Strange Women, The

by Miriam Gardner

  "She's married."

  And suddenly Nora knew it all and the words jumped from her. "So this is why Vic wanted a week—"

  Margaret's words dropped like lumps of lead. "She didn't come home Saturday, or Sunday. Monday is my late night at work, and when I came in, she'd been here and packed and gone. She left a note saying she and Dr. Demorino had driven over the state line and been married."

  "I'll be—damned."

  "If only she'd told me. She didn't have to sneak away when she knew I wouldn't be here. Nor, I always knew it would happen some day, but to do it like that—"

  "Marg, don't, you're only torturing yourself."

  "She left an envelope with thirty dollars because the cats were half mine. They were worth a lot more, but she left me the phonograph and records—I'd like to throw her damned money in her face."

  "Nine chances out of ten she wants just that," Nora said, letting her anger free for one luxurious moment, "to start up the whole mess over again. Don't you do it, Marg. Keep the money and spend it. Or give it to Korean relief or something. Listen, Marg, I've got to say this even if it makes you hate me," Nora said, and went and stood by the girl, "Cut your losses, write her off. Or she'll keep you dangling for the sheer hell of it. And I wish Vic would find out, and kick her ass into the Hudson River— Marg, listen, get into a clean dress and come to dinner with us, don't sit here by yourself."

  "Nor, honestly, I couldn't. Look at this place."

  "It will keep, and dinner won't." Nora went and got her a freshly ironed blouse and skirt. The closet looked empty. "Wash your face, Marg. Doctor's orders."

  Blurrily, Margaret smiled. "Okay. I've always done what you told me, and never regretted it yet."

  "That's a heck of a responsibility.”

  Nora waited until the bathroom door was shut and the sound of the running water would drown her voice. "I don't want to leave her alone. I saw her crack up once."

  Jill was looking confused. Nora supposed it was quite a situation to walk into—fresh from the conventional Bristol household. It occurred to Nora to be surprised at herself, too. On the surface she should be pleased because her very capable office nurse had married her partner. Yet she saw only the grief of a woman whose bereavement, and betrayal, could not even be admitted.

  Grasping at sanity, she said, "I suppose you can't really blame Ramona. But after all she's done to Marg—!"

  Margaret came back, her face scrubbed, and began to comb out her light hair. She pencilled lipstick on her mouth, and sighed. "Do I look all right?"

  "You looked all right before," Jill lied gently, "but fresh clothes make anyone feel better, Let's go."

  Nora had briefly considered taking them out to dinner, but Margaret was in no mood for sociability. To Margaret—as to Nora herself—society and distractions were kept to enhance happiness, not to chase away troubles. She supposed that was one reason why, during Kit's long hospitalization, she had been isolated and vulnerable to brooding—but she made the gesture as they drew up before her house:

  "We can go out, if you'd rather—where there's music and a drink—"

  "Good God, no," Margaret said, "I tried that last night in Flora's. You know what the grapevine's like. I turned up alone and before the evening was over, I'd had three propositions."

  Nora just shook her head.

  She left Margaret with Jill while she prepared a quick meal. They ate in silence.

  After dinner Jill went to unpack; Nora, looking at Margaret curled on the sofa—tall, long-legged, her thin face grave and withdrawn—had the uneasy sensation of a mirror image of herself. She was not happy about the involvement she felt with Margaret's problem.

  The cat Archy jumped up, and Margaret moved her hand absently over the silky fur. "I thought Ramona—" then her face crumpled, and she shook her hand in a rough rejection, flinging the cat away. She looked ready to cry.

  "Nora, you know Dr. Demorino very well, don't you?"

  "Very well, yes." Suddenly Nora knew what Margaret meant. "Good grief, Marg, I had no idea this was coming." She spoke truthfully; but after she said it, she knew it was not true. She had seen it—but couldn't interfere. Vic would have thought I was jealous...

  Jill came in, and Nora rose quickly. "Drink?"

  "Fine," said Margaret, and Jill said, "I didn't know you ever touched hard liquor."

  "Oh yes. I stopped because for a while Ramona was drinking more than was good for her. I used to have to cover for her; so I never wanted to start her off."

  Nora, who hadn't known that, raised her eyebrows. Now she had an excuse ready-made—but after all, what excuse could she give Vic, for dismissing his wife from the office that was his, too? She went for the drinks. When she returned, Jill was saying, "—of course, Marg. Tolerance of homosexuality—or any offbeat sex—goes in direct ratio to intelligence."

  "At the level where I grew up," Margaret said bitterly, "it works the other way. Mother wouldn't let me go to college because college women were immoral."

  "By her standards, they probably were. I'm sure I am," Jill said.

  "So they pride themselves on being more decent somehow! Because they're still intolerant of everything except plain, brute, animal sex which they call natural!"

  "It's our society, honey," said Nora, handing around drinks. "We have about six different levels of social progress all the time, with half the population at least a hundred years behind the rest—socially."

  Margaret said, "Of course there have to be children. Race survival. But, Nor, lots of women get married with the fixed idea that they won't have children. They want to work, or something. And some women can't have children.

  Yet they can marry, and nobody calls them immoral. How is a lesbian affair different?"

  "Maybe," Jill said, "that's going to be the new morality. To accept sex only as an expression of love, and never for money. Or security. I'd be ashamed to marry a man just so he'd support me and my kids!"

  Nora did not take up the challenge. "Well, Jill," she said, "society has to make some provision for its young. It would be kind of rough on women if men didn't support their kids, wouldn't it?"

  Jill flared, "That's just a—a convention! In Russia women work just like men!"

  "But who wants to live in Russia? And most men want to support their wives and families, in our society."

  "They want to keep a woman in prison all her life, in return for a meal ticket!" Jill snapped.

  Margaret said wearily, "You're right about one thing, Nora. Conventions protect people from their own irresponsibility. Isn't that where most unconventional relationships break down? Free love never does work, and most lesbians just—drift. The only thing that gives people any real claim on each other is marriage."

  "Marriages break up too," Jill protested. "Nothing, no convention, can make a relationship work, except the people involved. Even ties of blood can't hold it together if it isn't working."

  "But no," Margaret argued. "If you and a husband have a row, or you see someone you like better, you have to go through the courts, and divide up the furniture, and provide for the kids, and argue with your in-laws, and maybe you think better of it. But if you and a—a—a lover have a fight, one of you packs up and walks out, and that's that." She swallowed. Nora knew that only in this oblique way could Margaret talk about what was hurting her; but she said:

  "Mack used to say that even the stuffiest conventions made sense—even if intelligent people couldn't see why. A mathematical genius can solve problems in his head, but for most people it helps to memorize the multiplication table, and stick to it."

  "Are you saying—there should be one set of rules for the intelligentsia and another set for ordinary people?"

  "No, only—if you break the rules, you should know exactly what you're getting into. If you don't, you're safer sticking with the rules."

  "But sometimes," Jill said, very low, "you get into a situation where there aren't any rules."

  Margaret's eyes darkened. "Oh yes. Th
ere's always one. Thou shalt not." She stood up. "I've got to go really; if I don't work tomorrow I may not have a job."

  "Want to sleep here? The couch is perfectly comfortable."

  "Thanks. But no." Margaret collected her coat.

  "Then let me drive you."

  "Nora, I'm not going to swallow a handful of sleeping pills, or jump off the Hudson bridge!"

  "I know, Marg. But you're acting awfully queer."

  "I am awfully queer," Margaret said, "Aren't we all?"

  Jill came up suddenly with her coat on. "I'll walk you home. Nora needs the car, anyhow, in case she gets a call." To Nora's surprise, Margaret went without protest, and Nora watched them go, frowning. What could she say without seeming to criticize? And who had given her the right to criticize? She lay awake for a long time, but when, at a quarter of three, she was summoned to the hospital where a cardiac patient was failing, Jill had not come home.

  CHAPTER 12

  Now there was a definite date set to the end of the time of waiting. On May 15th—so Dr. Kuysman said—Kit Ellersen would be discharged from the hospital.

  Nora arranged for a three months leave of absence, finding a young man recently finished with his resident year at St. Margaret's, to take over her practice. Now that there was a real shape to their future, Kit seemed sobered.

  "I've got stagefright," he admitted. "Been tucked up so long, I'm not sure how I'll make out on my own. And something else we never discussed. I've got a partial-disability pension, but I let the business go when I went back in the hospital, and no telling how soon I'll be able to build it up again."

  "Why worry about that now, Kit? Just—drift a while."

  "Dammit, I've been drifting for three years," he exploded, then laughed. "Oh, well. We're lucky I wasn't an acrobat. I can always make out in an architect's office."

  "Kit, we don't need to worry about money."

  "I won't be pigheaded about that. Every wife works for her husband one way or another. But I can't sit around and let you support me indefinitely, Leonora," he added, his chin set in the stubborn line she knew.

  "Problem for Jill now," said Nora, "finding a place to live."

  "The sexy brunette? Maybe you'd better keep her around." Abruptly he said, "On second thought, I don't think I could manage a harem," and the quality of his glance altered; became so intimate that Nora could hardly face his eyes.

  However, before Nora had a chance to bring it up, Jill told her that she was moving in with Margaret Sheppard.

  "Marg can't afford that apartment on her salary alone. And now that Kit's coming home, it seemed the perfect solution."

  "What about after the baby comes?" Jill had once mentioned some plan of Mack's to fly home for a week or two in August, and be with her when the baby was born. But she hadn't mentioned it lately and Nora hadn't asked.

  "Marg said she wouldn't mind having a baby around. And Nor, I looked at apartments all week, and only found one I liked—and they wouldn't rent it to me when I told them about the baby."

  Nora looked speculatively at Jill. She was well into the fifth month now; but she carried herself so well that a casual observer would not have noticed anything. She had not begun wearing maternity dresses, even; the crinoline-bouffant fashions this spring were concealing enough for street wear.

  They were silent and a little constrained during these last few days, and Nora found herself remembering the weeks in Fairfax—when she had thought that their return to Albany would end the tension between them. It struck her, perhaps, that she was not being quite fair with Jill; but it no longer seemed important.

  She knows it will end when Kit comes home...

  But when, that night, Jill came softly to her side, and held out her arms, Nora drew her down with an almost despairing sense of guilt and loss. Her hands, her mouth moved on Jill almost in desperation; Jill clung to her wildly, and even through the hunger of passion, Nora thought; what am I doing, what have I done to her? Jill, as simply and forthrightly as always, seemed to sense Nora's despair; and gave herself with fresh, spontaneous warmth, so freely that Nora's tension of guilt vanished in the delight of holding Jill, tender and pliant, in her arms, and the mutuality of the joy that swept them out of their single place in space and time. But long after Jill slept, Nora lay awake, the old doubt and despair creeping slowly back.

  * * *

  The first week in May, Nora came home one night to find Jill slumped face down on the divan. She had been crying; but when she heard Nora, she looked up, dry-eyed.

  "Dean Bulwer called me in today. As a grad student, I was required to have a physical—"

  Of course. Nora gathered up Jill's scattered armload of books. "She had your pregnancy report?"

  Jill said with a dreary laugh, "I guess she'd expected me to wallow in hysterics. When I didn't, she said she could see she wasn't dealing with a schoolgirl in a mess. There is a regulation on the books, that students are supposed to get the Dean's permission to marry, but she hemmed and hawed and said after all in this day and age, and so forth. I guess she just wanted me to tell her I was married."

  Nora said, gripped in the claws of an awful suspicion, "I hope to heaven you did tell her that!"

  "I most certainly did not."

  Oh Lord, of course not. That would be too sensible.

  "Would you mind telling me why not?"

  "I don't mind lying to save you embarrassment, or my mother a shock. But if you think I'd lie to that old battle-axe—"

  Of course not. Jill must always, always punish herself. "Dear God," said Nora, "so did she expel you, or just ask you to resign? You certainly didn't leave her much choice."

  Jill pleated a fold in her skirt with nervous fingers. "Oh, she started in about how I had excellent references, but that Loudon expects their instructors to be morally above reproach, so forth and so on, that they had a responsibility toward—get this, Nora—toward their girlies!"

  "Well, Jill—"

  "Oh, I could tell her a few things about her girlies," Jill went on at white heat, "her nice girlies. The ones who carry a diaphragm around in their handbags. Or the other ones who've been taught that they have to save their cherry for a rich husband—"

  "Jill, for heaven's sake! What did you expect? You didn't leave the poor woman a loophole, did you? I'm trying to imagine what would have happened to me if I'd started a baby in college—and everyone knew I was married! If one of the unmarried teachers had turned up pregnant, she'd probably have been tarred and feathered. I don't say I approve, but that's the way things are."

  Jill bit her lip. "Oh, she didn't kick me out. She said there was no reason I shouldn't finish out the term, provided—this is how she put it—I was willing to be discreet. They'd just assume I'd been married all along."

  "It seems she bent over backward to be lenient." As everyone did, Nora was thinking, with Jill. The providence that protects fools and children.

  "I ought to know by now that hypocrisy pays off!"

  "Oh, stop it! Why do you insist on punishing yourself?" And again she felt the premonitory dread. What other facts would Jill refuse to face?

  "Jill, where are you going?"

  The girl was ripping off her dress, flinging each piece into a corner. She pulled down one of the maternity smocks and hauled it over her head with twitching fingers. "There!" she said, choking, "now let those filthy-minded girls giggle about what I've been doing! Now nobody can say I'm trying to hide anything!"

  Nora turned her back on Jill and went out. She had to. If she had not—even now she was not sure whether she had wanted to slap and shake some sense into the girl—or take her in her arms.

  "Oh Kit, Kit," she whispered, falling on the divan still warm from Jill's body, "for God's sake come home before something terrible happens!"

  CHAPTER 13

  Kit Ellersen roused up, not certain where he was. After the bareness and faraway noises of a hospital at night, these close walls, moon-striped with dark spaces and white, seemed alien. There w
as a subtle fragrance in the room, strange after months of disinfectant smells. Nora's perfume.

  Stiffly, Kit sat up, making out the dark line of Nora's body in the other bed. The luminous clock marked eleven. He grinned crookedly; three years ago that would have seemed a lot too early for bed. He had been asleep since three that afternoon.

  Hell of a trick! Lie down for half an hour and fall asleep like a sick pup. Rough on the poor girl. She just let him sleep, too, bless her.

  He stretched out again, with a restless shove at his pillow. Hell, she might as well sleep!

  It had been bad enough when they only saw each other in the antiseptic atmosphere of the ward. Living together would make it worse.

  He'd never forget—it had kept cropping up in his worst hospital nightmares, and he'd had some dillies...

  It had been a quiet wedding; half a dozen of Nora's hospital friends. They had decided to stay in Nora's apartment until he could design, and begin building, their own home. You couldn't have paid him to live in one of those mass-produced crackerboxes in the suburbs.

  It had started so well, in a surge of confidence and joy. He had learned to maneuver so easily on his crutches that he was not even aware of them; only a small sting of consciousness touched him now and then. Nora was lovely in blue; too austere, but he already knew about the responsive, giving passion behind that mask.