by Ann Bannon
“Jack,” she said, suddenly pleading, “let me go to her. Just for a week or two. Please. Please let me.” She walked toward him as she spoke, her arms extended.
“No,” he said flatly. “Two weeks, hell.” He was afraid she wouldn’t ever come back.
“Jack, I wouldn’t stay. I’d come back to you.”
“No!” It was absolute. He couldn’t take the chance. “We’ve had all this out. We agreed to it before we got married.”
“Jack, darling—”
“I won’t talk about it, Laura. You can’t go back to her and that’s final.”
“But only for a week or two, just a few days…”
“You’re my wife,” he blazed so fiercely that she stopped in her tracks, startled. “You’re my wife and you’re not going to live with any Lesbian in any Village! Not while I live!”
She tried once more. “Jack, don’t you understand? For the first time I’m beginning to realize how I feel about her, how I always felt. Tris made me realize it a little. And now Lili. And even living with you—”
“Living with me has made you lonesome for women, that’s all. And Beebo’s a handy woman. Goddamn it, Laura, I never denied you women. I’ve encouraged you. Admit it, go on! I’ve asked you to chase a few broads. It’s not my fault if you’ve developed an itch. Go out and have yourself a fling; you should have done it long ago. I don’t give a damn, only don’t go to Beebo. And come back. Come back here, you understand? If you don’t I’ll come after you! And I’m capable of mayhem myself!”
She looked at his big burning eyes and trembled. “I just want to see her,” she whispered.
“What makes you think she wants to see you?” he demanded. “What makes you think she won’t greet you at the door with the same knife she used on Nix?”
“That’s what Lili said.”
“Well, for once Lili is right. I know Beebo; she’s crazy. You catch her on a wrong day in a wrong mood and she won’t even think about it. She’ll just operate on you as she did on the dogs.” He gazed unblinking at her. “That would kill me, Laura, as sure as it would you. Besides, I can’t take any chances. You might be carrying my child.”
This struck fury into Laura. She had nearly managed to forget the child, in the press of other things, but no longer. She picked up a pair of his shoes, sprawled near the closet, and flung them at him, one after the other. One flew through the window, splattering glass in its wake, and the other struck his arm.
“Why do you torment me?” she shouted. “Why do you talk about nothing but baby, baby, baby? I never wanted the damn thing! I hope I never have a baby! I hope I never have your baby! I hope it’s born a boy! I hope it’s born blind! I hope it’s never born at all!” She was screaming at him, and he came to her carefully, coaxing her.
“You’re all wrought up, Mother,” he said. He could see that she was hysterical.
“Don’t call me Mother!” she shrieked, her voice strained so that she could hardly articulate.
“Laura, for God’s sake,” he said, trying to brush it off, trying to keep calm, help her. “I call you ‘Mother’ in honor of my Oedipus complex. Purely a formality. It has nothing to do with babies. Come lie down, honey. Come on. I’ll get you something to quiet you down. Come on,” he wheedled gently, but she looked at him like he meant to murder her then and there, backing away from him. When he made a quick move to grab her, she sprang away, picking up the stool to her dressing table. She threw it at him with all her strength. While he dodged she grabbed her shoes and coat and ran from the room.
At the front door she paused briefly to stare at him with desperate eyes and then she heaved an ashtray at him and fled. It cut his hand, which he threw up to protect his face.
Laura ran down the stairs. There was no time to wait for the elevator. She could hear Jack behind her, running and calling her name. At the front door she turned swiftly toward the river and climbed a chain link fence, ripping the flesh here and there along her limbs and tearing her blouse. She dropped, torn and gasping, to the other side just as Jack burst from the door and looked wildly in all directions for her. She rolled soundlessly some feet down the long slope that ended in chill black water.
There she waited, sobbing quietly, clinging to handfuls of greasy mud and roots and embedded rocks. She heard his footsteps going toward First Avenue. He thought she would run for a taxi or hide in a doorway. Laura scrambled and stumbled south along the embankment, not waiting for him to come back looking for her. There was a suffocating panic in her. She didn’t question it or wonder where it came from. She just did as it bid her, struggling through the dirt on the incline.
There was no looking back, no stopping for rest. She moved forward doggedly, tripping and sinking to her knees and clambering up again and going on, trying to stay near the fence in case she lost her footing. The going was slippery and rough and her breath rasped in and out with a fast whining sound. She had gone nearly three blocks when a jutting stone, invisible in the semi-dark, threw her, and she felt herself begin to skid and roll. She made a wild grab for the fence but it was already fifteen feet above her and receding fast. The wind was bumped out of her and she could not even scream. She had no idea how far she had fallen before she stopped.
Laura lay gasping and moaning for a few minutes, trying to get her breath back. She knew she was crying but she made no effort to stop. She moved herself gently to see if anything was broken, but the ground was not hard and she had missed the bad stones. She had no idea how long she had been there. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours. She thought vaguely it must have been hours when she finally stirred, chilled through, and opened her eyes. Beside her, on the ground, sat a man.
Laura screamed, a weak shuddering noise, and fell back, covering her face with her hands.
“Don’t mind me,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”
Laura felt herself trembling with fear. She tried to pull her torn clothes straight, but it was so dark she could hardly see what she was doing. When he turned his face toward her she could see a little of it. It was very indeterminate; there was no way to guess his age or anything about him.
She stood up quickly and started to scramble up the hill, but he said, “There’s an easier way.”
She gave him one quick scared glance and then went on, but he stood up and said, “There’s steps about a half block on.”
Again she turned, very wary but willing to listen now. It looked a million miles to the top.
“I’ll show you,” he offered. His voice was not menacing and he stood facing her with his hands in his back pockets, a black statue with silver edges. “Come on, I’ll walk ahead.”
He turned then and went southward, agile and sure. After a moment Laura began to follow him, moving clumsily and with great effort, trying to copy his movements and praying that he wouldn’t suddenly attack her. She stooped and grabbed a sharp stone glinting at her feet and held it tight in a sweating hand, just in case.
He heard her panting behind him and stopped, bringing Laura up sharp with a gasp. “You’re tired,” he said. “Want to sit down a minute?”
She shook her head at him.
“You can talk to me, I’m no devil,” he said. And she had the idea he was grinning at her. But when she maintained her tense silence he shrugged and turned back. Now and then he glanced at her to see how she was doing. “Want some help?” he asked when she stumbled once, leaning toward her, but she drew back fast and he said, “Okay. Just trying to help.”
They walked for a few moments and Laura was almost ready to bolt from him when she realized that the lights ahead she had taken for far distant were in reality small bulbs strung up to illuminate a row of steps.
“Maybe you’re wondering who I am,” he said almost hopefully as they neared the steps, as if he had a story to tell and was looking for a listener.
He turned, one hand on the iron rail that ran alongside the steps, and held out a hand to her. “Here y’are. Help you?”
She ignored him, turning her back to him to swing a leg over the low railing.
“Don’t you wonder who I am?” he said. “I don’t help just anybody, little girl.” He spoke sharply. “Don’t you want to know my name?”
“No!” she cried suddenly, angrily, startling herself. “You’re just a man and all men are alike. No matter what their names are!” He gaped at her, astonished. “You don’t really care about me, only about yourself. You don’t want to know my name, you only want me to know yours.” She spoke breathlessly at breakneck speed. “You can’t suffer like a woman can. You aren’t made to take it, you men. You’re just made big enough and brute enough to hurt us. But we can’t hurt you. We can’t hurt you, do you hear?” And she stopped abruptly, putting her hand over her mouth in a storm of self-pity and shame and revulsion. It was Jack she was screaming at, not this stranger. She couldn’t believe she had hurt Jack as she had hurt Beebo or it would destroy her. She screamed to make herself believe she couldn’t really hurt him, no matter what she did.
The tears burst from her eyes when she saw it all for a lie. A lie shouted to spare her own tortured feelings. The man looked at her, patient now and unamazed. He was over his first surprise. And hers was not the first desperate speech he had heard on the shores of the East River.
Laura began to run up the steps.
“You won’t get far, looking like that,” he called after her. Momentarily Laura stopped and looked at herself in dismay. She turned and glanced back at her guide. He was standing on the steps some twenty feet below her, smiling at her consternation. He was a large man, big-boned, and she thought, My God, he could break me in two. Like my father.
“Cat got your tongue?” he said.
She started up again on shaky legs and he called, “Is that all the thanks I get?”
At this Laura began to run, but to her alarm he ran after her. She felt her heart balloon in her chest, beating frantically, and when he caught her, only a few steps from the top, she yelled in fear. She would have screamed without stopping until somebody heard her if he had not wrapped a big hand around her mouth and forced her against the gate.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I told you that. I never hurt anyone. I’m harmless.” He grinned, and Laura, squirming under his big hand, was dizzy with panic.
He held her quietly for a few minutes as if to assure her that he spoke in good faith. Finally he asked her, “Where are you going?” and released her mouth. When she tried to holler at once he covered it again.
“I’ll ask you again,” he said. “But don’t yell. Where are you going?”
When he freed her mouth this time she murmured, “Home. I’m going home. Let me go.”
“How you getting home?”
“I—I’ll walk. It’s not far. Just a block.”
“You know what block this is?” He smiled with superior knowledge.
“It can’t be far,” she said.
He shook his head quizzically. “I don’t get it. You’re not even drunk. You’re tore up but you’re no tramp neither. Mostly the ones I find down here are hitting the bottle. Or they wouldn’t be down here. Or kids, exploring. Not pretty girls.” He smiled and Laura’s one intense hope was that she not faint and fall into his clutches.
“Let me go,” she said, trying to sound controlled. But her big eyes and urgent breathing gave her away.
“Okay.” He took his hands away from her altogether, and said, “Go. But I’ll bet you need a dime to telephone with.”
She turned, dragging on the gate behind her until he said, “Here. Let me.” He opened it for her. And when she saw that he was really going to let her go, she allowed herself to turn and look at him. See him. He was holding out a dime.
“Take it,” he said. “At least you can call somebody to come get you.”
Laura stared at him. He was big and ugly, seamy-faced, and wearing dirty clothes with a worn cap tilted over his ear. But he had a nice honest grin. And he looked, for all his dirt and size, rather childish. Laura stood poised at the gate, wavering between flight and the dime. At last she took it, her face reddening. She had to drop her sharp stone to get it.
“Didn’t need that, didya?” he said with a smile, watching it fall.
She shook her head and whispered, “Thanks.”
“That’s all I want to hear,” he said and let her go. She ran halfway down the block, and then turned, overwhelmed with curiosity, to see what had happened to him. He was standing there behind the closed gate gazing after her, smiling. He’s nuts, she thought. An idiot. A damn man! That’s probably all he does, save people from the river. But even that…even that pitiful life is worth more than mine. All I’ve ever done is hurt the people I love the most.
At the end of the block she stopped running and looked once more. He was gone.
Chapter Ten
LAURA HID HERSELF for a minute in a shadowed doorway and tried to make sense of things. She was a mess, with mud on her torn clothes and on her face, tangled hair and dried blood.
She made an effort to smooth her hair down. There was some Kleenex in her pocket and she wiped her face off carefully, reaching every corner of it and rubbing till the skin turned pink. She brushed at her disheveled clothes rather hopelessly. Maybe it was late enough so nobody would notice her.
She began to walk, holding her arms together in front of her as if to keep herself warm, but in fact to keep the worst rips from showing. And she kept her head down. If only the police don’t stop me, she thought. I must look like a whore.
Laura walked straight west on Forty-first Street, for it was Forty-first, past Lexington Avenue and Park and Fifth and Broadway and over to Seventh. No cops stopped her, although more than one passerby stared.
It was cold, a raw March night with the sting of coming storm in the air. Laura went south on Seventh Avenue, walking almost mechanically. When she thought of it she realized it was cold. But she hardly thought of it. There was too much else on her mind.
She was very surprised to reach Fourth Street so quickly. She had known, without thinking, that that was where she was going. In less than five minutes she had entered the little court in front of Beebo’s apartment building and the old familiar trembling had begun.
She sat down on a bench in the court to gather her strength. At last she looked up the wall of dark windows behind her, twisting on the bench to see, and saw lights in Beebo’s living room, and began to shiver.
Ten or a dozen times she looked up anxiously at the lights on the second floor. They were faint, as if only one small light were on. With a sudden rush of desire that eliminated the need to make a decision, she pulled open the inside door and raced up the stairs.
At the top she stood trying desperately to get her breath. But she knew after a moment that her whole body would shake and sweat and wear itself out with unbearable anticipation if she didn’t get the door open. She reached for the knob, but it was locked.
She rattled the knob hard and then she knocked.
When the door swung open a moment later she gasped in amazement. It was Milo Robinson—Tris’s husband.
“Milo!” she exclaimed.
He stared at her.
“Don’t you remember me? I’m Laura. Laura Landon.”
“I remember,” he said quietly. “I just never saw you fresh out of the gutter before.”
She looked down at herself and her cheeks went scarlet. “I look awful, don’t I?”
“Somebody after you?” Milo asked.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Can I come in?”
“I guess you can,” he said, stepping back. “You’ve got as much right to be here as me, that’s for sure.”
Laura walked into the living room and just the sight of it, warm and comfortable and a little raggy, made her want to weep. She sank down on the couch, exhausted.
“Want some coffee?” Milo said, staring at her.
“No, thanks. I’ve had too much tonight.”
“Milk?”
“I
guess so. Thanks.”
“You look real bad, Laura. You’d better get to bed,” he said frowning at her.
“Where’s Beebo?”
“Tell me that and I’ll tell you where my wife is,” he said sharply.
“You coming back to Beebo?” he asked her.
“If she’ll have me.”
“From what I know of it, she won’t. But I’m on your side, Laura. I’d do anything to pry Patsy loose.”
It startled her to hear him call Tris by her real name. “Is Beebo in love with her?” she asked cautiously.
“Naw,” he said with leisurely disgust. “She puts up with her but she’s not in love with her.” He ambled out to the kitchen to pour her some milk. “I should be so lucky,” he called. “I’d dump her. Right now.”
“How about Tris? How does she feel?”
He answered her while he poured the milk. “I don’t know, Laura. I never could figure that kid. Living with her only makes it more confusing.” He sounded very tired, like a man defeated. “I wish I could forget her, forget the whole thing.”
He came back and handed her the milk and sat down in a chair near her.
They looked at each other. He was a tall young man in his early twenties, handsome and well educated. His skin was dark and satiny in the pink lamplight.
“Does she love you?” Laura asked gently.
He shrugged and gave a little laugh. “Who knows?” he said. “She says so now and then. But that’s only when I lay down the law on the Lezzie stuff.”
“What’s the law?” Laura said.
“Well, goddamn it, enough’s enough!” he exclaimed. “I like to see her once in a while myself. She’s my wife.”
Laura thought of Jack and felt the tears start quietly down again. “Excuse me,” she sniffled. “I’m running like a sieve tonight. I don’t know why. Did Jack Mann come over here tonight?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Milo said. “I’ve only been here since midnight.”
“Did he call?”
“Nobody called.”
“Nobody?” She had been so certain Jack would follow her here. “When does Beebo get in?”