Strange Women, The

by Miriam Gardner

"Can't I ride down with you?"

  Nora hesitated. "All right. If you want to." She watched the girl sitting at her dressing-table, freshening her lipstick, her mouth like a fresh pink bud.

  "Jill," she said at last, "I know you'll never forgive me—"

  "Forgive you for what?" Jill put down her lipstick. "Don't worry. I'm not going to say anything to Kit. That's what you were really worrying about, isn't it?"

  Nora heard herself make a horrible strangled sound. "Oh, God, Jill," she said, and dropped her face in her hands, leaning against the wall in blinded, tearing agony. "Oh, God." Dimly she heard Jill rise and come to her; then Jill's arms were pulling her round, holding her around the waist.

  "Nora—look at me—please, please—"

  Once Nora had bent to lift what she thought was a scrap of dust from the floor, and in her hand the faded ball had fluttered, beating convulsive wings against her startled palm, so she cried out in fright before she realized it was a living moth. Just so terrifying was the thing that leaped to life within her now. She lifted Jill's face and kissed her on the mouth. Jill clung to her, eyes closed; then swayed and lost her balance, and Nora caught her, alarmed.

  "You aren't fit to be on your feet. Stay here."

  "Oh, no, no—let me come with you," Jill begged, "I can't stand it—"

  Mack and Kit were still talking about crosswinds and stall-out speed and hardly raised their eyes when the women left. Nora turned the car into the park.

  "Nor, what is it, what have we done to each other?"

  Nora swallowed. "I don't know. The way I feel now—" forcibly, she stopped herself. "Darling, Kit needs me, he trusts me, I—I'd feel better about deceiving him with a man, than this. And—and it wouldn't last. Try to remember, darling, these things don't last."

  I hope to God they don't, at least...

  "Darling, I've got to see Cranford. Wait for me, and we'll go somewhere for a drink, where we can talk."

  "Where," asked Jill bitterly, "Flora's?"

  She refused to come upstairs with Nora. Nora, discussing her business with young Cranford, mentioned that later in the year she might need a maternity leave, and the young doctor laughed:

  "I ought to have expected that. After all, with your husband home all day, what else is there to do?"

  Nora bent her head, angry at the realization that most doctors would not have talked this way to most women; angry, too, at herself for reacting. Six months ago she might have made such a remark herself.

  Jarred by it, she decided on an irrevocable step.

  "Look here, Andy; if you want this practice, I'll let you have it."

  He blinked, his boyish face bewildered. "You can't be serious. It will be years before I'm in shape to take over this kind of a set-up."

  "I'm not that old," she said dryly, "and if I didn't think you could handle it, I wouldn't offer." This would also deal with Kit's repressed, but perceptible, jealousy and resentment of Vic. He knew they had been lovers.

  "I'll probably have a child to look after, and I'd rather not be tied until I'm sure where my husband wants to settle. Pay me what you can raise—I'll settle for the price of the office furniture if you can't do any better."

  "You aren't giving up practice?"

  Why, she thought incredulously, the kid doesn't approve of me; I'm not a woman, I'm just a doctor trying to get out of an obligation!

  She said testily, "Certainly not, I just have to get permanently located. Do you want it, or not?"

  "Oh, I do. Good Lord, a chance like this doesn't come along every day." He gulped. "I mean—it's awfully generous of you, doctor. I hate to take advantage—"

  "Don't worry about that." She cut him short. "We can talk about the business end of it tomorrow. Don't worry, I won't change my mind."

  As she left the office, she was thinking; now she had slammed down a barricade against the past. She would practice wherever Kit wanted to live.

  Without asking, she drove Jill to a quiet restaurant where they could order drinks. She said finally, "Jill, there's something I must tell you. No, dear, let me finish this time. I think I'm going to have a baby."

  Jill did some silent mental arithmetic. "It must have happened right away."

  "I think so." That first night. "Kit's almost wild. It's the best thing that could have happened to him, I—thought I'd be deliriously happy, myself."

  "And you're not?"

  "Not especially. That ought to be obvious."

  "Did you know—that day?"

  "I'd just begun to suspect. That was what I was trying to tell you," Nora said, "that, and nothing else."

  Jill picked up her drink and made a face. "I don't know why I let you order me a daiquiri. I despise them." She drank it anyhow.

  "Nora, Mack thinks I'm going to Peru with him. Nor—do you know what was the worst of it, in the hospital, the thing I couldn't face? Knowing that I—I never wanted a baby at all. I'm—I'm not glad she's dead," she gulped, "I—they let me see her. She was like a little white baby-doll. Did you know they baptized her? They baptized her Mary. I'd have called her Pam if she'd lived. She had funny little ears—"

  "Darling, don't—"

  "The nurses and the nuns were so nice to me, and there I was knowing I'd never wanted her, and now I was free, I didn't have to marry Mack—" she wiped her dripping eyes with a paper napkin.

  "I don't want to go with Mack. I—don't want any man."

  Under the table Nora took Jill's hand; not bruisingly but very, very gently. "Sweet—listen. You can't possibly know now how you'll feel about Mack. Or men."

  Jill wrenched the words out. "Since you—since you first—the whole idea of sleeping with a man makes me sick. Any man."

  "Jill, you were pregnant; now that Mack's back—no, listen, dear, can't you take my word for something this once? My word as a doctor, even? Mack realized—if he doesn't, Vic will tell him, or I will—there can't possibly be any sexual relations now. Not for weeks."

  "But—but I don't even want to think about it."

  "Jill, give yourself time. It will be different, when you're well again, believe me."

  "How do you know what it will be like for me?"

  Nora drove her nails into her own palm. "Listen, Jill. Even if we're both unhappy—" but that had slipped out against her will, and she bit it off.

  "Nora, are you unhappy too?"

  "How can I possibly be happy about it? Do you think I like hurting you? But if we try to drag this out, we'll keep hurting each other, and Kit, and Mack—even if you hate me for it, I have to say—"

  "I couldn't hate you, Nor. You know I—"

  "No." Nora cut her off before she could say it. "Jill, Jill, if you're smart, the minute you leave—you'll marry Mack. Tonight. Fly down to Peru with him. Have another baby the minute they'll let you. Oh, darling, be smart—" she reached for Jill's hand again, then suddenly pulled it away and closed her eyes.

  "No," she said, "No, I'm not hysterical. But—I'm begging you. Go marry Mack. Forget you ever knew me.

  For God's sake," she almost shouted, though the cry tight in her tight throat, could not be heard two feet away and Jill had to bend forward to hear her, "for God's sake get out while you can!"

  CHAPTER 17

  Gray lines of rain were streaming down the windows. Kit laid aside his magazine as someone knocked at the door.

  "I wonder if that's Jill? We haven't seen her for couple of weeks, have we?"

  Nora rose and went toward the door. She had see Jill only once since Mack left for the coast—Vic Demorino had advised Jill against making the trip—and that troublingly. Answering an emergency call deep in the slum quarter, late one night, she had waited almost an hour for an ambulance to take her patient to a hospital; afterward, finding herself within a block of Flora's, she had gone for a drink.

  She had sat alone at a corner table, slowly unwinding from the long tension; then, looking up across intervening tables, she saw Jill, with Margaret Sheppard. They were close together, their backs
turned to Nora—neither of them had seen her.

  A woman in a T-shirt and jeans came toward Nor asking gravely, "Lonesome, kid?" She was slightly drunk. Nora said a quiet "No, thanks," rose and went out. But the sight haunted her.

  She had accused Ramona of warping Margaret's natural bent—when Margaret was alone and disillusioned by bad marriage. Had she done the same to Jill?

  She told herself angrily; Margaret liked the place, Jill might have come at Margaret's request, to ward off unattached girls. Or because they wanted a drink. She didn't have to jump to conclusions! But she knew—none better—that loneliness drove people to doing strange things. She herself had slammed the door against Jill, refusing even to discuss it. How could she blame Jill?

  It was not Jill, however, at the apartment door, but Mack. His hair was wet and curling; he had on white canvas trousers and a faded but immaculate blue chambray shirt.

  "Hi, Mack," said Kit with lazy good nature, "When did you get in from the coast? Get us some beer, Nora."

  Nora turned; then hesitated, rebellious against Kit's easy assumption of command.

  I shouldn't feel this way, Kit's got the right to order me—to ask me for something. But before Mack— "Suppose you ask first if he wants it? Mack doesn't like beer." She brought beer for Kit and Scotch on ice for Mack, and opened a bottle of ginger ale for herself; but her triumph was as flat in her mouth as the taste of the soft drink, as Mack took a chair beside Kit.

  "Hear you're moving?"

  Kit nodded. "We decided to settle in the country—build up a business outside the rat race. Build split-levels instead of skyscrapers. Nora, did the mailman come?"

  "I saw him downstairs in the hall."

  "My license photostat ought to have come. Run down and see if it's there, will you?"

  Mack rose to his feet, saying "Let me go," but Nora was already on the stairs. There were two envelopes addressed to Kit, and one for her, on the letterhead of Pearson Associates. Hardly worth while opening that. She tore it idly across, and stood, stunned:

  Type; FRIEDMAN

  Specimen subject; Ellersen, Mrs. Leonora

  Results; negative for pregnancy.

  It tore, and she realized that her steady hands were shaking. She had been so sure... she had told Kit. He had been so proud—now she would have to destroy that joy and pride. The old guilt tore at her:

  If you don't mind risking your chance of ever carrying a healthy child to full term...

  Nonsense, she thought angrily, I simply wasn't pregnant at all, it's right there in the report—but the pain did not go away. I've failed Kit. She buried her face in her hands, unwilling to go back and face him with it. At last she put it dress pocket and went back upstairs. Kit stretched out his hands for the envelopes, but did not interrupt himself;

  "—so then old Byrd called Nora and asked if she'd be willing to take over when he retires—it can't be more than two or three years now. Well, of course, that was ideal. We can live out there—" he looked at her with a smile so full of love that she could not face him. "I was telling Mack about the kid, Leonora."

  She swallowed. She could not, before Mack, destroy it by saying, It was a mistake, I jumped the gun.

  "Hey, that's great, sis," Mack said softly. "So you beat us, after all. Poor little Jill." Then his face sobered and he put down his drink.

  "Nora, I'm worried about Jill. Remember, I talked to you once before about her?"

  Yes, and you let me in for the worst mess of my life.

  She said cautiously, "Have you thought about this, Mack? Maybe she's just decided that she doesn't want to marry you."

  "But she couldn't do that—not after the baby, and everything—look, Nora, maybe I'm a heel. But can't you understand? As far as I'm concerned, she's my wife!"

  "You're not a heel," Nora interrupted, "Jill knew perfectly well what she was doing. But if she knew what she was doing then, you've got to admit she knows now."

  Mack glowered. "Nora, whatever you might think, I don't make a habit of unloading my personal problems on other people. But Jill's not like most women, and neither are you, so I figured you might understand her. I'm not asking you to violate any confidences, but can't you give me some notion of what's going on inside that stubborn little nut of hers? Why won't she marry me? Is she angry at something I've done?"

  "I don't see why she should be." Shocked at herself, Nora felt a queer thrill of pride. Instantly it was gone, leaving an ebb-tide wash of shame—surely it was nothing to be proud of, that Jill wanted no one else? But it had been there; the flare of jealousy at the thought of Mack possessing Jill, the leap of pride that Jill refused him.

  Mack brooded, "Some women get funny after having a baby. Do you think that's Jill's trouble?"

  "Probably. But not the way you think." Nora wondered why her voice was so cold. "Maybe she's just realized; not having your baby, she's not obligated to marry you unless it suits her, and it doesn't."

  "But what can I do?"

  Nora felt she must cut this short at any cost. "Mack, I'm neither God nor a marriage counselor. Jill's of age and knows her own mind. There's nothing I could do, even if I were willing to get mixed up in it. Which—forgive me—I'm not."

  Kit was standing by the window, looking into the streaming rain. He turned and said harshly, "Mack, can I put in my two cents?"

  "Go ahead."

  "You say you think of Jill as your wife. But you treated her like a tramp. No wonder she resents it!"

  Nora opened her mouth to protest. What did Kit know about Jill? But Kit scowled and Nora realized this had turned into man talk and she would be ignored if she spoke.

  "I know, Kit. I ought to have talked her into marrying me, or else made damn sure I wouldn't leave her pregnant. But if she throws me over—it would serve me right, but I couldn't take it."

  "Did it ever occur to you that she's afraid? Afraid you only think you ought to—what's that phrase—make an honest woman out of her? She won't be rushed—"

  "Rushed? She's had eight months!"

  "During which she was pregnant, and had to carry all that guilt and shame alone—"

  Nora could not keep silent. She felt as if she were being stripped naked herself. "Kit, that's not true. Jill doesn't swallow that Puritan hogwash about sex and guilt! She's a modern, sensible girl!"

  "Modern or not and sensible or not," said Kit with a skeptical shrug, "she'd still be upset about having an illegitimate child. Especially when she doesn't have the baby to—to make it worth while. But she needs you. Mack, whether she knows it or not. You want some free advice? Okay. Take off the pressure. Let her come to you."

  "And suppose she doesn't?"

  "It's none of my business, but you might better lose her that way than get her the other. If you bully her into marrying you, she'll always remember it was something you wanted. Let her realize that she's marrying you—not because you pressured her into it, but because it was something she wanted."

  When Mack had gone, chastened but hopeful, Nora said "What got into you? None of it was Mack's fault!"

  Kit laughed. "Funny. You really don't think it was his fault—do you?"

  "How on earth could it be?"

  "Leonora, whenever a woman's been seduced—"

  "Oh, lord, Kit!"

  "Even the modern woman, who has deleted the word from the dictionary; when a woman's been seduced, some man did it."

  Suddenly Nora was fiercely angry. "I suppose you have it all figured out that the men I had before you, took advantage of my innocence."

  Kit flinched. "No need to bring that up. I told you before we were married; I don't give a damn whether I'm the first or the fifty-first, as long as I'm the last. Took advantage of you? Yes, damn it, and you made it easy for them by swallowing all that single-standard crap men invented to seduce women with."

  It was too much. "You make me sick," she shouted, almost incoherent. "That dark-ages hokum—"

  "Here, here, here, hold on!" He held her until she stopped strugglin
g, his thin fingers like steel clamps on her wrist. "Don't you ever raise your voice to me again, Leonora, I mean that. If you weren't going to have a baby, I would take you over my knee and give you the paddling of your life!" The words made Nora cringe. "I won't have women yelling at me!"

  "Kit, no man has ever had the right—"

  "No. That is obvious from your tone. No, keep still, we are going to have this out—there is only one man in this family. Me."

  "Kit, I won't have this! We are two adults—two equals. You have no right to speak as if I were a naughty child to be punished if I disobey!"

  "We are two equals," he said, his mouth set, "not two men. As long as you speak to me as a wife should speak to her husband, I will treat you with all the respect and courtesy you could possibly desire. I have fixed ideas about respecting my wife. But man to man, Nora, I'm the better man and I can prove it. So don't try to compete that way."

  He kissed her hair, tenderly. She rubbed her punished wrists, and he picked them up and kissed them. "I have only one more thing to say, Nora, and then we'll drop it for good. I love you, and I trust you. The past is past, and nothing could change the way I feel."

  She drew a little away from him. "Kit, there's something I must tell you—"

  "You don't have to tell me anything," he said.