Odd Girl

by Artemis Smith

  Deep inside of her she believed there could be no other way of life for her, but she didn't have it phrased in the words with which to answer her father. If he came now she would not know how to speak to him. That would further confuse her, as Mark had further confused her at first, about her feelings for Beth, and about life, and what was right for her.

  And then there was the strong feeling of guilt within her, guilt that she was hurting her parents, guilt that she was not leading the life they had planned for her—and even guilt over Mark, although she was quick to remind herself that Mark deserved to be hurt, that he had asked for it from the very beginning.

  She busied herself with unwashed dishes and unhung clothes trying to get rid of the feeling of fear and of guilt. She wanted the apartment to be clean for Jacques' inspection. She heard his familiar three buzzes and buzzed in return. She waited for him to climb the stairs and knock; then she opened the door and quickly shut it again behind him.

  "Alice, you're really nervous," he said. "Already packing?" He looked at the suitcases on the sofa.

  "Will you help me carry them?" she said. "I'm not moving far."

  "Sure." Now he looked at the apartment with a new air of inspection. He had always liked it. "It's a shame you have to leave," he said.

  "Wait till you see the place I'm moving to," Anne laughed. She was sad to leave but knew Prudence's house would make Jacques green. "Will your parents mind your leaving home?" she asked.

  "I don't think so," Jacques said. "Things have been crowded for months."

  He went into the kitchen and opened all the cupboards. "Do I have a free hand with the decorating?"

  "Yes, but the furniture's not mine so don't re-do it. And don't use black paint." She suppressed a feeling of resentment. She had loved her apartment, and now Jacques was claiming it and making it his. "Come help me pack," Anne said. Jacques went to the closet and brought out her two best dresses and then went to the bureau and found her tailored shirts. But Anne took only slacks and skirts. This would last her at least a week, until she could come and get the rest of her things.

  "Alice, look at these!" Jacques said, holding up a pair of nylon panties with ruffles. "Can you get me a pair?" He held them in front of him and wiggled. "Simply mad!"

  "Cool down, Mary." Anne snatched them from him, suppressing a smile.

  She stuffed the rest of the things in the suitcases and closed them and then went to the bathroom and cleared the shelves. "When are you moving in?" she asked.

  "Tonight, of course," Jacques winked. "Only can I pay you the rent on Friday?"

  "That'll be all right," Anne said. Now everything was ready and Anne put Portia's collar and leash on her, picked her up, and carried the groceries in the other arm. Jacques took the two suitcases and the small cosmetic case and followed her out of the apartment. There was still no sign of her father.

  Cautiously, they reached the landing. Anne stopped and opened her mailbox. There were flyers, something about television, and Thanksgiving turkeys—and a letter from Beth. She gripped it in her hand and followed Jacques out of the building.

  Jacques' car was illegally parked in front and they piled the baggage into it hurriedly; then Anne went around and got into the front seat with Portia. Jacques started the motor.

  "Duck, Alice," he said suddenly.

  Anne and Portia sank to the floor board and waited as Jacques started the motor.

  "Did you see Dad?" she asked.

  "No," he laughed. "I just wanted to see you cats dive.”

  "Ouch," Anne winced. She wanted to kick him, but his foot was on the gas.

  It was only four blocks to Johnson's, but all the streets went the wrong way and they had to circle around Seventh Avenue and back before they could get the car turned in the right direction. It took ten minutes.

  "We should have walked it," Jacques said, turning into the street. But when he stopped in front of Johnson's store he ground the gears and said "Wow! Alice, what a trick. This setup's better than Esther's."

  "Prudence isn't a trick," Anne said. Jacques was especially obscene today—things at his home must have been worse than usual. "Come on in and meet her, but mind your language," she said.

  It was getting dark now and Johnson's shop was lit; it looked warm and inviting. Anne and Portia opened the glass door and heard it ring, then held it open for Jacques and the baggage.

  "I'll be out in a minute," Johnson called from the back. Anne heard the buzz of an electric sander.

  "I see she makes her own," Jacques said, trying out a chair on display. He had put the baggage in the only clear spot on the floor and watched Anne wrestle with Portia.

  Anne looked at the shop. It was crowded with wrought iron sculpture, long mosaic slabs and paintings, stacked and hung. In one corner were two art tables, the type commercial artists use, with half-finished work on them. It was self-sufficient. Anne wondered suddenly if there really was a place for her here, if Johnson would have changed since this morning; perhaps she had even forgotten about her.

  "May I help you?" Johnson said, coming to the front removing her work gloves. Then she saw Anne and stopped. "Why didn't you holler?" she said, and smiled.

  At once Anne felt welcome. Johnson's eyes were kinder than she had remembered, and all of Johnson came back in her mind, even in the tips of her fingers. "Hi," she flushed. "I brought friends."

  "So I see," Johnson said, coming near to pet Portia.

  "This is Portia," Anne said, "and that's Jacques. He's taking my apartment."

  "Hello, Jacques." Johnson turned and extended her hand.

  "Hello," Jacques rose meekly, now slightly intimidated by Anne's admonition to behave himself, and also by Johnson's height and build.

  She looks very male tonight, Anne thought. It made her feel a little strange. She wanted always to think of Johnson as a woman.

  "Well, I guess I'd better be going," Jacques said, feeling awkward.

  "Wait," Anne said, reaching in her pockets. "Here." She threw her keys to him. "Save my mail, will you?"

  "Right, Alice." He winked and quickly exited.

  "Hello, Portia," Johnson said, scratching the cat behind the ear.

  "She likes you," Anne said. She looked up at Johnson now and enjoyed her nearness, felt calmed by her quiet eyes.

  "What are we standing here for?" Johnson blushed. "Let's take everything upstairs." "But the store—" Anne began.

  "Six o'clock," Johnson said, shutting the lights and locking the door, "closing time." She took the suitcases and Anne followed her with Portia and the groceries in her arms through the dimly lit hall upstairs.

  Upstairs is cheerier this evening than last night, Anne thought; Johnson's been at work. She followed her toward the back to a room she remembered as crowded with things that morning. It was cleared and clean now, and brightly furnished with items from the store.

  "Beautiful," Anne said, still holding Portia and the groceries.

  "The bed's just for show," Johnson said. "Unless you want to be alone," she added, and smiled.

  Anne blushed. She did not want to be alone, but she found saying this difficult after having seen Esther that afternoon. She wondered what she should do. She looked at Johnson and saw she was blushing, too. She didn't seem male now, only big and ivy-leaguish.

  "I don't want to be alone," Anne said.

  Johnson smiled and then laughed as she looked at Portia's twisted shape. "Well, put her down. She's going to have to get used to the place sometime."

  Anne put the cat down and took off her collar. Portia immediately shied away from them and began to sniff the floor carefully.

  "She'll probably find a mouse and then I'll be embarrassed," Johnson said.

  "Portia's very polite," Anne said. "She doesn't speak to strange mice."

  "I hope she doesn't feel like a stranger," Johnson said meaningfully. "I want her to be at home."

  "Thank you," Anne said, letting Johnson's eyes find her own. She was trapped by Johnson's eyes and fou
nd it almost impossible to remember Esther. She didn't want to remember Esther.

  She unbuttoned her jacket and threw it at Johnson, "Is the kitchen ready for me?"

  "All shipshape," Johnson laughed, catching her jacket and swatting her with it. "Get in and cook, woman!"

  Anne went to the kitchen. It was the first time she had looked in and she was pleasantly surprised. Johnson had a completely modern set of cabinets and appliances.

  "You've put a lot of work in here," Anne said.

  "One room at a time," Johnson nodded wearily. "If I had the time-and more money for materials, this whole use could be as modern."

  "Perhaps I can help," Anne said. It made her feel good to say that. She wanted to help Johnson in some way.

  Johnson smiled. "Much appreciated." Now she paused and remembered to entertain. "Would you like some, music?"

  Anne nodded and put the groceries on the table. Johnson left her alone to go to the phonograph.

  Anne had bought steak and frozen vegetables. Supper would be quick to prepare. She had bought sour cream and a cheese mix to dress the squash, parsley for the boiled potatoes; canned soup with added chopped garlic, onions and nutmeg would do for the first course and dessert would come out of an instant chocolate pudding package, aided by Anne's own topping of white of egg and honey. She surprised herself. It was a good menu for a first-time cook.

  She waited until everything else was mixed and on the stove and then she lit the broiler.

  "How do you like your steak?" she called out to Johnson who was now keeping Portia company on the couch.

  "Steak!" Johnson exclaimed, "Well, I'll be. Rare, please."

  Anne was pleased—she had surprised Johnson. "Okay, set the table," she called out.

  "Already set," Johnson said.

  "Soup's on, then," Anne said, coming in with the hot pan. She poured the soup into two bowls, then went back to take one last look at the vegetables and to put on the steak.

  "It’s only canned," she said, coming back to sit at the gayly decorated card table.

  Johnson smiled dumbly. "Is there another kind?" She dipped her spoon into it and tasted. It was too hot to eat "It is not canned," she said.

  Anne smiled modestly. Johnson was surely being polite.

  They ate hungrily then, anxious for the next course. Anne finished her soup quickly so that she might catch the steak rare. She came back with it on a serving plate and made another trip for the vegetables.

  This time Johnson was silent, expressing pleasure in her eyes. She took the carving knife and fork and cut the biggest piece for Anne, then a small piece for herself.

  "Half and half," Anne said, putting part of the steak back on Johnson's plate.

  Johnson accepted it silently and they ate.

  "You're not eating your squash," Anne said.

  "Oh, is that what it is?" Johnson said guiltily, "What's that on top of it?"

  "Sour cream and melted cheese," Anne said. "Don't you like squash?"

  "I don't know," Johnson said. She eyed the dish suspiciously and took a bite of the vegetable. Anne held her breath.

  "Delicious," Johnson said meekly, and began eating the rest of it slowly. "European?"

  Anne nodded. "One of Mother's recipes." She smiled. Johnson didn't really like it—she was being polite.

  "Want your dessert now?" she asked.

  "Love it," Johnson said, letting her take away the half-finished squash.

  Anne brought the pudding in and coffee.

  "Let's have it on the bed," Johnson said. "I'm too full to sit up."

  Anne put the tray on the small coffee table near the bed and sat, waiting for Johnson to join her. She petted Portia who was now cleaning her paw.

  "That was good!" Johnson said, lying on the bed on the other side of Portia.

  A creature of comfort, Anne thought. It was refreshing to see someone so utterly pleased at everything done for her.

  Anne reached around Portia and took Johnson's hand. Johnson's hand responded, holding hers fondly.

  "How was your day?" Johnson asked, staring calmly at the ceiling.

  "Rotten," Anne said. She remembered Esther again and knew she should tell Johnson about it.

  "I saw Esther," she said cautiously.

  She felt Johnson's hand grip hers tighter for a moment. It made it easier.

  "Let's not talk about that," Johnson said. She looked at Anne reassuringly. "Let's wait and see how things go."

  It was excellent advice, if Anne could follow it. But this had to stop soon. She couldn't bear belonging to two people at once. Then, as if Johnson knew she needed to hear more, "I'm not ready to think of someone else yet either," she said.

  So that was it. Johnson was not going to be so easy to get. Helen had hurt her too much. Johnson wasn't ready to love someone else.

  "I hate Helen for hurting you," Anne said.

  Johnson laughed. "She couldn't help herself. She was never happy with me."

  "I think being happy with you is the easiest thing in the world," Anne said.

  Johnson smiled and tugged warmly at her hand, "Are you spending Thanksgiving with Esther?"

  "No," Anne said. "I may meet her Sunday morning, though."

  "That leaves us the whole long weekend, doesn't it?" Johnson sat up. "Or do you want to spend it in Paradise?"

  "You mean you want me around on Thanksgiving?" Anne said. It hadn't occurred to her that Johnson had no family to visit here. She felt overjoyed now, and almost wanted to cry. She hugged Johnson instead. "Prudence, you're family! That's what you are!"

  Johnson laughed, holding Anne fondly, "Nonsense, I'm just shrewd. I'm dying to find out what you use to stuff turkey."

  Anne let herself be held, feeling wonderfully comfortable in those strong arms. She didn't want to let go. But Johnson began to unwind her gently, saying, "Come on, we'll unpack you."

  They walked, still tightly holding hands, to Anne's room. But when they reached the door they stopped and knew they didn't want to wait any longer. Johnson held Anne closely. It wasn't necessary for their lips to touch. Anne clung to her, trembling, feeling possessed without having been touched, possessed by the memory of Johnson's lips, possessed by expectation.

  "I should have held you the minute you came in," Johnson said. "Why the hell did I wait so long?"

  Anne was part of a mold now, joined to Prudence— for it was Prudence now, soft and womanly, not Johnson—their flesh, having met once, was now familiar.

  "I love you," Anne said. She was crying and trembling, trembling because she belonged to Prudence and prying because she did not want to admit this out loud. "I love you."

  "Steady," Prudence smiled, wiping Anne's cheek.

  They walked back arm in arm to the larger room and slowly removed their clothes.

  Anne waited for Prudence to shut the lights, leaving only the small candle lit near the bed. She was nude and sat unashamedly on the bed, feeling very much herself and older. She watched Prudence's bare body move across the room and waited, knowing pleasure with her eyes.

  "I don't think you should ever wear clothes," Anne said.

  Prudence laughed. "Do you want to share me with everyone else?"

  "No," Anne smiled. "I do not." She watched Prudence finish preparing for the night and waited for her to come to bed.

  "I feel different from last night," Anne said.

  "In what way?" Prudence asked, sitting near her.

  Anne took her hands and covered them with her own. "I don't know. It's as if I want to give you something more than I have already given."

  Prudence brought Anne's hand to her lips gently. Anne lay down beside her, still holding her hand, and looked at the candle's reflection on the ceiling. She wasn't sleepy. The evening wasn't over.

  She sat up again and looked down at Prudence's quiet face. Prudence was smiling, her strong, bare shoulders not covered by the sheet.

  Anne brought her face down and kissed her lips softly. Excitement was beginning to grow in her
again, but not the excitement of before. She kissed her once more. It made Anne feel strangely feminine.

  Prudence took hold of her arms now and held them with her hands, gently but tightly.

  Anne felt the excitement more intensely—Prudence wanted her to go on. She brushed her lips against Prudence's shoulder, feeling her flesh react in the same trembling, sensuous way her own had reacted before. And then the odor of musk made her weak and she melted, melted into a pool of water, turning from water into a hundred shapes, clinging, twisting, throbbing in space, in noisy and quiet space, until she heard the voice of a woman call her name from a distance so great and so near. And then there was only dark, warm sleep.

  CHAPTER 10

  Anne yawned and stretched, looking much like Portia, warm on the bed and comfortable, so comfortable. What a bright day outside. She knew she had forgotten something for a moment and then remembered. It was a working day.

  Prudence was already up and somewhere else. The smell of coffee filled the room and Anne saw a place for her at the breakfast table. She got up and filled a cup and began to get dressed. She had overslept. She would have to call her office and say she would be in later.

  "Sleep well?" Prudence entered, her face lit with a bright morning smile.

  "Where have you been?" Anne said.

  "Stoking the furnace," she smiled.

  "I'm late for work," Anne said, hurrying back to the bathroom to finish brushing her hair.

  "The hell with work," Prudence said. "You're spending the day with me."

  "But yesterday—" Anne said, starting to remind her of the efficient way in which she had been hurried off to work yesterday.

  "Yesterday was different," Prudence said. She stood, watching Anne.

  She's right, Anne thought. Yesterday was different. Yesterday we weren't in love.

  "What are we going to do today?" Anne asked.

  "I'm closing the shop for the holiday," Prudence said. "We can picnic in the park or ride the Staten Island ferry. Would you like that?"

  "But your shop—" Anne said, trying to be practical. She might lose her job if she stayed out today, and Prudence would certainly lose some holiday business. It wouldn't do for both of them to stop earning salaries.