I am a woman
“What do you mean?” she said.
“Your dress,” Marcie said, nodding at it.
Laura looked down at it. Beebo had dragged it over the bathroom floor
and the dirt, together with a hasty pressing job, made her look like
she’d been through a scuffle. “Marcie,” she said, trying to control her
voice, and not sure when she started talking what she was going to say,
“Marcie, I didn’t sleep with Jack.”
Marcie turned her eyes down to the book she was holding, and her
expression said, Tell me another one. “With who, then?” she said.
Laura pressed her lips together and sat down on Marcie’s bed. _I won’t
yell at her_, she told herself. _I can’t take the chance. I’d say the
truth, I’d blurt it out by mistake._ “Marcie, I just ended up down in
the Village.”
“Did you wander around all night?”
“No. No.” She looked down at the floor. “Well, I—”
“You what?” Marcie looked at her.
“Marcie, I _didn’t_ spend the night with Jack.” Her voice begged for
understanding.
“Jack has friends.”
Even in her mounting irritation Laura sensed jealousy and it thrilled
her. “Yes, Jack has friends. And they aren’t all men.”
“Don’t tell me you spent the night with a girl. Ha! That’s even better.
You just hang around with anybody who’s handy, don’t you.”
“You aren’t very choosy yourself, Marcie.”
“Only with Burr!” Marcie flashed angrily. “I only sleep with Burr. And I
was _married_ to him. Besides, I haven’t let him touch me for weeks.
You’ve never been married, not to Jack or anybody else.”
“And I’ve never slept with Jack or anybody else.”
“I don’t believe you!”
Laura stood up and looked down at her. “You don’t have to, Marcie,” she
said. “What the hell do you care who I sleep with? Or why? Are you
guardian of my morals? Yours aren’t perfect, you know. I haven’t slept
with Jack, for your information. Not once. But if I had, what would it
matter? You thought it was all a good joke at first.”
Marcie’s face began to color. She put her book down and looked
diffidently at Laura, who was standing by her dresser taking off her
clothes. Marcie ran her fingers over her lips, as if warning herself to
shut up and Laura thought to herself, _Just like me. Just like me when
Beth used to taunt me. I wanted her so. And I was so afraid._
“I didn’t know it would get so serious, at first. With Jack,” Marcie
said, her attitude softening. “I feel like it’s my fault, what you’re
doing, and I—I feel real bad about it. I’m scared. Maybe you’ll get into
trouble, maybe you’ll blame me then. You get so _odd_ sometimes. I guess
I’m just being selfish, Laur. But—” She gave an audible sigh that made
Laura turn to glance at her. “Laur, will you tell me—will you _please_
tell me—why you keep running out of here at all hours of the night? What
am I doing wrong? If you don’t tell me, I’m going to move out of here
tomorrow, I swear. I can’t stand it!”
Laura had to tell her something. She had to lie and she couldn’t lie and
as she walked toward Marcie’s bed, she felt something like panic at the
thought of losing her. But when she sat down beside her something popped
into her head and saved her. She didn’t have to stammer and blush, and
she didn’t have to confess her homosexuality. She told Marcie about her
father.
She was almost ashamed to recount what had happened. It was humiliating,
and it looked like a bald bid for sympathy. And yet she wanted terribly
to touch Marcie’s heart, to win her compassion. “He told the clerk he
had no daughter.” She finished. Her shame made her drop her gaze and
cover her face with her hands. But Marcie, suddenly moved, put her arms
around Laura and cried.
“Forgive me, Laura,” she whispered. “I’ve been a stupid idiot about
this. I don’t know what got into me. Honey, forgive me, I should never
have tortured you about it. Whatever your father did to you, he must be
a beast. He doesn’t deserve to live.”
But that was going too far, even for Laura. There had been violent
moments of shame and rejection, when she wanted to kill him. But there
were others when she wanted only to be allowed to love him. “Don’t say
that, Marcie.”
Marcie looked up at her, her face so close that she gave Laura a start.
“Don’t tell me you still feel anything for him?” she said. “After what
he did to you?”
“I don’t know what I feel. I hate him sometimes, Marcie, I hate him so
much sometimes that I’m terrified of myself. I think ‘If he were with me
right now—if he suddenly appeared—I’d kill him. I’d _kill_ him!’” And
she said it with such force that Marcie shuddered. “And then, other
times, all I want to do is cry. Just cry till there aren’t any tears
left. Get down on my knees and beg him to love me.”
“It seems so crazy, Laur. My Dad is so nice and ordinary. I couldn’t
take it if he ever hurt me like yours. God, you must feel so alone.
Laura, let me be close to you. Let me be friends with you. You haven’t
up to now, you know.”
Laura began to feel dizzy. _This is too much, this is too easy_, she
thought, and pangs of conscience came up in her. _All I have to do is
pull her close, caress her, kiss her, all I have to do—oh, my God! But I
can’t! It’d be like corrupting her, like leading her astray. Damn! Why
have I got a conscience? Beth didn’t have one. Neither does Beebo. Why
me? Why can’t I just take her?_ But she was too afraid.
“Laura, talk to me. You’re off in another world again.”
Laura looked down at her, balanced between desire and fear, between
desire and conscience, between desire and ... desire, desire....
“Marcie,” she whispered. “Remember the night you wanted to touch
tongues?”
Marcie laughed a little, embarrassed. “Yes,” she said. “I told Burr
about it. He says I’m cracked.”
Laura was shocked. “You told Burr?” she said, hurt by the betrayal.
“Well, don’t look so horrified.” Marcie giggled. “Don’t tell me you
didn’t tell Jack?”
And Laura, by her sudden confusion, admitted that she had. With the
admission, and the shock, came a clear head. She stood up. Marcie
watched her. “I’m going to bed,” Laura said. “I’m too beat to talk. I’m
just worn out.”
Marcie let her go without a word. Her eyes followed Laura around the
room. Laura ignored her studiously. She was asleep within minutes after
she lay down, too tired even to worry.
* * * * *
Laura knew she would have to lie to Sarah in the morning about where she
spent the day before. She made up her mind to do it fast and simply. She
organized a little story about a sick headache and she delivered it
quickly, even before Sarah had a chance to ask. Sarah took it at face
value.
At the end of the day, she called Marcie and told her she’d be late.
“I’ve got to stay here and catch up,” she explained. “I’ve done nothing
but get behind the whole time Jean’s been away. I just can’t seem to get
the work done. I’m not going to lose this job.”
“You’re wearing yourself out, Laur. I think you’re crazy. You can get a
much softer job and earn a lot more money. In fact I talked to Mr.
Marquardt about you.”
“You _what_?”
“Yes.” She laughed. “Today. I thought it would be fun if we could be in
the same office. Besides, I never saw anybody work like you do. It’s
insane, when all you have to do is sit around.”
“Marcie, I don’t _want_ to sit around! I don’t need help! I can do this
myself. I know you did it out of friendship but damn it, I _want_ to
work. I don’t want to sit around on my behind all day, counting the
minutes till the next coffee break.”
Marcie was taken aback by the forcefulness of it. “Laura, I didn’t
mean—” she began, and her voice was hurt.
“I know, I know. I’m grateful, Marcie, forgive me. But I have something
to prove, staying here. It’s only hard at first, when you’re learning.
It’ll get easier. And in another two weeks there’ll be three of us at
the office.”
She knew she had hurt Marcie’s feelings and when she hung up she
wondered if it was worth it. _Why don’t I quit? Why don’t I take a soft
job, like Marcie?_ But she knew what scorn her father would pour on a
job like that. It was only the tough ones, the ones that took it out of
you, that demanded your best, that he had any respect for.
Laura stayed on until nearly eight by herself. The building was
crypt-quiet and she was deep in the last round of reports she intended
to do, when the door opened and a voice said, “Laura!”
Laura gave a gasp of shock, throwing her hands over her face. She was so
startled that she found herself trembling all over. For a moment she was
unable to move.
“Laura?” he said again.
Laura turned slowly around in her swivel chair, taking her hands away
from her face. She looked up, her face cold and white and resentful. It
was Burr. She didn’t say a word. She only stared at him in surprise. She
felt overflowing with hatred for him, as if Merrill Landon were standing
there.
Burr was somewhat taken aback. “Marcie said you were down here,” he
said, a little awkwardly. “I wanted to talk to you.” He shrugged, and
pulled Sarah’s chair out from her desk, sitting down about five feet
from Laura. She said nothing.
“Laura,” he said, embarrassed. “We started out to be pretty good
friends, you and I.” He turned his hat around and around in his hands,
studying it while he talked. “Then—I don’t know why—we seemed to—well,
we just didn’t have anything to say to each other. I guess maybe because
we always talked about books. And Marcie. You don’t seem to be reading
any books any more. And Marcie—well....” He seemed at a loss for words
here. He twirled his hat assiduously, as if that might give him some
answers. But it was no help. “Of course, I haven’t been around much
lately, either,” he said.
Laura was suddenly a little scared. But she was determined not to be any
more helpful than his hat. She only glared at him. She still hadn’t said
a word to him. _After all_, she thought, _I haven’t done anything. He
still hasn’t said what he wants._
“Well, frankly Laura, Marcie’s changed. I don’t know what the hell’s
come over her. I thought maybe you could help me out.” He eyed her
closely. “I guess it sounds pretty silly. But I love her, and all of a
sudden I can’t even see her any more. I can’t get near her. She’s just
not interested.” When Laura still said nothing he went on, “I mean, I
know it’s not your problem, but I thought, being her roommate, you know,
you might help me out.” He looked up at her, smiling a little, but his
smile faded when he saw the look on her face.
Laura was thinking, _Why the hell should I help you?_ But she said, “Why
don’t you stop fighting with her, Burr? Maybe that would help.” Her
voice was faintly sarcastic.
“When we fought,” he said, “at least we could always make up. That was
fun. We both enjoyed it. Then all of a sudden, a couple of weeks ago,
Marcie wouldn’t fight any more. I don’t know what the hell got into her.
She just got quiet and thoughtful. She wouldn’t fight and she wouldn’t
make love. I’m beginning to think she needed to fight before she could
make love. Maybe that’s the only thing that excited her.” He looked
quizzically at Laura.
“How would I know? Maybe _you_ needed it,” Laura said, and shrugged.
By her reticence she had made Burr uncomfortable. “Well, I know it isn’t
exactly the sort of thing to bother you with,” he said, making a visible
effort to control his temper. “But damn it, Laura, I love her. She’s my
wife. I still think of her that way, I can’t help it. I was a fool ever
to let her have that divorce.”
“Do you think getting married again would change any of that?” Laura
said. “Don’t you think it would just be the same old fights all over
again?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Maybe. But I’d rather live with
Marcie and fight than live without her and be this miserable.”
“Does fighting make you happy?”