by Ann Bannon
CHAPTER 11
Laura went home. She arrived before ten, but Marcie wasn't back yet. Laura put a book she had been reading on Marcie's bed and climbed into her own bed. She tried to read herself, but she couldn't. An hour went by, and no Marcie. Nervously, Laura shut her book and dropped it to the floor. She got up and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, and remembered she had already done it.
Then she went to the phone. She didn't know what was coming over her. She only felt a deep will-defying unhappiness. She pulled out the phone book and looked up the number of the McAlton Hotel. She sat for a moment with the book open in her lap, unable to move. Then she reached slowly for the phone.
Suddenly it rang. Laura screamed, a small quick cry of extreme surprise. Her heart had taken a tremendous leap at the piercing bell sound in that still apartment. She let it ring twice more while she caught her breath. It must be Marcie, she thought. Maybe she's in trouble. She lifted the receiver. “Hello?"
"Hello, Bo-peep."
Laura's heart gave another bound. She felt the sweat break out. “Beebo?” she said faintly.
"How are you, sweetheart? I hear you were looking for me tonight."
"You didn't waste any time.” Her voice was sharp.
"I hate to keep a lady waiting. What's on your mind?"
"I just dropped in for a drink. I was down there in the Village to see Jack and I just wanted to pay you back.” She spoke in fits and starts. “You don't owe me a thing, Bo-peep. Not a thing."
"A drink.” Laura hated to owe anybody anything. She was meticulous about her debts, however small the sum.
"You're right.” Laura could feel her smile. “I nearly forgot. Okay lover, you owe me one drink."
"Beebo, I can't talk now, really."
"You're doing fine. What's the matter, Marcie breathing down your neck?"
"It's not that"
"You don't have to say you love me, you know. Just say you'll meet me tomorrow night. About eight"
"No."
"Don't be late, doll. I'll call Marcie and ask her where the hell you are."
"You wouldn't! You won't! Damn you, Beebo!"
"I would and I will.” She laughed. “Eight on the dot"
"I won't be there."
"Want to bet?"
Laura hung up on her. She was trembling. Angrily she slammed the heavy phone back into place, switched out the bedroom light, and got into bed.
The black night settled around her but it brought more restless tossing than repose. The hours slipped by-No Marcie. No sleep. Only an endless bitter reviewing of what her father had done to her; the look on the clerk's face when he gave her the message; the impotent fury and shame that beseiged her. At last she turned the light back on and began to pace the room. The electric clock on Marcie's dresser said two-thirty. Laura wondered whether to call Burr. Or Jack. She was getting afraid for Marcie. But nobody knew how to reach her. There was nothing to do but wait.
It was a few minutes past three when Marcie came in. Laura had left the living room light on for her and she heard her come in laughing and heard a male voice answer her. Not Burr's voice. Somebody else. A deep mature voice. Laura peeked out through the crack in the kitchen door but couldn't see him. Marcie was giggling, as if she were tight, and pushing him away. Laura could see her now and then.
Marcie said, “I'll call my roommate. She'll make you go home."
"I can't go home tonight. I live in Chicago."
"That's where she's from!"
"Who?"
"My roommate.” ‘To hell with her. Come here, Baby."
"No!” High as she was, she nevertheless sounded a little scared. She had stopped laughing.
Laura threw a coat hastily over her pajamas and went into the living room. A large man, partly bald and handsome in a heavy featured way, had Marcie wrapped in a bear hug and was trying to drag her to the couch. “All right,” said Laura sharply. “Get out"
She startled them both so much that they froze where they were. The man stared at her. He was drunk, and his balance wasn't the best. Laura, pale and silver blond, her long hair falling down her shoulders, her face strange and sensitive and imperious, looked like an apparition to him. Without taking his eyes off her he asked Marcie, “Who the hell is that?"
"My roommate.” Marcie took advantage of his interest to slip free. Laura took her arm firmly and sent her through the kitchen door. Then she turned back to the man.
"All right, you,” she said as if he were a servant. “Out."
The impudence of it amused him and angered him at the same time. “You can't talk to me like that,” he said.
She advanced on him briskly, pulling the door open sharply and facing him. “It's my home and I'll speak as I please,” she said. She looked as cold and unapproachable as she was hot and angry. He stared at her, not sure how to take her, and then came toward her to put a hand on her shoulder.
"Marcie's no good,” he said confidentially. “Let's you and me—"
Laura swept his hand off her shoulder. “Get out of here or I'll call the police,” she said..
He got mad. “Jesus, what a chilly little bitch you are!” he growled.
"Get out,” Laura said, so cold, so controlled, that she froze him into submission. She shut the door after him, resisting the urge to slam it. Dear God, she thought intensely. If I could do that to my father. Just once. “Laura? It was just a party, Laur,” Marcie said. “We went out after dinner. Just for kicks. He got sort of out of hand. Thanks, Laur, I don't know what I'd have done."
"Come on to bed.” Laura turned and walked toward her and Marcie preceded her into the bedroom. It occurred to her then that she was behaving with Marcie much as Beth used to behave with her. She was asserting herself, taking the lead. She liked it; with Marcie, anyway. She felt her influence and reveled in it A feeling of tremendous strength swept through her when the man turned and left, like the other poor demented little fellow who pestered her on the subway. Only he was such a weakling he hardly counted. She had a mental image of herself treating Merrill Landon that way, and it worked a strange exaltation in her. She smiled. Marcie grinned at her crookedly.
"I thought you'd be sore,” she said.
"No. No, of course not. Why should I be?"
"I don't know. Maybe because I felt kind of guilty going out with somebody besides Burr. But I had fun. Up to the end, anyway. I wouldn't have minded that if he hadn't slobbered so much.” She giggled and Laura ignored what she said. They were standing less than a foot from each other and suddenly Laura reached for her and gave her a little hug. “I'm not mad. I'm just glad you're all right,” she said. Marcie submitted, but she seemed embarrassed, and Laura quickly released her. With the release came a letdown, a loss of strength and confidence. She slipped quietly into bed and spent the hours till dawn wrestling with the bedclothes. Laura didn't feel much brighter than Marcie in the morning. She got to work on tune, but all she wanted to do was sleep. I've got to catch up. I've got to catch up, she kept telling herself. Less than three weeks and Jean'll be back. And I haven't done a really good day's work once she left. Even if they like me, they can't keep me on as a charity case. The episode at the McAlton flamed up in her mind and gave her an angry energy through most of the morning. Sarah said nothing to her, but she kept looking at her over her typewriter, apparently afraid to bring up the date subject again. It wasn't till Jack called that Laura even remembered it.
"All set,” he said. “Carl Jensen can go. Friday night. Dinner and a show. What's Sarah's number?"
Laura got it from her and made her face light up with expectation. Jack put Carl on the phone, and Laura gave her end to Sarah. It gave her a momentary lift to see somebody else stammering with pleasure and anticipation. But the day she lived through was endless, bleak with undone work, dragging will, impotent anger.
"You're late,” Marcie said when Laura walked in. “I wanted you to tell me about that book Burr brought over last week."
"Nothing to tell.”
Laura felt too low to talk, to joke, even to eat She picked listlessly at her food. After a while Marcie fell silent, too.
When the dishes were done Marcie said, “I called Burr. Broke our date tonight.” She looked expectantly at Laura, as if this were a significant revelation, and she wanted a proper reaction.
But Laura only said, “Oh?” and walked into the bedroom.
Marcie followed her. “What's the matter, Laur?” she said. And when Laura didn't answer, she asked, “Bad day?"
"Um-hm. Bad day.” Laura lay down on her bed, face downward, one leg hanging over the edge, her mind wholly occupied with her father: her hatred, her stifled love for him, her fear of him.
"Talk to me, Laura,” Marcie said, coming over to sit next to her. “Not tonight."
"Please. You said you would."
"I can't, Marcie. I can't talk. I'm too tired.” She rolled over and looked at her. “Don't look like that,” she said. “I'm-I'm worried about my job, that's all. I'll be all right."
"What's wrong with your job?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, Laura! God! Make sense!” Marcie exclaimed.
But when she evoked no response she dropped it with a sigh. “Let's go out on the roof,” she said, “and get some fresh air. It's a beautiful night."
"Looks like rain."
"How would you know? You're staring at the ceiling."
"It did, earlier."
"That's what's beautiful about it. Maybe there'll be thunder. I love to stand naked in the rain.” She glanced down slowly at Laura.
But Laura turned back on her stomach without a word. A terrible apathy nailed her to the bed. Not even the nearness of Marcie could arouse her. They sat quietly for a few minutes, Laura lost in herself, and Marcie searching for a way to cheer her up. The phone rang.
"I'll get it,” Marcie said, and got up. She walked across the room and picked up the receiver when Laura suddenly remembered Beebo. She sat up in a rush.
"No,” Marcie was saying, “I can't. I'm sorry. I don't want to argue, not any more. I've had enough, that's all. I won't talk to you, Burr. No, it's not her fault, it's nobody's fault.” She looked at Laura stretched out again on her bed. “That has nothing to do with it. No. Goodnight, Burr."
She hung up and stood for a moment motionless, watching Laura, who lay with her face turned away, apparently relaxed. Burr was getting jealous, impatient. He was ready to accuse anybody of anything to get Marcie's favor back. Their phone conventions were little more than arguments which Marcie terminated by hanging up on him. But he wouldn't be put off for long.
Marcie sat down on her own bed with a book, the one she meant to ask Laura about. She stared at the pages without reading, and wondered about her moody roommate.
Laura was watching her wristwatch. It was two minutes fast She lay still, but she was alert, poised to jump. At two minutes past eight, by her watch, the phone rang again. “It's for me,” she told Marcie, who had no-intention of going for it. Laura came across the room and sat on Marcie's bed. “Hello?” she said into the receiver. “Hi, lover. Where are you?"
"At home,” Laura said sarcastically. “Where else?"
"You want me to come over?"
"I'll be down in a few minutes. I was delayed."
"Okay, but make it fast. I'll call again at eight-thirty. And every ten minutes after that."
Laura hung up without a further word and turned to look at Marcie. “I met him at work,” she said, her face flushing. “He's been pestering me. I don't want to see him.” She didn't know what she was going to do.
"Oh,” said Marcie. Then why all the fuss? She looked curiously at Laura's pink face. Laura turned away and began to walk up and down the room, feeling as if there were a bomb sealed in her breast, ticking, about to go off. She knew her nails were cutting her underarms, yet she hardly felt them. It was an expression of terrible tension in her. Suddenly she whipped the closet door open and pulled out her coat.
Marcie, watching her, said quickly, “Where're you going?"
"I'll be back early,” Laura said, heading for the door, propelled by the tight violence that was boiling inside her.
"Laura!” Marcie jumped up, and followed her. “Damn it, Laur, please tell me, I'm worried about you."
Laura turned abruptly at the door. “I'm just going out for a little while,” she said. “I won't be late.” She tried to leave, but Marcie grabbed her arms.
"You're not fit to go anywhere, Laura. I never saw you so upset,” Marcie said. “Except once. And you-you spent the night with Jack that time. It was my fault. Is this my fault? Am I driving you out again?"
"No, no, nothing's your fault,” Laura covered her face with her hand for a minute and when Marcie's arms went around her to comfort her, she wept “Please don't let me go,” she whispered. “I mean-God!-I mean, let me go. Let me go, Marcie.” She began to resist.
But the curiosity in Marcie had taken over. “You're trembling all over. Come to bed, Laur. Come on, honey, you're in no shape to go anywhere. Come tell me about it,” she coaxed, trying to guide Laura away from the door. But Laura knew what was in store for her if she obeyed. She uncovered her face to gaze for a moment at Marcie, so close to her, so tantalizing. And that terrible storm brewing inside her made her feel as if she might do any wild thing that her body demanded of her. She was afraid.
"Please,” Marcie said softly. “I'll give you a rubdown, I'm a great masseuse. My father taught me how.” She smiled. “Please, Laur."
"Your father?"
"Yes."
"Do you love him very much?"
"Yes.” Marcie frowned at her. “And he loves you?"
"Of course."
"You're lucky, Marcie."
"That's the way it's supposed to be, Laur. I'm not lucky. I'm just normal. Ordinary, I mean."
Laura stared at her. The emotion in her simmered dangerously near the top. With a sudden swift movement, Laura kissed Marcie's cheek lightly, leaving the wet of her tears on Marcie's face, and then whispered, “So lucky ... so lucky...” Then she turned and ran down the stairs to the elevator.
Marcie sat down on a living room chair and put her head in her hands and tried to think. Laura's strange behaviour made her tickle inside. She felt close to the storm that had barely brushed past her, and yet she remained untouched. There was only the wet on her cheek as a token, and she brushed it off, inexplicably embarrassed.
Laura made the taxi driver take her past the McAlton. She counted to the fourteenth floor, as nearly as she could figure it, and stared at the golden blocks of windows, and wondered which ones opened into 1402. And if Merrill Landon was in his room.
She walked in quickly when she reached The Cellar, with no hesitation, and made for the bar. It was a little past eight-thirty by her watch. She hoped anxiously that Beebo hadn't called Marcie again. She saw her at the far end of the bar talking to two very pretty young girls. They looked like teenagers. Laura was dismayed at the flash of jealousy that went through her. She walked right up to Beebo, without being seen, until she stood next to her. She took a seat beside her, watching Beebo while she talked, until one of the teens nudged her and nodded curiously at Laura. Beebo turned and broke into a smile. “Well, Bo-peep,” she said. “Didn't hear you come in. How are you?"
"Am I interrupting something?” Laura looked away. Beebo laughed. “Not a thing. This is Josie. And this is Bella. Laura.” She leaned back on her stool so they could all see each other. The younger girls made effusive greetings, the better to exhibit luscious smiles, but Laura only said, “Hello,” to them briefly. Beebo laughed again, and leaned closer to her. “Jealous, baby?” she said. “I owe you one drink,” Laura snapped. “What do you want?"
"Whisky and water.” Laura nodded at the bartender. “Is that all you came for, Bo-peep?"
"Don't talk like that, Beebo, you make me sick.” Laura still wouldn't look at her. “I didn't last time."
"Yes you did, I hope you've bought your friends there one of Dutton's cartoons.
If s the quickest way to get rid of them I know."
"Why didn't it work with you?” Beebo laughed softly in Laura's ear. “You came home with me that night, if you recall.” Laura turned angrily away from her. “What happened was in spite of the God damn juvenile cartoon, not because of it. I nearly walked out when he gave it to me."
"But you didn't"
"I should have.” The bartender came up and Laura started to order. She wanted to buy Beebo the drink and have one quick one herself, and then get out Go home. Forget she had come. But before she could give an order, Beebo said, “Come home with me, Laura."
"No."
"Come on.” Beebo spun her slowly around on the barstool with one arm. Laura looked reluctantly at her for the first time since she had been noticed. Beebo smiled down at her, her short black hair and wide brow making her face more boyish even than Laura remembered. She was remarkably handsome. Laura was deeply ashamed of what she was feeling, sitting there on the barstool, letting herself be influenced by this girl she tried so hard to despise. “Why don't you invite Bella?” she said. “She's busy."
Laura's cheeks went hot with fury, and she shook Beebo's arm off and started to get up, to walk past her, to get out. But Beebo caught her, laughing deep in her throat, thoroughly amused. “By Jesus, you are jealous!” she said. “Sorry, baby, I had to know. Come on, let's go."
Laura, who was pulling against her, suddenly found herself going in the same direction as Beebo, heading for the door, all her resistance dissipated.
"Beebo, I didn't come here for that! I came to keep you from calling Marcie. To pay you back that drink."
"I want you to owe me that drink all the rest of your life, Bo-peep."
Laura gasped. Then she walked hurriedly ahead of Beebo, trying to get far enough ahead to escape. In the faces around the tables she spotted the slim little blonde who had approached her before about Beebo. She was laughing and the sudden humiliation that filled Laura sent her running up the steps to the street. But Beebo was close behind her, and Laura felt her arms come around her from behind, and Beebo's lips on her neck, and her own knees going shaky.
