Unlike Others (13 page)

"Besides the Forest Preserve."

"Yeah, I forgot that. We didn't get to go this summer. I wonder who picked all our wild raspberries."

"I went with Michael a couple of times. He didn't care much about picnics, though."

"Some day," Jo said dreamily, "I'm going to take my vacation in the fall and go on a camping trip. Don't laugh—you know what I mean, sleeping out in a tent. We females don't use that word the way you do, anyway."

"You're so middle class. I won't ask how your little romance is coming along."

"Nothing to report." She put her hand on his knee. "Rich, there just might be somebody I know at The Spot"

He smiled at her. "Just wink, and I’ll vanish. Who knows, maybe I'll hit lucky myself."

She wanted to cry. She said, "How come all the gay places we know about are on the North Side? There must be some in other places."

"Most of our friends live north," Richard said reasonably. "You know how word gets around on these things. Somebody really ought to publish a directory."

They turned off the Drive at Randolph, crossed Michigan and Wabash and State, looking oddly quiet at this hour on a Saturday evening; Jo was used to the crowds and hustle of the rush hours. Rich turned the car north on Dearborn, sliding smoothly into a row of cabs waiting for the light. "It's livelier in New York," he said wistfully. "This town's nothing but an overgrown village."

"I've been thinking about going there. Only I'd like to have a little money saved up first."

"Better be sure you've got a job lined up before you make the break. Money goes awfully fast when you're not working."

"You grew up there, didn't you? How come you've never gone back?"

He shrugged. "Inertia. Also I never seem to get a dollar ahead. Real estate's a funny business, you have to know somebody to get a job. Pull won't keep you in, but it gets you in. Besides," he said, stopping for a red light, "every time I think about making a change I meet someone."

He backed neatly into a parking place, came around and opened her door. A couple of girls going into The Spot paused and looked them over. Tourists or members of the club? Jo felt embarrassed. She walked beside Richard, holding her head up, refusing his hand at her elbow. This was one place where a male escort was no advantage.

The place was busier than it had been on her last two visits. The juke box was going full blast, there was a loud clatter of voices, the lads behind the bar rushed back and forth serving beer, a little wine, not much hard liquor. The young people who came here couldn't afford much but beer, and the older customers wanted to relax but not to drink too much. Jo had seen little intoxication in the gay bars she'd visited, a thing she couldn't say for some of the places downtown.

She and Rich got into the room by squeezing past several dancing couples. "Like to sit at a table?"

"No, I like the bar."

A boy of twenty or so moved over so they could sit together. Richard gave him a searching look and got back a smile. Jo grinned. Now he'd have to wait to be sure the kid didn't have a friend in the men's room or the phone booth, that he wasn't expecting anyone to come in later. If the boy was alone he'd start a conversation. She said, "I'd like beer."

"You can have a drink if you want it.”

"No, beer sounds good."

She didn't much like beer. But Richard had taken her to lunch a couple of times lately, and she knew that his commissions had fallen off. The country hadn't settled down after inauguration, as everyone predicted; it was a real recession and not just an election year flurry. And he had bought Michael a new sports jacket—perhaps other things, too, that she didn't know about.

Anyway, if she drank nothing but beer there was no chance of taking too much. She looked around the long oval bar, seeking one face and sizing up the others she encountered.

They're so young, she thought. Although she knew you had to be of voting age to get served, and plain clothes and short hair make almost any woman look younger than she is. Too bad the old ones couldn't learn that, instead of piling on pounds of makeup and junk jewelry in a vain attempt to fool the public, having their fancy waves set every week and tipping around on high-heeled pointed shoes.

The two who sat quietly sipping Chianti and holding hands, for example, were probably in the middle twenties instead of sixteen or seventeen as they appeared to be. She glanced at them from time to time as she sipped her beer. They didn't talk at all, and she suspected that they had just found each other or that it was their first time together in public since making love. They were enclosed in an invisible bubble that shut them away from everyone else. The younger was a slight little thing with reddish-blonde hair, not unlike the schoolgirl Jo had admired on the street the other day; her long straight mane, the clear shade that's often imitated and never duplicated, flowed down her back without ornament. Her companion was a little older, solid and sturdy, with a square dimpled chin and a good-natured expression.

Bless them, Jo thought, feeling like their mother. The look so nice together.

Richard said, "What's the matter, kid?"

She indicated the two girls. He looked. "It's nice to see somebody happy," he agreed.

They had been there perhaps half an hour when Linda came in. She was alone. She wore pedal pushers and a car coat very like Jo's, and she looked tired to the point of exhaustion. She climbed on a stool halfway around the bar from Jo and ordered an old-fashioned which she didn't bother to drink when it came. One of the boys spoke to her. She answered inaudibly. Jo watched her for a while as she stared into space, her fingers clutching the small glass. Then she touched Rich. "That's the one, at the end. I'm going over and talk to her."

"Good luck."

She made her way around the bar until she could touch Linda's shoulder. Linda turned without surprise. "Hi."

"Are you waiting for somebody?"

"No, I'm alone."

"Want to dance?"

"Not tonight, I'm too tired. Sit down. What are you drinking?"

"Beer."

The bar girl brought it. Linda looked around, frowning. "It's noisy in here. I like this place, but you can't hear yourself think."

"Would you like to go somewhere else?"

"Where?"

"My place."

Linda pushed up her sleeve and looked at her watch. "I have to be back by midnight, or I turn into a pumpkin."

Passing Richard, Jo reached over a talking boy and touched him. He turned, nodded, and went back to his beer. She went on, reassured. He'd call tomorrow or Sunday, depending on how things worked out for him.

Linda hailed a cab. "Let me, I just got paid.”

That was the last word she said until they were in front of Jo's building. She sat upright through the half-hour ride, holding her eyes wide as though she would be undone once they closed, letting her knee touch Jo's very lightly
.

It was warm in the apartment. The first steam heat of the season sighed and rattled in the pipes. Linda slipped her jacket off and sat down in the deep chair, kicking off her loafers. "I can't stay long," she said.

Jo said, "That's all right."

"Debby's sick," Linda said. She stopped, and looked at Jo. "The girl that's staying with me. She's getting over a terrible hangover. Did you ever give anybody Antabuse?"

"I never did. I had a friend who took it, but he was in the hospital at the time."

"It's enough to make you sign the pledge."

"Reminds me—want a drink?”

"A very small one, or it'll put me to sleep."

Jo went into the kitchen, turned on the light and found the whiskey and two glasses. The glasses were a little dusty from disuse, so she wiped them out with a dish towel. Linda sat looking flustered, holding her untouched drink. Finally she said, "I couldn't speak to you the other day. Debby's terribly jealous and she'd been drinking. She came to the store in that rig and insisted on being taken to lunch. My supervisor's all right, a very understanding woman—usually they just send out for sandwiches, because noon's our busy time. I work at Vogue North, selling and some modelling."

That accounted for the air of elegant simplicity. Store discount, of course, and end of the season sales. Vogue North sold everything for the chic tailored woman, and Jo longed for but had never been able to afford one of their suits
.
She was glad to know that Linda was a working girl.

She could visualize the scene. Debby showing up, loaded and noisy, practically in drag, demanding to see Linda no matter what she happened to be doing at the time, demanding to be taken to the ultra-conservative Manchester House. The other models and saleswomen watching, drawing their own conclusions. And Linda carrying off the whole thing as no one else could have done.

She felt a little sick, as though it had happened to her.

"She’ll do it once too often," Linda said, closing her eyes, "and I’ll lose my job. Then we’ll both go hungry." She opened her eyes again and looked at Jo. "If I'd spoken to you she'd have made a scene. Anybody at all, but especially an attractive woman."

"Thanks."

"Besides," Linda said, smiling a little now, "I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your girl."

"She's not my girl, I just work with her.”

"But you'd like her to be."

"I guess so."

"Is she gay?"

Jo was silent.

Linda said, "I can almost always tell. Don't ask me how, but I can. Not any of the ways you read about in books, it's something I can't explain."

"And?"

"I think this one would be a fast learner."

"I can tell sometimes, not always." Jo held her glass up to the light. It was a lovely pale clear color, almost no color at all. "Even if there's no percentage in it," she said in a low voice, "I can't help it."

Linda took a very small sip of her drink. Her face was impassive. "I like you," she said. "Usually I can't get away. But when I can, when Debby goes out to see her family in the suburbs, for example, could I come and see you?" She looked at the floor. "I feel I can talk to you. And let's be honest, you make love beautifully. That was the first time in months—" She stopped. "I wasn't going to tell you that"

“I know," Jo said. She thought about the months when she had given Karen everything she had, when all her patient wooing and Karen's willingness to learn hadn't added up to anything but frustration for both of them. “I do know. You make love beautifully too. It isn't that good very often."

"You don't think it would be wrong? Debby and I aren't really married or anything like that. She only moved in because she couldn't pay the rent on her apartment. She keeps getting fired."

"No," Jo said, "I don't think it would be wrong." She set her glass down, almost full, on the end table. She came to stand beside Linda, letting her hands rest on the other girl's shoulders. Linda's skin felt smooth and warm through the cotton shirt. She breathed a light clean fragrance—not perfume, maybe an expensive soap. Her bosom, slight but feminine, rose proudly, the buds standing out. Jo knew how it would look when she took off the shirt. She knew Linda's skin was like warm silk to touch, and exciting to the lips. She knew the sweet vaselike curve of Linda's hips.

Jo shivered. She managed to say, "Maybe it's selfish, because I'm not going with anybody right now, but I think it would be good for both of us."

"It's too bad we can't ever have anything permanent," Linda said in a light ironic voice. "We never will, you know. We're the kind of fools that go through life supporting other people. I get awfully tired of it sometimes."

"Do you really have to be home by twelve?"

"I really do. Debby had a sleeping pill," Linda said, "and it’ll wear off around midnight and shell wake up scared to death. That's the last stage, after all the vomiting and chills." She moved her shoulders restlessly under Jo's hands, which tightened. "I ought to throw her out," she said. "Only you can't do that to people. Can you? She suffers so—she has nightmares and screams in her sleep, she sits on the floor and cries."

Jo said, "The trouble with us is, we're strong. Everybody takes advantage of us. My last girl moved in when she was out of work; she didn't even look for a job until she made up her mind to leave me."

But she didn't want to think about Karen, not now with Linda's body leaning back against her. She moved a hand down Linda's shirt collar, and undid the top button. Her cheek lay against Linda's black hair. It smelled clean and sunshiny, as though she had dried it outdoors in the wind. Impossible in this town, of course. Jo said, "Do you want to do anything? Are you too tired?"

"You know what I'd like? I'd like to lie still and have you love me. With your hands and your mouth." Linda smiled a little. "I haven't slept at all for the last two nights, but I'd like that."

"Come on, then. The bed's all made up."

"You won't let me sleep too long?"

Jo took off the shirt. Naked from the waist up, Linda turned and leaned against her soft breasts. "No," Jo said gently, "I won't let you sleep too long. Lie down, let me make you happy."

An hour later, lying with Linda's head against her, hearing Linda's light even breathing, she told herself this wouldn't be the last time. At least, she hoped not. Don't look ahead, she reminded herself, shifting so Linda wouldn't be cramped or crowded in the bed. Don't look back either. Take it the way it comes, that's the only thing to do.

And don't think about Karen. Or Betsy, either.

She felt wide awake, and sharply aware of her own body's needs. She wished that Linda would wake up and lay a hand on her own aching and hungry flesh. But she lay still, cradling the other girl and looking into the darkness.

CHAPTER 13

In
spite
of her good resolutions, she fell into a light sleep around eleven. A few minutes later she woke, frightened and uncertain, to the ringing of the telephone. Linda lay against her, sleeping soundly. Jo disentangled herself as gently as possible and hurried to answer, stumbling against a chair and scraping her shin. Betsy, maybe.