Three Women (7 page)

"Byrne, am I intruding tonight?" An uncomfortable wedge of jealousy picked at Paula. She suddenly felt a demand for all of Byrne's attention.

"No, no," Byrne answered quickly. She patted the girl's hand. "Just one minute. I have something for you." She walked swiftly into the other room and returned with a large wrapped package. "See what I brought you?"

Paula took the brown paper off and revealed a set of charcoal pencils, an india-ink pen and half a dozen sketch pads of different sizes. Paula smiled her appreciation, but only thought that she mustn't waste Byrne's time. She would get right to work.

The easel stood in its place and Paula set the largest of the pads on it. "Going to pose for me?"

The old grin spread across Byrne's features. "Are you braver tonight?"

"Oh, much," Paula nodded with enthusiasm. She wasn't at all brave. But this was one way to get Byrne out of those horribly conventional and covering clothes.

Byrne dragged a chair across the room and sat down, turning her profile to Paula.

Paula hesitated. She stared at Byrne for a while, waiting for some inspiration to move her pencil "I liked it better the other way," she said in a small voice, not daring to look at Byrne.

She heard a laugh rumble out of the woman. It seemed to lap around Paula, dissolving her conviction—and her confidence.

"Well, it's true," Paula's voice shook. She could not stop the fierceness of the pride and the honesty which demanded freedom. "You have the most beautiful body I ever saw. Why don't you take off your clothes? Do you want me to draw properly?" Her cheeks flushed with passion.

"Don't get excited," Byrne replied mildly. 'If you prefer me nude, I have no objections."

With deliberate movement, she stood up. Slowly, she kicked off one shoe, then the other, her glance fixed on Paula. She pulled the zipper down and let her skirt slide to the floor.

Paula saw the white nylon of Byrne's slip and the outline of garters beneath. She's going to go all the way, Paula thought frantically. I've got to stay calm, I've got to stay calm.

Wordlessly, a smile holding a hint of cynicism flitting across her lips, Byrne pulled the sweater over her head, revealing the hollows of her cleanly shaven arm pits. The warm odor of her perfumed body floated on the air. She dropped the sweater carelessly and started to raise her slip. Paula clutched the easel, paralyzed by the thing that was happening to her. Her stomach contracted with waves of an unfamiliar sensation she could not name.

Byrne reached behind and unhooked the white garter belt that encircled her flat stomach. She undid the stockings and moved them with both thumbs down the length of thigh and calf. Then, not hurrying, she discarded her bra, freeing the firm curves of her breasts. With one final movement, she stepped out of her panties and stood full face to Paula.

'Is this what you want?" she asked. Her voice was soft and tense.

Paula released her hold on the easel and remained firmly planted on her own two feet. The loveliness before her gave the girl sudden clear strength. As though she had emerged from a long dark hall into the sunlight, she stood shining with the knowledge of her own motives.

Byrne's body was no longer a confusing challenge; her flesh was a goal to be somehow reached.

"Yes," Paula answered, and put down the pencil.

Drawn by her need, Paula approached that body and leaned forward to brush her lips against the bare flesh. But Byrne grasped her shoulders and held her firmly at arm's length. "Do you know what you're doing?" she asked.

"No. And I don't care." She fought out of Byrne's grasp and grasped at the sweet compelling curves. Together, they fell to the couch, Paula clung to the lovely flesh, kissing it quickly, many times, wherever her mouth could find contact. They lay together, side by side. Paula wished furiously that her own body was bare, but she could not release her prize for fear of losing it. When her lips reached Byrne's, they claimed each other long and quietly.

The heaving and pounding in Paula's heart grew calmer. She cradled Byrne's head in her arm and nuzzled the tender earlobes.

"I’ll make you happy," Paula promised. "I’ll make you forget everything except how good it is to be together."

Byrne spread her fingers up through the back of Paula's head and held it "You have a lovely dreamland," she murmured. "I envy you."

There was nothing to envy, Paula objected. It was so simple to be together; to crave and satisfy that craving with honest love and' eternal devotion. Why must Byrne look troubled when nothing could stop them? But she kept these thoughts to herself. She did not want to talk, too afraid that Byrne might argue and break the spell of their closeness.

Neither spoke for many moments as they lay together in a still unfulfilled contentment. The incompleteness of their contact fired Paula with tempting promises. She must arrange to stay here a whole night. There wasn't time now to show Byrne all the horizons of her love, but she would, she would. Her mind went to the bed. That ornate bed was so unlike Byrne, so unhappy with its tortured decorations.

"If I ask you something," Paula said, "will you tell me the truth?"

Byrne turned a little and Paula shifted herself above her. She could see the dark pupils, large in the dim light of the room, surrounded by flecks of grey and green and amber.

"Ask away," Byrne said. "I’ll tell you whatever might concern you."

But all of you concerns me, Paula thought. Every move, every breath, every laugh. I want to share your whole life, not peek in at odd moments, know only parts.

"Are there others for you?" Paula said. "I mean right now. Are there?"

Byrne stroked the girl's cheek and ran a finger around the outline of her lips. "You sound like a man," she smiled. "Will you spoil everything so soon?"

Instantly Paula regretted her question. But how could Byrne expect her to love a person only half present someone almost a ghost? A something that came from nowhere and returned to nowhere?

"I'm sorry," she said. "I won't be possessive." Yet she felt possessive. And she had every intention of continuing to be possessive. She just wasn't going to let it show, but gradually she would unwind the secret of Byrne without her knowing it. She lay beside the woman, feeling the length of their bodies through her own clothes. Desperately she wanted skin to touch skin. She knew there would be other times, however. It would be best not to rush Byrne. Paula didn't want to frighten her away.

"There are a few things," Byrne offered, "that might be interesting for you to know."

"Like your phone number."

Byrne chuckled. "If you were really smart, you would have noticed it on the phone."

"Well, I'm not smart. But I'm learning."

"The first thing you should learn," Byrne said, pulling herself out from beneath Paula's weight, "is to observe instead of asking questions." She went into the bedroom and Paula followed her.

With disappointment, she watched Byrne take trousers out of the closet. She wanted to stop her from getting dressed again. She wanted to pull her down on the bed and possess her completely. If only she knew how! But Paula didn't move. Because even more strongly than she felt her desire, Paula wanted Byrne to make some sign that she desired her with equal strength. If Byrne would so much as lift a finger to her, Paula would be her slave. She would stay here and cook and clean and cater to this woman. She would forget Ma and Pa and Mike and live in this fragment of heaven for however long it would last.

Byrne lay her trousers on the bed and took a shirt from a pile in the drawer. She did these things sensibly, as though the moment with Paula had never occurred.

"You came here to sketch. We're not making much progress."

Paula's sight inspected every little object in the room, hoping to learn something new. She saw again the bewitching face of Greta and hated it, knowing instinctively that it had some kind of hold over Byrne.

"I would learn much faster if you would sketch a little, too."

"Me? I could never lift a pencil again. The last piece I did was flung out of a window and floated away on a merciful breeze."

Paula heard bitterness in the voice. She noticed that Byrne hadn't said that she herself threw it away. Someone else, then? Who? And why? Surely no one could be contemptuous of Byrne's talent.

"You mean it was so important to you that Greta didn't like your work?" Paula's wild thrust hit the mark.

"I hope you never learn," Byrne's voice was hard and remorseless, "about people like Greta."

Paula let Byrne dress, sensing that their mood of pleasure was ended for that evening. They returned to the living room and she resumed her position at the easel. Now, knowing they were not forbidden to her, she could draw portions of Byrne's body without flinching. She wanted to meet Greta. She wanted to come face to face with the poison in Byrne's life and draw it out. If they loved each other, why did Byrne carry the memory so heavily in her heart? Questions pumped into Paula's brain but she knew better than to voice them.

And a plan was beginning to form. She must be very careful not to let Byrne recognize what she was up to. The steps of it were not exactly clear to her yet, but determination would lead her along the way. Byrne must paint again. If she could paint once more and be recognized, then she would realize that life was not ruined for her.

Paula observed her own work. There was talent in it but nothing to rave about. Yes, she would continue to draw and work hard. That would be the bait to lure Byrne back once more to her own creativity. And this would conquer Greta's destruction. Paula would win Byrne all to herself, and they would be together ever happily.

She drew until ten-thirty, then sat beside Byrne while she corrected the perspective. Occasionally Paula pretended not to understand something, forcing Byrne to do a little sketch to explain. And each time she drew an arm or a shoulder slope, Paula congratulated herself.

At eleven o'clock, Byrne said it was time for Paula to leave. The thought of going home, of not seeing Byrne for a whole day made impatience arrive immediately. She wished Byrne would say to come again tomorrow so that she would not feel that she was forcing herself on the woman.

They kissed a gentle good night. The gentleness whirled away into passion and Paula could not release Byrne from her arms. "Let me stay with you," she blurted. "Just tonight."

Byrne tried to disentangle herself. "I'm sorry," she said with reluctance. "Maybe sometime, but not this evening."

So she wasn't going to be alone, Paula realized.

Byrne glanced impatiently at her watch, kissed Paula quickly and closed the door between them.

Lingering in the hallway, Paula straightened her hair. Someone would be corning to Byrne this night. Her body tensed with anger and some fearful intuition.

She would wait and discover for herself the woman who could make Byrne so restless and even afraid.

Paula looked around to see if she could hide behind the staircase and watch from there. The idea of sneaking around like some sort of spy disgusted her. She turned up her coat collar and went outside. Better to stroll along the block or stand across the street. The sky, pink with snow, glowed weirdly. It was cold and her feet made crunching sounds on the frozen sidewalk. The yellow cones from street lamps floated light into the loneliness, making setting a stage waiting for the players.

Hands clenched in either pocket, Paula felt the warmth of her palms beginning to ebb. She climbed the steps of the house directly across the street from Byrne's. From there she could see inside her window. Curtains hindered her view a little but the light behind them aided her. She watched Byrne go to the easel and take away the pad. She saw her bend where the couch would be and guessed that Byrne was gathering her clothes together. Paula smiled with satisfaction. At least Byrne didn't want the other person to know about her. I mean something to her, she thought happily. Maybe just a little, but at least I exist.

Her smile dissolved into curiosity as the sauntering figure of a lone man came into focus. He was short, and obviously unconcerned with the cold because his coat flapped open. When he passed through an arc of light Paula caught her breath. She must be mistaken! She rushed diagonally across the street to get a better look. She passed close by the figure, almost bumping into it, and she was sure. This was no man.

The wisps of white hair, soft as clouds, fell onto the forehead. Not flowing to the shoulders as on the picture, but masculinely short. The once delicate features were flabby, swollen with age and degeneration. Those wicked eyes had sunken into folds of black, wrinkled lids. The chin line dissolved in puffs of fat. Only the lips, the sensitive rosy lips, remained in morbid epitaph to the former enchantment

Paula continued a few steps beyond. Then she turned to watch. The small feet, unprotected by boots, strolled on, moving in a lackadaisical world. She saw her climb Byrne's stairs and push the door open with her shoulder.

Paula retraced her steps and once more climbed the steps across the street. As if watching a silent film, she watched Greta enter the apartment. Hardly bothering to greet Byrne, she disappeared in the direction of the bedroom. All too soon, Byrne flicked out the lights and left Paula staring into darkness and the black depths of her own imagination.

* * *

Paula hardly knew what hour of the night it was when she climbed the last flight and slowly turned the doorknob. Instead of darkness and snoring, she was met by glaring light and silence. Mike had come home. He stood leaning with his arms on the refrigerator, staring greyly at the wall. Her mother sat wearing the old flowered nightgown. Her braids, disheveled from sleep, fell unnoticed down her back. Phil sat beside her, silently holding her hands.

Paula's first thought was that she was the cause of their anxiety. Then she saw the fight in her parents' bedroom. She went to it, and stared at the empty bed.

Slowly, as realization engulfed her, she backed away. Mutely, she questioned them one by one. Where's Pa? But they ignored her.