Judge Me Not by John D. MacDonald Page B

promotion two days later. His boss had made the offer, obviously, and Roger had accepted, prepared the groundwork, dutifully left me there.
    “I tried to kill myself. I didn’t have enough courage.”
    “Or you had too much,” Teed said.
    “The worst part was hearing Roger tell me that we could keep on just like we were. I told him what he had turned me into, and what that made of him. He didn’t care to be called a pimp. He slapped me. I left town. I didn’t care where I went. Maybe I was a little crazy. I came here. A man picked me up. I didn’t even care about that. It didn’t matter. I made him give me twenty dollars. The next afternoon a woman named Gonzales came to the hotel room. I don’t know how she found out. She explained things to me. I didn’t want anything to do with her. After she left I went for a walk and the police picked me up. She came to the jail and explained again. So it was either spend ninety days in jail, or do it her way. And that, Mr. Morrow, is how I got my start.”
    “Roger gave you the name, so you took over the game.”
    “I suppose that’s it.”
    “And all this is just a process of getting even with him, getting even with life.”
    “Oh, it’s very simple, Teed. I buy nice clothes, live in a nice apartment with an unlisted phone. I’m always honest with myself. I get up in the morning and look into my mirror and say, ‘Good morning, you whore.’ ”
    “Maybe I’m a prude. I just don’t like the sound of that.”
    “And of course I do.”
    “Don’t get angry. How about your family?”
    “The usual thing. They think I’m a model. Isn’t that almost standard procedure?”
    “What are you going to do now?”
    “I … I just don’t know. I don’t know what you’ve done to me. I feel as if I’d been sick, somehow, ever since Roger. Now I’m getting well. And that makes a problem. I just don’t know.”
    “All right. I’ll rephrase the question. What are you going to do this minute?” he asked, reaching for her.
    She moved joyously toward him, her laughter soft in the night. “Oh, Teed, I can answer that question. I can answer it.”
    “We can answer it.”
    “Teed, not fierce and … desperate, like before. Tender, this time. Slow and tender. Can you pretend tenderness?”
    “I don’t have to pretend,” he said, his voice thick.
    “Can I say a silly thing to you?”
    “Of course.”
    “Forget, Teed, that the body is shopworn. Just keep remembering that the emotions haven’t been used much. They need tenderness. Oh, so badly.”
    “That isn’t silly. I can understand that.”
    “And we must have a new pact. We won’t use one word. It’s
verboten
, that word. Love. Never say it to me, Teed. Never, never, never, my darling.”
    “No love, no pasts, no tomorrows.”
    “Just here and now, Teed. Right here and right now I’m your girl. My heart is your heart.”
    The red glow of the fire was entirely gone. The wind had died. Far away a car droned through the hills and a dog bayed, sadly, forlornly. The night sky was vast over them, and the dark side of Earth turned slowly toward the sun. For a little time they were able to forget that the only constant in life is the utter loneliness of each individual.
    Later, when she whimpered in her sleep he touched her shoulder and, without waking, she made the tiny warm sigh that is the only thing left of a fear that has suddenly gone away.
    In the night he shut his fist until his knuckles ached, and thought that maybe one day he would make a trip, call on a man named Roger something.

Chapter Seven
    Morning sun was slanting into the small window and Barbara Heddon was shaking him awake.
    “Teed! Someone at the door. Wake up, Teed!”
    He crawled across her, snatched his trousers off the floor, pulled them on. He shook his head hard, grinned at her. “Don’t get up. I’ll chase them away.”
    “I think I better get dressed.”
    The hard knocking came again, and a man’s voice called, “Open up,