Warm and Willing Page 9

  “You must enjoy it.”

  “I suppose I do. But it’s hard being away from you so much.”

  “Oh, is it?”

  “Honey, did I do something wrong? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s the matter.”

  But something was and she knew it. Something was very wrong between them, so wrong that they couldn’t talk like normal human beings without one of them getting on the other’s nerves. She felt wrong about it but that did not seem to change things.

  After dinner they sat on a bench in Sheridan Square. The air was heavy, thick with the exhaust of trucks and cabs, rolling south on Seventh Avenue. They smoked cigarettes, and Rhoda thought that not long ago she had not smoked in public, on the street. There were a lot of things she did now that she had not done in the past.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “A show? Something like that?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Want to drop in on some of the girls?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I think we ought to,” Megan said. “A little company might do us both some good. We’re just getting on each other’s nerves, kitten, and that’s no good for either of us.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Rhoda? Should I call some of the girls?”

  “All right.”

  “Anyone special you want me to try?”

  “You could call Bobbie. ”

  “Why?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why, no reason, Megan. I just thought that she was a friend of ours.”

  “You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Oh, damn it, you do. Do you have to be so awful to me, Rhoda? Do you have to-”

  They sat in silence, and she thought that it was all falling apart at the seams now, that Megan was jealous, that she was irritable, that the two of them were not going to last forever or anywhere close to it. She took a last drag on her cigarette and dropped it to the pavement, covered it with her foot and ground it out.

  Megan said, “I’ll call her.”

  “Not if you don’t want to.”

  “I’ll call her. Wait for me.”

  Megan made the call from an outdoor booth across the street. Rhoda sat waiting for her. She tool another cigarette and lit it with the small lighter Megan had given her; the one with her name on it in precise script. She held the lighter in the palm of her hand and thought about their exchange of gifts. An exchange of presents, she knew now, was a ritual in the formation of a lesbian relationship. All the gay girls did it, giving each other tiny engraved gifts along with vows of foreverness. Once she had seen Megan’s collection of the jewelry she had been given over the years. A pin with two circles interlocked, a bracelet inscribed Never Leave Me-H.R., a half dozen rings, each engraved on the inside-Megan and Sue, Megan and Rita, Megan and Charlotte… all those trophies of loves that would never die, but that had died after all.

  When Megan came back toward her she dropped the lighter in her purse. Megan told her that Bobbie wasn’t at her apartment, but that she had called Grace and Alice. “You remember them, Rhoda. They were at Leonetti’s the first time I took you there.”

  “They were at Jan’s party, too.”

  “Yes, I guess they were. They want us to drop over. Grace wanted to know if we were dressed. She sits around in slacks and a tailored blouse when she’s at home, but I told her we were wearing dresses so she’ll change into something more feminine.”

  “She doesn’t have to.”

  “She’ll feel uncomfortable otherwise. You don’t mind do you? Grace and Alice are an old pair, but they’re pretty good company.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said.

  It wasn’t a bad evening. Grace had a quart of J amp; B scotch and nothing to mix it with, and the four of them sat around drinking the liquor straight over ice cubes. They talked about Allie’s cold, which seemed to be chronic, and about the place where Grace was working, and Megan’s decorating job. They talked, too, about people. “A heavy date this weekend,” Grace said. “Allie and I are doing the town. Dinner at L’Aiglon, tickets to Pearly Wine, and then a nightcap or three at the Living Room. Have you ever been there, Rhoda? Everybody sits on these little couches for two, and the lights are low, and they have some sexy cabaret singer, and everyone does a little genteel necking.”

  “You must be crazy,” Megan said.

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s not a gay place. You’ll look great there, Grace. No matter how low the lights are-”

  “Oh Megan,” Allie said. She laughed. “We’re going with a couple of gay boys. Billie Rudin and Ray Crane. You know them, don’t you?”

  The three of them had to explain it to Rhoda. When you wanted a real evening on the town, and when you didn’t want people staring at you and knowing you were gay, then you doubled with a couple of gay men. That way you came on just like straight people and no one knew the difference.

  “Of course it doesn’t work if you’re butchy, or if the boys you go with are screaming queens,” Grace explained. “But if everybody dresses straight, no one guesses a thing. It’s handy, too. Two girls alone can’t go to dinner easily enough, or even to a show. But you go to a nightclub or to any of the better straight bars without getting either a pass tossed at you or a load of funny looks.”

  And she realized how very much there was to learn. The demimonde had special survival mechanisms, special ways to get along in an unsympathetic world. How much she was learning, she thought. And how little she had known before.

  Just half an hour before they left Grace and Alice’s apartment, Bobbie Kardaman dropped by for a drink. She couldn’t stay long, she said. She was in a hurry, but she had passed by the building and wanted to stop to say hello.

  One glance set the pace. Bobbie came into the room and saw her, and looked long and hard at her, and their eyes locked and something happened to Rhoda. She couldn’t deny it, couldn’t avoid recognizing what it was. She broke the glance as quickly as she could but that didn’t change anything.

  Oh, God “I’ve been settling down,” Bobbie said. “I spend of most of my time just sitting around my apartment, usually with a glass in my hand. But not always. I met a girl this weekend after the party and I thought everything was going to start swinging again, but after a night I knew this was strictly a short-time affair, and she left this morning and I couldn’t be happier. She was fine in bed-I’m being vulgar, aren’t I, Meg?”

  “A little.”

  “I’m the vulgar sort. Dirty old Bobbie. She was fine in the hay, kids, but that doesn’t have much to do with things. It truly doesn’t. She was so very boring, one of the pretentiously intellectual types, the kind that likes to discuss Sartre between sets. She tried to come on strong like the dyke in No Exit. We parted company, thank heaven.” She sighed. “So if anybody ever wants to come looking for little Bobbie, you know where she can be found. Home, and alone.”

  And then a brief but significant glance at Rhoda She was very nice to Megan on the way home. They had kept rubbing one another the wrong way earlier in the evening, but now everything seemed to have smoothed out. They walked arm in arm, and they talked easily, and there was only one thing wrong.

  Rhoda knew that she was acting.

  Acting, playing a part, fitting herself into a role. Because she was being very nice to Megan now, and she would continue to be very nice to Megan, and she felt very close to Megan, closer now, oddly enough, than she had felt when love was stronger between them.

  They hurried upstairs to Megan’s apartment, a little lightheaded from the scotch, and they had coffee together in the kitchen. She did not say anything to Megan about Bobbie having been home that night after all, did not let on that she knew Megan had lied about calling her. And Megan did not mention Bobbie, either.

  But afterward, in bed, waiting for sleep to come, she let herself think
all the thoughts that might better have been left unthought. And she knew just what was going to happen, knew it with a quiet certainty.

  In the morning, she would go to work. And at five-thirty, after work, she would go somewhere for a quick dinner which she would eat without tasting. Then, after a quick drink or two at Leonetti’s for courage, she would go where she could not help going.

  To Bobbie’s apartment.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It went as she had known it would and she moved through the day as if in a dream. Her mind somehow failed to involve itself in what she did, and she waited on customers in Heaven’s Door without seeing their faces, showing them ashtrays and saki sets, taking their money and wrapping their packages, and making pleasant conversation with the enthusiasm of a well-designed robot programmed for retail sales work. She thought of Bobbie, and of herself, and she thought how little control she had over what she did. She was a puppet dancing from bloody strings, tripping here and there with no direction of her own.

  It was early when she got to Leonetti’s. The bar was deserted, with just one couple huddled close in the back and one butchy girl drinking straight shots at the bar. She took a stool at the far end of the bar from the mannish girl, and ordered J amp; B on the rocks, drank the drink quickly and took a refill. She had never done much drinking before-hardly any in college, very little during the years as Tom Haskell’s wife. But she was learning. She worked more slowly on her second drink, letting the liquor seep into her body and settle her down. A couple of quick ones for courage, she thought. Lord, how she had changed.

  She left the bar. Bobble’s apartment was a few blocks uptown on Horatio Street. She had never been there before but she remembered the address and had no trouble finding the building. A brownstone, well preserved. Over one of the doorbells, a small card with Roberta Kardaman in Gothic script. Roberta-she had never thought of the girl as Roberta. Just as Bobbie.

  She did not ring the bell. She climbed stairs, found the door to Bobbie’s apartment. The same card in a slot under a peephole- Roberta Kardaman. A bell at the side of the door. She reached out for it, stopped, lit a cigarette, returned the lighter to her purse.

  She thought of Megan. The blonde girl might be home now-she had not even called to make sure. Megan could be at their apartment, waiting for her, wondering where she was, worrying about her. She dragged nervously on the cigarette and coughed. She could still do it, she told herself. Turn around, hurry home, find Megan or wait for Megan, and push Bobbie out of her mind. She could do it.

  Oh, God Her forefinger found the bell, stabbed it. She heard chimes sound within the apartment. There was silence and for a moment she thought that Bobbie was not home. Then she heard footsteps approaching the door and she held her arms rigid at her sides and waited.

  “I hoped you would come.”

  “I had to.”

  “Last night.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re scared, aren’t you, Rho?”

  “Not of you.”

  “Of yourself then. Of what happens.”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay there, I’ll make drinks. Scotch?”

  “All right.”

  She waited on the couch while Bobbie made drinks. The couch was an old Victorian affair with arms, a floral pattern that blended with the cozily chaotic decor of the apartment. An oriental rug, going threadbare here and there. A Modigliani reproduction housed in a garish gold frame. A sagging armchair, a pair of rock maple captain’s chairs, a Duncan Phyfe drumhead table. A confusion of bad pieces which somehow went together well, all of them managing to reflect the person that was Bobbie.

  On the arm of the couch Bobbie’s cat sat staring at her. A Siamese, a study in poise and gentility. Bobbie had spoken of the cat before. His name was Claude-“Because he clawed me,” Bobbie had explained-and he was the only male allowed in the apartment. Rhoda reached out a hand toward the cat, then withdrew it. She tried to remember whether or not you were supposed to pet cats.

  “Don’t,” Bobbie said. She crossed the room with the drinks. “He hates affection, Rho. He’s a miserable bastard. Did you want water in this? I made it on the rocks.”

  “That’s fine.”

  She took her drink, sipped it. Bobbie was sitting in the chair at her right now. She turned on the couch and crossed her legs at the knee and looked at Bobbie. Bobbie was wearing slacks and a gold blouse, and her chestnut hair was drawn back in a chignon. She always seemed to be wearing her hair differently, Rhoda thought. And it always looked lovely. Now she seemed cool and detached, very commanding.

  Bobbie said, “What happens now, Rho?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We want each other. That much is fairly obvious. I’ve wanted you all along, and I suppose you’ve known that all along. Megan could see it coming. She hasn’t liked me much since you and I met. She knew this would happen.”

  “She knew before I did.”

  “When was that?”

  “I guess the party.”

  ”That’s what I thought.”

  Bobbie stood up, stretched, pulling her shoulders sharply back to draw her breasts into bold relief against the material of the gold blouse. Her body was bent slightly backward at the waist, and her hips thrust out provocatively. Rhoda’s eyes were glued to the girl’s body. The black slacks were very tight, like a second skin, and Rhoda looked at the tops of Bobbie’s thighs and felt a yearning come up in the back of throat, strong and undeniable. She could not look away.

  Why? Just a girl’s body, composed of the same elements as her own, arranged in similar if not identical proportion. A body no better or worse than her own and no better or worse than Megan’s. Why such a hunger, such a wave of need?

  “Rho.” The voice low in pitch now, husky. “Rho, I do not just want a sweet and simple roll in the hay.”

  “No.”

  “If I have you it has to be for a long time. Forget forever, I don’t know what forever means. Nothing is forever. But no one-night stands and no week-long marriage. I don’t want that.”

  “Neither do I.”

  And she thought, Don’t talk, don’t talk to me. Touch me, hold me, kiss me, say wonderful things to me. Just that.

  “Megan was your first.”

  “Yes.”

  “Gay girls change partners more when they just start out. They suddenly see what they are and they find out what a beautiful world sex makes, and they want to take the whole gay world to bed with them. They fall in and out of love at the drop of a bra. When they get older, when they’ve broken a couple of hearts and had their own broken a few times, they start settling down. The novelty is dead and the sex is less important. The big need is love. And having a person you can count on, and one you can be with. When you get older the breaks come further apart and hurt more, and the love while you have it is a deeper, calmer thing. If you are going to be gone in the morning, little girl, then I do not want you here tonight.”

  “I-”

  “No matter how beautiful you are. And you are, you know. No matter how much I want you. And I do. Oh, too much.”

  “I want it to last, Bobbie.”

  “Of course you do. Now. And you wanted it to last with Meg, didn’t you?”

  “But-”

  Bobbie tossed off her drink. “I’m kidding both of us,” she said. “Right now it doesn’t matter whether you’ll be gone in a day or a week or a hundred years. I need you too damned much. I talk a good game but the talk breaks down when you pull the words apart. I couldn’t let you out of here if I wanted to and I don’t want to anyway. I love you, Rho.”

  There was a lump in her throat, one that would not be swallowed away. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. Her hands trembled chaotically and her mouth was dusty dry. She stood to her feet and swayed there, lost and rocky, and Bobbie stepped toward her and she fell into the girl’s strong arms. Her head whirled and she could not breathe.

  Oh, Megan, she thought, I can’t help this. Megan, I’m
sorry, but I can’t help this. Forgive me She stood still and let herself be kissed. Bobbie’s lips found hers and Bobbie’s hands gripped her shoulders. Eyes closed, body limp, she let herself be kissed and touched, let herself be lowered down onto the couch. Bobbie stretched out beside her and held her close. They lay that way, bodies touching. They did not move.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “Oh, Rho.”

  “It will be good, won’t it?”

  “I don’t want to hurt anybody and I don’t want anybody to hurt me. I just want everything to be wonderful. Will we be wonderful?”

  “How can we miss?”

  A kiss, soft and gentle. When she opened her eyes, she saw Bobbie’s face inches from her own and she kissed Bobbie again and felt her head swim.

  “How will we tell Megan?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I can’t help worrying about it. Everything is complicated, isn’t it? I used to live all by myself and nothing was ever complicated, and I was so lonely I died inside every day until I was almost entirely dead, and now I am breathlessly alive and everything is a Chinese puzzle. What can I say to her? Do you want me to move in here with you?”

  “Yes, if you can stand it.”

  “Oh, I want to. What do I do? Just move everything from there into here? And what do I say to her? Megan, I don’t love you any more. I don’t want to hurt her. Some other girl had just hurt her when she met me, I don’t want to pile this on top of the other. Bobbie, help me.”

  Silence. Then, “She already knows, Rho.”

  “About us? How?”

  “Not that we’re together yet, maybe. But that we will be, in a week if not now.”

  “She loves me.”

  “Yes. And she has been there before, Rho, and she’ll make that scene again. She knew last night. I saw her face, once when she looked at you with sad eyes and another time when she looked at me. She could have cheerfully throttled me last night. She knows.”

  “Then how-”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll manage.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll say.”

  “You’ll find the words.” Bobby took a breath. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”