If Laura and Marcie went along together on greased wheels, Marcie and
Burr did nothing of the kind. There was never anything real to argue
about. But Burr couldn’t pick up a book or clear his throat or make a
suggestion without causing a disagreement. And he was as quick to snap
at his ex-wife. The only times they weren’t shouting at each other, they
were kissing each other.
“You probably wonder why we keep seeing each other when we fight like
this,” Marcie said to her one night.
“Do you love each other?”
“I don’t know—Yes.”
“Then I guess it doesn’t matter if you fight.”
“I hope it doesn’t drive you nuts.”
“No, not at all.” Laura wouldn’t even look up from her book. Marcie
embarrassed her with these confidences. But she couldn’t go on reading.
She stared at the page and waited for Marcie to continue.
Marcie couldn’t keep a secret. Things poured out of her, even intimate
things, even things that belonged to her private soul and should have
stayed there. Laura squirmed to hear her sometimes.
“We see each other,” Marcie went on, “because we can’t keep our hands
off each other. We fight because we’re ashamed of what we want from each
other. At least, I am. I guess Burr doesn’t have any shame. No, that’s
not fair. I guess he’s the one who’s sure he’s in love. Sometimes I
think I am, because I want to keep seeing him. And other times, I think
it’s just his big broad shoulders.”
“Don’t see him for a while,” Laura said. “Or try talking less when you
do. See what happens. Or do you just want to keep torturing yourself?”
“I guess I do,” said Marcie with such a disarming smile that Laura had
to smile back.
“Well, it’s not my business. I can’t pass out any helpful hints,” Laura
said. _I won’t care about your personal life, I can’t_, she thought.
Marcie laughed, walking around the room, peeling off her clothes.
“Laura, you’re a funny girl,” she said. “You’re not like other girls I
know.”
“I’m not?” Laura felt an old near-forgotten sick feeling come up in her
chest.
“No. Other girls love to talk about things. They love to gossip. Why, I
know some who would get started on Burr and keep going until they had to
be gagged. But you’re different. You just sit there and read and think.
Don’t you get worn out doing so much thinking?”
“What makes you think I do so much?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you?”
“Everybody thinks.”
“Not as much as you do.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean—I guess I mean, why don’t you ever go out?”
“I do. I saw that musical last week.”
“I don’t mean with me. Or other girls. I mean with boys.”
Laura loathed conversations like these. She felt as if she had spent her
whole life justifying herself to somebody—mostly Merrill Landon, but
others too. As if everything she did or didn’t do had to be inspected
and approved. If it wasn’t approved it stuck in her craw somewhere and
came up now and then to make her sick. “I’m new in New York,” she said.
“I don’t know anyone yet.”
“How about Dr. Carstens? You said he was good-looking.”
“He’s married.”
“Well, the other one, then?”
“He’s practically married.”
“Well, how about the big shot?”
“He’s a grandfather.” She said it sarcastically.
Marcie threw her hands up and laughed. “Laura, I’m going to have to do
something about you.”
“Don’t do anything about me, please, Marcie.” Something in the tone of
her voice sobered Marcie up.
“Why not?” she said.
“I—I just don’t want to be a bother, that’s all.”
“A bother!” Marcie came and sat beside her on the bed, wearing only the
bottoms of a pair of blue jersey pajamas, cut like slim harem pants. Her
breasts were high and full and unbearably sweet. “Laura, I like you.
We’re living together. We’re friends. I guess I’ve made a bad impression
on you with Burr and everything, but I want you to know I really like
you. You’re no bother.” She smiled. “I’ll get Burr to fix you up with
Jack Mann. We’ll go somewhere together. We need to get out. Maybe we’d
quit quarreling if we didn’t sit around this apartment all the time.”
She paused, and Laura tried not to look at her.
“How about it?” Marcie said.
Laura was in a familiar situation. She’d been in it before, she’d be in
it again, there was no escaping it. This is a heterosexual society and
everybody plays the game one way or another. Or pretends to play it for
appearances’ sake.
“I’d love to,” Laura said.
“Good! What night?”
“Any night.” Laura wanted to shove her off the bed, to throw the covers
at her; anything to cover up her gleaming bosom. She felt herself go hot
and cold by turns and it exasperated her. She wondered how obvious it
was. But even in her discomfort she knew it didn’t show as much as it
felt. She finally climbed past Marcie and out of the bed, making a hasty
way to the bathroom.
“I’ll call Burr,” Marcie called after her.
Laura closed the bathroom door and leaned heavily against it, panting,
her arms clasped tight around herself, rocking back and forth, her eyes
shut. Spasms went through her and she shook herself angrily. Her hands
stole downward in spite of herself and suddenly all her feeling was
fixed in one place, clarified, shattering. There was a moment of
suppressed violence when she clapped one hand over her mouth, helpless
in her own grasp, and her imprisoned mouth murmured, “Marcie, Marcie,
Marcie,” into her hand. And then came relief, quiet. The trembling
ceased, the heaving breath slowed down. She relaxed utterly, with only
just enough strength in her legs to hold her up, depending on the door
to do the rest. “Damn her,” she said in a faint whisper. “Damn her.” It
was the first time she realized how strong her “friendly” feelings for
Marcie really were and she was dismayed.
Laura went quickly to the washbowl and turned on the tap. She ought to
be making some noise. People don’t disappear into bathrooms for ten
minutes in utter silence. At least not in this bathroom where every pipe
had its own distinct and recognizable scream. In a few seconds Marcie
was calling at her through the door.
“Laura? Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
“We’re going to make it for Friday. We’ll see a show.”
“That sounds fine.”
“It’ll be fun.”
_I will not look at her_, Laura told herself, and buried her face in a
washcloth. She scrubbed herself assiduously while Marcie chattered.
_Damn her anyway, I won’t look at her. She has no claim on me, that was
a silly fool thing I did. I’ll pretend it didn’t happen. It didn’t
happen, it didn’t happen._ She was afraid that if she did look it might
happen again. She rinsed her face slowly and careful in water from the
groaning tap, and still Marcie stood there talking.
Laura reached for a towel and dried her face. She hung the towel up
again and turned to walk out of the bathroom, ready to ignore Marcie.
But Marcie had slipped into pajama tops and looked quite demure. Except
for her extraordinarily pretty face. Laura stared at her, as she had
known she would, as she did more and more lately.
“We’ll take in a show in Greenwich Village, because it’s easier to get
tickets—at least to this one—and besides, Burr knows—what’s the matter,
Laura?”
“What? Oh, nothing. Nothing.”
“You looked kind of funny.”
“Did I? I didn’t mean to. That sounds fine, the show I mean.” She
hurried past Marcie into the bedroom.
In bed she cursed herself for an idiot. _I’m just an animal_, she
berated herself. _I hardly know Marcie. I won’t start feeling this way,
I won’t!_
Out of the past rose the image of another face, a face serenely lovely,
a face whose owner she had loved so desperately that she had finally
been forced to leave school because of her.
_Why, they look alike!_ she thought, startled. _Why didn’t I see it
before? I must be blind. They look alike, they really do._ In the dark
she pictured Marcie’s face beside the other, matching, comparing,
regretting. It tore at her heart to see them together. She wished the
morning would never come when she would have to get up, bright and
cheerful and ordinary, like every other morning, and look at Marcie’s
face again. And Marcie’s breasts.
* * * * *
Morning came, as mornings will, and it went the same way. It was not
intolerable. Laura was secretly on guard against Marcie now. Or rather,
on guard against herself. She wasn’t going to fall. Marcie loved a
man—men, anyway—and Laura wasn’t in any hurry to go through hell with
her.
A curious change had come over Laura since the days of the terrible, and
wonderful, college romance with a girl named Beth. She had been so
frightened then, so lost, so completely dependent on Beth. She had no
courage, except what Beth gave her; no strength except through Beth; no
will but Beth’s. She had loved her slavishly; adored her. And when Beth
left her for a man, when she told Laura it had never been real love for
her at all, Laura was wounded clear through her heart.
All these things were unknown to Merrill Landon; unknown and
unsuspected. They would remain forever in the dark corners of Laura’s
mind, where she heaped her old hurts and fears.
She had thought of killing herself when she left school and went home to
face her father. But she was young and her youth worked against such
thoughts. Perhaps the very fact that she had loved so deeply and so well
prevented her. She had learned to need love too much to think seriously
about death.
Beth had left scars on Laura. But she had been a good teacher too, and
some of the things she taught her lover were beginning to assert
themselves, now that Laura was on her own and time was softening the
pain. Laura walked tall. She felt tall. It wasn’t the simple physical
fact of her height. It was a curious self-respect born of the
humiliation of her love. Beth had taught Laura to look within herself,
and what she found was a revelation.