Odd Girl (7 page)

"Every once in a while, before elections mostly," Skippy said; then with a slight damn, "primaries are due soon."

They walked further, past the crowd, and Anne asked her why she had left Cora's for the Oval.

"She kicked me out till I got sober," Skippy said.

"Then you're going back tonight?"

"Yeah," she said. There was a sadness in her voice as if going back to Cora's would bring back the past. And yet she seemed somehow to be drawn back, as if it were home.

"Do you like working in bars?" Anne asked.

"There's nothing like it," Skippy said. "You're free to be what you damn please. The pay's lousy, though."

They were on a lonely street now and in the night it seemed a cold and concrete world, as if someone had poured cement over the whole earth. Skippy quickened her steps and Anne followed her, conscious of the danger of a lonely street. Then at the far corner they saw a crowd of loud young men.

"Come in here," Skippy said, and pulled her into a doorway. They went half-way up the stairs and waited.

"What's the matter?" Anne asked.

"I don't like their looks," she said. Soon the crowd had passed the doorway and they waited a while longer. Then Skippy took her down again and they resumed their walk. After a while she explained, "They like to rough up queers in this neighborhood."

"I don't understand," Anne said. "Then why does Cora have a bar here?"

"No cops either," Skippy said.

This seemed logical in a strange way and Anne followed Skippy's quick steps around a corner and to the middle of the block where a red sign said CORA'S.

They quickly entered and were greeted by another bouncer who resembled Moe but not the man in Paradise.

"Hi, Sol," Skippy said. "Cora here?"

"Skippy, baby!" He held her hands. "Sure, come right in."

Anne followed them through the next door and was immediately overwhelmed by smoke and loud music. Cora's was a cellar painted dirty yellow and crowded like Coney Island on a Saturday and Sunday combined. Wild dancers barred their way in.

"Some joint, hey?" Skippy said to her. "Come on, let's find Cora."

She took Anne's hand and pulled her through the dancers and then through spaces in the tables to the back where an older woman, eating spaghetti, sat in a booth with a crowd of long-haired girls wearing scoop blouses and mascara.

"Hi, Cora," Skippy waved.

Cora put her fork down a minute and looked up groggily. "You sober?" Her skin was a yellow tan and there were streaks of white in her hair. She was not ugly; in fact, Anne found her attractive in a way that frightened her. Her eyes were large and green, her mouth full. She might have been forty, but a trim forty, with a woman's breasts and slender waist. Her hands were small and strong and had the same yellow tan. She was dressed in a brown and obviously expensive suit, but her voice was low and tough, strictly Lower East Side.

"Like a judge," Skippy said. "I want you to meet Anne." She pulled Anne forward.

"Move, kids," Cora said to the girls in the booth. They slid off, smiling and waving at Skippy, and went to dance with each other. "Sit down," Cora motioned to Anne.

Skippy helped Anne slide in the booth and then sat beside her. Her eyes were bright and full of admiration for Cora and she seemed very young now.

"I just canned Mary," Cora said. "You were right, fella."

"You bet," Skippy said. "I've had it too. No more!"

Cora laughed and swallowed more spaghetti. There was something coarse about her table manners and yet she was not repulsive. She enjoyed what she ate unselfishly, offering Antipasto and wine as she talked.

"Where'd you get this babe?" she said to Skippy.

"I found her in heaven," Skippy said. "Wait till you talk to her. She doesn't know from nothing."

"That's not quite true," Anne said. She wished she might assert her own experience, but Skippy and Cora preferred to think of her as innocent and so it did no good.

"How do you like the joint?" Cora said proudly, gazing into Anne's eyes. "Terrific, hey? I been all over Europe and there's none like it."

Anne smiled and nodded shyly. The place was beginning to wear on her nerves—the noise and the smoke, the wet tables and dirty floors. She felt a sudden urge to leave.

Cora sensed this immediately and stopped eating for a moment. "What's the matter, kid? Too much atmosphere?"

Anne looked down in embarrassment.

"Hey, Skip, did you take her upstairs yet?" Cora said, punching Skippy's shoulder. Skippy shook her head.

"Hey, what's the matter with you? What kind of hostess are you anyway?" Cora said. "Take her up, stupid."

Skippy smiled, "Okay."

"You start work tomorrow," Cora said.

Skippy's face beamed, "Okay!"

"What's upstairs?" Anne said. She felt a tinge of fear. Memories of books darted quickly in her mind, of opium dens and white slave markets, of extortionists and pimps. Cora might be all of these; upstairs might be a trap.

"That's where the party is," Skippy said. "There's less of a crowd."

"Don't be scared, kid," Cora said, "it's legit."

Anne laughed at herself. Cora was no villain; she was too open and her gaze too honest.

She let Skippy pull her past the dancers again and through a door that read NO ADMITTANCE, smiling as she noticed another sign over the bar that said no dancing. Apparently, all signs that said "No" meant "Yes."

She followed Skippy up a flight of steps to another door which opened to a darkened room. It was red, like the Oval, but the murals were discreet. The floor was clean and instead of booths there were plush sofas and low coffee tables. Not many people were here; the juke box was mellow and the dance floor was almost empty.

Anne looked at the couples. She could not distinguish in the darkness whether there were men there, or only women dressed as men and she supposed the crowd was mixed.

"Swell layout, hey?" Skippy said.

Anne agreed. "Terrific."

They found an empty sofa and sat in it, waiting for the waitress. When she came Skippy ordered scotch and beer. They sat back and relaxed.

"Cora'll be up later," she said. "She gives every new customer a grand welcome."

"That's nice," Anne said. "I like Cora."

"Ain't she swell?" Skippy sat up eagerly. Anne wondered if Skippy had a girlish crush on her.

The juke box began to play an old favorite and Skippy stopped to listen to it, twisting with the melody. "Dance?" she said finally.

Anne hesitated. She wanted very much to dance, and yet she did not. It would be the same as at the Oval and she was afraid. Skippy sensed her reluctance and pulled her up gently.

"A yard away," she said.

Anne followed and they danced apart until they both laughed at themselves and Anne pressed closely to her. It was a good feeling. A warmth grew in the pit of Anne's stomach. Skippy's breasts were pressed to hers and their thighs touched. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to Skippy's and remembered Beth. Then the music stopped and Skippy slowly let her go.

"Wow!" she said. "We'd better take it easy."

Anne nodded and followed her back to the sofa. Cora was there.

"Hi! Swell, isn't it?" she said.

"Lovely," Anne said.

"Skippy, go bring more drinks, will you?" Cora said. "I drank that one up."

"Sure thing," she saluted. "Be right back."

Anne was left alone with Cora and in the quiet atmosphere she did not seem so terrible. She even seemed a little old and tired and quite human.

"Where else have you been? The Oval? Paradise?"

Anne nodded. As yet she had not been able to say one syllable to Cora.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked roughly.

"Trying to meet women," Anne said. She returned Cora's rough glance with amused defiance.

"Skippy's not your type," Cora said. "Don't mess her up."

"Why not?" Cora's tone had been very much like Dad's. Anne resented being told.

"She's a good kid," Cora said. Her tone was quiet and friendly now. "She goes overboard too easy."

"Why should it concern you?"

"She's a good bartender." Cora tried to seem cold but that was a poor try. "I don't want her on another drunk, hear?" She stopped for a moment, became personal. "You don't belong here. You're out for kicks. Pick on someone your size."

"What do you mean?" Anne was puzzled.

"I mean you're not queer," Cora said bluntly. "You're just a crazy mixed-up kid still in love with Mother."

"You think I'll get over it?" Anne's tone was sarcastic now. Cora must think her quite young: a virgin afraid to sleep with men and choosing masculine women instead—like some of the girls at the Oval.

"You know," Cora went on, "a girl could get in a lot of trouble talking to strangers and going to rough places. She could be inviting the undertaker. She can expect to be robbed, roughed up. Your parents know where you go?"

Anne laughed. "I left home some time ago."

"Why?"

Anne paused; she couldn't easily say why. "For one thing, I didn't like being bossed," she decided.

Cora ignored this and sighed. "I'd like you to meet my son sometime," she said. "He's just about your age."

Somehow Anne had known that Cora was a mother. It might be what made her beautiful despite her coarseness and her occupation. She wondered how Cora had become a mother and decided it had been an early mistake—like Mark had been for her.

"I guess I'd better go home," Anne said.

"Do that," she said, "and don't come back for a while—not till I find a new girl for Skippy." She rose now and punched her shoulder lightly. "Thanks."

Anne smiled and gave a slight salute. "Don't mention it, Mom." Cora laughed and walked away.

Skippy had came up with the drinks and stood there. "I guess she bought us a drink," she said, and sat down next to Anne. She put the drinks on the coffee table.

Anne sat up and drank it quickly.

"Hey, take it easy," Skippy said. "I'll have to drag you home."

"No, Skip," Anne said. "I'm sorry, but I think I should leave."

"Why?" she was puzzled. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Anne smiled. "But as you said before, I'm not really your type—so I'd better go now."

Skippy shrugged. "There goes a good try."

Anne finished her drink and rose. Skippy rose too and said "I'll find a cab for you."

There was a dark hallway before the outside door and Skippy stopped a moment and took Anne in her arms. Anne did not want to resist and let herself be kissed. Skippy's mouth was sweet and tender and she thought for a moment, I want to take her home. And then Skippy let her go and opened the outside door and the air cleared their heads of the smoke and the liquor. There was a taxi at the end of the block and Skippy waved to it. When it pulled up in front of them, Anne got in.

"Come again," Skippy saluted.

"I will," Anne said.

The cab moved off, and the night air cleared her lungs and cooled her face. She was sad and there was a fierce longing in her thighs, but she felt free and full of life, and aware, so much aware of the world.

The telephone woke Anne the next morning. It was 11 A.M. and the sun had tried to wake her for hours. She covered her eyes against the light and reached for the receiver. It was Jacques.

"I was worried sick last night," he said. "I went over to Paradise after you and heard you'd left with a derrick for Cora's."

"A derrick?" Anne was trying to clear her throat and her mind.

"A drag butch," he clarified. "Honestly, Mary, I can't leave you alone for a minute!”

Anne wished Jacques would not swish so early in the day. It was hard enough to bear in the evening. But she reasoned that she must be broadminded about his peculiarity.

"I had a lovely time at Cora's," she said. She was amused because she knew this would make Jacques groan. "As a matter of fact, those 'derricks' aren't as bad as I thought," she added teasingly. "It takes all kinds, you know."

Jacques groaned again, much to Anne's amusement, "I never thought you'd go for that trade!"

"They're all right," Anne said, "for a night." She knew she was imitating Beth now—Beth's love of all new experience.

"Anyway," Jacques continued, "get dressed. I'm coming right over to pick you up. We're supposed to have lunch at Carl's."

"Carl's?" The name was familiar, but Anne could not remember who he was.

"You know," Jacques reminded her, "Esther's John."

"Oh?" Anne sat up with interest. "Will Esther be there too?"

"Not likely," he said. "But you'll like meeting Carl."

Anne yawned. "I don't see how meeting him is going to get me anywhere with Esther, but all right. Just give me time to brush my teeth with yesterday's coffee."

He said okay and goodbye and she hung up.

She rose lazily, stretched the sleep out of her shoulders and scratched her head. A hangover could sometimes be pleasant and there was something wonderful about this being Saturday morning. Most of all, she was secretly happy about going to lunch at a stranger's house in order to learn more about Esther. She had been in a lonely world of no friends since Mark and now her new world seemed to be filled with interesting people whom she was scheduled to meet.

She wondered what sort of man Carl might be and why he was supporting Esther. What could he possibly hope to gain? Whatever it was, it was of small importance. Nothing might come of seeing Esther again—if Anne did see her again—but Esther was a symbol. Esther was Downstairs Paradise, and Anne by no means preferred Cora's. Esther was a beginning with the right crowd, and meeting Carl was the way to see Esther again.

She turned on the fire under the coffee and then proceeded to dress. She wondered what she should wear. She wanted to wear the black slacks of the night before, but she was going visiting and that might not be appropriate. Let me see, she thought, Jacques always seems to flip over my flared skirt. She decided to look feminine, and put on pounds of jewelry.

She had barely finished with her makeup when Jacques rang the doorbell.

"Alice, you're not going to wear that!" he exclaimed.