working in spurts like this. I’ve missed you.”
She didn’t say anything.
“I’d like to cut loose a little tonight. Dinner for a start, and then maybe we can both get a little bit stoned. Unless your head-”
“I’m all right.”
“Are you sure? We can stay in if you’d rather. If you’ve got a headache and if the aspirin isn’t doing anything for you-”
Megan’s concern for her rankled as much as Megan’s hand on her forehead. She forced herself to sit up. “I’m all right,” she said.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, of course not. It’s just-”
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said. She fumbled for a cigarette, let Megan light it for her. She drew on it and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Where do you want to go?”
“For dinner? I thought something substantial. Let’s get a couple of steaks at O’Henry’s.”
“It’s expensive, isn’t it?”
“My treat.”
They got an outside table at O’Henry’s, one of a half dozen scattered just outside the entrance to give the place a sidewalk cafe feeling. They had two rounds of cocktails, then a pair of rare sirloins with baked potatoes. The food was good and the service was fast.
But something missed. The drinks didn’t get rid of her headache but only made it worse. The food was delicious but she couldn’t enjoy it, could only think that she was not going to digest it, that the steak and potato would sit like lead on her stomach. And she couldn’t avoid feeling guilty over her failure to relax and enjoy what was a very good meal. This was a big production on Megan’s part, an expensive dinner that constituted some sort of combined peace offering and celebration, and everything would have been better if she could have let herself go.
But she couldn’t, not the way she was, not tied in knots like this. And the conversation that should have sparkled was flat and lifeless. They were having trouble talking to each other, and that had never happened to them before.
Once, she started talking about Ed Vance. “I think he’ll leave me alone now,” she said. “I really hope so. He’s beginning to get on my nerves.
“Then why not get rid of him once and for all?”
“That’s hard, with a man like him. But I don’t think he’ll be back.”
“You should have been firmer with him, kitten. I don’t like the idea of a man trying to push into your life.”
Legitimate concern, she told herself. But why couldn’t she help feeling that Megan was trying to run her life, that Megan was making something out of nothing? Why did everything Megan said get under her skin?
Another time Megan mentioned her job. “I’m really throwing myself into this,” she said. “Knocking myself out.”
“You must enjoy it.”
“I suppose I do. But it’s hard being away from you so much.”
“Oh, is it?”
“Honey, did I do something wrong? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s the matter.”
But something was and she knew it. Something was very wrong between them, so wrong that they couldn’t talk like normal human beings without one of them getting on the other’s nerves. She felt wrong about it but that did not seem to change things.
After dinner they sat on a bench in Sheridan Square. The air was heavy, thick with the exhaust of trucks and cabs, rolling south on Seventh Avenue. They smoked cigarettes, and Rhoda thought that not long ago she had not smoked in public, on the street. There were a lot of things she did now that she had not done in the past.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“A show? Something like that?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Want to drop in on some of the girls?”
“Maybe.”
“I think we ought to,” Megan said. “A little company might do us both some good. We’re just getting on each other’s nerves, kitten, and that’s no good for either of us.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Rhoda? Should I call some of the girls?”
“All right.”
“Anyone special you want me to try?”
“You could call Bobbie. ”
“Why?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why, no reason, Megan. I just thought that she was a friend of ours.”
“You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh, damn it, you do. Do you have to be so awful to me, Rhoda? Do you have to-”
They sat in silence, and she thought that it was all falling apart at the seams now, that Megan was jealous, that she was irritable, that the two of them were not going to last forever or anywhere close to it. She took a last drag on her cigarette and dropped it to the pavement, covered it with her foot and ground it out.
Megan said, “I’ll call her.”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“I’ll call her. Wait for me.”
Megan made the call from an outdoor booth across the street. Rhoda sat waiting for her. She tool another cigarette and lit it with the small lighter Megan had given her; the one with her name on it in precise script. She held the lighter in the palm of her hand and thought about their exchange of gifts. An exchange of presents, she knew now, was a ritual in the formation of a lesbian relationship. All the gay girls did it, giving each other tiny engraved gifts along with vows of foreverness. Once she had seen Megan’s collection of the jewelry she had been given over the years. A pin with two circles interlocked, a bracelet inscribed Never Leave Me-H.R., a half dozen rings, each engraved on the inside-Megan and Sue, Megan and Rita, Megan and Charlotte… all those trophies of loves that would never die, but that had died after all.
When Megan came back toward her she dropped the lighter in her purse. Megan told her that Bobbie wasn’t at her apartment, but that she had called Grace and Alice. “You remember them, Rhoda. They were at Leonetti’s the first time I took you there.”
“They were at Jan’s party, too.”
“Yes, I guess they were. They want us to drop over. Grace wanted to know if we were dressed. She sits around in slacks and a tailored blouse when she’s at home, but I told her we were wearing dresses so she’ll change into something more feminine.”
“She doesn’t have to.”
“She’ll feel uncomfortable otherwise. You don’t mind do you? Grace and Alice are an old pair, but they’re pretty good company.”
“I don’t mind,” she said.
It wasn’t a bad evening. Grace had a quart of J amp; B scotch and nothing to mix it with, and the four of them sat around drinking the liquor straight over ice cubes. They talked about Allie’s cold, which seemed to be chronic, and about the place where Grace was working, and Megan’s decorating job. They talked, too, about people. “A heavy date this weekend,” Grace said. “Allie and I are doing the town. Dinner at L’Aiglon, tickets to Pearly Wine, and then a nightcap or three at the Living Room. Have you ever been there, Rhoda? Everybody sits on these little couches for two, and the lights are low, and they have some sexy cabaret singer, and everyone does a little genteel
