by Joan Ellis
There was moment's silence at the other end, and Elaine's throat tightened with concern.
"Tell you what," Fred decided, "I have to be in the city this evening. Suppose I meet you for a drink about five-thirty? We can talk about it then."
"Wonderful," she babbled in relief, and then listened while he set a meeting place. It meant nothing, actually, but she felt infinitely better. If anybody could get those negatives for her, Fred could. If he wanted to…
Elaine paced her office, wondering how to alibi her absence this evening. Should she lie and say she lie and say she had to meet Rick for a cocktail? Or better to say Eric wanted to see her for a few moments to discuss something—she could always dream up something on that score later. She hated to think of the repercussions if Fred did come through and get the negatives for her—and Stephie had to tell Terry. She closed her eyes in pain, dreading the ugly scene sure to follow. If only they could work it out so Stephie would tell her the negatives were spoiled, anything to forestall nastiness. But Stephie would adore passing on that kind of information, she guessed instinctively—it'd appeal utterly to his sense of the dramatic. Unless, of course, Fred made him see the impracticality of it. Stephie, for all his kittenish ways, was basically thoroughly practical—he'd want to protect his own interests.
Elaine collapsed into her chair, worn out by mental controversy. She hated ugliness! It made her physically sick to drag out their relationship the way Terry relished doing. It'd been so different at first:—or so it had seemed to Elaine. Terry had not been obvious then, flaunting herself, telegraphing to the world! "See, I'm a dyke!" she seemed to screech aloud when she'd had a drink or two, or when she was angry with Elaine. She'd been so sweet, so appealing, those first few weeks. Elaine faced reality; the affair with Terry had to end, not only because everything she cherished was in jeopardy but because Terry meant nothing to her anymore, except cheap, fleeting physical relief when her body's demands became overwhelming. The price Terry demanded was too high.
"Elaine!" The door to the office was flung open and slammed shut, and Terry stood there, two violent patches of red staining her cheeks.
"What's the matter?" Elaine shot to her feet, rushed to make sure the door was closed. Terry knew better than to come bursting in here this way!
"That creep Kennedy, the narrow-minded old bitch! She just fired me!"
"What for?" Automatically, Elaine led her to a chair and sat her down.
"She's got some screwy idea I'm arrogant. That's the word she used. Arrogant! You tell her off, honey." Suddenly, Terry was wistfully tearful. "Who does she think she is, anyhow, to go around firing girls because they don't look like sour-pussed old maids?"
"Terry, I have nothing to do with the steno pool," she reminded her worriedly. Actually, she should have expected something like this—Terry had been courting it for weeks.
"You can talk to Rick Stacy. He’ll change her mind for her awful fast."
"Terry, how can I?" Elaine shook her head tiredly. "To everybody here I barely know you."
"You're smart, Elaine, you can figure out a way," she wheedled. "I'm not terribly good as a steno, you know. It won't be easy for me to get another job without a reference from the agency."
Terry was lazy, that was the basic problem, Elaine thought subconsciously. She'd wanted to be fired, to have an excuse to lounge around the apartment all day. Probably, in her mind, Elaine could easily afford to support her.
"Sweetie, have you tried to talk to her? I mean, perhaps apologize…" Elaine trailed off, reading fury in Terry's eyes as they met hers.
"Elaine, I've done nothing wrong!" Terry rose from the chair to fling herself against the other woman. "She's a nasty-minded old bitch, that's all. She wants me out of here. Darling, you go to Rick Stacy. Make her eat crow!" Malicious determination shone starkly for an instant, to be replaced by wistful pleading. "Oh, darling, you won't let me down, will you?"
"Terry, I don't know." Elaine put her arms about Terry's small body, foisted against her own. "I'm completely at a loss."
"You’ll think of something," Terry smiled with sultry sweetness. I know you will." She reached up and pulled Elaine's face to hers, her mouth finding Elaine's and kissing her with stormy passion.
"Excuse me!"
In trance-like horror Elaine stared back at Eddie, the smirking office-boy who hadn't bothered to knock. That was a nasty habit of his that others had complained about.
"Get out!" Elaine spat at him. "Get out!"
CHAPTER 10
"That was a stupid stunt for you to pull!" Elaine lashed out with acid fury. "Now what?"
"I didn't think anybody'd just walk into your office without knocking." It was the first time Elaine had ever seen Terry really frightened. "He won't say anything—he'd be afraid to."
"That big-mouth?" Elaine snorted, pacing frenziedly. "I knew something like this was going to happen. I knew it!"
"It's his word against ours," Terry tried to brazen it out, but her eyes were scared. Not for what the others might say but because of the cold anger enveloping Elaine.
"Stay here," Elaine commanded, an idea catching hold in her mind.
"What are you going to do?"
"Fix Eddie's wagon," Elaine said venomously. "Ill be right back."
Elaine strode quickly through the corridors to the desk of Miss Kennedy, who supervised the steno pool. Deliberately raising her voice so that anyone within twenty feet could hear her, Elaine launched into lightly annoyed conversation.
"Miss Kennedy, I hope you don't mind my using you this way, but I simply have to do something to get that girl off my neck." She sighed with simulated boredom.
"What girl?" Miss Kennedy was almost obsequious in her eagerness to be helpful.
"I believe her name's Terry something or other— you fired her a little while ago. She had some farfetched idea that I might go to bat to have her reinstated. Isn't that absurd?"
"I'm sorry she's bothered you like this." Miss Kennedy rose nervously to her feet, her mouth a tight little frown.
"Oh, please don't bother yourself further," Elaine gave her a conspiratorial smile. "I just wanted to be able to tell her I'd spoken to you and it was useless. She was nearly hysterical. Threw her arms about me and bawled." Elaine shivered with delicate distaste. "I do hate these emotional girls, don't you?"
"I never did like that one. If you'd like me to talk to her," Miss Kennedy pursued.
"Thanks, I'll be able to get rid of her now. I'm sure she watched to see if I came to talk with you." Elaine managed a rather impersonal smile of gratitude, and retraced her steps, acutely aware of Eddie's open-mouthed astonishment as he stood at the mail table watching her. Let him try to spread stories around now, she thought with grim satisfaction.
She went back into her office, closed the door, and drew a deep breath of relief. Thank heaven, that was over.
"What happened?" Terry's eyes clung to hers. "It's fixed," Elaine said shortly. "You'd better get out now."
"Meet you downstairs as usual." It was half-statement, half-question.
"Oh, I forgot." Elaine frowned. "I'm supposed to meet Eric for a cup of coffee when I leave. He has some problem on his mind."
"You going there for dinner?" Terry's face dropped sulkily.
"No, I told you—I'm simply meeting Eric for twenty minutes or so." She fought to conceal her irritation.
"It's been such a rotten day, let's go somewhere we can relax," Terry wheedled, her eyes watching Elaine sharply.
"Where?" Elaine asked unthinkingly.
"Maria's. I could meet you there. Oh, darling, please," Terry coaxed. "You'll never meet anybody there you know—unless they're on the same side of the fence. Nobody else goes to Maria's, except an occasional tourist. Come on, Elaine, let's have some fun for a change."
"Okay," Elaine agreed, at this point ready to agree to anything that'd smooth the current situation into something to be endured. At least this way she could meet Fred, secure in the knowledge that Terry
was waiting for her at Maria's. She remembered the spot with a wave of repugnance. The boy-girls and girl-boys who had to scream out their secrets to the world! Everything she loathed, and yet actually wasn't she the same as they were? At least, they were honest—they didn't hide behind phoney fronts, What was the right way, after all?
"See you there," Terry purred with satisfaction, blowing a kiss at her. "Don't be too long."
"I won't," Elaine promised automatically, her mind racing ahead now to the meeting with Fred, More than ever now, she had to enlist Fred's help,
* * *
Fred Reynolds smiled with sympathetic understanding as Elaine frankly broke down her problem, her fears of what Terry might do.
"It's rough, Elaine, for those like you and me to keep up the clean, straight front. With Stephie I'm lucky. He's smart, knows he's set up for life with me so long as he plays my game. Oh, he gets out of line now and then, goes down to the Village and raises all hell. But he knows when and where."
"Terry was a mistake," Elaine said, her eyes on her cocktail glass. "I was worn out, tired, I wasn't thinking straight. It wasn't meant to be a long-time arrangement."
"Careful how you break it up," Fred warned gently. "I've seen girls like Terry—they can make an awful mess for everybody concerned."
"That's what scares me," Elaine sighed. "I don't know how I'm going to manage it, but I must. The most important thing is to be in the clear with those photographs." She flushed painfully, knowing Fred was aware of their nature, probably had seen them by now. "I don't think he's sent them to Terry yet—she would have shown them to me."
"I'll get them for you," Fred promised firmly. "I’ll deliver the negatives right into your hands, so you can burn them personally. No doubts in your mind about it ever."
"Fred, can you?" Her eyes sought his for reassurance.
He smiled faintly. "I told you—Stephie’s a smart one. I'll explain that Terry's irresponsible—she could use the photographs to trigger a scandal. He could be dragged in as a witness—so could I. Stephie knows I wouldn't tolerate a thing like that."
"How'll he explain it to Terry?" she probed.
"Simple. Defective film. He’ll be terribly enthusiastic about another chance to do a re-take. Naturally, you'll make sure that never happens."
"You don't know how much this means to me," she stammered gratefully.
"I think I do." His eyes were full of understanding. "Next time, Elaine, be careful whom you choose."
"I doubt if there'll be a next time," she said violently.
"There will be," he said, with a sad confidence.
"There has to be for those like you and me. At least, be cautious."
* * *
Elaine opened the door to Maria's, wrapped in self-consciousness. When she'd come here before, she'd walked in unknowingly. Tonight was different. She knew what she'd find inside. The same high-pitched chatter over at the bar, the whispered incoherent murmurs at the rows of tables. The musical comedy clothes the she-boys affected, the stern masculinity of the butch set. Then she spied Terry, waiting at a rear booth, sulkily impatient. Terry in old faded slacks she never remembered seeing and a tired tailored blouse, with her face devoid of make-up, the fluffy pale gold hair brushed severely about her face. Tonight Elaine felt strangely like an outsider, even to Terry. But then, which of them was really masquerading, she taunted herself harshly? She was the one who offered the world the false front!
"I thought you'd never get here." Terry shuffled about in her seat like a querulous child.
"Eric wanted me to help him choose a gift for his wife," she lied calmly.
"I'll bet you adored that." Defiance shone back at Elaine from her.
"Terry, stop that." Her fragile hold on patience threatened to elude her.
Terry sighed elaborately. "I suppose I'll have to get up tomorrow and start chasing around to employment agencies. Unless you know somebody who’ll give me a job."
"We'll talk about it later," Elaine murmured quietly. Maria was bearing down on their table with a gushy smile.
* * *
Elaine told herself she should have expected something like this. Days went by with no sign of Terry's going back to work. She made a great pretense of telling Elaine about the places she went and vague promises made, yet Elaine guessed instinctively that she spent most of the day lounging around the apartment. When she complained about being broke, Elaine supplied her with money. This could go on forever, Elaine realized, squirming in the trap. If Stephie and she had discussed the episode of the photographs, Terry kept it to herself. True to his word, Fred sent the negatives to her at the office by messenger. Five minutes later they were tiny bits of nothing at the bottom of her wastebasket. Yet still Elaine felt the vise tightening about her throat.
She was making a habit now of running up to the studio for an hour or so every afternoon, feeling the tensions slipping away as she roamed the semi-barren rooms, fiddled with the painting supplies she'd surreptitiously bought and carried there—pushing time till she could decently remind Kathy of her promise to pose for her. Kathy had been willing, heaven only knew—but Elaine wanted to feel more sure of herself before reminding her. More able to cope with the crazy, tearing emotions that wracked her body every time she thought of Kathy. Then Kathy herself called, to invite her up to dinner—and softly inquired about Elaine's efforts at getting back to work.
"You look a little ragged about the edges," Eric remarked, inspecting her closely as the two of them nursed cocktails and Kathy puttered about the kitchen preparing to serve dinner.
"Working hard," Elaine said evasively.
"Better knock off for a while and relax," he said with brotherly bluntness. "On you it doesn't look good."
"Dinner'll be ready in five minutes," Kathy came into the room with her quick eager little steps. "I want to be sure the roast is just right."
"Perfect little wife," Eric said with a trace of mockery, pulling her down beside him, and for a horrible instant Elaine dreaded a recurrence of that other evening. Then this was replaced by something wholly different—an awareness that all was not thoroughly right in their household.
"I've been trying to convince Eric he shouldn't drive himself so," Kathy said with an attempt at lightness, yet her eyes were darkly somber.
"He's been giving me something of the same deal," Elaine retaliated, wondering where this marriage had gone wrong. "You ought to practice what you preach, Eric."
Eric bowed elaborately. "You are so right, dear sister. You're always right. That's always what Dad used to say. Elaine is one hell of a guy."
Don't call her a guy," Kathy protested, and Elaine's eyes shot sharply in her direction. "It sounds so—harsh."
"Elaine's strong, got backbone, nerve—not like me. She should have been the son in our family."
"Now stop that nonsense," Elaine tried to laugh it off. Then she decided, once and for all they must bring this out into the open. "Eric's always seemed to nurture some weird idea that I was Dad's favorite, that somehow he was disappointed in him."
"Weren't you?" Eric's words were coldly incisive. "And wasn't he disappointed in me? He demonstrated that often enough. We're a screwed up family, Kathy. On the surface we look quiet and staid and reliable, but we're all messed up inside."
"You've kept things bottled up too long. Why can't we talk them out?" Kathy pleaded desperately. "Eric, what's gone wrong?"
"Nothing that wasn't always wrong!" He rose to his feet, walked away with his back to them. "You, with your wide-eyed illusions about your ambitious, capable husband! Know why they sent me out here on this job? I wasn't the first choice, I was third! Lamberson was slated for it first, then his wife persuaded him to move out to the West Coast—better chances for the future. Then they offered it to Colby, and he was frankly scared—preferred staying in his cushiony little berth out there. I was third choice!"
"Eric, if they didn't think you could handle the job, they wouldn't have offered it to you." Kathy's face was da
rkly anxious. "You were third choice because of your age. Lamberson and Colby are fifteen years older than you!"
He swung around defiantly. "I was third choice—and I don't know if I'll even make it."
"Come on, Eric," Elaine was deliberately brusque. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Of course you'll make it."
"Eric, if only you'd stop keeping everything inside. Let me be a wife to you, someone who can help. I know we got married after only a few weeks—we barely knew each other, actually—but I felt it was enough. So did you. Then."
"I still do." He moved forward. Like a scared child, Elaine thought, agonized.
"I think Eric and I are suffering from the same malady," Elaine forced herself to be matter-of-fact. "We get so tense and involved in our jobs and our ambitions we forget how to relax and live with ourselves."
"I want to share his problems," Kathy said simply. "If he’ll only let me. That's part of being married."
"We never told you about Mother and Dad, did we?" His eyes moved somberly from Kathy to Elaine, and for a painful moment she wondered what ghost he was dragging out now. "Ten days after they were married, Dad took off—for Paris, the Left Bank, the art colony. He was going to dedicate himself to his art. Mother went chasing right after him, pulled him out of that garret he was living in with that crackpot writer and brought him home." He turned to Elaine for confirmation. "You know that story, Elaine—Dad told it to us half a dozen times, when he had a load on." Elaine nodded, not wanting to speak, remembering her mother's second trip to Paris, to rescue her daughter—at least, that was the light in which she saw it. "Mother made a man out of him. Made him a husband."
"I didn't know." Kathy squinted in contemplation, going over in her mind the things Eric had told her.
"Are you properly shocked?" he taunted. "Are you afraid, like father like son?"
"Eric, if you wanted to go to Paris and paint, I'd go with you. Whatever you felt was right for you would be right with me."
"Dad was just wild in those days—he wasn't queer."
