Anne entered silently and slammed the door shut. She felt too tired to be angry.
"What are you doing here?" she said, sitting on the bed.
He smiled and put his glass down. "You forget I have a key."
"I'll change the lock tomorrow," she said. "Now please get out."
"I just came to visit," he said. He was smiling.
"What about?" she sighed. She was so tired.
"I'd hoped that by this time you'd have dropped your, shall we say, peculiarity." His eyes defied Anne's and he continued to stand over her, smiling.
"I haven't," she said. She kicked off her shoes and lay down. "I'm too tired to talk to you, Mark," she said. "Please go or I'll have to call for help."
Mark went to the cabinet, unimpressed, and poured more of her scotch in his glass. "There's no law that says I can't visit my wife."
"There will be next week when I take you to court," she answered. "If you don't leave me alone I'll sue for alimony."
He sat on the bed and took her wrist, first gently and then firmly. "Anne, you can't do this to me. I love you."
Anne smiled and turned away. "Your pride's hurt, that's all."
"I'm not going to let some woman have you," he said.
"Mark, it's my life," she replied. "I have the right to choose, not you."
This made him angry. He tightened his grip on her wrist.
"Annie," he said, and his voice was hoarse, "tell me one thing. What do they use, huh? What do they use?"
His face was over hers. Anne could smell his breath, 100 proof. But it was not only his breath that repelled her—it was Mark, all of Mark after Esther.
"I'm going to remind you of what a real man feels like," he said.
He was twisting her wrist and the pain woke Anne and cleared her mind.
"Let go of me," she commanded.
But Mark took her with both hands. "That's not what you really want me to do."
Anne struggled against him weakly, knowing he was too strong.
"Mark, this is rape," she said. "I won't forget it."
"What, between husband and wife?" he chuckled.
"I've started divorce proceedings," she said, "and that legally separates us. You haven't any right to me now."
He laughed. "Wait till I tell the judge you're queer."
"You think that's going to make a difference?" She laughed. "You'd better leave, Mark, or I'll tell him about you and Beth. Anything you say against me will be taken only as slander."
"You wouldn't do that to Beth," he said.
"Beth volunteered," Anne replied. "If you don't believe it, call my lawyer."
She had found a flaw in him and had won; his grasp was less tight. "Mark, all I want is to be free of you," she said, "but if you don't leave me alone I'll make you pay for it the rest of your life."
She relaxed and waited. Mark wanted her to struggle, try to fight him off. But her coldness would be more effective. Whatever he did to her now would not matter, would be chalked up as just another unpleasant experience with Mark—but she would have the last laugh.
He let go of her sharply and she rubbed the soreness in her wrist and waited.
"You would do it, wouldn't you?" he said.
She nodded. "It'll be nice to have you support me for the rest of your life, particularly since I'm not going to marry again."
He went again to the scotch, took another glassful and gulped it down, then flung the glass across the room. Anne faced him and saw his expression, twisted in helpless rage, and she knew what to expect from him. She steeled herself.
Mark stood, his fist clenched, holding his breath. Anne did not take her eyes from his face.
"Go on, slap me and get out," she said.
She saw his hand come down in a flash of red and then there was nothing but pain.
* * *
Anne lay there, covering her face with her arm and dug deep into the pillow, riding the waves of anger and fatigue and pain. She was crying. She was crying because she had won. She was rid of Mark.
Anne closed her eyes and slept.
When Anne awakened, the room was dark with twilight. She had slept and now she was alive again. The pain in her cheek was almost gone and she could feel with her tongue the small bruise where her teeth had cut her flesh. It was healing even now. She sat up, feeling hungry and ready for the evening. She would go out to dinner. She had wanted to try the restaurants up this street. Afterwards she would go to Paradise—Esther might be there; if not, there would be someone else.
She got up and went to the shower. The water would wake her, and wash off Mark. Her cat, Portia, followed her and watched the process with the usual interest.
"Come on in," Anne laughed, "the water's fine."
Portia shrugged, shaking her long fur, and gave a loud purr. It was feeding time.
The telephone rang and Anne wondered if she should answer it. But it might be Esther. She turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and plodded wetly across the rug. The telephone still rang persistently.
"Hello?" Anne said, trying to stop the water dripping down her nose.
"Hello." The man's voice was familiar and it made Anne feel sick. "Is this Anna?"
"Yes," Anne said. "Father?"
"Hello," her father said again. His voice was uncertain and under great control. "Your voice sounds strange—are you with someone?" he asked.
"No, I just rushed out of the shower," Anne said. She was shivering now and dried herself where she could and sat on the bed, wrapping a blanket around her.
"How did you get my number?" she questioned, trying to seem casual. She knew what the phone call was about. It was Mark's doing. The last time he saw them Mark had told her parents about Beth and her. Now he had probably told them where Anne lived.
"It's a dreadful thing that your parents have to get your telephone number from a stranger," her father said, some of the anger breaking through his barrier of control.
"It's a dreadful thing that my parents won't let me live my own life and that I have to hide from them," Anne countered. She always had to be hard with her father. He walked right over her otherwise.
"I want you to come home.” he said, controlling himself again. "We have been worried sick over you."
"There is no reason to worry," Anne replied. "I've sent you letters, and you've always been able to reach me through Jacques, Father," she pleaded, "I'm over twenty-one now. I'm grown up."
"You are still my daughter," he shouted on the other end. "I don't care how old you are!"
"Anna—Anna—" Anne's mother had taken the telephone. She was crying. "We just don't want you to be a freak. My darling, come home, come home."
"I'm not a freak, Mother." Anne retained her composure. She did not want to hurt them this way. She cursed Mark for doing this. She could have broken the news to them more easily. "I can't come home. I'm not little any more."
"Anna," her father had the receiver again, "if you don't do as we say, I will have to use force." His tone was strong and had the same dictatorial tone that Anne had heard all her life. It made answering him easier.
"You can't use force," she responded in the same determined tone. "I'm over twenty-one and there's nothing you can do to me."
"I will stop you," his voice was high-pitched now. "No daughter of mine is going to be a—a Lesbian!" He said the word with intense hate.
"I'm afraid you have nothing to say about that," Anne said quietly.
"You're a victim of this—this awful woman," her father sputtered. "She has you hypnotized!"
"No, Father," Anne said. "I have always been this way. I won't be changed. This is the first time my life has really felt right and happy."
"You are breaking the laws of nature—" her father said.
"The law I'm breaking is against nature," Anne said. "That law will have to be changed."
She did not want to talk more. This could go on for hours. "I have nothing more to say, Father," she said. "If you want any connection with me, pleas
e try to see things my way."
"Anna, I'm coming up to get you," he said strongly.
"I won't be here," Anne said and hung up.
The room spun around her. She was cold despite the blanket and lay down, shivering. Portia was close to her face, meowing for supper. Anne wanted to cry but could not. She was too angry. She was angry at Mark for having done this, furious at the world for being so stupid and having done this. How dare the world deny her a place it? She was not hurting others by her existence; she had not harmed anyone, while Mark—Mark with the world on his side—had harmed her.
Portia's meows were becoming annoying and Anne forced herself up from the bed. "Come on," she said her, "soup's on."
She emptied the can of cat food in a clean bowl and watched Portia eat it carefully. The thought of food made Anne remember she was hungry. She would still go out. She brushed her hair quickly and then put on her slacks again and took her toothbrush. She might not come home again tonight. Her father might be here, waiting for her when she got back. She would spend the night in a hotel, if she did not find someone at Paradise.
She was unhappy about going out; felt driven out of her own apartment by Mark and her father. She would have to move in order to be free again. She put on her jacket with a sigh and left the apartment.
CHAPTER 7
The narrow street was busy with early evening shoppers. It was the most popular street in the Village and had its sidewalks crowded with racks and merchandise—Japanese baskets, modern furniture, paintings, pottery, fruit stands, all side by side. It was a street from the Paris Esther had described. Anne had never walked like this before, looking at everything closely as she went. Thanksgiving was Thursday and the street was particularly crowded in anticipation. Anne wished Esther were walking with her. She felt so much alone now, almost like calling Beth again, just to speak to someone, just to hide her head and cry.
I'm going to have fun, she said to herself, I'm going to find someone who likes fun and we'll have fun together. I'm going to forget everything and everyone and break loose.
She stopped in front of the small restaurant that was so expensive. She would eat here, by the window.
She opened the door and entered shyly, wondering if the management would object to her slacks. But they did not. Odd apparel was normal in the Village.
It was warm inside and dark, the room lit only by the candles on tops of tables. Anne turned toward the table at the window and then stopped, disappointed. Someone had taken it already, a tall woman also in slacks. Anne went to sit at the empty table next to her, hoping remotely to catch her eye.
She looked familiar. Anne could not place her at first—and then she remembered the tall girl that had met Esther at Paradise. Of course—this was the same one, that tall artist. What luck! Anne would have someone to talk to for a while. She broke through her wall of shyness and decided to try conversation. It was a strange thing for her to do—she never spoke first to anyone. But tonight was different. Tonight Anne was changing.
"Hello, there," she said, trying not to seem nervous.
The woman looked up vaguely at her and smiled slightly.
"Don't you remember?" Anne said. "We met the other night—I'm a friend of Esther's."
"Oh, yes," the woman smiled. She relaxed' and her eyes became friendly. "Is Esther joining you?"
"No, I'm here alone," Anne said. She felt embarrassed. She was glad she had said hello, but now everything was awkward. There seemed to be nothing else for her to say.
The waiter came to take her order. She glanced down at the menu and picked out next to the cheapest item. It was chopped sirloin. "And a Daiquiri," she said.
The waiter went away again and Anne again had nothing to do. She glanced sidewise at the woman and then back to her own hands on the table.
"Do you come here often?" the woman asked.
"I can't afford such luxury," Anne laughed, feeling relieved that she had been spoken to. "And you?"
"I'm celebrating, too," the woman said.
"Oh, I'm not celebrating," Anne said. "I'm consoling myself." It was easier to speak to her and Anne relaxed a little. "What are you celebrating?"
"I've sold a mural," she said with pride.
"Then you're an artist, as I thought," Anne said.
"A commercial artist," the woman corrected.
"Oh." Somehow this was disappointing to Anne. She had always scorned commercial art. "I paint," she said meekly.
There was a long pause now and then the woman said, "Won't you join me? It seems a shame to take up two tables."
Anne looked at her a moment. There was something wonderfully kind about her eyes; they were living eyes, more alive than Beth's, more alive than Esther's. They were eyes looking directly at Anne and not far away at the horizon. "Thank you," she said impulsively, "I will."
She moved over and sat across from her, by the window where she had wanted to sit before. "My name's Anne," she said.
"Mine's Johnson," the woman smiled. There was a faint touch of business-like masculinity about her that lent her assurance. It was Beth's kind of assurance.
"Have you had dinner yet?" Anne asked, not seeing a plate before her.
"I just ordered dessert," Johnson said, "but I’ll set a while on coffee."
Anne's waiter brought her Daiquiri and a new bread basket.
"How is Esther?" Johnson said carefully, playing with her spoon.
"What makes you think I've seen her since the other night?" Anne said, not wishing to give Esther away.
Johnson smiled. "I know her too well." She put the spoon down and looked at Anne. "Is your evening free?"
"More or less," Anne said. "I had planned to go to Paradise."
Johnson smiled again. "You must be a newcomer. I'm afraid Paradise is not too hopping on a Monday night."
Johnson was right. Anne remembered Jacques' telling her that Monday nights were a waste of time. Only drunks patronized the bars then.
"I'm going around the corner to a movie," Johnson said. "There's a science fiction film. Want to come?"
Anne looked at her. Johnson was attractive in the way that Beth was and yet somehow more wholesome.
"All right," Anne said. She had not been to a movie in months. It might be fun.
Anne's lentil soup arrived and Johnson watched her eat it. She seemed in a happy silence and Anne wondered what she might be thinking. The small candle flickering on their table was making her sandy hair silver. She's like Beth in many ways, Anne thought, but not really. Johnson was taller than Beth and stronger, and her eyes were not nervous.
"Are you a New Yorker?" Johnson said.
Anne nodded. "Mostly. I was born in Europe, though."
"Oh?" Johnson looked up in interest. "Where? I visited Europe last year."
"Austria, but I don't remember it," Anne said.
"Good," Johnson laughed. "I only spent three days in Vienna so I couldn't talk very much about it anyway."
There was something winning about all of Johnson. I do like her, Anne thought; I hope she likes me.
She had barely finished her soup when the waiter brought her chopped sirloin. She allowed herself to be hurried, not caring so much about the meal now.
There was silence for a moment as Anne took the first bite and then Johnson said, "What are you consoling yourself about?"
Anne looked up puzzled.
"You said you were dining out to console yourself," Johnson clarified.
"Oh," Anne said, "I guess it's because I have to move." She didn't really want to think about it now.
"Are you being evicted?" Johnson said.
"No, that's not it," Anne said. She lapsed into silence and thoughts of her parents and Mark.
Johnson saw her mood and did not question her further. Instead, she asked, "Do you paint for a living or are you studying?"
"Studying," Anne said, "only I'm not sure it's what I really want to do." She was sad now, quite depressed.
Johnson's dessert arrived, an
overdressed pastry. She dug her fork in it. Her hands were beautiful, Anne saw. They were large, strong hands but smooth and unscarred, with sensitive white skin. Anne wondered how she kept them that way despite her work.
"I'd like to see your work," Johnson said. "If it's good, I might be able to help you."
"But I thought you did commercial art," Anne said.
"I have to make a living," Johnson laughed. "I have a shop around the corner. I mostly sell frames and decorative stuff. But I hang myself and my friends on the wall," she added with a smile.
Anne laughed. "I hope they don't mind hanging.”
Johnson winked amiably.
"I'd like to see your work," Anne said.
"That will be nice," Johnson said, and then added, "I even have the traditional 'etchings'."
"I'd love to see your etchings," Anne countered. She was being carefree and flirtatious, but it was fun to play Johnson's game.
"That can be arranged," Johnson said. Anne finished her food and looked for the waiter. She glanced at her watch before he came and saw it was almost time for the last show. Her dessert was a la carte.
"The check, please," she said to him.
"What? No coffee or anything?" Johnson said.
"I don't want to miss those Martian women," Anne said.
Johnson smiled and shrugged and then rose to help Anne out of her chair. As they stood next to each other, Anne thought—She's not too tall, just right. Johnson seemed taller than she was.
Anne paid the waiter hurriedly and Johnson did the same, neither waiting for her change.
It was brisk outside and they walked close together to the end of the block and then around toward the movie.
They stopped and looked at the marquee. The first film featured a female monster.
"Should be stimulating," Johnson said. She went to the ticket booth and paid for two. "I invited you, so I'm treating," she said, coming back to where Anne was waiting.
Anne protested slightly but allowed herself to be overruled.
They entered and since neither of them smoked they went to the orchestra.
"I like to be right on top of the picture, don't you?" Johnson said.
Anne nodded, sitting next to her. The newsreel was playing. "Funny," Anne said, "they used to show news in newsreels. Now it's mostly sports." A beautiful water skier jumped over their heads.
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