Odd Girl

by Artemis Smith

  "Just a minute." She stopped him before they entered the coffee shop. "Exactly who is Esther?"

  Jacques gave an impatient sigh. "She lives with Carl, who is one of my lovers, in a penthouse. She's Kosher French and spent her childhood in convents hiding from the Nazis. I think she was also in the Resistance. Anyway she's hard as nails but simply dashing."

  He would say no more but pulled her by the wrist into the Florentin and through the maze of tables in a direct line toward the back. But Anne could not just walk into the Florentin without the usual ritual and they were hindered first by Marcel who ran up and embraced her and said "Princess, where have you been?" and then Jennie who extended her hand and said "Hi, femme fatale," and then Carol who tried to stop Jacques. But Jacques would not let them be stopped and pulled her onward until finally they had reached the rear of the coffee shop and stopped at a small table. Then Anne saw her. A girl—no, a woman—ageless-looking, thin and pale, with slender fingers and short, black hair, deep-set, pitchblack eyes.

  "Esther," Jacques called.

  Esther turned and the full depth of her eyes struck Anne. "Hello," she said. Her voice was low and matched her eyes and contrasted dramatically with her pale skin.

  Anne let their glances touch and smiled.

  "This is Anne," Jacques said. He pulled chairs for the two of them and then made Anne sit down.

  "Hello, Anne," Esther said. She had a half-smile and her mind seemed fogged with other thoughts and yet her black eyes seemed to burn clear through to Anne's spine, making Anne dizzy and weak.

  "Hello, Esther." She forced herself to speak. This was silly; she was behaving like a child again. She ought to have better control. She forced the dizziness to fade and brought the Florentin right-side up again.

  "Jacques tells me you're looking for Lesbian bars," Esther said.

  "Yes," Anne said; she was unable to make conversation.

  "Have you tried Paradise?"

  Anne nodded, "Someone offered to take me there tonight. I do want to go."

  "I'm on my way there now," Esther said. "We can walk together if you like."

  "That will be fine," Anne said. She hoped that she did not seem too anxious.

  Esther regarded her with an amused half-smile. Her eyes were studying Anne, who did not allow her expression to change, though she could barely keep her lips from trembling. Finally she said, "I hear you were in the Resistance."

  Esther laughed. "Who told you that?"

  "Jacques said he thought you were."

  "I was eleven years old." She looked away to the front of the shop and fingered her coffee cup. Jacques seemed to have left them and joined the cast at the other table. "Shall we go?" Esther said.

  Anne rose and followed her out of the Florentin.

  The night air was clear and they walked slowly, not speaking, through the park. Esther's long legs unconsciously took longer strides that would take her ahead of Anne and then she stopped and waited for her to catch up—and yet they were walking slowly. When she was ahead of her Anne could see and admire her, her tasteful clothes and slender ankles. She wore sandals because her feet were beautiful, like her hands and her face. There was a warmth around her despite her outward coldness. Anne wondered if Jacques had seen it. But she decided it was only for women's eyes.

  "How old are you?" Esther said.

  "Twenty."

  "That's too bad," she said and smiled.

  "Why?" Anne said.

  "Not twenty-one."

  "What happens at twenty-one that doesn't already happen at eighteen?"

  Esther laughed and stopped to sit on a bench, her slender legs apart, and looked at the ground.

  "How old are you?" Anne said.

  "Twenty-four."

  "Too bad," she chuckled. "Not twenty."

  "Are you really gay?" Esther said.

  "No, I'm terribly sad," Anne replied. "I can't find a Lesbian anywhere!"

  Esther did not laugh. "Seriously—how do you know?"

  Anne grew serious too. "I'm certain, I think. When I'm with men I don't feel alive, but with women—"

  "Have you slept with men?" Esther interrupted.

  "Just Mark—my husband," Anne explained.

  "And with women?"

  "Yes, once." She was quiet. She did not want to discuss Beth. She could talk about Mark but Beth was sacred.

  "And you don't like Mark," Esther said after a while.

  "No," Anne said.

  "You weren't compatible."

  "Oh, no, that wasn't it," Anne said. She felt that she had to explain and yet it was so difficult. "I just didn't feel alive or happy with him. I could have gotten the same results from an electric vibrator."

  Esther laughed loudly. "But you were happy with this woman."

  "Yes."

  Esther did not speak but sat looking off in the distance for a while. Then suddenly she got up and said, "Come."

  They resumed their walk and reached the other side of the park and went down one of the side streets to a place with a half-lit sign. It said PARADISE. It was downstairs, over a dark set of steps, through an obscure red door.

  The bouncer challenged them at the door and asked that they prove their age. Esther took out her driver's license and Anne her learner's permit. This satisfied him and he let them pass. Anne wondered if his name was Peter.

  Paradise was clean, not like the Oval, and painted blue. It might have passed for a favorite college hangout near some campus. The customers were ivy-league sorority types and the waiters were men dressed like waiters are on Park Avenue. *

  Esther headed for the bar and Anne followed her. Her eyes were searching the dark corners for someone. Absentmindedly she told the bartender to bring two beers.

  "Are you meeting someone?" Anne asked.

  Esther nodded. "I have three dates tonight. It depends which of them shows up first." Then she looked up at Anne and smiled. "Tell me about Mark," she said. "Are you still married?"

  "Our annulment's in the works," Anne said.

  There was another long silence and then Esther said, "Do you enjoy art?"

  Anne nodded. "I've even gone back to painting lately."

  Esther was not impressed, but she said, "Come with me to the museum sometime."

  "When?" Anne asked. She had decided to be bold.

  "Perhaps next Saturday." She took out a card with her name on it and wrote down her telephone number.

  "Carl had these made up to amuse me," she said. "Call on us, will you? And bring Jacques."

  Anne took the card and put it carefully in her wallet. "I'd like to very much," she said.

  Esther became silent. Anne knew that she had done with talking and so she sat silently too and inspected the bar. More women were coming in and Anne watched them. Each one was different and some were attractive; most were masculine but there were no distinctively masculine or feminine types; each might have passed for either with the proper clothing. Then a girl came in, alone. She was a massive girl and nearly stooped to fit through the door. She wore a pair of paint-stained jeans and an man's old shirt which somehow made her look quite beautiful. Her hair was close-cropped and her face was classic. Anne thought first of Michelangelo and then of a Greek vase depicting Orpheus.

  Esther turned then, saw her, and waved. The girl came toward them, wiping perspiration from her forehead.

  "Hi," she said to Esther. "Sorry I'm late. I got involved. I've got to go back to it soon, though—but you can sit there and watch me."

  "That will be fine," Esther said. She turned to Anne and said to her. "Do use that card."

  Anne nodded. The two turned from her and walked toward the back to a table behind a pillar and Anne thought as she watched them—So that's my rival; funny, they're both so attractive either one would do.

  But she had no time to pine for them. A familiar voice said behind her, "Can I buy you a drink?"

  Anne turned and saw Skippy. She was smiling happily because they had met again; Paradise made her look less
sinister.

  She was a plain girl now, perhaps from the Lower East Side, with only a little high school education. Anne smiled and said "Hi. I'll buy you one."

  Skippy laughed. "There you go again. Okay." She ordered beer and Anne switched to scotch.

  "Did you meet your friend?" Skippy asked.

  "Uh-uh," Anne grunted with a sigh.

  "Oh." Skippy paused. "I guess that means you're alone for the eve."

  Anne looked down at her glass. "Yes."

  Skippy laughed and slapped her back. "Cheer up—there are lots of others."

  Anne laughed. "Are you looking for someone too?"

  "Me?" Skippy looked down. "Naw, not yet. I just got off a ten-day drunk over the last one."

  "Why?"

  "A long story," she said. "I used to work at Cora's—up to two weeks ago."

  "What's Cora's?" Anne became interested. Skippy was becoming "people" and she wanted to know what made her tick.

  "A dive way over west," she said. "It's better than the Oval, but not as good as here."

  "Why did you break up?"

  "She likes men," Skippy said; now she seemed annoyed and irritated and she drank her beer more determinedly.

  Anne put her hand on Skippy's wrist and stopped her from lifting the glass again. "Want to dance?"

  Skippy looked at her and laughed. "Oh, no," she said, "you're dynamite."

  Anne smiled. "I'd never danced that way before—with a girl."

  "I should've known," Skippy said. "Where are you from, anyway?"

  "New York, mostly. I was born in Austria."

  "Yeah? You don't sound like a foreigner."

  Anne laughed. "I've lived here all my life. And you?"

  "New York," she said, "three generations American. From Italy." They both laughed and Skippy drank some more.

  Anne looked toward the back to see if Esther was still there. The two had gotten up and were paying their check. A sudden loneliness gripped her. There was no reason to remain in Paradise. She watched them leave and wanted to follow.

  "Want to come to Cora's?" Skippy seemed to read her mind. "It's noisy there and wild, but it's safe if you're with me."

  "Sure," she said.

  They waited a moment for Skippy to finish her beer and then went into the air again. A little rain had fallen and it made the cars swish as they passed and the trees smell sweet. Anne took Skippy's arm and they walked slowly.

  Skippy said, "This girl you were meeting—know her long?"

  Anne shook her head. "I met her tonight. It'll probably come to nothing."

  "Aw, don't say that," Skippy said. "There's no reason why you can't make out. You've got all it takes."

  Anne smiled. "Thanks."

  A late full moon pointed their way back across the park and past the Oval toward downtown and west. The park and the street beyond it were filled with tourists now, mostly rough young men and servicemen out to pick up girls. Skippy and Anne walked past them and endured the wisecracks and dodged the hands and bodies that tried to block their way.

  "They ought to put a cop on this street," Skippy said. "We could use some real police protection instead of all the plainclothesmen they've got out trapping queens."

  "Do they really trap homos?" Anne asked. She had heard that it was so but it seemed such a silly waste of time.

  "Every once in a while, before elections mostly," Skippy said; then with a slight damn, "primaries are due soon."

  They walked further, past the crowd, and Anne asked her why she had left Cora's for the Oval.

  "She kicked me out till I got sober," Skippy said.

  "Then you're going back tonight?"

  "Yeah," she said. There was a sadness in her voice as if going back to Cora's would bring back the past. And yet she seemed somehow to be drawn back, as if it were home.

  "Do you like working in bars?" Anne asked.

  "There's nothing like it," Skippy said. "You're free to be what you damn please. The pay's lousy, though."

  They were on a lonely street now and in the night it seemed a cold and concrete world, as if someone had poured cement over the whole earth. Skippy quickened her steps and Anne followed her, conscious of the danger of a lonely street. Then at the far corner they saw a crowd of loud young men.

  "Come in here," Skippy said, and pulled her into a doorway. They went half-way up the stairs and waited.

  "What's the matter?" Anne asked.

  "I don't like their looks," she said. Soon the crowd had passed the doorway and they waited a while longer. Then Skippy took her down again and they resumed their walk. After a while she explained, "They like to rough up queers in this neighborhood."

  "I don't understand," Anne said. "Then why does Cora have a bar here?"

  "No cops either," Skippy said.

  This seemed logical in a strange way and Anne followed Skippy's quick steps around a corner and to the middle of the block where a red sign said CORA'S.

  They quickly entered and were greeted by another bouncer who resembled Moe but not the man in Paradise.

  "Hi, Sol," Skippy said. "Cora here?"

  "Skippy, baby!" He held her hands. "Sure, come right in."

  Anne followed them through the next door and was immediately overwhelmed by smoke and loud music. Cora's was a cellar painted dirty yellow and crowded like Coney Island on a Saturday and Sunday combined. Wild dancers barred their way in.

  "Some joint, hey?" Skippy said to her. "Come on, let's find Cora."

  She took Anne's hand and pulled her through the dancers and then through spaces in the tables to the back where an older woman, eating spaghetti, sat in a booth with a crowd of long-haired girls wearing scoop blouses and mascara.

  "Hi, Cora," Skippy waved.

  Cora put her fork down a minute and looked up groggily. "You sober?" Her skin was a yellow tan and there were streaks of white in her hair. She was not ugly; in fact, Anne found her attractive in a way that frightened her. Her eyes were large and green, her mouth full. She might have been forty, but a trim forty, with a woman's breasts and slender waist. Her hands were small and strong and had the same yellow tan. She was dressed in a brown and obviously expensive suit, but her voice was low and tough, strictly Lower East Side.

  "Like a judge," Skippy said. "I want you to meet Anne." She pulled Anne forward.

  "Move, kids," Cora said to the girls in the booth. They slid off, smiling and waving at Skippy, and went to dance with each other. "Sit down," Cora motioned to Anne.

  Skippy helped Anne slide in the booth and then sat beside her. Her eyes were bright and full of admiration for Cora and she seemed very young now.

  "I just canned Mary," Cora said. "You were right, fella."

  "You bet," Skippy said. "I've had it too. No more!"

  Cora laughed and swallowed more spaghetti. There was something coarse about her table manners and yet she was not repulsive. She enjoyed what she ate unselfishly, offering Antipasto and wine as she talked.

  "Where'd you get this babe?" she said to Skippy.

  "I found her in heaven," Skippy said. "Wait till you talk to her. She doesn't know from nothing."

  "That's not quite true," Anne said. She wished she might assert her own experience, but Skippy and Cora preferred to think of her as innocent and so it did no good.

  "How do you like the joint?" Cora said proudly, gazing into Anne's eyes. "Terrific, hey? I been all over Europe and there's none like it."

  Anne smiled and nodded shyly. The place was beginning to wear on her nerves—the noise and the smoke, the wet tables and dirty floors. She felt a sudden urge to leave.

  Cora sensed this immediately and stopped eating for a moment. "What's the matter, kid? Too much atmosphere?"

  Anne looked down in embarrassment.

  "Hey, Skip, did you take her upstairs yet?" Cora said, punching Skippy's shoulder. Skippy shook her head.

  "Hey, what's the matter with you? What kind of hostess are you anyway?" Cora said. "Take her up, stupid."

  Skipp
y smiled, "Okay."

  "You start work tomorrow," Cora said.

  Skippy's face beamed, "Okay!"

  "What's upstairs?" Anne said. She felt a tinge of fear. Memories of books darted quickly in her mind, of opium dens and white slave markets, of extortionists and pimps. Cora might be all of these; upstairs might be a trap.

  "That's where the party is," Skippy said. "There's less of a crowd."

  "Don't be scared, kid," Cora said, "it's legit."

  Anne laughed at herself. Cora was no villain; she was too open and her gaze too honest.

  She let Skippy pull her past the dancers again and through a door that read NO ADMITTANCE, smiling as she noticed another sign over the bar that said no dancing. Apparently, all signs that said "No" meant "Yes."

  She followed Skippy up a flight of steps to another door which opened to a darkened room. It was red, like the Oval, but the murals were discreet. The floor was clean and instead of booths there were plush sofas and low coffee tables. Not many people were here; the juke box was mellow and the dance floor was almost empty.

  Anne looked at the couples. She could not distinguish in the darkness whether there were men there, or only women dressed as men and she supposed the crowd was mixed.

  "Swell layout, hey?" Skippy said.

  Anne agreed. "Terrific."

  They found an empty sofa and sat in it, waiting for the waitress. When she came Skippy ordered scotch and beer. They sat back and relaxed.

  "Cora'll be up later," she said. "She gives every new customer a grand welcome."

  "That's nice," Anne said. "I like Cora."

  "Ain't she swell?" Skippy sat up eagerly. Anne wondered if Skippy had a girlish crush on her.

  The juke box began to play an old favorite and Skippy stopped to listen to it, twisting with the melody. "Dance?" she said finally.

  Anne hesitated. She wanted very much to dance, and yet she did not. It would be the same as at the Oval and she was afraid. Skippy sensed her reluctance and pulled her up gently.

  "A yard away," she said.

  Anne followed and they danced apart until they both laughed at themselves and Anne pressed closely to her. It was a good feeling. A warmth grew in the pit of Anne's stomach. Skippy's breasts were pressed to hers and their thighs touched. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to Skippy's and remembered Beth. Then the music stopped and Skippy slowly let her go.