Passage 6

Laura was right. Beebo went straight to Jack’s apartment. She stormed in and beat noisily on his door until he opened it.

“Christ in the foothills!” he exclaimed, pulling on the door and looking into her wild furious face. She entered and slammed it behind her.

“She’ll be over here in a few minutes,” Beebo said wildly, waving the diary at him. “I haven’t read much of this but I’ve read enough to know what a bitch she is. And you—you—” For once in her life Beebo was at a loss for words. “You lousy crawling scum sonofabitch, you’ve been egging her on! You’ve been putting ideas into her head—about leaving me.”

She ranted hysterically at him, and Jack, although Laura had never described her diary to him, began to get the idea in a hurry.

“Where is she now?” he said quietly when he could get a word in edgewise.

“I don’t know, but she’ll be here before long. Whenever we have a quarrel she drags her can over here as fast as she can move. You’re her father confessor, her lover by proxy. She tells you everything. She only lives with me.” She spat it at him enviously. “I’m her lover for good and real but I’m not good enough to know what she thinks or what she does. She saves that for you. I’ll kill her! By God, I will.”

“Scram, Beebo,” Jack said. His low voice was in sharp contrast to her own, loud and hard with wrath.

“What’s the matter, isn’t my company good enough for you?” She turned on him suddenly. He would have to take her threats till Laura got there; she couldn’t hold them back.

“It’s just that I don’t like prospective murderers,” Jack said. “They make me nervous.”

“You bastard! You holier-than-thou bastard! You think you’re so damn superior because you’re still on the wagon. You are on the wagon, I can tell. You look so goddam sober it’s repulsive. Repulsive!”

“That’s the word for it, all right,” Jack agreed. His compliant attitude only goaded her further.

“You hate me because Laura only comes to see you when she feels bad. She lives with me. But she doesn’t give a damn about you until she feels bad. Then she comes running to good old Jack!”

“Beebo,” he said and did not raise his voice. “When I lost Terry I did a hell of a lot of drinking and hollering. I came and drank your whiskey and told you my troubles and you listened to me. And it helped. Now you’re welcome to my whiskey—there’s still a little in the kitchen—and you’re welcome to cry on my shoulder. But you’re not going to murder anybody, here or anywhere else.”

“Only Laura,” Beebo said, and her voice was low now, too.

“Nobody,” Jack said. “Now scram, or I’ll throw you out.”

Beebo grabbed the lapels of his sport jacket. “She cheated on me, Jack. You gave her the idea so don’t try to squirm out of it.”

“Cheated on you with who?”

“An Indian!” Her eyes were so big and her face so contorted that Jack came very near laughter.

“What tribe?” he asked carefully.

“Not an American Indian, you owl-eyed idiot! An Indian Indian. A dancer! Jesus!” And she lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “A dancer!”

“Classical or belly?”

“Oh, shut up! You think it’s funny!” She gave him a hard shove, but Jack didn’t shove easily. He just stood his ground and surprised her. “It doesn’t matter who she is, anyway,” she said and ran a distraught hand through her close-cropped dark hair that waved and rolled around her head and used to delight Laura. “What matters is, they’ve been sleeping together and that cheeky little bitch—”

“Which one?”

“Jack, goddam you, quit interrupting me!” She paused to glare at him and then said, “Tris. The dancer. She had the nerve to come over to the apartment. Tried to tell me they met at the Hobby Shop. Oh, God!” And she gave a despairing laugh.

“Maybe they did.” He offered it unobtrusively.

“Who’re you kidding?” Beebo snapped. “Laura admitted she went to the girl’s apartment.”

“After you pounded it out of her.”

Beebo held the diary out to him. “Read this, Jack. It’s all in here,” she said.

“Does it say they slept together?”

“Damn right!”

“Did you read it?”

“No, but it’s in here,” she said positively, in the grip of the spiraling violence that possessed her. “Jack Mann, college graduate, engineer, former gay boy, former whiskey drinker, former human being. Current know-it-all and champion bastard of Greenwich Village. Read it!”

He shook his head without even glancing at it.

“Are you too proper? Too moral? Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed a conscience! After all these years,” she said.

He shrugged. “Why read it? You’ve told me what’s in it.”

“Maybe you’d like to know what she says about me.” He saw her face color up again and a shivering clearly visible in her hands and he said, “No.” But Beebo opened the diary, leafing through it for the worst slander she could find.

Jack took the book from her hands so suddenly that she let it slip before she knew what he was up to, and then he socked her when she reached for it, catching her on the chin. She reeled backwards and sank to the floor. Jack leaned down and picked her up, hoisting her over his shoulder. He carried her that way, head dangling in back and feet in front, down the hall and out the door to the apartment building.

There he set her dizzily on her feet. She hardly knew where she was and let him hold her up. He found a taxi for her on the corner of Fourth and Seventh Avenue and told the driver, “She’s drunk. It’s only a couple of blocks, but I can’t take her home,” and handed him five dollars. “Take her upstairs,” he said, giving him the address. “Apartment 2B.”

He was headed up the steps to his apartment again when he heard Laura’s voice calling him, and he turned around to see her running up the sidewalk, hair awry and face like chalk.

“Laura!” he exclaimed and caught her. She began to sob the moment she felt his arms around her, as if she had only been waiting to feel him for the tears to start.

“Is she here?” she asked, and he could feel her quivering.

“She left,” he said. “I just put her in a cab. Your timing is faultless, Mother.”

Laura looked at him out of big amazed eyes. “She’s gone? How did you do it?” she asked. “What happened?”

“Come on inside,” he said. He led her down the hall and in his kitchen at last, with the front door locked and no Beebo anywhere around and a comforting drink to brace her, she heaved a long sigh of relief.

“Now,” said Jack, making himself some coffee. “Who is Tris?”

Laura clasped her glass in both hands and looked into the whiskey for an answer. “She’s a dancer—”

“I know that part. I mean, are you sleeping with her?”

“No!” Laura flashed.

“Do you want to?”

And after a pause she whispered honestly, “Yes.”

“So Beebo’s not imagining things.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Laura cried bitterly. “She’s got my diary.”

“I saw it.”

“Did you read it?”

“No, but Beebo did.”

“What did she say?” Laura’s throat had gone dry all of a sudden at the idea of Beebo perusing those private pages, and she took a sip of her whiskey.

“She wants to solve the whole thing by murdering you.”

“I think she would, too,” Laura said, unsurprised. “Oh, Jack, help me. I’m scared to death.”

“All right.” He came over, pulling his chair, and sat down beside her. “Marry me.”

Laura covered her face with her hands and gave a little moan. “Is that all you can think of? Is that all you can say?” she said, and she sounded a little desperate. “I’m in love with Tris, and Beebo wants to murder me and you want to marry me. What good will that do? I might as well be dead as married!” And she said it so emphatically that Jack was stung.

But he never let personal hurts show.

“Mother, you’re in a mess,” he said. “Nobody has a perfect solution for you. And you have none at all for yourself. So listen to one from an old friend who loves you and don’t stomp on it out of sheer spite.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, sipping the drink again. She let the tears flow unchecked, without really crying. Her face was motionless, but still the tears rolled down her cheeks, as if they had business of their own unrelated to her emotion.

“Tell me something,” Jack said gently, putting an arm over the back of her chair and leaning close to her. And as always with him, she didn’t mind. She liked his nearness and the fact that he was male and strong and full of affection for her. Perhaps it was because she knew he would never demand of her what a normal man would; because she felt so safe with him and so able to trust him. “Tell me why you went to live with Beebo two years ago,” he said.

“I thought I loved her.”

“Why did you think you loved her?” he asked.

“Because she—well, she was so—I don’t know, Jack. She excited me.”

He lighted a cigarette with a sigh. “And that’s love,” he said. “Excitement. As long as you’re excited you’re in love. When it turns flat you’re not in love. Lord, what a way to live.”

Laura was taken aback by the selfishness she betrayed. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said. It had never seemed so cheap to her before.

“Are you in love with Tris?” he asked.

“I—I—” She was afraid to answer now.

“Sure you are,” he said. “Just like Beebo. Fascinating girl. More excitement. Beebo’s worn out now, let’s try Tris. And when we wear Tris out, let’s find another—”

“Stop it!” Laura begged.

“Where’s your life going, Laura?” he asked her. “What have you done with it so far? Does it matter a damn, really? To anybody but you ... and me?”

“And Beebo.”

“Beebo’s more worried about where her next drink is coming from than she is about you.” He knew it wasn’t true. He knew if it ever came to a choice, Beebo loved Laura desperately enough to give up drinking. But Jack was fighting for Laura now.

Laura began to cry now, her face concealed behind her hands. “Please, Jack,” she whispered, but he knew what he was doing. He had to make her see it his way so clearly, feel the hurt so hard, that she would turn away from the whole discouraging mess of homosexual life and come to live with him far from it all.

“Look at me, Laura,” he said and lifted her face. “We can’t think straight because we always think gay,” he said. “We don’t know anything about a love that lasts or a life that means something. We spend all our time on our knees singing hosannas to the queers. Trying to make ourselves look good. Trying to forget we aren’t wholesome and healthy like other people.”

“Some of the other people aren’t so damn wholesome either,” Laura said.

Jack put his arms around her suddenly and pulled her tight against him and said, “Let’s get out of it, Laura. Let’s run like hell while we have a chance. We could get away, just the two of us. But we can’t do it alone; we need each other. We could move uptown and get a nice apartment and you wouldn’t have to work. We could get married, honey.”

“But—”

“Please, Laura, please,” he begged her. “Maybe we could even ... adopt a child. Would you like that? Would you?” He sounded a little breathless and he leaned back to see her face.

Laura was startled. “I don’t know anything about kids. They scare me to death.”

“You’d get over it in a hurry,” he said. “You’re female. You have instinct on your side.”

“Do you like kids?”

“I love them.”

“I don’t. You’re more female than I am,” she said.

He laughed. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” he said. “Seriously, Laura—would you like a child? A daughter?”

“Why not a son?” she asked him, sharp-eyed.

“Okay.” He shrugged warily. “A son.”

Laura slid back in her chair and looked at the ceiling. “I never even thought about it before,” she said. “I just never dreamed I’d ever have anything to do with a child of my own ... with any child.”

“Do you want one?” He seemed so eager that she was reluctant to hurt him. But she couldn’t lie to him.

“No,” she said. And when his face hardened, she added, “Because I’d be a terrible mother, Jack. I’d be afraid of it. And jealous, I think. I’d be all thumbs. I’d stick it full of pins and never be sure if I did it on purpose or by mistake.”

“You won’t always feel that way,” he said, and she knew from the tone of his voice that there was no arguing with him.

“Maybe not,” she said. “But if I marry you, Jack—” And they were both startled to hear the words, as if neither had really expected Laura to consider it seriously. “If I marry you, I wouldn’t dare adopt a child for years. Not till I was sure we were safe together and the marriage would last.”

“It would. It will. Say yes.”

“I can’t,” she said and drove him to his feet in a fit of temper.

“Goddam it, Laura, do you want to grow old here in the Village?” he said. “Have you seen the pitiful old women in their men’s oxfords and chopped-off hair, stumping around like lost souls, wandering from bar to bar and staring at the pretty kids and weeping because they can’t have them any more? Or living together, two of them, ugly and fat and wrinkled, with nothing to do and nothing to care about but the good old days that are no more? Is that what you want? Because if you stay here, that’s what you’ll get.

“Pretty soon you won’t know any other way of life. You won’t know how to live in the big world. You don’t care a goddam about that world now when you’re young. So when you’re old you won’t know a goddam about it. You’ll be afraid of it and of normal people and you’ll hide in a cheap walk-up with a dowdy old friend or a stinking cat and you’ll yammer about lost loves. Tempting, huh?” And he leaned on the kitchen table, his eyes so bright with urgency that she couldn’t look at them and only watched his mouth.

“Horrible,” she said.

He straightened up and shoved his hands in his pockets, and when he started to speak again he was gazing out the window. “I want to get so far away from here,” he said, “that—”

“That Terry will never find you again,” she guessed.

He dropped his head a little. “Yes,” he said. “That, too. Terry and Joe and Archie and John and God knows who. We’d go way uptown and leave no forwarding address ... nothing. Just fade out of the Village forever. No Beebo, no Terry....”

“No Tris,” Laura whispered.

“I told you, Mother ... I’m no bluebeard. If you want affairs, have them. You’re young, you need a few. Only keep them out of the Village and keep them very quiet.”

“Do you think Terry would really come looking for you again?” she asked. “After the way you threw him out?”

“There aren’t many men stupid enough to put up with his antics as I did,” he said. “I think he might try to put the touch on me between affairs.”

“Damn him!” Laura cried indignantly.

“Yes, he might try to find me. And Beebo would pace the city looking for you. But let them. We’d be through with them forever.”

And Laura felt a very queer unwelcome pang for Beebo, for all that wealth of misdirected love. Jack was standing behind her now, his hands on her shoulders. “Well?” he said quietly. “Will you marry me?”

“Could I—answer you in the morning?” she asked.

“What the hell will you do tonight?”

“See Tris.”

“Oh. And if she’s nice, it’s no to old Jack. If she’s bitchy, it’s yes. Right?” He said it lightly but she knew he was hurt.

“Not quite,” she said. “I want to test myself, I guess. Jack, for the first time I feel almost—almost like saying yes. But I want to see her first. Please let me.”

“You don’t need my permission, Mother.”

“Maybe Beebo’s found her already.”

“Beebo’s in bad shape. I lay odds she sleeps it off for a while. Even if she’s found Tris she won’t be in condition to do either of you much harm. Just call a cop and say she’s molesting you.”

Laura got up and turned to face him and they gazed at each other for some minutes in silence. “Okay, Mother,” he said. “Go. And come back mine.”

She smiled and then she walked past him to the door.

* * *

Tris was at home giving lessons when Laura got there. She had evening classes twice a week, for adults. She didn’t slam the door in Laura’s face, but she gave her a black look and directed her curtly to sit down and be quiet. Her delicate mouth was ever so slightly swollen.

Tris went back to work and danced with her pupils for another forty minutes without a word or a glance at Laura. It was lovely to watch. There were only two students—a man and a girl—and they were learning an intricate duet at Tris’s direction. They would execute what looked to Laura like a perfect step and suddenly Tris would swoop down on them, shouting temperamental criticisms. She finally made the man dance with her, to give the girl the idea.

Laura watched her fascinated as she leaped into his arms, straight and smooth and beautifully sure of herself. And Laura realized slowly that only when she danced with the man did Tris look over at her to see her expression.

She’s trying to make me jealous, Laura thought, and she was suddenly weary; weary of all the envy and ill feeling and violence. She wanted nothing more than to lie down quietly by Tris’s side, when the couple had gone, and gently, without explanations or apologies, make love till they both fell asleep. She knew if it happened like that—naturally and easily and without pain—that she would stay with Tris. But she was afraid that even if it were bitter and unhappy, she would stay anyway.

And still, an angry core of resentment smoldered in her, resentment at Tris for having the effrontery to walk in on Laura and Beebo and cause the bitter outburst that had separated them. She was brooding about this when Tris suddenly dismissed her dancers.

The two went into her bedroom to change and Laura waited for Tris to speak to her. But Tris only glared, performing a few indolent turns until her students returned. Then she unexpectedly introduced them all. She was curt, almost unpleasant about it.

The young man smiled at Laura and said, “Never mind her, she’s bad company tonight. Thanks, Tris.” And he gave her a strange look and left, following the girl.

Tris shut the door after them and turned to Laura. “The girl is insufferable,” she said. “She can’t dance, and she is a vixen besides.”

“The boy can dance,” Laura said, not without a jealous twitch.

“Yes, he can. He can make love, too. And he does—when I don’t have company.”

She said it pointedly and Laura felt her whole face go a hot red. She stood up without speaking and made for the door, her head swimming, but Tris stopped her there by embracing her. Laura was in no mood for Tris’s sudden turnabouts.

“God damn you, let me go,” she exclaimed.

“Tonight, I am grateful for the company,” Tris said. “He bores me.”

“I’ve had all I can take from you, Tris. You split me and Beebo up tonight—”

“Ah, then I did you a favor, no?” and she smiled.

“You damn near got me killed!”

“She is not gentle, is she?” Tris said, releasing Laura to touch her bruised mouth, but she was still smiling a little.

“Gentle?” Laura exploded. “Beebo? Gentle like a tornado. Why did you do it, Tris? Why?”

Tris shrugged, walking away from her. “I felt like it. I don’t know why. I wanted to see you. I wanted to see—well, I wondered what she was like ... Beebo.”

“You’re incredible,” Laura breathed, furious, watching her saunter suggestively toward her bedroom.

“Are you coming with me?” Tris asked.

And Laura felt her legs weaken and her heart jump, and she hated herself for it. “No,” she said.

“Of course you are. That is why you are here. Come.”

And Laura, helpless, went to her. Tris took her hands and led her, walking backwards herself, into the room and onto the low couch. She began to kiss her and Laura felt her fury rise and change into passion. Tris had never been so close to her, so tantalizing.

Somehow her anger made her passion sharper and wilder. She wanted to hurt Tris with it. Beebo believed they had made love, did she? Well, Laura would give truth to her fantasies.

Laura could feel Tris’s body begin to respond. A surging feeling of triumph flashed through her. She felt the familiar, wonderful insanity come over her and she relinquished herself wholly to feeling. It took her a few moments to understand that Tris was fighting her. And suddenly she came to herself with a shock and felt Tris slip away from her and saw her standing a few feet from the bed.

Tris gave her a look—almost of pity—and then turned and raced from the room. By the time Laura reached the door, it was locked. At first she was stunned, motionless. And then she began to throw her weight against it. “Tris! Tris, let me out!” she cried in a panic.

“Stay where you are till you cool off,” Tris said. Her voice was very near, just on the other side of the door, and Laura was wild to join her.

“Please, Tris!” she implored and her voice was low with coming tears. “Tris, don’t do this to me!” Her whole body ached and after a moment more of futile beating on the door she slumped to the floor, moaning.

A long time later she dragged herself off the floor and back to the bed and lay there, sleepless, until early dawn. She was sick with the need to hurt and the need for love all scrambled inside her; she was imprisoned in her homosexuality and thinking ... thinking hard of Jack.

The first daylight was coming in the window when Laura heard the door open and saw Tris glide across the floor toward her. Laura smothered a first harsh impulse to jump at her. Tris came on tiptoe, thinking Laura would be asleep, and when she saw Laura’s blue eyes staring at her, she was startled.

Then she came and sat in silence on the edge of the bed and looked at Laura for a while, until Laura, who was restraining herself tightly, saw that Tris was crying. And the crying became suddenly audible and made Tris cover her face with her hands. Laura lay beside her, refusing to touch her, feeling her spite and misery soften a little, feeling even a shade of pity. She wanted to beat the girl and at the same time stroke her shaking shoulders.

Tris turned her back to Laura and finally spoke with considerable effort. “I’m going out on the Island tomorrow,” she said. “For two weeks, a vacation. Come with me.”

Laura stared at her back, frowning in disbelief. “What?” she said.

“I want you to come with me,” Tris whispered. Her voice sounded, as once before, quite American.

“You must enjoy torturing me,” Laura said.

There was a long pause while Tris snatched a piece of face tissue from a box by the bed and blew her nose. Finally she said, “It was torture for me, too. But still, it was inexcusable, what I did to you. I was a beast. I—I can’t talk about it,” and she gave a quick sob. “But I promise it will never happen again—if you promise never to mention it. Promise?” And she turned and looked at Laura.

“Why did you do it?” Laura asked.

“I had to! I had to! I wanted to hurt you—last night—you made me feel—” and her speech was clipped again and careful—“you made me want you so much, Laura. And I hate it! I hate it!” She was almost shrieking.

“Why?” Laura asked.

“Because I’m not really a Lesbian. Not like you. It’s men I love, Laura. Really,” she added desperately.

And Laura felt compassion for her. “You’re sick, Tris,” she said, but she said it kindly.

“Sick?” And Tris went a strange ashy color that scared Laura. “How do you mean?”

Laura realized then that she couldn’t destroy Tris’s illusion without destroying Tris. She raised herself to one elbow and brushed away the tears on Tris’s cheek. “Let’s put it this way,” she said. “If you feel like this about me, we shouldn’t be together any more. In two weeks we’d drive each other wild. I know you feel terrible about last night, Tris, I can see it. I know I can’t forget you, or forgive what you did. If we were living together, I’d want you and you’d hate me for it. And pretty soon I’d hate you too, for denying me.”

“I won’t deny you, Laura,” Tris whispered, without looking at her. “I promise you. If you’d just let me do it my way. Don’t let it be like last night. When I feel as if I’m losing control, it’s as if I were drowning, as if I were losing my sanity along with my will. It’s as if—if I let it happen—I—I’ll lose my mind.” She spoke so painfully, with such evident anxiety, that Laura was touched.

“Poor Tris,” she murmured, and smoothed her hair. “I thought I’d be pulling your hair out this morning, not playing with it,” she said, running her long fingers over the sleek black braid.

“Come with me,” Tris pleaded. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Where are you going? Fire Island?”

“God, no!” Tris flared. “That place! It’s crawling with queers. I wouldn’t go near it.”

“Tris ...,” Laura said, a little hesitantly. Her ear did not betray her. Tris’s accent fluctuated strangely and roused her curiosity. She asked cautiously, “What part of India do you come from?”

“Why do you ask?” And Tris’s eyes narrowed.

Laura lifted her shoulders casually. “You never told me.”

“I said New Delhi.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Besides, it has nothing to do with the vacation. I’m going to a place on Long Island. Stone Harbor. It’s not far from Montauk, on the north side. I have a cottage there for two weeks. It’s very secluded. No one will bother us. I was there last year and it’s really lovely. You’d like it, Laura, I know you would. You can swim every day—we’re only two blocks from the beach and—”

“Tris?” Laura stopped the almost compulsive flow of speech and startled the dancer.

“Yes?”

“Why won’t you tell me about India?”

“You wouldn’t be interested.”

“I’d be fascinated. Everything about you fascinates me. For instance, what are you doing in this country?”

“Dancing.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

“How did you get here?”

“Scholarship.”

“Are you a citizen?”

“Laura, stop it! Why do you ask me such things? What has this to do with our vacation? I refuse to be quizzed like a criminal. We’ll leave tomorrow at eight. Can you be packed by then? I’ve rented a car.”

“I can’t even get into my own apartment,” Laura admitted. “You fixed me up just fine.”

“Of course you can. Call the police.” Her odd green eyes flashed.

“No. Maybe Jack could get my things. I’ll call him.”

“Who’s Jack?”

“Jack? He’s a—sort of—fiancé. A permanent fiancé.” She smiled slightly.

Tris snorted. “Does he know you are gay?”

“Of course.” She would tell her no more. If Tris were going to seal her private life behind a wall of secrets, Laura could play it that way, too. “Can I use your phone?” she asked.

“Yes. In the kitchen.” Tris followed her across the empty studio into the sunny blue and yellow kitchen and while Laura was dialing she asked, “You will come, of course?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Laura said. “... Jack?”

“Good morning, Mother.”

“Jack, I wonder if you could—if you’d mind going over to the apartment and getting my clothes. Do you think you could? I hate to ask you, but I don’t dare go near her.”

“Sure,” he said. “Did you pass your test?”

“My test? Oh.” She glanced at Tris. “I—I flunked,” she said and felt a tidal wave of pity and shame all at once. “Jack—I’m sorry. Oh, I’m so sorry. Let me come over—”

“Come get your clothes at five,” he said. “I’ll leave the door open.” And he hung up.

Laura surprised Tris by dropping into a chair and sobbing. Tris sat down opposite her and waited in silence till she caught her breath, expecting an explanation. But Laura only dried her eyes and asked for some coffee.

Jack wasn’t home when she went to pick up her clothes. She had known he wouldn’t be there, and still it made her want to weep. She was in a blue mood, and even the sight of Tris, waiting for her outside at the wheel of a rented convertible, didn’t cheer her up. She made several trips with the clothes, leaving most of her other possessions behind, and on the last trip she wrote him a note. It said, in part:

You’re the only man I would ever marry, Jack. Maybe it will still work out. Tris wants me to spend two weeks with her on Long Island. I’ll call you the minute I get back. I’m crazy about her, but she’s a sick girl and I’ve had enough of wild scenes with sick lovers. I don’t know what to expect so am leaving most of my things here. Hope they won’t be too much in the way. I quit my job, by the way. Will find something else when I get back. Thank you so much for everything, Jack darling. Hope Beebo didn’t give you any trouble. Don’t start drinking, I’m not worth it. I love you. Laura.

* * *

The cabin had two bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room, and a bathroom. It was furnished à la 1935, full of sand and ants, but comfortable. The walk to the beach was short and just enough to get you pleasantly warm before you soaked in the salt water.

There were a lot of other vacationers living all around them—young couples with dozens of hollering kids, mostly. Laura watched them romping on the sand, the little ones screaming and giggling and pouring water on each other. She wondered if she could ever want a child.

She lay on the beach with Tris, the day after they arrived, and luxuriated in the sun. Tris had lathered herself lovingly with rich sun cream and was sitting under a huge beach umbrella that she had erected with the help of a young man they discovered while they looked for a place to lie down. He was not very subtle about his admiration, which he confined to Tris. And Laura was not very pleased to see her prance for him. But she said nothing.

“You’ll burn to a crisp, Laura,” Tris warned her.

“I put some stuff on,” Laura said lazily, wiggling a little and feeling the hot rays toast the backs of her legs.

“Not enough for one so fair,” Tris maintained. “Such fair skin you have.” And Laura heard the yearning in her voice. “If mine were that light I would never expose it like you do. I’d do everything to keep it as light as I could. Even bleach it. They say buttermilk works wonders.”

Laura looked up at her through eyes squinted against the sun. “Your skin is beautiful, Tris.”

“Oh, not like yours,” Tris said, embarrassed.

“How can you say that? You’re the prettiest color I ever saw.”

“And you’re a dirty hypocrite!” Tris snapped.

Laura stared at her, dumbfounded, for some seconds, before she answered softly, “No, I mean it.” She was afraid to say more. “You think I only say it to flatter you, don’t you?” she asked finally. “I won’t say it, then. I’d rather you turned your temper on yourself than on me.”

After an elaborately casual pause, full of much smoothing lotion and gazing around, Tris said, “Do you really like my color?” The little-girl pleading in her voice touched Laura.

“If I say yes, you call me a liar. If I say no you call me a bigot.”

“Say yes.”

“Yes.” And Laura smiled at her and Tris smiled back and gave Laura the feeling of false but sweet security.

Tris said, “Did you ever notice, when we lie on the bed together, how we look?”

Laura finished, “Yes, I noticed.” She looked at Tris in surprise. It wasn’t like her to mention such things. “Me so white and you so brown. It looks like poetry, Tris. Like music, if you could see music. Your body looks so warm and mine looks so cool. And inside, we’re just the other way around. Isn’t it funny? I’m the one who’s always on fire. And you’re the iceberg.” She laughed a little. “Maybe I can melt you,” she said.

“Better not. The brown comes off,” Tris said cynically, but her strange thought excited Laura.

“God, what a queer idea!” Laura said. “You’d have to touch me everywhere then, every corner of me, till we were both the same color. Then you’d be almost white and I’d be almost tan—and yet we’d be the same.” She looked at Tris with her squinty eyes that sparkled in the glancing sun. And Tris, struck herself by the strangeness of it, murmured, “I never thought of it that way.”

Laura hoped Tris would look at it that way for the rest of the vacation.