Unlike Others (15 page)

"Gin and tonic's fine, thanks," Jo said, giving him her best smile. "I'm beginning to feel better about Rich."

"It's a rough world for people like us. That's why Em and I decided to stick together. We've been married almost twenty years and it seems to be working, she's a good girl to have around and every now and then we take a vacation together. Most married couples need vacations from each other, you know. We may run over to India this winter."

"I'm for marriage," Emily said firmly. "If you can find somebody who thinks the same way you do, it's the best answer."

Mag took a glass. "Not for me. I'm such a slob no man could possibly live in the same house with me. How about you, Jo?"

"I can see bringing my girls home to a third-floor walkup, with a husband underfoot"

"What do you do?"

"Editor on a crummy little magazine.”

"Ever do any free-lance work?"

"When I can get it. Editing doesn't pay so very well."

"Call me up some day next week. I have a friend who may want somebody to write his life story for him."

"Thanks."

"Not at all. Mag will give you my office number. Now why don't you girls come in and join the madhouse?"

"How about it, Jo?"

Jo blinked. "If I'm going to be in court at nine I'd better get some sleep. It's almost two o'clock."

"I've got a flu bug myself." Mag got up with surprising agility considering her size. She shook hands with Kingsley Fosgett, who stood beaming at her like a secular Santa Claus, and kissed Emily's cheeks in European style. Emily said, "Call me as soon as your friend is booked. They'll let him out on bail, no questions asked."

"I'll go to court with the kid. Moral support." Mag laid a plump hand on Jo's arm. "Come on, kid, let's roll."

Nobody paid any attention to them as they picked their way through the party. You could strip naked on the Oriental rugs, Jo thought, and you wouldn't get more than a glance from any of these people. It was a crazy world, exotic and fascinating. Fun to peek into it—but she thought with longing of her own small apartment.

Speeding through the dark, she sat silently trying to figure things out. Finally she said, "Mag, why do they always pick up the fellows? I've never heard of a girl being arrested this way. In raids, yes. Jeannine was in a raid once. But trapping people—"

"A lot of people don't even know that women do these things. Say ‘homosexual,' and nine people out of ten think about men." Mag's voice was matter-of-fact, as though she'd known for a long time that it was like this. "It's all right for girls to share an apartment, and all that."

"Why not for men?"

"Sure, sure, it's a crazy world." Mag sneezed. "If it's all right with you, if you're not scared of my virus, I'll spend what's left of the night at your house. We've got about seven hours before we start singing those jailhouse blues."

"Poor Rich."

"They'll get him off. King Fosgett isn't just a damn good architect, he has connections. The worst that can happen to Richard is he might get fired."

"Did he mean it about ghosting a book?"

"Sure, why not? The people he knows are loaded. Why shouldn't you pick up a couple thousand? The thing is, can you fit it into evenings and weekends?"

"Sure." Jo considered. "If I had a little extra money I could do something nice for Betsy."

"Take my advice," Mag said harshly, "and let Betsy do something nice for you. She'll appreciate you more."

"You're so cynical."

"You wouldn't think it to look at me," Mag said, "but I didn't use to be a bad-looking broad. If I were twenty years younger I'd seduce the hell out of you."

Jo giggled. "You'll be the second woman to share my bed tonight," she said, laying a hand on Mag's broad shoulder, "and nobody's made a pass at me yet. I would be better off in a girl's school."

"Better, indeed. You'd have more opportunity and less competition. On second thought," Mag said,. taking a hand from the steering wheel to pat Jo's knee, "you better stay in the world. You look so good in pants."

CHAPTER 14

"Gee, you
look tired," Gayle said. Her soft dimpled face long with concern, she looked at Jo as though she were seeing her for once. "Don't you feel good, or something?”

"Just a little tired," Jo said. Thinking, I must look like Frankenstein's monster if that one notices anything.

"You must have had a big weekend." Gayle turned the diamond on her finger, smiling secretly. Three years of going together, always teetering on the edge of fulfillment and then pulling back because of moral and religious scruples, had turned most of her thoughts to sex. Everything revolved around the day, less than two months away, when the waiting would be over and she'd know.

Jo went back to her own office without bothering to answer. Gayle was being polite. She didn't really give other people credit for having any personal life. If she thought about it at all, which was unlikely, she pictured washing out her nylons, going to the supermarket, maybe taking in a movie at the neighborhood theatre for excitement. What a nice peaceful idea that is, Jo thought, hanging up her topcoat and unbuttoning her jacket in preparation for the day's work. She and Mag had spent Sunday morning at the old Twelfth Street station, which smelled even worse than most city police stations, waiting while a thin crabbed-looking officer talked in a low voice to assorted people. A bony young fellow who identified himself only as Galloway showed up, handed the officer an envelope, and sat down beside Mag to wait. Someone the Fosgetts knew, Jo supposed—Mag raised an eyebrow at the sight of him but offered no introduction. It was all so casual that Jo couldn't quite believe the stories she had heard, of beating and brutal interrogations, of suspects kicked and slapped around. Outside the sun was shining, people walked freely in the streets, women ambled home from eight-o'clock Mass.

Finally she was called to sign some papers, which she did without reading them because she was so nervous her eyes would not focus. Then Rich came in through a side door with a policeman beside him. He looked as he always did, except that he needed a shave. He signed something too, and they walked down the corridor together and out into the noise of the street. Galloway had disappeared somewhere. It was all so simple that Jo felt it couldn't possibly be legal.

"Every time I'm in this place," Mag said, "I swear I’ll never break another law." She looked gratefully at an old man in a tattered army overcoat, who was going systematically through a trash barrel at the curb. "Or at least I'll try not to get caught."

Jo said blankly, "What do we do now?"

Mag sneezed. "I'm going to have a nice long drink. It’ll either clear up the infection or knock me out, and I don't care which."

Rich said, "I thought I'd buy you girls some breakfast."

How does he know we haven't eaten? Of course, Jo thought, he wouldn't be able to enjoy food if he had a friend in jail, so he figures we can't either. Right, too. She thought of coffee and sighed. Mag said hastily, "I'm taking you both to breakfast. I'm loaded today, got the royalties on my book last week, I don't want to hear any arguments."

They sat at a marble-topped table in a combination drugstore and lunchroom on Sixty-third Street, a neighborhood that was unfamiliar to Jo, but Mag knew the counter boy and the woman behind the cash register. Mag knew people everywhere. Two women in Sunday clothes were having waffles and coffee at the next table, their religious obligations behind them and a long sunny day ahead. Three young men in handsome sweaters came in together and sat down near them. Richard looked them over with interest, caught Jo looking at him, and grinned. "All I want is coffee and sleep. Jo, can I come to your house and sleep?"

"Why not? Everybody else does.”

Mag chuckled. "And not a lay in a carload. The kid spends her life ministering to the sick, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free."

"Oh, shut up." Jo felt her face get hot. "Besides, I offered and you turned me down. My feelings are hurt."

"Don't think I couldn't teach you a thing or two." Mag smiled at the waitress. "Hello, Marge. We want scrambled eggs and Canadian bacon, toasted pecan rolls and lots of toast, coffee, a whole pot of coffee, and orange juice. That all right?"

"Mag, for Christ's sake, I'd die if I ate all that.”

"All right, Rich and I will eat your share." But when the food came she was ravenous. She started to laugh, feeling that things were going to turn out all right after all. "I'm sorry, I'm a little light-headed, I guess."

Rich said, "That's all right, I feel pretty good myself. Except that I'll have to go to court in a few weeks."

Mag forked up a mouthful of eggs. "Our friends are working on it. I don't think this will come to trial."

"Seems unethical."

"Unethical hell. You can't be ethical with a steam roller, you just get out of its way before it mashes you to a pulp."

Rich's eyes were half shut before he finished his second cup of coffee. He looked older, his pupils bloodshot, his face strained under his artificial tan. Jo said, "Let's get going. I can't carry this big lug upstairs and he’ll never make it by himself.''

"I need a shave." He rubbed his chin. "Jo, you got a razor you shave your legs with, or whatever the hell it is girls do with razors? If I could shave and have a shower, I'd sleep all day."

So the guy turns out to be a prophet, Jo thought an hour or so later, looking up from her book at the large bump under the blanket. A fine way to spend Sunday afternoon—reading, not daring to get up and rattle a few dishes because someone's asleep in your bed. Good old Aunt Jo, dedicated to charity and chastity, while everybody you know moves in.

At least, she thought, they don't all demand clean sheets. How many people's germs are fighting it out on that pillowcase? Mine and Linda's—but our germs are all homogenized by this time anyhow. Anybody else I can invite to the party?

She tiptoed into the bedroom. He didn't open his eyes, but he put out a wavering hand and she took it. His fingers closed around her thumb and held on. She sat down carefully on the side of the bed, hoping not to wake him. After a minute or two she dropped the book and stretched out beside him, and he disentangled his arm and threw it over her. It felt rather good. She shut her eyes and went to sleep.

How pleased Gayle would be to know that I spent Sunday in bed with a man, she thought smiling. She got up from her desk and walked to the window, thinking once more about the circumstances of Rich's arrest and the incongruity of it: that such a thing could happen. This big, patient, generous man with the compassionate heart and open hand, a lawbreaker. But that's because the laws are stupid, she reminded herself. Any relationship between consenting adults is their own affair, but the law doesn't admit that, the law reaches into the most delicate and meaningful human relations with a big dirty hand and kills everything that's good.

She had to admit that Rich had been indiscreet. Soon after she walked out of The Spot with Linda he apparently decided that there was nothing for him. He drifted on to the Happi Time, which she had never heard of because it was an all-male bar and you didn't know about those places unless you belonged. She didn't suppose there were twenty straight people in the city who could tell you the location of a single gay bar—except the members of the vice squad, who staged raids at irregular intervals, often around the first of the month or before the Grand Jury convened.

But Rich had known. Had been there before, probably. He'd gone in and ordered beer; and after the first three or four, beer was as lethal as whiskey where Rich was concerned. The rest was easy to reconstruct. A man sat down beside him, drifted into conversation, suggested that they go out for a walk or even, perhaps, to his room. He must have been good, perhaps even one of the boys turned informer, because as a rule Rich was cautious. By this time, though, his guard was down and he was taken in by the guy's technique.

Damn that Michael, she thought savagely. It was not really Michael's fault, she couldn't blame him for leaving Rich if he found somebody he liked better. She resented him just the same. Any punk who hurt Rich was hurting her too. She'd blame Michael if she felt like it.

She made a mental note to call Rich later in the day and see how he was getting along. If he hadn't been fired by this time he probably wouldn't be—not unless the case made the papers. But even if his job were safe, he would be feeling terrible, not so much about the arrest as because of Michael's defection. She remembered how it had been when Karen left: after the first shock wore off she went around as though someone had hit her over the head, too shocked for feeling.

It was Rich who put her to bed then, sat beside her and held her hand and talked to her until she felt better. One good turn deserves another.

Standing there watching the traffic flow past, she came back to the present and the office. Something was
miss
ing—Stan was later than usual for one thing. Maybe
his
mother had a fatal stroke or something, she though hopefully. She wandered out into the aisle with a handful of papers so that she would seem to be working,
not
snooping, if he had come quietly in and gone to
work.
But his office was empty. So was Betsy's. She asked Gayle, "Stan call in, or anything?"

"He's got the virus."

"How about Betsy?"

"Not yet, but it's Monday morning. I almost didn
't
come in myself. Me and Eddie went to a party—"

Jo stood unhearing while she went on and on.
When
the words stopped, she nodded. "Okay, we'll do the
best
we can."

For just a second, hearing that it was Stan and not
his
mother who was sick, she had felt a pang of relief.
But
why? She didn't have any reason to love the old lady, knowing what havoc she'd worked in her son's life.
Bet
ter she should die and leave him free to court a
girl,
and marry.

So that was it.