Odd Girl (17 page)

"The bed's just for show," Johnson said. "Unless you want to be alone," she added, and smiled.

Anne blushed. She did not want to be alone, but she found saying this difficult after having seen Esther that afternoon. She wondered what she should do. She looked at Johnson and saw she was blushing, too. She didn't seem male now, only big and ivy-leaguish.

"I don't want to be alone," Anne said.

Johnson smiled and then laughed as she looked at Portia's twisted shape. "Well, put her down. She's going to have to get used to the place sometime."

Anne put the cat down and took off her collar. Portia immediately shied away from them and began to sniff the floor carefully.

"She'll probably find a mouse and then I'll be embarrassed," Johnson said.

"Portia's very polite," Anne said. "She doesn't speak to strange mice."

"I hope she doesn't feel like a stranger," Johnson said meaningfully. "I want her to be at home."

"Thank you," Anne said, letting Johnson's eyes find her own. She was trapped by Johnson's eyes and found it almost impossible to remember Esther. She didn't want to remember Esther.

She unbuttoned her jacket and threw it at Johnson, "Is the kitchen ready for me?"

"All shipshape," Johnson laughed, catching her jacket and swatting her with it. "Get in and cook, woman!"

Anne went to the kitchen. It was the first time she had looked in and she was pleasantly surprised. Johnson had a completely modern set of cabinets and appliances.

"You've put a lot of work in here," Anne said.

"One room at a time," Johnson nodded wearily. "If I had the time- and more money for materials, this whole use could be as modern."

"Perhaps I can help," Anne said. It made her feel good to say that. She wanted to help Johnson in some way.

Johnson smiled. "Much appreciated." Now she paused and remembered to entertain. "Would you like some, music?"

Anne nodded and put the groceries on the table. Johnson left her alone to go to the phonograph.

Anne had bought steak and frozen vegetables. Supper would be quick to prepare. She had bought sour cream and a cheese mix to dress the squash, parsley for the boiled potatoes; canned soup with added chopped garlic, onions and nutmeg would do for the first course and dessert would come out of an instant chocolate pudding package, aided by Anne's own topping of white of egg and honey. She surprised herself. It was a good menu for a first-time cook.

She waited until everything else was mixed and on the stove and then she lit the broiler.

"How do you like your steak?" she called out to Johnson who was now keeping Portia company on the couch.

"Steak!" Johnson exclaimed, "Well, I'll be. Rare, please."

Anne was pleased—she had surprised Johnson. "Okay, set the table," she called out.

"Already set," Johnson said.

"Soup's on, then," Anne said, coming in with the hot pan. She poured the soup into two bowls, then went back to take one last look at the vegetables and to put on the steak.

"It’s only canned," she said, coming back to sit at the gayly decorated card table.

Johnson smiled dumbly. "Is there another kind?" She dipped her spoon into it and tasted. It was too hot to eat "It is not canned," she said.

Anne smiled modestly. Johnson was surely being polite.

They ate hungrily then, anxious for the next course. Anne finished her soup quickly so that she might catch the steak rare. She came back with it on a serving plate and made another trip for the vegetables.

This time Johnson was silent, expressing pleasure in her eyes. She took the carving knife and fork and cut the biggest piece for Anne, then a small piece for herself.

"Half and half," Anne said, putting part of the steak back on Johnson's plate.

Johnson accepted it silently and they ate.

"You're not eating your squash," Anne said.

"Oh, is that what it is?" Johnson said guiltily, "What's that on top of it?"

"Sour cream and melted cheese," Anne said. "Don't you like squash?"

"I don't know," Johnson said. She eyed the dish suspiciously and took a bite of the vegetable. Anne held her breath.

"Delicious," Johnson said meekly, and began eating the rest of it slowly. "European?"

Anne nodded. "One of Mother's recipes." She smiled. Johnson didn't really like it—she was being polite.

"Want your dessert now?" she asked.

"Love it," Johnson said, letting her take away the half-finished squash.

Anne brought the pudding in and coffee.

"Let's have it on the bed," Johnson said. "I'm too full to sit up."

Anne put the tray on the small coffee table near the bed and sat, waiting for Johnson to join her. She petted Portia who was now cleaning her paw.

"That was good!" Johnson said, lying on the bed on the other side of Portia.

A creature of comfort, Anne thought. It was refreshing to see someone so utterly pleased at everything done for her.

Anne reached around Portia and took Johnson's hand. Johnson's hand responded, holding hers fondly.

"How was your day?" Johnson asked, staring calmly at the ceiling.

"Rotten," Anne said. She remembered Esther again and knew she should tell Johnson about it.

"I saw Esther," she said cautiously.

She felt Johnson's hand grip hers tighter for a moment. It made it easier.

"Let's not talk about that," Johnson said. She looked at Anne reassuringly. "Let's wait and see how things go."

It was excellent advice, if Anne could follow it. But this had to stop soon. She couldn't bear belonging to two people at once. Then, as if Johnson knew she needed to hear more, "I'm not ready to think of someone else yet either," she said.

So that was it. Johnson was not going to be so easy to get. Helen had hurt her too much. Johnson wasn't ready to love someone else.

"I hate Helen for hurting you," Anne said.

Johnson laughed. "She couldn't help herself. She was never happy with me."

"I think being happy with you is the easiest thing in the world," Anne said.

Johnson smiled and tugged warmly at her hand, "Are you spending Thanksgiving with Esther?"

"No," Anne said. "I may meet her Sunday morning, though."

"That leaves us the whole long weekend, doesn't it?" Johnson sat up. "Or do you want to spend it in Paradise?"

"You mean you want me around on Thanksgiving?" Anne said. It hadn't occurred to her that Johnson had no family to visit here. She felt overjoyed now, and almost wanted to cry. She hugged Johnson instead. "Prudence, you're family! That's what you are!"

Johnson laughed, holding Anne fondly, "Nonsense, I'm just shrewd. I'm dying to find out what you use to stuff turkey."

Anne let herself be held, feeling wonderfully comfortable in those strong arms. She didn't want to let go. But Johnson began to unwind her gently, saying, "Come on, we'll unpack you."

They walked, still tightly holding hands, to Anne's room. But when they reached the door they stopped and knew they didn't want to wait any longer. Johnson held Anne closely. It wasn't necessary for their lips to touch. Anne clung to her, trembling, feeling possessed without having been touched, possessed by the memory of Johnson's lips, possessed by expectation.

"I should have held you the minute you came in," Johnson said. "Why the hell did I wait so long?"

Anne was part of a mold now, joined to Prudence— for it was Prudence now, soft and womanly, not Johnson—their flesh, having met once, was now familiar.

"I love you," Anne said. She was crying and trembling, trembling because she belonged to Prudence and prying because she did not want to admit this out loud. "I love you."

"Steady," Prudence smiled, wiping Anne's cheek.

They walked back arm in arm to the larger room and slowly removed their clothes.

Anne waited for Prudence to shut the lights, leaving only the small candle lit near the bed. She was nude and sat unashamedly on the bed, feeling very much herself and older. She watched Prudence's bare body move across the room and waited, knowing pleasure with her eyes.

"I don't think you should ever wear clothes," Anne said.

Prudence laughed. "Do you want to share me with everyone else?"

"No," Anne smiled. "I do not." She watched Prudence finish preparing for the night and waited for her to come to bed.

"I feel different from last night," Anne said.

"In what way?" Prudence asked, sitting near her.

Anne took her hands and covered them with her own. "I don't know. It's as if I want to give you something more than I have already given."

Prudence brought Anne's hand to her lips gently. Anne lay down beside her, still holding her hand, and looked at the candle's reflection on the ceiling. She wasn't sleepy. The evening wasn't over.

She sat up again and looked down at Prudence's quiet face. Prudence was smiling, her strong, bare shoulders not covered by the sheet.

Anne brought her face down and kissed her lips softly. Excitement was beginning to grow in her again, but not the excitement of before. She kissed her once more. It made Anne feel strangely feminine.

Prudence took hold of her arms now and held them with her hands, gently but tightly.

Anne felt the excitement more intensely—Prudence wanted her to go on. She brushed her lips against Prudence's shoulder, feeling her flesh react in the same trembling, sensuous way her own had reacted before. And then the odor of musk made her weak and she melted, melted into a pool of water, turning from water into a hundred shapes, clinging, twisting, throbbing in space, in noisy and quiet space, until she heard the voice of a woman call her name from a distance so great and so near. And then there was only dark, warm sleep.

Anne yawned and stretched, looking much like Portia, warm on the bed and comfortable, so comfortable. What a bright day outside. She knew she had forgotten something for a moment and then remembered. It was a working day.

Prudence was already up and somewhere else. The smell of coffee filled the room and Anne saw a place for her at the breakfast table. She got up and filled a cup and began to get dressed. She had overslept. She would have to call her office and say she would be in later.

"Sleep well?" Prudence entered, her face lit with a bright morning smile.

"Where have you been?" Anne said.

"Stoking the furnace," she smiled.

"I'm late for work," Anne said, hurrying back to the bathroom to finish brushing her hair.

"The hell with work," Prudence said. "You're spending the day with me."

"But yesterday—" Anne said, starting to remind her of the efficient way in which she had been hurried off to work yesterday.

"Yesterday was different," Prudence said. She stood, watching Anne.

She's right, Anne thought. Yesterday was different. Yesterday we weren't in love.

"What are we going to do today?" Anne asked.

"I'm closing the shop for the holiday," Prudence said. "We can picnic in the park or ride the Staten Island ferry. Would you like that?"

"But your shop—" Anne said, trying to be practical. She might lose her job if she stayed out today, and Prudence would certainly lose some holiday business. It wouldn't do for both of them to stop earning salaries.

"It'll be all right," Prudence smiled. "After all, aren't we entitled to a honeymoon?"

Anne laughed, "You're right. I'll call my office and tell them I won't be in." She went toward the telephone.

"But don't tell them you're sick," Prudence called after her. "Tell them you're eloping, and you'll be back next week to give notice."

"But—" Anne said.

"Or don't you want to work for me?" Prudence said. “I’ve been needing a partner to help with the work here—ever since Helen left."

Anne laughed. "Isn't this all too soon?"

"Is it?" Prudence met her eyes quietly.

No, it was not too soon. It was long delayed. Anne turned to follow instructions.

She heard Juliette's strained voice on the other end.

"Anne, are you sick again?"

"No," Anne laughed. "I'm eloping. I'm sorry it's so sudden."

"Eloping! Why, my goodness! With that nice young man?"

"No," Anne laughed again. It amused her to think that it was not with Mark. "It's no one you know," she said. "I'll be back Monday to give two weeks' notice."

"But wait—" Juliette sputtered.

"I've waited too long," Anne said. "See you Monday." She hung up and felt wonderfully free. Now Prudence brought her toast and coffee. "I've made sandwiches for us to take along," she said. "It'll probably be freezing out, but we'll try anyway." Anne gulped her coffee down and bit hurriedly into her toast, wanting to hurry out into the sunshine now. Prudence brought her jacket and Anne put it on.

"Better take a scarf and gloves," Prudence said.

Anne dug into her pockets for her gloves. She felt an envelope there and suddenly remembered. It was Beth's letter. A look of concern crossed her face.

"What's the matter?" Prudence said.

"Nothing," Anne said. "Just a letter. From Beth."

Prudence waited silently for her to open it. Anne was afraid. She tore at the envelope slowly, and they sat on the bed to read it together.

It was a hurried note, perhaps written before Beth had met Anne accidently at Cora's. It spoke about a man she had met. "Rick Hastings—you know, the producer. I'm going to marry him, Anne."

Anne stopped reading. Beth's escort at Cora's was named Rick. She shivered slightly at the memory. "I'm going to star in his play," the letter continued. "It's hitting Broadway in January."

So Beth had made good. Anne was happy about that.

"But we can still see each other, Anne." The tone of the last paragraph was urgent, the handwriting nervous. Anne wanted to put it down. She didn't want to read anymore. She crumbled the letter in her hands and bent over Prudence. But she could not force tears.

"Poor Beth," she said, "poor poor poor Beth!"

Prudence held her, their bulky jackets coming a little between them. "Let's go on that picnic," she said.

Anne smiled again, taking the letter up and folding it carefully. "I think I'm over Beth," she said.