* * *

Jeanne was at the hotel when she returned. The chasseur, a young boy wearing a red and gold uniform, and carrying an armload of packages, followed her inside.

Laura made no attempt to speak to her, but went and put down her coat, and got a tip for the chausseur. She started to close the door, but then thought better of it. She leaned close to the boy and whispered something in his ear. His face got tense, and he nodded. She took his white-gloved hand and led him back inside the room.

"Sit down here. Jeanne, sit over there please." She gestured to a chair near the window. The younger girl moved to the chair and sat hesitantly, as if expecting a blow.

Laura walked into the bathroom, and put up her hair in a twist. She was back in a moment, and walked behind Jeanne. She leaned over with a smile, and whispered into her ear in an icy voice "if you say or do anything except sit here and watch, I will make you sorry…nod if you understand." 

Jeanne nodded nervously. Laura smiled at the boy and gave a laugh, as if she had imparted some friendly confidence. She stood before him and knelt. She had removed her hat, and coat, but still wore white gloves, a neat suit and high heels. Laura watched Jeanne watching her. 

The uniform trousers opened with buttons and Jeanne undid them slowly. The boy was giving a slightly nervous half smile now, and she could see sweat beaded on his forehead. She brushed back a strand of hair, making sure that Jeanne could see her very clearly, and released him with her gloved hand. She played the fingertips of her hand along his shaft, but he was already straining erect. Without any further preparation, she enfolded the tip of his young member between her lips, and began drawing him deeper within her mouth.

It did not take long. She made a point of not shooting sidewise glances at Jeanne while she pumped him, but she could see slight movement out of the side of her eye. The girl was fidgeting, unable to look away as her hand and mouth milked the young boy. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair, and the muscles of his neck strained, and his head fell backward. She felt him stiffen and quiver within her mouth, and then in a few seconds, it was over. She pulled away and looked straight at Jeanne, while the boy slumped back grinning and exhausted. This evening he would tell his companions of the older woman whom he had conquered earlier in the day, inviting him into her room after being unable to resist his charms. If he remembered Jeanne at all, it would be as an odd afterthought "there was this other woman in the room, who said nothing…I think she wanted me too…" He would have no idea of the role he had in a power game that reached far beyond him.

Laura stared straight at Jeanne, locking her eyes, and wiped her mouth on the back of her white gloved hand. 

The young man was already fastening himself up and mumbling his exits. He would be missed soon. She gave him a friendly hug, and ushered him out. When she returned Jeanne was sitting crying silently. Laura moved behind her, and hugged her warmly, her chin resting on the girl’s shoulder. Jeanne slumped to the side, and let her head loll against Laura’s.

"Madame. Why do you torture me so."

"Because it is what you like, Jeanne. You thrive on it. If I treated you well you would go elsewhere. The Communist."

She heard a little intake of breath.

"You know."

"Of course"

Jeanne gave a miserable sigh. "I hate him. I only want you."

Laura placed a finger on Jeanne’s lips. "You’ve said enough stupid things for today."

Jeanne said nothing in reply but drew Laura’s finger between her lips and ran her tongue across the pad, sucking gently on the digit. Laura felt a stab of warm excitement that ran from her throat to her loins. She drew her finger from Jeanne’s mouth and stepped back a pace. "Draw me a bath."

"Yes madame." She rose with little of the lassitude she had show a moment before, and within a few moments Laura heard the rush of water in the bathroom. She smoked a ciagrette, and was crushing it out when she heard Jeanne call out "it’s ready madame."

Laura walked into the bedroom, and made sure to stand where Jeanne could see her to strip. She tossed her dress and blouse into a casual pile on the one chair in the room, and sat on the stool in front of the vanity, looking at herself in the mirror. 

She was attractive. Still youthful, she had a full figure, with breasts that were a little short of being conspiciously large, but were a bit more than a handful. There was a little of the sag inevitable with any age, but overall her breasts were firm. In general tone, she could be considered fashionably attractive. The most recent run of movie stars had full figures, and favored her own appearance. Her arms were round and elegant, and her stomach was not flat, but had a little fullness and roundness to it. Her hair, let down, was longer than was truly fashionable. 

She went into the bathroom, and with due caution climbed into the tub, and laid back to enjoy a soak. Jeanne knelt beside the tub until Laura sent her to call room service for a bottle of Perrier, with a twist of Lemon. Laura was planning on leaving for a residential hotel in the morning, more for reasons of economy rather than her recent indiscretion with the staff, but she felt she might as well enjoy the privileges of a guest hotel while she could.

She contrasted her own appearance with Jeanne’s. The young Frenchwoman should have been born five years earlier. Her figure would have done credit to the Roaring Twenties, the heyday of Clara Bow and the "it" girl. She was slender to the point of near boyishness, and she drew as best she could on a fashion that had once been popular but was now a bit dated. She wore a tight black dress which came just below the knees, and a headband over short cropped hair. She blackened her eyes with kohl, and colored her lips in a "beesting" pout. To look at her one would hardly know that the days of the flapper were gone. She had first emerged as a woman in the last days of the 20s, and stubbornly clung to a fashion in which she looked good, if out of style. The flapper image had held on longer in Paris than in America, and there were still certain places where such a look was considered interesting.

Laura let the water soak the cold and travel of the past few weeks from her. Jeanne had added a touch of perfume to the bath. She was attempting to make up for the scene she had thrown this morning to get Laura’s attention. Laura gave a long sigh. Jeanne was a situation headed for disaster. If she wasn’t fairly certain that she would be dead before she had to deal with the ultimate outcome, she would despair.

Jeanne answered the door and brought her Perrier. The hotel was not a large one, and Laura wondered if it was the same chasseur. In a more playful mood she would have asked, but she’d provoked Jeanne in that direction far enough.

Laura rose from the bath without drinking more than a few sips of the water, and went into the vanity. She selected a hair brush and handed it to Jeanne, who stood behind her and brushed out her hair. In the mirror, Laura could see the rapt expression on the younger girl’s face. Communist or no, she was in love with Laura. Certain to end in disaster. It certainly had for everyone else. It certainly had for Paul Becker.

When Jeanne had fallen off to short strokes that were more symbolic than not, Laura took the brush from her. She stared into Jeanne’s eyes.

"You made a scene this morning..."

"Yes...Madame."

"You know I hate that." Not really true. Scenes tired her, wore her out. But she was always surrounded by them. Wouldn’t know what to do without them.

"I can’t have that."

"Yes Madame."

"Kneel at the foot of the bed, Jeanne."

Jeanne got to her knees. She knew exactly what Laura meant. She leaned forward, so that her body was resting on the bed, her derriere facing Laura.

Laura touched her back beneath the thin black dress she was wearing.. She gathered the cloth in her hand so that it rose up, exposing Jeanne’s thighs. With her other hand she followed the seam of Jeanne’s stocking, passed the garter, drew her nail along the back of the girl’s leg. The dress rose over the curve of her rear. Jeanne never wore underwear as far as Laura knew. Laura could hear her breathing fast.

She brought the hairbrush down with a crack against the smooth skin of the girl’s flank. There was a gasping intake of breath, and Jeanne writhed perceptibly. Laura struck her again, harder, and this time elicited a slight cry. 

She began raining blows with the back of the hairbrush on Jeanne’s rear, and the back of her thighs. She watched as the skin reddened, gooseflesh rising along her cheeks. When Jeanne began to stifle sobs, Laura increased the tempo and the arc of her swing. Jeanne rocked against the bed with each blow, finally sobbing aloud. 

With a practiced gesture Laura placed three fingers between Jeanne’s legs, drawing back her sex with index and ringfinger, and slipping the middle finger between her divided lips. The slightest pressure against the opening of her vagina produced a flood of lubrication, and a hollow gasp. Laura slipped her finger easily inside of Jeanne, and ran her nails along the angered flesh of her rear. Jeanne drove herself backwards against Laura’s hand moaning audibly.

When Laura had worked Jeanne to uncontrolled bucking against her hand, she withdrew entirely and placed her hands on Jeanne’s hips, turning her around. She rolled over on the bed, head lolled back, legs parted. Laura knelt between Jeanne’s legs as she had between the chasseur’s, though now the soft curve of her breasts was warm against Jeanne’s thighs. She pressed her lips against Jeanne’s sex, and parted them with her tongue. Starting slowly, she began to work Jeanne back to frenzy. Laura’s tongue circled, descended, probed past the ring of muscles of her vagina, gathered moistured, and swept it back upwards, breaking like a warm wave against the swelling beneath the hood of flesh at the top. She circled that sensitive place with the tip of her tongue, pausing occasionally to trace the outline of Jeanne’s labia, or to draw one side or the other into her mouth for a moment.. Looking up as much as she could, she saw Jeanne’s hands twisted in the sheets, clenching and unclenchcing. 

With quick circular motions of her tongue, she finished, inserting her index finger at the end for the satisfaction of feeling Jeanne spasm around out, muscles clenching spasmodically. When it was over Jeanne lay still, staring up at the still fan on the cieling. 

Laura climbed into the bed beside her, and Jeanne moved to lay her head on Laura’s lap. Jeanne murmured a complaint when Laura leaned over to the bedstand for a cigarette and a lighter. She watched the smoke rise toward the cieling, curling around the paddles of the fan. When it was started in spring the motor would sluggishly come to life, and give off a faint smell of stale tobacco.

Laura was acutely aware of Jeanne’s cheek and hair warm against her abdomen. When she crushed out her butt, she stroked Jeanne’s cheek for a while, then gripped her cheeks in either hand and turned her head. She rolled over and knelt on all fours, and put her head down without ever looking at Laura. In a moment she felt the soft swell of Jeanne’s lips and tongue engulf her, and she let her head fall back. She stared upwards unseeing, as Jeanne’s head rocked slightly, cheeks and hair brushing her thighs. With Jeanne now she was as gentle as she had been brutal with Manuel last night, stroking the back of her head gently. Jeanne knew exactly how to make her come, and she never teased. She was earnest and naive and full of deception. The fact was that for all the other problems, the thought of Jeanne’s beautiful young face pressed against her filled Laura with a flood of excitement. Jeanne was beautiful and exciting in a way that short circuited her usual cynicism and defenses. Laura might control every other aspect of their relations, but in this moment, Jeanne led her utterly. She climaxed with a low moan that belied the intense physical and emotional waves that swept her body. 

Jeanne rolled over and lay on the bed next to Laura when she was done. Outside it was beginning to get dark already, the afternoon gone into evening. She could hear taxis honking, and occasional curses. Laura lay in the dark with the sweat on her body slowly evaporating from the dry heat of the radiator. The window in the parlor room was still open, and it created a cold draft which played across her belly and breasts in little gusts. 

Now that she was done she wanted Jeanne to be gone. She was filled with a desire to dress, hail a taxi, to call friends or go out to clubs and dance. It was still early and there was time to do these things, but she knew that her energy would not carry her through. The ideal solution would be to call a male friend or two and have a private dinner, but she could think of no one who would be suitable. Jeanne would pout at having another person present, and feel...rightly...that Laura was just trying to distance her. 

"Do you want to go out for dinner." She asked Jeanne.

"No. If you want to…je n'en ai rien a foutre."

"It doesn’t matter to me," Laura said matter of factly. "I’m too tired to go out anyway. Do you need to go."

"No. Pierre expects to see me, but I don’t want to see him." This was the first time that Laura had heard the name of the Communist. Jeanne assumed she already knew who he was, and Laura was not going to tell her otherwise.

"Won’t he take that badly?"

"Probably. He’ll take it out of my ass."

Laura shrugged. "Is he any good at it?"

"I suppose. He likes to hurt me more than he likes to fuck me."

"That should work pretty well for you," Laura said coldly.

"It does, I suppose." Jeanne paused to think for a moment "I keep seeing him. Nothing has changed since you left, has it."

"No, not really. Not between you and me anyway." Laura wanted to add something to soften that like "I’m sorry," but that was not the way they talked. They had always been brutally and painfully honest. Jeanne delighted in being hurt by Laura, and even as she said the words Laura felt a strange erotic stirring and knew that she delighting in hurting Jeanne.

"You’re tired of me then. Will you keep seeing me?" asked Jeanne.

"Of course," said Laura mechanically.

"Why?" asked Jeanne.

"You know why. You’ll try to see me...will see me...anyway. If being away for three months didn’t change that, nothing else is going to. And I don’t care enough to stop you. I like the sex."

"Yes, we both like that."

"But if you don’t want me to break it off entirely, you’ll have to keep to my limits. Or I’ll do what I did this afternoon again."

"Hit me?" asked Jeanne.

"No, I’ll do that anyway, because you want me to. But I’ll do other things. I’m going to do whatever I please, in front of you or not."

"I know."

"You should go see your Communist. I don’t care. You know I’ll see you again anyway."

"I don’t want to. I’m obsessed with you. I want to be near you."

"What if I go out?"

"I’ll sleep here."

"You could go with me."

"You don’t want me to, and I’m too tired. You are too. You won’t go out."

"No. You’re right. We should order dinner."

"From room service?"

"Why not?" asked Laura.

"Tres cher. You aren’t rich, though you act like it."

"I’m well off. I’m comfortable. I don’t really care about money. It’s not as if I’m going to live to old age."

"It’s not as if either of us is," said Jeanne.

"You’re far more self destructive than I am."

"Yes, but you’re going to Spain. Of course so am I."

"First I’m going to Britain. Are you going to come?"asked Laura

"You know I can’t unless you pay for it," responded Jeanne, eyes downcast.

"I’ll pay for it."

"Why, if you want to get away from me?"

"I don’t know anyone else in London."

"Alright. That’s fair."

"Do you have any money?" asked Laura

"Enough for clothes. Or food. I gave the rest to the Communist Party."

"Not likely."

"In a manner of speaking," said Jeanne.

"Marc is your connection too?"

"Yes. That’s how I met with him."

"So that’s what keeps you going back."

"It’s one thing. But I could fuck almost anybody for that. You know what keeps me going back."

"How dangerous is he?"

"He’s never seriously threatened to kill me or anything. He’s a man. He’s more cruel than you."

"That must be difficult," said Laura.

"Well he’s a man. He can’t be as cruel emotionally so he makes up for it by being cruel physically. He has a lot of complexes. Why do you want to know about him?"

"I think I want to meet him."

"Why? Beacuse of me?"

"No, because he’s a Communist."

Laura worked the crossword puzzle in a copy of the New York Times she had brought over from America. She’d started it on the ship, and given up, now she finished it out of a sort of dogged vanity. Jeanne hated crossword puzzles, because Laura liked them and because even before the Communist they seemed to her to be the epitome of bourgeoisie. 

"What’s a six letter word meaning ‘ to rip or tear asunder," asked Laura.

"Merde," replied Jeanne. She always answered like this.

"I want to say sever," said Laura, "but that’s five letters. Anyway, that would be ‘cut’ not ‘rip.’"

"Foutre," said Jeanne. "Anyway, why ask me about English. It’s not my native language." 

"Later. Anyway, English might as well be."

"My English is stilted."

"Your French is foulmouthed."

"Oui. Leche moi et saire me renier." 

"Maybe later."

"Do you want me to go down on you?"

"No, but if you do, you know I’ll let you."

"Are you going to reciprocate?"

"Maybe. See how I feel." Laura smiled a bit playfully. The first time she had smiled at Jeanne during the evening.

"I should just go to sleep."

"You can. Or not. Take your chances." 

Jeanne attacked Laura then with her fists, playfully, swinging slow enough that Laura could grab hold of her wrists, and twist her down, pinning her, and pinching her nipple. Their bodies moved together and it was Laura who went down first on Jeanne. Afterwards, Jeanne finished Laura quickly, and they lay together for a while. Laura was sleepy now, and made a pretense of finishing her crossword. Jeanne went into the bathroom, and took her purse with her, which meant she was going to shoot up. When she came back there was little noticable difference, but within a few minutes she’d sunken into a deep narcotic sleep. 

Laura reflected on their relationship. Before she left for America this would have been a good night. On a bad night, Jeanne would have passed out soon after dinner, leaving her free to go out. Or she would have gone out over Jeanne’s tearful protests, and come back to find her sleeping off her fix. Jeanne usually threatened to take an overdose, but in fact she was tightly controlled, for an addict. Used to economy, she was sparing even in her addiction. She held it at a standstill, taking just enough. It usually made her irritable. If she’d become a heavier addict, it would kill her sex drive. Sometimes in the past it had for weeks at a time. She was almost a phantom, a bit of furnishing to explain casually to the men Laura brought home. But in the past year, her control had been better. Laura should congratulate such effort, should reward it, but she couldn’t bring herself to. The fact is that Jeanne’s recovery had prompted the total breakdown of their relationship.

Jeanne was an addictive type. She was addicted to the needle, and to Laura. But Laura was far from certain that she’d been right in saying that Jeanne was more self-destructive than herself.