Another Kind of Love

by Paula Christian

  She smiled in reply and let him lead her to a corner table “where they wouldn’t be disturbed.” Gallantly holding her chair, he kissed her on the cheek and sat down on her left, where he could keep an eye on everyone’s movements.

  “Haven’t had a chance to talk to you alone since . . . in ages.” He held her forearm affectionately. “How are you?”

  “Fine. Fine, Walter. And you?” Laura answered, trying her best to sound sincere.

  It was like Old Acquaintance Week, or Say Something Pleasant Day. She felt so disinterested, deceitful, and obligated. She knew Walter well enough to know that he was aware of something extra amiss, but the how and why and how much he could not possibly have guessed.

  Walter cleared his throat, then hesitantly said, “You look rather tired, Laura. I suppose getting yourself oriented, and the department set up, and looking for an apartment, can be more than wearing.”

  It took all she could do not to laugh. He was being so transparent in his curiosity. “I haven’t been looking for an apartment yet.”

  “Oh.”

  He paused as the waiter brought their drinks. “You and Madeline getting along all right?” He studied a faded Currier and Ives reproduction on the opposite wall.

  “Yes.” Laura suppressed a smile. “Is something troubling you, Walter?” she asked softly.

  His eyes came back to her at once. Raising his thick eyebrows, he said, “Me? No. Not at all. I thought something was bothering you. . . .”

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  They both knew what they were skirting, and also that it couldn’t be delayed any longer.

  “I was wondering,” Walter began, low-voiced, “if you’d decided yet how we stood together.”

  Immediately, Laura sensed the resentment that he himself did not seem fully aware of. She knew she would have to actually say the word “no,” and she dreaded it.

  “You’re stalling me, you know,” Walter said with a tight laugh.

  “Trying to have your cake and eat it, too?”

  She looked at him swiftly. “Oh, no, Walter. I . . . well, I just haven’t been able to really think it out.”

  He made the kind of smile the losing football team usually manages. “You’re in love with someone else. Period. End romance.”

  She couldn’t answer him for a moment, but after all, no matter what happened to her, now she could never marry him. Too much had happened already, which would be the third strike in a loveless marriage. “I . . .”

  “Never mind. Just as long as I know that this was something which just happened and not a big deal behind my back.”

  “I feel like a rat,” she said, unable to look at him.

  Walter grinned. “The gentlemanly thing to do would be to protest, but I’m afraid I agree with you. You are a rat. Oh, intellectually, I know that that’s life and my tough luck and all the other true-blue clichés.”

  “Don’t be so bitter, Walter. . . . There would be no point in marrying you because of a guilty conscience.”

  “Spare me the excuses,” Walter answered levelly.

  “Well, what do you want me to say?”

  He sighed heavily. “Nothing.”

  They remained silent for a few long seconds.

  “Will you still get your divorce?”

  Walter snorted. “You’re goddamn right I will.” He stared at her appraisingly. “And what are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean?” Laura hedged.

  “Is he going to meet you here?”

  “No,” she replied in a barely audible voice.

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  “Then you’re running away from him?” Walter stressed the word “him.” “Going to stay an old maid?”

  The conversation was going the wrong way, she decided nervously.

  “You’ve upset me enough lately; I’d like to not have to worry about you anymore,” he added.

  The coldness in his voice alarmed Laura, and she knew that he was not referring to their own breakup. “Why? What have you been upset about?” She immediately wished she hadn’t asked.

  Walter sat back in the polished captain’s chair more comfortably.

  “I heard a few rumors, and well, I was worried.”

  “What kind of rumors, Walter?” Laura’s heart began pounding in guilty terror, and she fought to keep her manner nonchalant.

  “Oh, nothing really.”

  “Is that why you’ve stayed in New York so long? Rumors?”

  “Not really. Although I’ll admit I included it among the other reasons. The divorce hearing won’t come up for another six months,” he said in a hollow voice, changing the subject, “and I’m lucky it’ll be that soon.”

  Laura raised her glass and looked deeply into Walter’s concerned blue eyes. “To magazines, matrimony, and maligners,” she toasted, only half joking.

  “Nothing like that, Laura.” Walter let his eyes pass over her as if expecting to find something unusual.

  “Please don’t lecture me tonight, Walter. I’ve had enough.”

  Walter placed his warm, big hand over her arm protectively.

  “Did I do the wrong thing when I asked you to come out here? To New York, I mean. Do you want to go back to the coast?”

  Laura stared at him in surprise. Then she laughed lightly. “Of course not, darling,” she said.

  “You have been behaving strangely lately—avoiding me. Not your usual self at all.” He cleared his throat again and, gulping down the last of his drink, signaled the waiter for another round.

  “Would you like to tell me what’s bothering you? You can, you know.”

  She wished to Christ he would shut up, then felt even guiltier.

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  “Walter. For the last time, nothing of any importance is bothering me. I’m just tired.”

  “All right.”

  There was a brief silence, for which Laura was thankful enough, although she knew she shouldn’t be. She felt Walter give her hand a resigned squeeze.

  “How’s Madeline?” He asked the question in such an offhand manner that it was quite plainly the reverse.

  “Fine, thank you.” Laura suppressed a smile.

  “Oh.” He smiled rather feebly. “So you two are hitting it off, are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” He let go of her hand carefully. “You’re not being very communicative.”

  Laura laughed kindly. “Walter, you dropped your little bomb about rumors, then clammed up as to their nature and then expect me to hand out information.” She leaned over confidentially and whispered, “The very walls have ears!”

  She waited a moment for him to comment, but when he didn’t, she knew his worries were not superficial. “Do you think we’re banding together and coming out with a competitive magazine?”

  “No,” he replied seriously. “It is not the kind of thing a gentleman repeats.”

  “Only implies and suggests, is that it?” she said coldly. “But Brutus is an honorable man.”

  “Now, see here, Laura. Stop playing cat-and-mouse with me.”

  “Aren’t you getting your casting mixed up?” Then she stopped.

  “I’m sorry, Walter. That was harsh.” She reached over and stroked his face gently.

  He smiled and, taking her hand again, kissed the palm. “I’m sorry, too. I had no right to pry.”

  They said nothing for a moment, as if they each were organizing their mental reinforcements and clearing the wounded from the arena.

  “I guess you may as well know,” Walter said almost to himself,

  “what the rumors are, and then you’ll perhaps see why I was so concerned.”

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  Laura didn’t answer. It was almost as if she knew what he was going to say, and had steeled herself to it.

  “It’s not pleasant.” Walter stared at his glass.
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  Still Laura said nothing. What was there to say?

  “When I first arrived and met Madeline, I thought she was charming and intelligent, besides still somewhat bitter from her recent divorce.” He paused as if waiting for the words to reach their destination in Laura’s brain and settle there.

  “I don’t want to imply that I wanted an affair between us; it’s just that most women react at once to safe flattery and attention. I’m no gigolo, and Madeline’s been around long enough to see that. But she almost ignored me—in a very friendly way, of course.”

  He looked over at Laura, who looked back at him. She found his male vanity amusing under ordinary circumstances, but this wasn’t just vanity.

  “It never dawned on me that there was something out of the way with her. I mean, she seemed all right and never said anything to seriously indicate . . .”

  “Walter,” Laura said in a low voice, “please get to the point.”

  “Well,” he answered with a nervous smile, “it would appear that Madeline lives in that twilight world or whatever it is they call it.”

  And there it was. Target sighted—bombs away.

  It didn’t sound so bad. Of course, he had put it diplomatically, and it really wasn’t an accusation against me, Laura thought, but still, one does feel on the defensive.

  Shall I let on that I knew what the term means, or play dumb?

  she wondered. No. Playing dumb would tip him off, and as long as it’s just a rumor, he can’t be too sure yet.

  “You mean she’s supposed to be queer?” That was it—go him one better.

  Walter started. “Well, I don’t know how much truth there is in it.

  She has been married and all that.”

  That’s better, Laura scolded him silently; back down.

  “Look, Walter. You give me deep, searching looks all evening, let loose with a few little hints, and then decide there’s nothing to anything. Did you think I was being seduced?”

  “No. Of course not.”

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  “Yes, you did, or you wouldn’t have started all this. What were you looking for? Signs of acne? Loss of reason? Green hair?”

  She had Walter on the defensive now, actually trying to convince her that the rumors were ridiculous.

  “I . . . I just thought you should know. I felt guilty and responsible when I heard about her, because I more or less talked you into staying with her.”

  “You thought I should know what?” Laura asked sarcastically. “I haven’t asked Madeline about her sex habits and she’s allowed me the same privacy. I didn’t even ask her if she’d been to bed with you.

  Although I’m surprised that she didn’t at least try.”

  Laura threw in the last sentence to pacify him. And it worked.

  “Let’s forget about it, shall we? I wasn’t accusing you of anything . . . perverted. Was I?” He smiled knowingly. “After all, I know your bed habits as well as your good,” he punned.

  Then Walter’s face became serious again. “Just one more thing, Laura, and we’ll drop the subject. I want you to know where I stand.” He stared at the table, averting her eyes, and his voice took on a tone she had never noticed before.

  “Even if you were seduced by her . . . I mean, no matter what you do or are or become”—he smiled and raised his eyes to hers—

  “I’m saying this badly, but I don’t give a damn what you do. . . . I think you’re one fine girl. My only objection to this . . . sort of thing . . . is the same as if you were to date a gangster or an alcoholic, or a Russian spy. You’re too likely to get hurt, and I wouldn’t want that for anything.”

  Laura wondered just how much Walter did know about Madeline, or if by some freak chance he had learned of her almost overnight friendship with Ginny, who was openly a friend of Saundra’s. But then, how much did anyone know about Saundra?

  He seemed very sincere, and Laura had no reason to disbelieve him. What a guy! she thought affectionately.

  “Thank you, Walter.”

  “Well, now,” he said with a humorous snort, “let’s get off this auld lang syne kick and concentrate on us and enjoy this farewell party.”

  She could take it easy now. He was off the subject and satisfied 110

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  that his virility had not been challenged. Now the rest of the conversation would be business, and in between he would work in one last seduction. But maybe he wouldn’t even want to ask her now.

  He suggested several places for dinner, but Laura wanted to stay where they were. Might as well eat here, she thought; we’d only have to come back to the hotel so Walter could ask me in for a nightcap.

  She half listened to him as he talked on about the future of Fanfare magazine and her future with him—businesswise, of course.

  His whole attitude showed clearly—if not somewhat bitterly—that she needn’t put into words that from now on they were simply

  “friends.”

  It seemed so silly, the protocol of male-female relations. There was no telling herself that she came anywhere near to loving him now the way she did before . . . before Ginny. Except that now that she felt closer to him, she could accept him better. Her feelings now were something else. The fact that she coldly planned to go to bed with him was another matter—she neither approved of it nor disapproved; she simply had to do it.

  But why, she wondered, did they have to go through all the game of having dinner and idle chatter? She wasn’t really hungry. Why didn’t they skip dinner and just go upstairs? It would save so much time and money. Only it would never do; she knew that. Nice girls—and Walter certainly thought of her as a nice girl—don’t have thoughts like that, much less act upon them. It would destroy a man’s ego if he thought a girl was using him for the same thing he wanted from her.

  Laura forced herself to listen to him and take an interest in what he was saying. It seemed to take forever for the dinner to be through and even longer for their cordial and coffee to arrive. She couldn’t help thinking what a waste this evening was for both of them. To Walter, because it didn’t really mean anything lasting to him, not anymore: he knew they were finished. And to Laura for even less sentimental reasons. It was more like a social debt she was repaying. She remembered what that night had been like with Ginny, and again attempted to understand what was motivating her now.

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  God! How it made her miss Ginny. Just to hold Ginny in her arms. Feel her soft, warm body pressed against her own, and feel Ginny’s firm, young arms slowly reach up and pull Laura’s head to hers in a long, probing kiss . . .

  I suppose I really am queer, Laura told herself, and for an instant she wanted to cry. The acceptance of it was almost like realizing you were no longer a child and would have to meet life and deal with it as an adult now—no more finding solace in your mother’s lap or hiding under the blanket so that nobody would find you.

  This was it.

  She only wished she could really and completely get over her feeling for Ginny, whatever it was. It had lessened, naturally, except for moments like now. She pondered briefly if it was Ginny she missed or what Ginny stood for.

  “. . . Aren’t you going to drink your coffee?” Walter’s voice came through to her, and she was genuinely surprised to realize she again hadn’t been paying any attention to him.

  “I’m sorry, Walter,” she offered apologetically. “I was just thinking that it might be a long time before I see you again,” she lied.

  His smile was unmistakably triumphant. “I don’t know about that”—he touched his cup to hers—“I’ll probably be back and forth a good deal just to keep you on your toes.”

  She smiled in reply and found herself dully waiting for him to suggest going up to his suite for a drink so that she could get the affair over with and go home.

  Home. Where was that?

  “How’re you getting on with Wil
ly?” Walter asked suddenly.

  “He’s a dear,” Laura said genuinely. “I would have been tearing my hair out if he hadn’t been around.”

  “Hmm,” Walter said in a tone of mock petulance. “Don’t become too fond of him.”

  “Well,” Laura teased, “when the cat’s away, and all that sort of jazz.”

  His smile faded slowly. “I’m going to miss you, darling. You know that.” His voice was low and husky.

  Somewhere in the back of Laura’s mind came the thought “Here 112

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  it comes,” but she pushed it aside and gave herself up to the over-ture for act 2 this evening.

  “And I’ll miss you, too,” she whispered. She sensed that Walter’s breathing had quickened, and tried to lose herself in his passion, in his desire—so that tonight would mean something.

  Odd, she thought. It’s almost like raping myself.

  “I know this sounds rather awkward”—Walter grinned his little-boy smile—“and even prearranged, but let’s go upstairs so we can talk in comfort.”

  “Fresh out of etchings, Walter?” Laura laughed.

  “We don’t need them, do we?” he asked suddenly, very serious.

  “No.” Laura couldn’t look into his eyes; she felt unforgivably hypocritical.

  “As a matter of fact,” Walter almost drawled, “I really don’t know why I want you to come up. It was different when you were mine, but it’s pretty damned selfish of me to expect you to . . . well, especially when your heart isn’t in it.” He thrust his hands into his pocket with plain frustration and confusion.

  “You’re under no obligation to me, Laura. Why don’t I just put you in a cab and send you home before my male hormones ruin a good friendship?”

  “No,” Laura said without even realizing it. She couldn’t stand the thought now of not going through with it. “No. I want to, Walter. Don’t ask me why; I just do. Maybe it’s because I trust you and need you despite . . . everything else. I’m not sure. I think I love you more right this minute than I ever did before—but it’s different. Much different.”

  She knew that she only half meant what she had said, but it was now terribly important to go upstairs with him. As long as he knew that she wasn’t offering herself with starry eyes, then nothing else seemed to matter but doing it and having done with it.