Stranger On Lesbos (24 page)

"I wonder
"

"Oh, there's nothing to wonder about," Kay said dryly.

"They'll try again. I think I've always known it."

"It seems so different when it's somebody else."

"I suppose all lesbians think they're different. I'm not cheap, I’m not promiscuous, it's different with us, we're not like the people you see in those cruddy places. Did you ever stop to think that's why we like to come to Karla's? Not to be with our own kind, the way we keep telling ourselves, but to find somebody we can look down on. You come to a crummy joint like this and you think, well, anyhow we're different."

"We
are
different."

"Sure. We're discreet, we wear skirts."

"Sometimes I think Bake hates me."

"She probably does. Everybody has times of hating everybody else. I wouldn't worry about that right now," Kay said anxiously. "What I'm worrying about right now is how to get her out of here before something gives. It's not so long since umpteen people spent the night in the pokey because of her lousy temper."

"We can't just pick her up and carry her out, that's for sure."

"Funny thing is, when she's sober she's scared to death of the law. She was picked up and held for a few days, once, and she still flips every time she thinks about it."

"I know. I found out the hard way."

"Sure."

"Maybe Jane could talk her into leaving."

"Over my dead body. Jane'll go right along home with her if that happens."

"Do you think I'm happy about it?"

Kay smiled sourly. "Okay. I suppose nobody has any strings on Jane, either."

"The funny thing is, usually Bake hates to stay in one place. You just get settled down and she's ready to move on."

"Bake's running away from something," Kay said. "I don't know what. Maybe if she knew, herself, she wouldn't need to run any more. I guess we're all running away. Maybe that's why we're what we are." She laid a warm hand on Frances'. "Maybe that's why so many of us drink too much," she said sadly. "That's a kind of running away, too."

"That's true where I'm concerned. When I can't make up my mind about something, that's when I find myself getting fuzzy around the edges."

"Look," Kay said slowly, "it's none of my business, but if I had a husband and he was halfway decent to me
I used to be married, maybe you know, he was famous but he was a worthless bum
but if I had a husband I could get along with, I think I'd stick with him. Maybe it isn't all moonlight and roses. Okay, so it's very romantic watching your girl get soused and make a public fool of herself. Not to mention the nights when you wake up and wonder how long you've got before she gets interested in someone else."

"I don't know," Frances said on a long sigh. "I don't know any answers. I'm afraid to look ahead."

Kay put a hand on her arm. "You're a nice kid. Let me know if I can ever do anything."

Frances gave her a watery smile. "What can anybody do?”

They went back into the crowded smoky room, arm in arm.

Whatever ailed Bake, Frances decided as they got into their jackets and counted out the money for the drinks they'd had, it was building up to something major. Since Christmas, when she had refused to stay at the apartment, they had seen each other seven or eight times
roughly twice a week. Roughly was the right word too, she thought, remembering the bickering and recriminations, the way every contact ended in a quarrel in spite of her good resolutions not to fight with Bake.

True, Bake was drinking too much. She seemed to be spending more time at home than usual
January and February were slow months, she said, not meeting Frances' eyes
and she was drinking alone. Certainly she no longer stopped at one ritual Martini, or two, when they lunched together.

But this was more than the temporary irritability that too much liquor aroused in her. That was a minor thing, annoying while it lasted but nothing to worry about. Since she was a busy and healthy girl, given to long walks and full of vitality, the physical damage was probably slight. Frances had learned to overlook her occasional lapses, since the others seemed to take them for granted. This was more serious.

"It's a kind of sickness," she said to Kay as they led their little party outside.

"Sure. Except she probably wouldn't see the only kind of doctor who could help her."

"But what is it?"

Kay shrugged. "How do I know? Maybe she feels guilty about something. Maybe she isn't getting what she wanted out of love. Maybe her mother hated her, for Christ's sake. All I know is, if you were smart you'd get out while the getting is good."

"Would you, if Jane got like this?"

Kay smiled tiredly. "Don't be silly."

The rest of the night was a weariness of alcohol, smoky air, and strident voices. Frances sat slumped at a small table
in
a strange room, thinking how odd it was that bars mushroomed into existence and died again. She played with her glass and watched Bake and Jane drink. The hands of her watch crawled along with incredible slowness.

Kay said under her breath, "Nothing as dull as having a good time, is there?"

It was five o'clock when Bake finally fell asleep, with her head on the smeary table top. Kay winked at Frances. "Come on, let's get her out of here while she can still navigate. Janie, pay the man."

"What with, box tops?"

"You've got most of your paycheck left. I've been picking up the tab for you all night."

They waited while Jane fumbled out the money. "Okay. Alley-oop!"

"She'll be madder than hell if she wakes up."

"She won't wake up," Jane said. She staggered a little herself as they reached the outside door and the cold air hit her in the face.

Bake's legs were rubbery, but she was able to walk after a fashion, with the other two steering and supporting her. They bundled her into the car, still almost asleep and muttering resentfully, and she vomited all over the back seat. Frances choked, watching her.

Kay rolled down the window. "I'm sorry, kid. Try to ignore it. She'll be all right as soon as we get her home and in bed."

CHAPTER 20

Something was the matter with Bob. Frances observed his silence around the house, his diminished appetite
when an adolescent won't eat, the mothers in the office said, watch out!
and the small preoccupied pucker between his eyes, so like Bill's worried frown back in the days when Bill's mind was filled with human beings and their problems instead of sales quotas. Her first reaction was sharp annoyance
can't I ever have a moment's peace? Then dormant maternal anxiety took over and she began to worry about his health.