Three Women (17 page)

"I can make my own decisions," she finally said. "It's all right. We can forget about it."

But a long time after Byrne had fallen asleep that night, Paula lay awake in thought. How could it be wrong to do something that interfered with no one else? If they led a quiet and useful life together, what justice could there be in condemning them? She remembered how some of the fellows on her block made fun of the mincing, effeminate men who would sometimes pass them on the street. But neither she nor Byrne was trying to imitate the other sex. In a group of fifty women, could anyone pick them out as Lesbians? Paula rolled the unfamiliar word around on her tongue. Lesbian. That was something in short hair and long trousers. Like Greta.

How horrible to look like Greta. But how wonderful to look like Byrne. If she were tall and walked so gracefully and wore clothes the way Byrne did, she really would not care what people called her. Byrne was a woman. A real woman. A Lesbian too? Well, so what?

Then the recollection of Greta began to concern her. -Undoubtedly, she would be coming back one of these days. Expecting to stay over, maybe. How would she react to Paula's presence? Would she understand? Would Byrne tell her that Paula was living here now? There must be no more ripped curtains, no more violence here in Paula's new home. She would not allow Greta to damage Byrne, to leave bruises like that last time.

But perhaps she was worried for nothing. Byrne knew what she was doing when she asked Paula to live with her. She would trust Byrne and not question.

Paula awoke automatically at seven on Monday morning. No alarm called her. She simply opened her eyes knowing that she should get dressed and go to the office. The idea of returning to that work-a-day world felt pleasantly familiar. But to leave Byrne? Maybe it wouldn't be too terrible if she just didn't go in at all. Certainly, she wasn't so important that they would miss her. Byrne lay fast asleep, and instead of slipping out of bed, Paula snuggled back under the covers. Her first responsibility was here, after all—to Byrne, who would miss her, who would spend a lonely day if she were not there.

She couldn't fall asleep again and, after a while, went into the kitchen to start fixing breakfast. They would use the day well, she thought. Byrne would finish her portrait and she could concentrate on learning how to make an arm look three-dimensional. She had noticed the volumes on the bookshelf and was eager to study them.

About an hour later, Byrne strolled into the kitchen, the remains of a frown clinging to her forehead. "I woke up in that big bed and you weren't there."

Paula threw her arms around her neck. "Of course, I'm here," she said. "I decided not to go back into work at all, so that we could be together."

"It's a good thing," Byrne replied.

They had breakfast and Paula insisted upon doing the dishes instead of leaving them in the sink for later. She couldn't understand how the place stayed so neat; Byrne never seemed to do anything to keep it clean.

Byrne shrugged. "I guess it jumps together by itself." They should have a maid, Paula thought. That would be money well spent. But there were two things Byrne couldn't stand. One was having a maid. The other was driving her own car. "They both require supervision when you least feel like supervising," she said.

Learning about the small things that Byrne liked or didn't like was an adventure. She didn't care for sugar in her coffee at breakfast. But she took three cubes at lunch time, Paula remembered.

Paula had donned the comfortable jeans and was already sketching while Byrne wandered around the house, slowly waking up. This was the best Monday morning Paula had ever spent and the most industrious. She wondered why privileged children, who didn't have to slave at jobs they hated, got into trouble. Byrne finally climbed into a pair of faded denims. She rolled the legs half way up her calves and slid into the sandals she loved. She came over and looked at Paula's picture.

"The only hope for you," she said, "is to observe more closely what you draw. All this hurrying is a waste of time in the long run. You don't hurry in bed," and she kissed the back of Paula's neck, "why should you when you draw?"

Paula blushed and slowed the movement of her pencil. But long-restrained energy pushed against her and she wanted to fill all the books with pictures. How can I help feeling like this? There's so much to learn, she protested. So much to do and I'm already an adult.

"Don't worry about that" Byrne said. "Let Grandma Moses be your guide."

Dutifully, Paula slowed her pencil and tried to observe more closely the various objects that she drew. By noontime, she was being quite cautious and Byrne complimented her on the improvement.

Yet Byrne herself did not seem to want to get started. Occasionally Paula mentioned the unfinished portrait but Byrne only brushed it off.

Paula wasn't discouraged. She knew that a very rare mood had gotten Byrne started in the first place. She would just have to wait and feel her way carefully so that Byrne would not feel she was being trapped. Of all the presents Byrne could give to Paula, a finished portrait of herself would be the most precious. First, of course, it would have proven to Byrne that she could still work. And second, it would mean that Greta's influence had been annihilated.

So Paula was patient. She didn't speak of the picture any more that day. Nor the next or the one after that They spent the week together in perfect harmony. And it seemed to Paula that Greta had never existed.

But on the following Saturday, her dream was suddenly shattered.

Paula dried the last breakfast dish and stacked it on top of the others in the closet. She hummed a little tune, planning how they should spend the afternoon. A week of hard study lay behind her and Byrne wanted to reward with a small vacation. In the living room, Byrne was leafing through a magazine that listed all the Broadway plays. They had decided to go to the theater tonight. Now it was simply a matter of choosing a play so that Byrne could phone an agent for tickets.

Drying her hands, Paula sauntered in and stood looking over Byrne's shoulder.

"Would you like a musical?" Byrne said. "This one here got rave notices."

"Anything with laughs. How about that one with the four stars beside it?"

"If it isn't sold out," Byrne replied. She had taken a piece of toast in with her and Paula leaned over to brush the crumbs from her lap.

They were thus occupied and chattering happily about their evening when a knocking at the door interrupted them. Paula's first thought was that it might be Phil again. She stood firmly planted behind Byrne, determined this time not to hide.

Byrne threw the magazine aside. Her mouth was pursed in annoyance at the interruption as she went to answer the door. She opened it and Paula heard Greta's peculiar flute-like voice. "You only called me once this week. Why haven't you called me?"

Greta's sudden burst into her dream world shook Paula. With hurt surprise, she tried to remember when Byrne had made the phone call. It could have been any number of times when Paula went out for cigarettes. But why had Byrne done this behind her back?

To hide her hurt and disillusionment Paula said, "Ask her in, Byrne. You, needn't carry on your conversation in the hall."

Byrne stepped aside without protest. Taking Greta's arm, she brought her into the room.

That same lurking smile on the photograph was on her lips, and seemed to fill the room. An evil, sweet smell, almost of incense, seemed to rise about her as she stood docile in the center of things. She played the smile on Paula as though the girl were a statue. The blond hair, young and soft, fell on the wrinkled forehead in light wisps of platinum.

"Byrne?" Greta's voice fluttered like a silken ribbon. "It’s very lonesome in that room all by myself. I keep thinking that you’ll come get me but the door never opens. Don't you love me, Byrne? You said you love me." She stood without removing her coat until Byrne took it off for her. Only the blond hair and the china blue eyes seemed alive in a face that was shattered. Her small frame was hidden under rolls of fat and encompassed in oversize trousers. The tiny feet encased in clumsy oxfords looked too fragile to hold her up.

"Of course, I love you," Byrne said instantly, and Paula's heart cringed.

They don't know I'm here, she thought. I mean nothing. Nothing! She went to Byrne and took Greta's coat from her. Byrne hardly nodded a thank you.

"Why don't you introduce me to your friend?" Paula had to say.

"Oh yes, excuse me." Byrne collected herself. She returned to Greta and guided her to a chair. "I want you to meet this nice girl," Byrne said to her. "She draws very lovely pictures, too."

"Pictures?" Greta said. "I'd like to see some pictures." The ancient face puffed into a smile of tiny pointed teeth, baby teeth showing horridly in the ancient face.

"Of course, she'll show you her pictures. Won't you, Paula?"

She doesn't have to treat her like an infant, Paula thought. She's no more of a child than I am. "Of course," Paula agreed. She got one of her pads from the easel and tossed it on Byrne's knees. But Byrne didn't even notice that Paula was irritated. Her one object was to soothe Greta. And Paula might as well be in Timbuctoo for all the difference her presence made.

Byrne opened the pad and showed Greta page after page of sketches. Paula watched closely from where she stood by the book shelf. She saw understanding in Greta's round eyes for the first time, not the easy delight of a "child. "They're very nice," Greta said. "But you must teach her not to make this same mistake all the time." With a slender finger, she pointed to some lines that Paula could not see. She couldn't care less what Greta's opinion was, but Byrne listened intently to every word.

Paula said, "Byrne tells me you did that painting on the wall. It's very beautiful. I would like to see some others, if you would ever care to show them to me."

"Byrne has all my paintings." The music of Greta's voice wound itself around the room. "She has my paintings and my music records and all my old photographs. You must ask Byrne to show them to you. She has all the pieces of my life packed away somewhere." She touched Byrne's cheek, wonderingly, as though it were a rare object "Why don't you show them to us? I would enjoy it, too."

"Yes, why don't you?" Paula said.

For the first time, a hint of embarrassment came to Byrne's cheeks. The spell of Greta's presence held her, yet she struggled to be matter of fact. She looked at Paula with eyes that asked forgiveness for this situation.

"I would enjoy seeing them," Paula urged. Sick with the knowledge that Byrne did not want to bring these things out into the open, Paula kept a smile solidly on her lips. She had never seen Byrne entranced, almost hypnotized like this. And by a nothing. A no one. A personality that nearly didn't exist. Her Byrne, sophisticated, debonaire Byrne, was acting more like a child than Greta was.

"If you wish," Byrne agreed. She got up and went to the storage closet in the hallway.

There was so much Paula wanted to say to this creature sitting so innocently with puffy hands folded on fat legs. I know what you're doing. You've been pretty clever all these years. But now it's my turn.

She wanted to say these things, but Greta was not paying her any attention. She had leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes when Byrne left the room, as though life stopped until Byrne came back.

Byrne brought in half a dozen unframed canvasses and a heavy black leather album. She sat down on the couch. Greta got up and placed herself on the right, close to Byrne. Paula had no choice but to sit on the other side.

Paula said, "Let's go through the album first. I love old photographs." She could hardly keep the nastiness from her voice.

"Yes, the photographs," Greta said, her voice quivering with delight.

Byrne put the album on her knees and slowly opened the cover.

Fascinated, Paula viewed the yellowing snapshots. Byrne and Greta at the seashore, drops of water gleaming on their sunburned shoulders. Byrne and Greta on horseback. Byrne and Greta holding a string of fish. Their close years of togetherness, so obvious from this album, made Paula cringe in the knowledge of what a tiny portion of Byrne's life she herself could fill.

Byrne dusted the pictures off as she turned to each new page. Paula saw laugh wrinkles crease around Byrne's eyes as she relieved each photograph. And Paula knew then only too well that Greta had little fight to keep Byrne; the strength of years did it for her.

There was nothing Paula could say as Greta and Byrne recalled little incidents to each other with each picture. She could only sit there, very small and very silent, hoping that Byrne would come back to her soon.

When she had turned the last page, Greta sighed and put her head on Byrne's shoulder. Without saying a word, she held Byrne in complete possession.

At last Paula was driven to remind Byrne that the agent was holding theater tickets for them.

Byrne nodded as though she recognized her duty to Paula and gently moved herself from beneath Greta's head. She brought the woman her coat and helped her into it.

Greta didn't object. She wore a faraway smile that touched her lined forehead with a light finger. "I'll go to sleep tonight and dream about those pictures," she said.

Byrne accompanied her to the door and saw her into a taxi. When she returned, Paula faced her. Outrage trembled in every muscle of her body.

"Don't," Byrne whispered before Paula could say a word. She fell limply on the couch and rested her closed eyes on the heels of her hands. "I know everything you're going to say and I don't want to hear it."

Paula tried to calm herself. The right words, the words . that would endear her to Byrne, would not come. Prisoner of jealousy, she wanted to say things that would stab back at Byrne. She needed to hurt in return for the hurt.

"You lied to me," Paula said, her voice low with growing anger. She threw the album off the couch and slid it under the table. "You asked me to live with you and then you called her behind my back."