Carl Jensen was a clean cut young man, very fair with freckled skin. He
engaged Sarah in conversation right away; it was a part of what he
considered good technique to get a girl talking, and he wasted no time.
Jack and Laura had dinner with them, but Jack was obviously chafing to
get away. They hadn’t even finished their after-dinner coffee before he
was whispering in Laura’s ear, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Laura,
who was almost wordless through dinner, agreed.
Jack did the dirty work. He told them a joke, he made them laugh, and
then he said he had a meeting the next day up in Albany. Very
unexpected. Would they mind, etc.
They were a little startled, Jensen especially, for he had expected Jack
and Laura to stick with him and lend moral support through the
evening—but they replied, almost together, “No, go ahead. We don’t
mind.”
As soon as they were in the street Jack sighed, “God. I couldn’t have
stood another minute of it. Straight people are so depressing.”
Laura smiled at him and noticed for the first time that evening how
tired and worried he looked. She was so wound up in Laura Landon that
nobody’s troubles counted for her but her own. But now she saw Jack’s
anxiety and she was afraid she had caused it. She started to apologize.
“Jack, I want you to know ...” she began.
“Skip it.”
“Please.”
“I said skip it.” And his voice was harsh enough to hurt her.
They walked along in silence for a minute and finally Laura said, “Jack,
I have to talk. I feel awful about it. I saw my father last night. He
saw me, too. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never been so
terrified in my life, as if he were the devil and I had to get away from
him. I ran all the way to the subway. I think I was hysterical.”
He looked at her and then he sighed. “Everybody’s hysterical. Even me.”
“There was an old colored lady there. In the rest room. She said
something I didn’t understand then, but I’ve been thinking about it. She
said everybody is a stranger in this world until he finds a little love.
That’s the most important thing.”
“Wise lady,” Jack said.
They walked without talking for half a block. “How’s Terry?” Laura
asked.
“He needs a spanking. I act like a lovesick cow with him. I can’t help
it. I know I’m doing it, and I can’t help it. He laughs at me.” Jack
looked at the pavement as he walked, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“Mother,” he said slowly. “Do you want to get back in my good graces?”
“I do,” she said gently. “Yes. I do.”
“Well,” he said, and stopped walking. She stopped beside him and saw
that he was embarrassed. “This is a rotten thing to do. But I’d do it
for you, bear that firmly in mind.” He poked her chest between her
breasts, as if he were making a point with a fellow business man. It was
intended to lighten the atmosphere a little, but the atmosphere was too
heavy already.
“I’ll help you, Jack, you know I will. Any way I can. You’ve been so
wonderful to me. I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Okay, okay.” He stopped her abruptly and then seemed unable to speak
himself for a minute. Finally he said, quickly, “I’m losing him, Laura.”
“Oh, Jack!” She was suddenly full of sympathy, but he cut her off again.
“What the hell,” he said cynically. “I expected it. I _predicted_ it.
And I know why.”
“Why?”
“Mother, you have a short memory.” He smiled wryly. “My little friend
likes nice things. Nice things cost money. And besides,” he looked at
his shoes, scraping one toe along a crack in the pavement, “I can’t
handle him. I should shove his teeth down his throat. I should make him
behave. And I can’t. I feel more like falling on my knees and
worshipping him. He has no respect for me.” He spoke so softly that
Laura had to strain to hear him.
She put her hands on his arms. “Jack, he’s not worth your time,” she
said. “Anybody who would take advantage—”
“No, no, no, it’s normal. In this abnormal world we live in, you and I.
If I were young and beautiful, he’d settle for that. But I’m not. I’m
middle-aged and ugly. And a sap. So it takes something else ... money. I
wish I had the knack of being a millionaire.”
“Damn it, Jack, you need somebody who can appreciate you.” He laughed
bitterly, but she went on. “You make me hate Terry already without ever
having seen him.”
“No, Laura,” he said seriously. “Don’t hate him. He’s very young. He’ll
learn. It’s my fault. I can’t give him what he needs.”
“Dollar bills?”
Jack sighed. “That’s my last chance. I know it takes something else, but
I haven’t got it. And now I haven’t got the dollar bills, either.”
“If I were a boy I’d fall madly in love with you,” Laura said.
This was such a startling remark that Jack had to drop his cynicism and
take it in the spirit in which it was given. “Thanks, Mother,” he said
softly. He looked at her, his ugly intelligent face prey to a number of
strong emotions that he made no attempt to hide. It was a measure of his
regard for Laura that he could let her see him stripped of wit and
laughter like this. “How much do you have in the bank, Laura?”
Laura stared a little at him. But then she said quickly, “All I have is
yours, Jack. It’s not much, but if it’ll help....”
He smiled a little and then he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re
a doll,” he said. “We both know this is a losing investment. But it’ll
give me a few more days with him. After that....” He shrugged. “Well, I
always seem to live through these things. I don’t know why.”
They stood uncertainly on the corner for a minute and suddenly he asked,
“Where are you going now?”
“Home.”
“To Marcie?”
“Yes. I hope Burr hasn’t tried to bother her.”
“He’s pretty sick about the whole thing. I think he’ll drink it off for
a day or two. You should, too. The whole thing looks screwy to me.” He
looked at her. “Come have a nightcap with me.”
“Where?”
“The Cellar. Where else?”
“I’m afraid I’ll run into Beebo.”
He shrugged. “I’ve gotten to know her better.” He gazed away from her
thoughtfully.
“You have?”
“She calls me all the time. ‘Where does Laura work, what does Laura
like, tell me all about her.’”
“She asked you that?” Laura was slightly incredulous, but once again,
she liked it. She was sorry she liked it, but she did.
“Yeah. I’m beginning to think I like her.”
“You liked her before.”
“I know.” He laughed. “I’m not making sense. I guess I mean I feel
sympathetic toward her. We’re both unlucky in love. At the moment.” He
looked hard at her then and said, “Please come with me, Laura. I don’t
want to go home.”
“Why not?”
Again he laughed, not so pleasantly this time. “I’m afraid of what I’ll
find.”
“Like what?”
“Like somebody else in my bed with Terry.”
After a moment of shocked silence, Laura put her arm in his. “Okay,” she
said. “Let’s go somewhere and flatter the hell out of each other.”
He chuckled at her. “Mother, damn it, sometimes I suspect you of having
a sense of humor.”
They went down to The Cellar, in spite of Laura’s misgivings. Jack
seemed so unhappy that she wanted to indulge him. It was crowded as
always on Friday nights, but Beebo wasn’t in sight.
“She’ll be in,” Jack observed. “She’s late on Fridays.”
They stood at the bar until a couple of stools were vacated and then sat
down.
“What does she do?” Laura asked rather shyly.
“Who? Beebo?”
“She must get money somewhere. She has to pay the rent like everybody
else.”
“She runs an elevator. In the Grubb Building. They think she’s a boy.”
“My God—an _elevator_.” It seemed wrong, even ludicrous. Beebo had too
much between her ears to fritter her youth away running an elevator.
“What does she do _that_ for?”
“She doesn’t have to wear a skirt.”
Laura was stunned. It was pathetic, even shameful. For the first time
she saw Beebo not as an overwhelming, handsome, self-assured individual,
but as a very human being with a little more pride and fear and weakness
than she ever permitted to show.
Laura didn’t know how long they had been there when Beebo walked in. She
only knew she had had plenty to drink and it was time to go home. Beebo
walked up to her, and Laura saw her face first in the mirror. She turned
around with a start and stared at her. Beebo was wearing a dress.
A dress. And high heeled shoes. She was over six feet in the high heels.
Strangely enough she wasn’t awkward in them, either. She wasn’t
comfortable, but she could walk a straight line and keep her balance.
“Hello, Bo-peep,” she said quietly in Laura’s ear.
Laura felt a grateful response flow down to her toes from the ear.
“Hello,” she said to the mirror image and then turned to face her.
“Hello, Betty Jean.” She looked at her skirt.
Beebo gave her a wry smile. “You remembered?” she said. “Do you remember
the good things, too?”
“Yes,” said Laura, smiling back. And surprised herself. For a moment she
felt curiously receptive. She had no idea why.
Beebo gazed at her and then she put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Hello,
fellow sufferer,” she said.
“Hi, doll.” He turned around. “We’re drowning our sorrows.” He gestured
at Laura with his glass.
“So I see. Mind if I drown a few with you?”
“We’d be delighted.”
Beebo nodded at the bartender, who nodded back and fixed her a whisky
and water. Beebo was on good terms with the bartenders in all the gay
bars. They knew what she drank and they served her without being told.
Beebo leaned on the counter between Jack and Laura.
“Where’ve you been, doll?” Jack asked, waving a hand at her dress.
“Masquerade ball?”
“Party,” she said laconically, hoisting her newly arrived glass.
“Gay?”
“Straight.”
“How dull. What’s the matter with you, Beebo? You’re no fun anymore. You
wear skirts and go to straight parties. Jesus.”
Beebo grinned at him. “I have one dress, lover. I get it out once a year
and wear it. In honor of my father. He likes dames.”
“Yeah, but he’s not around to appreciate it.”
“Well, you are, Jackson. Give me a kiss.” And she took his chin in her
hand and extracted one from his reluctant mouth.
“God!” he said, and made a face. Beebo laughed. And Laura sat and
watched them and wondered what they were all doing there and why they
laughed at themselves when they were all aching inside from unspeakable
hurts. She felt vaguely jealous to think of Beebo at a party with people
she didn’t know and had never seen. Beebo surrounded by women. Laura
looked at her until Beebo returned the stare without talking, only
looking at Laura until Laura had to lower her eyes. “What’s eating you,
Bo-peep?” Beebo said, running a finger around the edge of her glass.
“Are pants really that important?” Laura said. She said it sarcastically
because she was afraid of her tears.
Beebo laughed a little. “I don’t know. How important is _that_
important?”
“Why don’t you get a decent job?”
“Oh,” said Beebo as she understood. She finished a second drink. “I’ve
got one, baby. I’m a lift jockey. Very elevating work.”
“Not funny,” Laura said. “You work all day at a lousy job like that, and
then you drink all night.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Yes. Not very much, of course. You’re not worth it. But it seems awful.
All for a pair of pants.”
Beebo laughed. “Reform me, baby.”
“I don’t have time.”
“What do you have time for?”
“Work.”
“And Marcie?”
“And Marcie.” Laura didn’t know why she said it. She knew how badly it
would hurt. But she was high, the go-to-hell feeling was still with her
from the morning. It was either hurt or be hurt; sarcasm or tears. She
looked up slowly at Beebo. At her blue eyes and her lips turned down,
with an unaccustomed trace of lipstick on them. Laura wanted to hurt
her. She couldn’t stop herself. She turned on her stool to face her.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said. “You’re a little girl trying to be a
little boy. And you run an elevator for the privilege. Grow up, Beebo.
You’ll never be a little boy. Or a big boy. You just haven’t got what it
takes. Not all the elevators in the world can make a boy of you. You can
wear pants till you’re blue in the face and it won’t change what’s
underneath.”
Beebo just stared at her, her face suddenly pale and frowning, in
silence. Then she turned, leaving her cigarette still lighted in a tray
on the bar, and left them without saying a word to either.
Laura and Jack sat in silence for a while after she had gone, watching
her cigarette burn itself out. Finally Jack said, “If Terry had done
that to me, Laura, I’d have strangled him.”
Laura put her head down on the bar and cried.
* * * * *
The weekend was a stalemate for Laura and Marcie. Laura was so deeply
involved in her conflicts that it was impossible to talk about them. In
two weeks Jean would be back. In a day her father would be gone. Burr
would start hounding Marcie, and Laura still didn’t know why Marcie had
let him think they were lovers. And Beebo ... Beebo ... that hurt the
worst, somehow. It was so needless, so brutal. The kind of thing Merrill
Landon had done to her when he was in a temper. Just to blow off steam,
to dissipate the mood. Only he went even farther. He would shout and
call her names, slap her, call down the wrath of his dead wife and son
on her head.
Marcie couldn’t get through to Laura, hard as she tried. She, too, began
to get moody. She launched into long self-reproaching speeches which
tortured Laura until she begged her to stop.
On Monday Laura went to the bank before she went to the office and
withdrew one hundred and ninety-two dollars. She was going to leave
herself twenty, just in case, but she left herself five instead. She had
a little at home. She could get along until the end of the week. The
rent wasn’t due and there was food in the house.
Jack came by at five and picked it up. “Come out for dinner with me,” he
said. “I seem to have come into a little money.”
“No, thanks.”
“My treat,” he said, directing his sarcasm at himself and waggling her
dollars at her.
Laura smiled faintly. “Take it,” she said. “I can’t talk to anybody
tonight.”
“How’s Marcie?”
“Brooding. I get on her nerves, I guess.”
“That’s only fair. She’s made a mess of yours. How’s Burr?”
“He called her. They talked for a few minutes. He asked her to see him.”
“Will she?”
“No.”
“Not yet, hm?”
“Never,” Laura said sharply. “She’s fed up with him.”
“Well, if not Burr, somebody else.” Laura covered her face with her
hands suddenly and Jack looked at her sympathetically. “Just won’t
believe me, will you, Mother! You love Marcie so sooner or later Marcie
will have to give in and love you.”
“No!” she said, looking up. “I know it’s not that simple. It’s just that
I’m convinced I have a chance. I live with her, I know her, and she was
willing to have Burr believe we were lovers.”
“She was willing to get him the hell out of her hair after a bad
quarrel,” he said. “That’s all. She just let him believe it to get rid
of him.”
“Please Jack,” she said with forced patience. “How’s Terry?” _If he’s
going to torment me, I’ll give him the same treatment_, she thought.
Jack lifted his eyebrows slightly and shrugged. “Healthy,” he said. “And
hungry. Jesus, how that kid eats. And he likes smoked oysters.”
Laura had to smile, though she didn’t feel like it. “Get him a bale of
smoked oysters,” she said, “and leave me alone for a while. Please.”
Jack gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Okay.” He started out and then turned
to ask, “How did Sarah like Jensen?”
“She said she liked him. She has a crush on Dr. Hagstrom, but she liked
Carl anyway.”
“He’s smitten. Says he’s going to call her again.”
“Good.” They smiled a little at each other. “Somebody’s doing it right,”
Laura said wistfully.
Jack laughed. “Never mind,” he said. “Someday we’ll die and go to
heaven. All the angels are queer, you know.” And he left.
* * * * *
Laura followed soon after. She knew just where she was going—the McAlton
Hotel. She would walk right in and ask for Merrill Landon and the clerk
would say he had left, the convention was over, and Laura could quit
suffering over him. He would be hundreds of miles away and she could
start to forget him.
She walked over to the hotel in a matter of minutes and went into the
lobby with a confidence she had not felt during the week her father had
been there. She was about to kill her ghost. She looked forward to great
relief.
At the desk she waited for a moment or two until a clerk could take care
of her. She recognized him from one of her previous visits but
fortunately he didn’t seem to remember her. “Yes?” he said.
“Is the Chi Delta Sigma convention over?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am it is.”
“Oh. Then I guess Merrill Landon isn’t staying here any more.”
“Oh, yes he is.”
Laura was startled. “He said a young lady might be asking for him,” the
clerk said. “He left a message.” He looked at her dubiously, unnerved by
the strange expression on her face. “Would you be his daughter, by any
chance?”
Laura shook her head numbly. The clerk brought her an envelope and Laura
opened it and read, in her father’s hand: “Laura, I will be here till
the end of the month. Come up to my room any evening after eight.” It
was not even signed. _Nice and sentimental_, she thought. _Just like
him._
“Thank you,” she told the clerk.
“Will there be any answer?” he asked.
“Yes,” Laura said. She took the pad of paper he pushed toward her and
wrote on it, “Go to hell.” Then she folded it, put it in the envelope,
sealed it, and wrote “Merrill Landon” on the front.
She shook all the way home. He was still there, still haunting her,
waiting to pounce on her and punish her. When Marcie asked her what was
the matter, Laura couldn’t tell her. It was Laura’s problem, it was
intimate and awful, and she had no wish to share it. She hardly noticed
how little she had looked at Marcie the past few days, how little she
had responded to her. And yet in the back of her mind the question
rankled: Why did Marcie let Burr believe that lie? Even for a short
while? Why hadn’t she fought it harder?
But the fact of her father’s physical presence in New York obliterated
other considerations. He was waiting for her around every corner, in
every doorway. She was even afraid to answer the phone, and afraid to
return to his hotel for fear he would have the police there waiting for
her. She didn’t know on what grounds he could arrest her, but she
believed her father could do anything violent and forceful. Her work
suffered still more at the office. And she hadn’t the interest to stay
late and make it up.
Sarah talked to her one afternoon at the end of the week. “Guess what?”
she said, to start out in a friendly vein.
“What?”
“Carl Jensen called me again. We’re going out tomorrow night.”
“How nice, Sarah. I’m glad for you.” But she spoke without enthusiasm.
“Are you?” Sarah’s voice was pointed enough to catch Laura’s attention
and warn her that something was wrong. She looked up. “Yes, of course I
am, Sarah. I’m sorry, I’m not myself lately. I—”
“You’ve been in a fog all week. Another one of those headaches?”
“No. I mean yes. I don’t know. I just don’t feel alive.” She laughed
listlessly.
Sarah sat down beside her. “Laura,” she said firmly, “you could do real
well in this job. If you wanted to. Everybody here likes you.
Everybody’s pulling for you. You’re a good typist and you’re a smart
girl. Jeanie liked you a lot, and she’ll be back here in another week.
There’ll be three of us, and things could go a lot better ... but
Laura....”
“But I haven’t worked out too well,” Laura said for her. “Is that it?”
“You haven’t worked at all sometimes. Other times you work your tail
off. That’s the trouble, Laura, you’re so erratic,” Sarah said. “You
stay late and knock yourself out one night, and then a week goes by and
you can’t do a damn thing. You drag along all day, you just don’t seem
to care.
“I hate to pull a philosophical on you, but gee, Laura, we’re dealing
with sick people. Sometimes these X-ray reports spell life and death for
somebody. We can’t dawdle over them. Doctors are waiting all over the
city for these things. Dr. Hollingsworth is swamped. We can’t let him
down.”
“I know.” Laura felt the way she had in third grade when she feigned
sick to get out of playing a role in the annual spring pageant. The
teacher had talked to her in much the same tone of voice, and used much
the same arguments. “Everybody’s pulling for you, we all like you, don’t
let us down, Laura, don’t let us down.” But the thought of going out on
that stage had appalled her. The whole audience melted down to one
man—Merrill Landon. She had done it, finally, to prove she could. But
his amused criticisms afterward had nearly killed her.
“I haven’t been feeling well,” she murmured to Sarah.
“Well, you’d better start feeling better, honey. Because Dr.
Hollingsworth and I had a little talk today. He asked me what was wrong
with you. He thought maybe if you and I talked it over you might tell me
what was the matter.” She spoke carefully, in a discreet voice.
But Laura stood up, offended and frightened. “Nothing’s the matter,” she
snapped. “If he doesn’t like my work let him come to me and tell me
about it himself.”
Sarah stood up, herself slightly offended at this display of
ingratitude. “He came to me because he wanted to spare you any
embarrassment, Laura. I should think that would be obvious.”
Laura relented a little. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I can’t explain it. I just
can’t, it’s impossible. If he wants to let me go, I have no choice. I’ll
leave.” But she was not as resigned to it, as stoical, as she sounded.
“Can’t you _try_ to do a little better, Laura?” Sarah said kindly. “If I
could tell him we had a little talk and you promised to try to do
better. Or you’d been sick, or had a problem at home, or something.
_Anything._”
Laura gave an unpleasant little laugh. Then her face dropped and she
said, “I have no excuses, Sarah. I’m not a good enough liar to cook one
up. I just—” And here she burst unexpectedly into tears and Sarah had to
try to comfort her.
“Look, honey,” she said, after Laura had recovered a little. “Do you
want the job? Do you?”
“Yes,” Laura said. “I want it.”
“Will you try to be more consistent, then? And I’ll tell Dr.
Hollingsworth you’ve been having trouble at home you don’t want to talk
about.”
“That’s such an obvious fib, Sarah.”
“No, it’s no fib. I heard you talk to Jack on the phone last week,”
Sarah said. “I know there’s something going on.”
Laura went shaky and pale, and the blue shadows that had been growing in
the past weeks under her eyes deepened. “What do you know?” she
demanded.
Sarah became alarmed at her appearance. “Well, nothing really, only you
sounded so upset, I thought maybe—”
“What did I say?”
“Oh, I don’t remember.” She tried to push it off casually, but she had
thoroughly scared Laura, who recalled with biting clarity now Jack’s
voice saying, _For God’s sake, Mother, keep your voice down_. “What did
I say, Sarah?”
“Nothing so very bad, Laura.” Sarah stared at her. “I just got the
impression you had a quarrel.”
“You had no right to listen!” Laura exclaimed harshly.
“You had no right to make personal calls during working hours, for that
matter,” Sarah said defensively.
Laura picked up her purse and ran out of the office without another
word. She went into a phone booth and called Jack. “Can I come over?”
she said.
“No. I’m in a mess.”
“Please, Jack.”
“Mother, for Christ’s sake! Be empathic for once, will you?”
“All right, I’ll call Beebo.”
“No don’t. She’s p.o.’d at you. She may never speak to you again after
what you said to her.”
Laura felt frantic. “Well, what am I supposed to do?” she said, half
crying into the receiver. “I’ve practically lost my job.”
“Go home to Marcie, Mother. Do _something_. I can’t help you out
tonight. I’m sorry, honey.” And he was.
“Oh, Jack, say something to me. Say something kind. Anything.”
After a pause he said, “I love you, Mother. Only I’m not _in_ love with
you. I wish to hell I was, it couldn’t be worse than Terry. Now be a
doll and let me go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She felt the urgency to get away in his voice and let him go. For a
moment she sat in the booth and dried her tears. She felt sick about
Beebo but she was afraid to call her.
* * * * *
It was another torturous weekend for Marcie, who was beginning to feel
as if she had ruined Laura’s life. It was Sunday night before they
actually made any sort of communication with each other.
Burr had been calling Marcie every night, trying to talk her into
leaving the apartment. Their talks were short but the animosity had
faded from them. Laura listened to them listlessly; she could not avoid
hearing them in the small apartment. Marcie said things like, “Yes,
she’s here.” “No, you _know_ I don’t want to see you.” “No, we aren’t,
and don’t bring that up again.” “I know I did. I know what I did, Burr,
don’t throw it in my face.” She refused to see him.
Laura winced at all this, and finally she took to going out on the roof
when he called. The windows were wide open, the weather being soft and
pleasant now, and Marcie’s voice carried even out there. But it wasn’t
so pervading, so persistent. On Sunday night, Laura went out and looked
at the city while Marcie talked. The time passed almost without Laura’s
being aware of it. She gazed across New York in the direction of the
McAlton, wondering if her father was sitting in his room waiting for
her. And then she looked down toward the Village and her heart gave a
sick squeeze at the thought of Beebo. Beebo, who told her how terribly a
love affair could hurt. Beebo, who told her to beware and then got
caught in her own trap. Laura wondered if Beebo really loved her. If she
could ever forgive her. Laura had attacked the very basis of her being:
her body, her pride, her deepest needs. In that one quick wicked speech,
Laura had ridiculed her. She felt the tears come. And she could hear
Jack saying, “If Terry said that to me, I’d strangle him.” It was
shameful.
She grew very depressed, thinking of the necessity of going back to work
in the office the next morning, with Sarah trying to put on cheerfulness
and Dr. Hollingsworth—so kindly, so tolerant—watching for signs of
steadiness and application in her. And herself, so heavily aware of
their good will toward her, their frustration, and her own overwhelming
complexities that sapped her strength and effort.
She was startled when Marcie said at her elbow, “Burr wants to see me.”
When Laura didn’t answer, Marcie said, “He feels God-awful about the
whole thing. He wants to apologize to me.” Another silence. “I want to
apologize to _you_, Laura. But you won’t let me.”
Laura shut her eyes in pain for a moment, as if to avoid the sight of
Marcie’s face. And then she opened them and without looking at her,
said, “We’ve been all through this before, Marcie. I don’t want your
apologies. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I do.”
“You don’t!”
Marcie gave a long sigh of exasperation. “All right, then why won’t you
speak to me?”
“I _will_, Marcie. When I can.”
“When will that be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not now?”
“I guess I’m sick. Maybe Jack was right, I need to see his analyst.” She
tried to smile a little.
“Because of your father? What he did to you?”
Laura looked down at her arms, folded on the cement railing. “I guess
so,” she almost whispered.
“Laura, say something to me. This is unbearable.” Marcie was pleading
with her, as Laura had pleaded herself with Jack on the phone. She
turned and looked at Marcie, standing close beside her, two delicate
lines between her eyes betraying the tension inside her. For a moment
Laura just looked at her. It had been over a week since she looked at
Marcie that way. In the soft spring night, in the golden light fading up
from the streets below, with the myriad muffled noises that are the
music of a great city around them, they gazed at each other. And Marcie
was very beautiful with her hair lifted gently in the breeze and her
eyes big with anxiety. She was wrapped in a blue silk negligee and the
lines of her slim young body showed through it.
Finally, prompted by the necessity to speak, Laura said, “It’s so hard
to talk, Marcie. Words are so inadequate sometimes.”
“Any words will do, Laura. Except ‘Excuse me.’ That’s all you’ve said to
me for days on end.”
They smiled a little at each other, and Laura took her hands. She pulled
just a little on them, and Marcie responded softly, coming toward her.
“Laura, tell me I’m forgiven. Don’t say there’s nothing to forgive me
for. I just want to hear you say it.”
“No.”
“Please.” Her voice broke.
“No, no, no,” Laura said, gazing curiously at Marcie. Did she really
feel so guilty? She hadn’t done anything that bad. Laura had a strange
feeling of finality, of the end of things, of everything ending at once
so that nothing really mattered any more. As if Marcie would turn and
walk out of her life, and her job would end, and Beebo would never see
her, and Jack and Terry would break up. It made her pensive and sad. She
wondered at all the new feelings in her: the inability to care about her
job, her meanness with Beebo, her unreasoning fear of Merrill Landon in
the hotel lobby. Nothing seemed very real, up there on the roof. It
didn’t seem to make much difference what she did. She gave another
little pull and Marcie came still closer, touching her up and down the
length of her body.
Laura touched her hair. “You look so much like a friend of mine,” she
said. Marcie reminded her of Beth again at this moment; the Beth she had
lost so long ago, a million years ago, it seemed.
“I do? You never told me that.”
“I forgot.”
“What’s she like?”
“Oh, she was tall, short dark hair, purple eyes. Rather boyish.”
“You talk about her as if she were dead.”
“She is. As far as I’m concerned.”
Marcie frowned at her. “She doesn’t sound at all like me.”
“No, I guess she doesn’t,” Laura said. “There’s something about your
face; I don’t know how to define it. I thought I saw a resemblance.” She
had seen it in Beebo, too. And even in the curly-headed little blonde
who had approached her in The Cellar the night she was looking for
Beebo. They couldn’t all look like Beth. It was very strange.
“Were you good friends?” Marcie asked.
Laura smiled a little and put her arms around Marcie. In the still night
she answered simply, “We were lovers.” It was very quiet, dreamlike, as
if she spoke in a trance.
Marcie stared at her, motionless, as if to determine whether she were
joking. She stood in Laura’s arms, unable to move one way or the other;
uncertain and a little scared.
Laura saw her consternation, but it didn’t worry her. She spoke again,
still feeling as if it weren’t real, any more than the glittering city
below was real, or her father’s wrath, or Jack, or Beebo, or the doctors
and Sarah ... “That was the ‘great love’ I told you about, in college,”
she said. “It was Beth.”
After a long pause, Marcie said in a whisper, “What happened?”
“She got married,” Laura said.
Marcie was dumbfounded. “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly and then
retreated into herself, embarrassed. She had no idea what to say, what
to do.
Laura could see that, but at first she didn’t try to interpret it. It
didn’t frighten her yet. “That’s why I was so shocked when Burr said you
told him we were lovers,” Laura said. “I wish we were, Marcie. But I
never touched you.” Marcie was studying her now, her eyes brimming.
“When he accused me of it and believed it and said you told him so, I
was so hurt I didn’t know what to do or say. I thought of a million
crazy explanations. The only one that seemed to make sense was that you
felt the way I do.” She looked hard at Marcie. Their faces were very
close together, and Laura was holding her tightly, her arms locked
around Marcie’s small waist. “Do you, Marcie?” Laura whispered. “Do
you?”
They stayed that way for awhile, not moving, looking at each other.
Laura felt her breath speed up and she felt a powerful longing to kiss
Marcie. It grew stronger by the second. She began to press Marcie
against her rhythmically and suddenly all the months of repression
exploded inside her and came out kisses on her lips. She began to kiss
Marcie intensely—her face, her neck and arms, her ears, her throat.
“Marcie,” she said hoarsely, suddenly holding her tight with the
strength of desire. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I thought I’d die of
it. Living with you, so close to you, seeing you all the time ...
undressing, bathing ... It drove me crazy. Marcie, you’re so beautiful,
so sweet. Oh, God, it feels so good to say it. You’re impossible. I want
you so terribly, so terribly. You want me too, don’t you? I know it, I
always knew it. Oh, Marcie, let me, let me. Don’t stop me! Please!” A
note of anguish crept into her voice when Marcie began to resist her.
“Please, Marcie!” she implored her.
But Marcie put her arms up and pushed hard against Laura. “Let me go!”
she said. “Let me go!” And she began to cry. Laura, shocked, released
her so suddenly that Marcie staggered backwards a little. She gave a
cry, recovered her balance, and stared at Laura with her eyes wide for a
moment. Then she turned and ran inside.
Laura stood where she was for a long time, afraid to think or feel. She
had no idea how much time had passed before she dared to go inside. Had
she frightened Marcie? Revolted her? Would Marcie greet her with love or
hatred? As a witch or a lover? She was in a state of nervous agony when
she finally gathered the strength to walk around to the penthouse door.
She opened it and walked slowly through the living room and kitchen. She
pushed the bedroom door open slowly. Marcie was sitting on her bed, her
back toward Laura. She had apparently sat like that without moving for
some time. She turned very slowly when she heard Laura come in, and
looked up at her. Laura felt her heart turn over. Marcie was so lovely,
so miserable. It showed plainly in her face. Laura went to her and
dropped to her knees in front of her and put her head in Marcie’s lap.
And when she felt Marcie’s hand stroking her head, she wept.
“Forgive me,” she begged. “It’s your turn now, Marcie. I frightened you.
I didn’t mean to, I didn’t!” And she caught Marcie’s hand and kissed it.
“Laura,” Marcie said quietly. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks
and you wouldn’t let me. Now it’s eating me up. I’m going to tell you
something. And you’re going to listen.” Her voice trembled so that Laura
looked up at her.
“Laura, I’m so ashamed, so ashamed.”
“Tell me, Marcie. Tell me. I’m listening now.” She searched her face
anxiously.
Marcie swallowed her tears and with a tremendous effort, said, “I did an
awful thing, Laur. I’ve known for a while about you.” She looked away,
struggling with herself; her shame, her pity, her shaking voice.
“You—you knew?” Laura whispered, going white.
“Yes. I couldn’t help knowing. You couldn’t hide it, Laura. You couldn’t
come near me without it showing—in your eyes, your face. The way you
touched me, the things you said, all the crazy moods you had. You seemed
afraid of me. You let things slip. You even kissed me once. I’ve been
around enough to know. I knew about you.” She wiped the tears from her
cheeks embarrassedly and went on, unable to look at Laura, “I should
have told you. Or else I should have let it drop. But I guess it
interested me. It seemed like a game. I got sort of intrigued, you might
say. I even told Burr what I suspected ... months ago ...” She stifled a
sob.
Laura’s face was colorless, tortured. Her hands were over her mouth.
“It kills me to say these things,” Marcie whispered. “But I did
everything to earn your contempt. I can’t lie to you any more, Laura. I
even _bet_ Burr I could make you make a pass at me.”
“No,” Laura gasped. “Oh, no—”
“He thought it was all a joke. He wouldn’t even listen to me. Until I
got fed up with him and started hanging around here so much. Then he got
it into his head that we were having a hot and heavy affair. I couldn’t
talk him out of it. I’d gone too far for that.”
Laura turned away from her and rested her head against her own bed, too
stunned, too wounded, to answer or understand half of it.
“Laura.” Marcie bent toward her. “I don’t know what crazy imp gets hold
of me sometimes. I swear I don’t. I never even wondered what I’d do if
it ever came to this, if you ever tried to make love to me. I guess I
thought it would be a game, like everything else. I guess I thought it
would be a lot of kicks. Or just a stupid silly thing that wouldn’t
really matter. To either of us. I guess I didn’t think at all.
“And just now—on the roof—when you told me how you felt, and how you
wanted me—Laura, I had no idea you could love like that. I didn’t know
it could be beautiful, or touching, or tragic. I thought it was mostly
play-acting. I thought the only real love was between men and women. But
you made it beautiful, Laura. I don’t know what else to call it. I’m
ashamed. Clear through my soul. I played you for a fool, and all the
while you were an angel.”
Laura began to sob.
“I’d do anything for you, Laur,” Marcie whispered. “Anything to make it
up. If I could love you the way you want me to, I’d do that. I’ll even
try, if you want it.”
Laura slumped to the floor, her arms over her head, and sobbed
helplessly.
Marcie knelt beside her, profoundly afraid and ashamed. “Laura,” she
said, “Do whatever you want with me. I’ve hurt you so terribly. Hurt me
back if it’ll help. Do something. Do anything. I can’t stand to see you
like this. Oh, Laura, Laura. Please don’t cry like that. Please.”