by Ann Bannon
"Because I can't have her!” she exclaimed contemptuously. “That's exactly why I'm so miserable, you idiot! I love her so much—"
"We all do. She's a great girl,” he said, so vaguely and quietly, that it calmed her a little.
But when Marcie said, “What are you two talking about?” Laura jumped, visibly startled.
"Oh, I didn't mean to scare you,” Marcie said. She had made up her to treat Laura gently and carefully. Burr came in noisily behind her.
"Hi, Laura,” he said, and stared at her pale face.
"I didn't hear you coming,” Laura said nervously. She wondered what Marcie had told Burr, and suddenly it was too much to stand there and face them. “I'm going to bed,” she said suddenly, briefly. “I didn't sleep much last night.” It came to her then that she didn't know what she was supposed to have done last night at all. Jack hadn't told her.
Jack, faster than Laura when he was on the spot, said, “Laura spent the night with Beebo Brinker. She's an old friend of mine.” He spoke to Burr who apparently didn't know what to think.
Damn Jack!
Laura thought. He didn't have to say her name. That ridiculous name!
CHAPTER 9
Marcie tried to be understanding with Laura when they were alone later. She said, “Jack told me all about it, Laura. I understand."
What did he tell you? What do you understand? Why didn't he tell me?
She didn't know how to act with Marcie. Her discomfort made her awkward and for the first time she found herself wishing to be without her for a little while. She didn't want Marcie to try to comfort her. She just wanted to let it blow over.
But Marcie was a warm-natured girl, and she was curious. She wanted to sit on Laura's bed and talk about it. She kept saying, “Tell me about it, Laur. Tell me what happened. Don't you know I wouldn't be shocked?"
At this point Laura revolted. “No, I don't know!” she said, and was immediately sorry. She raised her hand to her mouth. “Marcie, please. Please drop it."
"I'm sorry, Laur. I can't do anything right tonight.” She looked so disheartened that Laura had to smile at her a little.
"You do everything right, Marcie,” she said soothingly. “I'm the one who's wrong. No, it's true. I'm not like you. I can't confess to people."
"You tell Jack things."
Laura was suddenly alert, alarmed. “How do you know?” she demanded. “What things?"
"Oh, you're always going off and talking. Like this morning. Why don't you have long talks with me?"
Laura sighed, relieved. “I don't know. Jack is so easy to talk to, Marcie."
"Does that mean I'm not? I try to be.” She smiled invitingly.
Laura, who had been lying on her bed, raised herself up on her elbows. “I never say these things like I mean them,” she apologized. “I only mean, I—” I can't talk to you because I'm in love with you, that's what I mean. But that's not what I can say.
She rolled over on her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. Marcie sat motionless for a minute, afraid to say anything and start her off again. Then she leaned over her and touched her shoulders. “You don't have to tell me, Laura, honey,” she said. “I guess I shouldn't pester you. Jack says you've been through a lot and that's why you're nervous. I don't want to make you unhappy, Laura. I'm afraid I do sometimes. I don't know why, I just get the feeling now and then, when you look at me, that I make you sad. Do I?"
Laura's nails cut into her smooth white forehead. “Marcie, don't torture me,” she said. Her voice was low and strained. It was such an odd thing to say that Marcie withdrew, and climbed into her own bed.
"I'm sorry,” she whispered, pulling the covers up and turning out the light. Then she put her hands over her face suddenly and sobbed.
"Oh, Marcie!” Laura was out of bed before she had time to think, sitting next to Marcie and holding her. “Don't cry, Marcie. Oh God, why can't I ever say anything right?” She implored the ceiling for an answer. “I didn't mean to hurt you."
Marcie slowed down and stopped almost as suddenly as she began. “I know,” she said. “I know what it is. I used to drive Burr nuts this way, asking questions and talking and talking. And when he wouldn't answer, I just kept asking more and more till I drove him crazy. I don't know why. I guess I wanted to drive him crazy. But I don't know why I do it to you.” She looked away, embarrassed. Laura's arms tightened involuntarily around her. She had no idea how to answer this unexpected outburst. She was afraid to try to comfort Marcie, for the very act of soothing her brought Laura's own emotions to a boil. The safest course was to get back in bed at once and forget it Or at least, stop talking. But Marcie was clinging to her and she couldn't roughly shake her off.
"I've learned a lot from living with you, Laur,” Marcie said quietly. Laura listened, her nostrils full of the scent of flowers. “This may sound silly to you but-don't take this wrong, Laura-but I admire you, I really do. You have a quality of self control that I could never learn. You keep your thoughts to yourself. If you don't have anything to say, you don't say anything. If you don't want to talk, you don't."
She looked up and laughed a little ruefully. “I talk all the time, as if I had to. Just living with you, I'm beginning to see it. I talk all the time and say nothing. You almost never talk, but when you do it's worth listening to."
Laura began to squirm uncomfortably, but Marcie grasped her sleeves and continued. “You know something, Laur? I think I just drove Burr crazy. I talked him to death."
"He still loves you, Marcie.” Laura found her hand on Marcie's hair, without quite knowing how she had let it happen. “He wants you back."
"I know. We've hardly quarreled at all this week, Laur. You haven't been around much, you haven't seen us. But we've been getting along unusually well. But the screwy part is, if s not like I thought it would be."
"You mean, you miss the quarrels?"
"I mean I just wish he wouldn't come around so much any more. I want time to change. To think.” ‘Think about what?"
"About me. No, about anything but me. That's all I ever thought about before. You think about other things. You know what's going on. You come home at night and you read all these books that are sitting around. You can't even talk to me about them, because you know how stupid I am."
Laura was astonished. All these critical thoughts had gone through Marcie's head, and Laura hadn't been aware of it. Marcie had been watching her, admiring her, and she hadn't known that either. I'm plumb blind, she thought. And I thought I couldn't know Marcie any better. Because I love her. And she talks like this to me. God!
"Marcie, you don't need to read books. It's just a bad habit for introverts.” Marcie shook her head silently while Laura went on. “Beautiful girls like you don't need to read,” she said.
"That's just it,” Marcie said. “I'm not going to be just another pretty idiot. I want to know something. I'm sick of knowing absolutely nothing. I want to be different. I want you to help me."
She wants me,
Laura thought happily. She wants me. It was all she heard.
"When you were gone all night with Jack—” She paused and looked away. “-I started to think. I couldn't sleep, I don't know why. I was thinking about you, Laur. I was wondering why you never talk to me, why we have so little to say to each other. We sit at the breakfast table and read the paper and go off without anything more than ‘good morning'. At night we go to bed and sometimes I talk, but it's not a conversation. You listen, I guess you listen."
"I do!"
"And I, say the wrong things. And you go to pieces, like Friday night"
"No."
"Or else you run away. You go sleep with Jack."
"Marcie!"
"I know you were with Jack again last night. He didn't have to lie to me about it"
"But he didn't. I wasn't!"
"Now don't you lie to me!” Laura stared at her, unable to speak.
"Help me, Laura,” Marcie said, leaning toward her. “I want to
change. I'm sick of myself. I'm sick of Burr."
The strangest craziest feeling started up in Laura; just an echo, faraway in herself. She wants me to help her, to be with her. She admires me. Dear God, I'm afraid to wonder how much. A very small smile curved the corners of her mouth.
"I have to start somewhere,” Marcie said. “I want to talk to you like an intelligent human being, not an ignoramus."
Laura smiled at her. Almost without her realizing it, her hand had stolen back to Marcie's yellow hair. “Do you, Marcie?” she said.
It was a simple question, but it asked a thousand others. “Yes."
"Why?"
"Oh, I'm fed up with myself. I never realized, till I lived day-in-day-out with you, how much I'd been missing. Give me a book to read, Laur."
"In the morning.” Laura smiled at her and got up, edging away from her bed.
"Now."
"It's too late, Marcie. You won't read anything now."
"I want to tell Burr I read a book."
"I'll give you something later,” Laura said. It sounded strangely insinuating, the way she said it She scared herself. She ducked into her bed as into a safe harbor, and hid her body under the blankets.
With a sigh Marcie turned the light out After a moment's silence she whispered, “Laur? Will you talk to me after this? Really talk to me? Tell me things?"
"I'll try,” Laura murmured, frowning in the dark. She lay in bed daydreaming for hours, seeing the first signs in Marcie of an influence she had been unaware of. Where would it lead? What doors would it open? Would it lead them both to bitterness? Or mutual ecstasy?
In the morning Laura was very matter-of-fact She almost ignored Marcie. She made her work for her attention and it delighted her that Marcie was willing to work for it Instinctively Laura knew she had to play hard to get, and she liked to play that way for once.
At breakfast, after a few false starts, Marcie blurted, “I'll be late tonight.” She put her paper down and faced Laura. Laura looked up slowly.
"Date with Burr?” she said.
"No. Mr. Marquardt is having some out-of-town guests for dinner downtown. He asked some of us to go. I told him I would."
"Have fun,” Laura said, and looked back at the front page. “Ha! Some drunken idiot of a reporter'll probably pester me to death."
"A reporter?” Laura looked up again suddenly.
"Oh, I don't know.” Marcie saw Laura's interest and it sparked her own. “A journalist, or something. It's a convention-professional fraternity, I guess."
"What fraternity? What's it called?"
"Ummm.” Marcie bit her lip and concentrated. “It's Greek. Let's see. Something the matter?"
"No. Is it Chi Delta—"
"-Sigma. That's it, I remember. How did you know? Now something is the matter, Laura!” Laura had gone very pale. She swallowed convulsively.
"I just remembered, I was supposed to run an errand for Dr. Hollingsworth. I'd better get going.” She got up suddenly and went into the bedroom for her jacket.
Marcie stood up and followed her. “You didn't finish your breakfast, Laur,” she said, concerned, a line of worry in her forehead.
"I'm not hungry. I'll see you tonight,” she said, and turned quickly to almost run out.
Marcie came after her, bewildered. “Laura, you don't make sense,” she said. “What's the matter with you?"
But Laura was running down the stairs to the elevator. Marcie turned and went back into the kitchen and drank her coffee standing, gazing perplexed at Laura's plate.
CHAPTER 10
Merrill Landon. Merrill Landon. My father. My father is coming to New York. He never misses these damn things, he goes every year. Oh, God, help me. Laura rode down to work on the subway, her fists clenched in her lap, her face set like a mask to cover the torment inside. He doesn't know I'm here, that's one good thing. He'll never find me, either. How long will he be here? It must be in the papers. I missed it at breakfast. She picked up the Times on the corner where she left the subway. She took it up to the office with her, impatient to look at it. Sarah was already there. “Hi, gorgeous,” she said.
Laura looked up, startled. “Hi,” she said. “Who's gorgeous?"
"You are. You must be, you've got a man.” Laura stared at her blankly, her mind full of the threat of her father's presence in the city. Finally it came to her. “Oh, you mean Jack,” she said. “Did you talk to him?"
"Oh, yes. Yes.” Now what the hell does she mean? Why would I—Oh! I promised her a date. Laura felt suddenly sunk. All those reports to do that should have been done before. Lies to tell, at nine in the morning. Merrill Landon somewhere in New York. It was too much; The day stretched away in front of her like an endless obstacle course. “What'd he say?” Sarah said eagerly. “He's working on it Maybe this weekend."
"Gee, that sounds great"
Laura had to look at the paper; she had to. It gnawed at her, as she sat at her desk, sneaking through it between reports and unable to find anything. Her father's name ran through her mind like a robot tune from a TV commercial. It was a rushed day. Sarah didn't take a break on days when they were behind, but nothing could have stopped Laura. She got up and almost ran to the washroom at eleven, the paper in hand. She felt herself trembling, going over the pages again and again, until she suddenly found it at the bottom of page 12. “Chi Delta Sigma, national journalism fraternity, opens its convention today at the McAlton Hotel. The convention will last until next Saturday, at which time...” etc. There was an agenda listed, a few names-the national officers. There it was—Merrill Landon, corresponding secretary. Laura shut her eyes and groaned a little.
The day dragged. She typed until the small round keys seemed to weigh a pound apiece under her fingers, and still the reports piled up.
Laura sat hunched over her machine for a long time after the others had left for the day. She meant to work, but she never did any. She wanted to cry and she couldn't. She wanted to move, to talk to someone, to explode, and she just sat there until the cramps in her back made her groan. She got up stiffly and put her jacket on and stood for a moment, aimless and lost. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. Marcie wouldn't be home yet.
She rummaged idly in her pockets, pulling out some change and a shopping list The list was from the week before and she started to drop it in the wastebasket, when she noticed something on the other side. A phone number-Watkins 9-1313. And the initials B. B. Laura crumpled it in her hand, seized with an uncontrollably pleasant shudder. Then she threw it indignantly into the wastebasket, wondering when Beebo had scribbled it out. And then she leaned over slowly and took it out of the wastebasket and shoved it furtively back into her pocket, without looking at it She sat down abruptly in her chair and put her head down on her arms and wept.
"Father...” she whispered. “Why did we have to hate each other? We're all we have ... Father..."
She got up fifteen minutes later, turned out the lights, and stole out, quiet as a thief.
She walked over to the McAlton Hotel. She had no idea what she expected to find or to do. But she went into the big softly carpeted lobby and walked, almost as if she were sleep walking, toward the desk. It was crowded and noisy, with that ineffable air of excitement that big hotels seem to generate.
Laura felt gooseflesh start up all over her. Many of these people must be conventioneers. If Merrill Landon didn't see her one of his Chicago friends might, and the secret would be out. He would run her down if it took the whole New York City police force.
She leaned apprehensively on the marble topped counter of the desk, waiting until a clerk could serve her. He came up after a couple of minutes, looking enormously efficient and busy. “May I help you, Miss?” he demanded. “Is a Mr. Merrill Landon staying here?” she asked.
"Just a minute, please.” He disappeared briefly and Laura looked around the lobby, her hand partially covering her face.
He might see me. I must be out of my mind to come here.
But sh
e waited none-the-less. “He's in 1402,” the clerk said loudly in her ear. Laura jumped. “Shall I call him?” asked the clerk.
"Yes, please.” She had no idea why she was doing this. She felt as if she were two people, one acting, the other watching; one compelled to act, the other shocked by the action. “Who wants to see him, please?"
"His daughter.” She almost whispered it, and he made her repeat it. Then he buzzed off. She watched him, perhaps ten feet from her but impossible to hear, as he lifted the receiver, gave the number, waited. Then his face lighted into a business-type smile, and she saw his lips form the words, “Mr. Landon?” He went on, and she watched him, feeling almost sick with anticipation.
The clerk came back after a brief conversation. “Well, Miss—” he began, eyeing her closely.
"What did he say?” Laura looked at him with her stark blue eyes. Her chin trembled.
"He says he has no daughter, Miss,” the clerk drawled. He grinned. “Tough luck. Want to try someone else?"
Laura's mouth dropped open. Her face twitched. She couldn't answer him. She turned and ran, bumping into people, stumbling, until she found a phone booth empty in a row of booths along a far wall and she took refuge there. She buried her face in her hands and wept. “Merrill Landon, go to hell, go to hell,” she said fiercely, under her breath. “I hate you. Oh, God, how I hate you!” And she sobbed until somebody rapped on the door of the booth. She wiped her eyes hastily, knowing they were red and swollen, and turned to glare at the impatient rapper. He glared back.
Defiantly she put a dime in the phone and lifted the receiver. She called Jack.
A voice answered almost at once. A strange masculine voice. “Hello?” it said. “Jack?” Her voice trembled. “Just a minute.” He called, “Jack, it's for you.” A few seconds later Jack answered. “Jack, it's Laura."
"Are you all right?"
"I have absolutely nothing to say,” she said. “I'm only calling because-because I'm in a phone booth and some fool wants to use the phone. He's rapping on the door."
