| Subject: Chapter 207 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, October 17, 07:20:35am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
Extra warning: I'm rating this part 16 and above for mild bad language and unpleasant thoughts.
Dreams in the Dark (207/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
It had been, as were so many others, a very long day; there had never been any way out of that. The world seemed smaller all the time, life never what you wanted of it. But that was a truth she had learned to accept many years ago.
Still, it was this fact she was facing once again, the day trailing behind her like some of her many sins. It was always this way when she had to see him, or when she had to try to accept the latest assignment her master had given her--but it was always worse when it didn't cushion her pride, or her love, at all.
Anna Guerner had to face this fact now, had needed to for so very long--the truth inevitable. She was a whore, probably had been for many years, whatever the supposed details of her life. She just had to accept where that course would eventually lead.
This first truth spawned many others. A whore was usually commanded, worked for someone--frequently owed that man her soul, whether or not the original choice to give it had ever been her own. She was no different. The one she owed her loyalty to would hurt her--would no doubt kill her, eventually--but, until that day came, she would do his bidding. If her heart died in the process, it was nobody's business but her own.
She had come to accept these brutal facts a long time ago, ever since that terrible day when her life, in essence, had been sold to Mr. Bauer. It had only been around a year and a half ago, but she had been younger then, somehow--if not entirely fresh still fairly malleable; a vague pain ran through her. And what he had molded her into bore no scrutiny at all.
There was no way to think into this now, her situation far too dire--her duty much too clear. She was sitting at a table in the corner of a hotel lobby, was waiting for her target to arrive--was waiting for the one man who had ever treated her well. The place, fortunately, was mostly empty--and the clerk certainly didn't give a damn about anything any of the guests might get up to. Still, whatever her good fortune there, there was no way around what would come. If she were to survive, she had to betray her friend; her heart seemed to stutter. She only hoped she could do it without destroying him completely.
She couldn't follow this line of thought, refused to imagine where this might lead--her mind wandering, instead, remembering what had been. He had always been so good to her, had treated her just as she had dreamed. Even if she had known all along that it was a lie, a public front, she hadn't minded; a shudder traced up through her form. Unlike him, the men who were really interested in her were never gentle at all.
There was a smile at this insight, ironic though it was. The one man she had loved had had no interest in her entire sex--the whole year of their marriage unconsummated. But he had never lied to her, had let her know from the first what he had needed. And he had been tender, as well--a quality none of her actual lovers had possessed. His friendship, his trust in her, had meant everything; something dark and raw passed through her soul. And now she would betray him, as he should always have known she would.
This truth alone was unbearable, making it very difficult not to cry--but she was stronger than that, had always had to be--her mind turning, unable to face her fate. Long before she had ever met the man who had briefly married her, she had understood what betrayal was. But she had always been the one who was left bloodied and beaten by it.
The procession of men who had so used her didn't bear repeating, much too lengthy to even remember them all--stretching far back into her childhood. Still, once she had come to Hollywood--only because it was one of the few large cities she had heard enough about, was somewhere to get lost in, not with any dreams of stardom--the list had continued; something in her sank. And the ones she had met here had been at least as dangerous as all the rest.
She was nearly smiling about this now, knew no other reaction. In many ways, she had always been the sort of woman one found in some barroom, leaning over a glass of gin, smiling only because no amount of tears could fully encompass her pain. To many men, the image held a definite appeal--a sort of challenge--each one convinced that he alone could wipe that smile from her lips for good; she had to laugh. None really succeeded--but only because there had never been any joy in her soul which the look had fed off of. There was nothing in her left to kill.
All of these truths were well-established. Freddie had probably been one of the first to try to prey upon her more deeply here, but he wasn't much different from the rest. Still, his promise of a contract had introduced her to the one man--the one person--she had ever really cared for; her snort was small. It was just a damn shame that he had never really wanted her at all.
She didn't try to bury this fact somewhere in her mind, could see no point in running from it--her history in this town unchangeable by now. While Freddie had used her in the usual ways of men with women, her brief stint in one-reels at Premier had at least managed to introduce her to the one good man she had ever known; the world-weary smile grew--along with her theories. It was probably necessary to know a man who had no sexual use for women in order to find one who actually *liked* them. It was certainly a tendency which was never mirrored in any of those who had ever had any interest in her at all.
She knew she was running from what had to be, from the conversation to come, but this was far more comfortable territory--her thoughts allowed to roam. She had had so many men in this town, even a few the public liked to cheer. Most--like Gable--probably hadn't even known her name by the time they had been putting their trousers back on. A very few--like Samuelle--had at least had the courtesy to learn it, but they weren't really much different. While the latter man had managed to give her a little vague pleasure--not always a given, with most of her lovers' attitudes--he had still struck her as cold, ultimately unreachable; her smile grew more wan. What her gentle ex-husband had seen in him as a friend she had never entirely known. But men were always different with other men. Women were there--if for anything--for sex and breeding alone.
This truth had existed since the beginning of time, wasn't one she had any interest in dissecting. Questioning it would get a woman nowhere; she reached for her handbag, searching for a cigarette. There was no way to change the habits of the entire male species now.
She didn't ponder this, then, knew better than that. Had anyone asked her to analyze any supposedly better example of male-female relationships--Michael and Kitty, for instance--she would have seen no point to it. Men took what they needed, in whatever form that might come. To Michael, Kitty, apparently, was just a better species of bed mate than most.
She closed her purse, lighting her cigarette with an old, engraved, gold lighter, to then take a deep drag, happy for the relief the action gave her; she cherished the smoke in her lungs for a long moment before releasing it, enjoying the cloud it formed around her, the lighter placed lovingly, habitually on the bag. Still, the smoke wouldn't quite render her mysterious, she knew; she was too much of a type for that. She was a "dame"--always had been; the smile deepened. And she had long learned to cherish whatever identity she could find.
Such self-knowledge in this town was rare--but it was always easier to see the scope of the city from the bottom. From the top, the view narrowed, became vertiginously small, until finally it encompassed the viewer alone. And, once all others were merely shadows who served, it was impossible to have any real understanding of self.
She was enjoying her cigarette, as it gave her some other focus than the terrible task before her, liked them far better than sex--most of the time, at least. The advantage in the play between men and women was always with the man. Women's part in it, generally speaking, was to gain whatever favors they could before the act commenced. Once it was over, there was no chance for her--her face, name, and other bodily features, easily forgotten. Perhaps one out of twenty men gave a woman some sort of dim pleasure; she smiled again. And those were the ones you remembered the best.
She took another long drag on the cigarette, watching the smoke, but wasn't entirely able to keep her mind drifting as well. As little as she liked to admit it, there was still pain. After all, a woman's one love could leave scars--even when he was the rare sort of man who had no intention of doing so at all.
She was just being harmed by this truth again when she saw him--her one-year husband, the man she would have lived with forever, whatever the truth of their lives, had he not decided to be "decent." She sighed, putting out the cigarette, knowing no pleasure would be hers from now on. Her eyes couldn't rise. Soon, she would betray him for good.
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