Odd Girl (11 page)

"It's great to see a female face around here," Cora said. "We'll be back in swing in a couple of weeks, though."

"Does this happen every year?" Anne asked.

Cora nodded. "Someone in the Department has it in for me."

Anne was tempted to ask Cora if she "payed off," but thought better of it.

"If I told you not to come back," Cora said, "what are you doing here?" She placed her hand fondly over Anne's.

Anne blushed with embarrassment. Cora was interested in her.

"I wanted excitement," she said.

Cora laughed and took her hand away. "You sure picked the wrong spot."

Cora was right. Anne looked toward the staircase and saw the door to the upstairs room was marked Closed. Nothing, but nothing was going on at Cora's.

"Excuse me." Cora rose again to stop more people at the door. Anne looked down at her drink. She was glad that Cora's was quiet after all. She had not really wanted noise. It might be nice just to be with Cora and Skippy tonight, and then to go home and rest. After all, tomorrow was a working day.

Just as she began enjoying the-lack of excitement, Cora came back with some people.

"I brought you some friends," Cora said. "Frenchy, Jane, Mel, this is Butch."

"The name's Anne," Anne corrected.

"It's Butch to me," Cora said. "I can't remember names."

"Hello." Frenchy was a very old man, a banker perhaps, but very old with gleaming false teeth.

"Hello," Anne smiled politely. She did not really want more people at the table.

"May we buy you a drink?" Mel asked, while helping Jane sit down.

"No, thanks." Anne looked at her scotch. "I've got one."

Cora left them again, to greet more newcomers.

"The next one," Mel insisted.

Anne submitted sadly to their intrusion, looking with nostalgia toward the bar where Skippy was occupied with several orders.

"What do you do?" Jane asked her.

"Office work," Anne said, hoping this might discourage them. They were plainly tourists out for kicks. "And what about you?" she looked at the men.

"We spend money," Frenchy smiled.

Mel laughed, "But only on women."

"I do hope Cora will join us again," Jane said. She was very blonde and very fake. Her dress was white and it was plain by the way it was cut that they had come by car.

"We're expecting another couple," Mel said. "I hope you're corning with us to the party."

"I don't know," Anne answered. She was feeling uncomfortable now and wished that Skippy would come over and protect her.

Skippy read her thoughts. She came over with a tray.

"Hi," she said to Anne, "mind if I join?"

"Please do," Anne said, moving over so that there would be room for her. But Cora immediately returned and Skippy had to get up again to give back her seat.

"How about some dancing, Cora?" Mel said. "It's after midnight. Should be safe."

"Okay," Cora said. She did not sit and abruptly took hold of Anne's wrist. "Come on."

Anne let herself be led to the dance floor and followed Cora's smooth but awkward step to a slow mambo.

"What are you doing with those birds?" she said.

"But you brought them over," Anne said.

"Never mind what I did," Cora said, "just don't walk out with them."

"I won't," she said. Anne was annoyed. No one in his right mind would walk out with a group of strangers from a bar like this.

"I'm taking you home," Cora announced. "You shouldn't be alone at this hour."

"What makes you so safe?" Anne said impatiently. She was not a child.

Her remark stopped Cora for a moment and then she laughed. "Honey, I don't need nobody. All the girls come to me." Then she softened and continued to dance, "Maybe you're not so dumb."

Cora's cheek was against Anne's now and Anne was amused. Cora was trying to act the Romeo, and it was refreshing to play her game. She pressed closer into what was now a fox trot and closed her eyes. If only Esther could be so uncomplicated.

When she opened her eyes again, they had danced near the table and Cora was ready to lead her back. The new couple had arrived and were standing there, waiting for introductions.

Anne froze. There was a tall handsome man—possibly an actor, and with him—almost behind him so that Anne had not seen her at first—was Beth, pale in a long black evening gown.

"What's the matter?" Cora said, feeling Anne's grip tighten on her hand.

"Nothing," Anne said, composing herself; she walked back to the table with Cora.

Mel made introductions. Anne did not hear the man's name, nor anything said. Her eyes were fixed on Beth's, and Beth's eyes were soft, embarrassed, full of concern, as startled as Anne's.

"Hello, Anne," she smiled, pretending to be introduced.

Anne nodded and sat, unable to listen or to speak. Inside of her a wave of resentment and anger was forming, anger against Beth's escort, and the breaking, the awful tearing in her stomach of the night before. There seemed to be no one else there but Beth. Anne could listen only when she spoke.

"Do you come here often, Anne?"

"No." She blushed. A great feeling of shame was also upon her. She did not want Beth to think her part of a place like Cora's.

"I've been trying to get her to come with us," Mel said. His voice pierced Anne's ears through a cushion.

She saw Beth pale, more so than before, and her eyes were disturbed.

"Are you coming, Anne?" she said.

"Maybe," Anne said. In a way she wanted to go with them now, to save Beth, to take her away from her escort and take her home, back where she belonged, in Anne's arms.

Beth started to say something and then stopped. She got up and addressed only Anne.

"Which way is the ladies' room?"

Anne took the chance. She rose abruptly and said, "I was about to go there."

They walked with great composure toward the back, toward the dirty little room that said LADIES.

"Anne." Beth closed the door behind her and went to hold her, to press her against the wall—but the wall was dirty and she stopped, and Anne stopped, and they looked at each other.

"You're all off to a party," Anne said.

"Please don't come with us," Beth replied.

"I won't," Anne said. She sensed something violently repulsive was about to happen between them. "What sort of party is it?" she asked carefully.

Beth looked away. "We'd better go back to the others."

Anne took her hand and made her stay where she was. Beth's hand was not familiar tonight—it seemed limp and artificial, and the nails were covered with polish.

"Beth, why are you this way?" Anne said.

Beth squeezed her hand and repeated, "We'd better go back."

Anne followed her back, past puzzled Cora and winking Skippy, and took her place at the table again.

"Is it safe in there?" Jane said playfully.

"Quite safe," Beth said, looking at her drink.

"Are you coming with us?" Mel said, trying to take Anne's hand. Anne took her hand away quickly and held her drink.

"I'm afraid not," she said. "Cora's taking me home."

"Pity," Frenchy said, "but why don't you both come?"

"No, thanks," Anne said determinedly.

"We'll be showing movies," Frenchy said in what was supposed to be a tempting tone.

Anne rose, not wishing to hear more. "Excuse me," she said. "It's getting late and I work tomorrow."

She went to the bar to pick up Cora. "Are you still taking me home?" she said.

Cora was surprised. She paused to think for a moment and then said, "Sure, baby, okay."

She stopped at the hatcheck closet to pick up her jacket and then ushered Anne out. From the back of the room, the party waved at her and Beth's eyes, desperate and anxious, followed her.

"What went on between you two?" Cora said when they were out in the night.

"Just an old flame," Anne said coldly.

Cora's car, a red convertible, was parked down the street. Anne was surprised. She thought they would have to walk.

"Neat," she said to Cora and watched her smile.

They got in and drove off.

"Where do you live?" Cora asked.

"Across from the Oval," Anne said. She did not want to give Cora the exact building number.

Cora stepped on the gas and, with expert disregard for speed limits, took her there in two minutes.

"We could have walked," Cora laughed.

"But this car is so impressive," Anne smiled. They sat with the top down in front of Anne's door and looked at the dark street. The crowds had gone and there were only the late drunks lying on the streets or stumbling home.

"This is no place for you to live," Cora said.

"I like it," Anne said.

Cora was silent for a minute and then asked "Do I see you again?"

"Perhaps," Anne said.

Cora pressed the button that put the top up and the black canvas roof covered them from the street.

"Are you going to kiss me?" Anne asked.

Cora sighed. "Don't ask questions." She reached over and found Anne's mouth with hers.

What a professional kiss, Anne thought. It's been thoroughly rehearsed.

Cora let her go and straightened her collar and turned on the motor again. "Go home and behave yourself," she said.

"Thanks," Anne said, then, impulsively, she kissed Cora's cheek. "Good night, Mother."

She got out and the convertible raced off again, leaving Anne alone on the street. She quickened her steps to her door and it was not until she reached it that the running of footsteps behind her pierced the silence.

"Anne—"

Anne turned, feeling a chill in her spine. All at once the street was filled and she was surrounded, made helpless, awkward.

Esther was running toward her.

"I thought you'd never come!" Esther stopped in front of Anne, a little breathless. "I took time off for coffee. What's the matter? Surprised to see me?" She bent her head boyishly and smiled a guilty smile.

Anne tried not to seem clumsy. "But you left, and I thought—"

"I had an appointment," Esther said quickly, not letting her finish. "Sorry."

"How about another cup of coffee?" Anne said.

"Hell, no." Esther kicked a pebble. "Let's walk through the park."

"Now?"

"Best time," Esther said. "We can see-saw and sing madly. There's no one to hear."

"All right," Anne said. She was reluctant. The day had been a long one and she was tired. But Esther took her hand.

"Come on, sleepy. It's a lovely morning." They reached the small park and sat on a bench. Esther put her feet up and yawned.

"Are you high?" Anne asked.

"On coffee," she nodded, stretching. She folded her arms under her chin and gazed down from the back of the bench on the young grass. Anne watched her. Esther's skin matched the grays and whites of the buildings across the street and her eyes were like their dark windows, silent and peaceful.

"There's a mist that rises from the dew-kissed grass and the birds chirp!" Esther said wryly.

Anne could not help laughing. Esther's abstract mood had wakened her and now there was that tingle in her spine, that refreshing awareness of Esther and the perfume of her body.

Esther turned then, sensing Anne's look, and her own eyes rested fully on Anne. A slow smile began to form on Esther's lips; her eyes were softer than usual. All at once her entire figure became softness, her posture less erect, her head awkward but friendly. And then Anne saw for the first time something that was not male in Esther—something that was girlish and kind, and even gentle. It took away the chill of the night air, replaced it with a fire of dull aching longing.

Esther laughed, "Diddle, diddle, chimpanzidle. Man is mind and mind's a riddle. Burn inside yet play your fiddle."

"What's that?" Anne said.

"Just a poem," she smiled. Now she rose, pulling Anne up. "Let's walk on the grass. Take off your shoes." She bent down, removed her shoes and socks, and looked at Anne's feet, waiting for her to follow.

It was too great a temptation. Anne took them off.

Now both were barefoot. The grass was wet but they moved too quickly to feel cold. A new freedom had been won in going barefoot. It was as if hopping, running and walking had never been done before now—as if no one ever walked with shoes on.

In a moment, they were lying on the grass and Esther's elbow was touching Anne's shoulder. The church clock chimed six; there wasn't anyone anywhere except for a policeman on the other side of the large fountain. He could not see them.

Esther was humming a tune to herself and Anne was squinting at the sky, bright before sunrise. The light was making her eyes itch with sleep, making them water, and sleep was pressing her to the ground so that she could not move. Then Esther's face came between her and the sky.

Dawn, behind Esther, made her face dark and her features obscure. Slowly the dark face came forward until it had blocked out all of the sky and Esther's features were plain again, her deep-set eyes and white skin, her open, narrow mouth, open and tender, tender and near until it was not a mouth but a kiss, a kiss with more than Esther's mouth, a kiss with Esther's breasts, her hair, her hands, her thighs, a kiss that was more than a kiss and demanded more in return.

It was over too quickly and they turned away from each other and lay on the grass breathing hard. Esther said "Damn!"

"Let's go home," Anne said, forcing her tired back to lift her up. She looked around. No one had seen them. Esther rose quickly after her and they walked with pretended innocence, still breathing much too quickly, their eyes searching the ground, searching desperately for a place, just any place, a doorway, an alley, any place where they might be alone, might kiss again, but there was nowhere. They could only hold hands.

And then they were in Anne's hallway and Esther wanted to stop there but Anne pulled her forward, up the stairs to her door. There they fumbled for the keys, Esther searching Anne's pockets and making the fire in her body almost pain and worse. And then the door was opened and closed behind them and they were free to be together—and themselves.