At work on Monday Laura’s phone rang halfway through the morning. “Doctors Hollingsworth, Carstens, and Hagstrom,” she said, business-like. What a mouthful! she thought to herself.
Her listener apparently had the same idea. “Jesus, what a tongue-twister,” he said. “What happened to Smith?”
“There is no Dr. Smith,” she said, taken aback.
“Oh, don’t be so damn formal, Mother. It’s not like you. I thought I’d better apologize while I’m sober. I was drunk the last time.”
“I know. How are you, Jack?” She smiled at the thought of his face.
“Bored. But healthy. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in your face Friday night.”
“It’s okay. Forget it.”
“Just for that I’ll give you a free ticket to see my analyst. He’s a great guy. He needs you.”
“He needs me?”
“Have you got fifty bucks a week to spend on your salvation?”
“I haven’t got fifty bucks a week to spend on my groceries,” she said.
“Well, I guess he doesn’t need you as much as I thought. But I’d be glad to stake you to your first session. After that it becomes habitual. You crave it. You’ll find the money somehow.”
Laura was laughing. “Give it to Marcie, not me,” she said. “She’s the one who loves to talk.”
“You do some pretty good talking yourself.”
“I do?”
“You got lyrical in defense of oddballs Friday night.”
“I did not! Let’s not go into that again anyway,” she said. “Look, Jack, I’d like to talk to you, but—”
“I know, you’re at work. So am I. Don’t you ever get tired of work?”
“I’m on probation here. If I don’t do well they’ll fire me in June.”
“So your poor virtuous hardworking little life revolves around that office.”
“Now you’re being an ass again.”
“I’m telling you, Laura, you’d make a good soap opera. So would the rest of us. We’re all a bunch of nuts in a million nutsy little soap operas. Will Burr marry Marcie? Will Jack take the pledge? Will Laura stick it out till June? Tune in tomorrow. We won’t have the answer for you, but we’ll sell you soap like all hell. Do you know why people buy soap?”
“To wash themselves.”
“No. They like to play with themselves in the bathtub.”
Laura had to laugh at him. “You fool,” she said. “Jack, I can’t talk to you, honestly.”
“Okay. I’ll call back.”
“No, no, call tonight.”
“But I want to see you tonight.”
She was unaware that she might have impressed him on their date, and he took her by surprise. “You do?”
“Well, don’t sound so damn shocked. You’re a nice girl even if you are ten feet tall. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
“No, I can’t, Jack.”
“Okay, eight.”
“I’m busy.”
“The hell you are.”
“I am.”
“You lie! I have an instinct about these things. Eight sharp.”
All at once Laura became aware of another voice calling her. “Laura?” It was Dr. Hollingsworth. He was standing over her desk and she looked up suddenly like a scared little kid.
“Yes, sir?” she said. She hung up without even saying goodby to Jack.
Jack Mann was not a pushy type. On the contrary, he was rather shy, although it rarely showed. He went to parties and hid behind a stream of wisecracks. He did the same thing on dates. He did it with anyone and everyone. It was a sort of defense mechanism, a way of hiding his real self, and he had done it for so many years that by now it was second nature. Even people who knew him fairly well, like Burr and Marcie, never saw beneath this facade of witticism. They thought that was Jack: all funny asides and not much serious straight talk. It was hard to take him seriously. He didn’t want that. He wanted to be laughed at, to be amusing, and he usually contrived to be. He was content to let people take him for a wag.
But once in a while he ran across somebody who made him feel sick of the mask he hid behind. Somebody who made him yearn to talk, quietly and seriously, about the things that mattered to him. It happened when he was unlucky enough to fall in love. Or when he met a loner like himself and felt an unspoken sympathy. It happened with Laura.
It wasn’t easy for him to call her back. It would have been, if she hadn’t appealed to his emotions. There were a lot of girls he called just for the sake of their mutual amusement, or just to amuse himself. But if he bantered lightly with Laura it was more because he couldn’t help it than because he wanted to, more because he had found it almost impossible to talk straight anymore.
At eight o’clock he showed up at the apartment. He walked into the living room without knocking and said, “It’s me.” When nobody answered he wandered through to the bedroom and found Laura giving Marcie a home permanent. “God, what a stink!” he said.
Laura looked up in surprise. “I thought you were kidding,” she said. “About the date.”
He smiled at her. She was dressed in tight chinos and a boy’s shirt. It was her favorite after work outfit. “You weren’t planning on the Stork Club, I see,” he cracked.
“I wasn’t planning on anything.”
“That’s a dangerous attitude, Mother. Always plan on something. Avoid accidents.”
“Jack, you can’t have her,” Marcie said. “I’ll never get this thing right without her.” She waved a plastic curler at him helplessly.
“You’re better off without it, doll. Take it from me. Come on, we’ll go as you are.”
“Jack, I can’t. I had no idea—”
“Come on. I want to talk to you.”
“We can talk here.”
“No we can’t. Marcie’s here.”
“I won’t listen,” Marcie said with a smile.
“Besides, I can’t talk,” he said, and Laura caught a glimpse of the shyness hidden in him. “I’m sober as a post.” He shrugged. “Let’s go.”
“I can’t go like this.”
“Never mind the pants, they’re becoming.”
For some deep buried and curious reason she was flattered. She stood there hesitating and Jack took advantage of her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door.
“Kidnapper!” Marcie wailed.
“My coat—” Laura said.
“You don’t need one. It’s balmy.”
“So are you.”
“Thanks.” He guided her down the steps.
This was a switch for Laura. She had never been especially attractive to men before, starting at the beginning with her father and going right on up through college. She didn’t look warm and soft and yielding. She was remote and involved in herself, aloof from everybody, men included. She didn’t like them very much and they sensed it.
Now, here was a well educated intelligent male giving her the rush. She didn’t understand it. Jack didn’t appeal to her physically any more than any other man; in fact, a little less. He was small, wiry, rather owlish in his horn rims. He looked like an ivy league undergrad. She guessed he was about twenty-five. Laura was twenty. But she supposed that in five or six years she might be as cynical as Jack was. She liked to hear him say things she never dared to say herself.
They went to a little bar a few blocks away where Laura had gone once with Marcie for a beer. It was a quiet spot with a steady clientele.
They walked in and took a booth in the back. “I usually prefer the bar,” said Jack, “but I always end up telling my troubles to the bartender. So we’ll sit back here.”
Laura felt a little strange walking into a bar in a pair of pants, but she was with a man and she hoped that made it all right.
“Just a beer,” she said to Jack. A year ago she would have said. “Just a coke.” And said it in a way to make him think she disapproved of liquor. But lately she had picked up a taste for beer. Beth liked it and so did Marcie. That was too much for Laura. There must be something to it. So she had gotten into the habit of having one now and then in the evening when she got home from work. It relaxed her. It made her feel that she could think of Merrill Landon without exploding, or of Marcie without crawling out of her skin. She felt like maybe she could stand it, living this way with Marcie, and everything would turn out all right.
The waitress brought their drinks, and Jack poured her beer for her. Then he downed his shot and drank some water. He seemed to be looking for a way to talk to her. “How long have you and Marcie been together?” he said finally.
That’s an odd way to put it, Laura thought warily. “Since January,” she said.
“Oh, yeah. I guess Burr mentioned it. He likes you.” He smiled at her and she relaxed a little.
“Why don’t Burr and Marcie get along?” she asked.
Jack shrugged and hailed the waitress. Then he looked at Laura. “They don’t want to,” he said. “It would spoil the fun.”
“They love each other,” said Laura.
“Physically, yes, they do.”
Laura didn’t like his definition. “Marcie says they might get married again.”
“Yeah. They’re just blind enough to do it, too.”
“Marcie’s not blind!”
“Sorry. A slip of the tongue.” He grinned and drank the fresh drink the waitress had just delivered.
“Well, she’s not,” Laura said, disconcerted by his manner. “She really loves Burr—at least, she thinks she does.”
He put his glass down. “Marcie hasn’t learned to love yet,” he said.
“You mean she doesn’t love Burr?” She asked the question eagerly.
“No,” he said quietly, studying her. “She loves physical excitement. She loves a big virile passionate sonofabitch to make a fuss over her.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, disappointed. “She doesn’t fight just for the sake of fighting. It’s just with Burr. She never fights with me.”
Jack laughed a little, privately. “That’s because you’re a girl, Mother,” he said. “I can tell ’cause you got long hair.”
Laura began to sweat under his searching eyes. “That’s not the point,” she said, exasperated. “Marcie has a sweet disposition. She’s very quiet. It must be Burr.”
“Quiet?” Jack laughed. “The way that girl talks she’s about as quiet as Grand Central during rush hour.”
“All right, she talks a lot.” Laura was getting mad. “That doesn’t mean she likes fights. Or men who thrive on them.”
“That’s just what it does mean. Believe it. It’s true.”
“You’re screwy.”
“You’re in love.”
“What?” She said it in a shocked whisper, staring at him, feeling her cheeks go scarlet. “What does that mean?” she said. Her voice was dry and small and her hands were wet.
Jack drank another shot. Then he put the glass down and leaned toward her over the table, his face serious. “You’re gay, Laura.”
Laura was speechless for a moment, surprised beyond her capacity to think or feel. Then an awful sick trembling came up in her throat. For a minute she hung between flight and a fight. She was furious, scared and humiliated. It never occurred to her to deny the truth. Jack had hit the bull’s eye. She clenched her fists on the table top and violent things came to her lips. But before she could utter them Jack spoke again.
“Oh, don’t look so damn mad. You’re not the only one.” He sighed, crushing his cigarette in a scorched ashtray. “I am too. So don’t give me a martyr act.” And he nodded again to the waitress.
Laura put her hands over her face suddenly, pressing one hand over her mouth to catch the sobs. She heard the waitress come up and turned her head to the wall.
“Same for me,” Jack said.
“How about the lady?”
“Bring her a double whisky.”
Laura could feel the woman looking at her curiously. She wanted to evaporate. She hated the impersonal curiosity of this stranger. After a minute Jack said, “She’s gone.”
Laura put her hands down, but she couldn’t look at him. She just said, rather hopelessly, “How did you know?”
“Takes one to know one,” he said with light sarcasm.
“How?” Laura demanded. “You’re a man.”
“So I’m a man. You’re a girl. We’re both queer.”
“How did you know?” she said sharply, looking at him now.
“You’ve got a crush on Marcie. That’s how.”
Laura gasped a little. “Is it so obvious?” she asked, frightened.
Jack shook his head. “To me, maybe, but only because I was looking for it.”
“You were? Why?”
“I’m always looking for it.” He was bantering again. She realized now that he had called her Laura when he said it: You’re gay, Laura. He was dead serious then.
“Do you look for it even in girls?” she said.
“In anybody. You might say it’s a hobby with me. I spot one and I think to myself, ‘Another poor bastard like me.’ It boosts my morale. I guess it’s a case of misery loves company.”
“I’d rather suffer alone,” she said, not without pride.
“You’ll get over that. When you learn your way around.”
Laura was still trembling all over. “Listen to me, Jack,” she said, leaning over the table and brushing the last tear impatiently from her cheeks. “I never heard that word—gay—like you use it until our date Friday. Nobody ever called me ‘gay’ before. I didn’t even know what it meant. But I’ll tell you this: I never touched Marcie. I’ve never tried to get away with anything with her. Never. She doesn’t know and she never will.” She said this almost fiercely, but Jack only smiled at her.
“Okay,” he said. “Don’t preach at me. I believe you. I believe you haven’t been climbing into Marcie’s bed after hours, anyway. But don’t let Marcie fool you. She can be wild sometimes. She gets in crazy moods and she’ll do anything. I saw her go up to a bum in Central Park and kiss him once on a dare. A big ugly slob of a guy. It was enough to get her killed, but she loved it.”
Laura was revolted. But not surprised. Not after what Marcie had done to her last Friday night.
“She couldn’t possibly suspect me,” she said stubbornly. “I never do a thing.”
“You did plenty in The Cellar Friday night.”
“I—I did?” She felt that old sick feeling come over her again.
“You looked at her like you had ideas. You held the door for her. You argued with Burr.”
“But all I said was—”
“All you said was you were gay. To anybody who bothered to figure it out. Well, I did, that’s all.”
Laura’s face was hot and she tried to defend herself. “All I did was defend them—homosexuals, I mean. I just said they were human beings, not animals. Is that against the law?”
“Not ‘they,’ Mother,” Jack said softly. “‘We.’ You’re one of us.”
“But Burr and Marcie don’t know that,” she said, almost pleading with him to agree.
Jack raised a finger to his lips. “Everybody will know it if you don’t keep your voice down,” he said. “Okay, Burr doesn’t know it. As for Marcie, you live with the girl. You should know.”
“She couldn’t,” Laura said, but she felt shaky.
“You aren’t sure, are you? Why don’t you find out?”
“How?” She looked at him eagerly.
“Ask her.” He laughed to see her face fall.
“Damn you!”
“Okay. Don’t ask her. Make a pass at her.”
“You’re mad!” Laura stared at him, shocked. “I’d never do such a thing! She might—why, my God, she might call the police. Or Burr. She’d hate me. I couldn’t stand it. Jack, don’t tell me to make a fool of myself. Do you want to get me into a tragic mess?”
“I want to keep you out of one, Mother. That’s why I’m talking this way.”
“Well, act like you did, then. You drag me down here, when I didn’t want to come in the first place, and tell me—” She swallowed convulsively. “—tell me I’m gay.” She spat the word at him. “And then you have the gall to sit there and tell me to make love to Marcie—” She almost choked on the words. “—when you know damn well she’d probably be revolted by it, she’d—”
“Calm down, Mother, have a drink.” And he held her glass up to her until she took it from him. It burned her throat but she was too worked up to care.
“Now,” said Jack. “I asked you down here to tell you I know you’re gay. And so am I. I want to be friends with you, Laura.” She glanced up at him, and found that he was embarrassed, for all the liquid courage he was consuming, and it was hard for him to talk. “Damn it,” he said. “I’m so used to talking like an idiot, I can’t say what I mean anymore. I—I wanted to tell you—to warn you, Laura—I was in the situation you’re in now. Once. Long ago. I fell for a roommate of mine, I didn’t think he knew anything either. I didn’t see how it was possible. I was so damn careful. I never said anything, I never did anything. Jesus Christ, I even avoided the guy. I went out of my way to avoid him. But I was nuts about him, Laura. I wanted him so bad it hurt. I’d lie there in the dark and tell myself, ‘You can’t have him, you can’t have him’ over and over. I’d say, ‘Who the hell do you think you are? If you were the prettiest boy on earth he wouldn’t look twice. And, Mann, you aren’t the prettiest boy on earth. You’re the ugliest.’ Whenever we talked late at night, whenever we went anywhere together, whenever we touched I used to burn up inside, I used to die of it. I wanted to kiss him, feel him all over, just hold him. God, it killed me! But I never let on. Never. And one day—this’ll give you an idea of what to expect, Mother—one day after all this noble chastity and virtue and self-denial crap I was going through, he came up to me and said, ‘Jack, I hate to say this, but I’m moving out.’”
“Why?” Laura asked softly, her forehead wrinkled with sympathy.
“Because I was gay. He didn’t say it that way, of course. He didn’t say, ‘Because you’re queer, you poor bastard. I’m sorry for you but I can’t take it any more.’ I could have stood that. But he just handed me a lot of bull.”
Laura felt like crying again. But she only said, “Isn’t that something to be grateful for? He tried, anyway.”
“Yeah. He tried.” He said it so acidly that Laura was afraid to say any more.
“There’ve been a lot since Joe,” he said, after a while. “Just like there’ll be a lot for you after Marcie.” Laura tried to protest but he waved her down. “I know, I know, you’re going to keep hands off. You’re going to spend your whole life ignoring sex, ignoring what you are. Denying that you want it, running away from it. I was going to, too. That was twenty-five years ago.”
“Twenty-five years ago!” Laura stared at him. “How old are you, Jack?”
“Forty-two. Surprised?” He smiled at her gaping astonishment.
“I thought you were maybe five years older than I am. Twenty-five or so. You can’t be forty-two.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. I can’t be. But I sure as hell am.”
“I don’t believe it.”
He grinned. “Good,” he said. “I like to fool people.”
“Why?” It seemed crazy. “What does a man care how young he looks? I thought that was for women,” Laura said.
“Women and gay boys. Do you think some pretty twenty-year-old is going to fall for a fat bald, middle-aged bastard with not even a bankroll to offer? I’m ugly, Mother. That’s enough of a handicap. When I start looking old, I’ll quit.”
“You’re not ugly, Jack,” she said gently, trying to console him.
But he took it with a sardonic laugh. “Only a Mother could love me,” he said.
“Don’t talk like this. You make me so sad.”
“Ahhh, Christ,” he said, and drank. He looked up at Laura, and she could see he wasn’t focusing very well now. “I came here to talk about you anyway, not me. What did your father do to you when you were five years old?”
Laura started. “When did I say that? Did I mention my father?” she asked.
“Yes. In The Cellar. Probably as good a place as any.”
“I—I didn’t mean my father,” she said.
“Don’t fib to me, Laura. Let’s be friends.”
After a few moments, she said, “I can’t talk about it, Jack.”
“What did he do?”
“We—we were at a summer resort.” It began to spill out of her. Jack had bared his anguish, and she felt suddenly safe with him, and needed. “We were there for a vacation one summer. We went fishing on the lake—Father and Mother and my brother and me.” Her voice grew soft as she spoke. “The boat capsized. I was the only one he could save. I was the closest to him. Mother and Rod drowned.” She shut her eyes with a little gasp against the old horror, still so sharp in her heart, like a big ugly needle stuck there to remind her she had no right to be alive. “All my life I’ve felt as if I killed them. He says I did. He hates me because I’m not his son. He hates me because I’m not my own mother, his wife.” Jack seemed completely sober for a minute, staring at her with his brows knit. She put her head down and cried quietly. “That’s all,” she said. “I can’t tell you any more.”
“You don’t need to,” he said softly. “Jesus.”
She took a deep breath and sat up, feeling as if she had lightened the weight of that leaden secret by sharing it. She was somewhat surprised to find that she was able to share it. She felt very close to Jack, as if they were now truly friends. Each of them had risked a little of himself to the other. And neither, now, was sorry.
With a sigh, she looked at her watch. It was getting late. “I have to get up early,” she said, her voice still unsteady. “So do you. I know, Burr’s always yelling about the hours. Let’s go.”
“One more,” he said, holding up his glass. “I’m not quite through with you yet.”
“I don’t get it,” Laura said to him. “We don’t even know each other. This is the second time we’ve seen each other. And here we are talking like old friends.”
“You’re wrong, Laura. We know each other a lot better than some people who’ve been acquainted for years. Like Burr and Marcie. We know each other instinctively, don’t you feel that? I wouldn’t have called you otherwise. You wouldn’t have let me drag you out tonight otherwise.”
“Don’t talk about Marcie as if she didn’t have a brain in her head,” Laura said.
Jack smiled. “You are in love,” he said. “This is serious. She has a few brains, Mother, she just doesn’t use them.”
“She’s not stupid,” Laura defended her eagerly.
“She’s not sacred either.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Oh, yes you did. I thought Burr was once.”
“Burr?” Laura stared at him. “Did you—were you—”
“Nuts for Burr? Yes. Once. When I first met him.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Thank God. I got over it. I go for big virile sons of bitches, just like Marcie. But I take care not to room with them anymore.”
Laura shook her head, a wry little smile on her face. “Don’t you ever fall for the gay ones?”
“I try to make a point of it.” He grinned sadly. “Unfortunately I sometimes miss the point. If you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s just as well. I met Burr at work when he was hired about four years ago. I knew he was straight.”
“What’s ‘straight’?”
“Everything that’s not ‘gay’—so I pussyfooted around the issue. I made him like me. I did his homework for him. I made him laugh. I told him what to tell the boss. I double-dated with him and Marcie and I was an usher at the wedding. I was Number One trouble-shooter after the wedding. He thinks I’m indispensable.”
“But you—you don’t still—”
“No, I don’t. Not anymore. But I still like to be with him. I like to watch them fight.” He smiled at her. “You do too.”
She felt embarrassed, as if he were looking through her clothes to her naked feelings.
“However,” he went on, “I’m not under any lovely illusions about him being an intellectual giant. Or Marcie either. And I know damn well he won’t give me a tumble if I just stick around long enough.” He gave her a piercing look. “Those are your illusions, Mother,” he said. “I suggest you drown them.”
“What does that mean?”
“You can set Marcie’s hair till the moon turns blue and she’s not going to crawl into your bed to thank you for it.”
“I don’t expect her to.”
“Sure you do. It’s a mark of our breed. We’re hopeless optimists. Otherwise we’d all commit suicide. We get a crush on somebody, and if he’s straight we figure we’ll just love him so much he’ll have to turn gay. It doesn’t work that way. Marcie isn’t going to start kissing you just because you want her to.”
Laura was incensed. “She already has,” she snapped.
Jack’s eyebrows went up. “When?” he said.
“The night we got back from The Cellar. She said she felt funny in there with all those girls staring at her. She said she used to touch tongues with a girl when she was in her teens, and she wanted to do it again. And she did. You—you—” She didn’t know what to call him. “You had to call me up right in the middle, just when I thought—” She stopped herself. “Oh, this isn’t like me,” she moaned. “I never talk like this.”
“Only to yourself, hm?” He laughed. “I mess up your daydreams and your affair. God! What more can I do? I’m becoming the Man in your Life, Mother.” His laughter fizzled slowly, and Laura could tell he was quite drunk from the way he let his head hang for a minute. “You know,” he said and wagged a finger at her, articulating cautiously, “I never have trouble thinking when I’m drunk. But my tongue gets sloppy.” He laughed a little. “I say what I want to say, that’s one good thing. But it sounds sloppy as hell.” He finished the drink in front of him. Laura started to get up, but he caught her wrist and said, suddenly very serious again, “You’re in trouble, Laura. Marcie’s straight. Accept that. It’s a fact. If she’s playing games with you, she’s doing it for private kicks, not to give you a thrill. And her kicks have nothing to do with being gay. They have to do with going out on a limb, with acting nuts once in a while. Maybe she’s just pushing you out on a limb to see if you’ll fall off. And you’ll fall all right. Flat on your can.” He stopped for a minute to focus his gaze on her. “Marcie’s about as queer as Post Toasties, Laura. Take my advice: move out.”
“But I can’t! I won’t!” she exclaimed defensively. “Why should I? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“I hadn’t either when Joe gave me the glad news.”
“I’m not you. I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of.”
“No, but you will. If you hang around, feeling like you feel. You were saved by a phone call Friday night. What if my timing isn’t so good next time?”
“I don’t want to move out.” She said it stubbornly like a thwarted child.
“All the more reason why you should.”
Laura got indignant. “I’ve got more will power than you give me credit for and I’m not going to be scared out.”
“What are you going to do for will power if she gets cold some night and crawls into your bed to keep warm? Or you take a shower together? Or she feels like pulling your nerves out by the roots one by one again, and makes you play let’s-touch-tongues just for the hell of it? Just to see if she can get you sent up for sodomy? Be thankful you’re female, Mother. At least your passion won’t stand up and salute her.”
“I’ve had enough from you tonight!”
“Okay, okay. But I advise you to find a nice butch somewhere and set up housekeeping in the Village. Or at least, cultivate a few lovelies down there so you’ll have a place to let off steam when Marcie feels like playing games.”
“You’re drunk and repulsive.”
“I know what I am, Laura. Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m going home.”
“I’m coming with you.” He got up unsteadily and followed her toward the door. Outside he stopped her. “Don’t hate me, Laura,” he said. And she couldn’t, looking at him there in the pink glare of neon, short and plain, brilliant and miserable, offering her his curious stinging sympathy.
“I wish I could,” she said and shook her head.
He smiled at her. “I’ll walk you home,” he said.
“You don’t need to. Why don’t you get a taxi and get yourself home?”
“Are you suggesting I can’t walk?”
“No.” She laughed.
“You are. Just for that I’m going to walk you home whether you like it or not. To prove I can.”
“All right.” But she had to lead him most of the way. Jack could talk better than he could navigate when he was high. When they reached the apartment she hailed a cab for him and put him in it. She stood there watching it pull away down West End Avenue, watching it till it was indistinguishable from the sea of red tail lights traveling with it. And she felt an awakening affection for him.
