Unlike Others (7 page)

Jo said, "Let me buy you something. What are you having?"

"Bourbon and water."

"I’ll have one, too."

Time was suspended. Jo wasn't sure when the girl's hand touched her own; she knew it was the one real, solid thing in a room grown pleasantly misty. She closed her fingers around the other girl's thumb. "Would you hit me, or anything, if I asked what you're going to be doing tonight?"

"Depends."

"Would you come home with me?”

"What would your girl think?"

"She left me for a husband and a psychiatrist. Hey, that's bigamy." That seemed terribly funny. They both giggled.

"Where do you live?"

"Hyde Park."

"I'm Near North, but we can't go to my place because I'm sharing the apartment with a friend. We could take a taxi to your place. I have money enough to pay for one."

"So have I. Can you still walk if we have another drink?"

"Sure. How about you?"

"I'm feeling fine."

She did feel fine. A little drowsy, but that would wear off when the alcohol left her bloodstream. She said formally, "My name is Jo."

"I'm Linda."

They left together, hand in hand. Linda's steps were a little uneven, but not enough to create a problem. Following her into the cab, leaning over her to close the door, Jo took her hand again. The pressure of Linda's fingers was gentle and reassuring. She wore a light perfume. Her profile was clear and strong, seen in the muted glow from the street lamps. I like her, Jo thought.

She might wake up disgusted and tired, but she didn't think so. She yawned in the smoky warmth of the cab, then smiled. She wouldn't worry about tomorrow. She sat with her hand in Linda's, looking ahead to the moment when she would shut the apartment door behind them and turn the latch and take this pleasant girl in her arms.

CHAPTER 7

“Jo.”

"Yes?"

"Are you asleep?"

Jo lay still. A sweet familiar tingling beginning at the center of her body. So soon again? She thought in wonder. She said, "Sure."

Linda's laugh was soft and husky in the dark room. "It's cold over here."

"Move over, then."

They must have fallen asleep. And no wonder, considering all that had happened-all that had started happening as soon as the apartment door clicked shut behind them. Jo lay quietly, waiting. Linda's hand touched her breast. The nipple stiffened to meet it. All of the feeling in Jo's body concentrated in one small spot. She was afraid to breathe.

The hand moved down, turning on an electric current wherever it touched. "Are you tired?" Linda whispered.

"No. Here, put your hand here."

Quickly, without warning, Linda turned. A white blur in the darkness. The blanket slid to the edge of the bed and fell to the floor with a soft plop. "Are you tired? Do you want me to do this?"

Jo shivered. "Oh, yes."

Linda's tongue was tentative, delicately teasing. Jo's spine stiffened, her body moved uncontrollably. She was full of electricity. It spread in a widening arc until there was no Jo, only the current that sang and sizzled through her. Higher and higher, in waves. She heard her own voice from far away. "Don't stop. I'll die if you stop."

The current rose from the center of her being where Linda was, and spread to her toes and the roots of her hair. She writhed in wonderful anguish. When it began to ebb she clutched at Linda. "You too. Let me do it to you too."

To give pleasure, an equal need. To be carried away on this tide of electricity. Clutch at the excitement, hang on, don't let it go. She moaned.

Until she screamed in pleasure, and too late tried to be still.

The slow shuddering drop. Linda raised her head. "Wonderful," she whispered.

"Did it happen to you too?"

"Don't talk," Linda said. She moved over so that her head lay on the pillow beside Jo's. Linda's hair was wet with sweat, her breathing fast and shallow. Her body relaxed heavily against Jo.

"I want you to be happy," Jo said. A wonderful drowsiness was creeping over her. She shifted to put her arm under Linda's neck. Linda said, "I am happy," as if she meant it. Jo closed her eyes.

Jo reached over the side of the bed, found the blanket and spread it over their close-lying bodies. "I'm asleep," she whispered. And it was almost true. Her arms and legs were weightless and non-existent, her head was empty. She managed to open her eyes and take a last look at Linda's head, warm and damp against her breast. Linda's face was calm and beautiful in its satisfied repose. Her eyes were open. Jo said, "Darling, go to sleep."

"I won't stay unless you want me to."

Jo giggled. "It's almost morning. Go to sleep."

It was almost nine when she woke. Sunlight streamed in at the window, and Linda sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on her stockings. Jo rolled over and put her arm around Linda's waist, snuggling against her warm back. "Hey, don't get up."

"I'm late to work."

"So am I. Shall I call in sick for you?”

"No, I’ll go in." Linda looked around at her, smiling. "Thank you, darling. It's been the best."

"For me, too." She leaned forward as Linda moved, unwilling to lose contact. Don't ask. But she had to ask, the words were torn from her. "Am I going to see you again?"

"Maybe." Linda stood up. The space between them was suddenly cold and lonesome. She pulled on her panty girdle, fastened the tops of her stockings in four quick motions, reached behind her to hook her bra, and picked her skirt off the floor. Everything she did was neat and quick. Looking at her, Jo felt gawky and too tall. She watched while Linda found comb and lipstick in her clutch bag and neatly, quickly made herself ready for the day. Linda said, "I found towels and things in your bathroom. Thank you for everything, Jo."

"You're welcome."

Linda's face, made-up, took on the impassive look it had worn the night before. She's getting ready to go out and face people, Jo thought, feeling that something good was slipping away from her. She had to keep it from happening. "Linda, I have to tell you-it's never been this good before. With anyone."

"I know."

"Do you have a regular girl?"

"I don't want a regular girl." Linda bent and kissed her, carefully so as not to smudge the lipstick. "There's a girl staying with me now, she's a drunk and she needs help, but she isn't my regular girl. If I had one, though, I'd want her to be something like you."

She would have to be satisfied with that. She lay back against the pillow dented by both of their heads, pulling the sheet up against the cold morning air. Linda turned at the door of the bedroom. "I go to The Spot every once in a while," she said. "Mostly on Saturday nights."

"I’ll see you. Take care."

I'm going to feel terrible later on. Not because it was disgusting, like with that Marge—no, Madge, I picked up that time. But because it was so good. It was never so good with Karen, she was always holding back. Fighting herself. Or me. Or the fact of us together.

She was almost asleep when the telephone rang. She got up, shivering, and made her way a little unsteadily to the living room. "Yes?"

"Jo?"

"What's the matter, Stan?"

"Are you sick?"

"I feel terrible," Jo said, crossing her fingers behind her back, "but I'll be down in a little while."

"If you feel bad you better take the day off. There's a lot of this virus stuff going around."

"I'm all right." She hung up before he could start an argument. Once Stan got onto a subject he hung on forever. Now I've got a virus thing, she thought, I better remember to act sick and not go around beaming.

But her reflection in the bathroom mirror was clear and radiant, the eyes wide. I'm beautiful, she thought in surprise. That comes from being loved. Even an imitation of love will do it. She dressed with more care than usual, putting on silver hoop earrings. The hell with it, she thought cheerfully. I feel good, I'm going to look good. Maybe I'm no beauty but if I can make a girl like Linda happy, I can't be such a drip either.

Stan was in a dither. He was waiting for her at the door of the Topix office, his hands full of proof sheets. "Everybody must have a bug," he said crossly. "Gayle acts like she's walking in her sleep, and Betsy isn't coming down at all."

"What's with Betsy?"

"How would I know? Gayle's just putting in time until she's deflowered. I wish she'd do it and get it over with."

"Give me the galleys, I’ll rush them through."

For all her loss of sleep, she felt great. If he'll shut up and let me alone, she thought, I'll have the book out in no time. But he trailed her back to her office and stood there propped against the door, his favorite place for confidences and confessions. She sat down, waiting for him to get his troubles off his chest

"Have a good time yesterday?"

She had to stop and think. So much had happened since yesterday. "Oh sure, I bought some new shoes. That is, I picked some out," she said happily, "They're beautiful."

"Women!"

"Well, you wouldn't want me to come to work barefoot."

"My mother's always buying shoes."

She made a mental note not to bring the subject up again. "Anything exciting happen after I left?"

"Not especially. I’ll sure be glad when Gayle marries that guy and gets her mind back on her work. She's got a bad case of hot pants."

Jo thought that Gayle would most likely start worrying about a possible pregnancy the minute she got back from her honeymoon, but she knew better than to say so. "Well have to send wedding presents. A small office like this."

"I don't mind that." He looked past her at the gold curtain, rippling in the breeze. "I left a little early myself, last night. In fact, I took Betsy out for a drink."

"Yeah?" She looked at him. "That was nice."

"Why are women so inconsistent?"

"Are they?"

"One minute they're snuggling up to you, wide open for attention. The next they're ready to push your face in. It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe you startled her. She hasn't been divorced very long. Maybe she's a little jumpy."

"You don't think she's queer or anything, do you?"

I should be so lucky, Jo thought. She said, "No, I don't think so. She's just a little nervous."

"I'm taking her out tonight." He stopped, looking abashed. I will not ask for details, she thought stubbornly. But it didn't do any good, she was going to get them just the same. He said, "I told my mother I have to go to a meeting. As long as I'm in by ten-thirty or eleven she won't mind."

Well, Jo thought, we've been over this before. But she was a slow learner, she had to try one more time. She said gently, "Look, you're a grown man. Why don't you simply tell your mother you have a date with a girl?"

"She might have an attack."

"If she can have an attack whenever she feels like it, then she's faking."

"I know it. The thing is," Stan said miserably, "if anything serious happened, I'd never forgive myself."

So there you are, Miss Bates. You can't very well tell this devoted son he'd be better off with the old girl dead. Or that he ought to put her in a nursing home with an attendant physician who knows the difference between real heart trouble and the kind you turn on and off. She said cheerfully, "Well, have fun. Buy her a couple of drinks, a girl always appreciates that."

"My mother always waits up for me. She’ll smell it on my breath."

Oh, Jesus, Jo thought, who unbuttons your rompers when you go to the bathroom? She turned away, spreading the galleys on her desk, reaching for a pencil, testing the point against her thumb. Stan said, "Let me know if you get snowed under, I’ll help," and moved away, his high forehead puckered with anxiety.

He hadn't solved anything, but he felt better. Jo thought: poor weak-minded bastard, if he'd put his foot down just once he'd have it made. Maybe he doesn't want a solution. Maybe he just likes to suffer; lots of people do.

But she couldn't waste this day worrying about Stan and his mother. Not when she felt like this, with the wonderful warm languor of after-love running through her like fine wine. She shoved the galleys away, stretched, and got up and went to the window. The familiar scene below was like a confirmation of her own well-being. The roofs of the cabs were bright and shiny, the buildings rose proudly above the street, the sounds of traffic and voices came up muted and harmonious.

She didn't know Linda's last name, where she lived, what she worked at or whether she would ever see her again. She didn't know, really, whether she had a steady girl—it was possible, in spite of Linda's protests. Fidelity didn't always go hand in hand with love. It had taken her a long time to realize that. Now she no longer blamed a girl for lying, or at least keeping one side of her life secret.

Linda might even be married. She might have a couple of kids. Plenty of women found out what they were when it was too late, and some of them were able to live a double life. She might be bisexual, taking love where she found it, with both men and women. That was a big subject for discussion with Rich and his boys, it cropped up every time someone in their crowd made a straight marriage. Rich said it all depended on your concept of love. If you were really involved with someone, it was hard to tell where affection ended and passion began.

Jo was sure of only two things. One was that Linda was a superb lover. No matter what the pattern of her life might be, she had the finesse that has to be learned as well as the capacity for passion that's inborn.

The other was that if it was at all possible, she was going to see Linda again; she was going to take her to bed.

CHAPTER 8

She thought about Linda often in the days that followed. On Saturday she considered going to The Spot on the off chance that Linda would be there, but she was incapacitated (Karen's word for a simple biological process that she had always taken for granted until she discovered Karen's pathological resentment of it). She put in a dull weekend tidying the apartment, getting her clothes washed and ironed, cooking a Sunday dinner for which she had no appetite. This is how it will be when I'm old, she told herself. I’ll come home from the office every night and do my housework and maybe watch television for a while before I go to bed, alone. After a few years maybe I won't even notice it. What else is there for an old dyke?