Gay Girl

by Joan Ellis

  "Phyl, have you got a moment?" Eve asked breathlessly.

  "Just about that," Phyl said, her face masked. Eve never called her here! "What is it, dear?"

  "I was reading through the 'Help Wanted' this morning. I don't know why—just to see what kind of jobs are around," Eve bubbled excitedly. "Phyl, there was an ad for a receptionist at Cosmopolitan. I could handle a job like that, couldn't I?"

  "I don't see why not," Phyl said slowly, uncomfortably aware of Della's scrutiny. "Dear, I'm all tied up with appointments right now—"

  "I'm sorry I broke in on you," Eve apologized, "but you will find out about that job for me, won't you?" Her voice sunk low. "I'd be right there in the hospital with you. Maybe once in a while we could even have lunch together."

  "Yes, I'll check on it," Phyl promised briskly. "I'll get back to you on it later," she wound up guardedly. "Good-by, dear."

  "The doctor's too busy for a personal life?" Della chided, lifting her cumbersome bulk out of the chair. "You know what they say about all work and no play."

  "When I'm in the office or at the hospital, I consider myself solely on duty," Phyl said—tersely, because something of that wise look in Della Cole's eyes disturbed her. Once or twice before she'd felt vaguely uncomfortable beneath Della's scrutiny, but she'd never analyzed that discomfort. Now, knowing about Della's husband, her awareness of sexual aberrations, Phyl realized that there were people who guessed about her without her so much as saying one word that was a giveaway.

  "I wish this whole mess were over with," Della sighed as Phyl opened the door to one of the examining rooms and held it for her to enter.

  "Miss Rogers," Phyl called briskly. "Will you please prepare Mrs. Cole?"

  Phyl walked to the entrance to the reception room, smiling at her next appointment. On rush days like this they sandwiched in two patients at the same time- She'd do the personal discussion bit in the office while Rogers prepared Cole. Then while she did the swift routine check on Della Cole, Rogers would prepare the next one.

  Phyl's mind shot back to the phone conversation with Eve. Eve wouldn't have phoned her here at the office if she hadn't been terribly anxious about the job, Phyl conceded. They'd never discussed her not phoning at the office, but Eve instinctively took the approach that office and hospital hours were inviolate. But could they keep their true relationship a secret, thrown together so constantly that way? How long would it be before people began to guess, to talk about them? She couldn't risk it.

  Why did this rotten job have to pop up, Phyl asked herself tiredly. Why had Eve read that lousy newspaper ad? She could swing the job for Eve, Phyl conceded—holding it would be up to the girl herself, of course. But should she take that chance? What was the sensible thing to do? But then, since when had she lived by a sensible regime, Phyl thought tossing caution aside. She'd go over to the hospital administration office personally and put in a pitch for Eve. It'd be so simple. A girl from home who was going to share her apartment, she mentally planned her approach. She could conjure up references, gloss over Eve's lack of experience. How much experience did she need to sit at a front desk in the administrative office at Cosmopolitan?

  Phyl thrust aside the warning voice within her. She'd do this for Eve. She wanted to see that look of pleasure and pride on Eve's face when she told her that she had been able to do this thing. Caution was cold and dead.

  CHAPTER 11

  "I'm so glad the weather turned warm this way," Eve bubbled with satisfaction as she packed the shorts and summer tee shirts she'd bought especially for this weekend. "It'll feel so good to get out into open countryside again."

  "You sound as though you were bored with city life already," Phyl teased.

  "Phyl, no!" Eve exchanged a glance of secret pleasure with Phyl. "Everything's so perfect—I can't wait to start to work Monday morning, and in two weeks we'll be moving into the apartment. Phyl," her voice dropped to a serious note, "you're sure the furniture I chose wasn't too expensive?"

  "Who cares?" Phyl brushed this aside lightly. "As long as you're happy with it."

  "What time shall we leave?" Eve shut the valise with a jubilant smile.

  "In about an hour," Phyl decided. "Let's make sure that heavy commuter traffic is on the wane. We'll make better time that way, anyhow."

  The phone rang and Phyl exchanged an apprehensive glance with Eve. She reached for it, dreading what was sure to come. "Dr. Talbert." Eve never answered the phone except when she knew it would be Phyl calling. She listened a moment, then sighed. "Thank you, I'll call her right back."

  "A patient in labor?" Eve asked, her eyes big with disappointment.

  "Most likely," Phyl conceded, dialing. "Hello. Mrs. Cole, please."

  "Right here. It looks as though we're in business," Della Cole's voice came nervously over the phone. "Do I grab my bag and go to the hospital?"

  Carefully, Phyl questioned her, and listened calmly to Della's faintly hysterical replies.

  "Now stop worrying, Della," she commanded firmly, although the sympathetic warmth was unmistakable. "This is probably going to be a short labor. Now have your husband take you directly to the Admitting Office on—"

  "My darling husband is off for a gay weekend," Della cut her short. "But I'm sure I can find myself a cab." Della was making an effort to sound flip, but Phyl caught the undercurrent of terror.

  "Stay there, Della," Phyl decided quickly. "I'll drive right over and pick you up." Personal concern colored Phyl's voice. Damn the girl's husband—he might at least have managed to stay home this weekend when they knew it could happen at any time. She'd even notified the answering service of the motel where she expected to be spending the weekend, on the chance that Della might go into labor. She had told Bill she'd drive right back if she did because she knew Della Cole would be an emotional wreck.

  "Doc, it wouldn't be a bad idea if we had a couple martinis apiece before we head for the hospital," Della chuckled unexpectedly. "I'll have the shaker standing by."

  "I told you—no food, no liquids. Just sit down and calmly wait till I get there," Phyl ordered quietly. "Tomorrow this time you'll be lounging in bed reading, wondering what to choose from tomorrow morning's breakfast menu."

  Phyl shot a sympathetic smile across the room to Eve as she reached for the jacket to her suit.

  "The weekend was a nice thought," Eve said with an attempt at lightness. "Do you always chauffeur for your expectant mothers?"

  "Della's a character. Her husband's away—I wouldn't want to give some poor taxi driver a nervous breakdown getting her to the hospital. Don't be too disappointed, sweetie—we'll work it out another weekend." Phyl hesitated briefly. "Honey, Bill Porter's home phone number is there in the book. I don't want to take time out to call him. Will you try to get hold of him, say you're phoning for me. Explain that Della Cole went into labor and I'll be in town this weekend, in case he'd like to make plans to go somewhere."

  "All right," Eve agreed eagerly. She relished the thought of being of use to Phyl. "Will it be an all-night grind?"

  "Most likely," Phyl said. "Why don't you run out to a movie?"

  "I might." Eve said wistfully. How could she explain to Phyl that going to a movie alone was as bad as staying home alone? There was nobody sitting next to her with whom she could share it.

  "I'll call as soon as I'm done," Phyl promised, kissed her lightly, and hurried off. She'd buy Eve that puppy she'd been thinking about, Phyl promised herself guiltily. A dog or a kitten could be such company. As a child she'd never had a pet. Her mother had had no patience with animals. It would be nice to have an animal around, Phyl decided... it was the closest thing to a child.

  * * *

  By eleven Phyl was tired, hot, and convinced this would be an all-night deal. There were indications now of complications they had had no reason to suspect prior to this. The policy of the hospital was to have the prospective father remain with the prospective mother through all but the final stages of labor, wherever possible. Phyl al
ways felt a sense of frustration when the husband wasn't there, as though it were her job to stand in personally.

  She hurried out of the labor room toward the doctors' recreation room, impatient for a cigarette. She nearly collided with Tom Condon, the OB resident on the shift. He was caressing the cloud of dark hair of a girl on a stretcher en route to the elevator. An emergency Caesarean section, she guessed. Condon helped the nurse slide the stretcher into the elevator, then hurried to fall in step beside Phyl.

  "If I were properly coaxed, I might be persuaded to arrange for a couple cartons of Coke to make their way down here," he suggested with his usual charm.

  "Consider yourself persuaded," Phyl agreed. She'd been touched by that business with the hair. Condon was human, after all. She felt distinctly less antagonistic to him for the first time since she'd been associated with Cosmopolitan.

  Phyl stretched out full length on the leather sofa and closed her eyes. Almost instantly she was off in a troubled semi-slumber.

  "Now that's a comfortable picture," Tom Condon's appreciative chuckle brought her sharply awake. "Don't move, Phyl. It's nice to see a woman around who isn't in labor."

  "You've got a floorful of pretty, overly responsive nurses," Phyl reminded.

  "You make a habit of hating men—or are doctors special?" Tom pried off the lids of the Coke containers and handed one to Phyl.

  "What makes you think I hate men?" Phyl countered, taking the Coke and deliberately crossing her legs. That was a feminine gesture that ought to derail his thoughts, she thought cynically. Her legs were good. Men—and women—had been admiring them for years.

  "You hate me, and I'm a healthy specimen." He sat down, dropped an arm about her, and Phyl made no effort to move.

  "How can you think about sex when you're up to your ears in deliveries?" Phyl asked frankly.

  "How can I not think about sex?" he laughed. "I have no desire to be a father, but honey, do I love to practice!" His fingers brushed the sheer nylon that covered her ankles.

  "It's a miracle you haven't been tossed out on your ear by now, the way I hear things." She could understand why the impressionable young student nurses flipped for him, Phyl admitted. He was a handsome male, for those who were interested in men.

  "Why don't we go out some night and talk about it?" Tom encouraged. "That is, if you can forget you're a practicing OB and I'm a lowly resident."

  "Let's talk about it some time," Phyl used her stock answer, glancing nervously at the clock. "Thanks for the Coke, but I'd better run now. I've got a nervous mother on my hands."

  By the time Phyl was done in the delivery room with Della Cole and her daughter, it was almost five in the morning. Too late to go back downtown, she decided. Too late to wake up Eve, she added mentally. She'd go on over to the apartment, grab a few hours sleep, then come back over for a look at Della. Apparently everything was now fine, but they'd nearly lost the baby, and something so close always shook her up.

  Leaving the hospital, she met Doug Johnston coming into the building. With annoying clarity she remembered how she'd introduced Eve to him that night on the street. With Eve coming to work at the hospital, she'd have to remind her of that story—Eve was from Phyl's home town, and Phyl had gone with Eve's brother.

  That was the trouble with lying, Phyl thought wearily—once you started, there was no letting up. You piled lie up on lie. Life could become a crazy patchwork of untruths for no reason at all. People created their own hell on earth—but why? She was too tired to argue that now, she thought with bitter humor. The only thing she wanted at this moment was a firm, comfortable bed.

  * * *

  "Phyl, you think I can hold on to the job?" Eve asked nervously as she stepped into the red Triumph.

  "You talked to Dr. Carter and to his secretary," Phyl reminded. "They were quite pleased with you." That was true, Phyl realized with a touch of surprise. Of course, with the salaries they paid, hospitals were lucky to get what office staff they could, but they had honestly been pleased with Eve, Phyl remembered with pride. Eve had a sweet, ingratiating way about her.

  "It's nice to be able to drive up with you this way," Eve said, leaning back with an air of satisfaction.

  "Less than three weeks and you'll be able to walk to work," Phyl reminded. "If I can make it I'll drop by and see if you're free for lunch," Phyl promised. "If I don't get tied up somewhere along the line." Everybody knew Eve was from her "hometown", that they were going to share an apartment together, Phyl rationalized. Why shouldn't she have lunch with Eve her first day on the new job?

  They drove through the morning traffic in comfortable silence. Both had been disappointed about the switch in weekend plans, but Phyl was counting on a free weekend at the end of the month. She'd make it up to Eve, Phyl promised herself, enjoying the presence of the girl beside her this morning. She felt so at ease with the world, Phyl realized with surprise. This was what a "happy marriage" meant to ordinary couples, but to them it was even more precious, more satisfying. This morning Phyl loved the whole world because she had Eve.

  "I'm glad this is your morning to go into the hospital before the office," Eve said as they turned into the parking area at Cosmopolitan.

  "I would have driven you over anyhow," Phyl said, amused.

  "I like knowing you'll be there, somewhere upstairs, while I start off on the job." Eve reached to touch Phyl's hand briefly before stepping out of the car.

  Phyl pushed down a wave of self-consciousness as she walked beside Eve toward the building entrance. Eve was part of this life now. People would accept her. There was no need for this sense of guilt, almost of fear.

  "The office is down this way," Phyl reminded as Eve poised uncertainly in the lobby, and without meaning to guided her by the elbow towards the administrative offices.

  "Hi there!" Doug Johnston's voice caught the two girls by surprise.

  "Good morning, Doug," Phyl managed calmly, and suddenly she knew bringing Eve into the hospital was a mistake. She knew it from the way Doug Johnston was looking at Eve now.

  "Hello, Eve," he said softly, and it was like the opening lyrics to a love song.

  Doug Johnston was out to make a wild play for Eve, Phyl told herself in sickening realization. He'd make life miserable for both of them. Eve wasn't like her—she wouldn't know how to handle a man like Doug. Here she was again—pouring the concrete for her own road to hell!

  CHAPTER 12

  Phyl made Della Cole's room her final call of the morning. Della was recuperating well physically, but Phyl was concerned with her increasingly blunt remarks about offering her baby out for adoption. Phyl wasn't a psychiatrist, but she had to make some effort to pull Della out of her low mental state.

  She knocked lightly on the door of the private room and waited for the sultry voice to invite her in. This morning she heard other voices inside, which from their tone somehow didn't sound as though they belonged to the hospital staff. Phyl frowned, thinking how she disapproved of these elongated visiting hours in the private rooms, but the hospital had been forced into making such concessions.

  "Come in," Della called out with an undercurrent of gaiety that was a refreshing change.

  Phyl opened the door and viewed the two women comfortably relaxing in chairs while Della lounged on the bed.

  "I didn't know you had visitors," Phyl smiled perfunctorily. "I'll pop in a bit later."

  "Don't go, Doc," Della coaxed, and there was a certain edge in her voice that put Phyl on guard. Della wasn't looking upon her as her doctor now. It was as though Phyl were a man she might be pursuing. "I'd like you to meet my friends. They're intrigued with the idea of knowing a woman doctor."

  "There are many of us around," Phyl said, inwardly tense.

  "And when you find a woman doctor, I'll bet she has to be ten times as good as a man to hold her own," the older woman, a chic, graying fiftyish smiled indulgently.

  "It helps." Phyl managed an answering smile. The low, musical voice was somehow relaxing.
This was a woman who had known a great deal of sorrow, Phyl thought astutely, and from it she had emerged with compassion and calm. Phyl's eyes moved interestedly to the younger woman, who she guessed to be somewhere in her thirties—pleasant and friendly, yet guarded. And suddenly Phyl understood the relationship between the two. Della, watching Phyl digest the situation, glowed with an odd satisfaction.

  "I've been telling Della this business of giving away her baby is all nonsense," the older woman said briskly, surprising Phyl. "She ought to be grateful she has that child."

  "Now come on, Toni, can you see me playing the devoted mother?" Della protested.

  "Give the baby a chance!" Toni's voice took on an edge of sharpness. "Let her have love. Let her have a chance to grow up without complexes. You owe her that much, Della."

  "This seems to be my day for lectures," Della sulked, her eyes seeking sympathy from Phyl.

  "Look, we'd better get out of here," the younger woman offered. "The doctor can't wait all day to see Della."

  "Thanks for coming, you two," Della said grudgingly, "even if you do treat me like a mental incompetent."

  "I’ll buzz you when you get home, Della," the younger woman said, and a note of wistfulness crept into her voice. "The baby's adorable."

  "They all look like little monsters to me," Della laughed, then sent a challenging glance in Toni's direction. "Talk to Toni. Maybe she'll let you adopt the kid."

  The two visitors took off with crisp yet warm farewells, and Phyl lowered herself into a chair. Della Cole and her baby were becoming a sore point with her.

  "You can afford a full-time nurse, Della," she pointed out softly. "It isn't as though you would be responsible for round-the-clock care."

  "What do you think of those two?" Della asked, sliding out of the filmy nylon peignoir, to stretch full length in sheer white baby dolls that left her long tanned legs highlighted against the sheets.

  "Quite nice," Phyl said, pretending not to recognize what Della meant.

  "They've been together for fourteen years—can you imagine? That's longer than most man-woman marriages last."