In the morning—the bleak morning that came in spite of everything and
had to be faced—she could hardly look at Marcie. And Marcie, brimming
with shame and pity, avoided her, breaking softly into tears from time
to time.
At breakfast Marcie said, “Laur, if you think you can bear to live with
me I don’t want you to move out. Nothing was your fault, nothing.”
“I couldn’t stand it, Marcie,” Laura said hoarsely without looking at
her. “Neither could you.” She got up abruptly and left the table without
having eaten a thing.
Marcie got up and followed her. “I wish we could still be friends,
Laur.”
“We never were.”
“Oh, but we were. I like you so much, Laura.”
“Marcie, this is unbearable. Don’t talk to me. Please don’t.”
“But I can’t just leave things like this, it’s too awful.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Laura, I’ll never get over this. I’ll never forgive myself. I hurt you
so.”
“Marcie, stop it!” She almost screamed at her. “I was a fool, a blind
fool. I wouldn’t listen.” She was thinking of all the warnings from Jack
and Beebo that she willfully ignored. But she caught herself and spared
Jack another betrayal. That, at least, was something Marcie didn’t know
and never would. “Never mind,” she finished. “Just drop it.” She turned
away and busied herself, but Marcie wouldn’t let her go.
“You will come back tonight, won’t you, Laura? You’ll stay here until
you find another place? I’ll be sick if you don’t. This is your
apartment as much as it is mine. I’ll move out if you’d rather. You know
that, don’t you, Laur?” She was so anxious, so eager for conciliation,
so disgusted with what she had done, that Laura felt a momentary
relenting and looked shyly at her. “Please come back tonight,” Marcie
whispered. “I’ll worry myself sick if you don’t. Please. Promise?”
Laura shut her eyes for a moment and tried to control her voice. She
hadn’t the courage to argue. She just said, “Yes,” and grabbed her purse
and rushed out.
* * * * *
Laura knew, even before she reached the subway, that she wasn’t going to
work that day. She knew it would be impossible for her to read, to type,
to look up words, to answer the doctors, to joke with Sarah. It would be
a nightmare of hypocrisy, utterly beyond her strength.
She felt shattered, ready to scream if anyone touched her, like someone
with an open wound. But she held herself tightly in check. She rode
aimlessly on the subway for an hour or two. She stood in bookshops with
a volume in her hands and stared at the pages until the clerks, in turn,
stared at her. She sat on benches in Central Park. She stopped now and
then to get a cup of coffee, and late in the day, a sandwich. It enabled
her to keep walking. She walked, looking at nothing but the pavement
ahead of her, for a couple of hours. She paid no attention to where she
was going or why. She walked to exhaust herself, to reach that country
of fatigue where even the mind cannot operate and the emotions are dead.
Abruptly she found herself standing outside the McAlton in the last hour
of daylight. She was not strong enough to feel surprise. On the
contrary, it was as if she had been working toward it, all through that
empty endless day, knowing she would end up here. And knowing, she had
not needed to think of it, to make a decision. It was unavoidable.
She stood outside the main door to the lobby, looking at the people
hurrying past and hoping somebody would come up to her, talk to her,
even make advances to her. Anything to postpone what she knew was
coming. She looked at the door and away again, and then back to it, as
if it were a great sinister magnet. Sooner or later she knew she would
walk through it.
She stood leaning against the gray stone of the McAlton, her fine face
pale and vacant, her body apparently relaxed. She looked like a tired
young career girl, waiting at the appointed place for a date. She knew
it and took advantage of it. The hotel doorman strolled over to her and
said, “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” And later, “Looks like he’s a bit
late, Miss.” With a little smile.
Laura returned the smile faintly. She tried to engage him in
conversation, but he was called away frequently, and finally, with the
evening crowd converging on him, got too busy to talk to her at all. The
night was violet now, turning fast to black. It was eight o’clock.
Laura turned to the door and walked through it almost automatically.
Once inside she was suddenly profoundly afraid. Flashes of fear went
through her; long sweeps of tremors and gooseflesh. She didn’t bother
with the desk this time. She knew what floor he was on. She got the
elevator and said, “Fourteenth floor, please.” She wondered if her voice
sounded as shaky as it felt in her throat. She thought of simply getting
off the elevator on the fourteenth floor and taking another elevator
right back down. And when she was let off, she stood there in the deep
carpeted hall with her heart crying “No-no, no-no, no-no,” at every
beat.
“He’s my father,” she told herself. “He won’t kill me, after all. He
might beat me, but he’s done that before and I’ve lived through it. I’ll
be twenty-one in three weeks, so he can’t say I’m a minor. All he can do
is make a speech about my ungratefulness. He’s a human being, not the
devil.” She said the last aloud, in a whisper, and her own voice
startled her.
Cautiously, Laura investigated room numbers, half expecting him to burst
from his room and discover her unprepared. After a few false starts she
found 1402 and standing there, looking at that door, she felt an
enormous need to cry. She shut her eyes hard and said softly, “I won’t,
I won’t.” Then she opened them, and, with her heart in her mouth, she
rapped on the door.
The noise sounded huge. For a moment she wanted to run. But she didn’t.
_He mustn’t see me looking panicky_, she thought. She listened. There
was no sound audible. _Maybe he’s not in. Oh, dear God, maybe he left._
She didn’t know whether to exult or despair. _If I don’t face him now,
I’ll never be able to face myself_, she thought. _I’ll never stand
alone. I’ve got to tell him everything._ She felt desperate at the
thought of having to go and search him out, to win her freedom from him.
The hope that she had missed him, that he had already left for Chicago,
was too sweet to banish.
She was ready to flee when the door swung open, without any preliminary
sounds to warn her. She blanched uncontrollably and found herself
looking at her father’s feet. Very slowly, she looked up the rest of him
to his face. There was a slight frown on his heavy features. But he
wasn’t at all surprised. He let her stand there until she was miserably
uncomfortable, and then—only then—he spoke.
“Come in,” he said. Not “Hello, Laura.” He spoke as if she might have
been the maid come to clean his room. He stepped aside slightly to
permit her to walk past him. She clutched herself in her arms, fearful
of touching him as she brushed past, and walked quickly across the room
to a half open window on the opposite side. She looked resolutely out at
the city, afraid to let him see her face.
_The minute I look at him, I’ll cry. I’ll do some damn silly weak thing,
and he’ll lord it over me, and I’ll wind up promising to go home to
Chicago with him. I can’t look at him. Not yet._
She listened to him moving around the room behind her and felt his eyes
on her. But he said nothing. After a few moments, Laura could stand it
no longer. She knew he was laughing at her. Not with his voice or his
lips, but silently, inside. She turned and looked for him. He was
standing across the room, his enormous back planted against the wall,
his arms folded over his chest, studying her. She flinched a little,
seeing his face.
“I never knew before,” he said slowly, savoring it, “how fast you could
run.” He gave her a slight sardonic smile.
Laura felt her insides turn to water. Her face was white and set as
plaster. She forced herself to return his gaze.
“I never knew you could swear, either,” he said. “Especially at me. As a
matter of fact, I doubt whether you can, now that we’re face to face.”
It was a dare. Laura, stung, felt a flush of resistance come up in her.
“If I do,” she said, “you’ll beat me. That’s your answer to everything.”
“It always worked before,” he said, mocking her.
“It worked so well that it drove me out of your house forever. It made
me hate you, Father.”
“You don’t need to spell it for me, Laura. I get the idea.”
She hated his sarcasm! Her hatred flowed in her now and revived her
spirit. “Is that what you wanted? To make me hate you?” she asked.
“Because you’ve done a fine job. A masterful job.”
“Thanks. I’m glad we agree on one thing anyway.” He stood immovable,
still smiling slightly.
_He wants to drive me frantic. He wants me to end up on my knees,
incoherent. Kissing his feet. God damn him! He doesn’t care what he says
as long as it’ll drive me wild._
“I must say, you took a prosaic way out, Laura. Running away is no way
to solve a problem. Running away to New York is the classic cliché.
There are a lot of you here in New York, you know. Silly little girls
who left one set of problems at home for another set in the big city.”
Laura turned her back on him. _I won’t even answer him. If I could just
hurt him somehow. Hurt him like he hurts me. What would hurt him the
worst? Mother. My Mother._
“Did you slap my mother around the way you do me?” she asked him
abruptly.
At this his smile faded and his face grew very hard. “Your mother never
deserved it,” he said.
“Neither did I,” she retorted. “As far as I can see.”
“You are notoriously shortsighted, my darling daughter.”
“And you, Father, are blind.” Her face flushed.
Again he smiled, but his smile frightened her. “What have you been
doing, Laura, that gives you such intestinal fortitude in the face of
such obvious physical risk?”
She wanted to scream at him, “I hate you! I hate your God-damn
sophisticated sarcasm!” But she only said tersely, “I have a job. I have
some nice friends. I have money in the bank. I have a life of my own
without you. I have a little confidence I never had before.” They were
all lies, that started out so beautifully true. Almost all lies, anyway.
But she had flung them in his face, and now he was not sure. He studied
her. “Those are the problems I came to face in New York, Father. Nothing
could ever persuade me to trade them for the ones at home.” _If I didn’t
hate him so much I couldn’t do it. He started out wrong, trying to drive
me in a corner. He gave me a chance without realizing it._
He moved away from the wall then, his face registering contemptuous
amusement. He lighted a cigarette, and, to her astonishment, offered her
one. She shook her head. “Well,” he observed. “You apparently haven’t
taken up all the vices yet.” He turned away from her and walked about
the room, firing questions at her. “What kind of job do you have?”
“Medical secretary.”
“Where?”
“With Dr. Edgar Hollingsworth.”
“Who’s he?”
“The top radiologist in the city.”
“Where’s his office?”
“Fifth and fifty-third.”
“Who are the friends?”
This abrupt switch threw her for a moment. “The friends?”
“You said you had some.”
“Oh,” she said quickly. “Do you want their names?” The little sarcasms
she mustered added to her bravery.
He curled his mouth disgustedly. “Anything that will help,” he said.
“Names mean nothing. Who are they?”
“Well,” she said, “some are men and some are women.”
For a triumphant moment she felt like laughing in his face. But his face
had grown dark, and a flash of fear prevented her. “My roommate,” she
went on, more timidly. “For one. She’s a very nice girl, I’ve met a lot
of wonderful people through her. The doctors have been wonderful to me.”
“Everybody’s ‘wonderful’,” he mimicked.
“I was surprised to find that people can be nice, Father.”
“God! If a man accused me of being ‘nice’ I’d spit in his face.”
“And decent and human!” she said hotly.
His face grew dangerous now and his body tense. “Are you implying that
I’m not human?”
Her fear grew suddenly quite strong and for a moment she wavered. Then
she said softly, “If you’re going to beat me, Father, do it now and
let’s get it over with.”
He laughed; an awful laugh she remembered very well. It was usually the
prelude to violence. “Well, isn’t that noble,” he said. “Why don’t you
pull down your pants and bend over? Make it easy for me?”
“You’ve beaten me all my life, whenever I displeased you. And I seem to
displease you just by existing. I’ve never seen you beat anyone your own
size, Father, but you’re awfully damn good at beating _me_.”
“My, aren’t we grown up!” he said. “We not only talk back to our Father
now, we swear at him. That’s real sophistication.”
“You don’t know how much I hate you, Father! You can’t know! I’ve begun
to think that’s what you want. You’ve worked hard enough all my life to
make me hate you.”
His face changed again, became grave and heavy. Her eyes watched him
intently, like eyes that have witnessed floods scan the skies for sun.
He turned away from her, dragging on his cigarette, knocking ashes into
a heavy glass tray on the dresser. “Why do you hate me, Laura?” he asked
dispassionately. “Because I discipline you now and then? Isn’t that a
father’s prerogative?”
“Not when it ruins his child’s life.”
“Is your life ruined?” he said sharply. “You have a ‘wonderful’ job,
‘wonderful’ friends. Wonderful money in the bank, wonderful everything.
Hell, I seem to have done you a favor.”
“A favor! You call it a favor!” She stared at him, his hardness still
astonishing her after all these years. And then she felt her resistance
begin to wilt. Sooner or later all her arguments were doomed. She never
won with him. The sheer physical fact of him, massive and dominant,
exhausted her after a while. “I—I never wanted to hate you, Father. You
were all I had. I wanted to love you. But you wouldn’t let me,” she
almost whispered. _I mustn’t go on like this. I’ll cry_, she thought
desperately. “I hate you because you hate me!” she flung at him.
He looked at her for some time before he answered quietly, “What makes
you think I hate you, Laura?”
She was so taken aback by this that she could only stammer at him. “I
don’t know, but you know you do.”
“Oh, come now. I haven’t been _that_ harsh with you.”
_It’s a trap! A trap! He wants to soften me up. He wants to see me
whimpering. Oh, God, if only I could stop him, freeze him up, like other
men._ “You’ve been brutal,” she said harshly and the sobs were crowding
close in her throat. “You’ve treated me like a slave. Worse! you’ve
beaten me sometimes for nothing. Just for the exercise.”
“I never once beat you without a reason,” he said.
“You lie!” And her voice was a furious hiss.
He glared at her. “I’m not in the habit of lying to you, Laura. Your
life has been more than beatings. I sent you to the best schools. I let
you go to the college of your choice. I let you join a sorority and paid
all your bills. And when you came home and quit like a damn
coward—without so much as an explanation, I didn’t force you to go back.
I found you a good job with excellent training and a big future. I’ve
given you a good comfortable home, a lot of clothes, travel.” His voice
was low, controlled, but it was the calm before the storm and he was
tense.
“I would have traded them all for love.” Her voice broke and she turned
suddenly away, afraid to shame herself with tears in front of him.
“Let’s not get maudlin,” he said sardonically, and once again smothered
the spark of tenderness that had waited so many years in Laura for
expression.
“All right,” she said sharply. “Let’s not be maudlin. I have a good job
here and I’m not going to leave New York. That’s what I came to tell
you. Now maybe I’ll better go.” She turned and walked resolutely toward
the door, but she should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. He merely
placed himself between the door and Laura and she stopped, afraid to go
near him. He smiled slightly at this evidence of his power over her.
“Before you leave,” he said, “suppose you explain the filial affection
that made you write me to go to hell, in your little billet-doux last
week?”
“Why did you say you had no daughter?” she flared.
“To teach you a lesson.”
“Are there any lessons left for you to teach me?” she said.
“Quite a few, my dear. You don’t know it all yet, even if you are almost
twenty-one.”
“It almost killed me, Father,” she said, the anguish showing. “You don’t
know how terribly I—” But she stopped herself, ashamed. He didn’t know,
and she didn’t want him to know. She was the one who cared about their
relationship, who wanted love and trust and gentleness between them. Not
her father. He didn’t give a damn, as long as she minded him. “You said
you had no daughter,” she repeated bitterly.
“You wanted it that way, Laura.”
She turned to stare at him, incredulous. “I?” She said. “_I_ wanted it
that way?”
“You denied my existence before I ever denied yours,” he said. “You ran
away from me.”
“You _forced_ me to.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You made life intolerable for me.”
“I didn’t mean to.” It was an extraordinary admission, completely
unexpected, and she looked at him speechless for a moment.
“Then why didn’t you show me some kindness?” she said. “Just a very
little would have gone a long way, Father.”
He crushed out his cigarette in the heavy ashtray with an expression of
contempt on his face, “You women are all alike, I swear to God.” he
said. “Give you a little and you demand a lot.”
“What’s wrong with a lot?” she said, trembling. “You’re my father.”
“Yes, exactly!” he said, so roughly that she ducked. “I’m your father!”
“Did you treat my mother this way?” she whispered. “Her life must have
been hell.”
He looked for a minute as if he would strangle her. She stood her
ground, pale and frightened, until he relented suddenly and turned his
profile to her, looking out the window. “Your mother,” he said
painfully, “was my wife. I adored her.”
Laura was absolutely unable to answer him. She sat down weakly in the
stuffed chair by the dresser and put her face in her hands. Her
father—her enormous gruff harsh father—had never spoken such a tender
word in her presence in all her life.
“I could never marry again, when she died,” he said. Laura felt
frightened as she always did when her mother’s death was mentioned. She
expected him to turn on her unreasonably as he had so often before. “I
never struck her.”
“Then why me?” she implored out of a dry throat.
He turned and looked at her, his mouth twisted a little, running a
distraught hand through his hair. “You needed it,” was all he would say.
“What for?”
“You _needed_ it, that’s what for!” And she was afraid to push him
further. After some minutes he said, “Laura, you’re coming back to
Chicago with me.”
“No Father, I can’t. I won’t.”
“That’s why I waited for you,” he went on, as if she had said nothing.
“I won’t go to Chicago or anywhere else with you. I’m through with you.”
“You could look for work with a radiologist, if you like it so well. I
won’t insist on journalism. You have a flair for it, it’s a waste to
leave the field, but I won’t insist. You see, Laura, I can be human
enough.”
She stared at him. She had never heard him talk like this. He glanced at
her, annoyed by the look on her face. “I’ve made reservations,” he said,
“for June first. That’s Saturday. I could probably get earlier ones.”
“Father.” She stood up. “I can’t come with you.”
“Don’t say that!” he commanded her, so sharply that she started.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“You can, and you will. That’s all I want to hear on the subject.” As
she started once again to protest he held his hands up for silence. “No
more discipline Laura. I promise you that. I was a fool. You were too,
but never mind that now. I was too hard on you, it’s true. I see that.
Well, you’re more or less grown up by this time. I guess we can dispense
with spanking.”
“Spanking! It was more than that and you know it!”
“Don’t argue with me, Laura.” He turned on her, his voice low and
fierce. Then, making a visible effort to calm himself, he said, “Get
your things together and I’ll see about the reservations.”
“No.”
“Don’t fight me, Laura.”
“Father, there’s something you don’t know about me.” _I have to tell
him. I’ll never be free from him till I tell him. Till he knows what
he’s made of his only child._ “There’s something you don’t know about
me,” she whispered.
“I don’t doubt it. Now hurry up, we’ve wasted enough time.”
“Father ... listen to me.” It was almost too hard to say. Her legs were
trembling and her heart was wild.
“Well, out with it, for God’s sake! Jesus, Laura, you go through more
agony.... Well? What is it?” He frowned at her tense face.
“I—I’m a—homosexual.”
His mouth dropped open and his whole body went rigid. Laura shut her
eyes and prayed. She held her lower lip in her teeth, ready for the
blow, and felt the humiliating tears begin to squeeze through her shut
lids. She moaned a little.
He made up his mind fast and his voice cracked out like a lash.
“Nonsense!” he snarled.
“It’s true!” Her eyes flew open and she cried again, passionately, “It’s
true!” It was her bid for freedom; she had to show this courage, this
awful truth to him, or she would never walk away from him. She would
spend all her life in a panic of fear lest he find her out. “I’m in love
with my roommate. I’ve made love—”
“All right, all right, all right!” he shouted. His voice was rough and
his face contorted. He turned away from her and put his hands over his
face. She watched him, every muscle tight and aching.
At last he let his hands drop and said quietly, “Did I do that to you,
Laura?”
Without hesitating, without even certain knowledge, but only the huge
need to hurt him, she said, “Yes.”
He turned slowly around and faced her and she had never seen his face
like that before. It was pained and full of gentleness. Perhaps it
looked that way to her mother now and then. “I did that to you,” he said
again, to himself. “Oh, Laura. Oh, Laura.” His heavy brow creased deeply
over his eyes. He walked to her and put his hands on her shoulders and
felt her jerk with fear. “Laura,” he said, “have you ever loved a man?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“Have you ever wanted a man?”
Again she shook her head.
“Do you know what it’s like to want a man?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Do you want to know?” His eyes were wide and intense, his grip on her
shoulders was very hard.
“I’m so afraid of them, Father. I don’t want to know.”
He seemed to be in another world. Laura was utterly mystified by his
strange behavior, blindly grateful for his sudden warmth, and she let
herself weep softly.
“Laura,” he said, as if he derived some private pleasure from saying her
name over and over. “Your mother—you look so much like your mother. You
never looked like me at all. Every time I look at you I see her face.
Her fragile delicate face. Her eyes, her hair.” He put his arms around
her. “Come back to Chicago with me,” he said gently. “You don’t have to
love a man, Laura. I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to be like
other girls, I don’t want you to go off with some young ass and give him
your youth and your beauty. I don’t mind if you’re different from the
rest. I can take that if you are able to.”
Laura clung to him, astonished, fearful, grateful, anxious, a whirlwind
of confused feelings churning inside her.
“I want you to stay with me,” he said. “I always did. I won’t let you
go.”
“You made me go, Father. You punished me so.”
“No, no Laura! Don’t you see, it was myself.” He was holding her so hard
now, as if to make up for years of avoiding her, that she ached with it.
She began to cry on his shoulder.
“Oh, Father, Father,” she wept. “You never told me you wanted me to stay
with you. You made me believe you hated me.”
“No,” he said. “I never hated you.” He spoke in a rush, as if he
couldn’t help himself, as if it were suddenly forcing its way out of him
after years of suppression. “Never, Laura, it was just that I was so
lonely, so terribly lonely; I wanted her so much and she was gone. And
there was only you, and you tormented me.”
“I?” She tried to see his face, but he held her too close.
“You were so much like her, even when you were a child. Every time I
looked at you, I—oh, Laura, it’s myself I should have punished all this
time. I _was_ punished. I’ve suffered. Believe me. Laura, please believe
me.”
Laura was suddenly shocked rigid to feel his lips on her neck. He put
his hand in her hair and jerked her head back and kissed her full on the
mouth with such agonized intensity that he electrified her. He released
her just as suddenly and turned away with a kind of sob. “Ellie! Ellie!”
he cried, his hands over his face.
Laura was shaking almost convulsively. At the sound of her mother’s name
she grabbed the thick and heavy glass ashtray from the dresser, picking
it up with both hands. She rushed at him, unable to think or reason, and
brought the ashtray down on the crown of his head with all the revolted
force in her body. He slumped to the floor without a sound.
Laura gaped at him for a sick second and then she turned and fled. She
left the door wide open and ran in a terrible panic to the elevators.
She sobbed frantically for a few moments, and then she pushed the down
button. She jabbed it over and over again hysterically, unable to stop
until an elevator arrived and the doors opened. She stumbled in and
pressed into a back corner, helpless in the grip of the sickness in her.
The operator and his two other passengers stared at her, but she paid
them no heed, even when one asked if he could help her. At the ground
floor the operator had to tell her, “Everybody out.”
She turned a wild flushed face to him and he said, “Are you all right,
Miss?” And she glared at him, violently offended by his manner, his
uniform, his question.
“Don’t you know those pants won’t make a man of you?” she exclaimed
acidly. And rushed out, leaving him gaping open-mouthed after her.