It was hard to get up the next day. Not impossible, just hard. Discouraging. Her head ached, and she was dissatisfied with herself. For the first time she wanted to cut work. But she went and she did her job. It wasn’t until the middle of the afternoon that she jumped to hear Sarah ask, “What’s the matter, Laura? A little under the weather?”
Laura looked up at her. Do I look that bad? she wondered. “I’m a little tired. Why?”
“The reports are piling up,” Sarah said, nodding at them.
Laura rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I’ll catch up. I’ll work late.”
“Don’t be silly!” Sarah laughed good-naturedly. “Catch up tomorrow. There’s not that much of a rush.”
But the next day she didn’t quite catch up; she got farther behind, in fact. Burr and Marcie had kept her up. It was partly the quarrel and partly the torturing silence that followed it. She went to work still more tired than the day before. Dr. Carstens came in to tell her a story about one of his woman patients, and she was frankly irritated. He picked himself up from her desk, where he was sitting, and huffed out, offended. “Okay, don’t laugh,” he said. “The others thought it was funny.”
Laura drove herself almost crazy with her errors that afternoon. When her phone rang she jumped half out of her chair. It was Jack.
“Good afternoon, Mother,” he said. “I’m selling used tooth brushes. Interested?”
“No. I’m very busy. Goodby.”
“I’ll see you at eight.”
“No.”
“Eight-fifteen.”
“No.”
“Eight-thirty.”
“All right! All right! All right! Goodby!” She slammed the receiver down and Sarah stared at her.
Laura decided to work late, and it was close to eight-thirty when she got up to go. The reports, though fewer, were still not done.
At the elevator the boy said, “Nice evening.”
“Is it?” She answered him apathetically, involved in her own world.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s really spring tonight.” He smiled at her.
He was right. The air was soft and gentle, lavender and clear. It even smelled good, right there in mid-Manhattan, although that was probably an hallucination. Laura smiled a little. She hated to go underground to the subway, but it was late, and she wanted to get home in a hurry. It would really be gorgeous out on the roof tonight.
She walked in to find Jack and Burr playing checkers. Marcie was cross-legged on the floor, in velvet lounging pants and a silk shirt, humming while she covered the top of the round cocktail table with a plastic veneer treated to look like marble.
She smiled up at Laura, who paused to admire her. “Alcohol proof,” Marcie said, rattling the table cover. “Mr. Marquardt gave it to me. We’re advertising it for a new client, and they passed some around today. It sticks by itself. How do you like it?”
“It looks wonderful,” Laura said. So did Marcie, her cheeks pink with enthusiasm.
“You’ve had it, Mann,” Burr said, and Laura heard a checker smacking triumphantly over the board in a devastating series of jumps. “Touché, boy.”
“Why don’t you take up tiddly winks? I could beat you at tiddly winks.” Jack sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand. He looked up at Laura without raising his head and smiled. She looked at him, absorbed in the idea that he had once been infatuated with the man beside him, and Burr had never known it. Burr thought he was as normal as himself. But of course, they had never roomed together. Suddenly Laura recalled that she had agreed to go out with Jack.
“Jack—” she began, but he cut her off.
“I see I have less allure than your typewriter,” he said. He cocked an eye at her. “Well, never mind, I don’t have so many friends I can afford to be jealous of their typewriters.”
“Thanks, Jack,” she said with a little smile. She turned to go into the kitchen, but he jumped up and followed her.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Straight to the icebox. I’m starved.”
“We have a date. I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“Why don’t we just stay here?” she pleaded.
But all he said was, “No,” and she understood that he had made his mind up and had something planned.
She was reluctant to leave Marcie, who looked so pretty. But the prettier Marcie looked, the worse Laura suffered. Maybe it would be better just to talk about her tonight. Talk to Jack about her. It sounded good.
“Okay, but let’s get home early. I’m beat, I really am,” she said.
“Whatever you say, Mother.” He smiled, and she felt suddenly that it was terribly good to have him for a friend.
When they got outside she said, “Let’s go over to Hempel’s. It’s only a block.”
“No. We’re going to The Cellar.”
“Oh, God no! It’s miles away. We wouldn’t get home till midnight.”
“A friend of mine wants to meet you.”
“Who?”
“The name wouldn’t mean anything. It would just scare you away, probably. She saw you when we were there last week. She likes your face.”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous. Come on, I’m starving. I’ve got to eat or I’ll faint.”
“This is a very interesting girl. She could teach you a lot.”
“I know everything I want to know.” He laughed, but she went on, “Jack, I’m not going to the Village with you.”
But when they reached Broadway he hailed a cab and she let him put her in it, as she knew she would. “I can’t. I won’t. I’m tired and hungry,” she said. But she got in. “I’ll fall asleep over my typewriter tomorrow,” she moaned.
When they reached the Cellar she felt a lift of excitement in spite of herself. They arrived after the kitchen had closed, but Jack was a regular customer, and they were willing to fix him up.
They followed a waitress to a table. Laura walked with a strange light queasiness in her stomach and sat down with Jack feeling terribly self-conscious and looked-at, as if every pair of eyes in the room was inspecting her. Jack laughed, waving at somebody. “All my friends’ll think I’ve gone straight,” he said. He gave the waitress an order and she scuttled off. He leaned back in his chair to look at Laura then. “Sorry you’re here?” he asked.
“No. But I wish it was Friday night.”
“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 anything? 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 large 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 pretty 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 finally 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 such 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!”
