Strange Are the Ways of Love Read online

  “I don’t understand,” she said, searching his face. “You were so excited about it.”

  “I was excited about lots of things.”

  “Mike—”

  He straightened up. “Look,” he said, “I’m not going because I simply don’t give a damn about it, as a matter of fact. The reason I came here is I’m a son-of-a-bitch. I wanted to crawl in looking like a wreck to tell you I was missing the audition on account of you. I guess I wanted to even things up or something. Doesn’t make much sense. I’ll go now.”

  As he turned she said, “Mike? Are you going to the audition?”

  “No.”

  “But you have to! What’s the matter?”

  “Hell, I couldn’t get there in time now if I wanted to.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Sixth Avenue in the Forties.”

  “If you took a cab—”

  “Forget it,” he said. “I don’t feel like singing anyway. My voice is in lousy shape.”

  She glanced quickly at her watch. It was past nine already; Laura would be waiting for her and she had to hurry.

  But—

  “Mike?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Would you go if I went along with you?”

  A pause. Then, “Why?”

  “I’ve never been to an audition.”

  “What’s your angle on this, Jan?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the other day you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I don’t get it.”

  “I just want you to go to the audition,” she said honestly. “If you’ll go I’ll go with you. That’s all.”

  “You would?”

  She walked up to him quickly and took him by the arm. “Come on,” she said. “There’s not much time left.”

  They were out of the building and hurrying down Barrow Street before she remembered that she hadn’t locked the door. She had her purse, though, and there wasn’t anything very valuable in the apartment. To hell with it, she thought.

  She didn’t say a word until they were sitting together in the back seat of the cab and the cab was moving north on Sixth Avenue.

  “We’re in a hurry,” she told the driver.

  “Everybody is,” he said. “Everybody’s always in a rush. You think a fare ever tells me to take it nice and slow?”

  “I mean it,” she said. “We have an appointment and—”

  “Lady,” he said. “Lady, sit back and relax.”

  She started to tell him again but decided against it and sat back trying to catch her breath. Why was she doing this? She didn’t really care about Mike and when it was over she would only have to get rid of him all over again. It didn’t make sense.

  She pushed the questions out of her mind, forcing herself to think about something else. Turning to Mike she said, “Do you have everything you’ll need?”

  “I’ve got the guitar.”

  “Is that all? Do you use picks or anything?”

  “Just the guitar.”

  “Don’t you have to tune it or something? You better check.”

  He nodded and began tuning the guitar, plucking each string in turn and twisting the little knobs to tighten or loosen the strings until he was satisfied that the pitch was right.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  She studied him carefully. “You’re a mess, you know.”

  He grinned. “I’ve been wearing these clothes for awhile now.”

  “And you look tired.”

  “I am tired.”

  “You need a shave, too. Will that make any difference?”

  He shook his head. “If they say anything I can always tell them I’m growing a beard, but they won’t care. All they care about is whether I sing well or not.”

  “Will you?”

  He looked at her a moment before replying. “I suppose so,” he said.

  “You said something about your voice—”

  “Just an excuse. It’s as good now as it ever was.”

  “That’s good,” she said.

  The cab seemed to be crawling. The traffic was thick on Sixth Avenue and they stopped for a light every few blocks. She glanced at her watch; it was almost time.

  “Jan?”

  “What?”

  “What’s the bit?”

  She hesitated.

  “You don’t—”

  “Love you? No, I told you I didn’t.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” she said levelly. “I’m not entirely sure myself. It’s just important to me that you go to the audition and do whatever you’re supposed to do.”

  “Okay,” he said. “We’ll see what happens.”

  Her eyes darted again to her watch and she wanted to shout at the driver, wanted to scream at him to hurry. He simply had to get them there on time.

  She forced herself to relax. A few minutes didn’t matter that much. They would wait for him. They would do that much.

  “Jan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Take it easy. We’ll get there.”

  She nodded.

  “Another minute won’t make any difference. We’ll be there soon enough.”

  “Good.”

  “And Jan?”

  “What?”

  “You’ll come in and listen, won’t you?”

  “If they’ll let me.”

  “They will.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’d like to come.”

  “I’d like to have you there.”

  Finally the cab pulled to a stop in front of the address Mike had given the driver. She took a bill from her purse and handed it to the driver and followed Mike into a dark brick building.

  “Relax,” he told her. “We’ve got it made.”

  In the audition room, or whatever it was called, short men with dark hair smiled quickly at her and then calmly ignored her. She walked to the back of the room and took a seat in a hard-backed folding chair, watching Mike mount the steps to a raised platform at the front of the room.

  He took his guitar from his shoulder and picked the strings, going through the motions of tuning it. Then he smiled once at her and glanced momentarily at the little men who had come to listen to him.

  Then he began to sing Danville Girl.

  14

  HE WAS UNBELIEVABLY GOOD.

  That was all she could think of after the little men with dark hair had said good-by and after she and Mike had hurried out the door and onto the street. His singing had been perfect, better than perfect. The reactions of the little men proved that she wasn’t crazy, that they also recognized how good he was. Of course they hadn’t said anything and wouldn’t until they had a chance to go over the audition tapes, but she knew their decision was already made. He would have a chance to make a record.

  He sang about two dozen songs in all. Some she had heard at the party, others were new to her. They all had the drive and flavor that was always present in his singing.

  Danville Girl. Then a blues she hadn’t heard before, slow and agonizingly sad. Then Shady Grove and House of the Rising Sun and two songs of the Irish Republican Army. And more songs—more than she could remember.

  “I was good,” he said. He wasn’t bragging. It was a simple statement of fact, and he could hardly help realizing how well he put himself over.

  “You were very good.”

  “They’ll let me do a record.”

  “I’m happy, Mike.”

  “Are you?”

  She nodded, thinking that it was a strange sort of happiness. Even though Mike Hawkins was nothing to her she felt a deep sympathy for him. No, it was more than sympathy. There was a sense of easy communication between them. She felt almost as though she had a stake in his success.

  “Where do you want to go now, Jan?”

  She looked at her watch and noted with surprise that it was almost ten-thirty already. Had the audition taken up that much time?

  “Oh, God!” she said, thinki
ng of Laura waiting alone in the apartment on Minetta Street. “I have to go now, Mike. I’m late for a date as it is.”

  “Oh.”

  She heard the disappointment in his voice and she didn’t want him to be disappointed, not now. This was selfish; she could disappoint him later, but surely not now. She couldn’t help saying, “It’s with another girl,” thinking how easily the truth could be a lie.

  “I see. In the Village?”

  She nodded. “We’ll take a cab—I’m in an awful rush. Where do you want me to drop you?”

  He hesitated while she hailed a cab and hopped into the back seat. “C’mon,” she said. “I can let you off wherever you want.”

  He got in. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Nowhere.”

  She took a cigarette and handed one to him and he lit them both. “I don’t get it,” she said, blowing out smoke. “Where did you sleep last night?”

  “I don’t have a place to stay,” he said. “The pad on Cornelia Street wasn’t mine. I was living with Sandy but we broke up after the party.”

  “Where . . . where have you been since then?”

  He shrugged.

  “I mean—”

  “Let’s see . . . I slept on a park bench in Washington

  Square one night—that must have been Tuesday. I was up the rest of the time.”

  “Are you crazy? For God’s sake, no wonder you look so tired. What’s the matter with you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well—”

  “I just didn’t feel like sleeping, Jan. If I’d had the money I would have been drinking. Instead I just kept going, walking around. It’s a fairly good habit if you can’t afford alcohol.”

  “But where will you go tonight? Mike, you have to get some sleep! You’ll fall over dead if you keep on like this.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You’ll kill yourself. You can’t keep on—”

  “I’ve done it before.”

  “That doesn’t make it sensible. What could you do all that time?”

  “Just walk.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Think a little. Not too much though. Mostly I just kept going. When I get that way it’s easier to keep going than to stop. I got all wound up and I have to unwind bit by bit, and the only way is to keep moving.”

  “But what did you do?”

  “Just walked. One night I must have gone ten or fifteen miles without a break. Did you ever see Times Square at six in the morning? That’s the only time it closes up. Between six and seven the stores are all locked and the shooting gallery is closed and the movies are done for the night. There’s Bickford’s and Hector’s serving food and coffee twenty-four hours a day, but that’s all.

  “Another morning I caught sunrise on the East River. It’s times like that when you forget New York is a city. The sun comes up at you off the water and it’s the only time in the day when the air is almost fresh. And it’s quiet. This town can be the quietest place in the world at the right time.”

  He smiled. “That was part of it. Some day I’ll have to show you this town, Jan. There’s so much of it you couldn’t possibly have seen yet. I’d like to—”

  He stopped. She knew what he must be thinking—that things hadn’t changed, that he would not be able to show her New York or anything else, that she was still not going to love him. The cab crossed 14th Street and continued on downtown. Quickly she leaned forward and said, “Fifty-four Barrow Street” to the driver, deciding that right now the most important thing was to find him a place to sleep.

  “Your pad?”

  “Yes. You’ve got to sleep somewhere, Mike.”

  He looked at her, puzzled, and she decided that he had to get a good twelve hours of solid sleep, that he ought to get a shave and a haircut. His hair was flopping over into his eyes and it made him look like a little boy. The puzzled expression made him look even more so. A lost little boy. She almost started to laugh.

  “My place,” she said. “I can stay with my girl-friend—” it seemed ridiculous to refer Laura that way— “and you can get some sleep. Is that okay?”

  “If it’s okay with you.”

  They rode the remaining few blocks in silence. She wondered whether or not she was doing the right thing. She wasn’t sure. It would probably only make things messier later because he still wanted her and would go on wanting her until she explained everything there was to explain.

  Why didn’t she explain now? Why didn’t she tell him that the girl she was meeting was her lover and that she was a Lesbian and that this was why she could never be more than a friend to him? Now was the obvious time to tell him. Now they were close enough for her to talk easily, and now she still had time before he got too many wrong ideas about himself and about her and about the two of them.

  But other things came first. Getting him to sleep came first, and getting back to Laura came first, and die rest could wait for a while. Besides, if she told him now he might not be able to sleep, might refuse to stay at her apartment. She pictured him walking around for another night, tramping all over the city until he collapsed on a street corner somewhere. She looked outside and saw that it was starting to drizzle. She couldn’t let him walk in the rain all night.

  No. There would be time to tell him.

  He wasn’t the only one who was tired. She was exhausted herself, and for the first time she wasn’t especially looking forward to seeing Laura. She imagined herself walking in two hours late and trying to explain. She was too tired for explanations. She just wished that everything could be suddenly over and done with, with Mike asleep in her bed and herself asleep in Laura’s bed. And that would be the end of Thursday.

  I really am tired, she thought. I don’t even feel like making love.

  It was the first time she hadn’t become excited at the thought of making love with Laura. She had to be tired—that was the only answer. It was logical enough. She’d been on the go from the minute she got out of bed, running all over town all morning long, knocking herself out with the poem all afternoon, and now this—

  Methinks the lady doth protest too much.

  Now that was why psychology could be such a monumental pain in the neck. If an action meant something, the opposite action could mean the same thing. Everything could prove anything and you could drive yourself out of your sick little mind if you kept it up. Sometimes it was better to leave it alone and relax.

  First things first. First Mike to bed, then Jan to bed, then the rest of it.

  The cab pulled up in front of her building and she got out after Mike. She paid the driver and followed Mike through the rain to the door, and into the building to her apartment. The door was ajar but the apartment seemed to be undisturbed. They walked inside and she closed the door.

  “Are you sure you want me here?”

  Everyone was always asking her if she was sure of every little thing she started to do. Did she seem that unsure of herself?

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “I could get a hotel room, you know.”

  “Don’t be silly. Just get to sleep, and the sooner the better.”

  She led him into her bedroom. “Sleep here,” she said. “You don’t have to get up any special tune, do you?”

  “What for?”

  “I didn’t think so, but there’s a clock on the dresser if you want it.” She turned and started out of the room.

  “Jan—”

  “I have to go now, Mike.”

  “Hang on a second. Did you like the way I sang tonight?”

  “Silly. You know I did.”

  “I was singing for you, you know.”

  She didn’t like this. The conversation was getting dangerous, dangerous for both of them. “I have to go now,” she repeated.

  “I was singing for them, too,” he went on. “I knew what they wanted and that’s what they go. But if you hadn’t been there I couldn’t have pulled
it off.”

  “Mike—”

  He took a step toward her and she wanted to back away from him. She had to step back. But she couldn’t move at all.

  “I need you,” he said. “I’ll never be able to do anything without you.”

  Then he was standing much too close to her and she wanted to get away but she couldn’t seem to move her feet or put her hands in front of her face or even turn away. He was in front of her with his arms reaching out for her and there was nothing she could do about it. He was strong and she was weak. He was there and she was there and he was going to kiss her, and the fact that she didn’t want to be kissed didn’t seem to matter. She couldn’t prevent what was happening.

  His hands took hold of her shoulders. His body came even closer to her, almost touching her, and his hands were strong on her shoulders without hurting her at all. He was pressing her close to him and still she didn’t turn away, still she didn’t even lower her head or push or struggle.

  And then he was kissing her.

  His lips were like his hands, big and strong and strangely gentle. He kissed her again and his hands released her shoulders and encircled her body, holding her gently but firmly against him.

  She closed her eyes.

  Something was wrong. She enjoyed the kiss, enjoyed being kissed by him, and that was not right at all. His arms shouldn’t feel comfortable around her. He was a man and she didn’t want men, and that made it thoroughly and completely wrong.

  Wrong.

  But she didn’t protest when he led her to the bed, didn’t struggle when he made her lie down or when he lay down beside her, didn’t try to escape when his arms went around her again and his lips found hers. He was kissing her again and, suddenly and incredibly, she was returning the kiss. Her hands met behind his back and his body felt so solid against her, so strong and hard, and it was all so bad and good at once.

  “Mike—”

  He kissed her again, harder than before, and his hands touched her and excited her. She didn’t understand what was happening to her, knowing only that it was radically wrong, that she must be very tired and very upset for this to be happening.

  She felt herself trembling under his big hands. Her body stirred in response to his. She was afraid of him and afraid of herself and afraid of what they were doing.