Punish Me with Kisses (32 page)

Sometimes, ascending the stairs to Dr. Bowles' apartment, Penny would feel attracted by the stench. It came from the attic, Dr. Bowles'
catroom
, which she'd heard about but had never seen. The smell was like a pheromone that drew her up. If only, she thought, she could drop her defenses, give up her vanities, and yield, then perhaps she could come to love old James and learn the lessons he had to teach.

There was a Mayday the last week of February. Penny was at an editorial meeting when a secretary came in and handed Mac a note. He raised his eyebrows—Ms. Chapman, it seemed, had an emergency call. Penny excused herself and took the call in her office. The patient on duty told her to hurry. The cats belonging to John, Dr. Bowles' oldest patient, were under attack. His neighbors had complained about the odor and a Health Department van was on its way.

Penny, doing just as she'd been told, taxied home from work. She grabbed the two cat boxes she'd been issued, took another taxi to an address in Chelsea, and met the others there. It was an old brick tenement. Wendy was organizing things at the curb. Everyone was working together, rushing up the four flights to John's apartment, stashing cats into carrying cases (three cats or six kittens to a box), then dashing back down to the street where Wendy was dispatching cabs.

Penny felt her heart speed up as she charged the stairs. John's Puerto Rican neighbors were standing on the landings cursing in Spanish at the rescuers. A woman with a shrill voice yelled "Cat Freak!" as she swept by. She barely squeezed by two descending patients, their rescue boxes filled.

When she reached John's apartment she was out of breath. The stench hit her even before she crossed the threshold, a nauseating odor of cat urine and male cat spray so foul, so sickening she feared she might throw up. John was in a state, flailing around his little apartment, grabbing for cats, missing, then grabbing again, finally catching one, cuddling it, telling it not to be afraid, then forcing it into a box. Though it was a cold February day, his shirt was wet with sweat. He told Penny he was giving her six females, then rattled off their names so fast she could barely take them in. "They like Puss 'n Boots brands," he yelled after her. "Chicken parts and tuna bits are best. They've all been vaccinated of course. I hope they get along with James—"

His voice trailed off as she descended. She ran into three more patients on the stairs. They were worried, on the edge of panic. The Health Department van had just pulled up, and now John's neighbors were yelling to the officials while Wendy tried to distract them until
the
Mayday was complete.

Penny was confronted by a chaotic sight as she stepped out onto the street. Wendy was gesticulating at a pair of men in uniforms, calling them "sadists" and "murderers," while the Puerto Ricans, leaning out of windows, were urging them to be quick. The woman who'd called her "cat freak" pointed at her as she came out. Penny turned, walked swiftly away, her arms sore in their sockets from lugging the carrying cases filled with cats.

In the taxi riding home she found it difficult to blame John's neighbors. The smell that emanated from his apartment was horrible. Nobody should have to live with that. Yet, she thought, there was something lovely about the way they'd rescued the cats. She felt part of something bigger than herself, a group that cared more for little defenseless lives than the Health Code and the law. She even felt smug at the thought that she was a rescuer, a protector of animals normally brutalized by man. She'd subordinated herself, snatched away threatened creatures from the brink. For a few minutes she'd forgotten her troubles, so petty, she realized, in terms of creatures' lives and deaths.

Now she had six new cats to serve in addition to her own. Suddenly there were cats leaping all over her bed and crying in the night. Her apartment was getting messy, the litter box in her bathroom was overflowing, there was shrieking and fighting, and she couldn't remember all the new ones' names. It was like having all these strangers in her home, having to play hostess to them, feed them, clean up after them, and all the time she felt James watching her, studying her, daring her to meet his stare. She felt dominated by the animals, felt that they were running her life. She complained to Dr. Bowles and told her she couldn't handle them. The doctor assured her that she could.

"There're too many," Penny said. "They're taking up too much time."

"What would you do if you didn't have to care for them? Go out to singles' places, bring home strange men?"

"Not necessarily that," she said, "but I need quiet to read, peace and calm to think."

"People think too much, worry too much about their problems. Better to do constructive work, take responsibility for little lives."

"Can't someone else take some of them at least?" Surely, she thought, Dr. Bowles would agree to that.

"I'm afraid not, Penny. Everyone else has more. Some of our friends take responsibility for forty or fifty lives. You'll just have to wait until John finds a new place to live."

"I don't know," said Penny, "don't know if I can wait that long."

Dr. Bowles' face turned stern, her tone a little cross. It was the first time Penny had seen her annoyed. "I'm disappointed in you. I wonder if my therapy has taken hold. Maybe you should worry a little less about your personal life and a little more about why you can't deal with cats." Penny thought about it, decided she could deal with them. It was James she couldn't deal with—he wasn't loving, wasn't sweet, made her nervous, seemed to gloat over her frustration, made her hate her apartment, hate staying in. The others, John's females, and her two little blue-points, touched her, but James just gazed at her, cold and arrogant.

C
indy really impossible these days. I'd make her a fucking slave if I wanted a slave, but since I don't I'm stuck with her on another level. "You're really making an ass out of yourself," I told her today. "You're really acting like a jerk" She stared at me like I'd just told her she had incurable cancer of the tits. "All right, " I said, "take out the garbage. And you'd better drive down to the village and pick me up a couple boxes of
Tampax
. I feel my period coming on." Well—that ought to keep her off me a couple of days at least, unless, of course, she's a vampire (ugh!) on top of everything else. (All I need now—right?)

W
here could she go? Where could she find relief? She was bored with Aspen now, the mad scramble to find a partner and get out. The Chapman security men were still following her, especially attentive, she noticed, since the night she'd given them the slip. She could toy with them, she supposed, continue to try and use them to provoke her father. But she'd pretty much given up on that—it seemed like a lost cause to her now. Still she couldn't stay in, had to get out, get away from James. Desperate one night, she thought of Cynthia French. She called her at the hot line number and was amused to hear her Daisy Buchanan voice: "Hi! Lesbian hot line. Cindy speaking. How can I help you?"

She was about to identify herself when Cynthia put her on hold. She'd just meant to see if Cynthia were free, if she could meet her someplace later for a drink, but something about the way she'd answered reminded her of the Cynthia portions of the diary, and then, when Cynthia came back on, she found herself assuming Suzie's mocking tone.

"Gee," she said, "I got a real problem."

"That's what we're here for. Fire away!"

"Well, it's kind of complicated
really
—"

"Don't be shy."

"It's kind of strange."

"I have a feeling, whoever you are, that you're trying to put me on."

"No. It's true. I really am growing a penis."

"
Who is this
?"

"Hi,
Cin
! Who do you think it is?"

"Child?"

"Uh-huh."

"For a minute there—
Jes-sus
."

"Thought maybe I was someone else?"

Cynthia paused. "Thought you were mad at me," she said.

"Why should I be mad?"

"Well, for talking to those security guys, I guess."

"Forget it. I told you that."

"I'm really sorry about that, Child."

"Believe me, it's OK."

"You sound just like her, you know."

"I know. Listen—I'd like to see you. Let's get together. I've never been to the Sahara. I was wondering—would you take me there?"

"You really want to go?"

"Sure. Why not? I'm trying to open myself up to different things."

They made a date for Saturday, because Cynthia was on the "hot line" the next three nights. After Penny hung up she asked herself what she was doing. Was she putting Cynthia on? Trying to be her "
Suze
"?

T
he Sahara was dark and atmospheric, full of slinky models in beautiful clothes as well as women dressed as men. Penny had dressed in a tight blouse and jeans, then had splashed herself with
Amazone
. Cynthia wore an army surplus jumpsuit and paratrooper boots. She obviously felt secure at the Sahara, nodding to people, exchanging whispers and pats. "They all want to know who you are," she said.

"I'm surprised they don't recognize me."

"Well, it's kind of dark, you know."

They went upstairs to the disco and began to dance. Penny could feel the "vibes," the smell of women on the make, perfumes mixing, female perspiration. She didn't feel repelled. The music took over, sweat broke out on her forehead, and for an hour she became lost in the mood. People came up to dance with her and ask questions: "How are you?"

"What's your name?"

"What do you do?" Finally Cynthia squeezed her arm. "Want to come home?" she whispered. Penny nodded and they left.

It was bitter cold out on the street. Cynthia hugged her for warmth. In the taxi going downtown Cynthia kissed her on the mouth. Penny paid off the taxi at Bank Street. Cynthia unlocked the door, led her to the bedroom, lit up a joint, inhaled, passed it, urged her to take deep drags. While Penny inhaled Cynthia reached to her, slowly unbuttoned her blouse.

She lay back then, watching Cynthia take off her top, the joint hanging Bogart-style from her lips. They lay together for a while, smoking, getting high. Their legs entwined. They strained against each other. Then they started kissing and stroking each other's breasts.

"You're hot," said Cynthia. "I can feel it coming off you." She unbuckled Penny's belt, unzipped her fly, pulled off her jeans, then reached in with her hand. "Hot. Are you ever, Child. Oh—you're
really
hot."

Penny lay back, letting Cynthia do what she wanted. Again she felt as if she'd walked into the pages of the diary. She thought of those nights when Cynthia had come into New York from Sarah Lawrence and Suzie had let her "do me" while she lay back thinking about her own attempts at oblivion. Then she heard herself gasping, crying out. She was excited, coming. Cynthia smiled.

"You're really into it," she said. "You're not like
Suze
, not a tease at all."

They were sharing a second joint when Penny heard a key turning in the lock. She looked around for her jeans. "Stay cool," Cynthia said. "That's just Fiona coming in." Cynthia went into the living room. Penny could hear whispering, then Cynthia came back. "Hey, meet my roommate." Penny looked up, saw a stunning black girl leaning in the doorway, smiling wryly at the scene.

"Hi," Penny said.

"So you're little sister, huh?"

Penny shrugged. Cynthia smiled. Fiona stood there examining her, her hands set on her hips. "Well, well, well —what a sweet duet." The girl laughed. "How 'bout I join the fun?"

"Here, take a drag." Cynthia handed Penny another joint. "That OK with you?" she asked.

Well
, she thought,
why not
?

"Good girl." Cynthia patted her cheek. Then the three of them were together, snuggling, kissing, making out. Mostly Penny watched. She didn't feel she had to "do" anything. She was Suzie now—she felt as if she were.

"Her sis was my first
lover
," Cynthia was saying. They were lying around at odd angles to each other, exhausted, close to sleep.

"Yeah," said Fiona. "I've heard a lot about that."

"Ought to be getting home," Penny said, beginning to feel embarrassed, not wanting to intrude upon the delicate relations of these roommates. Cynthia went downstairs with her, stood with her while she waited for a cab. "Ever find that diary?" she asked just as a taxi pulled up. Penny shook her head. "Guess it's just as well. No good could come of it." She made a kissing motion with her mouth, then gently closed the taxi door.