In the dark she smiled without amusement.
You know what's wrong with you. You know what you need.
There is nothing like it—the loneliness of a woman's body. Separation can be accepted with the mind; for the lonely body there is nothing. Empty arms. Breasts that hurt, longing for a touch. Thighs that ache to be parted. And—shame because this hunger can be more imperative than real love.
Kit, Kit, she whispered, burrowing her hot face in the pillow, pressing her body into the cold sheets until the tautness was a crucifixion, Kit, Kit, Kit…
Kit… or anyone. Anyone just now. Anyone…
She forced herself to stand up, to walk to the bathroom and slap her face, hard, with a washcloth wet with cold water, until the tight breathing relaxed in shivering sighs
…I wish I could cry. If I walked into my own office as a patient, I'd tell myself to have a good cry…
Instead she stepped under the shower and made herself stand, enduring the icy needles, for minutes. When she got out she was blue with cold; she rubbed herself harshly, thinking with vicious satisfaction that now she was too busy shivering to have room for any other physical satisfaction. She pulled the bedclothes to her chin, feeling the warmth seep into her chilled body.
At least this was over. Jill was going back with her, but there would be no more of this forced isolation and intimacy. She wouldn't have spare energy for morbid notions. And Kit—but she shut off that thought, sternly. Better not to think of Kit at all. Not tonight.
CHAPTER 6
When she got back to Albany, she found that during her absence Kit had been transferred to a ward, and for the first time since he had re-entered the hospital, he was sitting up.
He was in high spirits, but there were lines around his mouth and eyes, and Nora found herself condemning his doctor. He isn't ready for a ward yet, she thought; but when she bent to kiss him goodbye, she looked quickly around at the other wives taking leave of their men, and thought; yes, it's better. It was better for Kit not to be alone through the long days and nights.
It gave her courage to touch again on an old sore point between them. "Kit," she said, holding his hand and speaking softly, "now that my office is ready and I'll be back in harness—I may not be able to come here regularly. There's at least a chance—if they knew I was on the medical staff at St. Margaret's—that they'd let me come and see you outside regular visiting hours."
The point of flame burned up in his fierce eyes.
“I don't think that would be much of an idea. No, Nora. No special privileges."
She looked around the ward resentfully. "Other women have nothing to do but make themselves pretty for visiting hours!"
"Oh, I don't think you're as unique as all that. There are other men here with working wives."
"With regular hours! I never know when I may be called out!"
"Well, you can quit if you want to," he said irritably, "we're not that hard up for money."
"With a shortage of doctors? Oh, Kit, are we going to quarrel about that?"
"Darling—" Kit reached up and drew her head down to him again. His kiss bruised her mouth and when he let her go they were both shaking. Kit looked grim. "See? I think it's better if we have to—see each other with other people around, for a while, Nora."
He was right, of course. It was torment to exchange that strained kiss in sight of the whole ward, but it was better for Kit—better even for herself—than the momentary, furtive fumbling for a little more, on the rare moments when they were unobserved.
Later, in her car, she let her mind sift the past months. They had never known the easy sharing of good times and bad, the jokes and domestic habits that weld lovers into man and wife. And then another thought probed its way in; if we weren't tied together legally by marriage, could either of us live through this? Was that why Kit hadn't wanted to wait?
Deliberately, she turned the leaf of her mind and let Kit fall astern. Her new office was a good address on a quiet street; she parked the car, looking up at the neat doorplate;
LEONORA CAINE, M.D.
VICTOR DEMORINO: OBS. & GYN.
It was gallant of Vic—to have given her name the top spot. The stairs were quiet, muffled with new black rubber treads; the waiting room they shared had been painted in fresh pastels and there were prints, flowers and birds, on the walls. Inside her private office someone was humming; then a small curvy girl, in close-fitting white nylon uniform, came to the door.
"Why—Dr. Caine," she said, her bright lips curving in a smile, "Do you know you have four appointments booked already?"
"Not today, I hope?"
"No, Vic said you wouldn't be in till tomorrow."
"Oh, it's Vic already?" Nora teased, as they went into the shiny new office. "Did you have a nice Christmas?"
"Grand." Ramona Barbieri crossed the room and opened the door to the examination room, with her quick swinging walk; the walk of a sexy movie star.
It was always a low-keyed irritation to Nora. Phony. But Ramona was unusually capable and efficient, and few trained nurses were available for office work; they could make more money in hospitals. So she said, "You have everything looking very nice in here, Ramona."
"Nora, is that you?" The door across the waiting room opened and closed and Dr. Demorino came in; a stocky man about Nora's age, with deep-set dark eyes and a small well-trimmed mustache. He came and shook Nora's hand. "Ready to get back to the grind?"
"If you think I've had anything else, you should have been in Mayfield and Fairfax with me. Keeping busy, Vic?"
"Keeping the birth rate up," Vic said cheerfully. He was an immensely successful and popular obstetrician who could have been rich if he put his mind to it; but he preferred to spend a good deal of his time on poorly paid work in the Italian slum quarter.
"Take a peek in the waiting room, Ramona."
He followed the girl with his eyes, and it seemed to Nora that the provocative walk was just a little more wriggling and hip-swaying than usual. Sexy bitch.
"You found a good nurse, Nora. Barbieri's a divine doll."
"She's very efficient." Nora herself had never thought Ramona particularly pretty.
"Decorative, too. Of course it could be contrast. After the daily parade of the pregnant, in smocks and sacks and bags, it's restful just to look at a nice shapely tummy."
As she went out, she caught a glimpse, through the open door, into Vic's office. Ramona was bending over an opened file drawer; Vic, passing, gave her a smart spank on her plump backside. She jumped and giggled and rapped out "Cattivo!" And Nora went down the stairs.
It's just fun with Vic. He's just a big overgrown kid. Anyway he won't get much charge out of Ramona. She's been living with one woman after another, ever since I've known her. And now she's settled down with Margaret Sheppard. But I might have guessed that she and Vic would get a kick out of being able to talk paisan with each other.
She got into her car, sighing at the thought of her empty apartment with only a cat—Gerda left at three—and then warmth stole over her, at the realization that the place wouldn't be empty, after all. Jill would be there.
* * *
Jill was curled up on the divan, at the center of a pile of thick-looking books, but she let the one on her lap fall shut as Nora came in. In a fuzzy pink sweater, her pleated skirt tucked up over bare round knees, she looked like a tousled pixie.
"How is Kit?"
"Fine. He sent you his love." As a matter of fact, Kit had said with an outrageous wink, "Give that sexy brunette a kiss for me."
She went through into the kitchen, calling, "Come and set the table while I dish up supper. Gerda's a genius at these delayed-action meals—she always manages to leave everything all ready, yet it never tastes warmed-over, no matter what time I get in."
Nora had pushed away her dessert plate and poured a second cup of coffee before she asked "What did you do today?"
"Registered at Loudon College, and told the Dean I'd take that lab job. I'
m taking Parasitology and Vertebrate Embryology, and I supervise two freshman lab sessions."
Nora started to say, if you're pregnant it doesn't make sense to take a teaching job, does it? Jill simply was not facing facts. Then she gave an interior shrug. Jill hadn't asked her advice and hadn't taken it when she gave it. And she might not be pregnant after all. "Well, it sounds interesting. We'll stack the dishes for Gerda."
She spent the evening working on her tax records. Jill buried in a book behind her. When at last she put them away, Jill raised her head. "Do you have any ink? My pen's dry."
"Help yourself." Nora pulled her arm away as Jill came and filled her pen, and suddenly the night in Fairfax came back to her, so that she had to hold herself by force from touching the pink sweater sleeve.
The silver cylinder disappeared into the dark fluid; Jill's dainty fingers manipulated the plunger fastidiously. Two rings glinted in the light; a small gold signet and a silver ring with a pair of tiny opals. Jill withdrew the point and capped it.
"I'm sleepy. I think I'll go to bed early, Nora."
"The phone rings in the night sometimes. I hope it won't bother you."
"It won't. Good night."
Jill went into the bedroom and Nora sat stone-still, stiff with the realization that whatever it was, it was still there. Then she rose and went into the kitchen, finding release in slamming cups. A small plate skittered into her hands and went crashing into the sink, and Jill, in the other room, gave a startled cry.
"It's nothing, I broke a plate," Nora called, but her voice caught. She gathered up the broken pieces with shaking hands. I'm not that sort of freak! I'm not a lesbian! I'm not!
The bedroom was empty. Some of Jill's things lay on the dresser; a jar of cream, a comb and brush. I walked into this, Nora thought; it's too late to get her out of here, what could I say? Jill had dropped her underthings; Nora found her eyes lingering on the small silk panties. She jerked open the closet door and undressed quickly, putting a robe on over her pajamas. She said savagely, half aloud, "I must be going out of my mind!" and sat down to unpin her hair.
Jill, pink and warm in a quilted bathrobe, came out of the shower. She stood behind Nora and took up one braid. "Let me do that, won't you? Or are you one of those people who can't stand having anyone fuss with their hair?"
"I don't mind." But she did. Jill's hands were faintly damp, smelling of soap and powder like a bathed baby. Nora shut her eyes, sensuously aware of the brush stroking along her hair; then sat straight and seized it herself, rasping it hard like a currycomb. "Here, you ridiculous child, give me that, you'll put me to sleep—stroking me like a cat!"
As if the word had been a magical summons the big Siamese materialized, a puff of grayness like smoke, just an ectoplasmic nothing, wafting around the glass door and poking his whiskers experimentally at the folds of Jill's robe. Then he jumped up beside her, purring.
"Down, down, Archy. Off the bed," said Nora severely. Jill petted the cat's ears.
"He's a beauty. Where did you get him?"
"My office nurse—Ramona—keeps cats." Nora stopped short. The danger subject. Ramona and Margaret, right under her eyes, all these years. She had known what they were, and had pushed it out of her mind without even a normal amount of curiosity. Too casual. Too much—not exactly tolerance; too much eager acceptance.
"You were saying—?"
Nora had lost the thread of her thought. "Oh, yes. I had on a new knit blouse, and Archy caught his claws in it, and refused to let go. He had it raveled to ribbons before I could pry him loose. Love at first sight." She listened to Archy's booming purr. He had made a soft nest for himself on Jill's lap.
"He says it's all right, Jill, I can keep you too, I don't have to put you back out in the alley."
She turned back to the dresser. She had carried in the small stack of personal mail, and now she tore it open piece by piece; delayed Christmas cards, a bill or two, advertisements. Jill sat with her knees drawn up, idly petting the cat and chattering.
"The lab work ought to be fun, but it probably won't. Most of those girls are just in the course because its required. I wonder if I can make them see that a microscope is exciting?"
Nora frowned in brief puzzlement at one letterhead; Pearson Associates, Laboratory Testing and Diagnosis. Christmas card? Calendar? She was halfway down the mimeographed form, filled out in green ink, before she knew what she was reading:
Type: Friedman
Date: Nov. 30, 1961
Specimen subject: Bristol, Mrs J
Referred by: Leonora Caine, MD
Result: positive for pregnancy.
She jerked up her head. So Mack had won his gamble. "Here, Jill," she said curtly, "this is yours. I guess they got tired of waiting for me to call for it."
She tossed the green slip into Jill's lap. Jill said "What?" and read it through, her face losing color.
"Well, that's that," she said at last. Then, crumpling it up in an angry fist, she exploded, "At least Mack got away first! Now he needn't know!"
"Jill—it's none of my business—do you honestly think you're being fair to Mack? He's a good man, and he loves you. If you wanted to break off with him, you could have done it cleanly, before he left."
Jill shook her head, her face twisting. "It's not—I told you, I don't want to wreck it for him—I don't want him to feel that he has to marry me."
"Well, there's still time for him to fly home from Lima and marry you."
"No! Oh, no!" Jill jumped up, her face white. "Nora, you can't tell him! You know he wouldn't go back to the expedition! Please, please, promise you won't!"
Why was Jill punishing herself this way? Suddenly, the suspicion that had never left her flared up; she caught Jill's shoulder, not gently: "Or were you planning on trying some damn fool stunt to force a miscarriage? Answer me," she demanded, "have you been doing something to yourself?"
"I haven't been taking any—any kind of drugs," Jill said tremulously. "Where would I get anything like that? And I've—been around hospitals enough to know that the —the other things women do, hot baths and quinine and that stuff, don't do any good."
"Or any harm," Nora snapped, "though I suppose you've been trying? Well, if it keeps your mind occupied—I knew a girl who spent half her pregnancy winning ski championships in Norway. She had twins. So go ahead and jump off tables if it makes you happy!"
Jill began to protest, but Nora was staring bleakly over her head. "Oh, those things work sometimes. If the woman has a tendency to miscarry anyhow. If she doesn't mind ruining her health, or wrecking her chances of ever carrying a healthy baby to full term afterward."
She was flinging the words bitterly, remembering Les Rannock's words. It's up to you, Nor. You said you'd stick it out if we had a kid. You think I didn't know? To shut them out she swung back to Jill:
"You're not going to do that to Mack, are you? If you do—if you do, you're a worse bitch than I ever thought! Tie him down, hell! Go ahead, make all sorts of excuses for getting rid of his baby!"
"Oh, don't," Jill begged, "I don't want a baby, I don't, but—I only wanted to wait until Mack was sure—until I was sure—until I knew how he'd feel—" she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Nora's breath caught on the ache in her throat. Blindly she drew the sobbing girl into her arms. A moment Jill resisted the touch, then clung to Nora; and Nora held her, kissing the little downy feathers of hair away from her face.
"I'm a miserable, wretched sadist," she said aloud. "Don't. Jill—sweet—don't. I didn't mean to make you cry."
Sex frustration, latent homosexuality, how damn silly can you get? You're jealous, you damn fool, because she's Mack's wife and going to have Mack's kid, and you've been deviling her, when you promised to take care of her.
She lifted Jill to her feet, took the robe from her, and tucked her in bed tenderly; then lay down beside her, taking Jill in her arms. Jill was still crying a little. The sound and feel of the convulsive sobs echoed somet
hing which Nora had never been able to release in herself.
She thought at last that Jill was asleep. They were lying close, breast against breast, Jill heavy on her arm. Jill's pajama shirt had fallen open and Nora's hand rested on her smooth bare back.
Jill murmured, snuggling closer. Nora smelled the indefinable scent of her hair, the cherry-blossom fragrance of her skin. Her bare feet were touching Nora's ankles. No wonder Mack adores her...
With infinite caution, compelled by something she could not resist, Nora loosened the buttons of her own pajama jacket so that their bare breasts touched. Her hand on Jill's silky back moved down, pressing the sleeping girl close.
And that shocked her wide awake again. Good God have I come that low—getting my kicks by pawing a girl when she's asleep? What would Jill think if she was awake enough to know what was going on?
She whispered "Asleep, darling?"
Jill sighed drowsily and nuzzled her head into Nora's bare neck. "Mrnmmm."
Nora kissed the tip of her ear and settled Jill down on her arm. Already drifting into sleep, she knew what she would deny fiercely when she woke; they had started something which could have only one end. It was only a matter of time.
CHAPTER 7
Nora had been kept all morning by one crisis after another, and by the time she got downstairs, dinner had long been cleared away in the staff dining room. As she carried a tray between rows of empty tables, she saw Vic Demorino, still in the glareless green jacket of the operating room.
Strange Women, The Page 6