Warm and Willing Read online

  “I’m all right now,” she told Megan.

  The waitress returned with their drinks. Megan paid. They raised glasses and toasted silently. The sour was just right, not too sweet. She drank half of it in a single swallow and set her glass down on the black table top.

  Megan said, “The first time I came here I was with a girl named Susan. That was so many years ago. The police closed Leonetti’s since then, and then the bar reopened under a different policy, it wasn’t a gay place at all. And then, about a year ago, we started coming here again. Funny how things come full circle. They had jazz here for awhile, live music and uptown tourists and all. Now it’s a gay club again, just like before.” She worked on her drink “There was a time when I came here seven nights a week. I started to turn into an alcoholic. And a tramp, too. I went home with a different girl every night. God, that was a long time ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “Susan. We broke up. She moved out on me, and up to that time it had always been the other way around, I had always done the leaving. The first time is hell. I tried to kill myself but I didn’t have the nerve.”

  “You poor girl-”

  “You live through those things.” Megan turned away. “It’s hell, though. And it always happens, you know. I’m in a lovely mood, aren’t I? Bobby’s phone call did it, I still haven’t shaken the mood. But nothing ever lasts, not in this world. Straight people get married and live unhappily ever after. But they have a chance of staying together. A fair chance. Gay girls never manage. There’s no divorce because there’s no marriage. You just-leave each other.”

  “We’ll last.”

  “For awhile.”

  “Forever, Megan.”

  “Oh, sure.” She forced a smile. “What a bitchy mood I’m in. I’m sorry, it’s rotten of me.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “And the hell of it is that tomorrow I’ll deny all of this. I’ll swear that we’ll stay together until hell freezes. And I’ll believe it, too. I know right now it isn’t true, that those things never happen. I know two girls who’ve been together for three years, and that seems like forever in our circle, and you know, I’ll bet they break up before the year is out. They won’t make it. They’ve been hovering on the edge of a break for months now and it’s coming and everybody knows it’s coming, and they’re the ones we always point to when we want to prove that forever is possible, that two girls can grow old together. I wish I could just stop talking now. I’m running off at the mouth and depressing the hell out of both of us. Tell me to shut up, will you?”

  “Maybe you’d better. Somebody’s coming this way.”

  Two girls came toward their table. One was a very short girl with pale blonde hair and fragile features. Her lips were bloodless and her skin looked as though a touch would bruise it. The woman with her was older, about thirty-five with short dark hair and a heavy frame. Not exactly butchy, Rhoda thought, but more along the lines of the obvious lesbian than any of the others. Megan introduced them as Alice and Grace. They took the two empty chairs.

  Grace was the older of the two. “We can only sit for minute,” she said. “Allie’s been sniffling all week. You know her constitution. Every time she turns around she catches another cold. Autumn is a bad time for her, autumn and spring. The changing weather.”

  Alice smiled bravely. “I’m all right. I’ll sleep late tomorrow. I was anxious to meet you, Rhoda. You’re very attractive, you know. Megan has good taste.”

  She was embarrassed, and covered it by a lighting a cigarette. Grace lit a cigarette of her own. She smoked like a man, Rhoda noticed, holding the cigarette at the base of the V between her second and third fingers near to the palm. Now she said, “I’d be jealous, Rhoda, but Allie doesn’t go for pretty girls. She needs somebody like me.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Someone to take care of her.” Grace blew out smoke. “Gawd, what a day. I’ve been running around until I can’t see straight. You two coming to Jan’s place tomorrow? No, today’s what? Thursday? Jan’s thing is on Saturday, not tomorrow. Coming?”

  “We haven’t been invited.”

  “Oh, you’re invited. You’ll come won’t you?”

  “I suppose so,” Megan said.

  A few minutes later Grace got to her feet and said that Alice really had to have her rest, especially in this weather. Alice smiled weakly and followed her out of the bar.

  “Those two,” Megan said. “Alice always has a cold, or a weak ankle, or dizzy spells. A fragile flower, a dainty little china doll. Grace spoils her silly. Pays all the bills, waits on her hand and foot, never gets to lay a hand on her for a week before or after her period. But that’s the way they both want it. Alice needs someone to take care of her and Grace needs somebody to take care of, so they both get what they want out of it. People usually do, I guess.”

  “What?”

  “Get what they want.”

  “I got what I wanted.”

  Megan took her hand. They were halfway through a second round of drinks when Bobby Kardaman came. Rhoda saw her in the doorway, standing at the foot of the stairs and scanning the dark room carefully. Megan waved to the girl, and she cut quickly across the room, not stopping to talk to anyone. A few of the girls called to her. Bobby Kardaman ignored them.

  She sighed, sank into a chair, “I’m sorry, I got tied up. Did I keep you long?”

  “We’re on our second round,” Megan said. She handled the introductions. Bobby smiled, offered her hand. Rhoda shook it. Bobby’s eyes held hers for a moment, then stopped to study her. Rhoda felt herself coloring. She reached for her drink and sipped it.

  Bobby said, “Megan, you’re a lucky girl. A lucky lucky girl.” She sighed again. “I amn’t. Aren’t? I aren’t? No, I am not. That’s the right way. I am not lucky.”

  Bobby Kardaman was drunk. Not reeling, not staggering, but tight enough to be slightly glassy-eyed, tight enough to slur the corners of her words. She was a striking girl, Rhoda saw. Chestnut hair, high cheekbones, a full mouth, deep blue eyes, a full-blown body. She patted at her hair with one hand now and looked around for the waitress. “Where is that bitch?” she said. “I need a drink in the worst way. Jesus, what a night. Meg, honey, I’m coming unglued. I really am.”

  “Bad?”

  “Oh, the worst. Really. You know how you see who you want to? How when you’re gay the whole world looks gay? Oh, Jesus, listen to this. I saw a girl on Macdougal, a corn-fed thing fresh from the farm, you know, and some idiot bell rang and I thought, well, this one has to be gay. Can you imagine? She didn’t look it, she didn’t act it, nothing, but old Kardaman got an idea in her fat head and that was that. If I wanted her to be gay, then she was gay.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, I was a little bit stoned.”

  “Like now?”

  “Not quite, because that was a whole two bars ago. A little less stoned. But I went right up to that Iowa cornball and propped her. Right there on the street. Come with me, I cooed, and I’ll make love to you and we’ll have a ball. Oh, very bad, the worst. The kid cracked, she was scared out of at least three uneventful years of her life. I thought she was going to scream for the law. I left hurriedly. Meg, I have to find somebody. Meg, this is bad.”

  “Easy, girl.”

  “Oh, sure.” She forced a half-hearted grin. “I must be making a lovely impression on you, Rhoda. Can I call you Rho? Like the Greek letter? Listen, Megan’s friends aren’t all horrid like me. I’m not even this bad all the time. Look, Rho, why don’t you ditch Meg? We’ll get married. I’ll put on a suit and a tie and we’ll run off to Maryland to get married. We’ll make babies, even. Good enough, Rho?”

  Bobby blew hot and cold. She would swim in self-pity, then turn bright and begin to joke, telling most of the jokes on herself. The banter she aimed at Rhoda was double-edged, as though she meant it but had no intention of pressing her point. They didn’t stay with her long. When they finished their drinks they stoo
d up and walked out into the night. Bobby stayed behind. “I’ll find something,” she said. “Something for the night, something I’ll hate in the morning. The perfect accompaniment for a hangover. Night, ladies.”

  Outside, they walked the length of the block in warm silence. Megan took her arm.

  “She likes you,” she said.

  “Bobby?”

  “Uh-huh. She’d like to take you away from me.”

  “No chance of that.”

  “I almost got mad at her. But you can’t take her seriously. And she’s having a tough time.”

  “I felt sorry for her.”

  “Is that all?”

  She looked at Megan. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

  “Slightly.”

  “Don’t be. What does she do?”

  “Bobby? Nothing. She’s a remittance man. Or remittance woman. A rich family in a Detroit suburb that doesn’t want a lesbian daughter around to embarrass them. She lived in Cuernavaca for awhile on money from home, then came back to the city. She gets a check every month, just enough to live on. A lot of families are like that. You’re our daughter and we’ll take care of you, but stay away from our door, you dyke. True parental love.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  “I am.” Megan’s arm around her waist. “I’m going to need you tonight, kitten. Very badly. Be good to me.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Saturday noon, cold and rainy, Eighth Street clogged with wet and hurrying tourists. “Runch time,” Mr. Yamatari said pleasantly, if inaccurately, and she slipped into her trenchcoat and belted it snugly around her and ducked out into the street. She stood there for a moment, then turned quickly and headed for a lunch counter halfway down the block toward Sixth Avenue.

  Someone was calling her name. She looked around uncertainly but couldn’t see anyone.

  “Rhoda Haskell-”

  And then he had reached her. He stood in front of her and held her arm in one hand. “My God, Rhoda,” he said. “How long has it been? Months. I didn’t even know you were still in town.”

  He was Ed Vance and he was a bright young man in some public relations office, she didn’t know which. A friend of Tom’s, a person she had known fairly well during the two years of marriage. A bachelor, bright and good-looking in an Ivy League way. A ladies’ man according to popular report.

  “Are you living here now? In the city?”

  “Yes.”

  “When was the divorce? About half a year ago, wasn’t it?”

  “Just about. It was an annulment.”

  “Well. Jesus, it’s pouring, isn’t it? C’mon, we’ll get a bite to eat. Across the street all right?”

  There was a steakhouse across the street. She had never been there. She said, “I don’t have much time.”

  “You’ve got to eat. And the service is fast. Come on, Rhoda.”

  “Well, I was supposed to meet somebody-”

  “Let ’em wait. Auld lang syne and all that. I’ll buy you a good lunch and you can tell old Ed all your troubles.”

  They dodged cars, ducked across Eighth Street and hurried into the restaurant. The headwaiter led them to a small table off to the side.

  Vance ordered a dry martini and asked her what she was drinking. She hadn’t planned on drinking anything but she wound up ordering a scotch sour.

  “Rhoda Haskell,” he said.

  “Rhoda Moore now. Again.”

  “Uh-huh. What have you been doing? Taking it easy?”

  “Working,” she said.

  “Not around here?”

  She told him where she was working and where she lived.

  “Alone?”

  “With a friend. A girl.”

  “Dating anyone special?”

  “No.”

  “I guess you and Tom had a rough time of it, didn’t you?” He shook his head. “Well, it happens. I think the major reason I haven’t married is the spectacular examples all my friends set for me. Ray and Judy got divorced, you know. Or maybe you didn’t know. She took a jet to Reno and came back single. I was out drinking with Ray just a week ago. The poor son of a gun needed a shoulder to cry on. Still loves her, he told me. And she hooked him good. Alimony plus child support, with the whole thing leaving him about sixty a week to live on. If he makes more money the alimony goes up along with his income. He can’t come out ahead. And they were one couple I thought would last.”

  And, over coffee: “Have you been dating much, Rhoda?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing serious? No big romance?”

  A very big romance, she thought. But she told him that she wasn’t going with anyone.”

  “Are you busy tonight?”

  A long wind-up, then a fast-breaking curve. “Yes,” she said. “I’m afraid I am, Ed.”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “I’m afraid I’m tied up.”

  He looked at her, his eyes locking with hers. She reached for a cigarette. He gave her a light and she dragged nervously on the cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke.

  “I’d like to see more of you,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re a very attractive woman, Rhoda. And because I enjoy your company.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “You don’t want to see me, do you?” He sighed. “You and Tom had a rough time. That happens. And you’re taking it hard. Well, that happens too. But you can’t let yourself go, Rhoda. You can’t crawl in a hole and pull the hole in after you. You’re a young woman. How old are you, anyway?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Pretty young to retire from the human race.”

  “I’m not-”

  “Have you been seeing any men at all?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. Do you know what you’re doing to your life? Do you know how lonely you’re going be?”

  Her face was burning. If she stayed at the table another minute something very bad was going to happen, she could feel it. She would either blurt out the truth to him or she would throw a big scene and tell him what he could do with his penetrating comments. Her head was spinning. She pushed her chair back and headed for the ladies’ room.

  Sanctuary, she thought. She washed her hands, put on fresh lipstick, then sat for a moment on a straight-backed chair. Sanctuary. At least he couldn’t follow her in here. No man could. Here was one place on earth where she could be safe from men. Here, and in Megan’s arms.

  When she returned to the table he was all apologies, very suave and smooth. “I’m damned sorry,” he said earnestly. “I must have sounded like Dear Abby after a bad night. I didn’t mean to hammer at you like that.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I’d like to see you, Rhoda. That’s all.”

  She didn’t say anything. He couldn’t help realizing that she was not interested, she thought. It was pretty obvious wasn’t it?

  “I have to go now,” she said finally. “I have to be back at the shop.”

  “Can I call you, Rhoda?”

  “I think it would be better if you didn’t.”

  “Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

  “Maybe,” she said. He couldn’t reach her, she knew. The phone was listed in Megan’s name, so he couldn’t find out her number. She got to her feet, “Thank you for lunch,” she said.

  “I enjoyed it.”

  “So did I.”

  “I’ll walk you back to your shop.”

  “Don’t bother,” she said. “I can manage.”

  It was still raining, steadily, persistently. She darted across the street. He didn’t follow her. She got back to the shop, hung her trench coat on a peg in the back. Then she went into the front of the store and walked up and down the aisles, dusting things.

  The apartment was empty when she returned to it. She walked though the rooms calling Megan’s name but Megan was not there. She went into the living room, turned on the radio. A rock and roll station shouted at her. She dialed
in classical music, stretched out on the couch. Megan was out and she didn’t know where.

  She closed her eyes, kicked off her shoes, tucked a throw pillow under her head. They were supposed to go to a party that night, she remembered. Megan had said something about getting to the party around nine. It was close to six now. Plenty of time, and Megan would be back soon. She let her mind drift with the music, let herself get lost in it. They were playing chamber music, something familiar, a string quartet that sounded like Mozart. She ought to listen to more good music, she told herself. Start buying records, start spending a couple of hours every day listening to music, really listening to it. Like this.

  When the quartet ended she swung her legs over the side of the couch, rubbed at her eyes, looked at her watch. It was a quarter after six now and Megan was still not home.

  Jealousy came in a wave. Megan had gone out, Megan had met someone else. Megan was with some other girl now, some cheap and easy thing with a repertoire of cheap and dirty bedroom tricks. Megan didn’t love her. If Megan loved her she would have been home, she would have called, she would have left a note. Something. Megan didn’t love her. Megan was only using her, playing with her while she played around with other girls on the side.

  Or Megan had actually fallen in love with some other girl. That could have happened. It happened all the time. Megan might have gone out for a walk, and she might have met another girl and it could all have happened that quickly. Love. It had happened speedily enough between her and Megan, and if something could start that quickly it could end just as quickly, and Megan would bring this other girl into their apartment and she-Rhoda-would be out on the street again, lonely again and That was crazy, she knew. It was mad. But she couldn’t shake the jealousy, the worry, the monumental anxiety. It was eating her alive, and the fact that it was illogical didn’t seem to change things much. She paced back and forth, wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, closed it, poured herself a glass of water, sipped it, poured the water out in the sink. She lit a cigarette and took two puffs on it and stubbed it out angrily.