Another Kind of Love (9 page)

“Yes. Of course.”

“What about
us
?”

“Oh, Walter . . .” Laura cried and covered her face with her arms. Suddenly she was weeping.

“Honey!” Walter said, shocked. “What is it? What's wrong?” He took her into his arms and rocked her gently, whispering reassurances. Finally, she stopped crying and regained her control.

As she dried her eyes, she scolded herself. Stupid! What's wrong with you that you keep acting like some neurotic female just one step out of an institution?

“Feel like telling me now?” Walter asked softly. He got up from the bed and went to the chair next to it.

“I . . . I can't, Walter. At least, not all of it. Not now.” She managed to say that much and was grateful that at least her voice was even.

“I gather that it has something to do with us.”

She nodded. She searched for some story that would satisfy him and keep the degree of injury to a minimum.

He said, “You don't want to marry me. No. I'll amend that for you—don't say anything. You don't want to make a decision right now about it.... Isn't that it?”

To her surprise, he smiled. “But, Walter, this is so sudden,” he mimicked good-naturedly. “Old maid jitters, Laura?”

She laughed with him and nodded. “Something like that.”

“Just answer me this, Laura. Is there another guy?”

“No. Not exactly,” she replied cautiously.

“But you have met someone . . .”

“I'm not sure,” she answered with the half guilt of a half lie. He was making it very easy for her, being much more fair than she thought she deserved. She was so grateful to him that she felt like sitting in his lap and telling him that she
would
marry him, would be proud to marry him—but she couldn't do it.

“All right, darling,” he said. “We won't talk about it anymore. Not tonight. I have a whole year to wait, anyhow, so no one's rushing you. Besides,” he laughed, “I'm a pretty egotistical bastard. Somehow I feel sure you'll end up realizing what a good deal you'd have with me. Some other guy might be younger—but he wouldn't appreciate you as much or love you as much.”

It was almost more than she could take. If only he'd scream at her, or snarl in bitter hurt! Anything but this trust and kindness. She gazed at him affectionately, then averted her eyes. If Karl had been just half the man that Walter is, she thought reminiscently, maybe a lot of my present problems wouldn't be plaguing me.

Walter's voice broke into her thoughts. “One more thing before I go back to my room.”

She looked up at him, afraid that he might have guessed more than he was revealing to her.

“No matter what you decide—now or later—I think you should plan on moving from this hotel as soon as possible.”

Thank God! Laura exclaimed to herself.

“If possible, find a roommate. I don't want Edna to have any suspicions about you . . . or me. Not until the divorce is final. Stay here for a few days, but look around. A young single girl in the big city living in a hotel doesn't sound as respectable in court as it should. If it comes to court. Will you do that for me? This isn't the time to start being careless.”

“Of course, Walter,” Laura said with relief and genuine warmth.

He stood up slowly, walked to her, and bent down to kiss her softly on the lips. “Good night, then. Get some sleep, darling, and don't worry about us.”

She couldn't answer him. She sat silent and motionless as he went to the door, blew her a kiss, and left.

After several minutes it took all her control to relax and lie down. She didn't seem to have the energy even to blink; she was exhausted. Then she felt herself falling softly into sleep almost immediately and was glad for the release.

Good girl, she likes you,
Walter had said about Madeline Van Norden. And Laura envisioned an enormous Madeline nodding and smiling approval. Something like the official laughers at the funhouse.

Oh, I get along fine with women . . .

Ginny . . .

T
he next few days Laura worked very closely with Madeline and hardly saw either Willy, who was going to be in charge in New York, or Walter. The offices that Walter had rented were being painted. He left it up to the two women to make all the other decorating decisions and purchases, and with the narrow budget he had imposed, it was taking every bit of ingenuity they could muster. Luckily, Madeline seemed to know the best places to find everything—from drapery outlets to warehouses of repossessed office furniture. She kept Laura constantly on the go.

Laura had quickly sensed that she had an ally in Madeline—someone she could trust and be friendly with. Madeline had an offhand way of completely ingratiating herself without even trying, and it seemed impossible to Laura that anyone might not like her. Once or twice the old guarded feeling returned to Laura, but most of the time she felt very much at ease. The older woman's responsiveness to Laura's ideas was wonderfully reassuring. It became a positive delight to discuss the problems of writing for a fan magazine, or reminisce about her experiences with movie stars and studio executives. In fact, the amiability and informality of it all made work seem so much like play, Laura felt almost guilty.

At last the office was painted, and they could begin to put things in shape. As a sort of celebration they all agreed to meet at Walter's suite for a drink—a toast to their mutual success.

Laura was quite apprehensive about this celebration. She dreaded any opportunity Walter might take to ask her if she'd decided.

She met Madeline in the hallway in front of Walter's door. Without a greeting, Madeline said hurriedly, “Now that all the work is done, I suppose I won't be seeing so much of you.”

“Of course you will,” Laura said. As she knocked on the door, she realized it would feel strange not to have Madeline around.

Walter opened the door, a half-sheepish grin on his face.

“Hello, hello, you two. Come in and relieve this working man from his boredom.”

They entered, and Laura suspected immediately that Walter had begun the party without them.

He poured them each a drink and sat down rather unsteadily next to Madeline. “How's the New York
Fanfare
Office? Beautiful?”

Madeline looked over at Laura and with a swift glance silently conveyed a confirmation of Laura's suspicions: Walter was drunk.

“Of course it's beautiful!” she returned, smiling. “Look who took care of the decorating for you!”

“Haven't you been by to see it?” Laura asked him.

“No time, no time,” Walter said. He was very serious.

Laura suppressed a laugh. “We only need one more desk and several filing cabinets. Everything else is ready for even a competitor's inspection.”

“Put a lock on the door!” Walter commanded with mock horror. Then he began a long monologue about his activities in the past few days. At any other time Laura would have listened, amused. Tonight Walter's monologue didn't seem very clever. She sensed that Madeline was anxious to break away. Once she caught Madeline looking at her watch.

Finally, Madeline gave her a perfect opening to change the subject without appearing rude. It was nearly teamwork.

“We've been rather busy ourselves,” Madeline commented.

“That's true enough,” Laura laughed. “This perpetual motion machine you attached to me hasn't left me enough time even to look for an apartment.”

“Say,” Walter said, rising slowly, “I've been worried about that. What are we going to do with you?”

He frowned slightly. For a moment there was silence; then Madeline said, “I may be talking out of turn, Walter, but may I make a suggestion?”

An odd quality in her voice alerted Laura: she became tensely watchful.

“Shoot,” Walter called from the bar.

Madeline smiled. “I was just wondering if Laura couldn't stay at my place for a while? Then she could take her time looking for an apartment.”

Madeline took out a cigarette and lit it before she went on casually, “I'd hate to be in a strange city and have to stay alone in an impersonal, unfriendly hotel.”

Laura could see she was going to be cornered into this. Actually, after a moment, it didn't sound like such a bad idea. She did like Madeline, and it was made to order for Walter's divorce problems, since it would give her a respectable roommate and apartment, at least for a while.

“That's very sweet of you Madeline,” Walter began, “but are you sure you have room? I mean, you don't have to take
Fanfare
boarders. . . I mean . . .”

“Oh shut up, Walter,” Madeline commanded jokingly, “you don't know what you mean.” She smiled at Laura. “How do you feel about it?” she asked. “I've plenty of room, and I don't think we'd get in each other's way. I'd appreciate some company.”

“Well . . .” Laura hesitated.

Walter looked at her with an expression of helplessness: it was an indirect prompting to accept. Laura resigned herself to the situation. She glanced quickly at Madeline, whose face showed a friendly amusement—as if she knew Laura's position but also knew that if Laura accepted she wouldn't be sorry.

“It's very kind of you,” Laura said levelly. “I accept.”

“Good! If it doesn't work out, I'm the kind of bitch who's unnecessarily honest and I'll tell you.” She laughed with tolerance of her own declared shortcomings.

Laura thought it was best that she had accepted Madeline's invitation. She could just see herself staying alone in this hotel, trying to sleep but tormented with thoughts of Ginny, remembering the feel of her, how sweet her touch. No. At least being with Madeline would keep her busy, would give her someone to talk to when the going got rough.

“. . . who knows, we might even get along famously and have a ball. Right, Laura?”

“We've done all right so far.”

“How about moving in tonight,” Madeline suggested. “I was never one for putting things off.”

“It's a little late . . .”

“Don't be such an old maid,” Walter chided. “After all, you only have to pack a few things back into the suitcases. Shouldn't take you twenty minutes.”

Laura looked from Walter to Madeline. “Guess I'm outvoted,” she said slowly. “All right. Give me half an hour, though.”

She excused herself and left the room, wondering how it had all come about. Not quite twenty-five minutes later she returned with her makeup kit in her hand.

“What about your suitcases?” Walter asked. There was a strained quality in his voice now. It was understandable—at least to Laura. Moving away meant he'd see even less of her, have less opportunity to win her back. “Shall I send for them?”

“I had the bellboy get them.” She glanced at Madeline, who was finishing off her drink quickly, then back to Walter, who had a forlorn expression on his face. Madeline noticed it, too.

“She's not going to Siberia, Walter,” Madeline said with a laugh.

Laura allowed herself to be bundled into her coat, said good night to Walter, and swiftly followed Madeline out the door. She suddenly felt exhausted, unable to cope with anything but her next breath....

She thought about facing tomorrow, next month, her life, without Ginny. The thought left her in a vacuous state of disinterest for everything about her. She appreciated Madeline's tactful silence, appreciated her taking charge. Without question she walked beside Madeline.

They collected Laura's luggage at the hotel desk, where Madeline told the clerk to add her bill to
Fanfare
's. Then, outside the hotel, she hailed a cab.

It seemed to take forever to arrive at Madeline's place, especially since Laura could not positively identify any of the landmarks other than that she was on Fifth Avenue, and that when the cab pulled up to the curb she could see Washington Square just one and a half blocks away.

Laura felt obligated to say something. “I feel like an intruder. . . . It's not too late if you want to change your mind, Madeline.”

Madeline laughed and reached for a suitcase. “Don't worry. You're really doing me the favor. I usually just rattle around in the place and get frightfully bored listening to my echo.”

The modern apartment house lobby advertised its chi-chi atmosphere by having no decoration except an indoor rock garden, and its discreetness by employing no doorman and no elevator operators.

 

 

“Home sweet home,” Madeline sighed as they entered. She deposited the suitcase on the nearest chair.

Laura looked around the enormous living room with respectful awe. Although the ceiling was high, not a single object or painting rose above eye level; the walls and carpet were of the same pale blue, with only intricately woven oriental throw rugs on the floor—over the carpeting—for color. The effect was one of unhindered spaciousness.

This was Danish modern furniture, the like of which Laura had never seen. Not the usual spindly-stick sort of thing that was so popular—it had substance and visible comfort, plus the simplicity of line commonly associated with Danish work. Doubtless custom-made, Laura concluded. The room was an extraordinary blend of the new styles and the charm and delicacy of the traditional—nothing stood out, yet everything held interest.

Laura said, in rapturous admiration, “Magnifique! I'd almost forgotten you weren't a rank-and-file member of the working class. Comes the revolution . . .”

Madeline smiled, took off her shoes, and sank gracefully into the nearest sectional divan. “Shall we have a good-luck toast, or do you want to go right to bed?”

“I'm too tired to sleep, and a drink would be just fine. Thanks.”

Madeline stood up and crossed the long room to the bar. “Scotch?”

“Sure.” Laura looked out the balcony window and, for the first time since she'd arrived, had a feeling of excitement about living in New York. From the big window she had a wonderful view of Washington Square, and Laura asked, “What section of town are we in? The Village?”

“Yes. Nice view of the arch, isn't it? Makes you almost think you're in Paris.”

“I've never been to Paris, but it does look like what I imagine it to be.” Accepting the glass Madeline offered, Laura sat down in a low turquoise-upholstered chair and watched absently as Madeline made herself comfortable again on the divan. For a moment she let her mind conjure up the image of Ginny, but the bittersweet sting of tears just under her eyelids was a sharp reminder of the dangers of such fantasy.

Swallowing hard, Laura brushed her fingers across her eyes. Then she took a long drink of the Scotch.

The brief telltale gestures had not escaped the penetrating eye of her hostess. “Homesick?” Madeline asked gently.

Laura shook her head, not yet trusting her voice.

“I'm sorry,” Madeline said softly. “I'm not being nosy. But when you spend as much time in bars as I do, you develop an eye for unhappiness—you start playing sidewalk psychiatrist and making bets with yourself about the whys—like money, worries, love affairs, divorce blues, and so on.”

“Do you ever find out if you're right?”

“Sometimes.” Madeline looked at her candidly.

“And what's your diagnosis in my case, Doctor?” Laura had a feeling she shouldn't have asked, but it was too late now.

Madeline seemed to hesitate. “I'm not quite sure yet . . .” She gazed thoughtfully at Laura.
“Similia similibus curantur,”
she laughed self-consciously. “Only thing I learned at finishing school.”

“What's that mean?”

“Oh, something like it takes a thief to catch a thief.”

Laura looked at her, puzzled. “You're getting away from the subject a bit, aren't you?”

Madeline smiled. “No. Quite the contrary. Love. That's the subject, isn't it? Love in all its multisided glory—and misery.”

She sipped her drink and glanced speculatively at Laura. “But the kind of love-misery I'm talking about is something rather special—worse than an affair that hasn't worked out,” she continued.

“Go on,” Laura urged.

“This is the suffering that comes not from loving and losing, but from losing love before you've even been able to have it . . . because you don't
dare
have it.”

Madeline's gaze held Laura's meaningfully.

Laura realized with a start that Madeline's words and tone seemed deliberately pointed, but she couldn't be sure.

Her heart began to pound, and her body quickened in a strange mixture of fright and anticipation. Had Madeline really understood? Or was she just fishing? Or was Laura reading something into Madeline's words? It was all very upsetting—and exciting.