Someone knocks on the door. The women’s hands all drop to their laps. “Come in,” says Lauren.
It is Dave. Linda’s breath quickens slightly. He has brought a penciled sign which he claims to have found Scotch-taped to the doorknob of 201. Attention!! it says. Emergency!!! Clothes drier in basement refusing to fonction! Suzette.
“What do you make of this?” Dave asks. He is wearing a dark blue T-shirt which reads KAHOALUAH SUMMER CAMP — TURN YOUR LIFE AROUND. It looks good on him.
“Suzette lives directly above us,” Linda tells him. “Apartment Three-oh-three. Just a guess, but I’d say she’s got a load of wet laundry and she’d like you to fix the dryer. She’s a foreign exchange student from France,” she adds. “Which explains the exclamation marks.”
Gretchen shakes her head, moves her dark and heavy bangs off her forehead with the back of one wrist. She has to shampoo daily, and even so her hair is oily by evening. “It’s because you’re male, of course. She thinks mechanical abilities are linked to the Y chromosome.”
“It’s shaped like a little wrench,” Julie points out.
“Or maybe she read your aura.” Lauren’s smile is particularly innocent. She examines her fingernails. “I wonder what color an electrician’s aura would be?”
“Bright?” suggests Linda. Dave is looking at her. He is waiting for an explanation. “Suzette’s a little strange,” she tells him. “She communicates with Venusians. She writes herself notes from them; they guide her hand. It’s called automatic writing. I think. And she reads the magnetic field around people’s heads.” Linda swallows uncomfortably. “She’s very pretty.”
“If you like pretty,” says Gretchen. It is a trick question.
Dave dodges it. “I don’t know how to fix a dryer.”
“I’ll tell you what.” Lauren folds her hands and smiles up at him. “You go up there and explain that in person. I imagine she’ll forgive you. Apartment Three-oh-three. Just above this one. You can’t miss it.”
Dave takes his note and edges back out the door. Linda feels her aura dimming around her ears.
“I bet they thought living in an apartment building with nothing but women in it would be out of sight,” says Gretchen. Her tone suggests malicious satisfaction. “Serves them right if it’s just one broken dryer after another.”
“Is the dryer broken?” Julie asks. “I used it this afternoon, fading my jeans. It was working fine then.” She looks at Lauren and they both start to laugh. “Poor, poor Dave. He’ll never leave Suzette’s apartment alive. He’ll walk through that door and one thing will lead to another.”
One thing is always leading to another in Julie’s own romances. The phrase mystifies Linda, who feels that, logically, a gaping chasm must separate polite “Hello, I got your note” sorts of conversation from passionate sex. “What does that mean, Julie?” she asks, perhaps more vehemently than she might have wished. “‘One thing leads to another.’ That never ever happens to me. Can you describe that?”
Julie looks embarrassed, but more on Linda’s behalf than her own. “Oh, come on, Linda,” she says. “You know.”
Linda turns to Lauren. “Tell me about the first time one thing led to another when you were out with Bill.”
“Don’t be a voyeur,” says Lauren.
Julie laughs and Linda looks at her questioningly. “Sorry,” she offers. “It just struck me as funny that you should be accused of voyeurism. You’re the last of the prudes.”
“How the hell can you tell?” Linda demands. “Have I passed up a number of opportunities to be licentious? Alert me when the next one comes along.”
“She’s not a prude,” Gretchen objected. “Just naive. And very smart. It’s an unexpected combination, so nobody knows what to make of it. And, of course, men don’t care about smart anyway.”
Linda rises from the table with dignity. “I’m going to my room now,” she says, “because my presence seems to be having such a dampening effect on your desire to discuss me.” She starts down the hall, and it occurs to her that the route is absolutely identical to the one between the kitchen and the bedrooms in apartment 201. Or 303. She dredges up a parting shot. “There’s no way I’m going to pay for two phone calls to Redwood City I didn’t even make. I’ll take out the phone first. Try me.” She goes into her (and Gretchen’s) bedroom and closes the door. She lies across the bed she has very sensibly decided never to make. It would just have to be done again tomorrow. Every tomorrow. The blankets form comfortable little hills and valleys beneath her. And above her? Directly over her head, one thing is leading to another. She tries to imagine it.
DAVE: I got your note. I came as soon as I could.
SUZETTE: I’ve been waiting. (Their eyes lock.)
DAVE: (gazing at her) I don’t know how to fix a dryer, Suzette. I wish I could.
SUZETTE: It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now that you’re here.
(Dave steps through the door. Suzette closes it slowly, sensuously, behind him. She presses against it with her back. They are both breathing audibly.)
SUZETTE: I was just about to slip into something more comfortable. (She removes her sweater.) Would you like to watch?
DAVE: (grabbing her) Suzette! (Her silken breasts begin to swell.)
Linda makes them swell larger and larger until they pop like balloons. It is a fleeting satisfaction. She consigns the phrase “One thing leads to another” to the large set of things she doesn’t understand and nobody is ever going to explain to her, a set which includes the mysterious ailment known as hemorrhoids.
Gretchen comes into the room, ostensibly to find her English Lit assignment, but the quarter has not even started yet. Linda is not fooled. Gretchen just wants to see if she is angry. “Julie made the calls,” Gretchen says. “Of course.”
“Has she admitted it yet?”
“Any moment now.” Gretchen fusses with the things on her desk. “Hey, Linda?”
Linda rolls onto her side and looks at Gretchen. “Yeah?”
“We all love you just the way you are.”
“I know that,” says Linda.
• • •
ALL RIGHT. That was Encounter Number Three. Let’s just take a moment to stretch and shake off the effects of the absorption. Or sit quietly. Return to yourselves. When you feel ready, we’ll discuss what we’ve absorbed.
Yes? Is everyone back now? Good. Questions?
Very good. You are very quick; I wondered if anyone would pick this up. We do have an agent on the scene, although our control of her is limited to suggestion only. The note, for example, was our idea, but the spelling was all her own. We communicate with her in the manner Linda described and we have identified ourselves as Venusians, a wildly implausible cover which she accepted without hesitation. We hope with her help to have some input into the pacing of the romance. At present it is not unusually slow but cannot be said to be developing quickly either. And we have so much ground to cover this term.
I did say we’d come back to this topic and I take your point. Lauren would be an interesting focus for us later; certainly the additional variable of being black in a predominantly white culture adds yet another complication to the issue of women and their bodies. The other three women represent differentiated approaches to the topic: Julie dislikes her body and abuses it; Gretchen dislikes her body but believes politically in the injustice of current standards of physical beauty and is attempting to substitute standards of health and strength instead; Linda is interesting because, in fact, she likes her body quite well, she just doesn’t expect anyone else to. Linda perceives her major shortcoming to be the size of her breasts, although she is mystified as to the reasons men desire more here. As long as Linda is our focus, we will share this mystification. Later in the term, when we switch to the male point of view, these things may become clearer. Let me just emphasize that it is hard to exaggerate the importance of these physical aspects, perceptions, and self-perceptions to the question of romance. Yes?