She opened her eyes and found herself all tangled up in her clothes, her shoes still on, her dress wrinkled. There was a light on, the small table lamp between the beds. She pulled herself up and turned around. Marcie was standing in the bathroom door, with a frame of light around her, holding her toothbrush and smiling at Laura. She was all in white lace, in a short gown that barely reached her thighs. Laura smiled at her and blinked, shaking her head slightly.
“Know what time it is?” Marcie said.
“About seven.”
“Quarter of twelve.” Marcie laughed at her surprise. She walked over to her bed and stood beside her for a moment. She smelled gorgeous—intoxicating, sweet and clean, faintly powdered, warm and damp from her bath. She looked sleepy, soft, very feminine. Laura began to tremble, desperate to touch her, afraid even to look.
“You must have been awfully tired, Laur. You’ve been asleep for hours.”
“I could sleep till Monday and never wake up,” Laura murmured. She spoke without looking at Marcie. She couldn’t. The scent of her was trouble enough.
“Burr and I went out for dinner. We didn’t want to bother you.”
“Did you have a nice big fight?” Irresistibly Laura’s eyes traveled up Marcie to her face.
Marcie sighed. “We always have a nice big fight.”
“You must enjoy them.”
Marcie sat down beside her. “Don’t talk that way, Laur,” she said. “I wish I could get interested in books, like you.”
Laura smiled at her, so close, so distant.
“Help me, Laura,” she said.
“How?” Laura felt herself on very shaky ground.
“I don’t know how,” Marcie said impatiently. “If I knew I could help myself. There must be something in life besides fights, Laur.”
“Don’t call me Laur.”
Marcie looked at her in surprise. “Why not?”
“Somebody else used to call me that. It still hurts a little.”
“I’m sorry. I remember, you told me about him.”
Laura felt confession working itself urgently into her thoughts. She wanted to clasp Marcie to her and say, “Not ‘him.’ Her. Her. It was a girl I loved. As I love you.” No, not as I love you. I can’t love you that way, not even you. To her sudden disgust the face of a handsome arrogant girl named Beebo came up in her mind. She frowned at her, trying not to see.
“What’s the matter, Laur? Laura?” Marcie smoothed Laura’s hair off her hot forehead. “You must have loved him a lot.”
In a sudden convulsion of desire, Laura threw her arms around Marcie, pressing her hard, tight, in her arms. Her need was terrible, and a sort of sob, half ache and half passion, came out of her. Marcie was frightened.
“Laura!” she said, pushing at her. Laura was always so docile; now suddenly she was strange and violent. “Laura, are you all right?” Laura only clung to her the harder, wrestling against herself with all her strength.
For a moment, Marcie tried to calm her, whispering soothingly and rubbing her back a little. But this only aggravated Laura.
“Marcie, don’t!” she said sharply. Panic began to well up in her. “Oh, God!” she cried, and stood up abruptly, shaking all over. She covered her face with her hands, trying to force the tears back with them. Marcie watched her, astonished, from the bed.
With a little gasp Laura turned and ran out. Marcie rose to her feet and called after her, but it was too late. She heard the front door slam as she ran toward it. She pulled it open but Laura was in the elevator a floor below her and on her way out. Marcie stared into the black stairwell, feeling shocked and confused.
She slipped back into the apartment and into her bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She simply sat there, her eyes wide and staring, oscillating between a fear of something she couldn’t name and bewildered sympathy for Laura. For whatever it was that tortured her. She shivered every time she thought of Laura’s near-hysterical embrace, returning to it again and again. It gave her a reckless kick, a hint of shameless fun, like the night she kissed the bum in the park. She didn’t know why it recalled that to her mind. But it did. Laura had scared her; yet now she felt like giggling.
Laura ran all the way to the subway station, three blocks off. She fell into a seat gasping, trembling violently. People stared at her but she ignored them, covering her face with her hands and sobbing quietly. She rode down to the Village and got off at Tenth Street. She had managed to control herself by this time, but she felt bewildered and lost, as if she didn’t quite know what she was doing there. She stood for a moment on the platform, shivering with the chilly air. It was nearly the end of April, but it was still cold at night. She had run out in nothing but a blouse and skirt, with a light topper over them—the clothes she had fallen asleep in. She was aware of the cold, yet somehow didn’t feel it.
Resolutely she began to walk, climbing the stairs and then starting down Seventh Avenue. She walked as if she had a goal, precisely because she had none and it frightened her. It was Friday night, and busy. People were everywhere. Young men turned to stare at her.
Within five minutes she was standing in front of The Cellar, rather surprised at herself for having found it so quickly. There was a strange tingling up and down her back and her eyes began to shine with a feverish luster. She walked down the steps and pulled the door open.
Almost nobody noticed her. It was too crowded, at this peak hour of one of the best nights of the week. She made her way through the crowd to the nearest end of the bar.
