by Ann Bannon
"No. Jack, it's late. I'm tired."
"Tomorrow is Saturday. You can sleep."
"I don't care what tomorrow is, I'm tired right now. Now goodnight."
"Do something for me, Mother."
Marcie turned over, lying across her pillow on her stomach. “What?” Laura said softly, losing contact with him. “Promise."
"Okay.” She whispered it. “Kiss Marcie for me."
"What?” Laura was shocked into total awareness. “Good night, Mother,” Jack said. And hung up.
Laura replaced the receiver and sat uncertainly on the bed next to Marcie for a minute. She didn't dare to wonder what Jack meant. She had enough to do just keeping her hands off Marcie's smooth behind. She felt afraid of her.
What would Beth have done if it had been me lying there?
she wondered, and knew at once. Beth would have laid down on top of her, her front to Marcie's back. Beth would have kissed her neck, her ears, her shoulders. Beth would have—"Laura,” Marcie murmured. “Yes?” Her throat was dry, making it hard to answer. “We'd better get to sleep."
It was all over, then. Laura had waited too long. Maybe Marcie would have repulsed her anyway. Maybe her hesitation had saved her. On the other hand, maybe-Laura burned to know. But Marcie had lost the playful, childish, experimental mood, and was already half asleep. There might never be another chance.
CHAPTER 6
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 Hide 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. “Kidnaper!” 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 under-grad. 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?” the 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,” Laur
a 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."