I am a woman
about one of his woman patients, and she was frankly irritated. He
picked himself up from her desk, where he was sitting, and huffed out,
offended. “Okay, don’t laugh,” he said. “The others thought it was
funny.”
Laura drove herself almost crazy with her errors that afternoon. When
her phone rang she jumped half out of her chair. It was Jack.
“Good afternoon, Mother,” he said. “I’m selling used tooth brushes.
Interested?”
“No. I’m very busy. Goodby.”
“I’ll see you at eight.”
“No.”
“Eight-fifteen.”
“No.”
“Eight-thirty.”
“All right! All right! All right! Goodby!” She slammed the receiver down
and Sarah stared at her.
* * * * *
Laura decided to work late, and it was close to eight-thirty when she
got up to go. The reports, though fewer, were still not done.
At the elevator the boy said, “Nice evening.”
“Is it?” She answered him apathetically, involved in her own world.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s really spring tonight.” He smiled at her.
He was right. The air was soft and gentle, lavender and clear. It even
smelled good, right there in mid-Manhattan, although that was probably
an hallucination. Laura smiled a little. She hated to go underground to
the subway, but it was late, and she wanted to get home in a hurry. It
would really be gorgeous out on the roof tonight.
* * * * *
She walked in to find Jack and Burr playing checkers. Marcie was
cross-legged on the floor, in velvet lounging pants and a silk shirt,
humming while she covered the top of the round cocktail table with a
plastic veneer treated to look like marble.
She smiled up at Laura, who paused to admire her. “Alcohol proof,”
Marcie said, rattling the table cover. “Mr. Marquardt gave it to me.
We’re advertising it for a new client, and they passed some around
today. It sticks by itself. How do you like it?”
“It looks wonderful,” Laura said. So did Marcie, her cheeks pink with
enthusiasm.
“You’ve had it, Mann,” Burr said, and Laura heard a checker smacking
triumphantly over the board in a devastating series of jumps. “Touché,
boy.”
“Why don’t you take up tiddly winks? I could beat you at tiddly winks.”
Jack sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand. He
looked up at Laura without raising his head and smiled. She looked at
him, absorbed in the idea that he had once been infatuated with the man
beside him, and Burr had never known it. Burr thought he was as normal
as himself. But of course, they had never roomed together. Suddenly
Laura recalled that she had agreed to go out with Jack.
“Jack—” she began, but he cut her off.
“I see I have less allure than your typewriter,” he said. He cocked an
eye at her. “Well, never mind, I don’t have so many friends I can afford
to be jealous of their typewriters.”
“Thanks, Jack,” she said with a little smile. She turned to go into the
kitchen, but he jumped up and followed her.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Straight to the icebox. I’m starved.”
“We have a date. I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“Why don’t we just stay here?” she pleaded.
But all he said was, “No,” and she understood that he had made his mind
up and had something planned.
She was reluctant to leave Marcie, who looked so pretty. But the
prettier Marcie looked, the worse Laura suffered. Maybe it would be
better just to talk about her tonight. Talk to Jack about her. It
sounded good.
“Okay, but let’s get home early. I’m beat, I really am,” she said.
“Whatever you say, Mother.” He smiled, and she felt suddenly that it was
terribly good to have him for a friend.
When they got outside she said, “Let’s go over to Hempel’s. It’s only a
block.”
“No. We’re going to The Cellar.”
“Oh, God no! It’s miles away. We wouldn’t get home till midnight.”
“A friend of mine wants to meet you.”
“Who?”
“The name wouldn’t mean anything. It would just scare you away,
probably. She saw you when we were there last week. She likes your
face.”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous. Come on, I’m starving. I’ve got to eat or I’ll
faint.”
“This is a very interesting girl. She could teach you a lot.”
“I know everything I want to know.” He laughed, but she went on, “Jack,
I’m not going to the Village with you.”
But when they reached Broadway he hailed a cab and she let him put her
in it, as she knew she would. “I can’t. I won’t. I’m tired and hungry,”
she said. But she got in. “I’ll fall asleep over my typewriter
tomorrow,” she moaned.
When they reached the Cellar she felt a lift of excitement in spite of
herself. They arrived after the kitchen had closed, but Jack was a
regular customer, and they were willing to fix him up.
They followed a waitress to a table. Laura walked with a strange light
queasiness in her stomach and sat down with Jack feeling terribly
self-conscious and looked-at, as if every pair of eyes in the room was
inspecting her. Jack laughed, waving at somebody. “All my friends’ll
think I’ve gone straight,” he said. He gave the waitress an order and
she scuttled off. He leaned back in his chair to look at Laura then.
“Sorry you’re here?” he asked.
“No. But I wish it was Friday night.”
“Relax. We’ll leave when you say the word.”
She began to feel adventurous and crazy. Jack went up to get them both a
drink. She eyed it with suspicion, but then she picked it up and drank
half of it down, and it hit her like a bomb, a big soft lovely explosion
of warmth in the pit of her stomach. She blinked at Jack, who only
smiled, knowing the feeling.
“How would you like to be in here some night,” he said slowly, “with
Marcie beside you? And sit alone together at that little table over
there? And tell her you love her?” Laura took another gulp of the drink
and almost finished it. “And hear her say the same thing?”
Laura put the glass down with trembling hands. “Oh, Jack, you bastard,”
she said, her insides aflame. “Cut it out.”
“You want it so badly,” he said, “that it’s tearing your guts out. And
it’s never going to happen. So open your eyes. Look around. There are
some beautiful women here tonight. There’s one as pretty as Marcie.” He
squinted over her shoulder. Laura turned around indignantly to look, and
saw a charming face framed in short brown curls smiling at a table
partner. She looked up at the sudden sight of Laura’s own face, pale and
compelling.
“Nobody’s as pretty as Marcie,” Laura told him.
“Somebody was,” Jack said, with his peculiar intuition taking him
straight to the point.
“What do you mean?” Laura said defensively, and finished her drink.
“Whenever you know damn well what I mean,” he said with a smile, “you
ask ‘what do I mean.’ As if I were nuts. Well, I’m not. Give me your
glass.” He took it and got up. “Never thought you’d beat me to the
bottom, Mother.” He peered into it with one eye and then left to get it
refilled.
Laura leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes. After all, what did it
matter if she were here? She felt wonderful. She had put in a terrific
day’s work, she had a right to a little fling. Her body glowed through
its whole length. Marcie loomed in her mind like a lovely apparition,
not quite real.
_I’ll have her someday_, Laura thought. _No matter what he says._
She looked around her, half consciously searching for someone. But the
girl in the black pants wasn’t there. The crowd was much the same as
before, but thinner. The artist was walking around with his sketch pad,
stopping to talk to tablesful of friends. The bar was crowded, more than
the tables.
Jack came back, put a fresh glass in front of her, and sat down. “Now.
What was her name?” he said.
Laura opened her eyes slowly. “Who?”
“Number one.”
She wrinkled her nose in some disgust. “Jack, she wasn’t a number. Or an
animal. Or part of a collection.”
“What was she?”
“She was a wonderful girl.”
“Beautiful like Marcie?”
“No. Beautiful—but not like Marcie. They have some features in common.
But Beth was taller. She was quite boyish.” She felt a little
embarrassed suddenly, putting it this way. “Marcie’s very feminine.”
“What are you?”
Laura stared at him over the rim of her glass. “What am I?” she
repeated, confusedly. “Do I have to be anything? I don’t know.”
“You’ll find out fast enough,” he said. “Beth probably taught you a lot.
The one who brings you out always does.”
“Yes, she did,” she said dreamily. Beth had loosened her up wonderfully
when they were together. She had taken her by the hand and led her to
herself. She had also abandoned her there. But Laura couldn’t hold
anything against her. That had been a sacred love and always would be in
her memory, like all loves that are broken off in full passion. If they
had been together till it had worn off a little, Laura might have left
her without any desperate regrets and loneliness. She might have been
able to see Beth as a whole person, not as an ideal. But it hadn’t
happened that way, and Beth still looked like a goddess to her.
Now, in a new world, with new people, she wasn’t sure what she was. With
Marcie she felt aggressive and violent. Here, in the Cellar, with so
many eyes on her, she felt timid.
Jack grinned at her. “You’re a boy,” he said. “With Marcie, anyway. My
friend won’t like that.”
Laura put her glass down. “I’m a girl,” she said. “Don’t look at me that
way.”
Jack put his head back and laughed. “Correction,” he said. “You’re a
girl. Why don’t you move down here where you don’t have to be either?”
“Everybody has to be one or the other.”
“You’re too literal, Laura. Cut off your hair. Wear those pants you look
so nice in. Get some desert boots, a car coat and some men’s shirts, and
you’re in business.”
“Jack,” she said, “You are positively revolting.”
“That’s the uniform,” he said. “Can’t join the club without it.”
“I don’t want to join.”
“Yes you do. You feel good in pants. You swagger.”
“I do not!” But she was laughing at him. At herself.
“Shhh!” he said softly. “Or they’ll cut you off. Here comes dinner.”
The presence of the waitress made it impossible to talk. She set a
delectable dinner in front of Laura. But somehow, after the first few
bites, it lost its appeal. She sat gazing at the plate, wondering where
her enormous appetite had gone, pushing a mushroom dreamily from one
side to the other. Jack smiled, watching her. He leaned over the table
on his elbows and picked up her knife.
“Laura,” he said, pointing at her mushroom. Then he pushed another one
slowly across the plate from the other side. “Marcie,” he said, nodding
at it. The two mushrooms made contact south of the fried potatoes, and
Laura felt crazy, watching it. It made her smile; she thought it was
ridiculous. It made her want to laugh, and it brought a warm, unwanted,
urgent feeling up in her legs at the same time. She pushed “Laura”
behind the steak.
“Ah,” said Jack. “Laura’s afraid of Marcie. But Marcie’s not afraid of
anything. Marcie’s a little heller. Here she comes.” And he pushed his
mushroom after hers. Laura felt her cheeks get hot.
“I’m not going to run away,” she said, and took a large swallow from her
drink, letting “Laura” stay put.
“Okay, be a hero,” said Jack. “Make it easy for her. Look at that little
bitch!” and he scooped “Marcie” over “Laura,” back and forth, the
passage facilitated by the gravy. “She’s nuts. She’s on a kick. She
wants you to make a fool of yourself.”
Laura wouldn’t watch. She finished her drink for an excuse not to look.
“But look at Laura,” Jack went on. “She can’t stand it. Where Marcie
goes, Laura goes.” And he pushed “Marcie” and “Laura” around the plate
together.
“Stop it, Jack. Get me another drink.”
“Here’s where Laura goes crazy.”
“Now stop it!”