Chapter V: Part 5

“I’ll try,” Laura murmured, frowning in the dark. She lay in bed daydreaming for hours, seeing the first signs in Marcie of an influence she had been unaware of. Where would it lead? What doors would it open? Would it lead them both to bitterness? Or mutual ecstasy?

* * * * *

In the morning Laura was very matter-of-fact. She almost ignored Marcie. She made her work for her attention and it delighted her that Marcie was willing to work for it. Instinctively Laura knew she had to play hard to get, and she liked to play that way for once.

At breakfast, after a few false starts, Marcie blurted, “I’ll be late tonight.” She put her paper down and faced Laura.

Laura looked up slowly. “Date with Burr?” she said.

“No. Mr. Marquardt is having some out-of-town guests for dinner downtown. He asked some of us to go. I told him I would.”

“Have fun,” Laura said, and looked back at the front page.

“Ha! Some drunken idiot of a reporter’ll probably pester me to death.”

“A reporter?” Laura looked up again suddenly.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Marcie saw Laura’s interest and it sparked her own. “A journalist, or something. It’s a convention—professional fraternity, I guess.”

“What fraternity? What’s it called?”

“Ummm.” Marcie bit her lip and concentrated. “It’s Greek. Let’s see. Something the matter?”

“No. Is it Chi Delta—”

“—Sigma. That’s it, I remember. How did you know? Now something _is_ the matter, Laura!”

Laura had gone very pale. She swallowed convulsively. “I just remembered, I was supposed to run an errand for Dr. Hollingsworth. I’d better get going.” She got up suddenly and went into the bedroom for her jacket.

Marcie stood up and followed her. “You didn’t finish your breakfast, Laur,” she said, concerned, a line of worry in her forehead.

“I’m not hungry. I’ll see you tonight,” she said, and turned quickly to almost run out.

Marcie came after her, bewildered. “Laura, you don’t make sense,” she said. “What’s the matter with you?”

But Laura was running down the stairs to the elevator. Marcie turned and went back into the kitchen and drank her coffee standing, gazing perplexed at Laura’s plate.

Chapter Ten

Merrill Landon. _Merrill Landon. My father. My father is coming to New York. He never misses these damn things, he goes every year. Oh, God, help me._ Laura rode down to work on the subway, her fists clenched in her lap, her face set like a mask to cover the torment inside.

_He doesn’t know I’m here, that’s one good thing. He’ll never find me, either. How long will he be here? It must be in the papers. I missed it at breakfast._

She picked up the _Times_ on the corner where she left the subway. She took it up to the office with her, impatient to look at it. Sarah was already there.

“Hi, gorgeous,” she said.

Laura looked up, startled. “Hi,” she said. “Who’s gorgeous?”

“You are. You must be, you’ve got a man.”

Laura stared at her blankly, her mind full of the threat of her father’s presence in the city. Finally it came to her. “Oh, you mean Jack,” she said.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Oh, yes. Yes.” _Now what the hell does she mean? Why would I—Oh! I promised her a date._ Laura felt suddenly sunk. All those reports to do that should have been done before. Lies to tell, at nine in the morning. Merrill Landon somewhere in New York. It was too much. The day stretched away in front of her like an endless obstacle course.

“What’d he say?” Sarah said eagerly.

“He’s working on it. Maybe this weekend.”

“Gee, that sounds great.”

Laura had to look at the paper; she _had_ to. It gnawed at her, as she sat at her desk, sneaking through it between reports and unable to find anything. Her father’s name ran through her mind like a robot tune from a TV commercial.

It was a rushed day. Sarah didn’t take a break on days when they were behind, but nothing could have stopped Laura. She got up and almost ran to the washroom at eleven, the paper in hand. She felt herself trembling, going over the pages again and again, until she suddenly found it at the bottom of page 12. “Chi Delta Sigma, national journalism fraternity, opens its convention today at the McAlton Hotel. The convention will last until next Saturday, at which time ...” etc. There was an agenda listed, a few names—the national officers. There it was—Merrill Landon, corresponding secretary. Laura shut her eyes and groaned a little.

The day dragged. She typed until the small round keys seemed to weigh a pound apiece under her fingers, and still the reports piled up.

Laura sat hunched over her machine for a long time after the others had left for the day. She meant to work, but she never did any. She wanted to cry and she couldn’t. She wanted to move, to talk to someone, to explode, and she just sat there until the cramps in her back made her groan. She got up stiffly and put her jacket on and stood for a moment, aimless and lost. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. Marcie wouldn’t be home yet.

She rummaged idly in her pockets, pulling out some change and a shopping list. The list was from the week before and she started to drop it in the wastebasket, when she noticed something on the other side. A phone number—Watkins 9-1313. And the initials B. B. Laura crumpled it in her hand, seized with an uncontrollably pleasant shudder. Then she threw it indignantly into the wastebasket, wondering when Beebo had scribbled it out. And then she leaned over slowly and took it out of the wastebasket and shoved it furtively back into her pocket, without looking at it. She sat down abruptly in her chair and put her head down on her arms and wept.

“Father ...” she whispered. “Why did we have to hate each other? We’re all we have ... Father ...”

She got up fifteen minutes later, turned out the lights, and stole out, quiet as a thief.

* * * * *

She walked over to the McAlton Hotel. She had no idea what she expected to find or to do. But she went into the big softly carpeted lobby and walked, almost as if she were sleep walking, toward the desk. It was crowded and noisy, with that ineffable air of excitement that big hotels seem to generate.

Laura felt gooseflesh start up all over her. Many of these people must be conventioneers. If Merrill Landon didn’t see her one of his Chicago friends might, and the secret would be out. He would run her down if it took the whole New York City police force.

She leaned apprehensively on the marble topped counter of the desk, waiting until a clerk could serve her. He came up after a couple of minutes, looking enormously efficient and busy. “May I help you, Miss?” he demanded.

“Is a Mr. Merrill Landon staying here?” she asked.

“Just a minute, please.” He disappeared briefly and Laura looked around the lobby, her hand partially covering her face.

_He might see me. I must be out of my mind to come here._ But she waited none-the-less.

“He’s in 1402,” the clerk said loudly in her ear.

Laura jumped.

“Shall I call him?” asked the clerk.

“Yes, please.” She had no idea why she was doing this. She felt as if she were two people, one acting, the other watching; one compelled to act, the other shocked by the action.

“Who wants to see him, please?”

“His daughter.” She almost whispered it, and he made her repeat it. Then he buzzed off. She watched him, perhaps ten feet from her but impossible to hear, as he lifted the receiver, gave the number, waited. Then his face lighted into a business-type smile, and she saw his lips form the words, “Mr. Landon?” He went on, and she watched him, feeling almost sick with anticipation.

The clerk came back after a brief conversation. “Well, Miss—” he began, eyeing her closely.

“What did he say?” Laura looked at him with her stark blue eyes. Her chin trembled.

“He says he has no daughter, Miss,” the clerk drawled. He grinned. “Tough luck. Want to try someone else?”

Laura’s mouth dropped open. Her face twitched. She couldn’t answer him. She turned and ran, bumping into people, stumbling, until she found a phone booth empty in a row of booths along a far wall and she took refuge there. She buried her face in her hands and wept. “Merrill Landon, go to hell, go to hell,” she said fiercely, under her breath. “I hate you. Oh, God, how I hate you!” And she sobbed until somebody rapped on the door of the booth. She wiped her eyes hastily, knowing they were red and swollen, and turned to glare at the impatient rapper. He glared back.

Defiantly she put a dime in the phone and lifted the receiver. She called Jack.

A voice answered almost at once. A strange masculine voice. “Hello?” it said.

“Jack?” Her voice trembled.

“Just a minute.” He called, “Jack, it’s for you.”

A few seconds later Jack answered.

“Jack, it’s Laura.”

“Are you all right?”

“I have absolutely nothing to say,” she said. “I’m only calling because—because I’m in a phone booth and some fool wants to use the phone. He’s rapping on the door.”

“Mother,” he said slowly, “you have a screw loose. Now listen carefully and do what I tell you. Just go along quietly and don’t tell them anything. I’ll send my analyst over right away.”

“My father’s in town.” Her breath caught while she spoke.

“Oh! No wonder. Did you tell him to go to hell?”

“The desk clerk called his room and said his daughter wanted to see him.” She stopped to swallow the fury in her throat.

“And he told _you_ to go to hell?”

“He said, ‘he had no daughter.’” Her voice trembled with the immensity of it.

Jack, for once, was momentarily speechless. Finally he said, “He is a bastard, Laura. By God, he is. Don’t mess with him. Come on over, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Thanks, Jack.” She broke into tears again.

“Don’t cry, Laura. Just think what satisfaction that would give the old s.o.b.”

“You’re right!” she said sharply, pulling herself up. “I won’t. I’ll be right over.”

* * * * *

Jack was waiting for her on the front stoop, sitting on one of the cement railings and looking up at what few stars were available between the roofs. Without a word he got up, slipped an arm around her, and turned her away from his apartment. They walked over to a small bar she hadn’t seen before called Mac’s Alley, without speaking to each other.

The bar was in a basement and you walked down a flight of twisting stairs to reach it. There were booths around the walls, tables and a juke box in the middle, and a long bar ran across the back. Laura walked halfway towards the bar with Jack before she realized that there were no other women in the place. She turned to Jack with anxiety.

“Do they want me in here?” she asked.

He smiled. “They’re not going to give you a rush, Mother. I’ll stake my life on it.”

“I didn’t think they liked women in a place like this.”

Jack guided her to a barstool. “Oh, they’re friendly enough. They know you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t gay. They figure, you leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone.”

Laura looked around her uncomfortably. “I can’t help thinking I embarrass them.”

“Maybe they embarrass you. Would you rather go over to The Cellar?”

“No ... I don’t know.”

“You don’t want to run into Beebo. She’s usually out making the rounds about now. That’s why I brought you here.”

Laura smiled gratefully at him. “Thanks,” she said. “I should have seen it myself.” But she found herself so shaken by the sudden idea of Beebo loose among scores of desirable girls that she couldn’t concentrate for a minute.

Jack ordered them a drink. Then he turned to her, pushing his glasses back into place on his nose. They tended to slide down to the halfway mark. “Well?” he said, and paused. “Let’s tear Papa Landon apart.”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Laura said.

“Then why am I buying you a drink?”

She turned to snap at him and then saw he was kidding her. “Sorry, Jack,” she said. Looking at him brought back her faith in him, and she smiled a little. “I always knew he was a hard man,” she said softly, “but I never dreamed he’d go as far as this. I always thought, in spite of everything, in spite of all the bitterness and misery we’ve had together, that he must love me a little. After all, I’m all he has left ... of my mother, my brother ... his family. I was five when it happened, and I wish to God I could remember what he was like before. But I can’t. I like to pretend he was generous and gentle and kind. And I can remember sitting on his shoulders when we went to a Fourth of July parade. It was that same summer, before our vacation. I remember he hoisted me up and bought me a balloon and held me while the parade went by so I could see. Afterwards he walked around and talked to his friends, and he didn’t make me get down. I felt like a queen on a throne. It’s been my one good memory of him, to this day. But Mother was with us. Maybe he did it for her sake.

“I remember her better than him from those years. Sometimes I miss her terribly. She was very loving.”

“Maybe,” said Jack, “your father wouldn’t hate you so now if he hadn’t loved you so much before.”

“You give him too much credit,” she said. “After what he did to me tonight, I’ll never speak to him again. I’d kill him if I could. But I wouldn’t go near him, even for that. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my face. He has no daughter, has he? All right, God damn him, I have no father! Two can play at that game.”

“Don’t hate me for saying it,” Jack said, “but I think you still love him. I think you’ll see him again.”

She turned on him. “You’re crazy!” she said. “You don’t know anything! What makes you think such a thing?”

He shrugged. “Only that it matters so terribly to you.”

Laura finished her drink and placed the glass carefully on the bar, trying to sort out her thoughts. “If I do see him again,” she said, “it’ll be when I can tell him I’m a success. Financially. Socially. Every way. I want to tell him, ‘I have a good job, nice friends. I can get along fine in this world without you, and I’ll never need you again.’ And you know what else I’d like to say to him, Jack?”

“Yeah.” He lit a cigarette. “‘Father, I’m queer. And it’s all your fault. Shove that up your rear and live with it!’ Yeah, I know. Shock the hell out of him. I tried that on—on a close relative once.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t really know. When his face went blue I took off. I haven’t been home since. I can’t go home to find out, as a matter of fact. I’m—shall we say—not welcome.” He said this with slow sarcasm.

“Jack, I’m sorry,” she said gently, and looked at him sympathetically. It occurred to her now, when she found his own troubles paralleled her own, that he was very human and not a slick witty party boy without real feelings. He was lonely. _Everybody’s lonely_, she thought. _Marcie for a perfect mate. Beebo for a perfect girl. Jack for an affectionate boy. Me ... Poor Sarah ..._

That recalled Sarah to her mind. “Jack, I have a friend,” she said.

“Congratulations.”

“—named Sarah.”

“Does Beebo know?”

“And she wants a date.”

“With a girl?”

“—With a boy. She’s straight.”

“What a shame.”

“Can you help me out?”

“I can help _you_, Mother, but can I help Sarah?”

“You must know somebody. How about that boy who answered your phone tonight? Could he take her out?”

“If he does I’ll break his head for him,” he said and laughed softly, knocking his cigarette ashes into a scorched aluminum tray in front of him.

“Who is he, Jack?” she asked.

“A friend. No, a lover. For the moment, anyway.”

Laura put her hand on his arm. “Don’t be so cynical,” she said.

“These things never last.” He shook his head. “Better to face it at the beginning.”

“He must see something worthy in you or he never would have come to you in the first place.” She spoke awkwardly, but with sympathy.

“He sees dollar bills.” Jack smiled.

“Jack! Don’t be so hard on yourself. It hurts me.” She didn’t like to see him stick the pins in himself. It was all right when he did it to her, because it was in fun. She didn’t mind, she understood his need. But when he hurt himself he hurt in dead earnest.

“Besides, you aren’t rich,” Laura said. “If that’s all he wanted, he’d find somebody else.”

“I have a little put away,” he said. “I save it up in between affairs. When somebody irresistible comes along, I spend it like a fool. Makes a wonderful impression the first couple of weeks. Then I’m flat broke and all alone again. My chronic condition.”

It was a pathetic revelation. Laura was taken aback by it. “You shouldn’t do it, Jack,” she said.

“I can’t help it. I’ll hang on to him with anything. Anything I’ve got. Even dollar bills.”

“If all he wants is your money he’s not _worth_ your money! Or your time, or your friendship.”

“Laura, this isn’t friendship. This is another subject entirely. Honest to God.” Laura blushed. “A man can’t buy a friend. But there’s always a little love for sale.”

“Not real love.”

He shrugged. “I don’t ask for the moon.”

Laura finished her drink. “What’s his name?” she said.

“Terry.”

“Terry what?”

“Just Terry.”

“You don’t trust me.” She said it quietly, but she was hurt.

“Terry Fleming.” He spoke the name gently and Laura saw a look on his face that changed him entirely. She studied him, surprised.

“Jack, I think you’re in love.” Once said, it sounded gauche and unfair.

But he only said, “I think so, too.”

Laura was lost. What do you do on the spot like this? “I don’t know whether to give you my congratulations or my sympathy,” she said seriously.

Jack laughed. “Both, Mother. That’s a beautiful sentiment, whatever it is. Thanks.”

He seemed unable to talk about it and Laura finally returned to Sarah. “Is there somebody in the office you could get for Sarah?” she asked. She described her to him. “She’s not pretty, but she’s just a swell girl.”

“I know, there are a million of ’em,” he sighed. “I wish to God I were straight. I’d marry her, poor kid.” Laura stared at him, then smiled. “I guess I can arrange something,” he said. “Do we have to double with them?”

“She expects it. I hate to ask.”

“Okay, okay. It won’t kill me. But dinner only. And I’ll be in a hurry.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

“I’d better find a tame one for her,” he mused and then laughed a little. “Whatever that means. Jesus, the poor girl has probably dreamed all her life of a good thorough raping. But I can’t assume the responsibility. Maybe Jensen can go. I’ll call you in the morning on it.”

“Thanks. She’d be so happy.” Laura finished a second drink. Jack was two up on her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, wanting to tell him about the change that had come over Marcie but afraid of his sarcasm. Finally she said, in the characteristic blunt way that disguised her uncertainty, “Jack, Marcie is different. Something’s happening to her. I—I’m scared.” She could go no further. She looked away from him.

Jack chuckled. “Well, what’s she doing, filching undies from Macy’s basement?”

“She doesn’t want to see Burr any more.”

Jack frowned slightly. “She’s finally coming to her senses? That was a screwy match to begin with. Burr wants to worship one gal. Marcie wants to raise a little hell with every other man she sees.”

“She wants to be like me. That’s what she said. She wants to read books. Spend more time at home. She wants me to help her.”

“Help her what?”

Laura frowned. “I don’t know what. She says she’s sick of herself and she wants to be a better person.”

Jack bit his underlip reflectively. “I know what you’re thinking. And you’re wrong. She’s not turning gay.”

“I didn’t say that.” Laura turned to him indignantly.

“You don’t have to. You’re thinking it so hard I can hear the wheels going around in your head.” He looked at her. “Once and for all, Laura, she’s _not gay_. Maybe she’s got room in her somewhere for a little curiosity. Maybe living with you really has made her dissatisfied with herself. If so, so much the better. But she’s not mooning for you every night.”

“She acted so funny, Jack. Like—like she enjoyed having me near her. Like she wanted me to touch her. I mean, comfort her. You know.”

“The more you want her to enjoy it, the more it’ll seem like she does.”

“I’m not making up stories,” Laura said with some heat.

“No, Mother, I know. I believe you. I’m just telling you a fact. I’ve known Marcie for a couple of years. From the time she and Burr started dating right through their divorce. She’s capable of—let’s say—wondering. Like the night she wanted to touch tongues.” Laura shivered involuntarily. “Once in a while she gets a kick out of a fling in the Village. Maybe she just wants to see how far you’ll go. Maybe she’s egging you on, Laura. Did you ever think of that? Just to see what the hell you’ll do?”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Laura said positively, somewhat shocked. “Never.”

Jack gave a little snort. “Okay, maybe not. But she’s not about to fall for you. Not now or ever.”

“She meant it when she talked to me last night. She was sincere.”

“Sure she meant it. She’s on a book kick. She’s obviously very impressed with you. It shows when she talks about you. Temporarily, you’re somebody to imitate, somebody to admire.”

“Temporarily?”

“Don’t fall into a trap.” He put a hand on her knee.

“It’s no trap! She’s too innocent to set me a trap.”

“Innocent?” He laughed. “Don’t count on it. Besides, you’re too innocent to avoid one. Right now you have a lot to learn.”

Laura glared at him. “I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not. You’re very bright, honey. You’re just uninformed. If you want to learn, go scout up Beebo and take the Grand Tour of the Village.”

“I could no more fall for her than I could fall for—for—”

“For me?” He laughed.

She smiled suddenly and laughed with him. “Oh,” she said with a wave of her hand, “You’re taken.”

“Mother, that’s a beautiful one-line definition of my dilemma. My analyst could use you.”

“Are you being analyzed?” she asked.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Answer me!”

“I did. Let’s go. I hate to keep people waiting.”

“Who’s waiting?”

“My friend, Mr. Fleming.”

She slipped off the barstool, pulling her jacket on. “I’d like to meet him.”

“If it lasts another couple of weeks, I guess it’d be safe.” He took her arm and steered her through the crowd. They stared at her but it didn’t disconcert her so much now that she had had a drink or two.

“Where’s your adoring roommate tonight?” Jack said as they went up the stairs.

“Having dinner downtown.”

“Why don’t you go over to The Cellar? Let Beebo tell you some fairy stories. She’s got a million of ’em.”

“I couldn’t take Beebo tonight.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll walk you to the subway.”

“No, don’t bother. I know you want to get home. Thanks a lot, Jack. I don’t know why you’re so good to me.”

“My interest is purely academic. Your innocence amazes me.”

“You make me feel like a hayseed,” she said.

He laughed. “Okay, Hayseed. I’ll call you in the morning on what’s-her-name.”

“Sarah.”

“Sarah. See you.” And he turned and walked off.

* * * * *

Laura walked toward the subway but she knew she wasn’t going home. She knew she would walk right past it and she did. She walked for four blocks, seething with a renewed fury at Merrill Landon. Her hot hand was cramped around the slip of paper with Beebo’s number on it, in the pocket of her jacket....

_I’ll pay her back. I’ll just give her the money I owe her, have one drink, and go home._ She looked at her watch—a little past nine. For a moment she stood at the head of the stairs looking down at the double doors that opened into The Cellar, feeling her heart bound nervously. She never seemed able to walk into this place confidently. There was always a moment of fear and reluctance. But the need to be with her own kind quickly overpowered it.

She walked in, heading for the bar, ignoring the curious stares that greeted her. She stood at the end of the bar and when the bartender came up he recognized her.

“Hi,” he said. “What’ll it be?”

“Whisky and water, please,” she said. She looked around the place, up and down the bar, around the tables, but she didn’t see Beebo. She drank half her drink, and then walked back to the ladies’ room, looking into the rear of The Cellar, but Beebo wasn’t there. In extreme irritation she walked back to the bar, wondering whether to crush her pride and ask the bartender where Beebo was, or let it go. She finished her drink and decided if she had come this far she might as well go the whole way.

“Where’s Beebo tonight?” she asked the bartender the next time he got near. “I owe her some money,” she explained compulsively. He smiled.

“Oh, she’s been and gone already,” he said. “She’s probably over at The Colophon. She likes it over there. No boys.” He grinned.

“Thanks,” said Laura, slipping off her seat at the bar and heading for the door. She was embarrassed enough without asking him where The Colophon was. She didn’t want to advertise her “innocence.”

Near the door a slim pretty girl, who had kept an eye on her at the bar, approached her. The girl wore her hair in a short soft curly cut. She was blonde and feminine. Laura let herself be approached simply by returning the girl’s gaze as she came near her. She stopped when the girl spoke.

“Excuse me,” the girl said. “We noticed you were all alone. My friends and me. Like to have a drink with us?” She nodded toward a table where three other girls were sitting, watching them. One of them, sitting alone on one side of the table, stared coldly at Laura.

Laura was flattered. But the feelings in her were too personal, too rough, to dissipate with strangers. “Thanks,” she said. “I’d like to, but I’m looking for somebody. I’m in a hurry.”

“Who’re you looking for? Maybe we can help you out,” said the girl, stopping Laura as she started to move away.

Laura realized the girl was interested in her, and it made her turn back once more. “Oh,” she said with a little shrug, “you wouldn’t know her.”

“Somebody might. We’re over here a lot. What’s her name?”

Laura was dead certain they’d know Beebo, who came over here all the time. The last thing she wanted was to have everybody run up and tell Beebo that Laura had been looking for her. The bartender would no doubt tell her. That was bad enough.

“What’s her name?” the girl prompted, and then smiled. “Don’t want to tell?”

Laura blushed and backed away from her. “I just owe her some money. I thought she’d be down here tonight.”

“Who?” the girl goaded her, with a pretty smile.

“Beebo Brinker.” Laura didn’t mean to say it. Yet saying it was better than trying to hide it and getting laughed at. They could always ask the bartender who she was looking for after she left, and she would look even worse. They would take her stammering reluctance for infatuation. She said the name as casually as she could.

“Oh, Beebo!” The girl laughed. “She left half an hour ago. She’s over at the Colophon. She said this place was dead tonight. I guess if she’d known you were coming she would have waited—hm?” She smiled.

“I guess,” said Laura briefly. She stared at the girl. It occurred to her that she saw a slight resemblance to Beth in her face. Then she turned and walked out.

The slim girl walked back to her table. Her partner said peevishly, “Maybe that’ll teach you you’re not irresistible.”

“Oh, shut up,” the slim girl said quietly. “She’s Beebo Brinker’s girl.”

“Beebo’s girl, hell. Beebo’s got a dozen girls. She can really pick ’em though, I’ll say that much. I should get one like that.” And she made a face at the slim one by her side.

Chapter Eleven

Laura went home. She arrived before ten, but Marcie wasn’t back yet. Laura put a book she had been reading on Marcie’s bed and climbed into her own bed. She tried to read herself, but she couldn’t. An hour went by, and no Marcie. Nervously, Laura shut her book and dropped it to the floor. She got up and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, and remembered she had already done it.

Then she went to the phone. She didn’t know what was coming over her. She only felt a deep will-defying unhappiness. She pulled out the phone book and looked up the number of the McAlton Hotel. She sat for a moment with the book open in her lap, unable to move. Then she reached slowly for the phone.

Suddenly it rang. Laura screamed, a small quick cry of extreme surprise. Her heart had taken a tremendous leap at the piercing bell sound in that still apartment. She let it ring twice more while she caught her breath. _It must be Marcie_, she thought. _Maybe she’s in trouble._ She lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello, Bo-peep.”

Laura’s heart gave another bound. She felt the sweat break out. “Beebo?” she said faintly.

“How are you, sweetheart? I hear you were looking for me tonight.”

“You didn’t waste any time.” Her voice was sharp.

“I hate to keep a lady waiting. What’s on your mind?”

“I just dropped in for a drink. I was down there in the Village to see Jack and I just wanted to pay you back.” She spoke in fits and starts.

“You don’t owe me a thing, Bo-peep. Not a thing.”

“A drink.” Laura hated to owe anybody anything. She was meticulous about her debts, however small the sum.

“You’re right.” Laura could feel her smile. “I nearly forgot. Okay lover, you owe me one drink.”

“Beebo, I can’t talk now, really.”

“You’re doing fine. What’s the matter, Marcie breathing down your neck?”

“It’s not that.”

“You don’t have to say you love me, you know. Just say you’ll meet me tomorrow night. About eight.”

“No.”

“Don’t be late, doll. I’ll call Marcie and ask her where the hell you are.”

“You wouldn’t! You won’t! Damn you, Beebo!”

“I would and I will.” She laughed. “Eight on the dot.”

“I won’t be there.”

“Want to bet?”

Laura hung up on her. She was trembling. Angrily she slammed the heavy phone back into place, switched out the bedroom light, and got into bed.

The black night settled around her but it brought more restless tossing than repose. The hours slipped by. No Marcie. No sleep. Only an endless bitter reviewing of what her father had done to her; the look on the clerk’s face when he gave her the message; the impotent fury and shame that besieged her. At last she turned the light back on and began to pace the room. The electric clock on Marcie’s dresser said two-thirty. Laura wondered whether to call Burr. Or Jack. She was getting afraid for Marcie. But nobody knew how to reach her. There was nothing to do but wait.

It was a few minutes past three when Marcie came in. Laura had left the living room light on for her and she heard her come in laughing and heard a male voice answer her. Not Burr’s voice. Somebody else. A deep mature voice. Laura peeked out through the crack in the kitchen door but couldn’t see him. Marcie was giggling, as if she were tight, and pushing him away. Laura could see her now and then.

Marcie said, “I’ll call my roommate. She’ll make you go home.”

“I can’t go home tonight. I live in Chicago.”

“That’s where she’s from!”

“Who?”

“My roommate.”

“To hell with her. Come here, Baby.”

“No!” High as she was, she nevertheless sounded a little scared. She had stopped laughing.

Laura threw a coat hastily over her pajamas and went into the living room. A large man, partly bald and handsome in a heavy featured way, had Marcie wrapped in a bear hug and was trying to drag her to the couch.

“All right,” said Laura sharply. “Get out.”

She startled them both so much that they froze where they were. The man stared at her. He was drunk, and his balance wasn’t the best. Laura, pale and silver blond, her long hair falling down her shoulders, her face strange and sensitive and imperious, looked like an apparition to him. Without taking his eyes off her he asked Marcie, “Who the hell is _that_?”

“My roommate.” Marcie took advantage of his interest to slip free. Laura took her arm firmly and sent her through the kitchen door. Then she turned back to the man.

“All right, you,” she said as if he were a servant. “Out.”

The impudence of it amused him and angered him at the same time. “You can’t talk to me like that,” he said.

She advanced on him briskly, pulling the door open sharply and facing him. “It’s my home and I’ll speak as I please,” she said. She looked as cold and unapproachable as she was hot and angry. He stared at her, not sure how to take her, and then came toward her to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Marcie’s no good,” he said confidentially. “Let’s you and me—”

Laura swept his hand off her shoulder. “Get out of here or I’ll call the police,” she said.

He got mad. “Jesus, what a chilly little bitch you are!” he growled.

“Get out,” Laura said, so cold, so controlled, that she froze him into submission. She shut the door after him, resisting the urge to slam it. _Dear God_, she thought intensely. _If I could do that to my father. Just once._

“Laura? It was just a party, Laur,” Marcie said. “We went out after dinner. Just for kicks. He got sort of out of hand. Thanks, Laur, I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“Come on to bed.” Laura turned and walked toward her and Marcie preceded her into the bedroom. It occurred to her then that she was behaving with Marcie much as Beth used to behave with her. She was asserting herself, taking the lead. She liked it; with Marcie, anyway. She felt her influence and reveled in it. A feeling of tremendous strength swept through her when the man turned and left, like the other poor demented little fellow who pestered her on the subway. Only he was such a weakling he hardly counted. She had a mental image of herself treating Merrill Landon that way, and it worked a strange exaltation in her. She smiled.

Marcie grinned at her crookedly. “I thought you’d be sore,” she said.

“No. No, of course not. Why should I be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I felt kind of guilty going out with somebody besides Burr. But I had fun. Up to the end, anyway. I wouldn’t have minded that if he hadn’t slobbered so much.” She giggled and Laura ignored what she said. They were standing less than a foot from each other and suddenly Laura reached for her and gave her a little hug. “I’m not mad. I’m just glad you’re all right,” she said.

Marcie submitted, but she seemed embarrassed, and Laura quickly released her. With the release came a letdown, a loss of strength and confidence. She slipped quietly into bed and spent the hours till dawn wrestling with the bedclothes.

* * * * *

Laura didn’t feel much brighter than Marcie in the morning. She got to work on time, but all she wanted to do was sleep. _I’ve got to catch up. I’ve got to catch up_, she kept telling herself. _Less than three weeks and Jean’ll be back. And I haven’t done a really good day’s work since she left. Even if they like me, they can’t keep me on as a charity case._

The episode at the McAlton flamed up in her mind and gave her an angry energy through most of the morning. Sarah said nothing to her, but she kept looking at her over her typewriter, apparently afraid to bring up the date subject again. It wasn’t till Jack called that Laura even remembered it.

“All set,” he said. “Carl Jensen can go. Friday night. Dinner and a show. What’s Sarah’s number?”

Laura got it from her and made her face light up with expectation. Jack put Carl on the phone, and Laura gave her end to Sarah. It gave her a momentary lift to see somebody else stammering with pleasure and anticipation. But the day she lived through was endless, bleak with undone work, dragging will, impotent anger.

* * * * *

“You’re late,” Marcie said when Laura walked in. “I wanted you to tell me about that book Burr brought over last week.”

“Nothing to tell.” Laura felt too low to talk, to joke, even to eat. She picked listlessly at her food. After a while Marcie fell silent, too.

When the dishes were done Marcie said, “I called Burr. Broke our date tonight.” She looked expectantly at Laura, as if this were a significant revelation, and she wanted a proper reaction.

But Laura only said, “Oh?” and walked into the bedroom.

Marcie followed her. “What’s the matter, Laur?” she said. And when Laura didn’t answer, she asked, “Bad day?”

“Um-hm. Bad day.” Laura lay down on her bed, face downward, one leg hanging over the edge, her mind wholly occupied with her father: her hatred, her stifled love for him, her fear of him.

“Talk to me, Laura,” Marcie said, coming over to sit next to her.

“Not tonight.”

“Please. You said you would.”

“I can’t, Marcie. I can’t talk. I’m too tired.” She rolled over and looked at her. “Don’t look like that,” she said. “I’m—I’m worried about my job, that’s all. I’ll be all right.”

“What’s wrong with your job?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, Laura! God! Make sense!” Marcie exclaimed. But when she evoked no response she dropped it with a sigh. “Let’s go out on the roof,” she said, “and get some fresh air. It’s a beautiful night.”

“Looks like rain.”

“How would you know? You’re staring at the ceiling.”

“It did, earlier.”

“That’s what’s beautiful about it. Maybe there’ll be thunder. I love to stand naked in the rain.” She glanced down slowly at Laura.

But Laura turned back on her stomach without a word. A terrible apathy nailed her to the bed. Not even the nearness of Marcie could arouse her. They sat quietly for a few minutes, Laura lost in herself, and Marcie searching for a way to cheer her up. The phone rang.

“I’ll get it,” Marcie said, and got up. She walked across the room and picked up the receiver when Laura suddenly remembered Beebo. She sat up in a rush.

“No,” Marcie was saying, “I can’t. I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue, not any more. I’ve had enough, that’s all. I won’t talk to you, Burr. No, it’s not her fault, it’s nobody’s fault.” She looked at Laura stretched out again on her bed. “That has nothing to do with it. No. Goodnight, Burr.”

She hung up and stood for a moment motionless, watching Laura, who lay with her face turned away, apparently relaxed. Burr was getting jealous, impatient. He was ready to accuse anybody of anything to get Marcie’s favor back. Their phone conversations were little more than arguments which Marcie terminated by hanging up on him. But he wouldn’t be put off for long.

Marcie sat down on her own bed with a book, the one she meant to ask Laura about. She stared at the pages without reading, and wondered about her moody roommate.

Laura was watching her wristwatch. It was two minutes fast. She lay still, but she was alert, poised to jump. At two minutes past eight, by her watch, the phone rang again. “It’s for me,” she told Marcie, who had no intention of going for it. Laura came across the room and sat on Marcie’s bed.

“Hello?” she said into the receiver.

“Hi, lover. Where are you?”

“At home,” Laura said sarcastically. “Where else?”

“You want me to come over?”

“I’ll be down in a few minutes. I was delayed.”

“Okay, but make it fast. I’ll call again at eight-thirty. And every ten minutes after that.”

Laura hung up without a further word and turned to look at Marcie. “I met him at work,” she said, her face flushing. “He’s been pestering me. I don’t want to see him.” She didn’t know what she was going to do.

“Oh,” said Marcie. _Then why all the fuss?_ She looked curiously at Laura’s pink face. Laura turned away and began to walk up and down the room, feeling as if there were a bomb sealed in her breast, ticking, about to go off. She knew her nails were cutting her underarms, yet she hardly felt them. It was an expression of terrible tension in her. Suddenly she whipped the closet door open and pulled out her coat.

Marcie, watching her, said quickly, “Where’re you going?”

“I’ll be back early,” Laura said, heading for the door, propelled by the tight violence that was boiling inside her.

“Laura!” Marcie jumped up and followed her. “Damn it, Laur, please tell me, I’m worried about you.”

Laura turned abruptly at the door. “I’m just going out for a little while,” she said. “I won’t be late.” She tried to leave, but Marcie grabbed her arms.

“You’re not fit to go anywhere, Laura. I never saw you so upset,” Marcie said. “Except once. And you—you spent the night with Jack that time. It was my fault. Is this my fault? Am I driving you out again?”

“No, no, nothing’s your fault.” Laura covered her face with her hand for a minute and when Marcie’s arms went around her to comfort her, she wept. “Please don’t let me go,” she whispered. “I mean—God!—I mean, let me go. Let me go, Marcie.” She began to resist.

But the curiosity in Marcie had taken over. “You’re trembling all over. Come to bed, Laur. Come on, honey, you’re in no shape to go anywhere. Come tell me about it,” she coaxed, trying to guide Laura away from the door. But Laura knew what was in store for her if she obeyed. She uncovered her face to gaze for a moment at Marcie, so close to her, so tantalizing. And that terrible storm brewing inside her made her feel as if she might do any wild thing that her body demanded of her. She was afraid.

“Please,” Marcie said softly. “I’ll give you a rubdown, I’m a great masseuse. My father taught me how.” She smiled. “Please, Laur.”

“Your father?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love him very much?”

“Yes.” Marcie frowned at her.

“And he loves you?”

“Of course.”

“You’re lucky, Marcie.”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be, Laur. I’m not lucky. I’m just normal. Ordinary, I mean.”

Laura stared at her. The emotion in her simmered dangerously near the top. With a sudden swift movement, Laura kissed Marcie’s cheek lightly, leaving the wet of her tears on Marcie’s face, and then whispered, “So lucky ... so lucky ...” Then she turned and ran down the stairs to the elevator.

Marcie sat down on a living room chair and put her head in her hands and tried to think. Laura’s strange behaviour made her tickle inside. She felt close to the storm that had barely brushed past her, and yet she remained untouched. There was only the wet on her cheek as a token, and she brushed it off, inexplicably embarrassed.

* * * * *

Laura made the taxi driver take her past the McAlton. She counted to the fourteenth floor, as nearly as she could figure it, and stared at the golden blocks of windows, and wondered which ones opened into 1402. And if Merrill Landon was in his room.

She walked in quickly when she reached The Cellar, with no hesitation, and made for the bar. It was a little past eight-thirty by her watch. She hoped anxiously that Beebo hadn’t called Marcie again. She saw her at the far end of the bar talking to two very pretty young girls. They looked like teenagers. Laura was dismayed at the flash of jealousy that went through her. She walked right up to Beebo, without being seen, until she stood next to her. She took a seat beside her, watching Beebo while she talked, until one of the teens nudged her and nodded curiously at Laura. Beebo turned and broke into a smile.

“Well, Bo-peep,” she said. “Didn’t hear you come in. How are you?”

“Am I interrupting something?” Laura looked away.

Beebo laughed. “Not a thing. This is Josie. And this is Bella. Laura.” She leaned back on her stool so they could all see each other.

The younger girls made effusive greetings, the better to exhibit luscious smiles, but Laura only said, “Hello,” to them briefly. Beebo laughed again, and leaned closer to her.

“Jealous, baby?” she said.

“I owe you one drink,” Laura snapped. “What do you want?”

“Whisky and water.”

Laura nodded at the bartender.

“Is that all you came for, Bo-peep?”

“Don’t talk like that, Beebo, you make me sick.” Laura still wouldn’t look at her.

“I didn’t last time.”

“Yes you did. I hope you’ve bought your friends there one of Dutton’s cartoons. It’s the quickest way to get rid of them I know.”

“Why didn’t it work with you?” Beebo laughed softly in Laura’s ear. “You came home with me that night, if you recall.”

Laura turned angrily away from her. “What happened was in spite of the God damn juvenile cartoon, not because of it. I nearly walked out when he gave it to me.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I should have.”

The bartender came up and Laura started to order. She wanted to buy Beebo the drink and have one quick one herself, and then get out. Go home. Forget she had come. But before she could give an order, Beebo said, “Come home with me, Laura.”

“No.”

“Come on.” Beebo spun her slowly around on the barstool with one arm. Laura looked reluctantly at her for the first time since she had been noticed. Beebo smiled down at her, her short black hair and wide brow making her face more boyish even than Laura remembered. She was remarkably handsome. Laura was deeply ashamed of what she was feeling, sitting there on the barstool, letting herself be influenced by this girl she tried so hard to despise.

“Why don’t you invite Bella?” she said.

“She’s busy.”

Laura’s cheeks went hot with fury, and she shook Beebo’s arm off and started to get up, to walk past her, to get out. But Beebo caught her, laughing deep in her throat, thoroughly amused. “By Jesus, you _are_ jealous!” she said. “Sorry, baby, I had to know. Come on, let’s go.”

Laura, who was pulling against her, suddenly found herself going in the same direction as Beebo, heading for the door, all her resistance dissipated.

“Beebo, I didn’t come here for that! I came to keep you from calling Marcie. To pay you back that drink.”

“I want you to owe me that drink all the rest of your life, Bo-peep.”

Laura gasped. Then she walked hurriedly ahead of Beebo, trying to get far enough ahead to escape. In the faces around the tables she spotted the slim little blonde who had approached her before about Beebo. She was laughing and the sudden humiliation that filled Laura sent her running up the steps to the street. But Beebo was close behind her, and Laura felt her arms come around her from behind, and Beebo’s lips on her neck, and her own knees going shaky.

“No, no, oh Beebo, please! Not here, not here _please_.”

“Laura, darling.” Beebo kissed her again. “Not here is right. Come on.” She put an arm around her and led her away as she had before, and suddenly, strangely, Laura felt like running. She felt like running with all her strength until they reached Beebo’s apartment. For there was no doubt about it any longer, that was where they were going.

She wanted her arms around Beebo, their hot bare bodies pressed together as before. Almost without realizing it she began to speed up and then to run. Instantly Beebo was after her, then beside her, laughing that pagan laugh of hers. She caught a handful of Laura’s streaming hair, silver in the street light, and pulled her to a stop, whirling her around. In almost the same gesture she swept her into a dark doorway and kissed her, still laughing.

“You’re wonderful,” she said in a rough whisper. “You’re nuts. I love you.”

“No no no no no,” Laura moaned, but she returned Beebo’s kisses passionately. It was Beebo who had to quit suddenly.

“Oh, God, Laura, stop. Stop!” she said. “We can’t come in the streets. Come on, baby.” She dragged her on for another two blocks. Laura walked as if she were drunk. She had no liquor in her, but she was not sober. Not at all. She felt punchy. She half ran, half skipped, to keep up with Beebo’s stride. For the last two blocks they ran as fast as they could go. Beebo led her into Cordelia Street, and through the green door into the court.

Inside the door, standing in the little court, the urgency left Laura. She stood gasping for breath, leaning against the brick wall by the door. She was where she wanted to be, next to a fascinating woman whom she wanted to make love to. It was a huge physical need, an emotional hypnotism, that drew her to Beebo. After the wild race she had just come through Laura wanted suddenly to slow down. To tease, to tantalize. She felt like somebody entirely different. Not the tightly controlled Laura who lived anxiously with Marcie, with an uncertain job, with the spectre of a hated father. Not the nerve-tortured cautious girl her roommate knew, but a warm excited woman on the verge of the ultimate intimacy. She wanted it, she asked for it, she accepted it. She stood watching Beebo, her eyes enormous with it, her nostrils flared, her lips parted. Beebo came toward her, smiling, but Laura slipped away.

She moved, almost glided, to a circle of benches in the center of the court. Beebo followed her. And again when she reached for her, Laura slipped around the benches. Beebo reached again, and Laura faded out of her grasp. And suddenly Beebo was on fire.

“Come here, come here, baby. Pretty baby. Pretty Laura,” she chanted like a spell. But Laura eluded her, moving just a little faster each time, until they were running again, and Laura felt the laughter coming out of her, soft and light at first, but growing wilder, uncontrollable. She fled, inches from Beebo’s hands, into the dark hallway, and scrambled up the stairs, losing her footing, and nearly losing her freedom, twice. Beebo was so close behind her near the top that she could hear her breath. With a little shriek of unbearable excitement, she fell against Beebo’s door, and felt within a second Beebo’s weight come hard against her. The laughter burst out of her again until Beebo got the door open and they almost fell into the living room.

Nix was all over them instantly, but Beebo, dragging Laura by the neck and Nix by his collar, locked him in the bathroom. Then she turned on Laura. Laura, seeing her, suddenly stopped laughing. Beebo looked unearthly. Her black hair was tumbled, her cheeks were crimson, her chest heaved. But it was her eyes that almost frightened Laura.