by Orrie Hitt
She unpacked, using only two drawers in the dresser and feeling more cheerful than she had felt in a long time. The thought of having another girl in with her was stimulating. Last year, secretly, she had wanted this room, wanted it desperately, and now she had it. A girl sharing the room with her would serve several purposes. It would keep Jerry from bothering her so much, she wouldn't be so lonely—and Thelma Reid might leave her alone. Of the three she was more concerned about Thelma Reid. There was something haunting about Thelma's hazel eyes, a veiled challenge that she didn't quite know how to meet. Nor did she understand why Thelma came into her room always wearing a negligee that dipped open, revealing much of her body. And Thelma asked her the strangest questions. Did she have a light? Hell, there were matches all over the place. Had the water been hot enough? All Thelma had to do was turn on a faucet to get her answer to that one. Questions, lots of questions, silly questions. They didn't make sense and yet Helen felt there was something behind them, something deep and mysterious.
Helen finished unpacking, lit a cigarette and walked to one of the windows. Down below Jerry was in the driveway washing the car. He was stripped down to the waist, bare and brown, and when he made giant sweeps with the sponge she could see his muscles ripple.
She smiled as she watched him.
She wasn't afraid of Jerry.
She could handle Jerry. If he couldn't come to her room she could go to his now and then, just to please him and keep him happy, and if she couldn't visit him there they could use the room on Kennedy Street. Jerry hated making love in the room on Kennedy Street. He said it made him feel like one of the paying customers and that upset him. She smiled again, thinking about it.
But suddenly, she remembered something. One night they had been there for hours, countless hours, and for a while she had thought she was reaching the summit, that she was crossing an unseen bridge into a new and exciting world. But it had ended for her the way it always ended. She had been hurt and disgusted and after he had gone she had laid upon the bed and cried. She had cried for her mother and for herself and for all of the things that she did not feel. She had cried because men were violent and awful, because her body was cold, because none of the beauty that should be there ever came to her.
She turned away from the window, feeling helpless and lost. Why was she that way? Why wasn't she like other girls, girls who joked about men, girls who said that a man's body was the path to the wonders of living? Why did she have to be different? Why, why, why?
But Helen was not stupid.
She knew why.
And it scared her.
The thought of another girl sharing her room, of undressing before her, scared her, but it was something that she had to face, something that she must, ultimately, conquer. Life was a series of battles, from within and from without, and she had to struggle constantly against her own desires. At school she watched the girls, the pretty girls, and she wondered if they were as pretty as they seemed, if they were as gentle and as soft as they looked. Nights she had lain on her bed, thinking of the girl in the next room, the girls on either side, wondering what they were doing, picturing in her own mind the beauty which they had. The experiences had left her shaken and disturbed, creating a self-hate which she had passed on to the men who had bought her body.
"You're frigid," some of them had told her.
She was.
"You're wonderful," they told her later.
She had learned how to fake love, to moan when she was supposed to moan, to cry when she was supposed to cry, to cling to a man, twisting and turning, when she was expected to cling to him as if he were the only thing in the world. Yes, she had learned all of these things and she had learned them well. She had studied men the way a student studies a textbook. She could pass her exam. She could pass it any hour of the day or night.
But she did not know herself. And that was the hell of it. She knew so little about herself that she couldn't ask one question and get a straight answer.
Create a problem and solve it, people said; get yourself in a mess and then dig out of it. And that, in a sense, was what was happening to her. The problem would be the other girl, whoever she might be, her nearness, her body, and she would win her battle by ignoring her own desires and frustrations. By the end of the school year, by the time she graduated, she would know that she was a woman, all woman, that there was no twilight strain in her blood. After that she would go ahead according to her plan. She would get a job in a large corporation as a secretary and she would be efficient. She would keep herself beautiful at all times and she would aim for a man who had money, lots of money. When she found him, married or single, she would put her hooks into him, drive them in deep, and she would never let him go. Marriage would not be important. If he gave her what she wanted—money, money, money—that was all that mattered. She would give him her body in exchange for cash. Even if she could not lick this thing churning within her —her coldness and her crazy desire for her own kind—she would be able to give him his money's worth.
She looked up as the door opened and Thelma Reid came in. Thelma, Helen was glad to note, was fully dressed.
"I was wondering if you were comfortable," Thelma said.
"Yes. Very."
"Anything you need?"
"No, nothing."
"Did you have a nice summer?"
"Oh, yes. Fine."
Thelma Reid smiled. "I'm putting another girl in with you," she said. "She'll be here shortly after lunch."
"All right."
"I hope you two get along."
"I'm sure we will."
"She was here in August and she seemed very nice. She wanted a room by herself but she's new this year and I thought she ought to have somebody who could help her."
"That's a good idea."
"I think so, too."
Thelma said that it was hot and she unbuttoned the two top buttons on her dress. She always said it was hot, whether it really was or not, and if she was wearing a dress she always unbuttoned the top of it. Helen could see Thelma's pink bra and the dark cleavage between her breasts. She tried not to notice but she felt something stirring within her and she continued to look.
"Well, I'll start lunch," Thelma said, blowing a loose strand of hair away from her face. "Is there anything special that you want?"
"No, thanks."
"Just yell if there is."
"I will."
Thelma went out and Helen stared at the closed door. She could still smell Thelma's perfume and it smelled good, rich and fine. She took a deep breath, drinking in the odor, and hunted for another cigarette.
She noticed then that her hands were shaking.
CHAPTER 4
Cooper community college was like hundreds of other community colleges all over the country. The buildings were old, part of an estate which had been donated to the county, and the enrollment was low. There were no dormitories on the grounds, just classrooms, and all of the kids lived away from the campus. About ninety percent of the students were locals from the county, traveling every day from their homes by train or bus or driving old cars that made lots of noise. Most of the girls and boys were from poor families and unable to afford the tuition at more expensive schools. A lot of them held odd jobs, working weekends and nights to help support themselves.
Peggy liked the school. The instructors were friendly, classmates equally friendly and her board and room at Mrs. Reid's was more than satisfactory. For the first time in her life she was out from under the shadow of her father and it was a glorious feeling. She didn't have to listen to the kids saying how rich she was and hating her for it, and she didn't have to worry about Frank pawing her every chance he got. She could laugh and be herself and make friends on the basis of her own personality. And she made several friends and, of course, she considered Helen Lee her best one. That was only natural. Helen had been helpful and understanding during her initial, temporary loneliness and she knew her way around the college.
"Bus
is the best way to get out there," Helen said. "You can catch it on the corner and get off at the main gate. But walking is cheaper. You take thirty cents a day, both ways, and it adds up."
So they walked.
Peggy knew very little about Helen Lee. The girl never talked about her parents and she was very quiet in the room. Helen was taking a business course, the final year, and she seemed to be very studious.
"I'm going to be the best damned secretary in seven states," Helen often said. "The executive who gets me will have a real whiz on his hands."
Peggy was tempted to tell her, in confidence, that her father could use a good girl in his office but she soon decided against that. At the dormitory she was known as a chic dresser from an average family and it was better to let things remain that way. If anybody knew she had ten thousand dollars in her checking account they would either be after her for her money or they would stay away from her as though she had the plague. She wanted neither to happen.
Her father wrote once a week, short letters that told her nothing. One week he was going up to Canada to see about a job and the next week he had sent somebody else. She suspected, though for no particular reason, that he had found another woman and that he didn't want to leave her. She answered her father's letters, telling him that she liked the school, and promising to send along some pictures as soon as she took some.
Frank wrote once, a long, rambling letter with kiss marks on the bottom. He hadn't realized what he had been doing that night at the house and would she please forgive him? It was only a little over three hundred miles from Churchill to Cooper and if she said everything was all right he would drive down some weekend and see her. She tore up his letter, deliberately destroying the address, and she never heard from him again.
Several boys at Cooper tried to date her, nice boys, but she laughed and put them off. A lot of the girls couldn't understand her.
"I'd go out with anything that wore pants," Marie Thatcher said.
Marie was an ugly looking thing who wore strange looking glasses and walked with a waddle. She boarded at Mrs. Reid's and she ate twice as much as anybody else, favoring potatoes and meat and gobbling down all the dessert she could get her hands on.
"She's a pig," Helen observed.
Peggy refused to comment about Marie, other than to say she felt sorry for her, but she knew Helen expressed the view of most of the girls.
"And that Cathy Barnes," Helen said. "Have you noticed how she dresses?"
Cathy was the fashion-girl type, petite and with a slightly under-developed body, who dressed in black—black sweaters, black skirts, black dresses, black everything. She was crazy about the boys, wild over them, and she would throw her homework aside to go on a date for a coke. It was all a boy had to buy Cathy. For a coke and a smile he could have what he wanted.
Most of the girls at Mrs. Reid's, however, were sincere about what they were trying to do. Nearly all of them were on strict budgets and a few of them had extra jobs in the soda fountains or the stores around the city. One of these girls was Evelyn Carter, who worked in the five and ten every chance she got, saved every dime that she could, and prayed that the dean wouldn't kick her out of Cooper.
"The baby isn't due until May," she said, "and if it holds off the way the first one does sometimes I could get through my exams."
The officials at the college thought Evelyn was married but all of the girls at Mrs. Reid's knew that she wasn't. She had met an artist during the summer at the lake resort where she worked, and she hadn't found out until it was too late that he was married and had two children.
"If it wasn't for his religion he would divorce his wife," Evelyn stated firmly. "I know he would."
"Sure," Helen agreed. "And if it wasn't because he'd bleed he'd cut his throat."
That made Evelyn cry and she ran out of the room.
"Damn men," Helen said later. "They get a girl that way and then they leave her. They ought to be shot."
"Yes. Or something else."
One afternoon when Helen and Peggy left the school it was snowing, but the snow quickly changed to rain and in a matter of moments they were both soaking wet.
"Let's get a cab," Peggy suggested.
"Where?"
"Well, there ought to be one along. If we wait on one of these corners—"
"You don't know this town," Helen said, kicking along through the gathering slush. "As soon as it storms all of the cabs gather downtown around the bus station and the railroad station. They get the commuters as they come in and they pick up a few fast bucks."
The college was located in the northern part of the city, near the city limits. In fact, some of the land extended into the county and this was where the school officials said any new buildings would be constructed.
"I hate to get soppy wet," Peggy said. "It's a good way to catch a cold."
Helen shivered and nodded her agreement.
"The thing to do is take a hot shower," Helen said. "As soon as we get to the house."
"If there's any hot water."
The hot water was always running out at Mrs. Reid's. It was a constant race to see who could wash their stockings and underthings first, before the water started running cold.
"Jerry says Mrs. Reid doesn't have a big enough boiler," Helen said. "He says that she ought to have a great big one run by automatic gas and not one of those pot stove things that she has."
Peggy had met Jerry several times. She hadn't thought very much about him but at the moment she guessed that she didn't like him. He was big and strong and whenever he looked at her she felt as though she were being mentally undressed. Some of the other girls said the same thing, but a few of them, those like Evelyn, said he could be wonderful, just wonderful. And Peggy knew what was meant by that.
It was growing dark when they reached Mrs. Reid's and the rain was coming down harder than ever. Their wet shoes made funny sounds as they crossed the front porch and Helen opened the door. Inside it was warm, almost hot, and Peggy could smell the steam from the radiators.
There was no one in the large living room; few, if any, of the girls had yet arrived from school, and those who worked in the stores never got in until around seven or later.
"We're in luck," Helen exclaimed as they started up the stairs. "There'll be hot water all over the place."
But there wasn't. The water was barely warm and when Helen returned to their room from the bathroom, wrapped in a red robe, she made an unkind and vulgar remark about Jerry Dixon.
"The lazy bum," Helen said. "I bet he's been goofing off all afternoon."
"The walk was shoveled when we came in." Peggy didn't know why she was defending Jerry; he meant nothing to her. "Maybe he was so busy outside that he forgot to take care of the pot stove."
"Maybe."
Peggy began to undress, pulling the wet dress up over her head. Helen watched her silently for a moment.
"I didn't take my shower," Helen said as Peggy hung the dress near the radiator. "I thought you wanted to take one, too, but the only way we'll both get one is to take it together."
Peggy paused and fingered her wet slip. She realized, suddenly, that she had never seen Helen completely naked, nor had she ever entirely undressed in front of Helen. They had seen each other in panties and bras but in nothing less. She suddenly knew that, as far as she was concerned, the avoidance of such a thing had been deliberate. She had never exposed herself to anyone, not even to another girl or to a doctor, and nights when she had gotten ready for bed—and she was always first in bed—she had put on her shortie nightie before unhooking her bra or slipping out of her panties. And after she was in bed, she had turned her face to the wall, not watching as Helen moved around the room, dropping her clothes all over the place. Later, when they were in bed together, she always pressed against the wall, wondering about the almost naked body beside her, her mouth dry and her hands trembling. Sometimes she dreamed of a gentle girl loving her, of soft flesh beneath her fingers, and when she awoke s
he felt disturbed and restless. She knew that the edge of the pit to which her mind walked was wrong, very wrong, but she had no control over it.
"I won't bother taking a shower," Peggy heard herself saying. "You go ahead."
"You're shaking."
"Am I?"
"Yes. You must be cold."
She was cold. Her underwear was soaked and cold to her flesh.
"I'm all right."
"You would feel better if you took a shower."
Peggy looked at the girl in the red robe, knowing that the rich and creamy flesh was ripe and flowing underneath.
But to refuse was to run. And to run was to admit that inside she was weak, that inside she was different from the other girls she knew.
"I—okay."
She was not weak. She was not different. She was a girl growing up, a girl finding herself. She had nothing to fear, nothing. She was the same as other girls, just the same. All she had to do was prove it to herself and then she would be free of this ghastly fear.
"I'll wait for you in the bathroom," Helen said. "But hurry. Somebody on the second floor may get into the act and we won't have any hot water at all."
"I'll hurry."
The door closed behind Helen and Peggy stripped out of her slip, panties and bra. She got a gray robe from the closet, and shrugged into it. Some of the other girls ran up and down the halls stark naked but she would never do that; there was something indecent about it.
She found Helen waiting for her in the bathroom at the end of the hall. She had already removed her robe and was standing in the shower.
"Don't waste any time," Helen said. "Somebody else is using the hot water; I can hear it running in the pipe."
Peggy, trying not to be frightened, fumbled with the belt and took a deep breath. Not looking at Helen, not daring to, she slid out of the robe and placed it over the back of a straight wooden chair. If only she didn't feel a guilt that she shouldn't feel. If only…
She stepped into the shower.
