There was no logic to her emotions; they were simply there. She wished now she hadn’t made the appointment, and even briefly considered entering a phone booth and paging him to break the date with some wild excuse.
But it was too late for that. Besides, he was her friend. If she couldn’t face him with the news, then her whole adjustment had been a farce. And she’d invested too much agony toward getting over Rita to waste it.
She worked hard, stayed late at the office, had had dinner with Karen a few times, and threw herself into a project of capturing the moods of Sixth Avenue and Forty-ninth Street. She was never without at least one of her cameras and spent every moment possible shooting just the northeast corner. She didn’t know that she’d ever do anything with the shots she was getting, but it was something to do. She’d even gone into the building across the street and requested permission to shoot from the second-floor window and the top floor. They’d acted as if she were some intoxicated tourist, but allowed her the privilege. Few people could resist Dee’s friendly candor.
She entered the restaurant and saw Jerry sitting at his usual table.
He waved at her, half rising from the booth, looking dapper as ever, but with a special little smile on his face that betrayed secret knowledge.
When she reached him, he leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “You get lovelier each time I see you.”
Dee smiled. “You’re sweet.”
“But you look a little thinner,” he admonished as they sat down.
“Can’t have that. Don’t want you ruining that lovely body of yours.”
“Going straight, Jerry?” Dee laughed.
He made a grimace. “Heaven forbid! You don’t have to malign me, you know. What’s the matter, can’t you accept flattery?”
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“Not from you. You’re more the mother-hen type, always peck-ing away at me for my faults.”
“That’s unkind,” he smiled slowly. “But true.”
She sat back, crossing her legs carefully, placing her purse next to her on top of her camera. “What am I having for lunch today?” she asked him. Jerry never allowed her to order anything for herself.
“Ah,” he pursed his lips appreciatively. “A feast! I decided to be nice to you today with a chateaubriand . . . but like you’ve never tasted before.” He turned in his seat to face her. “When are you leaving for Paris?”
“Next week. Although there’s a good chance I might leave the end of this week.”
“What about passage? Haven’t you made reservations?”
“Yes,” Dee smiled. “For two separate dates. One of them will be canceled.”
“Why? I’ll never understand the publishing business. They’re all so terribly, terribly intellectual, you know, and not an ounce of common sense in the lot.”
“Now, now. Our Paris representative is away on business and isn’t certain on which date he’ll return. That’s one reason. And then, we’re putting an issue to bed right now and I am needed despite your low opinion of me, plus a lot of other miscellaneous reasons.”
“Do you want me to give you a few addresses? Gay clubs, or something?”
She glanced at him sharply. He knew about her break with Rita, then. He would never have made that offer otherwise. Well. Just as well. It would save her a lot of trouble and embarrassment. But his question about gay addresses had stirred something within her. . . .
A near panic seemed to grip her at the thought of being all alone in a foreign country and seeking out another lesbian. Didn’t anything last? What did straight people do to stay married twenty, thirty years and longer?
Jerry’s voice reached through her thoughts, asking her how long she planned to stay in Paris. “What? Oh. I’m not sure. A month, roughly.”
“Look, darling. I don’t mind your being preoccupied . . . but I 221
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don’t feel like eating lunch alone. Do your daydreaming on company time if you don’t mind.”
“I’m sorry, Jerry. Really I am.” She played with her fork a moment, hoping he would say something to catch her interest. For some reason the prospect of her trip was still unreal to her. But when several moments went by and he said nothing, she knew it was going to be up to her to carry the ball today.
She put her fork down carefully and sat back. “How long have you known and how did you find out?” She said it softly, tentatively.
Jerry frowned slightly. “Not the way you’re thinking,” he answered. “The word travels pretty fast about a girl like Rita. There was no mention of you . . . nor of your relationship with her. It was just that it became known she was ‘available,’ as it were.”
“I see,” Dee said lamely, not really knowing what to say or what she had expected him to say.
“It could only have meant one thing,” he continued. “But if it’s not too painful, I would like to be filled in on a few of the more important details. What finally made her leave you?”
Dee sighed silently, resigning herself to the answer. “I left her,”
she said bluntly. “That is, I requested her to leave.”
Jerry snorted. “But that’s marvelous! What miracle occurred to make you see the light about that . . . her?”
She bit her lower lip, severely trying to keep her emotions in check. She didn’t want to feel anything—just the facts, ma’am. “It was rather sticky, Jerry. If you don’t mind we’ll let that part go until some other time.”
It wasn’t hard to tell he was controlling his curiosity, but she was still grateful for the attempt. “Let’s just say I finally found out what an ass I’d been. Okay?”
“But look at you, darling,” he said impatiently. “Just take a good look at yourself. Any imbecile could see you’re still in love with her.”
“Please, Jerry. Please. Not now.”
“When? Five years from now when you’re still dragging a long tragic face around? That wasn’t love you felt for Rita—it was a morbid addiction.”
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“Jerry . . .” Dee interrupted, trying to keep calm.
“Don’t ‘Jerry’ me. You’re so in love with the idea of love that you invested in that conniving little broad a thousand virtues that she never even heard of. You—”
“Do you want me to cry?” she asked him in a whisper.
He stopped short, his mouth still open to speak. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dee. I hadn’t meant to lecture you or rub things in. I was just reacting as an old friend and not really thinking about what you’re going through. Forgive me. I know how painful it must be.” He put his hand over hers for a moment and pressed it.
She looked at him a few minutes and felt herself filled with a strange kind of compassion. It was that rare feeling only the injured can have for the injurer—a private, special understanding. He looked so downcast, so remorseful. “Don’t worry about me, Jerry.
I’ll be all right. But it’s going to take time. This wasn’t just a one-night stand. . . . A lot of my life and my emotions were tied up in this. I’ll get over it, but right now I need the chance to feel sorry for myself.”
“Of course . . .”
“And I’m not angry with you. You had every right . . .”
Jerry raised his well-manicured fingers to his lips. “Let’s just drop the whole subject. We’ll talk about it some other time, when you’ve regained your perspective. Maybe when you come back.”
She smiled then and felt very much like hugging him. But any real demonstration of affection with Jerry was always difficult. He seemed to tense up and withdraw, as if anticipating some sort of maudlin scene. It was a side of his nature she’d learned to accept long ago.
He seemed to shrink from emotional displays of any sort, yet was always the first one to bawl her out for her own fears and reservations. But that was just Jerry. It was the least of her worries, certainly.
Their lunch arrived,
and the conversation turned to Jerry’s show and the doings at the theater, and his usual patter about people and events around town. Always witty, always sarcastic.
Recklessly she broke into his conversation. “What would hap-223
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pen, Jerry, if you really and truly fell in love with someone who loved you the same way?”
He sat very still for a moment, staring at her. Then a slow, deliberate smile crossed his face. “Happen?”
Dee shivered when the cold chuckle came up from his throat.
“I’d probably die from the shock.”
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Chapter 12
The days that followed were marked by a merciful lack of leisure for Dee to give much thought to her own problems. By the time she reached her apartment, she was too tired to do anything but fall into bed after a hot bath. She had pushed herself and Karen at an incredible pace to have everything under control at her desk.
They worked late almost every evening and yet managed somehow to show up at the office in the morning with the zest of people who were getting things done.
On several occasions Dee had caught herself wondering what she was going to do without Karen. She didn’t want to feel that way. It wasn’t safe—she couldn’t trust her own motives anymore.
But Karen had seemed to sense it indirectly, and more than once Dee had looked up to find Karen watching her. She would smile, and then they would both feel uneasy and self-conscious and return to their respective work.
It was a hot and humid day, the day before Dee was to leave.
Even the sleeveless green sheath she had put on that morning offered no relief from the heat on her way to the office. She got off the elevator and saw Karen sitting at her desk with a paper cup of coffee on the right-hand side, wedged in between piles of correspondence and file copies of back issues.
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“ ’Morning, Mrs. Sanders,” she said as cheerily as she could.
Dee smiled, secretly realizing how very tired Karen must be.
“How can you drink anything hot on a day like this?” she asked without expecting an answer.
“Air-conditioning . . .’ Karen replied matter-of-factly.
Dee nodded appreciatively. “Any calls?”
Karen reached over and lifted some photographs from the top of her desk calendar. “Pan Am reconfirmed your flight tomorrow night. . . . The old man wishes you luck, and why aren’t you at your desk? . . . And the boys in the stock room have smuggled in a bottle for a bon voyage drink after lunch.” She put the photos back and glanced up at Dee with an inscrutable expression.
“All that so early in the morning?” Dee laughed.
Karen gave a noncommittal shrug.
Dee thought she sensed a certain holding-back on Karen’s part, a reserve she did not usually have. She wondered if Karen’s boyfriend was trying to press her for a marriage date again. “How about us treating ourselves to a decent place for dinner tonight?” Dee said suddenly. “Sort of a going-away spree.”
Karen tensed almost imperceptibly, then looked up at Dee with a carefully blank gaze. “Sounds fine. Dutch treat, though. My folks sent me some money yesterday.”
“Save it, then,” Dee replied. “You’ll need it to buy souvenirs in Indonesia, or wherever you end up with Phil.”
“Dutch treat,” Karen said again but more firmly. There was a strained look about her face that Dee had never seen before.
“All right. It’s your money.” She smiled a little uncertainly, then entered her own small office. She’s tired, Dee reasoned, and a little edgy. And I suppose the prospect of having so much responsibility while I’m away is rather an awesome idea.
Johnny’s Steak House was still comparatively empty at five-thirty.
The dinner crowds wouldn’t start until around six-thirty or seven.
Dee and Karen sat in a yellow booth lining the wall, waiting for their drinks.
“We’ve really earned this,” Dee said after a prolonged silence.
“At least, you certainly have.” She smiled, trying to draw Karen out of her strange mood, which had lasted all day.
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“It was character-building,” Karen said lightly, shifting uncomfortably. “Do you mind if I sit across from you? I like to look at people when I talk to them.”
She made the move but instead of looking at Dee made a detailed survey of the large room, inquiring what kind of wood panel-ing was used, how many times Dee had been there.
The waiter arrived with their drinks, and for the first time since Dee had known Karen, she felt uncomfortable with her. They didn’t have that much more to do when they returned to the office to make Karen feel apprehensive—in fact, there wasn’t so much that it couldn’t be finished up tomorrow morning in an hour. Karen’s attitude was not only incomprehensible to Dee, it was a little frightening. She tried to think of what she might have done or said that perhaps had hurt Karen in some way.
What was worse, it left Dee unable to make conversation. She felt she was being shut out and didn’t know why. Finally, no longer able to stand it, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“Want to tell me about it? Is there anything I can do?”
That was tactful, she scolded herself, like a bulldozer!
Karen’s expression became veiled, defensive. It was as if she had had a reply on the tip of her tongue but had suddenly caught herself before letting it slip out. “Oh,” Karen said nonchalantly, “nothing really. Just tired, I guess. And worried.”
“About what?” Dee signaled the waiter for another round.
Karen sighed lightly. “The job . . . things like that.”
“Like what?” Dee persisted.
She smiled slowly. “You writing a book or something?”
“If you don’t want to tell me, then say so. But we’ve been pretty close friends up to now . . . don’t get flip with me.”
Karen sat quietly for a moment. She didn’t appear to be thinking so much as forcing herself not to think. Her young face flushed for a second, and when she looked up there was just a trace of tears in her eyes. “I’m just a sentimental jerk,” she said with a choke in her voice. “I’m going to miss you!”
Dee was so relieved that there wasn’t anything else bothering Karen that she was speechless. Then the impact of what Karen was saying released her own feelings and brought tears to her eyes, too.
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Without being very certain why, they both began to laugh as the tears rolled slowly down their cheeks.
When they regained control of themselves, Dee asked, “What do you plan to do while I’m gone?” She picked up the menu quickly and scrutinized it carefully. “Why not see more of Phil before you lose him?”
“Tell me,” Karen began slowly, “why are you always trying so hard to get me to marry Phil? I mean, it just seems that every time I turn around, you’ve got another one of your subliminal plugs flashing by. If you think marriage is the only cure for all ills, then why haven’t you remarried?”
Dee was torn between being amused at Karen’s personality switch and fighting the awful fear that perhaps Karen knew more about her than she had let on. “That’s a very good question,” Dee answered with a light laugh. “Would you mind repeating it?”
It wasn’t hard to tell that Karen found it difficult to be so blunt.
Her usual approach to a difficult subject was one of circumlocution: mention it, then drop the whole topic, and eventually the “victim”
would think he thought of it himself.
“Well,” Karen said with a slightly embarrassed glance. “You’re always telling me about security, babies, and the good, solid life. If it’s so great why haven’t you done it?”
Dee lighted a cigarette slowly, mindful of not letting any masculine gesture show. Pausing in her reply, she fleetingly c
onsidered how learning to be feminine while lighting a cigarette was one of the most difficult things she had accomplished. There should be no “evidence” of her lesbian tendencies. . . .
“I’m waiting, Mrs. Sanders,” Karen said softly.
“I do wish you would call me Dee. . . .”
“Don’t change the subject . . . Dee,” Karen answered with a note of pleasure in her voice.
“Marriage. Home. Security. Hmm,” she stated evasively.
“Why not?” Karen insisted.
Dee laughed. “That’s a line from a TV show, isn’t it?”
“Dee . . .”
“Oh, all right. I’ve not found the right guy for me. Period.”
“That’s not true. . . . I mean, I don’t think you really mean that.”
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“Meaning?” Dee smiled, trying to appear casual. Yet strange flashes shot across her head, belying her conditioned calmness.
“You’re an attractive, bright, and successful woman. I hear lots of the fellows around the office talk about how you’ve turned down dates with them.”
Dee felt her hands grow cold. . . . Were they talking at the office—calling her queer? Oh, God! “I have outside friends,” she said hastily.
“A lot of the editors around are good marriage material—you don’t even give them a chance. If your ‘outside friends’ aren’t pan-ning out, then why don’t you give the ‘inside friends’ a chance? Isn’t it because you don’t really want to get married?”
“Now, look here, Karen. What I plan to do with my life has very little to do with yours. . . . I’ve been married.” Dee tried to keep her voice at its usual pitch. “You, however, have not. You are also a good deal younger than I am.”
“Not that much!” Karen said with a grin.
“Enough. There’s no big world of discovery left for me in marriage. And I’m in no big rush. For a while I dated so many guys I couldn’t keep their names straight,” she lied. “Now I’m putting my energies into my job, and if the right guy comes along, well and good. But I’m not actively looking anymore.”
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