Strange Women, The (12 page)

Nora did not speak again until the door of their own apartment had closed behind them; then she exploded.

"That—little—whore!"

"Margaret? I liked her!"

"Ramona!" Nora pitched her coat at the divan; it missed but she let it lie there, and Jill stared. "Are you drunk?"

"No, but I'd like to be." Nora went to the kitchen and took down the almost full bottle of whisky. She poured a little in the bottom of a glass. "Nightcap, Jill?"

"A little. I don't understand—you said—she's a lesbian—"

"Ramona is a consummate bitch. Lesbian? Sure—or anything else that suits her at the moment." She had, Nora thought, confirmed Margaret's turning into that path; when Margaret was disillusioned and alone. "I'm no Puritan. But, damn it, Ramona doesn't have to flaunt her affairs under Marg's nose." She put the glass down. "Just because she stuck by Marg before, she thinks she can put her through hoops forever—I won't offer you another drink, Jill. It might be bad for the baby."

"I'd* forgotten all about the baby." Jill went into the bedroom and took off her shoes. "Why did you take me to Flora's?"

"I thought it would interest you, maybe."

"But when we were there—just like Marg and Ramona, but you wouldn't dance with me—"

"Why, Jill—" she held out her hand, but Jill jerked away.

"Don't worry about my feelings, it's too late for that! Treating me all evening like—like—" Jill's voice broke.

Nora put her arms around Jill and by main force pulled her down on the bed. She sat there holding Jill till the shaking quieted. Her own mind was almost a blank. At last she said, "Jill, we've never really talked about all this. Do you want to?"

Jill blew her nose. "Not if you don't want to. But—if you didn't want—why did you take me there anyhow?"

"Quite apart from the fact that Marg is my friend," she said, slowly, "I suppose I felt they'd accept our—situation, and that might make it easier for me to—to look it in the face." She clasped her hands, staring at an acid burn near one nail.

"But why is that necessary?" Jill asked. "I love you. Why is that something you have to accept, or not accept, or make it look and sound good? Why can't you take it for what it is? I love you."

Nora finally looked up. "But—you love Mack, don't you?"

"Oh, God, I don't know! I—I was lonesome, and I felt funny about being a virgin at my age, and I was wondering if there was something wrong with me because I'd never wanted any man. But now—now I feel as if I'd started an avalanche rolling, and I couldn't get out of the way!"

"Nobody can," Nora said, but Jill collapsed on the bedspread, digging her head into the pillow in silent, agonized sobs; so convulsive that Nora was alarmed.

"Jill, you mustn't cry like that, it's very bad for the baby."

"I hate the baby," Jill screamed, "I wish it would die, I wish it would die, die,
die!"
She pounded the pillow frantically with her fists.

Nora bent and gripped Jill's shoulders. Her voice trembled as much as Jill's.

"Stop
this damned nonsense, or I'll phone Vic and have him put you in the hospital! You'll work yourself up into a miscarriage!"

"I only wish I could!" Jill struggled; went limp under Nora's hands, crying. "I'm—I'm sorry, Nor. I'll be good."

Nora straightened, ragged with the ache of pity. "Honey, you're overtired, and you've been drinking—which I shouldn't have allowed. You lie down and let me get you something to make you sleep."
This was her fault, too.

When she came back with two phenobarbital capsules, Jill was undressed, lying on Nora's bed, her face scrubbed and penitent. Nora sat down beside her.

"Jill, you're pregnant, you've got to learn to expect these silly moods—not let them throw you."

"I don't want the baby to die. God forgive me for saying it. But I don't want a baby. I'll be an awful mother."

"You mustn't talk that way. Jill, the real reason you feel like this is because you're alone, when Mack should be sharing this with you. It's natural, to want your baby's father."

"But I don't," Jill said miserably, and laid her head in Nora's lap. Nora sighed and stroked her hair.

"Most pregnant women go through moods like that. You'll get over it," she said.

At least I hope you will. I hope I will.
Hell, I'm only giving her the emotional support she ought to be getting from Mack. No girl ought to be alone at a time like this. Someone has to need her, love her, comfort her, make her feel wanted...

Then as she drew Jill closer, her hands going almost without volition to the fastenings at Jill's throat, a satirical self-knowledge knifed through her real concern.

She had known, of course, that there would be only one way to comfort Jill. Had Jill thrown her tantrum for this reason?

Or—had she herself goaded Jill into it? For an excuse to do just this?

Unnecessarily rough, she pulled away Jill's pajamas and switched out the light.

Jill's face tasted of salt under her kisses; the trembling mouth was still soft and pliant as if with tears. Nora closed her hands over the taut breasts until Jill moaned—with pain or pleasure Nora could not tell and did not much care.

Jill's body was still slim beneath Nora's; but the thought knifed Nora with an anger and frustration she could not understand; soon it would be swollen, promising, fruitful
... he was first.
It
has nothing to do with me.
The fantasy spun through her mind dizzily as she strained Jill into her arms with a violence new to them both,
if I had been the one to make her pregnant,
and reeled away before she was fully aware of the thought.

In a sort of frantic hunger she gripped Jill close; as if her lips, moving from the soft mouth down to the white throat, down to the small swelling breasts and avidly over every inch of the softness, could obliterate every former touch. Jill cried out softly in the grip of passion and sudden release, and Nora, as the storm center swept her too, felt a savage exaltation.
Mine,
she thought,
mine now, at least.
She fell asleep with Jill locked tightly in her arms.

Late in February Kit underwent the final operation in the series; then, rapidly this time, he began to rally. The end of the year-long imprisonment was actually in sight.

Just before Easter, Nora arranged for a free afternoon and while Jill was shopping for maternity dresses, chose a spring suit; then she left Jill to finish her shopping alone and, for the first time in fifteen years, went to a beauty shop.

When she left, her head felt unfamiliar and cold, and Jill almost dropped her bundles, crying out, "Oh, Nora, that beautiful hair!"

"You don't like it this way?"

"It makes you look about ten years younger," Jill said, "What will Kit say?"

Nora, touching the feathery ends of her shorn hair, realized; it was the first time she had thought of Kit that afternoon. Catching a glimpse in a mirror, she felt a tardy spark of vanity. For years she had taken her hair for granted except as a nuisance to tuck under a surgical cap. It was pleasant to discover a new face under the one she had worn so long.

"Someone said, once, that the sense of being perfectly dressed did more for a woman than any religion ever known."

"Ramona said that, the night Marg and I went to the movies. She—Ramona—was all dressed up for a heavy date."

Nora frowned, reminding herself that Ramona had a perfect right to date Vic—or anyone. They were both adults and unmarried. But she had seen Margaret fall apart, once before; and it hadn't been pretty. Ramona was a cold, conniving bitch. Yet a word against her, to Vic, would be interpreted as simply, dog-in-the-manger spite.

Jill was trying on maternity dresses before the bedroom mirror, laughing at the picture she made in them, when the phone rang. Nora signed, cradling it against her cheek. Then, startled, she turned to Jill.

"For you. Long distance. They asked for Cassandra Bristol."

Warily, frowning, Jill took the telephone. "Hello? Susan, is it you? How did you get this number?" Nora was not trying to listen, but she could not avoid hearing the funny little tight tone of Jill's voice. "Is it—Mama?" Jill asked tremulously, and collapsed, rather than sitting down, on the sofa. At last she said draggingly, "Yes, I see. If I don't come when she's really ill, there will be all that much more talk. I'll take the midnight bus. All right, then, Su."

The phone clicked down; Jill turned as if to a stranger, and when Nora laid a hand on her shoulder, she was as rigid as a frightened bunny.

"Darling, you've had bad news?"

Jill's tongue moved over her lips. "My mother's had a stroke. Su says she keeps asking for me. I have to go."

Nora felt anger gusting up inside her; what hold did they have on Jill? After all they'd done, how was it that they could still pull emotional strings to make her jump like a marionette? She pulled Jill against her shoulder.

"Darling, if you feel like that, there's no one who can
make
you go, you shan't, I won't let you!" Then the enormity of the commitment in her words struck her. Jill only said miserably, "I'd have to go sometime, I suppose." Then, in a sort of dread, her eyes turned down. "But—the baby—"

It bothered Nora. Jill was basically such a sincere girl. She wasn't conventional, but she wasn't depraved, and Nora couldn't stand to see her shrink like a sentenced convict waiting for the scarlet letter.

"Don't be foolish, Jill. You're of age. It's your life and your baby. Damn your family!"

"It's easy to talk. But everybody can't spit in people's faces the way you do."

If it had been less serious, Nora would have laughed at the way they had exchanged roles. "Jill, dear, aren't you the girl who picked a fight with me because I introduced you to Marg as Mrs. MacLellan?"

"But—my mother—"

"Didn't you tell me—forgive me, Jill, I know you don't like talking about it, but doesn't she believe you were mixed up in a narcotics racket, and either drove your father to suicide or shot him?" Jill's face twisted, and Nora held her, trying by her consoling touch to take the sting from the words. "From what you yourself have told me, darling, I hardly see how she could think worse of you than you say she does."

"You don't understand women like Mama," Jill said desperately, "you can do anything, anything at all, but as long as you're what she calls
decent,
she—she'd call it her Christian duty to forgive me if I'd stole, or murdered, or committed treason—"

"I must say that's damn nice of her," Nora said dryly.

"But—oh, you don't know! Why, that year we knew you—Mama sent Pammy to an awfully strict boarding school, instead of letting her go to Miss Porter's with us, because she—Pammy never would tell me, but I think Mama actually caught her in bed with a boy."

Nora sat down, weak all over. It was like Mrs. Bristol to think she could cure Pammy's attachment to another girl by punishing her with confinement in a strict all-girl school. She was literally speechless.

"Mama almost had a heart attack over that. And now she's sick, she might die—And if she noticed I was pregnant—and she would—the shock might even kill her."

Nora finally found her voice. "Well, Jill, if that's what's worrying you—her peace of mind, not yours—you can simply tell her you were married last fall, can't you? Chances are, she'll be so pleased at the thought of a grandchild, she won't ask bothersome questions about where and when." But Nora watched, sighing, as Jill picked up the phone to check on bus schedules.

It was Jill's own refusal to face facts which had precipitated this situation. She slept with Mack without considering that she might become pregnant; she refused even to look at the results of her pregnancy test until it was forced on her. She had enrolled in college as Miss Bristol. What other facts would she refuse to face until too late?

She followed Jill into the bedroom and found her sitting on the bed, a damp kleenex wadded in her hand.

"Lie down and try to get a little sleep. I'll pack for you."

"I couldn't possibly sleep." Jill wiped her eyes again.

"Lie still and rest anyhow. How long will you be away?" She took a nightgown from Jill's drawer.

"I don't know. Two or three days. I'd better take Mack's picture, Su and Jackie will want to know—oh God, Nora, I hate this lying, lying—"

"Don't get yourself worked up," Nora insisted as she snapped the suitcase shut. She sat on the edge of the bed, touching Jill's curly hair. "Won't you try to sleep? You'll be up all night on the bus."

"Don't go away."

"I won't." Nora stretched out on top of the blanket, tucking her hands under her own shorn head. "My head feels so funny. Is this what people mean when they say they feel lightheaded?"

"I guess. Won't you get under the covers? You'll be cold."

"No, I'm all right here. I'll call you in plenty of time to get your bus." Nora raised herself on her elbow and lighted a cigarette. "Dear. You
must
sleep."

She thought Jill had dozed off when the girl stirred and said, "Oh, damn!"

"What's the matter?"

"Mack wanted to get me a wedding ring, and I wouldn't let him. My family will think it's dreadfully strange—"

"I don't wear one," Nora said, "lots of professional women don't. But knowing your family—"

She switched on the light; Jill winced and put a hand over her eyes. Nora brought a leather box from her dressing table and sat turning over the contents. She picked up a tiny white ring box, holding it tenderly. "This was my wedding ring," she said, and slipped it on her finger.

"Nora, it's lovely of you, but I couldn't—"

Nora laughed. "You certainly couldn't. I wouldn't let you." She picked up a twist of tissue paper. "Let's see if this will fit you. It was my mother's." She slipped the narrow gold circlet over Jill's finger, and as she did so a curious tremor shook her to the roots; but she kept her face impassive, neutral, smiling.

"See?" she said, "perfect fit."

I'm only giving her what she should have from Mack...

* * *

The bus station was almost deserted. Nora put Jill's suitcase on one of the wooden seats and said, "You have about twenty minutes, Jill. Do you want some coffee? Chocolate?"