Unlike Others (21 page)

They went down together on the scratchy rug, not caring. Betsy's body was warm and ready. Jo held herself back, running both hands down over the slender neck, across her shoulders, along the spine, down over her hips and slender thighs. Give her time to catch fire. She held Betsy close and bent to kiss the small breasts like flowers just budding. Betsy said, "Oh," on a quick breath; and then, "Don't stop!"

Holding Betsy with one arm, she used the other hand to make her ready. Her fingertips would remember every inch of Betsy's body as long as she lived.

"Now," Betsy said, breathing hard. "Now! I can't wait!"

It was joy to give. As though the explosions were taking place in her own body. As though the moaning of pleasure came from her own throat.

She had expected Betsy to be slow and cool, knowing all that happened to her before. The girl's response almost frightened her. She came with joy to her peak—and no one learns that rhythmic moving, that soft crying in the back of the throat. It was real. Jo's mouth was dry, her neck and shoulders ached, she felt faint with shared excitement.

Next time, she thought, contented. When Betsy lay spent at last, the final bubbles of her excitement rising in soft whispered moans, they stayed together. "We have to go to bed," Betsy said sleepily.

Finally they got up, leaning against each other as though neither could bear to move alone. The bed was smooth and cool. They fell into it together and pulled up the blue blanket. Betsy put both arms around Jo and at once they were asleep.

Jo woke to the thick blackness that comes just before daybreak. Four or four-thirty, she thought, trying to collect herself. What happened? She opened her eyes, seeing specks of gold against the velvety darkness, and then nothing but black. Something wonderful

Her body came to life slowly, full of remembered delight. Heavy and deeply drowsy as she had been when she fell into bed, now she was light and easy, rested as she hadn't been for a long time. Betsy lay along her left side, warm and soft; and she was awake too. She put out a questioning hand and touched the roundness and softness of Betsy's breast. Betsy said, "Hi."

"Can't you sleep?"

"I just woke. I'm lying here being happy."

"Me too."

"I'll make you happy."

Jo said, "Shut up and go to sleep." Because for now it was enough to lie here like this, with her girl against her and the rest of the world shut out They were young, and they had tomorrow and each other. She moved closer, pressing her breasts against Betsy's back, and went to sleep.

It was really day when she woke again. She realized that she was late for work; it didn't matter. She didn't want to go to work. She wanted to lie in bed and look at Betsy. They didn't even need to talk. What they had was closer than words.

Let Stan wonder. Let him get upset. She was through with Stan and
Produx Topix
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She didn't know how the decision had been reached, but it was all settled. She wondered how she could ever have worked for an outfit with a name like that.

She lay on her back looking up at the specks of sunshine on the ceiling, not really thinking, just feeling. After a while she turned over, very carefully so as not to wake Betsy. Betsy was curled up like an embryo, knees pulled up, arms wrapped across her chest. Jo felt her mouth widen with pleasure—what a crazy way to sleep! She felt her own arms and legs spread out cool and easy on the crumpled sheet. She looked at Betsy's face, open and childlike. Sweet and wonderful.

Betsy stirred. Yawning like a satisfied baby, she uncurled, turned halfway over so that she was lying on her back, and opened her eyes. She frowned as the light struck her lids. Jo said with her heart in her mouth, "Good morning, darling."

"I feel so good."

"Honestly do you?"

"Honestly. I was ready to have it not be good the first time. I thought maybe I'd hate it, and I'd have to let you find out," Betsy told her, sounding surprised. "I was afraid to ring the bell last night. I stood in the hall a long time before I could."

The inside of Jo's eyes prickled. "It will get even better. I promise you."

"I don't see how. When you did that at the end—you Know—"

"You like that?"

"It was like lights going off in me. I didn't know where I was.”

Jo hugged her. "Don't try to tell me. I know.”

"Can I do it for you tonight?"

"We'll do it together."

"But how can we?"

Jo explained. Betsy looked surprised. Then she started to giggle. "Don't laugh at me. I never heard about it before—I mean, just one person at a time. It's an awfully good idea, isn't it?"

Jo sat up. "What do you want to do today? Stay in bed, or start moving your stuff in, or what?"

"Never mind me. Just go to work. I’ll clean the kitchen for you, and then I’ll go over to my aunt's place and calm her down."

"But you’ll come back?" Might as well get up and put in a delayed appearance, if Betsy had the day all laid out. She rolled out and stood slim and naked beside the bed, feeling the sunshine slant warm and kind across her flat hips and bare legs. "I want to live with you, Betsy. I don't want an affair. We need to be together."

Betsy's face changed. "Not until you're sure. Not until I can pay my share of the rent and things—I'm no freeloader."

Well, Jo marvelled, I’ll be damned. The kid's an adult. She sat down again on the edge of the bed and reached for the other girl. "I want to come back to bed," she said.

"Me too. You can't, though." Betsy shook her wrist to be sure her watch was still running. "It's after ten. You better hurry."

"Will you come back tonight, then? We've got an awful . lot to catch up on. I need to know all about you, not just in bed."

"Lend me a key and I’ll come this afternoon and cook you a wonderful dinner. I'll give the key back, though."

Jo was gathering clothes from drawers and hangers. She carried them into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and came back to get a skirt from the closet. Betsy sat up in bed, watching her with a face of pure love. Why did I ever think she looked like Karen? Jo wondered. She doesn't look a bit like Karen.

She hurried back into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind her because she knew that if it stayed open she would never be able to wait until evening.

When she emerged, dressed and combed, the bed was empty. The smell of coffee drifted in from the kitchen and she could hear dishes rattling. She went to investigate. Betsy, lost in her old striped bathrobe, was getting down cups. She reached up, the lovely curves of arm and shoulder falling into new patterns as she stretched and relaxed. She said sweetly, "I know you don't eat breakfast, but you'll drink some coffee, won't you? How about juice?"

"No juice, just coffee. You're an angel."

"I don't want to be an angel. I want to be your girl."

"You are."

The coffee was weak. She was damned if she'd mention it. She said, "I'm not used to being waited on."

"Do you mind?"

"It's fine."

"I love to keep house. That's one reason I married Chuck."

"Will you marry me?”

"In say three months, if you still want me to."

It didn't matter any more that Betsy had lived with Chuck or that she'd been tumbled by Stan. No more than Karen and Linda and Jeannine and the anonymous girls of the last few years mattered. Jo felt that she could love the whole world today. With every new love, she thought in wonder, you become a new person.

She drank her coffee standing and set the cup in the sink. "I have to run. It's sort of silly to check in this late, but after lunch would be even worse. You'll find keys in the drawer of the living room table."

"I’ll take them because I want to fix you a good dinner." Betsy looked at her bravely. "I won't ever tie you down or anything like that. I'll always ring the doorbell when I come to see you."

"Idiot."

"You’ll let me come often, won't you?”

"I’ll wait for you."

"I love you."

"Me too."

Betsy disengaged her hands. "Go on, get out of here," she said laughing. "You'll get fired."

"Doesn't matter," Jo told her absently. "Tell me something, Betsy. What made you decide to call me yesterday? Did you know this was going to happen?"

"I got to thinking about Chuck," Betsy said. Jo could see that she was finding this difficult to tell; she was ashamed of it. Still, it needed saying. She waited. Betsy said in a low voice, "I've thought a lot about Chuck lately. Ever since I got the divorce. He looked so terrible in the courtroom. I couldn't hate him any more."

She added as though it were a serious fault, "I'm not a good hater."

"Sure, but what's the connection?"

"Why, I was thinking about you, and all of a sudden I felt I couldn't wait another minute. And then I thought, this was how Chuck felt. I never really loved anybody before," Betsy said, troubled. "I wish I could tell him."

Jo grinned. "Some day we'll have him over to dinner. He sounds like a nice fellow."

Betsy came into her arms, raising her face to be kissed. "Go on, get a lot of work done, but think about me once in a while. Will you?"

"And you’ll be here tonight."

She ran downstairs lightly, swinging her keys.

Out on the sidewalk, she turned and looked back.

Betsy was at the front window, smiling out. Jo had known she would be.

She broke into a run as the yellow bus lumbered to a stop at the corner. Better get to work, she told herself sternly. My girl's out of a job.

CHAPTER 21

The heavy
dull feeling that had hung over her lately was gone. In the late morning sunshine the many-windowed towers of North Michigan shone like gold. She got off the train at the Randolph exit and walked three blocks to the office, breathing in the crisp cool air with real pleasure. The elevator operator, heavy-lidded and relaxed between the morning coffee break rush and the early lunch crowd, smiled at her and flung open the door of the end cage. "Good morning, Miss Bates. It's a beautiful day."

She marched into the office with her shoulders squared and head up. Gayle, reading a confession magazine, jumped and looked guilty. She ignored the magazine. "Hi, Gayle, what's new?"

"Well, I'm going to buy my veil on my lunch hour."

And wouldn't you know it. Jo said heartily, "That's wonderful," and escaped without hearing the details. She already knew about Gayle's wedding dress, candlelight satin with a lace yoke; her slippers, white satin with seed pearls embroidered on the vamps; her wedding nightgown, blush pink with coffee lace and a plunging neckline. Enough was enough.

I've got my own wedding to think about, such as it is. Three months. Maybe she’ll change her mind. If she comes to live with me—oh God, if she does-maybe I'll have that nice boy in Cleveland make us some rings. If she'd like a ring. Better not go too fast, remember it's all new for her.

Stan was in his office. He lifted a hand as she sailed past. "Jo, come here.”

"What?"

"Come in a minute, I want to talk to you."

This was something new. Usually she sat at her desk, the mother image enthroned, while he stood bashfully in the doorway pouring his troubles and inadequacies into her lap. She was scornful of him, it was a reversal of roles that deepened her contempt, already solidified by his mother-domination and his inability to make the simplest decision without someone else's approval. It was difficult sometimes to let her real sympathy come to the face.

But something in his voice bothered her. She came back and stood in front of his desk. "What's the matter?"

Stan said, "Have you seen Betsy?" Jo said warily, "We had lunch together yesterday." Only yesterday, she thought, and so much has happened since. Now we're "Us". She added; "She's looking for a job," and then remembered that Betsy was supposed to have a job.

"I talked to her aunt last night. You haven't seen her otherwise?"

"Why should I?"

Stan's face was red. He looked like a spoiled child who, denied a toy, is debating whether to ask once more or throw himself on the floor and scream. He said, "I've called her a couple times, but she hangs up."

Well, good for her, Jo thought. After all, she didn't know until a few days ago—but that was in the past, it was better to forget it. She said cautiously, "Maybe she's busy."

She tell you she was dating me?"

"I
knew it, yes."

“Maybe you didn't know I was laying her." His voice was cold acid. "Maybe you didn't know that."

Jo’s hands were icy. She said, hearing her voice thin and remote, "That doesn't have anything to do with me."

"Doesn't it?"

"Of course not, why should it?"

Stan said, "I called her house last night. Her aunt said she was spending the night with you."

"What of it?"

Stan said, "I've never had any use for queers, Jo, but up till now I figured your personal life was your own business. You've done a good job and I'd hate to have to let you go."

She said, playing it stupid, "I'd hate to have you. What's the matter?"

He looked down at the desk top, avoiding her eyes. "She went to your place about nine-thirty last night. I called her aunt's at nine this morning and she wasn't home yet. Now you're just coming in—with the day half over." He hesitated. "The way you look—"