I Am A Woman. Ann Bannon

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СКАЧАТЬ Laura squirmed to hear her sometimes.

      “We see each other,” Marcie went on, “because we can’t keep our hands off each other. We fight because we’re ashamed of what we want from each other. At least, I am. I guess Burr doesn’t have any shame. No, that’s not fair. I guess he’s the one who’s sure he’s in love. Sometimes I think I am, because I want to keep seeing him. And other times, I think it’s just his big broad shoulders.”

      “Don’t see him for a while,” Laura said. “Or try talking less when you do. See what happens. Or do you just want to keep torturing yourself?”

      “I guess I do,” said Marcie with such a disarming smile that Laura had to smile back.

      “Well, it’s not my business. I can’t pass out any helpful hints,” Laura said. I won’t care about your personal life, I can’t, she thought.

      Marcie laughed, walking around the room, peeling off her clothes. “Laura, you’re a funny girl,” she said. “You’re not like other girls I know.”

      “I’m not?” Laura felt an old near-forgotten sick feeling come up in her chest.

      “No. Other girls love to talk about things. They love to gossip. Why, I know some who would get started on Burr and keep going until they had to be gagged. But you’re different. You just sit there and read and think. Don’t you get worn out doing so much thinking?”

      “What makes you think I do so much?”

      “Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you?”

      “Everybody thinks.”

      “Not as much as you do.”

      “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

      “I don’t mean that. I mean—I guess I mean, why don’t you ever go out?”

      “I do. I saw that musical last week.”

      “I don’t mean with me. Or other girls. I mean with boys.”

      Laura loathed conversations like these. She felt as if she had spent her whole life justifying herself to somebody—mostly Merrill Landon, but others too. As if everything she did or didn’t do had to be inspected and approved. If it wasn’t approved it stuck in her craw somewhere and came up now and then to make her sick. “I’m new in New York,” she said. “I don’t know anyone yet.”

      “How about Dr. Carstens? You said he was good-looking.”

      “He’s married.”

      “Well, the other one, then?”

      “He’s practically married.”

      “Well, how about the big shot?”

      “He’s a grandfather.” She said it sarcastically.

      Marcie threw her hands up and laughed. “Laura, I’m going to have to do something about you.”

      “Don’t do anything about me, please, Marcie.” Something in the tone of her voice sobered Marcie up.

      “Why not?” she said.

      “I—I just don’t want to be a bother, that’s all.”

      “A bother!” Marcie came and sat beside her on the bed, wearing only the bottoms of a pair of blue jersey pajamas, cut like slim harem pants. Her breasts were high and full and unbearably sweet. “Laura, I like you. We’re living together. We’re friends. I guess I’ve made a bad impression on you with Burr and everything, but I want you to know I really like you. You’re no bother.” She smiled. “I’ll get Burr to fix you up with Jack Mann. We’ll go somewhere together. We need to get out. Maybe we’d quit quarreling if we didn’t sit around this apartment all the time.”

      She paused, and Laura tried not to look at her.

      “How about it?” Marcie said.

      Laura was in a familiar situation. She’d been in it before, she’d be in it again, there was no escaping it. This is a heterosexual society and everybody plays the game one way or another. Or pretends to play it for appearances’ sake.

      “I’d love to,” Laura said.

      “Good! What night?”

      “Any night.” Laura wanted to shove her off the bed, to throw the covers at her; anything to cover up her gleaming bosom. She felt herself go hot and cold by turns and it exasperated her. She wondered how obvious it was. But even in her discomfort she knew it didn’t show as much as it felt. She finally climbed past Marcie and out of the bed, making a hasty way to the bathroom.

      “I’ll call Burr,” Marcie called after her.

      Laura closed the bathroom door and leaned heavily against it, panting, her arms clasped tight around herself, rocking back and forth, her eyes shut. Spasms went through her and she shook herself angrily. Her hands stole downward in spite of herself and suddenly all her feeling was fixed in one place, clarified, shattering. There was a moment of suppressed violence when she clapped one hand over her mouth, helpless in her own grasp, and her imprisoned mouth murmured, “Marcie, Marcie, Marcie,” into her hand. And then came relief, quiet. The trembling ceased, the heaving breath slowed down. She relaxed utterly, with only just enough strength in her legs to hold her up, depending on the door to do the rest. “Damn her,” she said in a faint whisper. “Damn her.” It was the first time she realized how strong her “friendly” feelings for Marcie really were and she was dismayed.

      Laura went quickly to the washbowl and turned on the tap. She ought to be making some noise. People don’t disappear into bathrooms for ten minutes in utter silence. At least not in this bathroom where every pipe had its own distinct and recognizable scream. In a few seconds Marcie was calling at her through the door.

      “Laura? Can I come in?”

      “Of course.”

      “We’re going to make it for Friday. We’ll see a show.”

      “That sounds fine.”

      “It’ll be fun.”

      I will not look at her, Laura told herself, and buried her face in a washcloth. She scrubbed herself assiduously while Marcie chattered. Damn her anyway, I won’t look at her. She has no claim on me, that was a silly fool thing I did. I’ll pretend it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen, it didn’t happen. She was afraid that if she did look it might happen again. She rinsed her face slowly and carefully in water from the groaning tap, and still Marcie stood there talking.

      Laura reached for a towel and dried her face. She hung the towel up again and turned to walk out of the bathroom, ready to ignore Marcie. But Marcie had slipped into pajama tops and looked quite demure. Except for her extraordinarily pretty face. Laura stared at her, as she had known she would, as she did more and more lately.

      “We’ll take in a show in Greenwich Village, because it’s easier to get tickets—at least to this one—and besides, Burr knows—what’s the matter, Laura?”

      “What? Oh, nothing. Nothing.”

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