They got along unusually well together, as the weeks passed into months.
April came, and Jean left on her European tour. Laura and Sarah were
alone in the office with the doctors, and Laura worked with a will to
make up for what she still had to learn. With each day, each fact
acquired and skill polished, the job meant more to her.
At home, there were no scenes or suspicions, such as female roommates
have a talent for. Laura was quiet, shyly friendly, thoughtful. Marcie
gave her a cram course in cooking, saw an occasional movie with her, and
asked her how to spell things. Most of her free time was spent with
Burr.
Laura liked Marcie very much. She tried to keep it that way. She was
relieved, as time went on, that her friendship didn’t get complicated by
stronger feelings.
_I like Marcie, and that’s all_, she mused to herself one time. It gave
her a certain satisfaction that most women would not have understood.
As for Marcie, she was somewhat amused with Laura; with her modesty,
which seemed so old-fashioned; with her shyness; with her books. But she
felt a real affection for her. Laura wasn’t much for gossip, but she
always listened to Marcie’s compulsive confessions. She was gentle and
sympathetic. Her ideas were different, and Marcie listened to her with
respect.
Laura wasn’t pretty, but at certain angles, with certain expressions,
she was striking and even memorable. Not everyone saw this quality; not
everyone took the trouble to study her features. But they made a curious
appeal to those who did. Her face was long and slim, and her coloring
pale. But her eyes were deep and cornflower blue. If Marcie had studied
them she might have seen more worldly wisdom than she dreamed of in her
bookish roommate.
Laura had a good grasp on what it meant to be a woman; on what it meant
to live deeply, completely, even when it didn’t last; on what it meant
to be a loser. And everyone must lose at least once before he can
understand what it is to win.
* * * * *
Burr had come over the night after Laura moved in. He was of medium
height but powerfully built, with a pleasant face. His brown hair was
crew cut, his brown eyes sparkled zealously, like those of a man with a
mission. His mission, apparently, was Marcie. He seemed to adore her; it
was so plain, in fact, that it made you wonder if it was real.
He walked into the kitchen where Laura and Marcie were finishing the
dishes, grabbed Marcie without a word to Laura—he didn’t even seem to
see her—and kissed her passionately. Laura self-consciously wiped a
dish, put it on the cupboard shelf, and started to back out of the room.
“Burr! You could have said hello!” Marcie gasped when he released her.
“Laura, don’t go. This is—” But he kissed her again. This time when he
let go she was mad. It was beautiful to see. Laura was exhilarated with
the force of it. Marcie, who was always full of laughter, was walloping
Burr with a wet dishcloth and calling him, “You bastard!” Her eyes
flashed, and she swiped at his face with long meticulously pointed
nails. Laura headed for the bedroom, but Marcie turned and caught her.
“Oh, no!” she said, pulling Laura back. “I want you to see what I
married. I want you to tell me if I wasn’t smart to get a divorce. Look
at him.”
Burr, his face damp with dishwater, was gently exploring a
nail-inflicted wound with one finger.
Laura tried to back out, but Burr saw her then and smiled. “Hello,
Laura,” he said. “You’ll have to forgive my charming wife. She’s very
emotional.”
“I’m not your wife!” Marcie flared.
Laura couldn’t help thinking it was all a joke. They both seemed to be
enjoying it too much.
Burr ignored Marcie. “You’ve probably never seen this side of her,” he
remarked to Laura. “I used to get it once or twice a day, like medicine.
Finally drove me to divorce.” Marcie threw a towel at him and he smiled
pleasantly at Laura. “But don’t let it bother you. You’ll never have to
marry her, so you’ll avoid the problem.”
There was a stormy pause. “Have some coffee?” Laura said suddenly to
Burr.
“I’ll fix him a highball,” Marcie sighed. “He hates coffee.”
“I don’t hate it. Why do you exaggerate, honey?”
“Well, you drink that horrible Postum crap, like all the grandfathers.”
“It’s not crap. It’s a hell of a lot better for you than coffee, I can
tell you that.”
“Then why don’t you live on it, darling?”
“If I wanted sarcasm tonight, I would have gone over to Chita’s.”
“That whore!”
“I—I think I’ll turn in,” Laura said softly and hurried toward the door.
“Don’t be silly!” Marcie looked at her, chagrined. “You haven’t said two
words to Burr.”
“She couldn’t say two words, honey. You’ve been talking too fast. I
couldn’t either, for that matter.” He went over to Laura and led her by
the hand to a chair. “Let’s talk about you,” he said. “Sit down.”
Laura felt ridiculous, but she obeyed him.
“Where’re you from?” he demanded.
“She’s from Chicago.” Marcie handed him his drink and perched on the
drainboard of the sink.
“Say something from Chicago, Laura.” He grinned at her.
She shrugged and laughed, embarrassed.
“What does your old man do?”
Laura was startled to think of him. He had been out of her mind in the
bustle of moving in with Marcie. “He’s a writer—a newspaperman,” she
said. She looked so uncomfortable that Burr let it drop.
After a slight quiet he said, “What do you think of my girl?”
“Burr, please!” Marcie exclaimed, but he waved at her to shut up.
“You know you won’t be rooming with her for long, don’t you?” He smiled
at Laura, and it looked like a warning sort of smile. It made Laura
faintly queasy, as if she had already done something wrong.
Laura hated to compliment a woman. It was always hypocritical because
she could never tell the truth without blushing. The more she admired a
girl, the harder it was to talk about her. She began to blush. “She’s a
very nice girl,” she said hesitantly.
“Say it like you mean it!” Burr said. “She’s a wonderful girl. Even if
she is a shrew.”
“Damn! Stop humiliating us, Burr. You aren’t funny.”
Burr stared at Laura, until she had to say something. “We get along just
fine,” she said.
“Sure. The first two days.” He laughed a little.
“Burr!” Marcie exploded. “She’s a girl, not an ornery bastard male like
you.”
“Well, I hope you two will be ecstatically happy,” he said, and downed
his drink.
“I won’t be talked about like this!” Marcie said. She dropped down from
the drainboard and started out of the room, but Burr caught her around
the waist. He was sitting next to Laura, and he buried his face in
Marcie’s stomach. Marcie tried to grasp his short hair and push him
back. Laura felt the old revulsion rising in her. Burr was doing nothing
very shocking or immoral. He was just embracing the girl he loved, the
girl who had been his wife. Laura knew that intellectually but her
spirit retreated from the sight, repulsed.
“You know something, Laura?” Burr turned his head to look at her, still
pressed against Marcie. “She acts like a damn virgin with me. She acts
like she didn’t have any idea what it’s all about. Like we’d never been
married at all, and I’d never—well, never mind what I did. She won’t let
me do it anymore.”
“Burr, you’re really repulsive,” Marcie said, shaking her head at him.
“Am I?” He smiled at her.
“You know you are. Laura doesn’t want to hear about that. Do you Laura?”
“I think I’d better get to bed,” Laura said.
“That’s a good girl,” Burr said approvingly. “Always knows when to cut
out. Laura, we’re going to get along fine.”
“Don’t go, Laura!” Marcie ordered her.
Laura, halfway to the bedroom, stopped.
“Scram!” said Burr. As she shut the door behind her he added, “Sweet
dreams, Laura. You’re a doll.”
Laura shut the door on them as he took Marcie, still resisting, in his
arms. She walked uncertainly around the bedroom for a few minutes. It
occurred to her that Burr would be grateful for the use of the bedroom,
but Marcie would never forgive her for suggesting it. Laura ran a
bath—it took fifteen minutes to get enough water to sit in—and sat
contemplatively in it, wondering what her roommate was doing in the
kitchen. She tried not to think of it. But when a thing revolted her it
stuck stubbornly in her head and tormented her deeply.
Laura climbed out of the tub and dried herself, looking in the mirror as
she did so. She had never liked the looks of herself very well. It still
amazed her to think that this slim white body of hers; this tall,
slightly awkward, firm-fleshed body, had been desirable to someone once.
She studied herself. She was not remarkable. She was not lush and ripe
and sweet-scented. On the contrary, she was firm and flat everywhere,
with long limbs and fine bones. Her pale hair hung long over her
shoulders and bangs framed her brow.
_I am certainly not beautiful_, she thought consciously to herself. _And
yet I have been loved. I have loved._
She gazed at herself for a moment more and the ghosts of old kisses sent
shivers down her limbs. Then she rubbed herself briskly with the towel
and put her pajamas on.
_That’s over now_, she said to herself. _That happened a million years
ago. I’m not the same Laura anymore. I can’t—I won’t love like that
again. I’ll work, I’ll read, I’ll travel. Some people aren’t made for
love. Even when they find it, it’s wrong. I’m one of those._
She picked up a book she had been reading—one of Burr’s—and climbed into
bed. There was a small lamp between the beds and she switched it on,
drawing her knees up for a book rest. The covers formed a tent over her
legs.
For a long while she sat and read about the mixups of other people, the
people in the book. Then she closed it and put it on the bedside table.
She turned the light off, but still she didn’t lie down. She simply sat
there in the dark, listening ... listening ... and heard nothing. She
put her head back, resting, thinking about them in the other room,
hating her thoughts but unable to shake them. After a while she slept,
still sitting half-upright.
* * * * *
Much later, muscle cramps woke her up and forced her to lie down. She
noticed that the light under the kitchen door was out. She pulled the
covers over her shoulders, wondering what time it was. In a moment, all
was silence again.
“Laura?” It was Marcie, whispering.
Laura sat up with a start. “Yes? Marcie, are you all right?”
“I’m all right.”
“Is he gone?”
“Yes. For the time being.”
“Oh. What time is it?”
“About three.”
“You shouldn’t stay up so late. You have to go to work in the morning.”
There was a little silence.
“Laura?”
“Yes?”
“Were you ever in love?”
Laura felt a terrible wave of emotion come up in her throat. What a
damnable time, what a damnable way, to ask such a question! She was
defenseless against her feeling in the soft black night, with the soft
voice of a lovely girl asking her, “Were you ever in love?” For a while
she tried to keep her mouth clamped shut. But Marcie asked her again and
she was undone.
“Were you, Laura?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“What was it like?”
“Oh, God, Marcie—it was so long ago—it was so complicated. I don’t know
what it was like.”
“Was it good?”
“It was awful.”
Marcie turned over in bed at this, raising herself on her elbows.
“Wasn’t it good sometimes? Now and then?”
“Now and then—” Laura whispered, “it was paradise. But most of the time
it was hell.”
“Did—did he love you? As much, I mean?”
Laura pressed her hands to her mouth, not trusting herself for a minute.
Then she whispered, “No.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Marcie’s voice was warm with sympathy. “Men are such
bastards, aren’t they?”
“Yes. They are.”
After a moment of thought Marcie said, “Burr likes you.”
“I’m glad.” She couldn’t stand to talk any more. “Goodnight, Marcie.”
“Goodnight, Laura.” Marcie sounded a little disappointed. But she said
nothing more and in a minute Laura heard her roll over and fall asleep.
Laura did not sleep again that night.