Odd Girl (12 page)

* * *

The faint alarm of the clock by the bed rang unnoticed under the noise of the street, loud with the passing of trucks and the shouting of school children. And then the telephone rang.

"It's probably my office," Anne yawned.

Esther's hand reached for the receiver and brought it to Anne.

"Hello?" Anne said hoarsely, not taking her eyes from Esther. "Yes, I'm ill. I'll be in tomorrow." She hung up again and watched Esther smile. "Shouldn't you call Carl?"

"Why bother?" Esther stretched. "He knows where I am."

She was lying on her back, her head turned towards the blinds and the sunshine. Anne gazed at her calmly for a moment and then placed her head on Esther's shoulder. It was soft and familiar.

"It's too lovely a day out," Esther said. Anne's head on her shoulder had not made her move and she gazed directly into the sunlight. "It's like Paris, full of school children and nuns and flowers on the street corner and people coming out of shops with long bread loaves under their arms."

"Shall we go out?" Anne said.

"Yes," Esther said, rising eagerly.

"I'll lend you my hair brush," Anne laughed, going to the bathroom. From there she called out, "Where do you want to go?"

"Don't know," Esther yawned. "Church, maybe."

"Church!" Anne came out of the bathroom. Esther was dressing now and she went to the closet to get her own clothes.

"It's a day for churches," Esther laughed. "Paris is full of churches. Wherever they want to put something beautiful they put a church."

"There's one on Fifth and Tenth—" Anne said.

"Hell, no!" Esther buckled her belt, "Nothing short of Notre Dame, and only as Joan of Arc."

Anne laughed and threw Esther's jacket to her. "Come on, we'll go to the Florentin."

They were silent as they left, and thus they walked between the parked cars and across to the Florentin.

Marcel was seated near the window, tuning his lute. The Outdoor Art Show was bringing in much business and a group of tourists in the back had just bought him a cup of coffee. The echoes of "Partridge in a Pear Tree" were just fading.

Marcel was beautiful in a medieval way; he was wearing sandals and a suede shirt with laces at the neck.

"Darling, you must be unemployed!" he shouted to Anne as the two entered. "Congratulations!"

"Just for today," Anne laughed. "May we join you?"

He rose and bowed deeply. They sat, ordered coffee and sardine sandwiches.

"This is Marcel," Anne said to Esther, introducing them. Marcel studied Esther's face with his eyes. "And this is Esther," Anne finished. Esther nodded. It was plain she found him dull.

A strained feeling now began to grow in Anne. Esther did not like Marcel and they were stuck here because of sardine sandwiches.

"I'm working nights at Rudley's," Marcel said to Anne in an effort to break the silence. He did not like Esther either.

"That's nice," Anne said, trying to be enthusiastic.

Esther found a
Manchester Guardian
on the empty table next to them and rescued it.

Anne wondered why they did not like each other. Of course it was hard not to laugh at Marcel's affectations, but he was so young. And why did Marcel not like Esther? She realized that what she had expected had begun—the realization among her friends that she was different.

The Irish actress who waited on tables now brought them their order, and Anne proceeded to put her salad in with the sardines in a large Dagwood sandwich. It was her favorite breakfast. Esther put down the
Manchester Guardian
and watched her, amused. Then she followed Anne's example.

Marcel had begun to strum his lute, giving the Florentin a sleepy air of old Spain. Only an occasional Villager, stopping in front of the window and then hurrying on, reminded Anne of the outside world.

"Oh can you see yon little turtle dove sitting under the mulberry tree…"
Marcel began. He had no training but did well in falsetto
. "See how that he doth mourn for his true love as I, my love, should mourn for thee…

Through the window Anne now had a good view of "13 1/2" the rooming-house where most of the kids lived. It was sometimes nicknamed Belle-View because of its interesting windows. But on a Monday morning Belle-View didn't seem so colorful. Now only one head poked out of the ground-floor window; it was a girl with a G.I. haircut. Anne recognized her as a barmaid at the Oval.

Esther was back to the
Manchester Guardian,
almost as if her eyes were closed and sleeping under it.

"Ten thousand miles is very far away for me to find my way back, but before I am false to that maiden that I love the Noon-day shall turn black, my love…"

More coffee arrived and so did Jennie, skipping happily through the open door, her model's case around her arm.

Marcel stopped strumming and gave an exclamation, opening his arms to her. Jennie jumped gayly into them and touched her cheek to his.

"Now I live again," he said dramatically.

"But I've been gone only ten minutes," she laughed.

He kissed her hand in pantomime for Anne's and Esther's benefit and then helped her sit down. Esther had not looked up.

"Hi, Jennie," Anne yawned. The night before was beginning to catch up with her and her eyes were aching. The coffee was making her feel bloated.

"Hi," Jennie winked, then proceeded to try on a new pair of leather gloves. For a minute Anne watched her. She resembled Anne's sister, Boots, who seemed to do nothing but try on new clothes.

Esther put down the newspaper and looked toward the back at all the faces. Anne put her hand over Esther's, squeezed it impatiently. "Let's walk."

Esther rose, threw some money on the table, and they left the Florentin, going back into the sun, warm for November.

It's fun to wear slacks, one can put hands in the pockets and strut, feeling slim and tall and free. They walked this way through the last remnants of the Outdoor Art Show. They breathed deeply and nodded to familiar faces and strutted. The sunshine wakened them again, made them know it was morning.

"Do you like me?" Anne decided to break the silence that had fallen over them since the Florentin.

Esther smiled; she was less communicative now, more the way that she had been at Carl's house.

Anne stopped, feeling she must make Esther answer her.

"Don't ask me such questions," Esther said. "Of course I do."

Now it was Anne who was silent as they walked, aimlessly covering much ground, vaguely turning back toward Anne's apartment. Finally Esther spoke.

"I can't leave Carl," she said.

"Why not?" Anne countered.

"He's very ill," Esther sighed. "Besides, I'm not ready myself to leave him."

"You mean you're afraid," Anne said. "You don't really want to be a Lesbian."

Esther was silent and thought about this and finally said, "No, I don't want to be a Lesbian."

Esther was like Beth—she was afraid too. Beth was a Lesbian but she was afraid to be one, and the fear made her promiscuous with men—she was trying to prove she was a woman and was attracted to them. Esther was staying with Carl for the same reason. Anne suddenly wanted to get home quickly, to leave Esther, to be alone to think. She had allowed herself to care and now she had to be alone and begin not to care; she would have to consider Esther "just for kicks." But she knew it would be a very hard thing to do.

The siren announced noon when they were a block from Anne's house. Anne tried to tell herself that it had been a relaxing morning, that now she had that feeling of belonging—not to Esther, but to a special group, the group behind the windowpane. She told herself that at last she knew the lazy quietness of the girl-couples who ate breakfast at the Florentin—that she had never before understood how they could sit so quietly and normally, content with each other and with the world. But she was not content. She had been happy for a little while this morning, but now she was back where she started, alone—without Beth, and without Esther.

They stopped when they reached Anne's stoop and sat down.

"Coming up?" Anne said finally.

Esther sighed. "No, I'm due elsewhere."

Anne said nothing. There was something very young and very repentant about Esther now, as if she were a child who had done something wrong.

"But I’ll see you tomorrow?" Esther took her hand impulsively.

"I guess," Anne nodded. She stood up, feeling very tired and brought her hand up to Esther's cheek. She brushed it lightly.

Esther smiled and looked down, put her hands in her pockets, and began to walk toward Sixth Avenue.

It was not the way to Carl's house.

* * *

Anne walked heavily up the stairs to her door. She did not care at the moment where Esther had gone. She needed sleep. A sick, dizzy feeling was in her head. She needed to lie down and catch up on the night before. She reached her door and unlocked it.

"Hello, Anne." Mark was standing by the bookcase, a glass in his hand.

Anne entered silently and slammed the door shut. She felt too tired to be angry.

"What are you doing here?" she said, sitting on the bed.

He smiled and put his glass down. "You forget I have a key."

"I'll change the lock tomorrow," she said. "Now please get out."

"I just came to visit," he said. He was smiling.

"What about?" she sighed. She was so tired.

"I'd hoped that by this time you'd have dropped your, shall we say, peculiarity." His eyes defied Anne's and he continued to stand over her, smiling.

"I haven't," she said. She kicked off her shoes and lay down. "I'm too tired to talk to you, Mark," she said. "Please go or I'll have to call for help."

Mark went to the cabinet, unimpressed, and poured more of her scotch in his glass. "There's no law that says I can't visit my wife."

"There will be next week when I take you to court," she answered. "If you don't leave me alone I'll sue for alimony."

He sat on the bed and took her wrist, first gently and then firmly. "Anne, you can't do this to me. I love you."

Anne smiled and turned away. "Your pride's hurt, that's all."

"I'm not going to let some woman have you," he said.

"Mark, it's my life," she replied. "I have the right to choose, not you."

This made him angry. He tightened his grip on her wrist.

"Annie," he said, and his voice was hoarse, "tell me one thing. What do they use, huh? What do they use?"

His face was over hers. Anne could smell his breath, 100 proof. But it was not only his breath that repelled her—it was Mark, all of Mark after Esther.

"I'm going to remind you of what a real man feels like," he said.

He was twisting her wrist and the pain woke Anne and cleared her mind.

"Let go of me," she commanded.

But Mark took her with both hands. "That's not what you really want me to do."

Anne struggled against him weakly, knowing he was too strong.

"Mark, this is rape," she said. "I won't forget it."

"What, between husband and wife?" he chuckled.

"I've started divorce proceedings," she said, "and that legally separates us. You haven't any right to me now."

He laughed. "Wait till I tell the judge you're queer."

"You think that's going to make a difference?" She laughed. "You'd better leave, Mark, or I'll tell him about you and Beth. Anything you say against me will be taken only as slander."

"You wouldn't do that to Beth," he said.

"Beth volunteered," Anne replied. "If you don't believe it, call my lawyer."

She had found a flaw in him and had won; his grasp was less tight. "Mark, all I want is to be free of you," she said, "but if you don't leave me alone I'll make you pay for it the rest of your life."

She relaxed and waited. Mark wanted her to struggle, try to fight him off. But her coldness would be more effective. Whatever he did to her now would not matter, would be chalked up as just another unpleasant experience with Mark—but she would have the last laugh.

He let go of her sharply and she rubbed the soreness in her wrist and waited.

"You would do it, wouldn't you?" he said.

She nodded. "It'll be nice to have you support me for the rest of your life, particularly since I'm not going to marry again."

He went again to the scotch, took another glassful and gulped it down, then flung the glass across the room. Anne faced him and saw his expression, twisted in helpless rage, and she knew what to expect from him. She steeled herself.

Mark stood, his fist clenched, holding his breath. Anne did not take her eyes from his face.

"Go on, slap me and get out," she said.

She saw his hand come down in a flash of red and then there was nothing but pain.

* * *

Anne lay there, covering her face with her arm and dug deep into the pillow, riding the waves of anger and fatigue and pain. She was crying. She was crying because she had won. She was rid of Mark.

Anne closed her eyes and slept.

When Anne awakened, the room was dark with twilight. She had slept and now she was alive again. The pain in her cheek was almost gone and she could feel with her tongue the small bruise where her teeth had cut her flesh. It was healing even now. She sat up, feeling hungry and ready for the evening. She would go out to dinner. She had wanted to try the restaurants up this street. Afterwards she would go to Paradise—Esther might be there; if not, there would be someone else.

She got up and went to the shower. The water would wake her, and wash off Mark. Her cat, Portia, followed her and watched the process with the usual interest.

"Come on in," Anne laughed, "the water's fine."

Portia shrugged, shaking her long fur, and gave a loud purr. It was feeding time.

The telephone rang and Anne wondered if she should answer it. But it might be Esther. She turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and plodded wetly across the rug. The telephone still rang persistently.

"Hello?" Anne said, trying to stop the water dripping down her nose.

"Hello." The man's voice was familiar and it made Anne feel sick. "Is this Anna?"