I am a woman
out.’”
“Why?” Laura asked softly, her forehead wrinkled with sympathy.
“Because I was gay. He didn’t say it that way, of course. He didn’t say,
‘Because you’re queer, you poor bastard. I’m sorry for you but I can’t
take it any more.’ I could have stood that. But he just handed me a lot
of bull.”
Laura felt like crying again. But she only said, “Isn’t that something
to be grateful for? He tried, anyway.”
“Yeah. He tried.” He said it so acidly that Laura was afraid to say any
more.
“There’ve been a lot since Joe,” he said, after a while. “Just like
there’ll be a lot for you after Marcie.” Laura tried to protest but he
waved her down. “I know, I know, you’re going to keep hands off. You’re
going to spend your whole life ignoring sex, ignoring what you are.
Denying that you want it, running away from it. I was going to, too.
That was twenty-five years ago.”
“Twenty-five years ago!” Laura stared at him. “How old are you, Jack?”
“Forty-two. Surprised?” He smiled at her gaping astonishment.
“I thought you were maybe five years older than I am. Twenty-five or so.
You _can’t_ be forty-two.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. I can’t be. But I sure as hell am.”
“I don’t believe it.”
He grinned. “Good,” he said. “I like to fool people.”
“Why?” It seemed crazy. “What does a man care how young he looks? I
thought that was for women,” Laura said.
“Women and gay boys. Do you think some pretty twenty-year-old is going
to fall for a fat bald, middle-aged bastard with not even a bankroll to
offer? I’m ugly, Mother. That’s enough of a handicap. When I start
looking old, I’ll quit.”
“You’re not ugly, Jack,” she said gently, trying to console him.
But he took it with a sardonic laugh. “Only a Mother could love me,” he
said.
“Don’t talk like this. You make me so sad.”
“Ahhh, Christ,” he said, and drank. He looked up at Laura, and she could
see he wasn’t focusing very well now. “I came here to talk about you
anyway, not me. What did your father do to you when you were five years
old?”
Laura started. “When did I say that? Did I mention my father?” she
asked.
“Yes. In The Cellar. Probably as good a place as any.”
“I—I didn’t mean _my_ father,” she said.
“Don’t fib to me, Laura. Let’s be friends.”
After a few moments, she said, “I can’t talk about it, Jack.”
“What did he do?”
“We—we were at a summer resort.” It began to spill out of her. Jack had
bared his anguish, and she felt suddenly safe with him, and needed. “We
were there for a vacation one summer. We went fishing on the lake—Father
and Mother and my brother and me.” Her voice grew soft as she spoke.
“The boat capsized. I was the only one he could save. I was the closest
to him. Mother and Rod drowned.” She shut her eyes with a little gasp
against the old horror, still so sharp in her heart, like a big ugly
needle stuck there to remind her she had no right to be alive. “All my
life I’ve felt as if I killed them. He says I did. He hates me because
I’m not his son. He hates me because I’m not my own mother, his wife.”
Jack seemed completely sober for a minute, staring at her with his brows
knit. She put her head down and cried quietly. “That’s all,” she said.
“I can’t tell you any more.”
“You don’t need to,” he said softly. “Jesus.”
She took a deep breath and sat up, feeling as if she had lightened the
weight of that leaden secret by sharing it. She was somewhat surprised
to find that she was able to share it. She felt very close to Jack, as
if they were now truly friends. Each of them had risked a little of
himself to the other. And neither, now, was sorry.
With a sigh, she looked at her watch. It was getting late. “I have to
get up early,” she said, her voice still unsteady. “So do you. I know,
Burr’s always yelling about the hours. Let’s go.”
“One more,” he said, holding up his glass. “I’m not quite through with
you yet.”
“I don’t get it,” Laura said to him. “We don’t even know each other.
This is the second time we’ve seen each other. And here we are talking
like old friends.”
“You’re wrong, Laura. We know each other a lot better than some people
who’ve been acquainted for years. Like Burr and Marcie. We know each
other instinctively, don’t you feel that? I wouldn’t have called you
otherwise. You wouldn’t have let me drag you out tonight otherwise.”
“Don’t talk about Marcie as if she didn’t have a brain in her head,”
Laura said.
Jack smiled. “You _are_ in love,” he said. “This is serious. She has a
few brains, Mother, she just doesn’t use them.”
“She’s not stupid,” Laura defended her eagerly.
“She’s not sacred either.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Oh, yes you did. I thought Burr was once.”
“Burr?” Laura stared at him. “Did you—were you—”
“Nuts for Burr? Yes. Once. When I first met him.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Thank God. I got over it. I go for big virile sons of bitches,
just like Marcie. But I take care not to room with them anymore.”
Laura shook her head, a wry little smile on her face. “Don’t you ever
fall for the gay ones?”
“I try to make a point of it.” He grinned sadly. “Unfortunately I
sometimes miss the point. If you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s just as well. I met Burr at work when he was hired about four
years ago. I knew he was straight.”
“What’s ‘straight’?”
“Everything that’s not ‘gay’—so I pussyfooted around the issue. I made
him like me. I did his homework for him. I made him laugh. I told him
what to tell the boss. I double-dated with him and Marcie and I was an
usher at the wedding. I was Number One trouble-shooter _after_ the
wedding. He thinks I’m indispensable.”
“But you—you don’t still—”
“No, I don’t. Not anymore. But I still like to be with him. I like to
watch them fight.” He smiled at her. “You do too.”
She felt embarrassed, as if he were looking through her clothes to her
naked feelings.
“However,” he went on, “I’m not under any lovely illusions about him
being an intellectual giant. Or Marcie either. And I know damn well he
won’t give me a tumble if I just stick around long enough.” He gave her
a piercing look. “Those are your illusions, Mother,” he said. “I suggest
you drown them.”
“What does that mean?”
“You can set Marcie’s hair till the moon turns blue and she’s not going
to crawl into your bed to thank you for it.”
“I don’t expect her to.”
“Sure you do. It’s a mark of our breed. We’re hopeless optimists.
Otherwise we’d all commit suicide. We get a crush on somebody, and if
he’s straight we figure we’ll just love him so much he’ll _have_ to turn
gay. It doesn’t work that way. Marcie isn’t going to start kissing you
just because you want her to.”
Laura was incensed. “She already has,” she snapped.
Jack’s eyebrows went up. “When?” he said.
“The night we got back from The Cellar. She said she felt funny in there
with all those girls staring at her. She said she used to touch tongues
with a girl when she was in her teens, and she wanted to do it again.
And she did. You—you—” She didn’t know what to call him. “You had to
call me up right in the middle, just when I thought—” She stopped
herself. “Oh, this isn’t like me,” she moaned. “I never talk like this.”
“Only to yourself, hm?” He laughed. “I mess up your daydreams and your
affair. God! What more can I do? I’m becoming the Man in your Life,
Mother.” His laughter fizzled slowly, and Laura could tell he was quite
drunk from the way he let his head hang for a minute. “You know,” he
said and wagged a finger at her, articulating cautiously, “I never have
trouble thinking when I’m drunk. But my tongue gets sloppy.” He laughed
a little. “I say what I want to say, that’s one good thing. But it
sounds sloppy as hell.” He finished the drink in front of him. Laura
started to get up, but he caught her wrist and said, suddenly very
serious again, “You’re in trouble, Laura. Marcie’s straight. Accept
that. It’s a fact. If she’s playing games with you, she’s doing it for
private kicks, not to give you a thrill. And her kicks have nothing to
do with being gay. They have to do with going out on a limb, with acting
nuts once in a while. Maybe she’s just pushing _you_ out on a limb to
see if you’ll fall off. And you’ll fall all right. Flat on your can.” He
stopped for a minute to focus his gaze on her. “Marcie’s about as queer
as Post Toasties, Laura. Take my advice: move out.”
“But I can’t! I won’t!” she exclaimed defensively. “Why should I? I’ve
done nothing wrong!”
“I hadn’t either when Joe gave me the glad news.”
“I’m not you. I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of.”
“No, but you will. If you hang around, feeling like you feel. You were
saved by a phone call Friday night. What if my timing isn’t so good next
time?”
“I don’t want to move out.” She said it stubbornly like a thwarted
child.
“All the more reason why you should.”
Laura got indignant. “I’ve got more will power than you give me credit
for and I’m not going to be scared out.”
“What are you going to do for will power if she gets cold some night and
crawls into your bed to keep warm? Or you take a shower together? Or she
feels like pulling your nerves out by the roots one by one again, and
makes you play let’s-touch-tongues just for the hell of it? Just to see
if she can get you sent up for sodomy? Be thankful you’re female,
Mother. At least your passion won’t stand up and salute her.”
“I’ve had enough from you tonight!”
“Okay, okay. But I advise you to find a nice butch somewhere and set up
housekeeping in the Village. Or at least, cultivate a few lovelies down
there so you’ll have a place to let off steam when Marcie feels like
playing games.”
“You’re drunk and repulsive.”
“I know what I am, Laura. Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m going home.”
“I’m coming with you.” He got up unsteadily and followed her toward the
door. Outside he stopped her. “Don’t hate me, Laura,” he said. And she
couldn’t, looking at him there in the pink glare of neon, short and
plain, brilliant and miserable, offering her his curious stinging
sympathy.
“I wish I could,” she said and shook her head.
He smiled at her. “I’ll walk you home,” he said.
“You don’t need to. Why don’t you get a taxi and get yourself home?”
“Are you suggesting I can’t walk?”
“No.” She laughed.
“You are. Just for that I’m going to walk you home whether you like it
or not. To prove I can.”
“All right.” But she had to lead him most of the way. Jack could talk
better than he could navigate when he was high. When they reached the
apartment she hailed a cab for him and put him in it. She stood there
watching it pull away down West End Avenue, watching it till it was
indistinguishable from the sea of red tail lights traveling with it. And
she felt an awakening affection for him.
Chapter Seven
It was hard to get up the next day. Not impossible, just hard.
Discouraging. Her head ached, and she was dissatisfied with herself. For
the first time she wanted to cut work. But she went and she did her job.
It wasn’t until the middle of the afternoon that she jumped to hear
Sarah ask, “What’s the matter, Laura? A little under the weather?”
Laura looked up at her. _Do I look that bad?_ she wondered. “I’m a
little tired. Why?”
“The reports are piling up,” Sarah said, nodding at them.
Laura rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I’ll catch up. I’ll work
late.”
“Don’t be silly!” Sarah laughed good-naturedly. “Catch up tomorrow.
There’s not that much of a rush.”
But the next day she didn’t quite catch up; she got farther behind, in
fact. Burr and Marcie had kept her up. It was partly the quarrel and
partly the torturing silence that followed it. She went to work still
more tired than the day before. Dr. Carstens came in to tell her a story