Gay Girl

by Joan Ellis

  "Shall we dance?" Doug asked, when Georgia was inside again.

  "All right," she agreed—uncertainly, because she wanted to feel his arms about her. Maybe then she'd be free of this crazy upheaval within her. She'd feel his man's arms and his male body amorously close, and she'd hate him!

  Doug's arms were gentle about her, and a faint fresh smell of shaving lotion drifted to her nostrils with a pleasantness she couldn't define. He drew her in closer, and her breath quickened. Doug danced well, she thought frantically, not letting herself dwell on what really rushed through her mind. She would think of other things, she ordered herself, hoping he was unaware of the pounding inside her.

  "What about that coffee? It'd be a shame to let it grow cold," she laughed awkwardly, breaking away. Something was all wrong here.

  After dinner, they sat on the chaises and talked, while Eve's nervousness soared. Doug enjoyed talking about home, his years in college—and it was a relief to her not to have to speak.

  "I really should be getting home," Eve ventured, glancing at his watch.

  "I'm boring you to death," he said contritely. "I'll shut up from this minute on."

  "No, I've loved hearing you tell me about everything," Eve insisted. "It's so nice just to sit out here and relax—but I do have to be up early tomorrow."

  "Eve, it's Saturday!" Doug leapt to his feet. "Look, suppose we go over to catch a late movie on Eighth Street."

  "I have to meet some people coming in from home tomorrow morning," Eve improvised awkwardly. "Really, I do have to go now."

  "If you insist," he smiled ruefully. "But I still think it's because I'm such a lousy host."

  "No, Doug, don't say that, please." A fresh thought took root, worrying her. She'd wanted Phyl to know about her seeing Doug—until this minute, she realized. Somehow, she didn't want Phyl to know at all now. She wanted to be home before Phyl got there! "Doug, don't mention my seeing you to Phyl, will you?" That sounded awful, she thought frantically— it was like drawing pictures.

  "Why?" His eyebrows shot up.

  "You know Phyl," she gestured, searching her mind. "She thinks hospital personnel shouldn't mix business and pleasure."

  "Yeah, I forgot that. Phyl's a strange gal about some things." He dismissed this with a shrug. "If you insist, I'll see you home."

  He had accepted her excuse, Eve decided, relieved. But then he didn't have the kind of mind that would look for perversity. She was impatient now to get back to their own apartment, before Phyl. She didn't want that scene she'd deliberately plotted. She didn't want Phyl to know about Doug. What did she want?

  * * *

  "There's no need for you to come upstairs," Eve reassured Doug as he walked her to the door. "This is no place for double-parking like that," she laughed shakily, nodding towards the car.

  "We'll do this again soon, Eve?" he asked, expertly maneuvering her into the darkened hallway.

  "Soon," she agreed vaguely, her pulse racing in alarm. Was Phyl upstairs waiting for her? Would she come striding into the hallway any moment now, with Doug standing so close this way. Her breath was labored as she tried to break away. "Thanks, Doug. It's been a lovely evening."

  "I want to see a lot of you, Eve Slater," he whispered softly, and his mouth came down on hers while his arms pulled her close. Not roughly, not in an ugly way like Joe. This was almost like with Phyl. Without realizing it, her arms were tight about him, her mouth and her body were responding. And then, in shock, she pulled away. "Good-night, Doug," she said firmly and moved determinedly up the stairs.

  Eve glanced hurriedly under the door as she reached the top landing. There was no stream of light—Phyl was not there. She sighed with relief... she'd made it home first. If Phyl said anything about phoning and not finding her in, she'd tell her something about going down for a soda. Much as she hated climbing all those flights of stairs, sometimes she did that from sheer loneliness.

  Eve opened the door, reached for the switch, with the sense of walking out of one world into another. What on earth had got hold of her back there with Doug? Reason was returning to her now. Was she so starved for attention that she could pretend it could be good with Doug? She would have hated herself!

  She walked with unaccustomed swiftness into the bathroom, anxious to wash away the makeup, to get into one of the casual dusters she wore about the house most of the time. The warm water felt good, she thought with satisfaction as she bathed her face, the way her body felt good out of the sophisticated clothes. She'd almost deluded herself into believing things back there that were ridiculous! This was her life—with Phyl. This dark, half-shadowed world was hers, where she could be safe and loved.

  She moved with a forced sense of security, out of the bathroom back into the living room. She'd watch television until Phyl came home. Sweet Phyl, who'd bought the television for her. But sweet Phyl had been in a room with a half-clothed Della Cole, Eve remembered. Visions of them assaulted Eve all over again. But better to think about Phyl and that woman than herself and Doug. Watch television, she ordered herself. Watch television!

  * * *

  Downstairs, Phyl circled and re-circled the block looking for a parking spot. Finally, she gave up and drove over to the garage a few blocks away. This late—midnight—they would have free space again for over-night. She had used the garage a few times before.

  With the car parked Phyl pushed through the Friday-night crowds toward her own less-congested block. It had been a rough night, and it was good to be coming home. Her mind was ill at ease, though, unable as yet to entirely shake off the memory of that door closing on Della and herself. So far nobody had said a word. She'd had none of the repercussions she'd feared. But somebody knew, and that terrified her.

  Phyl took the last flight of stairs with a fresh burst of energy. Maybe she was making too much of the whole thing. Perhaps whoever opened the door had only seen Della, hadn't seen her, she thought with weak optimism. She'd been deep in the chair, not strictly in the line of view. She had to believe that, if she wanted any peace of mind.

  "Eve?" she said gently, shaking the curled-up sleeping form on the sofa. "Honey, wake up."

  Slowly Eve pried her eyes open. She'd fallen asleep watching television. She did that so often, when she was upset.

  "What time is it?" she asked groggily, slowly coming back into focus.

  "Twenty after twelve. I didn't call because I thought you might be asleep." Phyl's face softened as her fingers stroked Eve's cheek. "You look like a little girl lying there."

  "Everything all right?" Eve asked automatically, taking refuge in the routine pattern.

  "Fine," Phyl said with satisfaction. "Nights like this I'm glad I'm an obstetrician. When I think what would have happened to that mother and baby, even thirty years ago!"

  "Phyl," Eve said, turning her face away. "I know about you and Della Cole."

  CHAPTER 15

  Phyl sank onto the sofa beside Eve, her face ashen. "What are you talking about?" Her voice was a stunned monotone.

  "It's all over the hospital." Eve kept her eyes averted, still smarting at the starkly sharp memory. "I heard two nurses talking about it—how somebody walked into Della Cole's room at the wrong moment. How Della was half-naked, in your arms!" The words came out, harsh and disjointed, but now Eve was remembering more dispassionately. There was Dr. Talbert backing up, the nurse had said. And it was the same nurse who had said she betted Phyl had liked it. The nurse didn't know.

  "Eve, she was a wild woman!" Horror shone forth from Phyl's eyes. "Did you hear that?" she asked bitterly.

  "Yes," Eve said with honesty, because for some reason she could be honest now. "But you have to know that the gossip is going around, don't you?" She forced herself to face Phyl now.

  "You couldn't believe I was party to it, could you?" Phyl's eyes sought denial in Eve's. Alarm surged through her, exaggerated by the knowledge that for moments she had wanted that lush body that threw itself upon her.

  "No," Eve managed
a smile. "But people can be so rotten, repeating things like that."

  "What did you hear, exactly?" Phyl prodded, ordering herself to review the matter calmly. "Did they tell the truth? That Della was making a wild play?"

  Carefully, Eve repeated—almost word for word— what she'd overheard. Listening to herself now, she could understand that the guilt lay on Della Cole, not Phyl.

  "Then they're not blaming me," Phyl said slowly. "They realize it was that stupid woman."

  "That's right," Eve smiled encouragingly. She hadn't told Phyl the final remark, about the nurse's betting Phyl had liked it.

  "I'd better go in to Dr. Jackson and clarify the whole picture," Phyl decided. "Better for him to hear it correctly, from me. Anyhow, Della Cole is out of the hospital and there's no reason on earth for me to see her again. When she comes in for her six-week check-up, I'll arrange for Bill or Ed to see her. I'll explain the situation." For the first time since the encounter in Della's room Phyl could breathe freely. She told herself everything was falling fairly neatly into place.

  "Would you like some coffee?" Eve asked, not quite at ease. "I'll only have to heat it."

  "I'd love it." She reached for Eve's hand as Eve moved toward the kitchen. "Darling, I'm sorry you had to hear that way."

  * * *

  Eve was grateful for the rush of preparing for the move into the new apartment. She tried to fill her mind with the complexities of deciding on drapes, arranging for the moving men, worrying about the sublet on the downtown place, which was no worry at all because there was a line-up waiting to take it over at the controlled rental. She didn't want to think about Doug, who took every available opportunity of haunting her receptionist desk.

  "Eve, why do you keep brushing me off?" he persisted. "I've been asking you out at least twice a day for two weeks. I ought to get an 'A' for effort, at least." He grinned ingratiatingly, but his eyes were watchful. "Honey, what are you afraid of?"

  "Nothing," Eve stammered, mentally exhausted from these weeks of inner turmoil. Phyl was safety, a kind of happiness. She loved Phyl, she reasoned, over and over again—but what was this she felt for Doug? Was it possible to change? Could she actually cross the line? Did she want to?

  "I'll pick you up right here," Doug said resolutely. "You finish at five, right?"

  Yes, but—" Eve protested uncertainly.

  "I'll be clear by then at the office—I'll come back over for you."

  "No, I'll meet you at the parking area," Eve said quickly. She didn't want anyone to see her leaving with Doug—someone who might mention it casually before Phyl. "Five o'clock." She shot him a fleeting nervous smile.

  Eve sat at her desk, watching Doug go through the door and close it behind him. She sat completely still in an effort to control the trembling that had caught hold of her. Why had she let Doug do this? Not that she had to worry about Phyl, Eve reminded herself. Phyl had flown down to Washington this morning with a crew of doctors from Cosmopolitan to attend some medical meeting. They weren't due back in the city before two or three in the morning. But now, Eve told herself desperately, she'd have to face this thing that ate away inside her. She couldn't run away any longer. But she didn't want to run, Eve suddenly realized. Who was she? What was she? Tonight Doug might solve that riddle.

  * * *

  Phyl sat at the luncheon table, listening to the other doctors argue points of medical procedure, but only part of her mind was at that table. Something about Eve disturbed her. There was an odd quietness, a barely discernible withdrawal. Was Eve upset about Della Cole? Why should she be, Phyl asked herself for the hundredth time. Eve wasn't stupid—she realized what the situation had been. Was there somebody else? Jealousy shot hotly through her. That girl Eve knew in the Village—could there be something between them that she knew nothing about?

  She would break up anything that came between Eve and herself, Phyl swore silently. She loved Eve, but she recognized her weakness. Eve was sweet and wonderful and tender—but she was also weak. She could be swayed—although not far, Phyl promised herself, her hands clenching tightly beneath the table. She would let nobody wreck this precious thing she'd built for herself.

  "Phyl, what was your impression of the first phase of the operation?" Bill Porter's voice intruded gently, and she realized he was deliberately bringing her back into the discussion. Her face grew hot with embarrassment. Heaven knows what he'd been thinking of her, behaving this way. It was an honor for him to have brought her along this way—she might at least prove herself deserving of the distinction.

  "I agree with you, Bill," she managed to pick up the thread of the discussion, and then launched into a competent explanation for her decision. Above everything else, Phyl Talbert reminded herself, she was a physician.

  * * *

  Eve debated miserably about calling off the evening with Doug, making a dozen pro and con decisions that last forty minutes before she was to meet him. Doug Johnston wasn't just anybody, she forced herself to admit reluctantly—he was special. She had listened to the hospital talk about him, and everybody had a lot of respect for him, both as a physician and a man. Half the nurses were carrying mild torches for him. But Doug Johnston had to be interested in her.

  He was ten minutes late in reaching their meeting place.

  "Evie, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I guess you know how it is with doctors."

  "I know." She smiled faintly. After all these weeks with Phyl, she knew.

  "You like working at the hospital, don't you?" He opened the car door for her.

  "It's nice," she conceded. "Everybody I work with is friendly and interested in everything." She was making conversation to keep from thinking. What made her think it could be any different with Doug, she demanded of herself. He was a man. All men were alike.

  "I thought we could pick up a lot of stuff at the delicatessen and eat outside," he suggested tentatively.

  "Fine," Eve agreed. There would be no Georgia there tonight, she guessed. Did the amorous doctor harbor the usual hopes?

  "Eve, you can't let one unhappy marriage poison your mind..." he said slowly.

  "I'm just not interested, Doug—" she stammered with nervousness. "Although I know some marriages work out." Phyl's and hers was working out, she insisted to herself. With Phyl she had everything she needed. She'd have to watch herself after tonight, to make sure she didn't jeopardize what she had. Phyl would never forgive her for a man.

  "You've put up some kind of barrier," he burst forth, and there was a desperation underlying the words. "Eve, you're fighting me against yourself."

  "Does every girl have to fall madly in love with you?" she taunted, color creeping into her cheeks.

  "I'm only interested in one, Evie. You." He kept his eyes on the stream of traffic ahead.

  "It's beginning to rain," she announced with surprise. They wouldn't be dining in the garden tonight.

  "Can you stand dinner without the charm of my garden?" he mocked lightly. "I offer hi-fi, television, and my brilliant conversation." One hand left the wheel to brush hers briefly. "And anything else you may be willing to accept."

  "If the coffee's good, I can bear it," she tried for an air of flippancy.

  "Then you'd better make it," Doug laughed. "That isn't one of my talents."

  It would be pleasant to cook for Doug, she thought shakily—he would enjoy good food and he would make a fuss about it. He had a tenderness about him she'd never felt in any man. To her every man had been patterned in Joe's mold.

  She sat off in a corner of the seat, watching the rain grow from a light shower to a full-fledged thunderstorm. Once she shivered slightly. "Afraid of thunder?" Doug asked gently.

  "A little," she lied.

  "We'll be home in a minute." He grinned boyishly. "Pete's a great roommate—he's off again for the evening."

  "You'd do much better tonight with one of those cute little student nurses who are pining over you," she ventured guiltily.

  "I'm pining for you" he reminded,
and pulled into a suddenly vacated parking spot. Doug was a careful driver, Eve thought irrelevantly. Phyl had told her once that doctors were the world's worst drivers.

  With newspapers over their heads they ran for the delicatessen. By the time they were done with shopping, the rain had petered out into a light sprinkling.

  "Feels good, you know," Doug announced with sprightly good humor as he propelled Eve in the direction of the house. "Fresh and clean."

  "I won't be able to stay late," Eve announced out of a clear blue sky.

  "You're a character," Doug said affectionately. "We aren't even at the dinner table and you're taking leave!"

  Inside the apartment Doug took the bundles and dumped them together on the kitchen table. "Fix coffee, woman, while I do the rest." He patted her lightly on the rear and she stiffened into awareness, but it was as though he'd patted a puppy on the head—nothing more, Eve told herself.

  Yet, putting up the percolator of coffee Eve knew she should not have come. This whole picture was insane. Why should she jump at Doug's touch? It hadn't been in distaste. She faced the truth—it was with an unfamiliar excitement.

  Doug sought to keep a mood of levity as background for dinner, yet Eve was starkly aware of the tension behind that lightness. She was aware, too, of this unaccountable shakiness with her, that reminded her of the nights she waited alone across the bed she shared with Phyl, knowing that at any moment the bathroom door would open and Phyl would come to her. Every nerve in her body waited now, but not for Phyl.

  "Coffee was great," he decided with satisfaction. "I think I'll marry the girl."

  "How many times have you committed bigamy?" Eve tried to enter his mood.

  "Dance?" Without waiting for a reply he walked to the hi-fi and dropped the arm into place. "I'm the sentimental slob type. I like the sweet oldies."

  "They're nice," Eve said unsteadily, rising to her feet as he pulled the chair out for her.