whole idyllic notion of being loved and in love. It had not been like this before, and she doubted that it could ever have been like this with any other person, man or woman. Only with Megan, only with the two of them together.
So happy.
Sunday night Megan said, “There’s a party tonight. But let’s not go to it.”
“What kind of party?”
“Some girls I know.”
“A gay party?”
“Of course. We’re a congenial lot, you know. None of us can stand being alone very well. Parties every weekend, more often than that if you really like to stay in the swim. I could take you and show you off if you like. Let everyone see what a lovely lover I have. You don’t want to go, do you?”
“No. Not tonight.”
But later she said, “These parties, Megan. What do you do at them?”
“Sit around. Drink. Chat cattily, talk about who is going with whom, and who just jilted whom, and other pertinent gossip. Speculate on the sex lives of political figures and Hollywood stars. Clever little bitchy chitchat like that. What did you think?”
“I just wondered.”
“No orgies, if that’s what you meant.”
“Why, I-”
“I’m kidding. Just parties. Some people usually drink too much, and some girl goes on a crying jag, and a couple may break up or two singles may decide to go home together and share a closet.”
So much talk about couples breaking up and new couples forming. She wondered at one point how many lovers Megan had had before her, how many girls like her had shared Megan’s bed and Megan’s love. She told herself it was silly to think about it, sillier still to be jealous. She couldn’t be jealous of a past love, or an affair that was part of a lover’s history. That was before she knew Megan. It was over and done with, it no longer existed.
Yet it hurt to think about those former loves. They paraded through Rhoda’s mind, a long column of girlish silhouettes, each one a symbol of love that had been designed to last forever and that had flamed briefly and died. Megan didn’t talk about them. Once, though, she alluded to the last girl she had lived with, the one for whom she had bought the green red-veined heart. “It won’t last,” she had said, “She’s a flighty thing. It won’t last a month.”
Could love end that quickly? And if those affairs could be so ephemeral, how long could she and Megan stay together?
Forever, she told herself. And she pushed the problem from her mind. This was easily done; she was in no mood for problems.
Monday, on her lunch hour, she stopped at a small jewelry shop, around the corner from Heaven’s Door. She spent a full half hour looking at everything in the shop until she settled on a small gold circle pin an inch across. On the back, she had the jeweler engrave Forever. And, on the lower rim, your rhoda.
She went straight home after work. Megan was waiting for her. She gave Megan the pin, and the blonde girl looked at it and kissed her and laughed and handed her a small, gift-wrapped package. Inside was a silver cigarette lighter, small and chic, with Rhoda Moore engraved on its side in Spenserian script.
Thursday night the phone rang. Megan answered and talked for several minutes. Her face was slightly drawn when she hung up. “I don’t feel like staying home tonight,” she announced. “There’s a good movie at the Waverly. A double feature, two old Humphrey Bogart movies. Let’s go.”
Megan relaxed in the movie. They held hands through the show. It seemed very odd, at first, holding hands with Megan in the theater. There were other people all around them, and at first she felt tremendously self- conscious, as though everyone could see them and what they were to each other. But that was ridiculous. The theater was dark, and no one was watching them the first place. She gave Megan’s hand a squeeze and relaxed and watched the movie.
Afterward she was ready to go home. She was tired, she had work the next morning. Megan wanted to stop for a drink.
“We’ll see some people. You don’t have any friends, kitten.”
“I have you.”
“You should know more people.”
“Why?”
“You should. A little company wouldn’t hurt. Bobby called me this evening, wanted to come over.”
“Who’s he?”
A smile. “She. Roberta Kardaman, Bobby for short. Just a friend-she said she heard I was going with someone and she wanted to drop over and be introduced. I told her we were going out.”
“Oh?”
“She said she’d be at Leonetti’s tonight. That’s the place on Barrow Street, the cellar bar. I think I pointed it out to you.”
“Yes.”
“I told her we would drop by. It’s not far, it’s almost on the way home. Do you mind?”
“No.”
“Bobby was never anything to me, if that’s what you’re hesitant about. Not my type. Believe me, it’s very brave of me to let you meet her.”
“Why?”
“She’ll probably make a play for you.” Megan smiled. “She used to go with a girl named Rae. They broke up, oh, months ago, and Bobby’s been alone since then. And pretty miserable most of the time. I didn’t want her to come over because I thought she might make eyes at you or make some sort of approach.”
She was hurt. “You know I wouldn’t-”
“It’s not that. I thought you might be uncomfortable. But I like Bobby and I don’t want to dodge her. If I see her tonight at Leonetti’s, there’ll be other people around and I don’t think she’ll do anything gauche. She may undress you with her eyes. Do you think you can stand it?”
“I hope so.”
“You love. How did I ever find you?” Then, her tone more serious, “We won’t stay long. It’ll do you good. This is a new world, gay society, and with the lousy marriage you had and the months of hibernation, you have to learn how to handle yourself in a social pattern like this. I don’t mean which fork to use, not that. But there’s a whole ritual, a whole pattern of social relationships and friendships and everything else. It wouldn’t be fair to you if I kept you to myself all the time.”
“I wouldn’t mind that, Megan.”
Leonetti’s was in the middle of a darkened residential block, occupying the cellar of a dingy brownstone. The bar itself was dimly lit, with dark corners and small tables set far apart. The bartender was the only man in the place. He was a tall Italian, bald, with a round face and implausibly innocent eyes. Four or five girls sat at the bar. Half a dozen couples occupied the tables.
Heads turned their way when they entered the room. Rhoda stiffened inside, tremendously self-conscious. The wraps were off now. Here, with Megan at her side, everyone in the bar knew at once that she was gay, that she and Megan were lovers. People might speculate in the Village streets, but here there was no room for doubt. If she and Megan had not been gay, they would not have come here.
She wanted to turn and run. But Megan took her hand and led her easily across the room, passing tables where girls sat drinking. Some of the drinkers continued to look at her. Others lost interest and went back to their drinks or their conversations. She took a breath a leaned slightly against Megan. They found a table far at the rear and sat down opposite one another.
“Bobby’s not here yet,” Megan said. “Well? How you do you like the place?”
“It’s all right.”
“I shouldn’t have brought you. You aren’t ready, are you?”
“I-”
“Promenading down the center aisle while all the butches stare at us. Like a slave auction. What are you
