Part 18

“You had no right to listen!” Laura exclaimed harshly.

“You had no right to make personal calls during working hours, for that matter,” Sarah said defensively.

Laura picked up her purse and ran out of the office without another word. She went into a phone booth and called Jack. “Can I come over?” she said.

“No. I’m in a mess.”

“Please, Jack.”

“Mother, for Christ’s sake! Be empathic for once, will you?”

“All right, I’ll call Beebo.”

“No don’t. She’s p.o.’d at you. She may never speak to you again after what you said to her.”

Laura felt frantic. “Well, what am I supposed to do?” she said, half crying into the receiver. “I’ve practically lost my job.”

“Go home to Marcie, Mother. Do something. I can’t help you out tonight. I’m sorry, honey.” And he was.

“Oh, Jack, say something to me. Say something kind. Anything.”

After a pause he said, “I love you, Mother. Only I’m not in love with you. I wish to hell I was, it couldn’t be worse than Terry. Now be a doll and let me go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She felt the urgency to get away in his voice and let him go. For a moment she sat in the booth and dried her tears. She felt sick about Beebo but she was afraid to call her.

It was another torturous weekend for Marcie, who was beginning to feel as if she had ruined Laura’s life. It was Sunday night before they actually made any sort of communication with each other.

Burr had been calling Marcie every night, trying to talk her into leaving the apartment. Their talks were short but the animosity had faded from them. Laura listened to them listlessly; she could not avoid hearing them in the small apartment. Marcie said things like, “Yes, she’s here.” “No, you know I don’t want to see you.” “No, we aren’t, and don’t bring that up again.” “I know I did. I know what I did, Burr, don’t throw it in my face.” She refused to see him.

Laura winced at all this, and finally she took to going out on the roof when he called. The windows were wide open, the weather being soft and pleasant now, and Marcie’s voice carried even out there. But it wasn’t so pervading, so persistent. On Sunday night, Laura went out and looked at the city while Marcie talked. The time passed almost without Laura’s being aware of it. She gazed across New York in the direction of the McAlton, wondering if her father was sitting in his room waiting for her. And then she looked down toward the Village and her heart gave a sick squeeze at the thought of Beebo. Beebo, who told her how terribly a love affair could hurt. Beebo, who told her to beware and then got caught in her own trap. Laura wondered if Beebo really loved her. If she could ever forgive her. Laura had attacked the very basis of her being: her body, her pride, her deepest needs. In that one quick wicked speech, Laura had ridiculed her. She felt the tears come. And she could hear Jack saying, “If Terry said that to me, I’d strangle him.” It was shameful.

She grew very depressed, thinking of the necessity of going back to work in the office the next morning, with Sarah trying to put on cheerfulness and Dr. Hollingsworth—so kindly, so tolerant—watching for signs of steadiness and application in her. And herself, so heavily aware of their good will toward her, their frustration, and her own overwhelming complexities that sapped her strength and effort.

She was startled when Marcie said at her elbow, “Burr wants to see me.” When Laura didn’t answer, Marcie said, “He feels God-awful about the whole thing. He wants to apologize to me.” Another silence. “I want to apologize to you, Laura. But you won’t let me.”

Laura shut her eyes in pain for a moment, as if to avoid the sight of Marcie’s face. And then she opened them and without looking at her, said, “We’ve been all through this before, Marcie. I don’t want your apologies. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do.”

“You don’t!”

Marcie gave a long sigh of exasperation. “All right, then why won’t you speak to me?”

“I will, Marcie. When I can.”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not now?”

“I guess I’m sick. Maybe Jack was right, I need to see his analyst.” She tried to smile a little.

“Because of your father? What he did to you?”

Laura looked down at her arms, folded on the cement railing. “I guess so,” she almost whispered.

“Laura, say something to me. This is unbearable.” Marcie was pleading with her, as Laura had pleaded herself with Jack on the phone. She turned and looked at Marcie, standing close beside her, two delicate lines between her eyes betraying the tension inside her. For a moment Laura just looked at her. It had been over a week since she looked at Marcie that way. In the soft spring night, in the golden light fading up from the streets below, with the myriad muffled noises that are the music of a great city around them, they gazed at each other. And Marcie was very beautiful with her hair lifted gently in the breeze and her eyes big with anxiety. She was wrapped in a blue silk negligee and the lines of her slim young body showed through it.

Finally, prompted by the necessity to speak, Laura said, “It’s so hard to talk, Marcie. Words are so inadequate sometimes.”

“Any words will do, Laura. Except ‘Excuse me.’ That’s all you’ve said to me for days on end.”

They smiled a little at each other, and Laura took her hands. She pulled just a little on them, and Marcie responded softly, coming toward her. “Laura, tell me I’m forgiven. Don’t say there’s nothing to forgive me for. I just want to hear you say it.”

“No.”

“Please.” Her voice broke.

“No, no, no,” Laura said, gazing curiously at Marcie. Did she really feel so guilty? She hadn’t done anything that bad. Laura had a strange feeling of finality, of the end of things, of everything ending at once so that nothing really mattered any more. As if Marcie would turn and walk out of her life, and her job would end, and Beebo would never see her, and Jack and Terry would break up. It made her pensive and sad. She wondered at all the new feelings in her: the inability to care about her job, her meanness with Beebo, her unreasoning fear of Merrill Landon in the hotel lobby. Nothing seemed very real, up there on the roof. It didn’t seem to make much difference what she did. She gave another little pull and Marcie came still closer, touching her up and down the length of her body.

Laura touched her hair. “You look so much like a friend of mine,” she said. Marcie reminded her of Beth again at this moment; the Beth she had lost so long ago, a million years ago, it seemed.

“I do? You never told me that.”

“I forgot.”

“What’s she like?”

“Oh, she was tall, short dark hair, purple eyes. Rather boyish.”

“You talk about her as if she were dead.”

“She is. As far as I’m concerned.”

Marcie frowned at her. “She doesn’t sound at all like me.”

“No, I guess she doesn’t,” Laura said. “There’s something about your face; I don’t know how to define it. I thought I saw a resemblance.” She had seen it in Beebo, too. And even in the curly-headed little blonde who had approached her in The Cellar the night she was looking for Beebo. They couldn’t all look like Beth. It was very strange.

“Were you good friends?” Marcie asked.

Laura smiled a little and put her arms around Marcie. In the still night she answered simply, “We were lovers.” It was very quiet, dreamlike, as if she spoke in a trance.

Marcie stared at her, motionless, as if to determine whether she were joking. She stood in Laura’s arms, unable to move one way or the other; uncertain and a little scared.

Laura saw her consternation, but it didn’t worry her. She spoke again, still feeling as if it weren’t real, any more than the glittering city below was real, or her father’s wrath, or Jack, or Beebo, or the doctors and Sarah ... “That was the ‘great love’ I told you about, in college,” she said. “It was Beth.”

After a long pause, Marcie said in a whisper, “What happened?”

“She got married,” Laura said.

Marcie was dumbfounded. “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly and then retreated into herself, embarrassed. She had no idea what to say, what to do.

Laura could see that, but at first she didn’t try to interpret it. It didn’t frighten her yet. “That’s why I was so shocked when Burr said you told him we were lovers,” Laura said. “I wish we were, Marcie. But I never touched you.” Marcie was studying her now, her eyes brimming. “When he accused me of it and believed it and said you told him so, I was so hurt I didn’t know what to do or say. I thought of a million crazy explanations. The only one that seemed to make sense was that you felt the way I do.” She looked hard at Marcie. Their faces were very close together, and Laura was holding her tightly, her arms locked around Marcie’s small waist. “Do you, Marcie?” Laura whispered. “Do you?”

They stayed that way for awhile, not moving, looking at each other. Laura felt her breath speed up and she felt a powerful longing to kiss Marcie. It grew stronger by the second. She began to press Marcie against her rhythmically and suddenly all the months of repression exploded inside her and came out kisses on her lips. She began to kiss Marcie intensely—her face, her neck and arms, her ears, her throat. “Marcie,” she said hoarsely, suddenly holding her tight with the strength of desire. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I thought I’d die of it. Living with you, so close to you, seeing you all the time ... undressing, bathing ... It drove me crazy. Marcie, you’re so beautiful, so sweet. Oh, God, it feels so good to say it. You’re impossible. I want you so terribly, so terribly. You want me too, don’t you? I know it, I always knew it. Oh, Marcie, let me, let me. Don’t stop me! Please!” A note of anguish crept into her voice when Marcie began to resist her. “Please, Marcie!” she implored her.

But Marcie put her arms up and pushed hard against Laura. “Let me go!” she said. “Let me go!” And she began to cry. Laura, shocked, released her so suddenly that Marcie staggered backwards a little. She gave a cry, recovered her balance, and stared at Laura with her eyes wide for a moment. Then she turned and ran inside.

Laura stood where she was for a long time, afraid to think or feel. She had no idea how much time had passed before she dared to go inside. Had she frightened Marcie? Revolted her? Would Marcie greet her with love or hatred? As a witch or a lover? She was in a state of nervous agony when she finally gathered the strength to walk around to the penthouse door.

She opened it and walked slowly through the living room and kitchen. She pushed the bedroom door open slowly. Marcie was sitting on her bed, her back toward Laura. She had apparently sat like that without moving for some time. She turned very slowly when she heard Laura come in, and looked up at her. Laura felt her heart turn over. Marcie was so lovely, so miserable. It showed plainly in her face. Laura went to her and dropped to her knees in front of her and put her head in Marcie’s lap. And when she felt Marcie’s hand stroking her head, she wept.

“Forgive me,” she begged. “It’s your turn now, Marcie. I frightened you. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t!” And she caught Marcie’s hand and kissed it.

“Laura,” Marcie said quietly. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks and you wouldn’t let me. Now it’s eating me up. I’m going to tell you something. And you’re going to listen.” Her voice trembled so that Laura looked up at her.

“Laura, I’m so ashamed, so ashamed.”

“Tell me, Marcie. Tell me. I’m listening now.” She searched her face anxiously.

Marcie swallowed her tears and with a tremendous effort, said, “I did an awful thing, Laur. I’ve known for a while about you.” She looked away, struggling with herself; her shame, her pity, her shaking voice.

“You—you knew?” Laura whispered, going white.

“Yes. I couldn’t help knowing. You couldn’t hide it, Laura. You couldn’t come near me without it showing—in your eyes, your face. The way you touched me, the things you said, all the crazy moods you had. You seemed afraid of me. You let things slip. You even kissed me once. I’ve been around enough to know. I knew about you.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks embarrassedly and went on, unable to look at Laura, “I should have told you. Or else I should have let it drop. But I guess it interested me. It seemed like a game. I got sort of intrigued, you might say. I even told Burr what I suspected ... months ago ...” She stifled a sob.

Laura’s face was colorless, tortured. Her hands were over her mouth.

“It kills me to say these things,” Marcie whispered. “But I did everything to earn your contempt. I can’t lie to you any more, Laura. I even bet Burr I could make you make a pass at me.”

“No,” Laura gasped. “Oh, no—”

“He thought it was all a joke. He wouldn’t even listen to me. Until I got fed up with him and started hanging around here so much. Then he got it into his head that we were having a hot and heavy affair. I couldn’t talk him out of it. I’d gone too far for that.”

Laura turned away from her and rested her head against her own bed, too stunned, too wounded, to answer or understand half of it.

“Laura.” Marcie bent toward her. “I don’t know what crazy imp gets hold of me sometimes. I swear I don’t. I never even wondered what I’d do if it ever came to this, if you ever tried to make love to me. I guess I thought it would be a game, like everything else. I guess I thought it would be a lot of kicks. Or just a stupid silly thing that wouldn’t really matter. To either of us. I guess I didn’t think at all.

“And just now—on the roof—when you told me how you felt, and how you wanted me—Laura, I had no idea you could love like that. I didn’t know it could be beautiful, or touching, or tragic. I thought it was mostly play-acting. I thought the only real love was between men and women. But you made it beautiful, Laura. I don’t know what else to call it. I’m ashamed. Clear through my soul. I played you for a fool, and all the while you were an angel.”

Laura began to sob.

“I’d do anything for you, Laur,” Marcie whispered. “Anything to make it up. If I could love you the way you want me to, I’d do that. I’ll even try, if you want it.”

Laura slumped to the floor, her arms over her head, and sobbed helplessly.

Marcie knelt beside her, profoundly afraid and ashamed. “Laura,” she said, “Do whatever you want with me. I’ve hurt you so terribly. Hurt me back if it’ll help. Do something. Do anything. I can’t stand to see you like this. Oh, Laura, Laura. Please don’t cry like that. Please.”

Chapter Fourteen

In the morning—the bleak morning that came in spite of everything and had to be faced—she could hardly look at Marcie. And Marcie, brimming with shame and pity, avoided her, breaking softly into tears from time to time.

At breakfast Marcie said, “Laur, if you think you can bear to live with me I don’t want you to move out. Nothing was your fault, nothing.”

“I couldn’t stand it, Marcie,” Laura said hoarsely without looking at her. “Neither could you.” She got up abruptly and left the table without having eaten a thing.

Marcie got up and followed her. “I wish we could still be friends, Laur.”

“We never were.”

“Oh, but we were. I like you so much, Laura.”

“Marcie, this is unbearable. Don’t talk to me. Please don’t.”

“But I can’t just leave things like this, it’s too awful.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Laura, I’ll never get over this. I’ll never forgive myself. I hurt you so.”

“Marcie, stop it!” She almost screamed at her. “I was a fool, a blind fool. I wouldn’t listen.” She was thinking of all the warnings from Jack and Beebo that she willfully ignored. But she caught herself and spared Jack another betrayal. That, at least, was something Marcie didn’t know and never would. “Never mind,” she finished. “Just drop it.” She turned away and busied herself, but Marcie wouldn’t let her go.

“You will come back tonight, won’t you, Laura? You’ll stay here until you find another place? I’ll be sick if you don’t. This is your apartment as much as it is mine. I’ll move out if you’d rather. You know that, don’t you, Laur?” She was so anxious, so eager for conciliation, so disgusted with what she had done, that Laura felt a momentary relenting and looked shyly at her. “Please come back tonight,” Marcie whispered. “I’ll worry myself sick if you don’t. Please. Promise?”

Laura shut her eyes for a moment and tried to control her voice. She hadn’t the courage to argue. She just said, “Yes,” and grabbed her purse and rushed out.

Laura knew, even before she reached the subway, that she wasn’t going to work that day. She knew it would be impossible for her to read, to type, to look up words, to answer the doctors, to joke with Sarah. It would be a nightmare of hypocrisy, utterly beyond her strength.

She felt shattered, ready to scream if anyone touched her, like someone with an open wound. But she held herself tightly in check. She rode aimlessly on the subway for an hour or two. She stood in bookshops with a volume in her hands and stared at the pages until the clerks, in turn, stared at her. She sat on benches in Central Park. She stopped now and then to get a cup of coffee, and late in the day, a sandwich. It enabled her to keep walking. She walked, looking at nothing but the pavement ahead of her, for a couple of hours. She paid no attention to where she was going or why. She walked to exhaust herself, to reach that country of fatigue where even the mind cannot operate and the emotions are dead.

Abruptly she found herself standing outside the McAlton in the last hour of daylight. She was not strong enough to feel surprise. On the contrary, it was as if she had been working toward it, all through that empty endless day, knowing she would end up here. And knowing, she had not needed to think of it, to make a decision. It was unavoidable.

She stood outside the main door to the lobby, looking at the people hurrying past and hoping somebody would come up to her, talk to her, even make advances to her. Anything to postpone what she knew was coming. She looked at the door and away again, and then back to it, as if it were a great sinister magnet. Sooner or later she knew she would walk through it.

She stood leaning against the gray stone of the McAlton, her fine face pale and vacant, her body apparently relaxed. She looked like a tired young career girl, waiting at the appointed place for a date. She knew it and took advantage of it. The hotel doorman strolled over to her and said, “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” And later, “Looks like he’s a bit late, Miss.” With a little smile.

Laura returned the smile faintly. She tried to engage him in conversation, but he was called away frequently, and finally, with the evening crowd converging on him, got too busy to talk to her at all. The night was violet now, turning fast to black. It was eight o’clock.

Laura turned to the door and walked through it almost automatically. Once inside she was suddenly profoundly afraid. Flashes of fear went through her; long sweeps of tremors and gooseflesh. She didn’t bother with the desk this time. She knew what floor he was on. She got the elevator and said, “Fourteenth floor, please.” She wondered if her voice sounded as shaky as it felt in her throat. She thought of simply getting off the elevator on the fourteenth floor and taking another elevator right back down. And when she was let off, she stood there in the deep carpeted hall with her heart crying “No-no, no-no, no-no,” at every beat.