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The question took Laura by surprise. She remembered her own thoughts recently about finding friends—and she had lived in Los Angeles a long time.
“I see what you mean,” she acknowledged grudgingly.
“Sure. Make friends, everybody tells you that. But call them up to go to a movie, and they’re busy or too tired or some other reason. This is the most unfriendly town I’ve ever been in!” Ginny’s voice rose.
Laura had never actually thought about that aspect before. She had her work, her business associates, and Walter. She had always believed that Los Angeles was a nice Western homespun, friendly little town simply because the publicity-happy chamber of com-merce said so.
“How about dates? Don’t you ever go out with men?”
“Oh, I dated several guys back home. But I was just drying my ears out here when I ran into Saundra. Those first few weeks were pretty busy, finding a place to live, getting used to the change.”
“Uh-huh.” Odd how fictional life sounded, but Laura believed Ginny. Her own life, as a matter of fact, wouldn’t sound very plausible.
“I’d never been with anyone like Saundra before, and, well, I felt kind of tainted—oh, that’s the wrong word. I just didn’t want to see anybody who wasn’t . . .”
The unhappiness on Ginny’s face, the misery in her choked tone, touched Laura deeply. Still, she could not dispel the momentary feeling that Ginny was “playing to the gallery.” After Saundra’s scene it would be more than difficult to play it straight.
It seemed as if they would never get off the Santa Ana Freeway. It was a maze of steel and concrete—once on it you were trapped.
Following meekly in your little lane as other cars whizzed by, not daring to honk at the older cars in front of you . . . Goddamn it, Laura cursed mentally, I’ve a right in this world! I pay my taxes!
She switched on the lights and pulled out into the left lane with a burst of speed. “Why didn’t you tell me to turn on the lights?”
Ginny looked up with a trace of a smile. “I did, but you weren’t listening.”
Laura slowed up and reentered the middle lane.
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“You started out to comfort me and listen to my sad story,” Ginny said with almost her old spirit. “What happened?”
Laura laughed self-consciously. “Guess the whole subject is a little out of my depth.” She reached for Ginny’s hand. “Have you any plans now? I mean, after this afternoon you aren’t going to keep living with Saundra, are you?”
“I don’t know,” Ginny answered. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I just feel so disjointed.” Ginny hesitated as if there was something more she wanted to say. But she didn’t say it.
Laura automatically took the Harbor Freeway turnoff and was headed toward her own apartment.
Ginny frowned slightly. “You don’t have to put me up, you know.
I could drive the car myself after you pick up yours. . . .”
“Don’t be silly, Ginny,” Laura interrupted. “Unless you’d rather be alone . . .”
“No. No, I’d rather not,” said Ginny hastily.
“Then it’s settled. We’ll go get my car on my way to work in the morning, and then you’ll be more in the mood to go home.”
Ginny attempted a smile. “You’re very sweet to do this for me, Laura.”
“I like you—I just wanted to help, that’s all.”
“I know.”
There was something odd about the way Ginny said that, but Laura wasn’t sure why it was odd—and at this point she didn’t care.
She just wanted to get home.
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Chapter 8
“Hang your coat in that closet, Ginny,” Laura said, walking into the kitchen and turning on the light. There had been a telegram under the front door, which she had placed in her purse before Ginny saw it. Probably from Walter, Laura thought, and didn’t open it. . . . I’ll read it later.
“I need a drink. How about you?”
In a way Laura felt relieved that Ginny had agreed to stay. But now, with Ginny actually walking around in her apartment, she felt uneasy. She pulled out ice cubes mechanically and wondered if she was right in reacting to Ginny’s problem with such apparent nonchalance—or if she should have drawn back in disgust and sent the dirty little girl away.
No—she knew she was right in accepting Ginny. Actually, she didn’t have much of an alternative. Almost as though in accepting Ginny she was accepting herself—but that was idiotic, of course, she amended hastily. What did she have to accept herself for? Here I am—what else can I do?
Listening to Ginny walk around the apartment, Laura became aware of a kind of strange peace; a curious hush settled over the room as if no one else were alive in the world. All she knew right 60
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now or wanted to know was that she was going to help Ginny all she could. And that at last she felt like a living person instead of some electronically operated observer from outer space—which was how she felt much too often these days. Walter had filled some of her needs, and her work had kept her going . . . but lately, neither Walter nor her work had been sufficient. Unless that New York offer of Walter’s . . .
I wonder what is in that wire—or if Walter is having any success with his divorcée. Walter. Wouldn’t he be shocked if he knew what I was up to!
But what am I up to?
“I like your apartment, Laura,” Ginny said, entering the kitchen.
“Thanks.” Laura handed a drink to Ginny. “Let’s go in the living room and sit down.”
She raised her free arm to put around Ginny’s shoulder, then thought better of it—what if Ginny misunderstood? Thought I was making a pass? Well . . . what if she did! Ridiculous.
“A stiff drink, a hot bath, and a good night’s sleep will help both of us,” she said as they sat on the couch.
Ginny looked up at her slowly. “Why did you ask me to stay, Laura?”
A wave of apprehension gripped Laura as she wondered how to answer the question. “Why? Sorry you came?”
“In a way . . .”
“Oh?” Laura had not expected that. It threw her off balance for a moment. “In what way are you sorry?”
Ginny took a long swallow of her drink and turned her large eyes—now suddenly sophisticated, knowing—toward Laura. Ginny smiled. “Are you so sure you don’t know?”
Laura shook her head impatiently. “Let’s cut the runaround.
What are you driving at?”
“You asked me because you’re curious about it, aren’t you?”
“Curious about what?”
“About lesbians!”
The word spilled out so abruptly, so starkly, that Laura wondered if she had heard correctly. It puzzled her that Ginny had 61
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brought it up, and so unexpectedly. And there was a hint of theatrics in Ginny’s gestures—like a veteran politician feeling out the mood of his audience.
Ginny waved her hand into the air as if to gesture away side issues. “I like you, Laura,” Ginny said with just a trace of intoxication in her voice. “But you’re a phony!”
In spite of herself, Laura had to laugh. “Why?” The more Ginny talked, the more Laura became convinced that Ginny was getting tight. But talking to her now was almost like talking to herself—to all the things that had flashed through her mind before, taunting her but not staying long enough for her to fully grasp at them.
“Because you won’t admit you want to kiss me. That’s why.”
Laura’s face grew hot. She wanted to deny it. But she couldn’t.
“Well?” Ginny’s eyes probed hers. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Laura answered miserably. “Maybe it is. I don’t know.”
“But I know, Laura.” Ginny’s voice was a tense whisper. “I know because it’s the way I feel a
bout you. I want you!” Her eyes filled with tears; she turned away. Laura stared helplessly at the girl’s rigid back.
“Are you crying, Ginny?”
The girl shook her head, but Laura knew that she was. A stab of resentment ripped through her. She hated being trapped in emotional situations; the scene in Tijuana had been enough of a shock for one day. But as quickly as the feeling came, it dissipated, routed by Laura’s natural compassion—and the excitement that Ginny’s admission had aroused.
She put a consoling arm around Ginny’s shoulder. Somehow the mere contact of the girl’s body unleashed something, and all the plaguing doubts flew from Laura. All she knew now was what she felt, could feel . . . Laura turned the girl to face her. Her voice didn’t seem her own. “I’m glad. I think . . . I think I feel the same way about you.”
Ginny didn’t stir, seemed almost not to breathe.
Very slowly, Laura leaned forward and hesitantly kissed Ginny on the lips.
She felt Ginny’s body tighten, but her lips were soft and warm . . .
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and waiting. Then Ginny’s lips parted, and her arms rose up and encircled Laura’s neck, pulling her slowly, so slowly closer. All other thoughts were blotted out.
It was so unbelievably sweet—the faint aroma of sun and soap on Ginny’s smooth face, the down-soft lips that now parted more so that their tongues touched . . . at first strangely, exploring, then completely, familiar.
It was delicious to Laura. No rough beard scratching her face, no large hands asserting their masculinity, no feeling of being cornered into an affair—just a soft kiss with small, gentle hands and smooth arms caressing her . . .
Laura was lost in the ease and tenderness of this moment. No other thought but now, no other sensation than that of total surrender to Ginny’s touch . . .
Effortlessly their lips separated, but Laura didn’t move away, nor did Ginny. Their faces so close that Laura could feel Ginny’s breath, she raised her hand to Ginny’s flushed cheek, enjoying the very contact with her, the feeling of possession of the very bones beneath her young face.
Ginny smiled and, turning her face into Laura’s hand, kissed her palm. She leaned back on the couch, pulling Laura over her. Her eyes were dark, challenging, probing, suggestive.
Ginny’s hands reached up to Laura’s throat, stroking, caressing, and traced down smoothly to her breasts. It was so strange to Laura—exciting, intense, yet oddly gentle. It didn’t seem as if they were “making love” in any way Laura had known before. It wasn’t lust competing with frenzy.
The last thing Laura remembered was that every inch of her body seemed to leap, struggle, surge to meet with Ginny’s.
Laura lay quietly on her side, staring at the sunlight on Ginny’s hair as she slept in Laura’s arms. She had been awake for almost an hour, just watching Ginny, incredibly content just to have her sweet body next to hers.
She wanted to wake Ginny and share her pleasure with her, share this first delicious morning together. If anyone had told her six 63
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months ago that she could feel so completely fulfilled, so perfectly at peace, she would have laughed. The sentimental trash in every corny poem, every romantic novel she had ever read, now had a vitality she had missed before, almost a special message just for her.
Ginny stirred and cupped her hand around Laura’s breast gently, nuzzling her face against the other.
“Ginny?” Laura asked softly.
“Hmm?”
“You awake?”
“Uh-hm.” She pressed closer to Laura.
Laura smiled and held her more tightly, resting her lips against Ginny’s hair. If she felt any more alive, she was sure she would burst.
“Talk to me,” she coaxed Ginny.
“This is no time for talking.”
“Sure, it is,” Laura answered with a light laugh. “I’ve been thinking about us. Thinking about you here in the apartment with your shoes under the bed, a sweater hanging out of a drawer, the arguments we’ll probably have . . .”
“Why should I have my sweater in your drawer?” Ginny asked sleepily.
“When you move in, I mean,” Laura explained.
Ginny said nothing but pulled away from her slowly. Then she sat up on one elbow, a clouded expression on her face. “Hand me a cigarette, will you?”
Laura looked at her carefully; she tried to make out what Ginny’s expression meant, but couldn’t.
“I said I’d like a cigarette, please,” Ginny repeated with a tight smile on her lips.
“Is something wrong?” Laura asked, a cold knot forming in the pit of her stomach.
Ginny hesitated as she lit the cigarette Laura had given her. “Not wrong . . . exactly.” She inhaled deeply of the cigarette. “Just mis-taken.”
She rolled over on her back and watched the smoke curl up.
Laura didn’t want to look at her now; she was even a little afraid to look at her.
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“Mistaken?” she managed to say.
“I can’t just move in, Laura.”
“Oh, not right away. I know that,” Laura said hastily. “You’ll have to clear up a few things first, and talk to Saundra . . .”
Ginny shook her head. “No.”
Laura turned and stared at her in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Ginny heaved a long sigh. “I love you, Laura. You know that. But let’s be practical about this, shall we?”
“All right, Ginny,” she said casually despite the constriction in her throat, “let’s be practical. By all means. Where would you like to start?”
Ginny turned and faced Laura, petulantly at first; then her expression softened. “Please, Laura. Try to understand. It’s not as if this kind of love ever led to a home and family . . . I mean, well, it’s not acceptable to the world, so why not face it and do the best you can with it? If you get married to a guy, you’re prepared to endure certain hardships, like working while he goes to school or something. But if the marriage doesn’t work out, at least you can get alimony. What does a gay marriage get if it doesn’t work out?
Nothing. So you have to get the most you can while you’re together.”
“That’s a stirring speech,” Laura managed to say.
“Laura! Listen to me!” Ginny ground out her cigarette and put her arms around Laura with unsuspected strength. “I love you. I really do.”
“But?”
“No buts . . . It’s only that we have to face life the way it is. I’m no file clerk or laundry marker. I have a career ahead of me if I play it smart. Saundra can do things for me . . . things you could not do.
If we moved in together it would mean the end of my career—
Saundra would see to that—and I’d grow to hate you.”
“Did it ever occur to you to try to make it on your own?” Laura’s tone was scorched with bitterness.
Ginny released her abruptly. “Of course it has,” she snapped.
“But you know damn well what kind of a chance a nobody like me would have on my own. Come off it, Laura. You know the score.
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Without somebody like Saundra underwriting me, I’d be lucky to get an extra job in a remake of The Ten Commandments twenty years from now.” She put a tentative hand on Laura’s arm.
“I couldn’t stand it, Laura,” she told her urgently. “I need success—like a dope addict. I have to make the grade and I . . . I guess I don’t even care too much about how I do it.”
“I guess you don’t,” Laura agreed coldly. She couldn’t tell if she was angrier because she had allowed all this to happen, or because she had been naive enough to think that once it had happened something good would come of it. Well, she’d learned her lesson the hard way as usual. The only thing left was to forget about it, pretend it never happened. She turned an
d crushed out her cigarette in the bedside ashtray, turning back on Ginny as she did so.
“Please, Laura,” Ginny begged, “don’t shut me out.”
“It seems to me,” she answered evenly, “that you’re the one who’s doing the shutting out.”
Tears began to gather in Ginny’s eyes. “I see now that it was very selfish of me. . . .”
“What was?”
“I . . . I expected you to just let everything go on as it is. Saundra is busy so often that we could easily see each other. . . .”
Oh, Christ! Laura thought, torn between self-pity and disgust. It was bad enough that the world condemned their kind of love. That they would have to hide it. Now Ginny planned to sneak around even more, so that they would have nowhere to go without constant fear, drawn shades, secret phone calls . . .
Queer I might be, Laura told herself, but I’m no goddamn back-street gigolo! She looked at Ginny with almost cold detachment.
Just looked at her. Ginny wasn’t one of those hard-faced, cold-blooded females determined to destroy. But success was what she really wanted, really needed. Everything else was expendable.
“Please don’t look at me like that, Laura.” Without waiting for an answer, Ginny gently pulled her close.
Laura stiffened, but the girl’s soft, determined touch made her feel suddenly weak—unable to resist. And the anger she had so solidly walled up inside only a moment before began to drain away.
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Ginny brushed warm lips against her ear, and such a rush of desire swept over Laura that it frightened her. It was almost as if her body no longer belonged to her—as if it were possessed of a will of its own.
“Damn it, Ginny,” she said twisting away from the mesmerizing embrace, “that’s no fair.”
The girl looked up at her, a faint grin teasing at the corners of her mouth. “All’s fair in love and war,” she said softly. “And this seems to be both.”
Laura chuckled in spite of herself.
Ginny hoisted herself on one elbow. “You’re really an awful prig, Laura. Know that?”
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