Carolyn nodded. Her expression was grave. "It must have been pretty rough on you," she said and her tone was full of honey-coated sympathy. She took a step forward. "I hope he didn't try anything."
Angie frowned and let her shoulders droop forward. She looked like an old-time movie heroine at the end of a chapter. "Well," she said, "he tried, but I stopped him."
"What did you say, Angie?"
"Well, I told him I'd changed my mind, that's all. That I wasn't ready yet." She sounded inordinately pleased with herself. "He got mad and left."
Carolyn nodded. "I don't blame him," she said. "Women have been raped for less." She reached around Angie to the light switch and the room was suddenly dark. "You must have been terribly disappointed, darling. But it's not his fault. He just doesn't know you."
Angie started to back away from the tone in Carolyn's voice. "What are you talking about, Carol? You knew I wouldn't let him."
"You'd better shut up, Angie, before you get all confused."
"Carol, I love you," Angie pleaded. "Carol?"
With one hand, Carolyn forced Angie backward till the girl's shoulders were against the wall. Then she slapped her, just once, very hard. "That's for lying to me, Angie."
"No, no," Angie cried. "I didn't."
Carolyn hit her again. "And that's for making a fool of me in my own bed."
"I didn't, I didn't." She put her hands up to shield her face. "I swear I didn't."
Carolyn laughed. "And you still expect me to believe you?" She laughed again and it sounded even to her almost hysterical. She grabbed Angie by the forearms and slammed her again and again into the wall. She wanted to kill the girl.
Finally, Angie screamed and lashed out at Carolyn with her fists. "I hate you, I hate you," she screamed.
Carolyn struggled desperately to hold onto the girl's arms and Angie kicked her in the shin. Suddenly Bridgit appeared from under the couch and scooted between them. The tip of her tail touched Angie's leg and the girl screeched. Without hesitation, Carolyn stuck out her foot and sent Angie flying.
Carolyn followed her down to the floor.
"I hate you," Angie repeated. She was crying now.
"I hate you too," Carolyn said.
Angie stretched out her arms.
"Damn you," Carolyn whispered hoarsely and she realized her own cheeks were wet with tears. She moved into Angie's arms and kissed her hard, forcing her tongue deep into the girl's mouth and deliberately smashing her lips against her teeth. She needed to hurt her, to rip her to pieces. And she needed to make love to Angie—not because she wanted her—but because she hated herself.
She tore at the girl with her hands and pulled the clothes off her and bit her breasts. Once Angie tried to push her away. Then she lay back calmly and sighed.
Carolyn felt brutal and crude. When she heard Angie's sigh of resignation and felt her relax, she knew it was no use.
Angie was humoring her as she always did. She kissed the girl again, without desire, and held her.
Angie took Carolyn's hand and pressed it against her own breast. "Honey, love me," she whispered. Her tone was pleading.
Carolyn buried her face against Angie's shoulder so the girl could not see the pain in her eyes. She slid her hand across Angie's belly and over her thigh.
She made love to her then, gently, slowly, the way Angie liked. Angie made little moaning sounds like a soul in torment. Carolyn felt the girl shudder and lie still. She rolled away from her.
"Honey?" Angie said.
Carolyn didn't answer.
Angie reached out to touch her and Carolyn grabbed her wrist.
"Huh uh," Carolyn said. She stood up abruptly and walked away from the girl. She went into the bathroom and locked the door.
Bridgit crouched in her pan under the sink, waiting for the excitement to subside. She stretched her head out over the edge and peered at Carolyn searchingly. When she got no response, she retreated and rubbed the back of her neck against the plastic rim.
It was too humid and stuffy in the little room for a hot shower. But Carolyn stepped in anyway and let the steaming water trickle through her hair and over her shoulders. It didn't help at all. She knew that she was finished with Angie for good this time, that she had finally had enough. Yet she still had a problem and it was a big one. She did not know how to convince Angie that she meant it and, until she did, the girl would give her no peace.
She dried herself slowly in front of the mirror, rubbing the rough towel fiercely all over her body and feeling suddenly alive and wanting in every pore of her being. When she rejected Angie, she had felt no desire. Now she felt a craving that was something apart from love, apart even from sense. Cupping her hands along her body, she felt a shiver of need go through her that gripped at her stomach and left her weak. She knew she could not go back to the girl now and beg. Yet she wanted a woman desperately.
She went into the bedroom and began very calmly to dress. She put on a pair of cotton slacks and a starched white shirt. Then she combed her damp hair into a soft wave. She was a little too broad in the beam for slacks, really, but nobody would notice that where she was going. And besides, she wanted to look "butch" tonight. That was the way she felt.
Angie was still lying on the living room floor waiting for her. She looked up at Carolyn and made a sour face. "I hope you're proud of yourself," she said.
Carolyn paused for an instant on her way to the door. "I am," she said. "And, Angie, don't wait up for me."
Angie sat up. Her face was very pale in the dim light. "Why?" she asked. "Where are you going?"
"Out to get laid," Carolyn said and slammed the door behind her.
CHAPTER 6
When she reached the street, Carolyn realized that she intended to get very, very drunk. She wanted to find a woman to go to bed with, but she knew her desire was not for a woman alone. She had to forget Angie, had to prove to herself that she no longer cared.
She decided not to bother with the car and rode downtown on the train.
It was already after midnight when she came out of the subway station into the steaming heat of the Village. She turned her back on the fights and the bustle of Sheridan Square and walked slowly west on a quiet side street.
Though it was late, teenage kids loitered on doorsteps, talking, whistling as she passed, and above them, old women in washed-out, sleeveless cottons leaned out of windows to catch a breath of air. The stench from open garbage cans and of meat scraps rotting in warehouses down by the river filled her nostrils and her stomach began to churn. She fit a cigarette and dragged the smoke deep into her lungs.
At the corner a door banged open almost in her face and a derelict stumbled out of a noisy bar. He reeled around to swear at the bouncer, who had already gone back inside, then staggered across the sidewalk into the gutter. He sat down on the curb, his arms propped on his knees, and began to sing in a melancholy, croaking voice.
Carolyn crossed the street away from him and walked close to the buildings, keeping to the shadows. Ahead of her on the opposite side, the window of the Rendezvous made a dull yellow blotch on the night's darkness.
She slowed down as she passed and tried to look the place over without staring. Though the door stood open, the large room was hazy with cigarette smoke. She could see figures clustered three deep at the near end of the bar.
The juke box blared into the silent street.
For a moment she hesitated. She had never walked into a gay bar alone, had never even seen one before she met Angie. It seemed to her a nervy thing to do, like posting a public announcement of her need. It helped only a little to realize that the drinkers at the bar were there for the same reason. But she could not deny that the brassy music, the outlines against the window and the promise of fulfillment excited her.
She crossed the street and started back to the entrance. A giant of a man in a blue cord suit appeared from inside and stood blocking the doorway. Munching thoughtfully on a toothpick, he cocked his head and the b
right, narrow eyes inspected quickly. Satisfied, he nodded and stepped aside to let her enter.
Carolyn took a deep breath and launched herself past him into the din. Just inside the entrance, she paused and swallowed uncertainly. She couldn't get anywhere near the bar and she couldn't very well just stand there in the middle of the floor.
"There's room in the back," the big guy said from behind her. "You can't breathe back there, but there's plenty of room."
She thanked him and maneuvered slowly toward the rear of the bar. She saw the eyes turning to watch her. Just the eyes. It felt like dozens of them, tiny sparks of light in dull, blank faces. She did not look back at any of them, but raised her cigarette nervously to her lips and bore it in front of her like a shield. For a moment she was naked in front of the crowd, like a slave girl in the marketplace. Then she was one of them. They went back to their chatter and their drinks. She squeezed through to the bar.
She ordered a gin and tonic and when it was served, drank the gin straight. When it took hold of her nerves, she leaned back, feeling a little more confident, and began to survey the faces around her. With her back against the wall at the end of the bar, she had the best seat in the house from which to cruise.
Directly across from her sat a couple she did not know but recognized from previous trips. They were apparently always there, on those two stools, and always drunk. They were together, yet apart. They did not talk to each other, just sat, stared ahead of them and drank. She could not bear to look at them for more than a glance and partake of their mutual misery, whatever it was. She felt like a Peeping Tom when she did.
And then there were the others. New faces, yet somehow always the same. The young ones, kids in shorts and sandals with closely cropped hair, looking for trouble, drinking too much, and loud in their self-conscious bravado.
The serious cruisers, the older ones, sober and hungry-eyed, silently staring. And the ones who reminded Carolyn of Angie and herself—the ones on the waning ends of affairs—still together, already bored, yet clinging to each other in a sort of quiet desperation.
The happy ones, the ones who were loved, did not come to this place. They had no need to.
Carolyn had seen it all many times before when Angie had brought her here. Angie loved just to sit in a corner and watch. She got a big kick out of being flirted with, and she almost always was. Yet to Carolyn, coming to the Village to look at lesbians was not much different from a trip to the zoo. It always depressed and frightened her. And she knew that, no matter what Angie did to her, she would never allow herself to hang around the gay bars, looking for a partner for the night. She did not want to become like these women, forever looking, forever alone.
But here she was and she had come here for a reason. This time, her reason was the same as theirs.
She searched deeply into many faces but she found no response.
The craving she had felt began to burn again inside her. An aching need, pulsing along her thighs, pounding behind her temples. She wiped her sweaty palms on the knees of her slacks and her hands were trembling.
Somebody dropped coins into the juke box and it broke its three second silence with a blare of trumpets. A glass got in the way of an elbow and spilled onto the bar. Voices rose in argument, then mingled with the din.
She swallowed her third shot of gin. When it hit her stomach, she cringed, realizing she had already drunk enough.
She had eaten little of her mother's supper, not enough for ballast. Her senses began to swim. The heat and the noise and the smoke pressed in on her.
It was getting late. People were beginning to pair off and leave. The need to find someone, anyone became urgent.
Desperately she ordered another drink and began again to search.
She had not noticed the girl in the worn denim shirt come in. Yet when she saw her making her way toward the back of the bar, she felt no surprise. It was as though she had been expecting her and waiting. She had never seen the girl before and knew instinctively that she would never see her again. But it did not matter. It was now that counted.
There was nothing particularly attractive about the girl. She was tall with a narrow, firm body. Her face was small and pinched and reminded Carolyn of a starved Pekingese. The details didn't matter. It was the expression in the deep blue eyes when their glances met that caught her attention and held it. It was an open appeal for help.
Carolyn recognized that plea. It was the one she had been carrying in her heart all evening.
The girl leaned an elbow on the bar and in a deep, well-modulated voice ordered a bottle of beer. The bartender asked to see her money first. She took five dimes out of her shirt pocket and lined them across the palm of her hand. He grinned and gave her the bottle. She grinned back and dropped the dimes on the counter.
Carolyn had expected to see a flush of embarrassment, but there was only good nature behind the grin. If she knew that Carolyn had been watching, she gave no sign. She took the bottle and went to stand near the juke box. She let her shoulders droop, put her head back and half closed her eyelids.
Carolyn studied the girl from behind a cigarette. She knew that the girl was eying her just as steadily. Now that she had found what she wanted, Carolyn wasn't quite sure what to do next. She had never before tried to pick a girl up.
She realized that the girl would be more than willing, but she obviously expected Carolyn to make the first move.
When it was empty, the girl set the beer bottle beside her on the floor. She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and let the smoke trickle out. For a fraction of an instant, she looked directly into Carolyn's eyes.
Carolyn signalled the bartender. "Another gin," she said. "And a bottle of beer." She paid for the drinks and stood up. If she could just get across the room, she had it made.
The beer was a cinch, but the gin slopped over onto her fingers. By the time she reached the girl, the shot glass was half empty.
She looked at the girl in dismay. "I think I'm a little tight," she said.
The girl laughed, friendly and pleasant. "Honey," she said, "you're doing just fine." She took the bottle from Carolyn, tipped it to her lips and drank deeply.
Carolyn raised the shot glass to her lips and decided suddenly that she couldn't take another drop without falling flat on her face. She looked around for a place to set the glass, then shrugged helplessly at the girl.
"Don't waste it," the girl said. "It's good stuff." She took the shot glass and poured the liquid into her beer, then set the glass on the floor. "There. Simple?"
So far, so good, Carolyn thought. What the hell do I do now?
"I'm Carol Weber," she said impulsively.
The girl raised an eyebrow and glanced at Carolyn curiously. An odd smile played on her lips. "You didn't have to tell me, you know."
"What do you mean?"
The girl shrugged. "Not much of anything," she said. "I just talk."
"No, really," Carolyn insisted.
"You don't come here often, do you?" the girl asked.
"It's my first time alone," Carolyn admitted. She frowned. "Why?"
"Ah, yes. Just my luck. I should have known." She tilted her head back and now there was a hint of sarcasm in the blue eyes. "You had a fight with your girl."
Carolyn shook her head vehemently. "No fight," she said. "We're just through, that's all."
The girl sighed. "I know, honey. That's what they all say."
"All who?"
"The first-timers." She patted Carolyn on the shoulder. "But don't worry about it. It's all right. I've been using the same line for ten years."
Carolyn drew away from the girl's hand. "But it's true," she said indignantly.
The girl smiled again. "You know something?" she said. "I believe you. You've got about as much finesse as a Mack truck. I doubt that you've learned that from experience." The blue eyes sparkled.
For one second Carolyn wanted sincerely to throw the beer in the girl's face and walk out of the bar alone. But the
n she noticed the eyes. They were bright and laughing, but they were not happy. She would never know what had made this girl put on the mask of sarcasm and nonchalance. She did not really care to find out. But she knew that it was a lie. The girl was not hard, just hardened.
Carolyn let herself relax and she smiled. "Give me time," she said. "I'm a fast learner."
The girl looked at her levelly for an instant, her eyes serious now. Abruptly, she nodded. "I'm sure you know all that's required," she said. She finished the beer, then leaned away from the wall. "Shall we go?"
Carolyn followed her out of the bar and onto the quiet street. She had no idea where they were going. She didn't care. There was only one thing that concerned her now and, wherever they went, she would find it.
Outside, the girl waited for her to catch up. She looked down at Carolyn and her expression was sober, almost sad.
"Look," she said. "You didn't have to come."
"Nobody forced me," Carolyn said.
"I'm not always that snotty," the girl said. "It's just that— Well, I feel like a performing dog in that place. I used to go with a girl and we went into that place every weekend. We always fought like hell after a couple of drinks. We put on a regular floor show till they finally threw us out." She was silent for a moment, then she shrugged. "So what? There's no place else to go anymore."
They started walking toward Hudson Street, neither of them talking. Carolyn listened to the taps of her heels click rhythmically against the sidewalk. It was cooler now than it had been in the bar, though not much, and she breathed deeply to dispel the wooziness that filled her. Her head throbbed with every step she took, from the gin and the confusion and the lack of sleep.
The girl moved closer, not touching her but near enough so that Carolyn felt the sleeve of the denim shirt brush against her arm. She knew that the girl was trying to make things right between them, to apologize for her abruptness in the bar. She felt herself responding to the girl's need for acceptance and love, perhaps because it was so like her own. And she sensed a rush of warmth towards this stranger that she had never felt for anyone before, except Angie. It was not pity. Nor was it love. It was simply a desire to comfort.
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