Watching her, Carolyn suddenly laughed aloud and clamped her hand over her mouth so that Angie would not hear.
It was typical of Angie, somehow. She realized that the girl had come to this secluded spot to take the fatal plunge.
Yet she also knew that she had carefully chosen to do so in three inches of water. She should have known better than to take her seriously. Even as a suicide, Angie could not be sincere.
Angie folded her stockings ceremoniously and tucked them into the toe of one shoe. Then she set the shoes straight, as though lining them up in a closet. Still sitting, she stretched a leg toward the water, slowly, almost as though it pained her.
Instantly she withdrew her foot. She hugged her legs close to her chest and her head sagged against her knees. For a long time she sat there, stooped, defeated. Then, still slumped and obviously miserable, she unrolled the stockings and began to dress.
Carolyn got up stiffly and dusted her hands on her skirt. For an instant, she paused. She knew that whatever fit Angie had had was subsiding now into depression. And she felt reasonably sure that Angie would never go through with a suicide, that the water would always be too cold or the ground too far away. Still she felt guilty about what she had done to her. Once she had loved the girl. She started climbing down the side of the rock.
Picking her way carefully over loose stones, Carolyn got down to the edge of the lake. She could see Angie quite clearly now, standing, gazing out over the water. As quietly as she could, she moved along the water toward the girl.
Out of the shadows behind Angie emerged the figure of a man. Carolyn started to shout a warning. Then the words stuck in her throat as she recognized the blue uniform of the park patrolman.
The policeman called out to Angie before he reached her. Angie whirled, then answered him. They stood close together, talking quietly. Side by side they started back toward the road.
Carolyn could not hear what either said, but glancing ahead of them, she saw the prowl car with another cop seated in it parked beside the walk.
When they were out of earshot, she turned and made her way quickly out of the brush and ran to the parking lot.
She kept a safe distance behind the prowl car as it drove slowly toward the Fifty Ninth Street exit. The policeman put out his hand and hailed a cab. She didn't know what story Angie had told him, but it must have been a good one.
Almost before it stopped, Angie had jumped out of the patrol car and was opening the door of the taxi. It took off like a shot, with Carolyn close behind.
By now it was after three and traffic was light. Even as they drove through Times Square, Carolyn had no trouble keeping Angie in sight. She had no idea where the girl might be going but as long as she had started this chase, she was determined to see it through. If the girl went to Jimmy, she would not worry any more about her. But in the condition she was in, she might be going just about anywhere.
Finally the cab pulled up in front of a dingy side street bar. Carolyn parked half a block behind.
The cab waited while Angie went inside. She was gone for quite some time. When she came out, she handed money to the driver, then flounced back into the bar.
Carolyn stayed in the car for a long time, watching the door of the bar. A couple of drunks staggered out and reeled off down the street. A guy stopped out front and peered in the window, then went on his way. The bartender came out for a breath of air. There was no sign of Angie.
She found a stale cigarette in her purse and lit it. It burnt her throat and she stubbed it out in the ashtray. A pulse beat steadily in her right temple and her palms were slippery with sweat. She glanced at her watch, then held it to her ear to make sure it was running. What the hell could Angie be doing in that bar, anyhow? She never drank, except occasionally at home. And it didn't look like a place where Jimmy would take a girl.
Finally she could sit still no longer. She slammed the door of the car behind her and crossed quickly in the middle of the block.
Leaning close to the soot smeared windows, Carolyn peered into the bar. It was like dozens of others she had seen, a long, smoke-filled room with a wooden bar and half a dozen tables. There was an open phone on the wall in the corner, right next to the ladies' toilet. The man she had seen in the doorway stood behind the bar, polishing glasses on a dirty towel. The only light came from a cluster of bulbs framing a mirror above the cash register.
But she could make out easily enough the figures lined up along the bar, hunching forward over their drinks. There was only one woman and she wasn't Angie.
Carolyn pushed open the swinging door and went inside. The bartender glanced up and stopped polishing the glass.
One quick look reassured her that Angie was nowhere in the room. She hesitated, seeing the bartender eye her curiously, then walked through to the john.
The door was locked. She allowed herself one second of hope. If only Angie were inside...
Leaning against the wall, she waited, keeping an eye on the bar and the front entrance. The bartender went back to polishing glasses.
After what seemed like hours the door creaked open. A frowsy blonde with puffy eyes and vomit stains down the front of her red satin dress sagged out of the john almost into Carolyn's arms. She reeled back against the wall, standing in Carolyn's way.
Carolyn held herself away from the woman as best she could and peered past her shoulder into the cubby hole. It was a one-seat affair with a tiny sink and no paper, the floor slippery with the mess the blonde had left behind her.
Angie was certainly not there.
Gagging from the smell of the toilet and of the woman, Carolyn tried to ease past the drunken blonde. The woman would not let her go. She leaned across the narrow passage and propped herself against the wall.
"What's the matter, honey?" she mumbled. "Stinks too much for you?"
Carolyn took another step forward. "Let me through, please."
"You're in a hurry? Why're you in a hurry, honey?"
Carolyn tried to keep a tight rein on her temper. She knew the woman was too drunk to make sense. "I'm looking for somebody," she said. "A girl."
"Well, well, well!" The blonde laughed raucously. "You don't say!" She put her arms around Carolyn's neck and hung there like a stone.
Carolyn put her hands against the blonde's shoulders and gave a shove. The woman did not move.
"Let me go," Carolyn said desperately. "I have to find somebody."
The blonde laughed again. "What for?" she said. "You have me."
Carolyn stared at her stupidly, not knowing what to say.
" 'Sall right," the blonde mumbled. "I play the field. Not particular." She winked.
In any other mood, Carolyn would have laughed. But right now she did not feel like wasting time on a drunken whore. Glancing past the woman, she looked around for someone to help her get rid of her. She saw the look on the bartender's face and the faces of the others along the bar, all of them turned to watch. She knew that none of them would help, that they were getting too much of a kick out of her distress. Besides, they obviously thought she was enjoying it. She realized instantly that she could not get away from the woman without causing a scene. For the moment the lesbian stopped amusing them, the men would side with the blonde.
Carolyn sighed. Angie made unpleasant complications even when she wasn't around.
She put her hand on the woman's arm. "Look," she said. "Let's get out of here. This is no place..."
"Buy me a drink first," the woman said.
Carolyn shook her head.
"Buy me a drink." Her voice got louder with each word.
"You've had too much already," Carolyn said quietly, trying to calm her down.
The woman opened her big mouth and spoke in a roar. "No drink, no..."
Carolyn clapped her hand over the woman's mouth and held it there. "All right, all right," she said. "I'll buy you a drink. Just shut up, will you?"
She followed the woman to one of the tables along the wall. She heard on
e of the men laugh, a nasty, obscene sound that sent shivers along her spine. She sat down on a chair with her back to the lecherous, laughing faces.
The woman made a sign to the bartender and he reached for a bottle of scotch.
She sat down next to Carolyn and leaned forward, her heavy breasts flattening against the table top. She took Carolyn's hand. "You're a nice girl," she said. "A real nice girl."
Carolyn drew away from the woman's touch, slowly, gently, so that the siren wouldn't scream again. She watched the woman watching the bartender pour their drinks. It occurred to her then that the blonde had probably been at the bar when Angie came in. She was not sure that the woman would remember Angie or tell her if she did. But maybe, if she got her into an agreeable mood, the woman could tell her what had happened to the girl. As long as she was stuck for the time it took the woman to down her drink, she might as well get something out of it.
The bartender served them and brought Carolyn change. He didn't say a word more than he had to but it was obvious enough what he thought. The blonde whore he knew from way back. And he figured he had Carolyn pegged, too.
She ignored the expression on his face and turned her attention to the woman. She watched glumly as the blonde sipped from her drink. She knew that a couple more would put the blonde out cold. And before things got that far, she had to find out what she could about Angie.
The woman took another swallow, then burped. She put the back of the hand across her mouth and giggled. Then she leaned forward, ready to turn on the charm, to start paying for her drink. Carolyn forced herself not to retreat from the stench of the woman's breath and tried to ignore the leering smile and blackened teeth.
She felt the woman's hand on her leg, fumbling at the edge of her hem. She did not reach to stop her. Instead she said, "Are you feeling any better?"
"I'm feeling fine, honey," the blonde croaked hoarsely. "How about you?" Her hand went under Carolyn's skirt, caressing her thigh.
Carolyn hunched forward over the table, hiding her face from the men at the bar. She knew she was flushed. She felt feverish and ready to retch. The hand crept up her leg.
"I could make you feel better," the woman whispered.
Carolyn put her hand under the table and grabbed the woman's. "Not here," she said, "for God's sake."
"I have a place. Down the block."
"In a minute," Carolyn said. She took a swallow of the straight scotch. It burned all the way down. She blinked the tears out of her eyes. "I'm waiting for someone. I told you. A girl. I was supposed to meet her an hour ago."
The woman's eyes narrowed to tiny slits in the puffy lids. "What for?"
"She's... a friend, that's all." She paused. "Maybe she came in before I got here?"
The woman's head rolled on her fat neck. "Nope." Her fingers started creeping once more along the inside of Carolyn's thigh. "Nobody came in before you got here, baby. Nobody." Her voice was husky.
She could stand it no more. Angie or no Angie, leering men or no leering men, she knew she was going to be sick if she didn't get away from this smelly slob.
She pushed roughly away from the table, slopping the scotch out of her glass. The blonde blinked up at her stupidly.
For a moment, Carolyn hesitated, not wanting to face the men watching her along the bar.
Then she flung herself away from the woman and out of the barroom.
On the street she slumped dismally against the side of a building and gasped for air until her stomach began to settle. It was the first time she had been exposed to that kind of a woman. She hadn't known they existed. She remembered how revolted she had been by the man on the barge. Her reaction to the woman had been no different.
She almost laughed to think what a fool she had been to believe that all women were gentle and good. God!
She had learned something in that bar tonight. But it was not what she had gone there to find. That was still missing.
Nervous, frightened, confused, she walked slowly back to the car. She might just as well leave. Angie had disappeared.
CHAPTER 12
When Walter finally answered the bell, Carolyn fell into his arms. He pulled her inside and let the door slam shut behind them.
Holding her against him, he gripped her elbows and tried to make her face him. She blubbered incoherently, trying to tell him about Angie. He shook his head and just held her.
When she had stopped shaking, he put an arm around her and steered her into the livingroom.
He sat her down on the couch. "You must lead a pretty exciting life," he said calmly. Then he left her and went into the kitchen.
She was in no mood to have Walter be sarcastic. Oh, he had every reason to be. As far as he could see, she had probably been behaving like an ass. But right now she wanted him to be the good, gentle Walter she loved and who always helped her. Not a spoiled child with hurt feelings. That pose went better with Angie.
She settled on the cushions where he had deposited her and waited for him to come back. When he did, he was carrying a bottle of brandy and two exquisite crystal glasses. He set them on the end table and stood there looking down at her, his expression half smile, half frown. She could not tell what he was feeling but something about the way he looked at her made her itchy all over.
"Walter, I know I owe you an explanation," she began. "An apology, I suppose. But…"
"No," he interrupted. "I owe you one. I shouldn't have let you get away with shoving me back on the shelf. I couldn't expect you to know this would happen again. But I did." He poured her a shot of brandy.
She took the glass and sipped from it, using it to hide behind, to conceal the unhappiness in her eyes. Of all the things she had to be ashamed of, Walter hurt the most. She did not know what to say that would make him forgive her. "I'm sorry, Walter. Please believe me," she said. "I don't know why you should understand."
"I don't understand," he answered. "But I do love you, Carolyn."
"Still?"
"Of course." He sat down beside her and took her hand. "Now, what did she do this time?"
While she told him everything that had happened, Walter listened with interest but with no show of concern. She could not understand his change of attitude and she found herself becoming annoyed with him, with his placid acceptance of tragedy. She had always known that he did not care for Angie but it was not like him to wish anyone ill.
Finally, when she had finished her story, Walter calmly offered her a cigarette and took one for himself.
"Well, what am I going to do?" she asked impatiently. She could not bear the way he sat there, smugly, while Angie might be dead or dying. Couldn't he see that...
He put his hand over hers and held it tightly. "First of all,” he said quietly, "you're going to calm down and face the fact that Angie is perfectly capable of taking care of herself."
It felt like a slap in the face. Yet maybe that was exactly what she needed. And he was right, after all. She had forgotten that about Angie, that she always took care of herself.
And there she sat with Walter, asking him to help her because he loved her, and thinking of nothing but Angie. She felt like a fraud. She wanted to fling herself at him, to be in his arms where it was safe, where she could forget about Angie, forget about herself.
Yet she knew she would not be free to give herself to Walter, to anyone, until she had gotten the poison that was Angie out of her system.
She shook her head sadly. "I can't calm down, Walter. I just can't. You don't know. You didn't see her."
"I didn't see her, Carolyn, but I spoke to her."
She frowned. "When?"
"I was on the phone with Angie when you rang the bell," he said quietly. "That's why it took me so long to answer."
She looked at him for a long time, hating the smug assurance on his face.
He put his cigarette out and leaned toward her. "Now, just let me tell you the other side of this story, Carolyn. Then maybe you'll understand why I'm not worried."
&nbs
p; She backed away from him into the corner of the couch, not wanting him near her, afraid of the tone in his voice.
She knew she did not want to hear what he had to say. But she made no attempt to quiet him.
"According to Angie," he began, "you came home late tonight and for no reason tried to kill her. She managed to knock you down. She fled out of the apartment, running for her life. She's with a friend, she says, but she wouldn't tell me where."
"Why did she call you?"
"Well, I gather, she left everything, even her money, behind. She said she tried to call you and got no answer, so she called to see if you were here. She's scared to come back herself. But she wants you to pack her stuff and her friend’ll pick it up in the morning." He shrugged. "With a little luck, you might be rid of her for good this time.
Though I wouldn't count on it. I don't believe anything that girl says anymore."
She heard the disappointment in his voice. She knew that he didn't care what happened to Angie but he had expected more of the girl he loved. He had every reason to be ashamed of her. She wasn't very proud of herself.
"Look," he said, "it's not all that bad, is it? Sure, you've had a rough time with this girl—but we've got a lifetime ahead of us, Carolyn. You'll forget Angie and everything that's happened between you. After we're married, you won't have time—"
"Oh Walter, for God's sake, stop talking like a man!" she exploded. "I won't forget Angie. I don't even want to. I've loved Angie very much, Walter. Very much. And I don't give a damn if she is rotten." She watched the shock widen his eyes, then his mouth tightened into a thin line. She smiled. "That upsets you? It shouldn't. I wouldn't be of much use to you as a wife if I fell out of love every time we disagreed."
He raised his eyebrows. "You're not making much sense, little girl. Try that again."
She pushed herself up off the couch and took a few quick paces away from him. Then she turned to face him squarely. "I'm not sure I know myself, Walter. Oh, I'm finished with Angie, that's sure enough. But I can't say that I'll never be sorry. Or that I won't think about her now and then. It wouldn't be normal if I didn't. If you can't accept the simple facts, we might as well find it out right now."
Unashamed, The Page 11