Another Kind of Love (30 page)

D
ee sat down along the wall just next to the doorway so that anyone coming in would not see her immediately. Jerry would be along soon. She smiled to herself, knowing how much he would disapprove if he knew why she had insisted on the Algonquin—and on a Monday night of all nights.

Karen was in bed and asleep—or pretending to be—when she had come home last night. They had not spoken to each other this morning at all. Dee knew she shouldn't be doing this tonight, knew that Karen was going to be very angry and upset. But at this point, Dee had decided it was best to bring the whole problem to a head. She couldn't go through all these fights with Karen, couldn't keep holding herself in or watch Karen tearing herself apart with her own intolerable conflicts. She just had to do something to force this goddamn, miserable situation to some sort of conclusion. Either Karen was going to face facts or they were both going to have a nervous breakdown.

It was a cheap, low-down trick she was pulling tonight, and she knew it. She couldn't even rationalize her feline action into a deed on Karen's behalf, for her own good. She was doing this simply because she wanted to see her competition flesh to flesh—wanted to test them both together, to see just how Karen behaved with Seth.

Even Jerry had said last night that the whole thing was just too complicated to last. What did she hope to gain, he had asked, by clinging to Karen this way? When she had tried to explain that she wasn't really clinging, he had only laughed and said, “You push with one hand and pull with the other.”

Well, he was right. She couldn't deny it. But now she was going to use both hands—in one direction.

Jerry came in looking miffed and questioning. He had not seen her yet, but finally spotted her. It was a small bar but a dark one. Unless you were looking for someone, you might never notice who was there. “Why are you crouching in the corner like that?” he asked, sitting down next to her.

“I'm not crouching—I'm sitting.”

He gave the waiter their order and then turned toward her asking, “Why on earth did you insist I meet you here, and so very mysteriously ?”

“I just wanted to thank you for holding my hand last night,” she said lightly.

“Here?”

“Well . . . I'll admit this isn't exactly a friendship club, but it happened to be in the neighborhood when I called you.”

“All right,” he muttered. “we'll have one drink. You've thanked me. You're welcome.”

“Whew! You must have had a bad day.” She smiled.

“I'm sorry, baby. It's just that last-minute whirlwind decisions like this always throw me off balance. I like things to be organized and prearranged. Neat and orderly.”

She asked him questions about the new show he was being sought for, and this seemed to calm him considerably. He told her how he felt sort of “in between” himself and how he didn't feel like getting involved in another show right now. He was tired of the same mediocre junk year after year and wanted to work on something with a little challenge . . . maybe even off Broadway if the right thing came along. That, or take off for a while to his farm in New Hampshire.

It wasn't too long before she saw Seth and Karen come in. Dee felt strangely detached. Not disinterested, just uninvolved. She managed to keep out of view, and fortunately, they took a table along the wall, where they would not see Jerry and Dee.

Dee deliberately avoided mentioning their entrance to Jerry. He would guess at once that he had been set up, become furious, and insist they leave. She went on being interested in what Jerry said instead, asking questions when he seemed to pause. In between, she was able to catch glimpses of Karen and Seth.

She had almost forgotten how wonderfully virile Seth was. Not because he was muscular, or necessarily square-jawed . . . It was just in his manner. He had that lusty, cleft-chin, green-eyed hero look.

She found herself hating him momentarily—for his maleness, his casual confidence, and mostly for the way he sat next to Karen. His attitude made it very evident that this was his woman and don't let anybody forget it!

But what was even more striking was Karen herself. Dee could understand Seth's masculine confidence, but it shocked her how comfortable and at ease Karen was with him. She had suddenly become a woman who knew how to hold her man . . . and not only wanted to but enjoyed it. This was a Karen she didn't know. This was the woman Dee had always sensed was there, but had never revealed itself before Dee. Self-assured, graceful, womanly. In fact, Dee had to admit, Karen was actually very sophisticated.

If Dee were to meet her now for the first time . . . she would think that here was a woman who had never known a questioning moment about her own femininity, where homosexuality was never a part of her world except perhaps among a few amusing friends.

Jerry's voice rang in on her. “. . . Why don't you, dear? You really look rather peaked these days.”

“What?” Dee glanced at him quickly. “I'm sorry, Jerry, I didn't quite hear you,” she apologized.

“Now look, Dee, let's not go through that bit again. You dragged me here, the least you can do is listen to me. I asked you why you don't come up to the farm with me.”

“Oh, I can't get away right now, Jerry. You know that.”

“I'm sure Karen would understand, at least from what you've said about her. And she is old enough to take care of herself.”

“Yes, but I think it's more important—”

She was interrupted by a shadow falling across the table. It was Seth.

“Dee Sanders, I presume?” his deep voice asked in pleasant mockery.

For the first time that evening, she felt panic. Now that the planned moment had come, she wasn't so sure she wanted to go through with it. But she succeeded in looking up, looking surprised, smiling, and answering, “Seth! Seth Barron. How are you?” She extended her hand and introduced him to Jerry.

“Seth's a public relations man, Jerry. And a damned good one.” She matched Seth's smile . . . she hoped.

“Don't tell me you've arranged this little meeting,” Jerry said, not sure whether to be amused or irritated.

“I swear to you, Mr. Wilson, this was not prearranged.” He looked over at Dee and winked. “Actually, I'm here with my secretary tonight . . . waiting for one of my accounts to come in. A night for ‘finalizing'—as the boys in Washington say.”

“Well, we won't keep you,” Dee said coyly. “And be sure to say hello to Karen for me.”

Jerry shot a suspicious look at Dee, then glanced back at Seth, towering over them. It wasn't hard for Dee to see he now had the whole plot firmly in his mind.

“Please,” insisted Seth, “you'd be doing me a favor if you'd join us. My client won't be here for at least another half hour and . . .”

“Well, if you're sure we won't bother you . . .” Dee began to get up from her chair. She wanted to get into motion before Jerry could ruin the whole setup.

“Really, now, Dee,” protested Jerry.

“But she's quite right, Mr. Wilson. It would be a favor. And I'd appreciate the chance to meet you socially rather than like some sort of a salesman. I'm really quite a fan of yours.”

“But no business, please,” Jerry said with practiced weariness. “My hours with Dee are for pleasure. . . .”

Bless his evil little heart, Dee thought, smiling inwardly. Jerry certainly knew how to play the gentleman.

“Guaranteed,” Seth grinned.

“Kismet,” Jerry sighed good-naturedly, and stood up, pulling the table back for Dee.

So far, Dee hadn't dared to look at Karen sitting alone. She knew that Karen was going to be furious.

They crossed the small room, and Dee suddenly had to steady herself a bit on Jerry's arm—she hadn't realized how much she had had to drink.... Better watch it, she cautioned herself.

Seth introduced Jerry to Karen. She smiled at him, extended her hand, and asked him to sit next to her on the booth rather than in the hard chairs. She gave a rather blanket nod of recognition to Dee and devoted herself to Jerry.

Her tactic so surprised Dee that she sat absolutely quiet, just watching Karen. She was maneuvering Jerry perfectly, showing some interest in his career but working mostly on him as a person. Out of sheer desperation, Dee turned toward Seth and said, “I can see she's invaluable to you—she has Jerry completely wound around her little finger.”

“He's not the only one,” Seth whispered back, then said more loudly, “You'll never know what a favor you did me by sending her over.”

“Dee couldn't help but notice the deep comradeship, or perhaps, closeness between the exchange of glances. Like a husband and wife who know each other's moods and nuances so well they can afford to play with them.

This wasn't going the way Dee had thought at all. And she was beginning to get annoyed at Karen's attitude. After all, she could have admitted more than the nodding acquaintance with Dee that she had implied. Christ! Everyone knew they were close friends, if not roommates. Why the cold shoulder . . . ? It was going to look stranger than if she had just played it straight. Even last night's argument didn't warrant this.

Dee found herself suddenly leaning across toward Seth, in open amusement at all he said. But she was being mindful of every motion Karen made. She just wished she hadn't drunk so much, so she could be more clearheaded!

Seth had a wonderfully fresh way of telling stories and had a collection of them—many from personal dealings with clients with whom he had blundered somehow and had to get back on firm ground again. Always he described them with amusing facial gestures or a keen ear for mimicry.

Dee laughed with him, perhaps forcing a little too much, and keeping one hand on her lap so that her low-cut dress would show her breasts to advantage. She leaned forward again and softly touched Seth's arm. “You know,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I'd forgotten how very amusing you can be.”

“Now that I think of it,” he replied, “it does seem a waste of time that we haven't gotten to be better friends.”

“It's something easily repaired.” She looked into his eyes with a promise in her own.

He seemed a little surprised, which she had not expected. “Do I embarrass you?” she asked, plunging into the situation.

“Not at all,” he answered with a wry grin. “I find you”—his glance wandered from her eyes to her mouth and swiftly to her breasts then back again—“very stimulating, to say the least.”

“I had rather hoped so,” Dee said, watching his mouth carefully. So I'm feeling my liquor, she thought to herself with rare abandon, enjoying the male-female game of seduction in the civilized world. Goddamn it! she swore silently, if Karen wants this guy, I'm going to make her fight for him.

It was one of those occasions when Dee felt white-skinned, desirable, and full-breasted . . . on stage with the best makeup artist and the best lighting technicians helping her.

Karen broke into the conversation—clever broad, Dee allowed—saying, “I wonder what's holding up Mr. Reither? He's a little late.”

Never hit a man where he works, Dee thought.... It'll catch him every time. Seth glanced at his watch immediately, and Dee noticed the very fine, dark hairs on his hands and wrists. She was attracted to the maleness of him—yet, for some reason, she couldn't help but recognize that she would rather look at Karen's smooth, soft arm. At the sweeping gentle line of her that made her a woman—a creature warm and to be desired and loved.

Someone long ago had once said that men were for going to bed with, and women were to love. She had laughed then. But now . . .

She suddenly felt very dizzy.

She wanted to cry; she wanted Karen to love her, to look at her the way she looked at Seth. But this would never be, and Dee knew it.
This
was Karen's world. Oh, she loved Dee in her way, and Dee knew that, too. But it wasn't the same kind of love. Karen had just added the physical to the emotional. But it wasn't really a physical love.... It had just become that because she had nothing else. If Phil had turned out to be any kind of a man, or if Rita had never shown up to create doubts in Karen's mind . . . then none of this would ever have occurred to Karen.

Karen could put this behind her if she had the right guy. Dee couldn't . . . not now, at least—maybe never.

Then Jerry was holding on to her arm, and from far away she could hear him saying, “She's been under a heavy strain lately. . . . I'll take her home.”

Dee wanted to be embarrassed but couldn't. She just had the most awful feeling that none of it mattered. That Seth had been flirting, yes . . . sure, but it hadn't meant anything . . . he'd kept looking back at Karen. Oh, he thought Dee hadn't noticed—but she had.

Karen, baby, Dee thought, trying to stand up with some degree of dignity. Karen, I love you; I love you . . . You may never know just how much I love you. . . .

Her last semiclear thought was the way that Karen had looked at her. Like some drunken old sot who had to be taken away, some over-age matron trying to act twenty years younger.

Karen . . .

I
t was ten-thirty the next morning when Dee decided she should go into the office, hangover or not. Jerry had taken her to his apartment and let her sleep it off there. Just before he'd left in the morning for an early appointment, he had explained that he thought it was better than risking the scene she'd have had to face at home for the Algonquin fiasco last night. Also, he'd decided to go to his farm for a month—strongly urging her to come with him.

But he'd kissed her before he left, so Dee knew he had already forgiven her. She had wandered around his Park Avenue apartment carrying a cup of coffee with her. She began to get her bearings again, and called the office to say she'd be late. Dee liked Jerry's apartment, but she was glad she didn't have to live in it. It was so terribly ornate, with gilt-edged furniture, purple velvet settees, and statues on pedestals. Heavy, embroidered drapes lined one whole wall and continued across the ceiling in waves. It made her feel as if she had just been purchased and brought to the sheik's tent for a test run or whatever you'd call it.

The whole atmosphere made her nervous after a while, especially now, with a hangover. “So,” she muttered aloud, “guess I'll go home and change and go to work.”

Karen certainly would not be home at this hour. She didn't want to face her right now. She went into the compact kitchen and started to wash out her cup until she remembered Jerry had a maid come in every afternoon.

Dee found herself staring at the faucet for a moment and realized she wasn't thinking about anything—just a blank moment in her mind. She smiled foolishly to herself, went back into the living room, and, picking up her coat and purse, left the apartment.

The doorman hailed a cab for her, tipping his hat politely, and the ride home was fast and without incident. She paused before her front door, trying to decide what she would say if Karen should be home.

“I'll just play it by ear,” she said helplessly, and opened the door. There was something wrong immediately. The place had that abandoned feeling: stale cigarette smoke and closed windows. Then she heard Cho-Cho downstairs, meowing to herself.

Dee went into the bedroom. It seemed quite evident that Karen hadn't been home last night, either.

She was too numb to have any immediate reaction. Instead, she went downstairs and stood staring at Cho-Cho who was leaning against the refrigerator now and purring.

Mechanically she fed the cat and made herself some breakfast. She wasn't really hungry, but she had to do something to keep her hands busy. In her mind, Dee kept thinking of where Karen could be, or perhaps that she had had an accident on the way home . . . probably in some hospital, unconscious. “But . . . if she was with Seth last night . . .” Dee said aloud and amazed herself with the vehemence in her voice.

Christ! Dee thought, her anger and jealousy mounting, so what if
I
didn't come home last night. She knows damn well I'm not having an affair with
Jerry!
What a spiteful goddamn bitch of a thing to do.... So I made a stupid but human mistake, and she goes running off with Seth like an anxious puppy! And I suppose she thinks I'm just going to sit back and take it . . . just be grateful for the fact that she comes back home at all....

But what if she doesn't come home . . . ?

Oh, stop it! Dee ordered herself. You don't know what happened or didn't happen. It's a good thing you're not a lawyer, she argued silently.

Dee walked over to the telephone and lifted the receiver slowly, her right index finger poised over the dial. “I'll have to talk to her eventually,” she rationalized.

“Harper and Barron,” a cheerful voice announced as soon as the second ring finished.

“Uh, yes,” Dee said, trying to sound businesslike. “Miss Lundquist, please.”

“One moment, please.”

Dee fought the contradictory panic and jealousy raging inside her. If Karen was there, what would she say? And if Karen wasn't . . . then?

“Mr. Barron's office,” Karen's voice said efficiently.

Dee hung up. She hated herself afterward. In fact, she didn't even really know why she had hung up. Why hadn't she gone through with the call . . . ?

The phone rang seconds later, and Dee automatically answered it.

“Why did you hang up?” Karen's voice said in a weary tone.

“How the hell'd you know it was me?” Dee asked before she remembered she was jealous or embarrassed.

A short silence ensued before Karen replied, “I don't know that many people who ask for me by name at the switchboard, then hang up. Dee . . . what's the
matter
with you?”

“With me! It's you, not me. But . . . it was stupid of me to call. I—I wanted to apologize,” she lied, and again hated herself for not being able to come out and ask,
Just where the hell were you last night?

“I won't kid you, Dee, I was plenty mad. First, that idiotic argument the night before, and then that juvenile trick you pulled at the Algonquin, and then not coming home all night . . .”

“How would you know!” Her anger was taking over again now. She didn't feel quite so inept.

“Oh, Dee, for God's sake! I waited up until three-thirty for you . . . and only half slept on the couch the rest of the time, ready to give you hell when you walked in that door. You never did.”

“You what?”

“You heard me. What are you trying to pull?”

Dee felt like a first-class idiot.

Karen sounded as if she was working up into a full-size rage now, “Do you mean to tell me you thought I wasn't home all night, so you were going to pull a martyr scene? Listen here, Dee, I think you'd better see a head-shrinker; you're really cracking up!”

“No. It wasn't that.” Dee tried to keep her voice from showing how relieved she was. “It's just that the place looked so, so unlived in when I got in this morning. You knew where I was.... I just didn't know . . .”

“Dee,” Karen interrupted patiently, “I don't mind if you want to build up a jealousy case, but why not come out and say it? That's what you're always telling me to do! How do you think I feel when your old girlfriends call up in the middle of the night?”

“What
old girlfriend?” Dee blurted.

Karen snickered. “Not Rita,” she held on to the “i” in mimicry. “She's done her bit for the season.”

“Then who?”

“That singer, you know . . . Martie Thornton. Gave me some song-and-dance about having run into you in Paris and that you had taken some pictures or something.” Karen sighed. “I wrote down the number she left and put it on the nightstand in the bedroom—be sure you call her. I wouldn't want you to miss out on anything. . . .”

“Now who's jealous?”

“Frankly, Dee, at this point I really no longer care.”

Dee wondered just how she really meant that. Perhaps she would come to her decision alone. But then, she always had about everything else—why shouldn't she now?

“Dee, I've got to go now. Do you suppose you could manage to be home this evening? I'd like to have a talk with you.”

“I suppose I had that coming. . . .”

“Oh, Dee,” Karen said tiredly, “I don't care anymore who has what coming—just answer me.”

Dee knew she was going to cry and hoped she could hold out until Karen had hung up. “Yes, damn it! I'll be here. Don't let your personal life interfere with the office, Karen, by all means.”

Well, Dee thought, that does that! She was surprised that she didn't feel the need to cry anymore. It was as if she had been purged already with Karen's “I no longer care” in that tight, barely civil voice.

It was true that Dee had behaved badly . . . but Karen had some growing up of her own to do, also. Only, now as Dee knew with certainty, it was not going to be with her. In spite of her anger, she experienced a strange kind of relief. . . . She could feel guilt falling off her the way bark cracks, then falls off a tree. The responsibility for Karen's life was no longer hanging over her, pulling at her in opposite directions . . . no more of the wrenching confusion of wanting her and knowing she would have to let her go.

 

 

Dee didn't go into the office at all that day. She'd puttered around the apartment, and when she came across Martie's phone number written in Karen's neat writing, she had even taken it downstairs and placed it by the telephone as a reminder to call. Several times she'd meant to call “right then and there,” but each time she became busy with something else.

She went into the shower about five o'clock and wondered what she should wear for their “talk” tonight. Black, of course. Black slacks and a black blouse. Despite the emotional strain of the past two days, she looked exceptionally well tonight. She was careful to put on makeup and to look like a friend expecting another friend to come by for dinner.

She was chilling the martinis when Karen came in. For some reason, Dee felt completely in control of the situation—devoid of any personal involvement.

“Martini?” Dee asked calmly when Karen came downstairs.

She nodded.

“You look tired,” Dee offered, knowing it was the wrong thing to say. She brought the drink over to her.

“I should. . . .” Karen answered sarcastically but without enthusiasm.

They raised their glasses to each other almost in silent understanding of what was to come.

“Um . . . good,” Karen sighed. “It's a little chilly; how about some atmosphere?”

She's made up her mind, all right, Dee decided by the tone of Karen's voice, but said instead, “I'm getting a bit superstitious about the fireplace.”

Karen smiled. “Life goes on one way or another.”

Not exactly brilliant repartee, Dee smiled inwardly, but logical. She crossed over and lit it, waited for the flames to spread, then scratched Cho-Cho absently.

“I'd become very fond of Cho-Cho,” Karen said at last.

“That sounds ominous,” Dee answered. “Planning to do the old girl in?”

“Dee, please . . . I don't feel much like jolly jokes.”

Dee shrugged her shoulders and crossed over to the bar and refilled her glass. “More?” she asked indifferently.

“I suppose so . . . may as well.”

There was a long silence. “For someone who was so insistent that I be home for a talk, you're not saying much.”

Karen looked at her quizzically. “I don't understand you, Dee. I really don't. . . . I'm just beginning to realize it.”

Dee laughed lightly. “You will . . . in time. Or maybe not. It doesn't matter.”

“Are you really so indifferent to what happened last night? Are you proud of yourself for the trick you pulled with Seth?” Karen paused a moment, lighting a cigarette. “At least, if Seth noticed anything, he was gentleman enough not to say it.”

“Are you implying,” Dee said levelly, “that you are more concerned with Seth's reaction than you are about what motivated me in the first place?”

“Oh, stop it!” Karen replied in that same tired tone she'd used earlier. “It was unforgivable. . . .”

“So is murder unless it's self-defense. You do allow for self-defense in your orderly little world, don't you?”

“The comparison is too idiotic to answer. I think you need a long vacation.... I think I do, too.”

Dee watched Cho-Cho wash herself in front of the fireplace. “Is this the point of our little ‘talk'? A vacation from each other?”

“Something like that . . .” Karen said defensively.

Dee grinned sardonically. “We've not even been together six months—a vacation? What kind of a punch-drunk fool do you take me for, Karen? Are you trying to spare my feelings . . . be civilized about the whole thing?”

Karen didn't answer—she couldn't even look at Dee.

“Look, baby . . .”

“Don't call me that!” Karen snapped.

Dee laughed. “I'll call you any damn thing I please, and you'll listen to me.” She had trouble believing she was really saying all these things. She felt positively giddy with control and power.

“Why are you acting this way?” Karen pleaded.

“Because I think you're making a big thing out of a . . . very small thing.” Dee quavered a moment, but it didn't last. “You were at loose ends . . . you developed a crush which was both forbidden and exciting . . .”

“You
know,
then?” Karen asked, taken by surprise.

“I always knew, baby. I tried and tried to make you understand, but you wouldn't. And, forgive the expression, I'm just human. I've got desires, too.”

“Didn't this mean anything to you?” Karen cried. “Were you just laughing at me behind my back?”

Dee sat down next to her on the couch but didn't touch her. She took a deep breath, then said, “How can I explain it to you . . . ?” she looked intently into Karen's eyes.

“It's like when you've been to an emotionally exhausting movie—when you've lived the part of the heroine, felt all her hurts and joys. For the duration of the movie, you
are
the heroine.”

Karen placed her hand in Dee's, and they both knew it was simply a gesture of understanding and friendship.

“But now,” Dee continued with a tender smile on her lips, “the movie is over and everybody's picking up their purses, umbrellas, hats, and coats and going home—to where they belong. To their real lives.”