“Medical secretary.”
“Where?”
“With Dr. Edgar Hollingsworth.”
“Who’s he?”
“The top radiologist in the city.”
“Where’s his office?”
“Fifth and fifty-third.”
“Who are the friends?”
This abrupt switch threw her for a moment. “The friends?”
“You said you had some.”
“Oh,” she said quickly. “Do you want their names?” The little sarcasms she mustered added to her bravery.
He curled his mouth disgustedly. “Anything that will help,” he said. “Names mean nothing. Who are they?”
“Well,” she said, “some are men and some are women.” For a triumphant moment she felt like laughing in his face. But his face had grown dark, and a flash of fear prevented her. “My roommate,” she went on, more timidly. “For one. She’s a very nice girl. I’ve met a lot of wonderful people through her. The doctors have been wonderful to me.”
“Everybody’s ‘wonderful,’” he mimicked.
“I was surprised to find that people can be nice, Father.”
“God! If a man accused me of being ‘nice’ I’d spit in his face.”
“And decent and human!” she said hotly.
His face grew dangerous now and his body tense. “Are you implying that I’m not human?”
Her fear grew suddenly quite strong and for a moment she wavered. Then she said softly, “If you’re going to beat me, Father, do it now and let’s get it over with.”
He laughed; an awful laugh she remembered very well. It was usually the prelude to violence. “Well, isn’t that noble,” he said. “Why don’t you pull down your pants and bend over? Make it easy for me?”
“You’ve beaten me all my life, whenever I displeased you. And I seem to displease you just by existing. I’ve never seen you beat anyone your own size, Father, but you’re awfully damn good at beating me.”
“My, aren’t we grown up!” he said. “We not only talk back to our Father now, we swear at him. That’s real sophistication.”
“You don’t know how much I hate you, Father! You can’t know! I’ve begun to think that’s what you want. You’ve worked hard enough all my life to make me hate you.”
His face changed again, became grave and heavy. Her eyes watched him intently, like eyes that have witnessed floods scan the skies for sun. He turned away from her, dragging on his cigarette, knocking ashes into a heavy glass tray on the dresser. “Why do you hate me, Laura?” he asked dispassionately. “Because I discipline you now and then? Isn’t that a father’s prerogative?”
“Not when it ruins his child’s life.”
“Is your life ruined?” he said sharply. “You have a ‘wonderful’ job, ‘wonderful’ friends. Wonderful money in the bank, wonderful everything. Hell, I seem to have done you a favor.”
“A favor! You call it a favor!” She stared at him, his hardness still astonishing her after all these years. And then she felt her resistance begin to wilt. Sooner or later all her arguments were doomed. She never won with him. The sheer physical fact of him, massive and dominant, exhausted her after a while. “I—I never wanted to hate you, Father. You were all I had. I wanted to love you. But you wouldn’t let me,” she almost whispered. I mustn’t go on like this. I’ll cry, she thought desperately. “I hate you because you hate me!” she flung at him.
He looked at her for some time before he answered quietly, “What makes you think I hate you, Laura?”
She was so taken aback by this that she could only stammer at him. “I don’t know, but you know you do.”
“Oh, come now. I haven’t been that harsh with you.”
It’s a trap! A trap! He wants to soften me up. He wants to see me whimpering. Oh, God, if only I could stop him, freeze him up, like other men. “You’ve been brutal,” she said harshly and the sobs were crowding close in her throat. “You’ve treated me like a slave. Worse! You’ve beaten me sometimes for nothing. Just for the exercise.”
“I never once beat you without a reason,” he said.
“You lie!” And her voice was a furious hiss.
He glared at her. “I’m not in the habit of lying to you, Laura. Your life has been more than beatings. I sent you to the best schools. I let you go to the college of your choice. I let you join a sorority and paid all your bills. And when you came home and quit like a damn coward—without so much as an explanation, I didn’t force you to go back. I found you a good job with excellent training and a big future. I’ve given you a good comfortable home, a lot of clothes, travel.” His voice was low, controlled, but it was the calm before the storm and he was tense.
“I would have traded them all for love.” Her voice broke and she turned suddenly away, afraid to shame herself with tears in front of him.
“Let’s not get maudlin,” he said sardonically, and once again smothered the spark of tenderness that had waited so many years in Laura for expression.
“All right,” she said sharply. “Let’s not be maudlin. I have a good job here and I’m not going to leave New York. That’s what I came to tell you. Now maybe I’d better go.” She turned and walked resolutely toward the door, but she should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. He merely placed himself between the door and Laura and she stopped, afraid to go near him. He smiled slightly at this evidence of his power over her.
“Before you leave,” he said, “suppose you explain the filial affection that made you write me to go to hell, in your little billet-doux last week?”
“Why did you say you had no daughter?” she flared.
“To teach you a lesson.”
“Are there any lessons left for you to teach me?” she said.
“Quite a few, my dear.
