by Ann Bannon
“Relax. We’ll leave when you say the word.”
She began to feel adventurous and crazy. Jack went up to get them both a drink. She eyed it with suspicion but then she picked it up and drank half of it down, and it hit her like a bomb, a big soft lovely explosion of warmth in the pit of her stomach. She blinked at Jack, who only smiled, knowing the feeling.
“How would you like to be in here some night,” he said slowly, “with Marcie beside you? And sit alone together at that little table over there? And tell her you love her?” Laura took another gulp of the drink and almost finished it. “And hear her say the same thing?”
Laura put the glass down with trembling hands. “Oh, Jack, you bastard,” she said, her insides aflame. “Cut it out.”
“You want it so badly,” he said, “that it’s tearing your guts out. And it’s never going to happen. So open your eyes. Look around. There are some beautiful women here tonight. There’s one as pretty as Marcie.” He squinted over her shoulder. Laura turned around indignantly to look, and saw a charming face framed in short brown curls smiling at a table partner. She looked up at the sudden sight of Laura’s own face, pale and compelling.
“Nobody’s as pretty as Marcie,” Laura told him.
“Somebody was,” Jack said, with his peculiar intuition taking him straight to the point.
“What do you mean?” Laura said defensively, and finished her drink.
“Whenever you know damn well what I mean,” he said with a smile, “you ask ‘what do I mean.’ As if I were nuts. Well, I’m not. Give me your glass.” He took it and got up. “Never thought you’d beat me to the bottom, Mother.” He peered into it with one eye and then left to get it refilled.
Laura leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes. After all, what did it matter if she were here? She felt wonderful. She had put in a terrific day’s work, she had a right to a little fling. Her body glowed through its whole length. Marcie loomed in her mind like a lovely apparition, not quite real.
I’ll have her someday, Laura thought. No matter what he says.
She looked around her, half consciously searching for someone. But the girl in the black pants wasn’t there. The crowd was much the same as before, but thinner. The artist was walking around with his sketch pad, stopping to talk to tablesful of friends. The bar was crowded, more than the tables.
Jack came back, put a fresh glass in front of her, and sat down. “Now. What was her name?” he said.
Laura opened her eyes slowly. “Who?”
“Number one.”
She wrinkled her nose in some disgust. “Jack, she wasn’t a number. Or an animal. Or part of a collection.”
“What was she?”
“She was a wonderful girl.”
“Beautiful like Marcie?”
“No. Beautiful—but not like Marcie. They have some features in common. But Beth was taller. She was quite boyish.” She felt a little embarrassed suddenly, putting it this way. “Marcie’s very feminine.”
“What are you?”
Laura stared at him over the rim of her glass. “What am I?” she repeated, confusedly. “Do I have to be something? I don’t know.”
“You’ll find out fast enough,” he said. “Beth probably taught you a lot. The one who brings you out always does.”
“Yes, she did,” she said dreamily. Beth had loosened her up wonderfully when they were together. She had taken her by the hand and led her to herself. She had also abandoned her there. But Laura couldn’t hold anything against her. That had been a sacred love and always would be in her memory, like all loves that are broken off in full passion. If they had been together till it had worn off a little, Laura might have left her without any desperate regrets and loneliness. She might have been able to see Beth as a whole person, not as an ideal. But it hadn’t happened that way, and Beth still looked like a goddess to her.
Now, in a new world, with new people, she wasn’t sure what she was. With Marcie she felt aggressive and violent. Here, in The Cellar, with so many eyes on her, she felt timid.
Jack grinned at her. “You’re a boy,” he said. “With Marcie, anyway. My friend won’t like that.”
Laura put her glass down. “I’m a girl,” she said. “Don’t look at me that way.”
Jack put his head back and laughed. “Correction,” he said. “You’re a girl. Why don’t you move down here where you don’t have to be either?”
“Everybody has to be one or the other.”
“You’re too literal, Laura. Cut off your hair. Wear those pants you look so nice in. Get some desert boots, a car coat and some men’s shirts, and you’re in business.”
“Jack,” she said, “You are positively revolting.”
“That’s the uniform,” he said. “Can’t join the club without it.”
“I don’t want to join.”
“Yes you do. You feel good in pants. You swagger.”
“I do not!” But she was laughing at him. At herself.
“Shhh!” he said softly. “Or they’ll cut you off. Here comes dinner.”
The presence of the waitress made it impossible to talk. She set a delectable dinner in front of Laura. But somehow, after the first few bites, it lost its appeal. She sat gazing at the plate, wondering where her enormous appetite had gone, pushing a mushroom dreamily from one side to the other. Jack smiled, watching her. He leaned over the table on his elbows and picked up her knife.
“Laura,” he said, pointing at her mushroom. Then he pushed another one slowly across the plate from the other side. “Marcie,” he said, nodding at it. The two mushrooms made contact south of the fried potatoes, and Laura felt crazy, watching it. It made her smile; she thought it was ridiculous. It made her want to laugh, and it brought a warm, unwanted, urgent feeling up in her legs at the same time. She pushed “Laura” behind the steak.
“Ah,” said Jack. “Laura’s afraid of Marcie. But Marcie’s not afraid of anything. Marcie’s a little heller. Here she comes.” And he pushed his mushroom after hers. Laura felt her cheeks get hot.
“I’m not going to run away,” she said, and took a swallow from her drink, letting “Laura” stay put.
“Okay, be a hero,” said Jack. “Make it easy for her. Look at that little bitch!” and he scooped “Marcie” over “Laura,” back and forth, the passage facilitated by the gravy. “She’s nuts. She’s on a kick. She wants you to make a fool of yourself.”
Laura wouldn’t watch. She finished her drink for an excuse not to look.
“But look at Laura,” Jack went on. “She can’t stand it. Where Marcie goes, Laura goes.” And he pushed “Marcie” and “Laura” around the plate together.
“Stop it, Jack. Get me another drink.”
“Here’s where Laura goes crazy.”
“Now stop it!”
He crammed the two mushrooms into the potatoes, helter skelter, one over the other. “Laura got what she wanted,” he said, after a minute, looking up at her briefly. “But see what happens to her.” And with one sudden cruel stroke he sliced “Laura” in half. Laura gave a little start. “Marcie got bored with the game,” he explained.
Laura laughed nervously. “Now cut it out and get me a drink,” she said.
He got up smiling, without a word, and went to the bar. Laura couldn’t look at the plate. She signaled the waitress, who came over with a water pitcher.
“Will you take this out please?”
“Something wrong with it?”
“I can’t eat mushrooms.”
“Well, why dincha say so!” She took the plate with an angry “Jeez!” muttered under her breath.
Jack came back to find her laughing. “Couldn’t take it, hm?” He nodded at the vacant space where the plate was, and then looked at Laura. “Want to leave?”
“No. I don’t want to go anywhere, Jack. Let’s just sit here a while and talk.”
“About Marcie?”
“About Marcie.” She laughed again.
“By Jesus, you’re a pre
tty girl,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize it till now. You ought to get soused more often.”
“I’m not soused, I’m in love.”
He gave a snort of disbelief. “Okay not-soused and in-love. You’re headed straight blind for misery. You know that.”
“My eyes are wide open. She’ll never love me.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell yourself. Believe yourself.”
“I do.”
He shook his head and laughed a little. “I see it coming and I tell you ‘Look out, she’s murder’ and you say ‘You’re absolutely right’ and then off you go to slit your own throat.” He leaned over the table seriously. “Leave her, Laura,” he pleaded, and took her by surprise with his earnestness. “It’s no good falling for a straight one. Believe me.”
“I won’t leave her,” she said stubbornly. “I know what I’m doing.”
He leaned back with a sigh. “Then at least look at somebody else,” he said. “Look at Beebo. She’s cruising you like mad.”
“Who’s Beebo? I wouldn’t look at anybody with such a ridiculous name. What’s cruising?”
“Beebo’s a friend of mine. And cruising—well—you’ll catch on.” He grinned.
Laura turned warily around. At the bar sat the handsome boyish girl she had admired the week before. She was gazing boldly, but without great interest, at Laura. When Laura turned to see her she smiled, very slightly.
Laura turned back to Jack. “Is that Beebo?” she asked. “In the black pants?”
Jack laughed at her. “You mean tan shorts?”
Laura looked again. “Well, she had on black pants last time.”
“Did she?” He grinned. “She says you had on a blue dress with a white collar. You did, too. I remember it. She liked it.”
Laura stared at him and then got indignant. “What’s she doing, remembering my clothes like that? That’s silly.”
“So are you. You noticed hers.”
“I just—oh, damn! She followed us into the john.”
“I know. She talked to me before she went after you. I told you, Mother. She likes your face.”
“She likes Marcie’s. That’s why she followed us,” she snapped.
He shook his head “no.”
“How do you know?” Laura flared, the jealousy working in her.
“I know Beebo,” he chuckled.
Laura was getting curious. She finished her drink in three big swallows, which made Jack laugh. “Is she a friend of yours?” she said.
He shrugged. “More or less. I keep running into her at parties. For years we ran into each other before we got acquainted. I like her. She’s a hellion, but I like her. She’s a cynic like me.”
“What a pity.” Laura feigned unconcern, running a wet finger around the edge of her glass. “She looks like Beth,” she said. “A little.”
Jack blew smoke through his nostrils from a freshly lighted cigarette. “That means you like her,” he said.
Laura refused to honor such nonsense with an answer. She was rather drunk now. She turned again to look at Beebo. Beebo was still gazing at her, and she winked, with that faint private smile still on her face. Laura turned quickly back to Jack. “Is she coming over?” she said, feeling slightly elated.
Jack was grinning past her at Beebo and nodding. At her words he glanced at her. “No,” he said. “She’s an uppity bitch.”
Laura was disappointed.
“Another drink?”
“One more. That’s all. What time is it?”
“Eleven-thirty.”
“No!” She tried to collect her thoughts, to right her time sense, while Jack fetched the drinks. When he came back, she said, “How many drinks have I had?”
“Jesus, Mother, what a thing to ask a man. I can’t even keep track of my own.”
“I’m lost,” she said. “I’ve lost count.”
“Shall we take off, Mother mine?” Jack said, very carefully.
Laura tried to clear her head by shaking it and pressing her eyes shut. “I guess we’d better,” she said.
“I guess we have to. It’s four o’clock. They’re closing.”
“Four!” Laura came half awake at this.
“Four o’clock,” he repeated elaborately.
“Oh, God. Oh, my head.”
“Never mind, Mother, you can stay with me tonight. I’ll try to keep my hands off you.” He laughed to himself.
Laura saw Jack looking up at somebody with a grin and heard him say, “Hi, doll. I want you to meet my mother. Mother, look alive.” He squinted at her doubtfully. “If possible,” he added.
Laura looked up and saw a startlingly handsome face gazing down at her: black hair, pure blue eyes, a slight smile that widened a little when Laura turned her face up.
“Hello,” Beebo said. “Laura.” Her smile gave emphasis to the way she said Laura’s name.
Laura put her hands to her head dizzily. “You look just like Beth,” she murmured.
At which Beebo grinned, turning to Jack. “Three aspirins and some warm tomato juice,” she said. “First thing when she gets up. She’ll live.”
Laura watched her, fascinated, half smiling.
Beebo turned back to her and returned the smile. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a dime. She flipped it in the air and then dropped it insolently in front of Laura. “Here’s a dime, sweetheart,” she said. “Call me sometime.” And with a little grin at Jack, she turned and left them.
Laura stuck her chin out indignantly. She was not too drunk to be insulted. “Well, thanks a bunch, your majesty!” she said sarcastically to Beebo’s back. She could hear Beebo laughing but she wouldn’t turn around. She was already headed for the door.
Laura let Jack drag her to his apartment, three blocks away. He took her up a few stone steps into a long dim hall, and opened the first door on the left. He steered her to his bed and pushed her till she collapsed backwards on it. She fell asleep at once. Jack pulled her shoes off and her skirt, with total unconcern for her femininity, and got her under the covers.
Laura slept like a stone, a deep almost motionless sleep that could have lasted far into the next day. But Jack got her up at seven-thirty. She had three and a half hours’ sleep, on virtually no dinner and eight or ten stiff drinks. She felt strange new pains all over. Jack was used to excesses, though he tried to ration himself to one or two a week. He took it pretty well in stride, but Laura felt awful. Her first words when Jack shook her were, “Oh, God! What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty.”
She turned over on her stomach and put her head down on the pillow. “Where’s Marcie?”
“At home. Where else?”
“What time is it? Oh, I asked you that. My head hurts.”
“Take these, Mother,” he said, handing her some aspirin and a glass of water.
“I don’t think I can swallow.”
“That’s a chance you’ll have to take. Here we go.” He popped the pills into her mouth and gave her the water. She gulped them convulsively. “That’ll see you through till—” He looked at his watch. “—about noon. After that, take three more and a No-Doz tablet. And hit the sack tonight about six. It’s Friday. You can sleep for two days.”
“I will, too.” She rolled gingerly to a sitting position, and looked at Jack with aching eyes. “You did this to me,” she said mournfully.
“Be fair, Mother. I said I’d go whenever you wanted to. I kept asking and you kept saying no.”
She stared at him, disbelieving. “Jack, you louse. You should have dragged me out, you knew I—what’s that?” There was a dime on the bed table.
Jack grinned at her. “Beebo’s calling card,” he said.
Laura remembered it in a flash, although the rest of the evening was little more than a blur. She picked it up and threw it angrily across the room. “Give it back to her for me,” she said. “All I remember about last night is that awful girl and those awful mushrooms! God!”
Jack went out of the
room laughing.
Chapter Eight
The first thing Laura did when she got to work was to call Marcie.
“Where were you?” Marcie demanded. “I was just going to call you. I was worried sick.”
“You were?” She felt a momentary relief from her headache.
“Are you all right?”
“I think so. It got so late. We were talking. I finally spent the night—” It suddenly occurred to her, as if a brick had dropped on her tender head, that she had spent the night in a man’s apartment. For the first time in her life. Never mind that it was an innocent stay, or a short one. Or that the man had no designs on her. It was the idea of the thing.
“I spent the night with Jack,” she blurted. Marcie was silent, having suspected as much, but not sure what to say. And it was then Laura realized that she had said the best possible thing. Even if it hadn’t happened it would have been the best thing to say. Marcie didn’t know either of them was gay. She only knew they were man and girl and they had spent a night together. What could sound more normal, more straight? Immoral, maybe, slightly immoral. But straight.
Marcie laughed finally.
“Is it funny?” Laura said.
“I’m sorry,” Marcie said through her giggles. “I never dreamed you and Jack would hit it off like this. He must really like you, Laur.” She sobered suddenly. “He never took much to the other girls we fixed him up with.”
Laura squirmed a little.
“But he talked you up for half an hour before you got home last night. He thinks you’re very pretty.”
Laura felt grateful to him. He must have done it to enhance her in Marcie’s eyes, even if he did disapprove of her infatuation.
“Did he say that?” she said, pleased.
“He did. And he’s right.”
Laura was taken aback. Then she said quickly, “You’re both crazy.”
“No, you are. We’re right. You never looked at yourself, you silly girl. You don’t know what you look like.”
“Do you?” It sounded stupid, but it came out in spite of her.
“Sure. I’ve looked at you when you weren’t noticing.”
When could that have been?
“I think you have a fascinating face.”
