“Oh, no!” she said, pulling Laura back. “I want you to see what I married. I want you to tell me if I wasn’t smart to get a divorce. Look at him.”
Burr, his face damp with dishwater, was gently exploring a nail-inflicted wound with one finger.
Laura tried to back out, but Burr saw her then and smiled. “Hello, Laura,” he said. “You’ll have to forgive my charming wife. She’s very emotional.”
“I’m not your wife!” Marcie flared.
Laura couldn’t help thinking it was all a joke. They both seemed to be enjoying it too much.
Burr ignored Marcie. “You’ve probably never seen this side of her,” he remarked to Laura. “I used to get it once or twice a day, like medicine. Finally drove me to divorce.” Marcie threw a towel at him and he smiled pleasantly at Laura. “But don’t let it bother you. You’ll never have to marry her, so you’ll avoid the problem.”
There was a stormy pause. “Have some coffee?” Laura said suddenly to Burr.
“I’ll fix him a highball,” Marcie sighed. “He hates coffee.”
“I don’t hate it. Why do you exaggerate, honey?”
“Well, you drink that horrible Postum crap, like all the grandfathers.”
“It’s not crap. It’s a hell of a lot better for you than coffee, I can tell you that.”
“Then why don’t you live on it, darling?”
“If I wanted sarcasm tonight, I would have gone over to Chita’s.”
“That whore!”
“I—I think I’ll turn in,” Laura said softly and hurried toward the door.
“Don’t be silly!” Marcie looked at her, chagrined. “You haven’t said two words to Burr.”
“She couldn’t say two words, honey. You’ve been talking too fast. I couldn’t either, for that matter.” He went over to Laura and led her by the hand to a chair. “Let’s talk about you,” he said. “Sit down.”
Laura felt ridiculous, but she obeyed him.
“Where’re you from?” he demanded.
“She’s from Chicago.” Marcie handed him his drink and perched on the drainboard of the sink.
“Say something from Chicago, Laura.” He grinned at her.
She shrugged and laughed, embarrassed.
“What does your old man do?”
Laura was startled to think of him. He had been out of her mind in the bustle of moving in with Marcie. “He’s a writer—a newspaperman,” she said. She looked so uncomfortable that Burr let it drop.
After a slight quiet he said, “What do you think of my girl?”
“Burr, please!” Marcie exclaimed, but he waved at her to shut up.
“You know you won’t be rooming with her for long, don’t you?” He smiled at Laura, and it looked like a warning sort of smile. It made Laura faintly queasy, as if she had already done something wrong.
Laura hated to compliment a woman. It was always hypocritical because she could never tell the truth without blushing. The more she admired a girl, the harder it was to talk about her. She began to blush. “She’s a very nice girl,” she said hesitantly.
“Say it like you mean it!” Burr said. “She’s a wonderful girl. Even if she is a shrew.”
“Damn! Stop humiliating us, Burr. You aren’t funny.”
Burr stared at Laura, until she had to say something. “We get along just fine,” she said.
“Sure. The first two days.” He laughed a little.
“Burr!” Marcie exploded. “She’s a girl, not an ornery bastard male like you.”
“Well, I hope you two will be ecstatically happy,” he said, and downed his drink.
“I won’t be talked about like this!” Marcie said. She dropped down from the drainboard and started out of the room, but Burr caught her around the waist. He was sitting next to Laura, and he buried his face in Marcie’s stomach. Marcie tried to grasp his short hair and push him back. Laura felt the old revulsion rising in her. Burr was doing nothing very shocking or immoral. He was just embracing the girl he loved, the girl who had been his wife. Laura knew that intellectually but her spirit retreated from the sight, repulsed.
“You know something, Laura?” Burr turned his head to look at her, still pressed against Marcie. “She acts like a damn virgin with me. She acts like she didn’t have any idea what it’s all about. Like we’d never been married at all, and I’d never—well, never mind what I did. She won’t let me do it anymore.”
“Burr, you’re really repulsive,” Marcie said, shaking her head at him.
“Am I?” He smiled at her.
“You know you are. Laura doesn’t want to hear about that. Do you, Laura?”
“I think I’d better get to bed,” Laura said.
“That’s a good girl,” Burr said approvingly. “Always knows when to cut out. Laura, we’re going to get along fine.”
“Don’t go, Laura!” Marcie ordered her.
Laura, halfway to the bedroom, stopped.
“Scram!” said Burr. As she shut the door behind her he added, “Sweet dreams, Laura. You’re a doll.”
Laura shut the door on them as he took Marcie, still resisting, in his arms. She walked uncertainly around the bedroom for a few minutes. It occurred to her that Burr would be grateful for the use of the bedroom, but Marcie would never forgive her for suggesting it. Laura ran a bath—it took fifteen minutes to get enough water to sit in—and sat contemplatively in it, wondering what her roommate was doing in the kitchen. She tried not to think of it. But when a thing revolted her it stuck stubbornly in her head and tormented her deeply.
Laura climbed out of the tub and dried herself, looking in the mirror as she did so. She had never liked the looks of herself very well. It still amazed her to think that this slim white body of hers, this tall, slightly awkward, firm-fleshed body, had been desirable to someone once. She studied herself. She was not remarkable. She was not lush and ripe and sweet-scented. On the contrary, she was firm and flat everywhere, with long limbs and fine bones. Her pale hair hung long over her shoulders, and bangs framed her brow.
I am certainly not beautiful, she thought consciously to herself. And yet I have been loved. I have loved.
She gazed at herself for a moment more and the ghosts of old kisses sent shivers down her limbs. Then she rubbed herself briskly with the towel and put her pajamas on.
That’s over now, she said to herself. That happened a million years ago. I’m not the same Laura anymore. I can’t—I won’t love like that again. I’ll work, I’ll read, I’ll travel. Some people aren’t made for love. Even when they find it, it’s wrong. I’m one of those.
She picked up a book she had been reading—one of Burr’s—and climbed into bed. There was a small lamp between the beds and she switched it on, drawing her knees up for a book rest. The covers formed a tent over her legs.
For a long while she sat and read about the mixups of other people, the people in the book. Then she closed it