Unlike Others

by Valerie Taylor

  "Can I do it for you tonight?"

  "We'll do it together."

  "But how can we?"

  Jo explained. Betsy looked surprised. Then she started to giggle. "Don't laugh at me. I never heard about it before—I mean, just one person at a time. It's an awfully good idea, isn't it?"

  Jo sat up. "What do you want to do today? Stay in bed, or start moving your stuff in, or what?"

  "Never mind me. Just go to work. I’ll clean the kitchen for you, and then I’ll go over to my aunt's place and calm her down."

  "But you’ll come back?" Might as well get up and put in a delayed appearance, if Betsy had the day all laid out. She rolled out and stood slim and naked beside the bed, feeling the sunshine slant warm and kind across her flat hips and bare legs. "I want to live with you, Betsy. I don't want an affair. We need to be together."

  Betsy's face changed. "Not until you're sure. Not until I can pay my share of the rent and things—I'm no freeloader."

  Well, Jo marvelled, I’ll be damned. The kid's an adult. She sat down again on the edge of the bed and reached for the other girl. "I want to come back to bed," she said.

  "Me too. You can't, though." Betsy shook her wrist to be sure her watch was still running. "It's after ten. You better hurry."

  "Will you come back tonight, then? We've got an awful . lot to catch up on. I need to know all about you, not just in bed."

  "Lend me a key and I’ll come this afternoon and cook you a wonderful dinner. I'll give the key back, though."

  Jo was gathering clothes from drawers and hangers. She carried them into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and came back to get a skirt from the closet. Betsy sat up in bed, watching her with a face of pure love. Why did I ever think she looked like Karen? Jo wondered. She doesn't look a bit like Karen.

  She hurried back into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind her because she knew that if it stayed open she would never be able to wait until evening.

  When she emerged, dressed and combed, the bed was empty. The smell of coffee drifted in from the kitchen and she could hear dishes rattling. She went to investigate. Betsy, lost in her old striped bathrobe, was getting down cups. She reached up, the lovely curves of arm and shoulder falling into new patterns as she stretched and relaxed. She said sweetly, "I know you don't eat breakfast, but you'll drink some coffee, won't you? How about juice?"

  "No juice, just coffee. You're an angel."

  "I don't want to be an angel. I want to be your girl."

  "You are."

  The coffee was weak. She was damned if she'd mention it. She said, "I'm not used to being waited on."

  "Do you mind?"

  "It's fine."

  "I love to keep house. That's one reason I married Chuck."

  "Will you marry me?”

  "In say three months, if you still want me to."

  It didn't matter any more that Betsy had lived with Chuck or that she'd been tumbled by Stan. No more than Karen and Linda and Jeannine and the anonymous girls of the last few years mattered. Jo felt that she could love the whole world today. With every new love, she thought in wonder, you become a new person.

  She drank her coffee standing and set the cup in the sink. "I have to run. It's sort of silly to check in this late, but after lunch would be even worse. You'll find keys in the drawer of the living room table."

  "I’ll take them because I want to fix you a good dinner." Betsy looked at her bravely. "I won't ever tie you down or anything like that. I'll always ring the doorbell when I come to see you."

  "Idiot."

  "You’ll let me come often, won't you?”

  "I’ll wait for you."

  "I love you."

  "Me too."

  Betsy disengaged her hands. "Go on, get out of here," she said laughing. "You'll get fired."

  "Doesn't matter," Jo told her absently. "Tell me something, Betsy. What made you decide to call me yesterday? Did you know this was going to happen?"

  "I got to thinking about Chuck," Betsy said. Jo could see that she was finding this difficult to tell; she was ashamed of it. Still, it needed saying. She waited. Betsy said in a low voice, "I've thought a lot about Chuck lately. Ever since I got the divorce. He looked so terrible in the courtroom. I couldn't hate him any more."

  She added as though it were a serious fault, "I'm not a good hater."

  "Sure, but what's the connection?"

  "Why, I was thinking about you, and all of a sudden I felt I couldn't wait another minute. And then I thought, this was how Chuck felt. I never really loved anybody before," Betsy said, troubled. "I wish I could tell him."

  Jo grinned. "Some day we'll have him over to dinner. He sounds like a nice fellow."

  Betsy came into her arms, raising her face to be kissed. "Go on, get a lot of work done, but think about me once in a while. Will you?"

  "And you’ll be here tonight."

  She ran downstairs lightly, swinging her keys.

  Out on the sidewalk, she turned and looked back.

  Betsy was at the front window, smiling out. Jo had known she would be.

  She broke into a run as the yellow bus lumbered to a stop at the corner. Better get to work, she told herself sternly. My girl's out of a job.

  CHAPTER 21

  The heavy dull feeling that had hung over her lately was gone. In the late morning sunshine the many-windowed towers of North Michigan shone like gold. She got off the train at the Randolph exit and walked three blocks to the office, breathing in the crisp cool air with real pleasure. The elevator operator, heavy-lidded and relaxed between the morning coffee break rush and the early lunch crowd, smiled at her and flung open the door of the end cage. "Good morning, Miss Bates. It's a beautiful day."

  She marched into the office with her shoulders squared and head up. Gayle, reading a confession magazine, jumped and looked guilty. She ignored the magazine. "Hi, Gayle, what's new?"

  "Well, I'm going to buy my veil on my lunch hour."

  And wouldn't you know it. Jo said heartily, "That's wonderful," and escaped without hearing the details. She already knew about Gayle's wedding dress, candlelight satin with a lace yoke; her slippers, white satin with seed pearls embroidered on the vamps; her wedding nightgown, blush pink with coffee lace and a plunging neckline. Enough was enough.

  I've got my own wedding to think about, such as it is. Three months. Maybe she’ll change her mind. If she comes to live with me—oh God, if she does-maybe I'll have that nice boy in Cleveland make us some rings. If she'd like a ring. Better not go too fast, remember it's all new for her.

  Stan was in his office. He lifted a hand as she sailed past. "Jo, come here.”

  "What?"

  "Come in a minute, I want to talk to you."

  This was something new. Usually she sat at her desk, the mother image enthroned, while he stood bashfully in the doorway pouring his troubles and inadequacies into her lap. She was scornful of him, it was a reversal of roles that deepened her contempt, already solidified by his mother-domination and his inability to make the simplest decision without someone else's approval. It was difficult sometimes to let her real sympathy come to the face.

  But something in his voice bothered her. She came back and stood in front of his desk. "What's the matter?"

  Stan said, "Have you seen Betsy?" Jo said warily, "We had lunch together yesterday." Only yesterday, she thought, and so much has happened since. Now we're "Us". She added; "She's looking for a job," and then remembered that Betsy was supposed to have a job.

  "I talked to her aunt last night. You haven't seen her otherwise?"

  "Why should I?"

  Stan's face was red. He looked like a spoiled child who, denied a toy, is debating whether to ask once more or throw himself on the floor and scream. He said, "I've called her a couple times, but she hangs up."

  Well, good for her, Jo thought. After all, she didn't know until a few days ago—but that was in the past, it was better to forget it. She said cautiously, "Maybe she'
s busy."

  She tell you she was dating me?"

  "I knew it, yes."

  “Maybe you didn't know I was laying her." His voice was cold acid. "Maybe you didn't know that."

  Jo’s hands were icy. She said, hearing her voice thin and remote, "That doesn't have anything to do with me."

  "Doesn't it?"

  "Of course not, why should it?"

  Stan said, "I called her house last night. Her aunt said she was spending the night with you."

  "What of it?"

  Stan said, "I've never had any use for queers, Jo, but up till now I figured your personal life was your own business. You've done a good job and I'd hate to have to let you go."

  She said, playing it stupid, "I'd hate to have you. What's the matter?"

  He looked down at the desk top, avoiding her eyes. "She went to your place about nine-thirty last night. I called her aunt's at nine this morning and she wasn't home yet. Now you're just coming in—with the day half over." He hesitated. "The way you look—"

  She knew how she looked. She said, "You don't think I'm entitled to a half-day once in a while? I take work home all the time."

  "I know about women like you." A dull red crept up Stan's neck and spread over his cheeks. "The girl I dated in college was ruined by one. Can't you stick to your own kind? Do you have to get your hooks into decent girls?"

  But I haven't seduced Betsy, Jo thought. She came to me of her own free will, because she loved me. Already I've made her happy.

  She knew better than to say so.

  "Betsy's my girl," Stan said. "Keep your dirty perverted hands off her."

  "What makes you think she's your girl?"

  His face was mottled now. Of course, Jo thought with a pang of pity, poor miserable guy, he's lived in a dream world so long he doesn't know the difference. He fails once and just barely makes it once—that makes her his girl. Maybe he thinks they're engaged, or something.

  But this was no time to analyze the workings of his mind, such as it was. She had to salvage what she could. She said quite calmly, considering that her knees were trembling, "I'm sorry this came up just when I was ready to hand in my resignation. We've worked well together. I thought we could part on friendly terms."

  "Resignation? How come?"

  "I have a terrific job in New York. More money than here and a good chance for advancement. Do you want to take my two weeks' notice or give me two weeks' severance pay?"

  Stan stood up. His eyes glittered. She'd read about eyes glittering; she had supposed it was just a figure of speech. "You can go now," he said, his voice rising hysterically. "You can go right now, and you don't need to mink you're going to get any severance pay either. I'm firing you."

  “Okay. Ill take it up with the Labor Board."

  "And I'll tell them you're a Lesbian. A dyke, a dirty pervert. That'll take care of you all right."

  "I’ll tell them I took in the little girl you seduced, that she didn't want to go with you but she had to or lose her job. And after that," Jo said thoughtfully, "I believe I’ll pay a social call on your mother. I've always wanted meet her."

  He caved in. It was pitiful; she tried not to feel sorry for him, but the habit was too strong. He said, "All right, goddam it, I’ll give you two weeks' pay. Now will you get out?"

  "Plus what I have coming. It's almost half a month."

  "I’ll have your check in five minutes."

  “I’ll be ready to leave in five minutes.”

  He looked baffled. She walked unsteadily back to her own office; hers no longer. The curtains she'd bought, the off-white paint she had selected for the walls and ceiling, even the Travel Now Pay Later sign outside the window had a special meaning because she was leaving them behind. For a moment she felt the emptiness of the dispossessed. She had been safe here; and now the safety was torn away.

  She gathered up the things that were hers. Stacking them together, her spirits rose. She had a trade and she was good at it. These were the tools of her trade. For this she could forgive Stan the damage he was inflicting on her.

  She bundled everything up, looked around to be sure she wasn't leaving anything, and was back at the door of Stan's office within the stipulated five minutes. "My money."

  "Here, damn it."

  She looked at the check, doing mental arithmetic. Folded it and put it in her billfold. "Thanks." Better cash it before he changes his mind and stops payment.

  "Jo, maybe you wouldn't have to go. You could try to do better. We always got along all right."

  She felt her face grow cold and stiff. For a while there, she thought, I really believed he was growing up. Standing on his own feet. But he never will. It's too late, his mother caught him too young. She could picture him down the years, growing older and more petulant, confiding in an endless series of secretaries and assistants and casual female friends. Always searching for love and afraid of it, always falling back on sympathy.

  She felt a burden lifted from her. "I'm sorry, I have this other job. I hope things work out all right."

  "Same to you."

  She walked out without looking back. She said to the astounded Gayle, "You can have my tissues and pencil mug. Good luck with your wedding," and went on out, shutting the frosted glass door behind her for the last time.

  The operator looked at her curiously as she stepped into his car. He didn't ask any questions. He'd seen other girls walk out in the middle of the morning, carrying a little stack of personal belongings. This one was easier than most to get along with.

  She said, "Thanks, Tim. This is for your baby, get him something from me."

  "You don't have to do that, Miss Bates. It's been a pleasure."

  She swung out of the building. In the street she stopped, standing like an island around which currents of people moved.

  Call Betsy. First thing, before I start planning. Then Mag. She’ll know somebody, she always does. Or Richard will.

  She went into a drugstore, ordered coffee, and let it cool while she added and subtracted. The arithmetic came out better than she'd dared to hope. With what she had left from last payday she had almost four hundred dollars. Bus fare would be fifty for the two of them; meals en route; a month's rent on a cheap room. Within . a month one should be working. It could be done.

  She left a dime and two pennies for the coffee and a nickel for the waitress, reassembled her belongings and went to the row of telephone booths. Two were occupied by paunchy men with sample cases. She shut the door of the third behind her, feeling slightly nervous as she always did in closed places. Her fingers were cold. She dropped a dime into the coin slot and rang her own number.

  There was no answer. The dime dropped down into the little metal hatch, and she retrieved it. There was no need to look up Betsy's number; she had called it once, and it was clear in her mind.

  A hesitant elderly voice answered. Jo said, "May I speak to Betsy?" and stood waiting for the voice to say that Betsy wasn't home. I can't stand it if she's not there. I have to talk to her.

  "Why, I’ll call her. Just wait a minute." There was the click of the handset as she put it down, then footsteps going away. In a minute Betsy's voice said, "Hello?"

  “It's Jo. Look, how much money have you got?”

  "About forty dollars. Do you need it?"

  Jo said, "That's all right. I've got almost four hundred.”

  “How would you like to go to New York? Tomorrow, or the next day?"

  "With you? Sure."

  Relief flooded Jo. I knew she'd take it like this, I knew she'd trust me. She hadn't known anything of the kind, she had been terribly frightened.

  She said briefly, "I've left my job. Look, Stan knows all about me, what I am. He got unpleasant about it, so I resigned."

  "Did he say anything about me?" She wanted to say no. Desperately, she wanted to protect Betsy. She’ll have enough to face, she thought in self-defense. Hip in a square world, gay in a straight world, broke in a culture where practically everything's me
asured by money—she’ll find out.

  Betsy said, "I'm not a baby. Tell me the truth."

  "He guessed, yes. He seems to think you're in love with him or something—the bastard."

  She heard Betsy's sharp intake of breath. That was a shocker, poor kid. But she felt proud and possessive. Betsy had guts, she would make out all right.

  Betsy said cheerfully, "We’ll be okay. We'll get jobs right away, you’ll see. If I can't find an office job I'll wait tables, I did it in college for a while."

  "Sure, we'll be fine."

  "Find out about bus schedules. It's cheaper than taking a train, and more fun besides."

  "Well take sandwiches and skip the lousy roadside restaurants."

  "And cushions. They charge you fifty cents for a pillow. Jo," Betsy asked practically, "What will you do about your furniture?"

  It was the first time she had thought about it, but the answer came without effort. "I have a friend who'll dispose of it for us. The lease runs from month to month, so that's no problem."

  "All right, I'll be there when you get home. This calls for a steak. The time for a steak is when you're out of work."

  "Swell. You know I love you?"

  "That goes both ways," Betsy said. She hung up. Jo waited a moment, then dialed again.

  Richard was in. It's my day, she thought in exultation, I'm fortune's darling. Any other time he'd be out in the suburbs trying to sell a row house to some happy bride and groom, or on the far west side trying to get rid of some white-elephant mansion. Today he's at his desk, and how's that for luck?