Another Kind of Love (29 page)

D
ee couldn't help but note the subtle metamorphosis in Karen. It seemed to be one that took several directions and yet left the exterior unchanged—so far. She sensed how Karen seemed to need her demonstration of love more and more . . . her terrible dependency upon Dee. As if she needed to prove that love was all that was necessary and she mustn't let go of it for a second—mustn't let it out of her sight.

She had apparently adjusted very well to her new job, and perhaps this was having some effect in making her feel guilty . . . or whatever it was that was making her so demanding of Dee's attention.

One of the problems, Dee knew, was that Karen would not go anywhere. The gay clubs depressed and repelled her. And it wasn't any fun going to the straight places, because she couldn't relax.

Dee shared every discomfort of Karen's experience with gay life. She knew the girl was quietly suffering, the confinement turning her into a recluse. It was as if only Dee's devotion made any part of life worthwhile. Except, perhaps, for Karen's new job.

She spoke in an offhand way about her job, and any mention of Seth was particularly brief. Dee would have liked it better if Karen could have let out some of her feelings—she didn't approve of this keeping everything in. It was changing Karen into someone Dee now had difficulty reaching. Even Karen's interest in photography had grown dim and sporadic. The crispness in Karen's personality that Dee had found so attractive was gone. In its place was a kind of limp resignation.

Dee knew it, watched it grow worse, but there didn't seem to be anything she could do about it. If she tried to mention it, to bring it up for discussion, Karen withdrew and shrugged it off as a temporary mood, or that she was just too tired, or something else equally evasive.

There was no real point in pressing the matter—it only created a greater bridge between them. It was impossible for Dee to try to phrase to herself what it had been like to watch the decay of Karen's spirit, of her zest for life.

Karen couldn't admit how guilty she was about her “new life,” couldn't even begin to understand that this was most of her problem. That angry statement she'd made so many weeks ago was truer and truer: it just wasn't
worth
it!

But she had received a really indisputably clear picture of Karen's problem when one day she had had to call Seth Barron about getting a release for pictures from one of his accounts. Naturally, the conversation eventually turned to Karen.

“How's she working out?” Dee had asked, knowing full well he would be more than pleased with her.

“Great,” his rich, deep voice boomed with enthusiasm and sincerity. “I owe you a dozen martinis for sending her over.”

“I'll take you up on that,” Dee laughed. “Believe me, I hated to lose her. But you know how it is over here. There's just no room to grow for a gal like Karen. Either you come into the job at the top, or just forget about it. They've already lost several good people because they wouldn't promote anyone from within the company. . . . They'll learn someday.”

The voice on the other end of the line hummed deeply. “Well, she won't have that problem here. She's a real bright kid, and we've got plans for her.”

“I'm really happy to hear that, Seth. I'm rather fond of that girl.”

“So am I.”

“You should be! Two more months and you'll wonder what the hell you ever did without her. She'll get you so organized, you'll start thinking in triplicate.”

Seth chuckled. “She's already started . . . cleared off my desk yesterday—went over umpteen piles of memos and notes like a goddamn vacuum cleaner with an electronic brain. Everything where it should be. Now I'm so organized I don't want to move—just want to sit here and admire this miracle of efficiency.”

“Which miracle? Karen or the desk?”

“Both. Now that you mention it, she's a damned attractive girl. Which reminds me . . .” There was a note of hesitancy in his voice.

“Yes,” Dee prodded.

“Well, I know this is not the sort of thing to be asking . . . like telling tales out of school, you know—but would you know if Karen is tied up with anyone? Engaged, or anything like that?”

Dee tried to make her voice light and teasing. “Aha! The big question: will she or won't she? You damn men are all alike.”

“I didn't mean it that way.” Seth sounded genuinely hurt. “I like her, that's all. Just want to keep the vital statistics in mind . . . in case of emergency, you know.”

“Now, what do you mean by that?”

“Well, hell! It's just good to know what the competition is even if you're not planning to campaign. Now, stop being such a goddamn mother hen and tell me. You know what I mean.”

Dee knew very well what he meant. But facing it this way was something of a shock. It shouldn't be. After all, she practically planned that it would happen this way. And Seth was a nice guy. If he just wanted to fool around, he wouldn't pick Karen. No, the way he was asking questions indicated he was serious. More serious than perhaps even he knew. It gave her a sudden sick feeling of panic, but she managed to keep her voice even.

“Seth, stop being coy. She's free, a delight, and over twenty-one. She was engaged to some hometown shmo a while back, but that's all over. Now, you take it from here.”

There were a few more light exchanges; then, almost before she knew it, the conversation had ended. She sat there absently rubbing the phone, trying not to fall apart. She was going to have to do a lot of thinking.... Somehow, she managed to stand up and close the door to her office so the new girl wouldn't be able to see her.

“No calls,” she called out to her . . . just in time. The door closed, and the tears came to Dee's eyes, and the sobs choked out of her like some great release she had denied herself. Dee just stood by the window, looking out and sobbing, looking at the world before her going on its way—not knowing she existed. The tears came and they came and she didn't care—she just didn't care.

She'd earned the cry . . . oh, God! how she'd earned it!

Dinner had passed very quietly that night. It seemed as if both of them were too filled with their own unsorted thoughts to be able to verbalize.

Dee offered to do the dishes, thinking perhaps they might go out afterward just to get into the world and mix a bit.

“I don't really feel like going out, honey,” Karen said, looking into her cup as intensely as a fortune teller. She sighed heavily. “I'm rather tired . . . and besides, where the hell would we go?”

“Christ! Karen, we're not lepers, you know. We can go anywhere we want to.” Dee just had to break through this blasé withdrawal of Karen's.

“So we go. Then what? It's either a bar where we get funny looks because we're unescorted and then the guys begin to try to pick us up, or we have to go to a gay bar, and I'm just not up to the Nellies tonight.”

“Or any other night,” Dee added. “What's the matter, think you're too good for them?”

Karen looked up instantly with a flashing hurt expression, which turned immediately into self-righteous rage. “You know goddamn well that has nothing to do with it. You've admitted plenty of times you don't like those places either!”

“Sure, but I don't just crawl into a hole and sulk because of it. Refuse to do anything or go anywhere, with that breast-beating self-sacrificing resignation you seem to love so much. You and I used to enjoy ourselves in bars alone before all this happened.” Dee gestured widely, encompassing the apartment and themselves. “It never seemed to bother you then that we were two girls alone, or that some poor jerk with too many drinks decided we were gorgeous.”

“I didn't know then I was in love with you. . . .”

“Oh, come off it, Karen! It isn't being in love that has changed anything—admit it. It's
this
kind of love and the guilt about it.”

“All right, so what if that's true?” Karen's voice became tighter and louder.

“Do you think anyone in a bar knows it? Neither of us is exactly Miss Butch of the twentieth century—we don't look or act any differently from any other two women, or from the way we used to when it never bothered you.”

“So make your point.... What are you building up to?”

“Do I have to draw pictures for you? Do I have to take you by the hand to the mirror to make you see what you're becoming?”

“For God's sake, Dee, will you leave me alone! You want to go out? Okay. Let's go. But I don't feel like being lectured or analyzed about it.” Karen stood up abruptly and started taking the dishes to the sink with angry determination.

Dee followed her to the drain board and gently turned Karen's stiff body around to face her. She took Karen's face in her hands and kissed her eyes softly, then held her close. “It isn't that I'm just picking on you, darling. I don't want you to get hurt, or hurt yourself.. . . Don't you see how you've changed?”

“Oh, Dee, I'm sorry . . . so sorry.” Karen began to cry. “I don't know what's wrong with me anymore. I'm fine while I'm at work; you know what I mean? Like everything is great and I honestly look forward to coming home and talking to you and being with you. . . .” The words spilled out of her in a rush of remorse and release.

“But then,” she added more thoughtfully, “when I'm actually here, I don't know; something just happens to me and I get to feeling all alone inside—almost like a watch that's been wound too tight and I'm just going to bust my springs if I get jarred. . . .”

“Can't you tell me about it when it happens?” Dee asked softly.

“I'm so afraid of hurting you. . . .”

“You hurt me much more by not telling me. How do you think that makes me feel—to know you're disturbed but won't trust me to be your friend? We were friends long before we were lovers, Karen, and no matter what happens, I'd rather keep our friendship than our love life.”

Karen relaxed somewhat in Dee's arms. “I must really know that—somewhere deep inside me. But I never understand enough about what's going on inside my head to be able to say it. I just feel it coming on, and then I begin to think that whatever it is, it would be better not to bother you with it since I can't describe it, or that I'm just being foolish and it's probably an early change of life or something.”

Dee laughed. “Not likely—but I'm glad to see you've still got your humor left.”

“I do love you, Dee. I love you so very much.”

“I know . . . I love you, too. But shutting me out is the best way I know of to kill love, slowly to strangle it.”

Dee held her closer, thinking it would not be too long before Karen finally realized that she just wasn't homosexual. Then this love would not strangle—nothing so drawn out as that—it would just be put back where it belonged. And that would be the end of that. Dee knew, too, that Karen would have to suffer a great deal more before she could come to this—that they would both be hurt, and often. She only hoped that when the time came they would not destroy each other—that enough of their real love would be left for each of them to get a new start without bitterness....

T
hings were much better after that night—the air had been cleared enough so that Karen was able to admit her depressions, and even able to discuss them if Dee didn't probe too much. Karen seemed to feel that her cheerfulness at the office, in contrast to her moods at home, was some kind of disloyalty toward Dee.

But at least, Karen began coming home in the evening and could now talk about some event in the office; and she was able to open up quite a bit about Seth. “He's such a doll,” she would say, and in the next breath somehow mention what she thought would seem to be a fault in him. Especially if Seth happened to ask Karen to join him and a client for lunch, or suggest her coming along for a drink after work. Then Karen was in her glory with accusations about Seth being just another Madison Avenue hot-pants.

“But that's part of your job,” Dee would argue. “How do you expect to get promoted if you don't know how to handle the clients?”

Karen would smirk sardonically and answer, “It's probably a setup . . . he thinks that afterwards he'll have a chance to make the scene.”

“After lunch?” Dee would laugh. “Be reasonable, honey. I told you I know Seth. . . .”

“Not that well. You said so yourself.”

“But you like him, too. You're always saying that he did this, or was so sweet about that—what kind of a Jekyll-and-Hyde do you think he is?”

And then Karen would get very defensive, and Dee would have to drop the subject before she lost contact altogether.

But this week he had managed to maneuver Karen into accepting a luncheon—business, of course. A couple of movie moguls were in town with their wives. The temptation to meet them was just too great for Karen—and then, by this time she had talked out enough of her suspicions about Seth to test him.

She came home that night with an air of near disappointment.

“How'd the big luncheon go?” Dee asked as she began getting dinner ready. “Did they offer you a movie contract?”

Karen smiled and dropped into the chair nearest Dee. “I'm dead; that's all.”

“How come?”

“I never realized what a strain it is to have to watch every word and action . . . knowing the business depends on good personal relations. . . and then, too, martinis at lunch are murder!”

“That they are. It's known as the creeping gin blues—an occupational hazard for all executives.” Dee placed the dishes on the table and gestured to Karen to sit still while she brought out the silverware. “Ah . . .” she said slowly, “how was Seth?”

Karen didn't reply at first; then she smiled rather sheepishly. “He hardly even knew I was there . . . just sort of left me to manage for myself.”

Dee grinned. “Disappointed?”

Karen glanced at her quizzically. “I'm not sure how I feel about it. I mean, he was so very clinical about the things I said, or how I got along with them. As if testing me to see if I had the stuff needed for a PR gal.”

“You mean,” Dee said melodramatically, “he didn't suggest anything vulgar to you after lunch? Tsk, tsk.”

“I feel silly enough,” Karen laughed lightly. “Don't make it worse.” She paused pensively. “You know, he really is very nice.”

Dee waited for the qualifying “but” she usually threw in and was both pleased and a little jealous when none came.

“Ready for dinner?” Dee asked finally.

 

 

The following days were ones of agonizing ambivalence for Dee. Karen could talk of only one thing: Seth.

Seth did this, Seth did that, a stroke of genius Seth had had, the cleverest thing. Dee grudgingly admitted that Seth was not in his business for nothing—he'd certainly promoted himself with Karen.

But then, she had known this would come. She had held her own feelings in check because of this knowledge, hadn't she? And if it had to be, then Seth was probably the best guy to lose Karen to. Lose? she would question. How can you lose what you never really had . . . what had simply been borrowed?

Dee had moments of wanting to fight for Karen—strong urges of what she now sarcastically called love-survival. Then she would look at Karen, at how she was beginning to come alive again, losing that foggy, confused gaze in her eyes that Dee had learned to accept. Sure, she could probably hold on to Karen—but what for? To make her life miserable again? It only made Dee miserable, too.

She had suggested several times that Karen ask Seth to have cocktails after work with them somewhere in between their offices. But the reaction had been so guiltily refused that Dee almost gave up. The following Sunday evening, though, while Karen was helping Dee sort out and decide on the October issue's photo spread, Dee tried once more.

Karen actually introduced the suggestion herself by mentioning that she wanted to see a certain musical currently on Broadway.

“That's Jerry's show—maybe he could get us passes.”

“What for?”

“You can't buy a ticket to save your life—everything's sold out for the next six months. Besides, it's high time you two met; I'm having lunch with him tomorrow. . . . I'll ask him.”

Karen laughed. “Have you ever missed your one lunch a week with Jerry?”

“Sure,” Dee smiled. “But not very many. Why don't you join us . . . in fact, why not ask Seth to join, too? It wouldn't hurt Seth's business to have Jerry's friendship.”

“Oh, I don't know . . . I mean, don't you think it would be a little awkward?”

“Why on earth would it?”

“Well, Jerry being gay and all.”

“So what?” Dee exclaimed. “He's no flying faggot, you know. And what makes you think Seth would care anyway? I'm sure a lot of his clients are gay. All of a sudden Seth's going around making moral judgments? Since when?”

“Even if he didn't care . . . I would,” Karen pouted.

“But
why?”

“For Christ's sake, Dee, if Seth knows you and Jerry are good friends, and I'm friends with you . . .”

Instead of being hurt or resentful, Dee began to laugh. “Well, well . . . what happened to the little girl who kept making fun of me worrying about appearances?”

“I don't think that's very funny!” Karen stood up and opened a fresh pack of cigarettes. “Besides, Seth and I are having lunch elsewhere tomorrow.” She walked over to the windows and stared out at the small garden, where the fall colors were already in command.

“Well, it doesn't have to be the Plaza.... We could go someplace else for a change. I'm a little tired of the place anyhow.”

“Dee,” Karen said stubbornly, “I'm having lunch with Seth alone. I—I wanted to talk to him about my future there.”

Dee put down the enlargements in her hand and glanced over at Karen's rigid back. “Oh. Well, why didn't you say so instead of going through all the business about gay and the rest?” She crossed over to the bar, stood before it hesitantly, then decided she really didn't want a drink.

“It was just that I thought you might think . . . well, that it was a date or something. It wasn't a secret or anything.”

There was an awkward silence between them. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to Dee to think it might be a date. But now that Karen had mentioned it . . . well, of course. Karen might not be prepared to accept the idea as such—not with her strong streak of loyalty—but Dee could see it clearly. Why else would she be afraid to tell her that she was having lunch with Seth?

Dee walked over to her, started to hold her, then changed her mind. “Shall we have a drink?” she asked slowly.

Karen's eyes filled with tears, and Dee knew how the girl must have been torturing herself. “You aren't angry with me, are you?” she asked, a barely noticeable trembling in her voice.

“No,” Dee answered quickly. “Why should I be, honey? You yourself said it wasn't a date—why should you have to apologize about it?”

“I don't know. I just felt . . . that you might misunderstand.” Karen stared at her for a long time; then a slow, grateful smile came to her lips. “I'll join you in that drink, if the offer still holds.”

“Sure,” Dee grinned, and walked around the pictures on the floor to the bar. “We really should think about cutting down on booze,” she called idly.

“Dee?” Karen said hesitantly.

“Um-hum,” Dee replied, already bracing herself.

“I may as well tell you now, I suppose,” Karen mumbled. “I'm supposed to have dinner tomorrow night with a client and Seth. I . . . uh, I probably won't get home until rather late.”

Dee put the decanter down carefully. She was suddenly filled with outraged anger. “But why the hell do you feel so goddamn guilty about it! Have I ever beaten you? Do I send you to bed without your supper like a naughty little girl? Why the hell do you have to behave like I'm going to take your ‘fix' away from you?” Her hands were shaking with the violent emotions inside her. “I
expect
you to have to go out, to have to work late on occasion, to be a human being living up to a human being's obligations! Why do you act as if you were some kind of Judas?”

“Dee . . .” Karen mouthed, her eyes large with confusion.

“I assume you tell me the truth; I assume you trust me; I assume you realize that I trust you. . . . The only reason you can possibly have for being so afraid to tell me is that you are
not
telling the truth—either to me or to yourself.”

“That's not true!”

“Then what is?”

“It's just that I feel as if I'm deserting you, like . . .”

“Like you shouldn't have a good time unless it's with me?” Dee offered Karen the out, waiting to see if she'd be able to be honest enough with herself not to need it.

“Something like that . . .”

“But that's idiotic!” She wished Karen could have admitted that she enjoyed being with a man—with Seth. But she argued it Karen's way. “I have good times without you. . . . I don't feel guilty about it. Why should you?”

The unexpected ringing of the phone stopped them both up short. They looked at each other in stubborn contest as to which one should answer it.

Finally, Dee walked over and lifted the receiver.

“Yes?” She tried to sound calm.

“Dee? Seth. I'm trying to reach Karen. . . .”

Dee fought the greatest urge to tell him to take the telephone and give it an anatomical thrust. “She's . . . she's here, as a matter of fact,” Dee said at last, not knowing exactly what Karen had told him about where she lived or with whom.

“Hold on a second,” she said slowly, and thought, I'm trying to reach her, too.

She handed the receiver to Karen and finished pouring the drinks.

Karen's voice sounded restrained and embarrassed. “Hello?”

The ice in Dee's glass clinked loudly.

“What? Oh, sure, Seth. No . . . no, I'll be there tomorrow night. My . . . my aunt isn't coming into town after all. . . .”

So that's what she had stalled him with, Dee thought bitterly. She had to check first before she could give him a definite answer—I'm an aunt again. Oh, Christ!

“No. I think the Algonquin is better for someone like him. You can always fill in the conversation lags with the history of the place. . . .” Her voice was muffled somewhat, but Dee could hear enough.

Dee snickered. The Algonquin. Well, that was innocuous enough. She drank down her drink in one gulp and refilled the glass despite Karen's disapproving glare.

Finally, Karen hung up.

“I didn't ask him to call, you know,” she threw out defensively. It
was
about business.... You don't have go into an alcoholic stupor as if I'm setting up an appointment to whore!”

Dee downed the second drink and glared back at her. “I don't like you to talk that way—it doesn't become you.” She suddenly thought of Rita and couldn't help wondering if somehow, one day, Karen would turn out the same way if they stayed on together.

“Are you kidding? You don't know enough about what I really think to know what does or doesn't become me. All you can do is dissect and analyze and read in meanings I've never even thought of.”

“Oh, hell!” Dee muttered, and started up the stairs

“Where are you going!” Karen demanded.

“Out!” Dee screamed back. “I'm going out and getting drunk. I'm not so goddamn afraid to admit I'm human.”

“You're not going to walk out of here and leave me like this . . .”

“Why not? All we're doing is fighting anyway. You do whatever you goddamn well please!” Dee slammed the front door behind her and ran down the hall, out onto the street as quickly as she could.

She hailed a cab, climbed in, gave him Jerry's address, and began to cry.

“This is really it,” she said to herself. “This is the beginning of the end. . . .”