drinking?”
“You order.”
The waitress was a slender dark-skinned girl who knew Megan by name. Megan ordered scotch sours for both of them. The waitress nodded and left. Rhoda took a cigarette, gave Megan one, lit them both with the little silver lighter Megan had given her. She blew out a cloud of smoke and let her eyes scan the room. No one was staring at them now. The girls at the other tables seemed more natural. Just other girls, she told herself. Like her. Like Megan. Others who lived in the same special world. They ought to inspire sympathy, not fear.
“I’m all right now,” she told Megan.
The waitress returned with their drinks. Megan paid. They raised glasses and toasted silently. The sour was just right, not too sweet. She drank half of it in a single swallow and set her glass down on the black table top.
Megan said, “The first time I came here I was with a girl named Susan. That was so many years ago. The police closed Leonetti’s since then, and then the bar reopened under a different policy, it wasn’t a gay place at all. And then, about a year ago, we started coming here again. Funny how things come full circle. They had jazz here for awhile, live music and uptown tourists and all. Now it’s a gay club again, just like before.” She worked on her drink “There was a time when I came here seven nights a week. I started to turn into an alcoholic. And a tramp, too. I went home with a different girl every night. God, that was a long time ago.”
“What happened?”
“Susan. We broke up. She moved out on me, and up to that time it had always been the other way around, I had always done the leaving. The first time is hell. I tried to kill myself but I didn’t have the nerve.”
“You poor girl-”
“You live through those things.” Megan turned away. “It’s hell, though. And it always happens, you know. I’m in a lovely mood, aren’t I? Bobby’s phone call did it, I still haven’t shaken the mood. But nothing ever lasts, not in this world. Straight people get married and live unhappily ever after. But they have a chance of staying together. A fair chance. Gay girls never manage. There’s no divorce because there’s no marriage. You just-leave each other.”
“We’ll last.”
“For awhile.”
“Forever, Megan.”
“Oh, sure.” She forced a smile. “What a bitchy mood I’m in. I’m sorry, it’s rotten of me.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“And the hell of it is that tomorrow I’ll deny all of this. I’ll swear that we’ll stay together until hell freezes. And I’ll believe it, too. I know right now it isn’t true, that those things never happen. I know two girls who’ve been together for three years, and that seems like forever in our circle, and you know, I’ll bet they break up before the year is out. They won’t make it. They’ve been hovering on the edge of a break for months now and it’s coming and everybody knows it’s coming, and they’re the ones we always point to when we want to prove that forever is possible, that two girls can grow old together. I wish I could just stop talking now. I’m running off at the mouth and depressing the hell out of both of us. Tell me to shut up, will you?”
“Maybe you’d better. Somebody’s coming this way.”
Two girls came toward their table. One was a very short girl with pale blonde hair and fragile features. Her lips were bloodless and her skin looked as though a touch would bruise it. The woman with her was older, about thirty-five with short dark hair and a heavy frame. Not exactly butchy, Rhoda thought, but more along the lines of the obvious lesbian than any of the others. Megan introduced them as Alice and Grace. They took the two empty chairs.
Grace was the older of the two. “We can only sit for minute,” she said. “Allie’s been sniffling all week. You know her constitution. Every time she turns around she catches another cold. Autumn is a bad time for her, autumn and spring. The changing weather.”
Alice smiled bravely. “I’m all right. I’ll sleep late tomorrow. I was anxious to meet you, Rhoda. You’re very attractive, you know. Megan has good taste.”
She was embarrassed, and covered it by a lighting a cigarette. Grace lit a cigarette of her own. She smoked like a man, Rhoda noticed, holding the cigarette at the base of the V between her second and third fingers near to the palm. Now she said, “I’d be jealous, Rhoda, but Allie doesn’t go for pretty girls. She needs somebody like me.”
“Of course I do.”
“Someone to take care of her.” Grace blew out smoke. “Gawd, what a day. I’ve been running around until I can’t see straight. You two coming to Jan’s place tomorrow? No, today’s what? Thursday? Jan’s thing is on Saturday, not tomorrow. Coming?”
“We haven’t been invited.”
“Oh, you’re invited. You’ll come won’t you?”
“I suppose so,” Megan said.
A few minutes later Grace got to her feet and said that Alice really had to have her rest, especially in this weather. Alice smiled weakly and followed her out of the bar.
“Those two,” Megan said. “Alice always has a cold, or a weak ankle, or dizzy spells. A fragile flower, a dainty little china doll. Grace spoils her silly. Pays all the bills, waits on her hand and foot, never gets to lay a hand on her for a week before or after her period. But that’s the way they both want it. Alice needs someone to take care of her and Grace needs somebody to take care of, so they both get what they want out of it. People usually do, I guess.”
“What?”
“Get what they want.”
“I got what I wanted.”
Megan took her hand. They were halfway through a second round of drinks when Bobby Kardaman came. Rhoda saw her in the doorway, standing at the foot of the stairs and scanning the dark room carefully. Megan waved to the girl, and she cut quickly across the room, not stopping to talk to anyone. A few of the girls called to her. Bobby Kardaman ignored them.
She sighed, sank into a chair, “I’m sorry, I got tied up. Did I keep you long?”
“We’re on our second round,” Megan said. She handled the introductions. Bobby smiled, offered her hand. Rhoda shook it. Bobby’s eyes held hers for a moment, then stopped to study her. Rhoda felt herself coloring. She reached for her drink and sipped it.
Bobby said, “Megan, you’re a lucky girl. A lucky lucky girl.” She sighed again. “I amn’t. Aren’t? I aren’t? No, I am not. That’s the right way. I am not lucky.”
Bobby Kardaman was drunk. Not reeling, not staggering, but tight enough to be slightly glassy-eyed, tight enough to slur the corners of her words. She was a striking girl, Rhoda saw. Chestnut hair, high cheekbones, a full mouth, deep blue eyes, a full-blown body. She patted at her hair with one hand now and looked around for the waitress. “Where is that bitch?” she said. “I need a drink in the worst way. Jesus, what a night. Meg, honey, I’m coming unglued. I really am.”
“Bad?”
“Oh, the worst. Really. You know how you see who you want to? How when you’re gay the whole world looks gay? Oh, Jesus, listen to this. I saw a girl on Macdougal, a corn-fed thing fresh from the farm, you know, and some idiot bell rang and I thought, well, this one has to be gay. Can you imagine? She didn’t look it, she didn’t act it, nothing, but old Kardaman got an idea in her fat head and that was that. If I wanted her to be gay, then she was gay.”
“What happened?”
“Well, I was a little bit stoned.”
“Like now?”
“Not quite, because that was a whole two bars ago. A little less stoned. But I went right up to that Iowa cornball and propped her. Right there on the street. Come with me, I cooed, and I’ll make love to you and we’ll have a ball. Oh, very bad, the worst. The kid cracked, she was scared out of at least three uneventful years of her life. I thought she was going to scream for the law. I left hurriedly. Meg, I have to find somebody. Meg, this is bad.”
“Easy, girl.”
“Oh, sure.” She forced a half-hearted grin. “I must be making a lovely impression on you, Rhoda. Can I call
