by Randy Salem
She had never liked it much. Helga was tall and Lee liked her women tiny. Helga thought of herself as a sophisticate and Lee liked her women uncomplicated. Helga was cold, her skin, her long blonde hair, her pale blue eyes like something preserved in ice. Lee liked her women warm, tender, uninhibited.
But in bed, Helga dissolved, Helga became a flame, Helga forgot to be smooth and chic. And in bed, Lee liked Helga very much.
She watched her now and waited, knowing that the storm could not lastknowing that in a moment Helga would start to thaw. Then Helga would be good to her, good for her. Helga would hold her and...
"Well, who the hell is she?" Helga screamed. "Do I have to stand here and yell all night?"
"You may stop any time you please," Lee said mildly. "You'll only give yourself a headache." She didn't tell Helga about her own headache. Helga wouldn't have cared.
"I hate you," Helga said coldly. "You treat me like—"
"I probably treat you like you deserve to be treated," Lee interrupted. "Did that ever occur to your thick skull?"
Helga was quiet finally, standing still and breathing deeply as though readying another charge.
Lee did not press her advantage. She walked to the window and for a moment, looked across to the next apartment at a woman combing her hair. Then she lowered the blind.
"You think I'm going to bed with you?" Helga screamed. "Do you think I'm crazy? I'm through with you, Lee. Do you hear that?"
"Uh-huh," Lee murmured. "And if you took a poll of the building, I imagine everyone else did too."
"Oh!" Helga exploded. But it was quieter now.
Lee waited till Helga had cooled off enough to sit down on the couch. Then she said, "Now, about what you were saying. I apologize. I should have called but something came up that..."
"I know what came up," Helga said nastily. "You can't look at a behind without following it home."
Lee smiled without humor. "That's not quite true," she said. "I once saw one in Brooklyn that didn't do a thing for me."
"Oh, shut up," Helga said. She patted the couch. "Come here."
Lee went to the couch, but stood up, towering over Helga, not quite so sure now that it was worth the effort. She knew by heart the little game that Helga played—knew Helga would grind her down first, make her be sorry. But she was not sorry at all. She didn't give a good damn.
Helga's left eyebrow arched high. "Well," she breathed. "Don't tell me the prime bastard of them all has finally fallen."
"That's what I like about you," Lee said, carefully avoiding the accusation. Even Maggie's name didn't belong in the same room with Helga. "You're so gracious, so ladylike, so…
"Can it," Helga spat. "Who is she, Lee? If you don't tell me, I'll find out anyhow."
"What difference does it make to you?" Lee said, knowing Helga had her pegged. "You've got no claim on me."
Helga sighed and shook her head. She looked at Lee levelly for a moment. Then she said, her voice quiet now and subdued, "I once thought I had."
"Oh, come off it," Lee said, turning away in disgust. "You don't care a damn about me."
Again Helga sighed. "You're a fool," she said, still quietly. "But I guess that's beside the point." She reached to touch Lee's hand. "How come you're so hung up over this chick, whoever she is? It's not like you to let a woman give you trouble."
Lee was silent for a moment. It was useless to deny that she was indeed hung up for someone. Even Helga had brains enough to see that. But she didn't want to tell Helga about Maggie. Not even a little bit. Helga couldn't help her and wouldn't if she could. But Helga could hurt her, Helga could twist the knife in her wound.
"Well?" Helga prodded.
Finally Lee said, "It's just no good. She's straight."
She had expected to be laughed at. It was in keeping with Helga. The girl threw back her head and howled and when she had finished, peered at Lee as if she were a specimen on the end of a pin.
"I told you you were a fool," Helga said triumphantly. "Don't you know that no woman is so straight she can't be bent a little?"
"Not this one," Lee said. "She..."
"Oh, come along," Helga said disgustedly. "Look at me. I didn't furnish this apartment by working for a living. Believe me, Lee, I like sex like nobody likes it. I've been sleeping around since I was twelve, you know that." She laughed. "And then one day you followed my behind down the street and right into the house and..." She spread her hands. "I know you think I'm a liar, but I've been faithful to you for three months, and that's something I've never been able to say for anybody else."
Lee heard the subtle shift of subject and knew that Helga had moved from interest in Lee to interest in herself, which, with Helga, was predictable. She wasn't ready to accept Helga's plea of faithfulness. But she did know that she had been a good thing in Helga's life, a very rich plum that had supplied its own share of furnishings. Helga would not let go without a fight.
"But you're different," Lee said, taking Helga's lead and putting Maggie back into her heart where she belonged.
"How am I different?" Helga murmured, secure again, now that they were back on her favorite topic.
Lee sat down beside her on the couch and took Helga's hands between her own. She could look into Helga's eyes and not see Helga at all, but only a pair of arms, a pair of lips... It was a knack she had developed a long time ago to cover up the feeling of lonesomeness, of uselessness.
"In many ways," Lee murmured, "you understand about things, you feel things..." She heard the sound of herself droning on, telling Helga the same line she had spun for her so often before. Felt her hands reaching out to Helga, still spinning the line, twining it around them both noose-like and strangling.
She switched off the lamp at the end of the couch and stretched out on the foam rubber, pulling Helga close against her.
In the dark, she thought, they all look alike. A body is a body in the dark. Arms only arms. Lips... All alike. A curve to touch here, a hollow there waiting for the tip of your tongue. You travel the road once and you know it by heart. All the bumps, the detours, the side streets and the avenues.
She had traveled the road so often she had worn it to a fine, polished smoothness. She did not have to think about Helga to make love to her. To know where to touch and how to touch and for how long. The response too, she knew. Helga's response, not really different from the others, not really Helga's, but nature's—inevitable, calculated, and rather dull.
It was not better this time when Helga came to her. She could tell that it was Helga, for she knew the special feel of Helga's hands. Warm hands and strong, that knew how and did what they knew to perfection. She felt her body react, come alive and welcome Helga, opening to her, giving of itself. Felt all of her blur for an instant, hang suspended, breathless for the length of a sigh.
Then it was there again, the thumping ache of her head, the queasy lurch in her stomach. She tried to tell herself that she was only tired—that she had not slept and had not eaten—that she needed to rest, to eat, and forget. Forget...
"Well, aren't you a drag tonight?" Helga said. She snapped on the light and peered down into Lee's face.
Lee put up her hand to shield her eyes, but Helga lifted it away. Glancing up, she could see the smirk, the cruelty in Helga's blue eyes. And she knew that she was not being spared anything tonight.
"So it's really true," Helga said with a kind of awe. "Little Lee Van Dingle Dangle's been hooked."
"Drop it," Lee said coldly. "I'm in no mood..."
"You're in no mood!" Helga shrieked. "Listen, butch, if you can't get it up for me, don't come around here like a sick cat..."
"I'm tired," Lee said. "That's all."
"Tired of what?"
"I haven't had any sleep for two nights," Lee said. "We've had some trouble in the family and..."
"Oh, no," Helga murmured. "Not that little snot who answers the phone."
Lee's hand shot out and clipped the side of Helga's chin.
; Helga flopped backwards off the couch and Lee went after her. She grabbed the girl by both shoulders and slammed her back against the rug. She wanted to kill her, to blot out the stupid smirk still in Helga's eyes.
Helga was laughing, making a harsh sound that rasped in Lee's ears. And she knew that Helga would go on laughing. No matter if Lee killed her, Helga would laugh.
She rolled away from Helga and lay on her back. She could not hear herself crying, but there were tears in her eyes. The itchy nap of the rug scratched against her behind. Helga had stopped laughing and it was quiet in the big room.
"So," Helga said close beside her, "how low the mighty have fallen." With a fingertip, she traced the line of Lee's jaw.
Lee didn't bother to remove the finger. She just lay there, poking her chest out for the thrust of Helga's knife.
"I thought little Lee could have anything little Lee wanted," Helga's voice teased. "What happened, baby? Grandmother Kate doesn't love little Lee any more?"
Lee cursed the day she had told Helga her name. Helga had had a rundown made on her, knew everything about her from the size of her shoes to the toothpaste she used. Helga was like that.
"She's getting married," Lee said flatly. "Not that it's any of your damn business."
"But I'd find out anyhow," Helga said without shame. "And what is little Lee going to do all by herself in that great, big, empty house?"
Little Lee might put a bullet through her brain, Lee thought—if you don't shut up.
Helga was being sweet now, reminding herself of Lee's bank account. She moved in close to Lee, but slowly—making Lee touch her. Offering her ample bosom for consolation.
And Lee felt tired. So very tired. She put her cheek against Helga's breast and closed her eyes.
Helga's fingers stroked the back of Lee's head. "You'll be lonely," she murmured.
"Hmm," Lee mumbled.
"I wouldn't let you be lonesome, Lee."
Lee heard it like a fly buzzing inside her ear. But she didn't have to make out the words. She knew them by heart. For months she had kept Helga at arm's length, telling her about Maggie living in her house to explain why she couldn't move anyone else in. Maggie, a member of the family... it wouldn't look right. And now the obstacle had been removed.
Now Helga had her with her back against the wall. And she was tired, just too tired... "I'll cook for you," Helga murmured. "And clean and take care of you..."
"Hmm," Lee grunted. And trapped in Helga’s arms, she fell asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lee glowered at herself in Helga's bathroom mirror.
For an independent soul who wanted no part of anybody, she had gotten herself into a hell of a fix. Come the first of the week, with Maggie gone, there would be three women ready to descend on her house like the plague. Trudel, whom she could not turn away for Maggie's sake. Cleo and Helga, whom she would need to help her forget about Trudel. It was a ridiculous situation and one which she hadn't the patience to think about. On the other hand, it would keep her too busy to think about Maggie.
Lee went quietly into the living room and glanced down at Helga, still asleep on the floor where she had curled up beside Lee. Helga would sleep there, Lee knew, until dark. She was not a creature of daytime habits.
Without disturbing her, she draped a bathrobe over the sleeping girl, then went out quickly to the foyer. It was nearly three. Cleo would be home now. Probably waiting for her, and angry that she had not at least called last night...
By the time she reached the sidewalk, Lee knew that she would rather face a firing squad than Cleo. She'd had enough of banter and barter, even enough of sex, to last her a long, long time. Yet facing Maggie wasn't exactly a pleasant prospect either. Maggie had been happy to see her leave and would not welcome her return.
"The hell with it," she muttered and a little old lady reared back angrily to stare at her.
She flagged a cab and sent it flying toward Sixty-eighth Street. If she couldn't find a little peace in her own home...
She threw a bill at the driver and banged out of the cab. A hot shower, some of that damned food Maggie was always harping about. About a gallon of scotch to wash it down with. More sleep. And tomorrow, back to work. No more of this stupid running around like a fool. She had a job to think about now, a whole damned company waiting for her to step into Kate's footprints.
Maggie was sitting by the window in the kitchen, staring out at the garden with eyes Lee knew saw nothing. At the sight of the girl, she stopped short and the swirl of her good intentions gurgled down the drain.
"What the hell's eating you?" she barked, knowing what the hell was. But something inside her could not be gentle.
"Nothing," Maggie sighed without turning around. She leaned forward and propped her elbows on the windowsill.
Lee realized that Maggie was trying to withdraw, to sneak away inside herself where Lee couldn't reach her. And in a way, she understood why.
"Say, look," Lee said, "I haven't eaten for about a week now and I thought maybe..."
Still sighing, Maggie lifted herself from the stool and came toward Lee sort of floating, as though afraid to touch the ground and reality.
"I've got some of that chicken left," she said tiredly.
"That's not what I meant," Lee said, her voice low and soft, absorbing some of Maggie's pain. "I thought maybe you'd like to go out for dinner with me."
A tiny spark flared in Maggie's eyes and, for just a second, she looked almost alive. Lee caught her breath, wanting to reach out, wanting to help—yet knowing that it was Maggie's fight and that Maggie had to wage it alone.
Then the spark was gone. A wrinkle etched its way across the smooth forehead. "I’d like that," she said dully.
"So let's go," Lee said, trying to pump some enthusiasm into the girl. "I'm so hungry I could eat the paint off the walls."
"I'll put on some lipstick," Maggie droned.
"Oh, the hell with it," Lee snapped. "You look better now than anything else on the streets."
She grabbed Maggie's wrist and pulled her outside. She did not want the girl to stay in the house another minute, feeding on whatever morbidity obsessed her. She wanted to get her out, force her to breathe, to look around. To see that there was still sunshine, still life on the planet...
But nothing she could say reached Maggie. Beside her in the car, the girl sat silent. She took her to an Italian restaurant and they ate in silence. And afterwards, Lee smoked a cigarette in silence and Maggie just sat.
This will never do, Lee told herself sharply. You've got to make that girl smile.
Lee's glib tongue, that had wound its way in and out of trouble all her life, failed to get a rise out of Maggie. After a while she quit trying and let the girl brood. But she turned the car toward the Battery Tunnel, seeking a familiar spot.
The last time they had been to Coney Island, Lee had been thirteen and Maggie, trailing at her heels like a puppy, had been an awed eight, witnessing the gaudy wonder for the first time. They had had a hell of a good time and Lee remembered Maggie, at every booth, grabbing her sleeve and whispering, "Win me a teddy bear." Lee had won her three, smashing baseballs into milk bottles with an aim perfected at the expense of Kate's greenhouse. If they could find a little of that feeling today, just a little...
"Remember the last time we were here?" Maggie said beside her.
Lee heard an edge of warmth in the girl's tone and she turned to glance at her. "I was," she said. Then she grinned. "Remember how Kate laid you out for getting chocolate down the front of your dress?"
"It was mustard," Maggie said. "And I still think it was your fault. If you hadn't bumped into my arm..."
Lee felt a well of fondness spreading inside her. Of tenderness for this girl whom she had known... and loved... for so very long. Now that it was too late, she began to realize just how much Maggie had always meant to her. And she to Maggie. If only... If only... Little, ugly words, if only. They strolled onto the boardwalk and into the stre
am of human traffic. It was still early, still warm, and mothers herded kids ahead of them, clucking like hens. The smell of corn, of hot dogs, of things frying in rancid grease cloyed in her full stomach and she led Maggie to the railing, away from the smells. The ocean sparkled, smoothly serene beneath the dying sun. She looked out and away to the horizon, past the heads and the umbrellas and the garbage, needing the feel of space, of distance to regain her own sense of perspective.
And she was no longer aware of the people or the odors or the noise. She was alone here with Maggie, on the edge of the world. Safe, where nobody could find them or hurt them. Together, where no one could step in between them. Unconsciously, her fingers sought Maggie's hand and she stood for a moment, letting the touch of Maggie seep into her.
"You've got an admirer." Maggie said lightly. She nodded down toward the beach.
Instantly, as though she had been stung, Lee let go of Maggie's hand. Following Maggie's gaze, she saw a bronzed-skinned girl, nearly naked in a red bikini, watching them.
"You'd think she'd be cold," Maggie murmured.
Lee laughed. From the size and the shape and the profession of her, she guessed the girl had never been cold in her life. "Not that one," she said easily. "She warms herself with dollar bills."
"Oh," Maggie said. "She's so pretty, I didn't think.. "
"You'd be amazed," Lee said. She touched Maggie's elbow and steered her away from the railing. "That kind you can pick up for a couple of bucks in Klein's basement."
It did not surprise her that the girl had been trying to pick her up. It was one of the phenomena of life she had accepted long ago. A girl out to hustle was rarely particular. The thing that bothered Lee had nothing to do with the girl at all. She was the thing she didn't understand. Never before in her life had she so casually overlooked a good lay. She had gone through her days with eyes trained forward, looking, looking... Just looking, sampling now and then when it looked especially good. But not even to have realized that...