“Jan, are things happening too fast for you?”
Yes, she thought fiercely. Yes, but not the way you mean. It’s a different way entirely.
“I think that’s it,” he went on. “I’m used to things happening fast and you’re not. For years now I’ve been on the go, moving from one room to another every week or so and changing my friends the way other people change clothes. Everything happens like a 45 record played at 78. You know what I mean?” She nodded.
“You probably think I’m working too fast. I can’t help it, Jan. I like you and I... but I have to give you more time, don’t I?”
She nodded, mainly because she didn’t know what else to do. He was all wrong. He had cause and effect mangled, his logic was way out in left field, but this was irrelevant. He was leaving. He would go away and leave her alone if she let him talk for a few more minutes, and the fact that he would be back in a day or so didn’t seem to make any difference. Only the present mattered, and anything that could get him out of the apartment was the right thing for the time being.
As if he had read her mind he stood up, the guitar still slung over his shoulder. “I’m going,” he announced. “I have to give you some time to think, Jan. I’ll be back, but not for a few days. Take your time.”
“I—”
“Don’t say anything now. It’s my fault. I’m not used to girls like you.”
“I’m not the right kind of girl for you.” She had to get through to him somehow but she couldn’t spell it out for him. She probably should say Look, I’m a Lesbian, but down deep it didn’t seem right that she tell him.
“Maybe you aren’t. I want to find out.”
He walked to the door by himself, quickly, and when the door closed behind him she picked up her book from the arm of the chair and hurried into the bedroom. She didn’t want to watch him walk off down the street.
At six she showered and dressed simply in a plain cotton knit dress that matched her black hair. She brushed her hair methodically, letting it fall down her back but loosely securing it away from her face with a few pins. She hesitated before using perfume, wondering whether Laura would like it or not and finally deciding in favor of it.
She had dinner alone in a tiny restaurant around the corner on Bedford Street. The food was good but she scarcely tasted it. The waiter was courteous, buzzing around her table constantly, recommending a good wine to complement the fish and even telling her how pretty she looked. But she hardly heard him, hardly noticed him at all, and once outside the restaurant she couldn’t remember what he looked like, whether he was short or tall, dark or light.
She had spent a long time at dinner and a longer time walking to Macdougal Street. She didn’t want to arrive too early. She was nervous almost to the point of trembling, lighting one cigarette from the butt of the last.
At precisely nine o’clock she was on Macdougal Street, mounting the steps of The Shadows.
10
The same song was playing on the jukebox. Dinah Washington was singing So Long again, her voice deep and sad, and Jan wondered if there were any happy songs on the jukebox in The Shadows, or if a Lesbian bar had to be sad by definition.
Someone must have played the song. Someone was sad, someone had just broken up with someone else. She scanned the room quickly, looking for Laura and simultaneously trying to pick out the girl who had played the record. All the girls she saw at first were seated in couples and she rejected them automatically. The girl who played So Long would be sitting alone.
Then she saw her. In the back in a corner booth the blonde called Peggy was sitting alone and drinking. Her head was lowered, her mouth inches from the rim of the glass that rested on the table. She looked even sadder than the song.
Jan was glad. She felt guilty being pleased about Peggy’s unhappiness, but it meant that the pair had broken up, that Laura was free now. She took a seat at an empty table, sitting at the far side so that she could watch the door without having to look at Peggy.
She ordered Scotch-and-water and toyed with it when it arrived, not wanting the drink and not needing it. She didn’t have to be drunk, not tonight.
The song on the jukebox didn’t match Jan’s mood at all. This was going to be a good night, and the background music should be good and light and happy, joyously and crazily happy. It was an evening for Hello rather than So Long.
The words of the song pounded against her ears. Two people promising to love each other forever. Was that the way it had been for Peggy? Had she expected it to last or had she been waiting all along, waiting for the break-up from the beginning? Did anything last? Would she and Laura last?
Or didn’t it matter? The moment mattered, the moment above everything, and she didn’t dare to start worrying about time or permanence or anything of the sort. The moment was all-important and it made her questions seem terribly trivial.
Just as the song ended the door swung open and Laura walked into the room.
She didn’t even stop to look around. She didn’t have to; it seemed as though she knew instinctively just where Jan would be sitting.
“Hello,” she said. Jan liked her voice. It was gentle without being weak, smooth without any slickness.
“Hello.”
“You’re Jan Marlowe. Is it short for Janice or Janet?”
“Janet.”
“I thought it would be. I’m Laura Dean.”
“I know.” She hadn’t known, not the last name, and she repeated it mentally. Laura Dean. It was a good name. She liked it.
Laura took a cigarette and tapped it twice on the table before lighting it. She ordered bourbon-and-soda when the waitress came and then lit her cigarette, extinguishing the match with a quick flick of her wrist.
“Jan,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “what are you doing here?”
“Don’t you know?”
“I think so. Tell me.”
Jan took a sip of her drink, searching for the right way to phrase what was in her mind. The same record began to play once again on the jukebox.
“I think I’m here for the same reason you are.”
“What’s the reason?”
The waitress brought the drink and left, but Laura left the glass untouched. She seemed tense, as if Jan’s answer was going to be extremely important to her.
“I came here to meet you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” she said, still unsure of herself. “Yes, you see I... I—” She broke off suddenly and took a deep breath, dragging the air into her lungs. She knew that she had to say exactly what she felt, that she could not wait any longer and that the words had to come now in a rush, no matter what was to happen afterwards.
“I want you,” she said. “I want you more than I ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted you the minute I saw you Friday night and even more last night and I thought about you all day. I think I’m in love with you.”
Silence.
And then, “God.”
And then, “Well, that was quick. Your next answer is important, Jan. Because I’m only going to ask you once and this is your last chance to back down. Are you sure?”
It was so perfect. She said, “I’m sure,” in a thin small girl voice and all the barriers dissolved. As her whole body relaxed she could sense the same relaxation passing through Laura.
For the first time she noticed what Laura was wearing. Laura had a dress on, and Jan was glad she had selected the knit for herself. Laura’s dress was a rich blue that contrasted radiantly with the red-brown of her hair. Laura was beautiful. Laura loved her.