Another Kind of Love

by Paula Christian

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  walked with the crowd down the cement walkway, careful not to let anyone push her too close to the side, where she might fall. She wondered briefly if the train felt as relieved as she did.

  Once outside, the early evening was too lovely to waste in a cab, and she began walking across Forty-third Street to Madison Avenue and uptown. The Empire State Building, proud and glittering, loomed over the city like a huge bird hatching her eggs.

  Dee looked at it enviously, thinking that at least that huge hunk of steel, stone, glass and wires was closer to being a mother than she was . . . or probably ever would be.

  This futile pondering left her so weary that at Fiftieth Street she gave up and took a cab to her apartment, even though it was only another six blocks up and one and a half blocks east.

  She tipped the driver and climbed the five steps to the double red doors. The brass knob, polished as usual, and the gleaming windows—which had recently had their protective iron grill work painted a neat black—restored some of her usual optimistic disposition.

  Her apartment was the only one on the floor, and the only one in the building with a yowling Siamese cat every time she came near it. “Hello, Cho-Cho,” she whispered, and pushed her gently out of the doorway with her foot. “Anybody home?”

  Cho-Cho-San glanced with imperial disdain, clearly indicating that as long as she was there, who else would Dee want. She raced in front of Dee into the bedroom on the first landing and leaped onto the king-size double bed to watch the routine of coming home from work. It didn’t take Dee long to change into her slacks and blouse, and she quickly washed off the makeup from her face so as to let the air get into her pores.

  She picked up her briefcase and carried it downstairs to the large living room, glancing briefly at Rita’s potted plants on the window-sill overlooking their private garden-patio beyond. It was good to be home. Quiet. She stared a moment at the charred and dead fireplace and wondered if Rita had called the superintendent about getting a chimney sweep as she had asked. It would be fall soon, and Dee hated to wait until the last minute to do things. She wanted everything possible ready and waiting, or discarded.

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  Cho-Cho had situated herself—not lying nor sitting, but situated—in front of the low, dark oak cabinet that served as a room divider to the dining-kitchen area and also as a bar. Dee laughed aloud and crossed over to the cat, who was busily scratching her ear with her bare foot. “All right, Cho-Cho. A little one for you, too.”

  Dee poured a jigger of Scotch into a small dish for the cat and a healthy drink for herself.

  “Hello, down there, anybody home?” Rita’s familiar voice called down the staircase.

  “Hi, darling. Just got in myself. Come down and keep me from feeling like a dipso, will you?” She anxiously waited for Rita to walk down the stairs and for that moment when her breath would catch, simply because Rita was so beautiful.

  Rita had a way of walking down a staircase that made you think she was on an escalator. She didn’t walk—she moved, her supple young body carrying her head like a priceless treasure.

  Rita threw her bag and gloves on the chair by the bar and smiled sweetly to Dee. “I’d love a drink, thanks.”

  “It’ll cost you a kiss,” Dee said, playfully putting her arms around Rita, gently.

  “Not now, darling.” Rita pulled away. “I’m all sticky.”

  “I don’t care. . . .”

  “Now, darling, please,” Rita said more firmly. “If you’d put on some lipstick you wouldn’t feel so butch,” she added with a falsely light voice.

  “Sorry,” Dee said, quickly bringing her hand to her mouth. The belittlement had killed any desire on her part. She brought Rita the already prepared drink and sat down on the long couch opposite the fireplace. “How was your day?”

  Rita sighed dramatically. “The usual. Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

  She threw off her shoes and rubbed her feet. “Jesus! But it was hot today. Of course, you wouldn’t know, being in an air-conditioned office, sitting on your behind. You really should get some exercise, darling. You’ll get fat.”

  Dee ignored the bait. “Oh, I was out today. Had to go up to White Plains on business. It’s like another world up there.”

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  hate New York in the summer. Why couldn’t we go away for a month or so?”

  “I work. Remember?”

  “Is that a dig at me?” Rita’s eyes narrowed and her voice became tight.

  “No. It’s not. Come on, let’s not let the heat get us into an argument. We’ve both had a bad day and now we’re home. Shall we forget about it?” Dee took a long swallow of her drink and hoped her tone had not been too conciliatory. Her eye landed on the fireplace again, but she caught herself just in time before asking Rita about the chimney sweep. It didn’t seem a very prudent time in the event she hadn’t called.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Dee asked without thinking. “I mean, will you be home or do you have a business engagement?” In spite of herself, there was a note of sarcasm in her tone.

  “I have a ‘business engagement,’ as you so tactfully put it. My hours aren’t nine to five, you know. Job hunting doesn’t give me that leisure.”

  “Honey,” Dee said carefully, “it’s not my fault you’re not working. Please don’t take it out on me.”

  “Well . . . you make everything sound so . . . so immoral.”

  If the shoe fits, wear it, honey, Dee thought, but said aloud, “I just miss you, that’s all.”

  “Ha! When I am home you coop yourself up in that silly black room . . .”

  “Darkroom,” Dee amended.

  “. . . and I sit out here all by myself. Or how about all the time you spend working late?” Rita snorted. “At the office, dear,” she mimicked. “I’d like to see what kind of work you do at the office.”

  “You’re bound and determined to have an argument aren’t you?

  If I said it was a sunny day, you’d argue that it looked like rain. All right, Rita. Let’s fight.”

  “Quit the condescension,” rasped Rita. “Maybe I didn’t go to college, but I’m just as clever as you are.”

  Dee watched her, fascinated. Anger made Rita’s eyes shine and her being so terribly vital that Dee was helpless against such loveli-156

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  ness, and the fury drained out of her. She looked at Rita with sudden tenderness and resignation.

  “Cleverer,” Dee said with a light smile. “I’m intelligent . . . but you’re clever.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I love you—no matter how much you want to fight.”

  Rita tensed for a moment and then relaxed. She came over to Dee and sat in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’ve been acting like a real bitch. Forgive me?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  Rita giggled. “Meaning I’m always a bitch?”

  “That’s why I love you.”

  “You’re terrible . . . but kiss me anyway.”

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  Chapter 2

  It was late. Dee had been working steadily since dinner. She stretched, feeling happy and fulfilled despite the tight ache of her muscles. She pulled off her yellow rubber gloves, now stained with chemicals, stared at the neat row of capped brown bottles as if they were an alien army frozen into immobility, then slowly rubbed the small of her back.

  Yawning lightly, she removed the roll of film from the developing reel carefully and, having placed a clamp at one end and a weighted clamp at the other, deftly dried the negative roll with the squeegee. It was the fourth roll of 620 she had developed tonight.

  No wonder she was tired.

  Dee glanced at the stopwatch she kept on a pushpin in the converted darkr
oom, and then remembered she had changed the time to twelve o’clock for the sake of convenience.

  Rita had given her the watch on their first anniversary. How long now? Going on four years . . . no, going on three. It was hard to tell—so much had happened and yet so little. Dee almost smiled, wondering if other people had the same feeling about their lives.

  Probably not. Most people were normal.

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  into the living room to switch on the radio. WPAT was already off the air; that meant it must be past three in the morning.

  “Where is that child?” Dee muttered to herself, half in concern and half in anger.

  Impatiently, Dee turned the dial on her FM tuner, trying to find something besides Lawrence Welk or the news. Finally, she simply turned the damn thing off, too irritable and tired to bother with putting on records.

  She glanced around the room from habit, looking for dirty ashtrays. . . . Rita couldn’t stand dirty ashtrays. And the condition Rita would probably be in when she came home would not be a tolerant one—it seldom was. Alcohol merely aggravated Rita’s normal hostility.

  Dee walked back into the small, compact kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. Somehow the idea of more coffee at that hour of the morning wasn’t appetizing. She leaned against the drainboard and stretched again. Without looking she knew the sudden weight on her foot was Cho-Cho-San. Dee leaned over and scratched Cho-Cho behind her ear and under her collar, taking equal pleasure from the animal’s diesel-like purring. “Silly, no-good, crummy cat,” she said aloud and pulled her whiskers gently.

  Cho-Cho’s eyes blinked open, revealing round blue eyes full of mock scorn, then squinted as she yawned and feigned indifference.

  “Where’s your stepmother, Cho-Cho? Hmm?”

  The cat raised herself elegantly and leaned against Dee’s ankle.

  Cho-Cho’s ears went forward as the key on the latch sounded faintly downstairs while Rita obviously fumbled to fit it into the keyhole. Without hesitation, Cho-Cho bounded around the kitchen, through the living room, and up the stairs to the first floor and the front door, meowing as she went.

  “Fickle creature,” Dee chuckled. Well, guess my errant wife is home, Dee thought wryly. Errant husband? Errant wife!

  The door opened as Dee poured the boiling water into her special cup, unanticipated anger swelling in her as she heard Rita thump against the open door.

  A man’s muffled voice drifted down to her. “It was fun, baby, really great.”

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  A long silence. Then a soft moan from Rita. “Call me again . . .

  soon?” she heard Rita purr. Another long silence.

  She stirred the sugar into her tea, her hands trembling slightly.

  Cho-Cho walked indolently back into the kitchen and crumpled on Dee’s foot again.

  Male and female murmurings for a minute or two more, and then the front door closed just loudly enough not to be considered

  “sneaking in.”

  Dee heard Rita’s footsteps overhead in their bedroom, a closet door open and shut, a heavy sigh, and then the stocking-footed steps on the staircase.

  “Darling?” Rita called softly. “Are you down there?”

  Sure, Dee was tempted to reply, me and five Village dykes having an orgy. Sorry you missed it. “Yes,” she said instead, her voice taut.

  “Having some tea. Want some?”

  “No, thanks,” Rita replied, and cautiously came up to Dee and encircled her around the waist from behind. She kissed the back of Dee’s neck slowly.

  “Cut it out,” Dee ordered tightly. She couldn’t stand to have Rita touch her after she’d been out on one of her dates. Nonetheless, she felt her blood rush to her temples, and an uncontrollable thrill through her body.

  “You’re so old-fashioned, darling.” Rita pouted.

  She preceded Dee into the living room, dropping into the easy chair she and Cho-Cho shared.

  “Your hair is mussed and your lipstick is smeared,” Dee said quietly. She sat down again opposite her on the sofa facing the fireplace.

  “So what?” Rita said in a bored tone, but fussed with her shoulder-length black hair just the same. Automatically, she pressed her lips together in an effort to spread evenly what was left of her lipstick.

  “Really, Dee! You’d think I was going to bed with this guy, or something. You know it’s just business.”

  “There’s a name for that kind of business,” Dee said harshly.

  “You mean whoring?” Rita laughed. “And I suppose you don’t?

  You’ve kissed plenty of asses to get where you are, and don’t you forget it. Fat lot of nerve you’ve got calling me names.”

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  “At least you’re eating and warm because of it.”

  “There’s all kinds of whoring,” Rita said, reaching down to pick up Cho-Cho. “I suppose you think I enjoy dating these guys,” Rita went on nuzzling the cat.

  “I don’t care whether you do or not—although I know damn well you do—but you don’t have to stand in the hall necking with each and every one of them.”

  “Necking!” Rita snorted. “What’s to neck? It’s not as if I meant it or told them I loved them. It’s business.”

  It wouldn’t have done any good to try to explain to Rita how she felt about their relationship. Rita could never understand Dee’s feeling about being as much as “married”—that she loathed the idea of anyone else pawing Rita, taking her lips, even just holding her so that they, too, knew the wild hunger of wanting Rita’s body.

  “How long have you been looking for a job?” Dee asked as calmly as she could.

  “Why are we going into that now?” Rita countered, pretending heavy-lidded fogginess. “Which of my careers do you refer to—my modeling or my singing?”

  “Careers! Plural?” Dee couldn’t help laughing. “For a girl who hasn’t worked in over a year, you’re pretty lax with the language.”

  “You’re beginning to bore me, darling.” Rita’s tone grew brittle.

  “Pity,” Dee replied levelly. “If you didn’t enjoy dating these hoodlums, you’d be able to see that all your charms are getting you exactly nowhere.”

  “Hoodlums! They’re agents, or executive producers.”

  “That little runt you were out with day before yesterday was right out of a Mafia movie.”

  “Oh, is that so! Well, for your information, he just happens to be the brother-in-law of one of Broadway’s most influential personalities!”

  “The sewer inspector, no doubt . . .”

  Rita’s lavender eyes flashed for an instant, and her face blanched with rage. Then, just as swiftly, her expression softened and the trace of a smile came to her lips as she pushed the cat off her lap and crossed over to where Dee sat. “Let’s not argue. Please, Dee.

  Would you rather I took a job as an elevator operator somewhere?”

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  Dee stiffened imperceptibly, fearing the moment when Rita would bend forward and her perfume would wilt away all of her resolve.

  Yet her tone softened despite herself. “You know it’s not the money, Rita. . . .”

  “I know, baby,” she said in that intimate voice she saved for moments like this, “but it’s not easy to break in—you know that.”

  She leaned over and nuzzled her head against the nape of Dee’s neck, letting her lips wander softly against her smooth skin.

  Dee felt her hands go weak and a plaguing urgency creep into her lower abdomen. She half turned and pulled Rita over almost onto her lap, then clasped her head with her now hot hands. “You are beautiful, goddamn you.”

  “Of course, sweetie . . . but only to you.”

  Dee knew Rita didn’t believe that for a moment, but didn’t feel like arguing the point n
ow. She watched Rita close her eyes in anticipation of her kiss, and the knowledge that this beautiful girl was not only willing but asking for her kiss sent a shiver of desire through Dee she could not dismiss. But still she could not let her anger go so quickly. “Do they kiss you like this, Rita?”

  She savagely pushed her teeth against Rita’s mouth, sinking into its softness with cruel passion. “Or like this . . . ?” she asked, catching Rita’s full lips into her own and softly pulling at them. “Or like this . . . ?” She plied her tongue into her mouth as if savoring the rarest forbidden fruit.

  Rita became tense immediately but could not pull out of Dee’s grasp. Dee felt herself losing control of her emotions—anger became rage and rage became fury. Rita’s eyes opened and she stared with fear into Dee’s cold, smiling expression.

  “Don’t worry,” Dee mouthed against Rita’s lips, “I won’t hurt your precious face. . . . I don’t have the guts.”

  She pushed Rita over more and, placing all her weight on top of her, held her with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. “Tell me about the men you date for ‘business,’ Rita. Tell me about how you hate their kisses. Come on, my little lover, you can tell me. I’m your soul mate, your spiritual companion—understanding, considerate, loving . . . ”

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  “Nothing! Nothing!” Rita choked in fright. “They never touched me—ever!”

  “You don’t expect me to believe that when I can hear you time after time cooing at the door, letting their sloppy mouths run all over your face . . .”

  “All right!” Rita screamed. “All right, you bitch! You want the truth?” Her body struggled against Dee’s and finally threw her off balance.

  “You’re goddamn right I’ve gone to bed with some of them. Lots of them. Why not? Do you think I’m like you? Women aren’t enough for me! You’re not enough for me! I need men and I need their bodies and I need their attention. You think you can coop up someone with my looks in this apartment night after night?” Her eyes narrowed to pencil lines across her face. “And I’ll tell you something, darling, I enjoyed every friggin’ minute!”