."
Shrewdly she looked me over while she removed the towel and began to comb her long dark hair. "What yah got to trade for small favors like that?"
"I'll give you anything you want. Just give me the money."
"Okay--you just keep your promise to repay." Slowly she took a twenty from her fat billfold. "Give the driver a fiver; that will cool him down--and anything I want--right?" I agreed and raced off.
No sooner did the driver grab the twenty, than he was smiling, friendly as he tipped his cap. "See you around, chicky." I hoped he'd drop dead!
I was so chilled the first thing I did was to run a tub of hot water, but only after I'd scrubbed off the dirty ring Yolly had left.
My hair was still wet as I pulled on clothes, planning to go to Julian and demand my purse back, when Yolly blocked my way. "Come on, Cathy . . . I want you to keep your bargain--anything I want, right?"
"Right," I said, disgusted. "What do you want?" She smiled and leaned provocatively against a wall.
"Your brother . . . I want you to invite him up next weekend."
"Don't be ridiculous! Chris is in college. He can't come up here any time he wants."
"You get him up here any way you have to. Say you're sick, say you desperately need him, but get him up here! And then you can keep the twenty."
I turned to stare at her with hostility. "No! I've got the money to pay you back. . . . I'm not going to let Chris get involved with the likes of you!"
Still wearing only the briefs, she smeared on scarlet lipstick without looking in a mirror. "Cathy, love, your dear, precious brother is already involved with the likes of me."
"I don't believe you! You're not his type!"
"N000," she purred, her eyes narrowing as she watched me finish dressing, "let me tell you something, dollface, there isn't a guy alive who doesn't go for my type. Including your dear brother and your lover-boy Julian!"
"You lie!" I cried. "Chris wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole--and as for Julian, I don't give a damn if he sleeps with ten whores like you!"
Suddenly her face flamed red, she stiffened and came at me with her hands raised and her fingers curled into claws with long red fingernails! "Bitch!" she snarled. "Don't you dare call me a whore! I don't take pay for what I want to give out--and your brother likes what I give out--go and ask him how many times he's--"
"Shut up!" I yelled, not letting her finish. "I don't believe anything you say! He's too smart to do anything but use you for physical needs. . . . Beyond that, you couldn't mean more than dirt to him!"
She grabbed me and I belted her back, hard. Hard enough so she fell to the floor. "You're nothing but a shallow, mean tramp, Yolanda Lange!" I screamed with fury. "Not nearly good enough for my brother to wipe his feet on! You've slept with every dancer in the company. I don't care what you do . . . just leave me, and leave my brother alone!"
Her nose was bleeding. . . . Oh, I didn't know I'd hit that hard, and her nose was also beginning to swell. Quickly she jumped to her feet, but for some reason she backed off from me. "Nobody talks to me like that and gets away with it. . . . You're gonna regret this day, Catherine Dahl! I'll get your brother. And what's more, I'll take Julian from you too! And when he's mine, you'll find out that without him you're nothing! Nothing but a hick dancer Madame Z. would throw out if Julian didn't insist on keeping you on because he's got the hots for a virgin."
What she screamed out could be so true. Maybe she was right, that without Julian I wouldn't be anything special. I felt sick and I hated her--hated her for soiling Chris and my image of him I began to throw m
"Go on!" she hissed between her clenched teeth. "Run away, little prude--what a fool you are. I'm not a whore! It's just I'm not the tease you are--and between the two, I choose my kind!"
Heedless of what she said, I finished packing, then strapped the handles of my three bags together so I could drag them out into the hall, and under my arm I carried a soft leather satchel stuffed full. I turned at the door to look back at Yolanda who had sprawled on the bed like a sleek cat. "You really do terrify me, Yolanda. I'm so scared I could laugh. I've faced up to bigger and better than you, and still I'm alive . . . so don't you come near me again, or it will be you who lives to regret this day!"
Shortly after I slammed the door I was on Julian's floor. Dragging along my tied-together luggage, I banged on the door to Julian's apartment with both fists! "Julian!" I cried, "if you're in there, open this door and give me back my purse. Open this door or you'll never have me for a dance partner again!"
He opened the door quickly enough, wearing nothing but a bath towel wrapped about his narrow hips. Before I knew what was happening he dragged me into the room and threw me down on the bed. I looked around frantically, hoping to see Alexis or Michael, but it was my bad luck he had the apartment to himself. "Sure," he barked, "you can have your damned purse back--after you answer a few questions!"
I jumped up from the bed--and he shoved me down again, then knelt so he straddled my body, and in no way could I escape! "You let me go, you beast!" I yelled. "I walked six blocks in the rain and was freezing cold--now let me up and give me my purse!"
"Why can't you love me?" he shot out, holding me down with both hands as I struggled to free myself. "Is it because you're in love with someone else? Who is it? It's that big doctor who took you in, isn't it?"
I shook my head, terribly afraid of him. I couldn't tell him the truth. He looked almost insane with jealousy. His hair was so wet from his recent shower he dripped water on me. "Cathy, I've had about all I can take from you! It's been about three years since we met, and I'm not getting anywhere. It can't be me that's wrong--so it must be you! Who is it?"
"Nobody!" I lied. "And you are all wrong for me! The only thing I like about you, Julian Marquet, is the way you dance!"
Blood flooded his face. "You think I'm blind and stupid, don't you?" he asked, so furious he could likely explode. "But I'm not blind, I'm not stupid and I've seen the way you look at that doctor--and so help me God if I haven't seen you look at your own brother in the same way! So don't go getting up on your high horse of morals, Catherine Dahl, for I've never seen a brother and sister so fascinated with each other before!"
I slapped him then! He slapped back, twice as hard! I tried to fight him off, but he was like an eel as he wrestled me down to the floor where I feared he'd soon rip off my clothes and rape me--but he didn't do that. He only held me beneath him and breathed heavily until he had some control of his raging emotions, and only then did he speak. "You're mine, Cathy, whether you know it or not . . . you belong to me. And if any man comes between us, I'll kill him-- and you too. So remember that before you turn your eyes on anyone but me."
He gave me my purse then, and told me to count my money to see if he'd stolen any. I had forty-two dollars and sixty-two cents, it was all there.
Shakily I gained my feet, when he allowed me to, and I trembled as I backed to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hall clutching my purse tight. Only then did I dare to speak what I thought.
"There are institutions for madmen like you, Julian. You can't tell me whom to love, and you can't force me to love you. If you had deliberately set out to make yourself repugnant to me, you couldn't have done a better job of it. Now I can't even like you--and as for dancing together again, forget it!" I slammed the door in his face, then hurried away.
But as I reached the elevator, he had the door open again, and he cursed something so terrible I can't repeat it, except it ended with, "Damn you to hell, Cathy. . . . I've said it before, and I'll say it again .. . and you'll wish to God you were in hell before I'm done with you!"
After that terrible scene with Yolanda, then Julian, I sought out Madame Zolta and told her I just couldn't live any longer in an apartment with a girl determined to ruin my career.
"She afraid of you, Catherine, that's all. Yolanda was the superstar in my small company until you came along. Now she feels threatened. Make up with her. . . . Be a good girl, and go and say you're sorry for whatever it was."
"No, Madame. I don't like her, and I refuse to live in the same apartment with her. So if you don't give me more money, I'll have to go to another company and see if they will, and if they won't then I'll go back to Clairmont."
She groaned, bowed her skeleton head into her bony hands and moaned some more. Oh, how grand Russians were at expressing emotions! "Okay . . . you blackmail me, and I give in. I'll give you a small raise, and tell you where to find cheap apartment--but it won't be so nice as one you left."
Hah! That had been nice? But she was right. The only apartment I could find would fit in Paul's smallest bedroom, all two rooms of it. But it was my own. . . the very first place I'd had all to myself, and for a few days I exalted in fixing it up as best I could. Then I really began to sleep restlessly, waking up every few minutes to listen to all the squeaks and squeals the old building made. I longed for Paul. I longed for Chris. I heard the wind blow, and there was no one in another bed three feet from mine to comfort me with soft words and sparkling blue eyes.
Chris's eyes were in front of me as I got up and sat at my kitchen table to write a note to "Mrs. Winslow." I sent her my first rave review, one with a sensational photo of Julian and me in The Sleeping Beauty. And I wrote at the bottom of my letter,
It won't be long now, Mrs. Winslow. Think about that every night before you fall asleep. Remember somewhere I'm still alive, and I'm thinking of you, and planning.
I even mailed off that letter in the middle of the night before I had the chance to reconsider and tear it up. I raced home, threw myself on my bed and sobbed. Oh God, I was never going to be set free! Never! And despite all my tears I woke up again, thinking of how I could hurt her so she'd never be the same. Be happy now, Momma, for it won't be long!
I bought six copies of all papers that had anything to say about me. Unfortunately, most often my name was coupled with Julian's. Paul and Chris were also favored with my reviews; the others I kept for myself--or Momma. I pictured how she'd look when she opened the envelope, though it was my fear she'd just pitch it in the trashcan after she'd torn up the envelope with its contents unread. Not once did I call her Mother or Momma, but kept my salutations always formal and cold. There would come a day when she would see me face to face and I would call her Mother and I would watch her pale, then shudder.
One morning I was awakened by someone banging on my door. "Cathy, let me in! I have terrific news!' It was Julian's voice.
"Go way!" I said sleepily, getting up and pulling on a robe before I stumbled over to make him stop pounding on the door. "Stop that!" I yelled. "I haven't forgiven you--I never will--so stay out of my life!"
"Let me in or I'll kick the door down!" he bellowed. I unlocked the deadbolts, and swung the door open a crack. Julian barged in to sweep me up in his arms and plant on my lips a long, hot kiss while I was half yawning. "Madame Zolta . . . yesterday after you left, she broke the news! We're going on tour in London! Two weeks there! I've never been to London, Cathy, and Madame is so delighted they've taken official notice of us over there!"
"Really?" I asked, catching his excitement. Then I staggered off toward my minute kitchen. . . . Coffee, had to have coffee before I could think straight.
"God, are you always so disoriented in the mornings?" he asked, following me into the kitchen where he straddled a chair backwards and leaned on his elbows to watch my every move. "Wake up, Cathy! Forgive me, kiss me, be my friend again. Hate me al
His modesty deserved a medal. "You've eaten breakfast?" I asked, and hoped. I had only two slices of bacon and wanted both for myself.
"Sure I have; I grabbed a bite before I came over, but I can eat again."
Naturally he could eat again! He could always eat . . . and that's when it hit me . . . London! Our company going to London! I spun around, crying, "Julian, what you said, you're not kidding? We're going over there--all of us?"
He jumped up. "Yes, all of us! It's a big break, our chance to make it big! We'll make the world sit up and take notice! And you and I, we'll be the stars! Because together we're the best, and you know it as well as I do."
I shared my meal and listened to him rhapsodize on the long and fantastic career we had just ahead. We'd be rich, and when we grew older, we'd settle down and have a couple of kids, and then teach ballet, I'd like that, wouldn't I? I hated to spoil his plans, but I had to say it. "Julian, I don't love you, so we can never be married. We'll go to London and dance together, and I'll do my best--but I plan to marry someone else. I'm already engaged. I have been for a long time now."
His long, glaring look of disbelief and pure hatred delivered and redelivered a series of visual slaps on my face. "You're lying!" he screamed. I shook my head to deny it. "Goddamn you to hell for leading me on!" he raged, then hurled himself out of my apartment. I'd never led him on, except when we were dancing, and that was my role to play. . . . That was all, all there was between us.