But Laura was on top of the situation now. She could play it her way.
“Tell you what, Beth?” Laura said suggestively, and brushed cold water from Beth’s breasts. Beth shied away from her and stood up.
“Tell me what to do,” she said through clenched teeth. “Who I am.” She gave a tortured little laugh through her sobs and said, “God it’s funny. It’s so funny. I thought I’d know just by looking at you. I thought all you’d have to do was walk through that door and I’d suddenly understand everything. Just the sight of you would make it all clear.”
“You were always a great one for oversimplifying things,” Laura said. “I’m not the fortune teller who can read your palm. I’m not so easy to hurt anymore either, or so easy to teach. I’ve learned to protect myself. You gave me my first lessons years ago. Tell me something, Beth. Why did you think you had to find me to find yourself?”
“I don’t know,” Beth said and shook her head. Laura handed her some face tissue to wipe the last of the water off with and Beth snatched it from her, haughtily. She blew her nose. “It sounds—crazy, now. Irrational, even. But a few hours ago it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.”
“And now I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I?” Laura said. She seemed privately pleased at the idea; it might show Beth the folly of oversimplifying things, of hurting other people to spare herself. “Poor Beth. Poor silly Beth. It was all going to be so easy, wasn’t it?” she said sympathetically.
Beth was without dignity, without resources. She could only mumble, “I guess I expected too much.”
“You expected the impossible,” Laura chided her. “And I thought at first you really wanted me. Really desired me again.”
“I—I did.”
“No, it was something completely different. Oh, not that you minded that part in bed a little while ago. But that was supposed to be the frosting on the cake. You could have done without that if you’d had to.”
“Laura, don’t persecute me,” she whimpered, sitting down in a stuffed chair by the window. “If I had only found a guy like Jack!” she said, pounding her legs harshly with her fists. “If only—”
“You aren’t going to make things better by copying my life,” Laura said. “Even if you could, that’s no answer.”
“It was the answer for you,” Beth snapped.
“But you’re not me,” Laura said. “Come on, Beth, you know that much.”
“We’re a lot alike,” Beth persisted.
“We’re entirely different. We always were.”
Beth stood up again, turning her back to Laura. She stood tall and angry, hurt and bewildered, but recovering her pride. “Are you telling me you won’t help me?” she demanded. “You refuse? I’m not worth the trouble? Or am I just a hopeless case?”
“Not yet, but you’re trying awfully damned hard to make yourself hopeless,” Laura exclaimed. “What right have you to get on your high horse with me? When you need help, Beth, you ask for it. You don’t order it, like a meal. At least not from the people who don’t owe you anything.” There was another blazing silence. The air between them seemed very heavy.
“Is there anything I can do?” Laura said finally, placatingly. “I doubt it. But if there is, tell me.”
“I want you to tell me!” Beth cried, turning on her in near despair. “Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think I’ve given up everything just to find you? What do you think I’ve been saying to you all morning?” And to emphasize her anger, to avenge herself for that shameful glass of water, she picked up Laura’s bed pillow and swung it hard against the table. It broke. Together, silent, they watched the feathers snow down. Beth was too mad to feel sorry. She was entitled to ruin something, after all Laura had put her through.
Laura nodded distantly at the mess. “That’s right, Beth,” she said, and her composure infuriated Beth the more. “When things go wrong, throw a tantrum. When they aren’t right, break them. You’ve always thought that way, haven’t you? You’re still a child. I guess that’s the real cause of all your troubles.”
“I’m a woman!” Beth cried. “A grown woman!”
“A grown woman would know herself, control herself. She’d know breaking a pillow wouldn’t solve her problems. She’d know I couldn’t change her whole life.”
“You did once.”
“I hardly touched it.” Laura bent over and picked up a goose feather, and Beth watched her, fascinated and angry. “I passed through your life, I loved you. And it didn’t work out because you didn’t love me. We parted, as we should have, and it was over. I yearned for you for a long time. And what did you do? Got married to a handsome, intelligent, affectionate s.o.b. you were in love with. Was it so godawful, Beth? Was it really as bad as all that? Or did you just begin to be bored with housewifery? Did you just want to play around again, the way you played around with me?”
“I loved you, Laura,” Beth said helplessly and suddenly went to her knees among the feathers. “I loved you, how can you think anything else?”
Abruptly, Laura’s understanding, that wonderful understanding that Beth had needed and demanded and had traveled out of her life and over a continent to find, was unwelcome. It was painful and embarrassing, because it exposed the truth. Beth, on her knees, recoiled from it at the same time that she pleaded for it. It was a question which was worse: the endless wondering about herself, about her true sexuality, or knowing the truth and having the truth be ugly and selfish and pitiful.
“You loved what you couldn’t have, Beth,” Laura “You still do.”
“But I could have had you! I know that, we both know
