trip for nothing, only to find on her return to bed Allen awake and eager for her again, she would die. She tried to force sleep to overtake her – even though she knew it was useless.
Finally, arranging the pillow more comfortably under her head, Karen gave up her futile attempts to seduce sleep. She allowed herself to dwell leisurely on Pat, going over their words together. Then she thought of all the things that were yet unsaid. She speculated about Pat's admission of prostitution. She wondered why this information, which, Karen knew, would shock and disgust her if it was anyone else, disturbed her so little.
She didn't want to think about that, anyway. In the privacy of the night, the intimacy of her bed and her impregnable thoughts, Karen played with and worried the knowledge of Pat's lesbianism. It gave a name, a meaning, to the wild emotions which fired her brain and aroused her body. Pat wanted her… Pat, that beautiful, beautiful creature, strange and strangely free… wanted her! It scared Karen, yet at the same time it also ignited her blood. Around Pat she acted the way gasoline reacted to a match, going off in small, body-shaking explosions of her hidden flesh, her trembling belly, her velvet-skinned inner thighs.
She had always assumed that a lesbian was a walking advertisement for degradation and misplaced identity. Karen had seen them by the oceanfront many times, mannishly dressed and crudely ludicrous. She had always felt a hesitant pity for these women. Often, in the case of a girl who would be feminine if garbed in a dress and heels, she had felt strong curiosity. But Pat was different. Pat was… beautiful… It was the only word Karen could think of that came close to describing the girl. She would never have guessed. Never.
Then Karen thought of her friend Lennie. For the first time Karen objectively pictured the girl with whom she had grown up. Lenore Gilchrist had retained her boyishness even after other girls had long outgrown the tomboy stage. Lennie, who hated being called Lenore, was tall, slim, and the hard nubbins of her breasts were still tight lumps which scarcely bulged her sweaters. Lennie had never liked boys. She had vigorously shared Karen's outspoken fear of them.
Karen remembered how hurt Lennie had been when Al had begun showing an interest in Karen. The two friends had from childhood planned to share an apartment together after graduation from high school. Her marriage had shattered Lennie along with those plans, and Karen knew that no matter how Lennie tried to disguise it, the girl still resented Al, blaming him for taking Karen away from her. Now Lennie lived alone in an apartment nearby, spending as much time with Karen as possible. The girl had even turned down an offer once for a better job, simply because it would mean seeing less of Karen.
Karen was now wide awake. She wondered at Lennie's passionate interest in her, strangely titillated by a whole world of sensations and experiences she had never before considered. The thought of making love to Lennie did not excite her at all… but Karen felt faint from the realization of how much the thought of being made love to by Pat did!
Karen eased herself cautiously out of bed, making the move by inches, stopping whenever the springs squealed in mild protest to the shift in weight. She dressed quietly, quickly, and in the dark. She wanted to put makeup on her freshly scrubbed face and arrange her hair attractively, but she dared not risk it. Before leaving the house she considered penning a note in case Al woke up worried, but every minute she delayed might mean arousing him. Besides, Karen thought, Pat might be leaving right now, right this minute. It might already be too late. Karen located her pocketbook in the dark and hurriedly tiptoed out of the house.
The big, bald man she had noticed the last time she was there was just stepping down from the informal stage as Karen entered the crowded coffee shop. His mouth was twisted into an ugly scowl as he stuffed papers impatiently in his pocket. The tight jeans he wore made the operation difficult, if not impossible. His frown darkened as he gave up in disgust and stalked out of the shop, almost knocking Karen over as he passed her. Karen glanced quickly around the restaurant. Everyone looked exceptionally bored and sleepy, Karen observed. But she really wasn't interested in the other patrons – and the one person she was interested in wasn't there.
Disappointed, Karen found a small empty table and ordered coffee. Maybe she would be in yet. Karen was staggered by the depth of her disappointment. What had she expected? Pat to be here, waiting for her? And then what? What did she want? Pat would be here, and the two of them would go off, hand in hand. To what? Where? Karen shivered and attacked her coffee grimly as soon as the waitress brought it.
The blurred shadow of early dawn was lighting the sky as Karen let herself into the house. She was tired. An infinite weariness was pressing in on her shoulders, her eyelids. Karen knew it was more than the hour, more than her body that produced this soul-crumbling exhaustion. But for now, at least, she would be content to sleep… She removed her shoes and padded barefoot to the bedroom.
Al was sitting on the bed, the short stub of his glowing cigarette burning unnoticed towards his clenched fingers. He looked up when she came into the room, his eyes puffy with sleep and worry. His body, covered only by loosely belted trousers, looked painfully thin, his narrow chest very naked under the light fringe of brown hair.
Karen put her shoes on the floor when she saw him. She bit nervously at her bottom lip, waiting to experience the guilt she told herself she had no reason to feel. 'You're up,' she said tonelessly when he didn't speak.
Allen got off the bed and came to his wife. The look of concern was fading from his features now that she was home. It was replaced with annoyance and something else Karen was too tired to evaluate.
'Yes, I'm up,' Allen managed, stubbing out the bit of cigarette and then licking instinctively at his singed knuckle. 'Where the hell were you, Karen?' He made an obvious effort to control his voice.
Karen turned her back and pulled off her loose sweater. She worked the zipper on her blouse, glad for something to which she could turn her eyes. 'Oh,' she sighed, striving desperately for casualness, 'I couldn't sleep so I took a walk that's all. I hope you didn't worry, Al. I was going to leave you a note, but I didn't want to wake you. I thought I'd be back before you got up.' Karen folded the sweater neatly and placed it in the drawer. She picked up the blouse and walked to a wicker hamper and dropped the garment inside. She drew out these little acts, making them last as long as possible.
'A walk? In the middle of the night? In this cruddy neighborhood?' Al turned his wife around, making her face him. His eyes automatically traveled over her torso, hesitating at the large breasts harnessed by the specially made bra she had to wear. She didn't often let him see her even partially undressed. She claimed the sight aroused him too much. She was right. But not now, not if he could help it.
Karen pulled away from Allen carefully, not wanting to anger him. She was suddenly afraid of his anger. She had no defense against it, against the answers she couldn't even give herself. 'I just couldn't sleep. I guess you're right, though. It is kind of a bad neighborhood. But I can take care of myself.'
Al watched her undo the fastening of her tight slacks. He wanted to ignore her slim, unusually voluptuous body. That body that she never wanted him to know.
'Over three hours?' Allen lit another cigarette, remembered his hurt finger and smashed the new cigarette to bits in the ashtray. 'You just walked for over three hours?'
Had it really been three hours? Karen wondered, not really caring whether she had been away three minutes or three years. She slid the slacks over her hips and eased them from her legs, keeping her back solidly to her husband. 'I just wasn't tired. I stopped for some coffee.' Had she truly sat in the gradually emptying coffeehouse for three hours waiting for a dark girl with wonderful eyes whom she hardly knew?
'Stopped for coffee? Where? You didn't go to that weirdo place again did you?' Allen looked hard at the suddenly ballooning flesh of his wife's panty covered rump. He felt the familiar heat in his loins. He wanted to touch her, caress the two globes that somehow looked as innocent as a baby's rear. But if he touched her, that lovely skin would freeze under his fingers. He sighed with long, painful frustration.
'I wish you wouldn't refer to the coffeehouse that way,' Karen objected, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She turned around, forgetting how she was dressed until she saw his eyes go to the plump flesh of her thighs. She glanced down and saw the frilly panties which were her only covering. She twisted away from his penetrating eyes and walking stiffly to the closet and pulled out a warm flannel robe. She felt much better once she had something on.
'What's it got, baby? The coffeehouse, I mean. What's so hot there besides the coffee that makes you walk all the way to Venice in the middle of the night?'
Karen had never before heard Allen sound quite as bitter and sarcastic, not even during their arguments. 'I
