Odd Girl (18 page)

"I'm going to hold you to that," Prudence said. They took the paper bags with their picnic lunches, and walked downstairs into the day.

It was warm for November and they were glad. They walked in the sun to the corner and then headed for Sixth Avenue.

"I'm glad I'm not working today," Anne said. "Even though I think you're being unrealistic about my stopping work."

"Terribly unrealistic," Prudence replied, "but I've been terribly frugal up to now, like a squirrel storing up nuts. Time to eat some of them."

Anne laughed. "Don't tell me you're now independently wealthy."

"Hell, no," Prudence laughed with her. "Do you mind our getting by on hamburger five times a week?"

"No," Anne said, "I love hamburger." She took Prudence's hand fondly and they walked with a happy step, breathing the crisp air and feeling sixteen. At the corner they ran to catch the bus heading for South Ferry. They got on and huddled together in the near-empty bus.

She's beautiful this morning, Anne thought. I wonder what color I could call her hair—dark blonde, wheat perhaps. She's part of a fall meadow—and also a statue, yes, she's more of a statue, but she's warm. "How old are you?" Anne said.

"Ages," Prudence laughed. "Twenty-eight. How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," Anne said. She looks thirty, Anne thought, but she also looks nineteen.

"Where are we going?" Anne said, watching the city blocks go quickly by.

"To Staten Island," Prudence said. "There's a beach there where we can picnic."

"A beach!" Anne laughed. "That's funny, yesterday I wanted so much to go to a beach."

"I guess we like the same things," Prudence said. "I didn't think anyone else would be crazy enough to like a beach in winter."

"I see nothing odd about it," Anne answered. Then she grew serious and looked at Prudence, who seemed to be shaking with nervous merriment. She's very sensitive, Anne thought; she can hardly believe she's happy. I can hardly believe I'm happy too. "I want to know all about you," Anne said to her. "You've said very little up to now.

'It won't be easy to get me to talk," Prudence smiled. "I've been strong and silent all year."

"You'll talk,' Anne said. She dug her fingers in Prudence's jacket pocket and took hold of her hand there. Prudence blushed and took Anne's hand out of her pocket and held it still until the bus made a stop.

"When did you get the shop?" Anne asked.

"Last year," Prudence said. "Helen and I were both working for an advertising agency. When we split I quit and rented the shop. She stayed on. I still do the art for her accounts—it pays the rent." A serious look formed on her face now and she lapsed into a silent mood.

Helen has tortured her all year, Anne thought, I think I hate her. "I'm going to take you away from Helen," she said.

Prudence said quietly, "I think you have already." She held Anne's hand tightly now in the empty bus and her eyes were happy again.

"Last stop," the driver called out to them.

Prudence rose, pulled Anne up and out the door with her. It was cold and windy. "Let's run," she said.

They ran, holding hands, from the bus stop to the ferry terminal and then ran up the steps to the turnstiles. Prudence had nickels ready, dropped them in the slot and pushed Anne through first.

It was cold in the waiting hall; Prudence put her arm over Anne's shoulders and took her to a corner.

"I didn't know it could be so cold," Anne laughed.

"Want to turn back?" Prudence asked. Anne shook her head. They stayed in the corner waiting for the ferry to dock.

"I love you," Anne whispered loudly.

Again Prudence blushed. "I'm glad I took you home with me the other night," she said.

Anne smiled. "Are you going to keep me or take me back to the store?"

"Keep you," Prudence said. She was very close to Anne now. "Do you want to be kept?"

"I want to live with you," Anne said. Prudence's lips were very close to hers. Anne wanted to kiss them. She fixed her eyes on Prudence. Prudence stopped smiling and bit her lips. She wants to kiss me too, Anne thought.

They turned away from each other now, forcing themselves to think of the ferry. The doors to the gangplank were opening now and people were crowding to them.

"Let's go," Prudence said, taking her hand again.

They followed the others through the entrance, up the gangplank and found a place on deck, deciding to brave the cold for a while and smell the salt air.

They watched the ferry leave the dock. It was warmer here than it was up front, facing the headwind, so they stood where they were, watched the seagulls follow them, watched Manhattan get smaller until the end of the island seemed a block of jagged rocks with windows, some reflecting the sun.

"They're quartz," Anne said, "not skyscrapers."

Everyone else had gone inside and they were the only ones on deck. They could speak loudly to each other without being heard by others. It was wonderful to be able to speak freely. It filled them with warmth and made the cold air seem distant.

"I'm so happy I'm a little afraid of it," Anne said.

"I am too," Prudence said. "Are you really happy?"

"I think so," Anne said. "Only some things still bother me. I worry about your wanting me to quit my job for instance. I don't want to be kept. What shall I do?"

Prudence only laughed. "I'll teach you to do art work so you can earn your keep."

"I'm serious," Anne said. She took Prudence's hand and looked at her. "I don't want a man-woman relationship. I'm afraid you think I do."

"I don't want that sort of relationship either," Prudence said. "I've had to turn down work the past few months because I've needed someone to help me. You say you like to do art work. I don't see any reason why you shouldn't work for me." She touched Anne's chin now and smiled reassuringly. "What else is troubling you. Esther?"

Anne nodded. "Yesterday both of you seemed to have an equal claim on me. Now I feel I only belong to you. What happened to me last night?" She looked at Prudence, desperately wanting to know.

Prudence smiled again with her quiet glance and said, "Let's go inside."

Anne followed her to the inside deck and they found a lonely bench, far from anyone else. It was warm inside. It cleared their minds and took some of Anne's fear away.

"You made love to me last night," Prudence stated. "Was it like being with Beth or Esther?"

"No," Anne shook her head. "It seems now as if I only began an act with them, never completed it. Why was it different with you?"

"Because you felt different with me," Prudence said. "Anne," she took her hand, "Helen never made love to me. She accepted my love because it pleased her, but nothing ever happened to her as it happened to you last night. Nothing ever made her want to give herself to me in return. You may not agree with me when I say this now, but I think Beth was the same way with you. I think she's waited for you to learn what it is she wants from you. She didn't make love to you that night. She was waiting for you to make love to her. Am I right?"

Anne thought a moment and then nodded sadly. "Yes, you're right. I was too paralyzed with happiness to realize I was only being caressed, that something more was expected of me."

"You could have Beth back now," Prudence said. "You could take her back and she'd stay with you, as Helen stayed with me. And it would be the same with Esther—only Esther is the opposite of Beth. Esther would love you, but she would deny you your right to love her in return."

"How do you know?" Anne said. "She was angry at me the other day. I made her furious by pleasing her."

Prudence smiled. "I know Esther." She continued to hold Anne's hand fondly. "You see," Prudence continued, "neither Beth nor Esther is really a Lesbian. They could be, if they weren't so full of fear about it. Instead, Beth—as you've told me—drinks; Esther breaks a new heart every week." Prudence paused now and waited for Anne to speak.

"How are you so positive?" Anne said. "Don't you think either of them could change?"

"I know Esther's changing," Pru answered. "She's in her second year of analysis. One of these days she'll marry—not Carl, but some young man or other—and then she'll be what she really was to start with, heterosexual. As for Beth, I can't say."

Anne looked at Prudence quietly, studying her face. It was not of stone now, but it tried to seem of stone. "You're saying I could leave you now and go back to Beth, and that I could change Beth."

"Yes," Prudence said, "I think you could. Perhaps six months from now, when she's a star and doesn't need men anymore to help her and make her secure. I think you could change Beth. I think she thinks you can. That's why she wrote to you. She wants to hold you." It was difficult for Prudence to say this and she turned her face to look out of the window at Manhattan, now only a small line on the horizon.

"And what about Esther?" Anne said. "Could I change Esther?"

"No," Prudence said. "I admit that here I'm trying to influence you, but I think that if you left me for Esther—if she shows up on Sunday morning—it won't make much difference. Sometime within the next few months one of you would get tired."

"You are influencing me, Johnson," Anne smiled. "You're making it easy for me to face Sunday. I don't think I will worry too much about telling Esther."

"About us?" Prudence smiled, looking back at Anne.

Anne nodded. "Unless you get tired of me by then.”

"I won't get tired of you," Prudence said. She straightened Anne's scarf, using the gesture as an excuse to touch her. "I'm going to be very brave about you, Anne," she said. "I'm going to let myself fall in love—even though I'm afraid because of Beth. But I feel that my love will be the one thing that will keep you from Beth. I think it'll be worth the gamble. And I think I have a good chance of winning."

Anne smiled. I love her beautiful eyes, she thought. A memory of the night before flashed through her mind, leaving a wave of pleasure, binding her body to Prudence's even now. "I am so much yours," she said.

Prudence smiled, and stood up. "We're about to dock. Let's walk up front."

They walked, trying out their sea legs on the slightly rocking floor. The dock was now only a few feet away.

"We're going to bump," Prudence said. She took hold of the doorway and wound her other arm around Anne. The ferry hit the first pole and jarred.

"I see," Anne said. "They slow the ferry down by bumping it against the sides of those logs."

Prudence laughed too. "You'd think they'd use rockets by this time…"

They held tightly again for the last bump and then the ferry was moored and people were coming out of the inner deck. Anne held Prudence's hand tightly, feeling both happy and very much afraid. She did not want to hurt Prudence, but even now Prudence was tense, only pretending to be happy.

"Let's go." Prudence pulled her hand. "There's another bus to catch."

They ran through the terminal to the last depot and waited on line with the others to enter the bus. It was a working day and there were few people.

"Under different circumstances," Anne said, "this would be an awfully long trip."

"Yes," Prudence replied, "it's the closest thing to going out of town."

Now they were in the bus and glad that it was warm. They sank into the seat together and held hands, looking out the window. They couldn't talk freely now, someone would hear them.

She felt Prudence's fond grasp and it made her feel not alone. She felt sad but she was happy. "Life is so real," Anne said. "For the first time, life is real."

Prudence smiled and looked at her. Her eyes were quiet now, and her face was the way it had been when they first met, calm and silent. "You really feel that?" It seemed to make her happy. "It's a good sign," she said.

"Why?" Anne asked.

"Because you're in the right world," Prudence said. "At least, that might be a reason for it. But maybe I'm too anxious to make you part of mine."

Anne squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I think I am in your world, and it is mine too."

The bus was going down a street with squat houses made of wood. The smell of water and cold wind blew in when the doors opened.

"Are we near the beach?" Anne asked.

Prudence nodded. "Just two more stops."

"You must come here often," Anne said.

"A few Sundays this fall," Prudence said. "I've come alone, or with Esther or someone else. Not to swim—just to sit."

"So, Prudence," Anne smiled, "others have come this way with you."

"Not as you've come," Prudence said. "I'll tell you the difference later."

Anne held her hand and watched her quiet face, half-covered by the heavy collar of her jacket, until the bus stopped and they got off.

A freezing and persistent wind hit them. There was snow and ice on the ground here and the setting was barren except for the makeshift summer cabins and empty amusement halls. Everything was boarded up, every window and door, against the wind and the sea air—except for a dingy pizzeria that seemed to be determined to stay open.

"Let's go there," Anne said, giving up all hope of seeing the beach.

They ran against the wind and entered the restaurant. It was a filthy place, reminding Anne of the Oval at the end of Friday night, with tables dirty and floor unswept and a smell of greasy sauce. The owner, a fat man with hairy arms, hailed them from the counter. "What would you like?"

"Charcoal and some starter fluid," Prudence said.

Anne looked at her, surprised. How could she have guessed Anne had wanted to leave again when she saw the place? Prudence looked at her and said, "We'll make a fire and eat on the beach."

The big man went to the back room and returned with a bag of charcoal and a can of fluid. He was amused. "Going to have another picnic, I see," he said. "What happened to the girl you took here last time? She get cold feet?"

"She survived quite well," Prudence said. She was not amused by the man; it was plain he guessed about them and hated Lesbians.

"That'll be a dollar," he said, dropping the bag on the counter. Prudence threw a dollar on the counter in return and picked up the two bundles.