Lawrence Block - Warm and Willing

Thursday night the phone rang. Megan answered and talked for several minutes. Her face was slightly drawn when she hung up. “I don’t feel like staying home tonight,” she announced. “There’s a good movie at the Waverly. A double feature, two old Humphrey Bogart movies. Let’s go.”

Megan relaxed in the movie. They held hands through the show. It seemed very odd, at first, holding hands with Megan in the theater. There were other people all around them, and at first she felt tremendously self-conscious, as though everyone could see them and what they were to each other. But that was ridiculous. The theater was dark, and no one was watching them the first place. She gave Megan’s hand a squeeze and relaxed and watched the movie.

Afterward she was ready to go home. She was tired, she had work the next morning. Megan wanted to stop for a drink.

“We’ll see some people. You don’t have any friends, kitten.”

“I have you.”

“You should know more people.”

“Why?”

“You should. A little company wouldn’t hurt. Bobby called me this evening, wanted to come over.”

“Who’s he?”

A smile. “She. Roberta Kardaman, Bobby for short. Just a friend-she said she heard I was going with someone and she wanted to drop over and be introduced. I told her we were going out.”

“Oh?”

“She said she’d be at Leonetti’s tonight. That’s the place on Barrow Street, the cellar bar. I think I pointed it out to you.”

“Yes.”

“I told her we would drop by. It’s not far, it’s almost on the way home. Do you mind?”

“No.”

“Bobby was never anything to me, if that’s what you’re hesitant about. Not my type. Believe me, it’s very brave of me to let you meet her.”

“Why?”

“She’ll probably make a play for you.” Megan smiled. “She used to go with a girl named Rae. They broke up, oh, months ago, and Bobby’s been alone since then. And pretty miserable most of the time. I didn’t want her to come over because I thought she might make eyes at you or make some sort of approach.”

She was hurt. “You know I wouldn’t-”

“It’s not that. I thought you might be uncomfortable. But I like Bobby and I don’t want to dodge her. If I see her tonight at Leonetti’s, there’ll be other people around and I don’t think she’ll do anything gauche. She may undress you with her eyes. Do you think you can stand it?”

“I hope so.”

“You love. How did I ever find you?” Then, her tone more serious, “We won’t stay long. It’ll do you good. This is a new world, gay society, and with the lousy marriage you had and the months of hibernation, you have to learn how to handle yourself in a social pattern like this. I don’t mean which fork to use, not that. But there’s a whole ritual, a whole pattern of social relationships and friendships and everything else. It wouldn’t be fair to you if I kept you to myself all the time.”

“I wouldn’t mind that, Megan.”

Leonetti’s was in the middle of a darkened residential block, occupying the cellar of a dingy brownstone. The bar itself was dimly lit, with dark corners and small tables set far apart. The bartender was the only man in the place. He was a tall Italian, bald, with a round face and implausibly innocent eyes. Four or five girls sat at the bar. Half a dozen couples occupied the tables.

Heads turned their way when they entered the room. Rhoda stiffened inside, tremendously self-conscious. The wraps were off now. Here, with Megan at her side, everyone in the bar knew at once that she was gay, that she and Megan were lovers. People might speculate in the Village streets, but here there was no room for doubt. If she and Megan had not been gay, they would not have come here.

She wanted to turn and run. But Megan took her hand and led her easily across the room, passing tables where girls sat drinking. Some of the drinkers continued to look at her. Others lost interest and went back to their drinks or their conversations. She took a breath a leaned slightly against Megan. They found a table far at the rear and sat down opposite one another.

“Bobby’s not here yet,” Megan said. “Well? How you do you like the place?”

“It’s all right.”

“I shouldn’t have brought you. You aren’t ready, are you?”

“I-”

“Promenading down the center aisle while all the butches stare at us. Like a slave auction. What are you drinking?”

“You order.”

The waitress was a slender dark-skinned girl who knew Megan by name. Megan ordered scotch sours for both of them. The waitress nodded and left. Rhoda took a cigarette, gave Megan one, lit them both with the little silver lighter Megan had given her. She blew out a cloud of smoke and let her eyes scan the room. No one was staring at them now. The girls at the other tables seemed more natural. Just other girls, she told herself. Like her. Like Megan. Others who lived in the same special world. They ought to inspire sympathy, not fear.

“I’m all right now,” she told Megan.

The waitress returned with their drinks. Megan paid. They raised glasses and toasted silently. The sour was just right, not too sweet. She drank half of it in a single swallow and set her glass down on the black table top.

Megan said, “The first time I came here I was with a girl named Susan. That was so many years ago. The police closed Leonetti’s since then, and then the bar reopened under a different policy, it wasn’t a gay place at all. And then, about a year ago, we started coming here again. Funny how things come full circle. They had jazz here for awhile, live music and uptown tourists and all. Now it’s a gay club again, just like before.” She worked on her drink “There was a time when I came here seven nights a week. I started to turn into an alcoholic. And a tramp, too. I went home with a different girl every night. God, that was a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

“Susan. We broke up. She moved out on me, and up to that time it had always been the other way around, I had always done the leaving. The first time is hell. I tried to kill myself but I didn’t have the nerve.”

“You poor girl-”

“You live through those things.” Megan turned away. “It’s hell, though. And it always happens, you know. I’m in a lovely mood, aren’t I? Bobby’s phone call did it, I still haven’t shaken the mood. But nothing ever lasts, not in this world. Straight people get married and live unhappily ever after. But they have a chance of staying together. A fair chance. Gay girls never manage. There’s no divorce because there’s no marriage. You just-leave each other.”

“We’ll last.”

“For awhile.”

“Forever, Megan.”

“Oh, sure.” She forced a smile. “What a bitchy mood I’m in. I’m sorry, it’s rotten of me.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“And the hell of it is that tomorrow I’ll deny all of this. I’ll swear that we’ll stay together until hell freezes. And I’ll believe it, too. I know right now it isn’t true, that those things never happen. I know two girls who’ve been together for three years, and that seems like forever in our circle, and you know, I’ll bet they break up before the year is out. They won’t make it. They’ve been hovering on the edge of a break for months now and it’s coming and everybody knows it’s coming, and they’re the ones we always point to when we want to prove that forever is possible, that two girls can grow old together. I wish I could just stop talking now. I’m running off at the mouth and depressing the hell out of both of us. Tell me to shut up, will you?”

“Maybe you’d better. Somebody’s coming this way.”

Two girls came toward their table. One was a very short girl with pale blonde hair and fragile features. Her lips were bloodless and her skin looked as though a touch would bruise it. The woman with her was older, about thirty-five with short dark hair and a heavy frame. Not exactly butchy, Rhoda thought, but more along the lines of the obvious lesbian than any of the others. Megan introduced them as Alice and Grace. They took the two empty chairs.