“No. But I wish it was Friday night.”
“Relax. We’ll leave when you say the word.”
She began to feel adventurous and crazy. Jack went up to get them both a drink. She eyed it with suspicion but then she picked it up and drank half of it down, and it hit her like a bomb, a big soft lovely explosion of warmth in the pit of her stomach. She blinked at Jack, who only smiled, knowing the feeling.
“How would you like to be in here some night,” he said slowly, “with Marcie beside you? And sit alone together at that little table over there? And tell her you love her?” Laura took another gulp of the drink and almost finished it. “And hear her say the same thing?”
Laura put the glass down with trembling hands. “Oh, Jack, you bastard,” she said, her insides aflame. “Cut it out.”
“You want it so badly,” he said, “that it’s tearing your guts out. And it’s never going to happen. So open your eyes. Look around. There are some beautiful women here tonight. There’s one as pretty as Marcie.” He squinted over her shoulder. Laura turned around indignantly to look, and saw a charming face framed in short brown curls smiling at a table partner. She looked up at the sudden sight of Laura’s own face, pale and compelling.
“Nobody’s as pretty as Marcie,” Laura told him.
“Somebody was,” Jack said, with his peculiar intuition taking him straight to the point.
“What do you mean?” Laura said defensively, and finished her drink.
“Whenever you know damn well what I mean,” he said with a smile, “you ask ‘what do I mean.’ As if I were nuts. Well, I’m not. Give me your glass.” He took it and got up. “Never thought you’d beat me to the bottom, Mother.” He peered into it with one eye and then left to get it refilled.
Laura leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes. After all, what did it matter if she were here? She felt wonderful. She had put in a terrific day’s work, she had a right to a little fling. Her body glowed through its whole length. Marcie loomed in her mind like a lovely apparition, not quite real.
I’ll have her someday, Laura thought. No matter what he says.
She looked around her, half consciously searching for someone. But the girl in the black pants wasn’t there. The crowd was much the same as before, but thinner. The artist was walking around with his sketch pad, stopping to talk to tablesful of friends. The bar was crowded, more than the tables.
Jack came back, put a fresh glass in front of her, and sat down. “Now. What was her name?” he said.
Laura opened her eyes slowly. “Who?”
“Number one.”
She wrinkled her nose in some disgust. “Jack, she wasn’t a number. Or an animal. Or part of a collection.”
“What was she?”
“She was a wonderful girl.”
“Beautiful like Marcie?”
“No. Beautiful—but not like Marcie. They have some features in common. But Beth was taller. She was quite boyish.” She felt a little embarrassed suddenly, putting it this way. “Marcie’s very feminine.”
“What are you?”
Laura stared at him over the rim of her glass. “What am I?” she repeated, confusedly. “Do I have to be something? I don’t know.”
“You’ll find out fast enough,” he said. “Beth probably taught you a lot. The one who brings you out always does.”
“Yes, she did,” she said dreamily. Beth had loosened her up wonderfully when they were together. She had taken her by the hand and led her to herself. She had also abandoned her there. But Laura couldn’t hold anything against her. That had been a sacred love and always would be in her memory, like all loves that are broken off in full passion. If they had been together till it had worn off a little, Laura might have left her without any desperate regrets and loneliness. She might have been able to see Beth as a whole person, not as an ideal. But it hadn’t happened that way, and Beth still looked like a goddess to her.
Now, in a new world, with new people, she wasn’t sure what she was. With Marcie she felt aggressive and violent. Here, in The Cellar, with so many eyes on her, she felt timid.
Jack grinned at her. “You’re a boy,” he said. “With Marcie, anyway. My friend won’t like that.”
Laura put her glass down. “I’m a girl,” she said. “Don’t look at me that way.”
Jack put his head back and laughed. “Correction,” he said. “You’re a girl. Why don’t you move down here where you don’t have to be either?”
“Everybody has to be one or the other.”
“You’re too literal, Laura. Cut off your hair. Wear those pants you look so nice in. Get some desert boots, a car coat and some men’s shirts, and you’re in business.”
“Jack,” she said, “You are positively revolting.”
“That’s the uniform,” he said. “Can’t join the club without it.”
“I don’t want to join.”
“Yes you do. You feel good in pants. You swagger.”
“I do not!” But she was laughing at him. At herself.
“Shhh!” he said softly. “Or they’ll cut you off. Here comes dinner.”
The presence of the waitress made it impossible to talk. She set a delectable dinner in front of Laura. But somehow, after the first few bites, it lost its appeal. She sat gazing at the plate, wondering where her enormous appetite had gone, pushing a mushroom dreamily from one side to the other. Jack smiled, watching her. He leaned over the table on his elbows and picked up her knife.
“Laura,” he said, pointing at her mushroom. Then he pushed another one slowly across the plate from the other side. “Marcie,” he said, nodding at it. The two mushrooms made contact south of the fried potatoes, and Laura felt crazy, watching it. It made her
