"I'm sorry, Marilyn," Laura said gently, and tears came to her eyes.
"I asked him if you could room with me. He said Absolutely no. No
roommates of any kind. That was emphatic."
Marilyn smiled wanly. "That's okay, hon. I'm not in your league,
anyway. You wouldn't want me around. I'm a hundred percent for you,
Laura. I think all this is wonderful." She shrugged. "What the hell,
I'm not any worse off than before I met you. I'll find another roommate
sooner or later."
"We'll keep in touch," Laura promised, but already she began to see
that they would not. Marilyn belonged to a different world, a shabby
world of $3.50 hotel rooms and five-dollar tricks. It would be
inevitable that the gulf between them would widen as Laura moved into
more and more exalted circles.
Laura persuaded Marilyn to quit for the day, even though she hadn't
turned a single trick yet. "I'll pay you for what you'd be losing,"
Laura said gaily. "Let's go downtown and do some shopping--the stores
are open late tonight, aren't they? And we'll have a little party, you
and me, just for old time's sake."
It was not as joyous an evening as it might have been. Laura stubbornly
insisted that Marilyn should get herself some new clothes, and that she
would pay for them. Marilyn was unwilling, but Laura kept at it. At
length, Marilyn bought a dress and a few blouses, while Laura treated
herself to virtually an entire wardrobe, telling the clerks that she
was moving and would notify the store of her new address so delivery
could be made. The clothing bill came to $250, and Laura lightheartedly
paid for it in hundred-dollar bills, to the astonishment of the clerks.
An undercurrent of gloom marred the evening, despite every attempt to
keep things festive. They ate out--Laura was not very hungry, after the
big lunch, and she limited herself to a few drinks and sandwiches--and
then went back to the apartment and talked till very late about Laura's
new future. They went to sleep in the same bed, in each other's arms,
but they did not make love.
There was a call at eleven the following morning from Skalkottis,
Spinelli's secretary. "Mr. Spinelli says to tell you to get your things
packed right away, and he'll send the car over to pick you up. How
soon can you be ready?"
"Give me an hour."
"Okay," Skalkottis rumbled. "The car will be in front of your place at
noon."
With Marilyn's help, Laura packed quickly and she was ready to go by
quarter to twelve. The two girls waited silently for the minutes to
pass. There was not much that could easily be said.
At five to twelve a horn honked down below. Laura glanced out the
window and saw Spinelli's limousine in front of the house. Spinelli
himself had not come, only the chauffeur. While Marilyn bustled about,
frantically getting everything together, Laura slipped into the
bedroom. Quietly, she drew two hundred-dollar bills from her purse
and, folding them up, put them in the medicine cabinet. She knew that
Marilyn would never accept the money if it were offered--but perhaps
this way she would keep it.
Marilyn and Laura brought the luggage downstairs, and the chauffeur
stored it in the trunk. Laura turned to her friend before getting into
the car.
"So long," she said. "I'll be in touch."
"Just live well," Marilyn said. "Have the best of everything. You
deserve it, hon."
They kissed--quickly, like sisters--and then Laura entered the long
black car. It purred serenely away from the curb.
Spinelli was waiting impatiently in the big apartment. Greeting Laura
impersonally, he said, "I've got a place for you on 65th right off the
East River Drive. Four rooms, terrace. It'll set you back $325 a month."