Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“Is that all you’re going to have?” she asked.

“Isn’t that enough? Did you think I was an alcoholic?”

“Well no, but...”

“Somehow all this undergraduate nonsense gives me the willies. I needed that drink. But I feel perfectly fine now.”

“I’m terribly glad to hear that. I’m sorry our dance seems childish to you,” she said, slightly miffed.

“It does,” Matthew admitted.

“But of course we aren’t experienced citizens of the world who—”

He kissed her suddenly. One arm moved swiftly across the back of the seat, his right hand capturing her right shoulder. His left arm swung over simultaneously, his head was suddenly moving toward hers, his lips found hers, held them, pressed tightly against them. She pushed him away and caught her breath.

“Hey!”

“Hey,” he mimicked.

“I... cut it out.”

“Why?”

“I...” She shrugged. “Just cut it out. Let’s go back.”

“Don’t you like the way I kiss?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t. I’m going back. Are you coming?”

She was in his arms again suddenly, swiftly his mouth descended, she could feel the bristles of his mustache, again she pulled away, and again she had to catch her breath.

“Now... now stop it,” she said.

“Why?”

“I don’t like it, I don’t know you, your mustache, I don’t like it, stop it.”

“No,” he said, and he pulled her to him, and she found herself succumbing to the warmth of his mouth, gentle now, not at all harsh, the warm enclosing embrace of his arms, she felt a sigh murmur through her body, and she turned her face from his and buried it in his shoulder. Weakly, she said, “I don’t think...”

“Neither do I,” he answered, and he kissed her again.

She did not mind the mustache at all, she hardly noticed it any more. He touched her face with his hands, and she murmured gently, his hands were on her throat, his fingers touched the hollow of her throat, his mouth was on her ear, and suddenly his hand dropped, touched the neck of her gown briefly, and then pressed into her flesh beneath the gown, under her bra, she felt her breast caught in his hand, and she tried to sit erect, she felt suddenly violated, felt suddenly as if her body were not her own, felt his mouth on her cheek, felt his lips again, his tongue exploring, his hand tightening on her breast, shocked, she sat shocked, trembling with outrage, his hands on her body, and finally she pushed him away violently and moved to the other side of the car, and said nothing, and opened the door, and got out and then turned, her breast suddenly cold now that his hand was no longer there, she was sure she looked naked, she was certain her breast was exposed so that everyone could see it. She turned, and very coldly said, “Good night, Captain Bridges,” and as she stalked away from the car she heard him say behind her, “Good night, Miranda,” and she was sure there was a smile on his face.

Gillian did not get back to the dormitory room until two o’clock that morning. Amanda was waiting up for her, sitting with the pillows propped behind her, wearing blue cotton pajamas, her blond hair caught with a blue ribbon at the back of her head.

“Hi,” Gillian said.

“Hi.”

Gillian went to her bed and flopped onto it. “I’m pooped.”

She lay silently for close to five minutes until Amanda thought she was asleep. Then she stirred and sat up and took off her high-heeled pumps without touching them with her hands, and then she walked to Amanda’s bed and said, “Unzip me, will you?” She hung limply in the dress while Amanda pulled down the zipper. She threw the blue silk onto the foot of her bed, took off the rest of her clothes, turned out the light, got into bed naked, and pulled the covers to her throat.

“Gillian?” Amanda said.

“Mmmmm?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me anything?”

“About Matthew’s pass, do you mean?”

“Matthew’s...” Amanda’s brow knotted. “How...?” She leaned forward slightly. “Did he... did he tell you?”

“No, I figured it out for myself. Why else would you leave the dance so suddenly?”

“Well, he didn’t really do anything,” Amanda said.

“All right. I’m sleepy, Amanda. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, all right?”

“All right.”

The room was uncommonly dark. The night was almost moonless and the shade was drawn and Amanda sat up in bed and stared into the darkness and saw nothing and felt only a need to discuss this with Gillian, and yet she waited, waited until she was sure Gillian was asleep, and then tentatively she whispered, “Gillian?”

“Mmmm?”

“He said you seemed older.”

“Mmmm.”

“It was really a mistake to go to the dance with him.”

“Mmmm.”

“A soldier, I mean. And twenty-six.”

“Mmmm.”

“Gillian, he kissed me.”

“That’s nice. Amanda, go to sleep.”

“Do you kiss a lot of boys?”

“Yes. Mmm-huh.”

“Do you let them...?” Amanda paused. The room was silent. “Gillian?”

“Mmmm?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Across the room, lying naked in her bed with the covers pulled to her throat, Gillian suddenly felt all sleepiness leaving her. She listened to her roommate breathing in the darkness, and the room was suddenly very small, and she felt a tenderness wash over her, and at the same time she thought, Oh God, why me, why must I be the one? and she lay in the darkness for several moments longer, breathing evenly and half tempted to pretend she was already asleep, and yet feeling this tense uncertain need coming from across the room and threading its way cautiously through the darkness, and feeling very very old all at once.

“Amanda?” she said.

“Yes?”

“What did he do, honey?”

“He touched me, Gilly. My breast.”

“Were you frightened?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“No. I got out of the car.” The room was silent. “Gilly?”

She knew what was coming. She lay in bed staring up at the darkness and she thought, I must be careful, she is so young, I must be very gentle, oh, she is so goddamn young.

“Gilly, do you... Gilly, do you let them? Boys? Touch you?”

Gillian took a deep breath. “Yes, Amanda.”

“All of them?”

“No,” she said. “Not all.”

“But... but you don’t like it, do you?”

Now here we are, she thought, here we are, and how can I tell Amanda that yes, I do like it, how can I tell that to Amanda and hope she will understand it, and not, not, oh God, why did it have to be me, why isn’t her mother here, why aren’t mothers around when you need them most?

“Gilly? Do you like it?”

“Yes, I do.”

“But Gilly, it’s so... so private. I mean, it’s so personal. Gilly, you don’t really like it, do you?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Gilly, Gilly, I feel like crying.”

“No.”

Amanda was suddenly silent. The room was pitch-black.

“I never have, Amanda,” Gillian said.

“I didn’t ask.”

“But I never have.”

“All right.”

“But I will,” Gillian said. “When I want to.”

Again the room was silent. There was something in the silence. Something of youth and of innocence, gone and about to go, something of girls and of women, and a touch of familiar friendship, and a touch of strangeness, and an intimacy bred of this familiar strangeness, so that the two girls in the Connecticut night felt a kinship they would not have known were they truly blood relatives, a kinship bred of the lonely dark hours of the night and the silence of the room and the tiny sound of evenly spaced breathing. For those moments in the silent room, they were closer than sisters, closer than mother and daughter, and they heard each other without speaking.