Odd Girl

by Artemis Smith

  "You're very beautiful," Esther answered.

  Anne was silent. She wondered if Esther said that often.

  Finally, Esther said, "What is it you want of me?"

  It was a blunt question. Anne shrugged. "Someone to love, I guess," she said.

  Esther laughed. "And I want someone to love me." She turned and looked intently at Anne. "There's a fundamental difference between us."

  Anne paused to consider this. "Is it that you're not willing to love someone in return?" she asked.

  Esther was silent. She stared outward for a while and then turned to Anne and brought her hand to her temple, pretending to brush back Anne's hair. "You are very beautiful," she repeated.

  Anne blushed. Esther saw this and brought her face very close. Anne expected a kiss but there was none.

  Esther laughed finally and said, "We'd better get out of this park."

  Anne did not want to go back to Carl's but Esther's grasp was firm and she followed, through the iron gate and into the dark hallway again. The door thumped shut behind them and it was pitch black except for the stream of dim light from the library.

  Esther stopped and pushed Anne gently to the wall. Her body was suddenly very close. Their thighs touched and Esther's arms wound tightly around Anne, sending a wave of excitement through her. Their breasts touched and Esther's warm lips brushed Anne's neck, paralyzing her.

  "Don't be afraid," Esther said.

  Carl's voice came from the library, "Back so soon?" They let go of each other quickly and whirled toward the light. He was not watching them. Esther paused a moment and then led the way into the room.

  "It was too cold," she said.

  "It must be," he said wryly. "Your cheeks are red.”

  He returned to his chair and before he could sit he broke into a violent cough.

  Esther whitened and rushed to him, helping him into the chair. Anne had never seen her so pale.

  "Bring me that medicine," she motioned to Anne.

  Anne hurried to the small table and took the bottle of pills and the pitcher of water and brought them to her. Carl was quieter now, but they gave him a pill to be sure.

  When he could speak, he forced a smile and said for Anne's benefit, "It's not contagious—just bronchitis."

  Esther covered him with his blanket and felt his forehead and then went again to sit on the sofa. She was upset. Anne sat beside her and tried to take her hand, but Esther was watching Carl. The music he had put on was filling the room.

  The sound was oppressive, and Anne wanted to leave. And then the unexpected happened. Esther excused herself and left the room.

  Anne had been deserted. She was forced to stay here with Carl, listening to his music, while Esther had gone elsewhere. Anne's good manners would not permit her leaving Carl.

  Five minutes went by and the strain of listening was beginning to show in her eyes. She looked at Carl. He was turned toward the window. He would not see her leave. He would not miss her. She rose quietly and tiptoed out.

  Esther had probably gone to her room, so Anne entered the small elevator and pressed the top-floor button. Slowly, the small basket took her away from the music, away from the dim lighting and up to the sunlit top of the house. She walked down the hallway toward the room that Jacques had pointed out. Her steps made the old boards creak.

  "Anne?" She heard Esther's voice at the end of the corridor.

  "Yes," Anne answered.

  "Over here," Esther said. Now she appeared at the end of the hallway. It was hard to see her because of the sun, and then the window was passed and Anne saw her plainly. Esther was nude, her long and bony body, well built and strong, naked in the sun and white like marble.

  Anne stopped, unable to go further; Esther laughed and disappeared through the doorway.

  Anne followed her. She entered, and closed the door behind her. The room was different from the rest of the house—barren and painted white—showing due respect for bookshelves, a desk and files and a low, wide bed, unmade and streaked with sunlight.

  As Anne stood there, Esther came out of the adjoining bathroom, a towel around her, and Anne could see that her hair was wet from the shower.

  "I'm glad you decided to follow me," Esther said, sitting on the bed, drying herself. "Come here and sit by me."

  Anne obeyed silently. The first paralysis of excitement was gone now, and she was able to be calm.

  "I don't know you very well," Esther said. "Do you like books, music?" She motioned to the bookshelves and went to put a record on the phonograph.

  "Not right now, thank you," Anne said. She rose and looked around the room. The desk caught her attention. It was quite untidy and full of typewritten sheets almost completely covering her typewriter. Anne went to it.

  "Please, don't look there," Esther said. "It's not finished."

  "What's not finished?" Anne asked.

  "All of it," Esther said. "What I'm writing."

  Anne smiled and turned—felt the same way about unfinished things, could not bear to show her paintings before they were completed. She took a book from the shelf instead and went back to the bed to look through it.

  Esther wrapped a blanket around herself and sat next to Anne, curious at what she had picked out. It was a book of caricatures. Anne had chosen it because it would not require close attention. She was determined not to make the first move, determined to wait for Esther, and the book was her excuse for sitting on the bed.

  It worked. Esther put her hand over the pages and Anne looked into her eyes. They were playful and unsure. Suddenly it struck her—Esther was waiting for her.

  Anne put the book down and took Esther's hand. It was cold and knotted as before. All of Esther was knotted as before, and shivering.

  "Lie down," Anne said to her quietly—and took her shoulders gently with her hands, stroking away the shivers with a gentle but firm grasp. Esther lay down, tangled in the blankets, and watched her. Anne kicked off her shoes and knelt by the bed. Slowly, patiently, her hands began unfolding the blanket. She found Esther's ankles, cold and white, and began to trace the blue veins upward toward the thighs. A strange power seemed to flow from her hands and grow through the rest of her body; then she moved to put her lips on Esther's.

  * * *

  There was something wrong with Esther. She would not speak. Anne watched her in the twilight as the orange sun spread its glow over her body. She only lay there, staring upward to the ceiling.

  "Is anything wrong?" Anne asked.

  "No," Esther said.

  "I can't help feeling that you resent me," Anne said.

  Esther laughed sadly. "I do."

  "Why?"

  Esther sat up and looked at Anne. Her eyes were deep and nervous. "Because you pleased me," she said.

  "I don't understand," Anne said. Why should Esther resent her for that?

  "Don't you?" Esther said cynically. She rose and paced the floor. "I think we'd better just be friends."

  Now Anne began to understand, and it amused her. She had wounded Esther's vanity.

  But inwardly, she resented Esther's attitude. It was no better than or different from a man's.

  "No one else has ever pleased me," Esther said. She looked out the window silently and her fist, now clenched, thumped against the palm of her other hand.

  Anne rose and came to her. Esther was nearly a head taller than she and her dark mood made Anne a little afraid. But she stood beside her at the window, careless about being seen.

  "I'm sorry," Anne said, "all this is very new to me."

  Now Esther turned her head to look at her and her eyes were wildly strong. She took Anne by the shoulders in a grip as tight as Mark's. Esther pressed Anne to her and forced Anne's mouth to accept hers. Anne was afraid. Esther was angry.

  * * *

  Anne did not know how long she slept. The tiredness of the night before had caught up with her and had made her collapse when all tensions were released, and now it was dark outside. She felt for Esther's bo
dy and found only a rumple of sheets. She remembered the lamp over the bed and turned it on.

  The room was empty and the door closed so that the monastic white walls boxed her in threateningly.

  Anne rose, covering her nakedness with the loose sheet, and looked, frightened, for her clothes. She was in a strange room in a strange house that was noisily quiet with the sound of her own mind. And then she forced indignation to replace fear and put on her clothes roughly and stepped determinedly into the hallway. Esther had left her alone, and Anne was angry.

  Her determination intimidated the small elevator to work efficiently, and she now found herself downstairs, walking to the study, expecting to see Carl. But there was only the small maid, cleaning.

  "Oh, it's you, miss," she said, a bit startled.

  Anne wondered if the house was always so frightening at night.

  "Is anyone home?" she asked.

  "Mr. Carl is asleep," the maid said. "Miss Esther's gone." Now she stood, awaiting orders.

  "Thank you," Anne said, and turned to the door.

  Outside, the chill air humbled her; shivering, she hailed a taxi.

  She's probably at Paradise, Anne thought. But she told the driver to take her home. When she left the cab, she went across to The Florentin. She was angry to the point of tears. Esther had left her alone. Esther had left her as Beth had left her.

  The Florentin's windows were fogged with dampness. It looked warm and light inside. Anne opened the glass door, entered, and stood still, crossing the room with her eyes, inspecting faces for a friend.

  "Hey, Alice," Jacques hailed her, "over here."

  Anne smiled. The world was becoming all right again. Her friends were at a table. She went to the table and sat on an empty chair, and waited to greet them until Marcel had finished talking.

  "...I insist," Marcel was saying, "sex and love are entirely different. I love a dozen girls and they're all still virgins."

  "That's because they don't love you," Jennie giggled.

  Their cups of coffee were stale, but they were broke this week and couldn't order others.

  "Alice, what happened?" Jacques said. "Did you make out?"

  "Never mind," Anne smiled sadly. Jacques' curiosity repulsed her now. She tried to tell herself that he was young.

  "Something did happen," he laughed naughtily. "Mary, you're fast!"

  "What's this all about?" Marcel asked, hearing a fragment.

  "Nothing much," Anne said. And then an odd impulse took hold of her and she felt she had to tell them. "I've become a Lesbian."

  Jennie giggled cleverly, "Chacun a son gout!" and Marcel and Jacques laughed. Anne smiled. They thought she was joking. Only Jacques really knew. She wondered how they would react if they had believed her. She wondered how the rest of the world, the rest of her friends would react. They would have to accept it, or Anne would drop them. She would not hide herself from them, not from her friends—her employers, perhaps—but not her friends. They would just have to accept it.

  Suddenly the warmth of the Florentin was unbearable and the company dull. She could no longer bear Jacques, she could not communicate with Marcel or Jennie. She rose. She no longer belonged here.

  "I'll talk to you tomorrow," she said to Jacques. "Right now I'm due at Cora's."

  She left the Florentin, left Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in full swing over the loudspeaker, left the discussion of Shakespeare, Strindberg and Sex—left the heat and the dampness and smell of fresh coffee and walked in the cold air past the crowds of men standing on the street, past the whistling crowds of violent men, past the last lights of safety and down the cold dark street, down the street of violent silence, down the only street that led to Cora's. Anne was going to get even, was going to spite Esther.

  She was ready to immerse herself in noise, the noise of Cora's juke box. She was ready to exhaust herself in dancing. The noise in her own ears was ready to blend into Cora's. She ran down the steps and through the swinging door, and stopped.

  Cora's had changed. The juke box was subdued, the No Dancing signs were larger and there was no one on the floor. The women were gone and only the truck drivers were standing at the bar.

  "Hi, kid." Cora stopped her at the door. "Can you prove your age?"

  Anne took out her wallet automatically. She was puzzled.

  Cora glanced at her driver's license. "Okay."

  "What's the matter?" Anne asked.

  "Elections," Cora said. "Every place is watching its step this month. Why haven't you been in?"

  "I thought you didn't want me to come back," Anne said.

  "Did I say that?" Cora scratched her head. "I must have been drunk."

  Now someone else entered and she had to stop them.

  "Go sit down," she said to Anne. "I'll join you later."

  Anne squeezed through the empty tables toward the back. She saw Skippy wave at her from behind the bar and she waved back. After Esther, Skippy did not seem very attractive. But Skippy's eyes were friendly and Anne was glad she had come to Cora's. She felt at home.

  "What'll you have?" Skippy said.

  "Vat 69 and coke," Anne said.

  "Whoops," Skippy laughed, "I should have remembered."

  She prepared a tray and put Cora's scotch and soda on it too and then Cora came and took it from the bar and brought it to Anne's table.

  "It's great to see a female face around here," Cora said. "We'll be back in swing in a couple of weeks, though."

  "Does this happen every year?" Anne asked.

  Cora nodded. "Someone in the Department has it in for me."

  Anne was tempted to ask Cora if she "payed off," but thought better of it.

  "If I told you not to come back," Cora said, "what are you doing here?" She placed her hand fondly over Anne's.

  Anne blushed with embarrassment. Cora was interested in her.

  "I wanted excitement," she said.

  Cora laughed and took her hand away. "You sure picked the wrong spot."

  Cora was right. Anne looked toward the staircase and saw the door to the upstairs room was marked Closed. Nothing, but nothing was going on at Cora's.

  "Excuse me." Cora rose again to stop more people at the door. Anne looked down at her drink. She was glad that Cora's was quiet after all. She had not really wanted noise. It might be nice just to be with Cora and Skippy tonight, and then to go home and rest. After all, tomorrow was a working day.

  Just as she began enjoying the-lack of excitement, Cora came back with some people.

  "I brought you some friends," Cora said. "Frenchy, Jane, Mel, this is Butch."

  "The name's Anne," Anne corrected.

  "It's Butch to me," Cora said. "I can't remember names."

  "Hello." Frenchy was a very old man, a banker perhaps, but very old with gleaming false teeth.

  "Hello," Anne smiled politely. She did not really want more people at the table.

  "May we buy you a drink?" Mel asked, while helping Jane sit down.

  "No, thanks." Anne looked at her scotch. "I've got one."

  Cora left them again, to greet more newcomers.

  "The next one," Mel insisted.

  Anne submitted sadly to their intrusion, looking with nostalgia toward the bar where Skippy was occupied with several orders.

  "What do you do?" Jane asked her.

  "Office work," Anne said, hoping this might discourage them. They were plainly tourists out for kicks. "And what about you?" she looked at the men.

  "We spend money," Frenchy smiled.

  Mel laughed, "But only on women."

  "I do hope Cora will join us again," Jane said. She was very blonde and very fake. Her dress was white and it was plain by the way it was cut that they had come by car.

  "We're expecting another couple," Mel said. "I hope you're corning with us to the party."

  "I don't know," Anne answered. She was feeling uncomfortable now and wished that Skippy would come over and protect her.

  Skippy read her thoughts. She c
ame over with a tray.

  "Hi," she said to Anne, "mind if I join?"

  "Please do," Anne said, moving over so that there would be room for her. But Cora immediately returned and Skippy had to get up again to give back her seat.

  "How about some dancing, Cora?" Mel said. "It's after midnight. Should be safe."

  "Okay," Cora said. She did not sit and abruptly took hold of Anne's wrist. "Come on."

  Anne let herself be led to the dance floor and followed Cora's smooth but awkward step to a slow mambo.

  "What are you doing with those birds?" she said.

  "But you brought them over," Anne said.

  "Never mind what I did," Cora said, "just don't walk out with them."

  "I won't," she said. Anne was annoyed. No one in his right mind would walk out with a group of strangers from a bar like this.

  "I'm taking you home," Cora announced. "You shouldn't be alone at this hour."

  "What makes you so safe?" Anne said impatiently. She was not a child.

  Her remark stopped Cora for a moment and then she laughed. "Honey, I don't need nobody. All the girls come to me." Then she softened and continued to dance, "Maybe you're not so dumb."

  Cora's cheek was against Anne's now and Anne was amused. Cora was trying to act the Romeo, and it was refreshing to play her game. She pressed closer into what was now a fox trot and closed her eyes. If only Esther could be so uncomplicated.

  When she opened her eyes again, they had danced near the table and Cora was ready to lead her back. The new couple had arrived and were standing there, waiting for introductions.

  Anne froze. There was a tall handsome man—possibly an actor, and with him—almost behind him so that Anne had not seen her at first—was Beth, pale in a long black evening gown.

  "What's the matter?" Cora said, feeling Anne's grip tighten on her hand.

  "Nothing," Anne said, composing herself; she walked back to the table with Cora.

  Mel made introductions. Anne did not hear the man's name, nor anything said. Her eyes were fixed on Beth's, and Beth's eyes were soft, embarrassed, full of concern, as startled as Anne's.

  "Hello, Anne," she smiled, pretending to be introduced.

  Anne nodded and sat, unable to listen or to speak. Inside of her a wave of resentment and anger was forming, anger against Beth's escort, and the breaking, the awful tearing in her stomach of the night before. There seemed to be no one else there but Beth. Anne could listen only when she spoke.