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"Uh-huh. I'm beat. That Peter, sometimes he gets in a mood and he seems insatiable. Even my legs ache."
"You must've turned him on, baby."
Eve laughed shortly, easing off her shoes.
"Not me, really—it was the tape I made for him. Peter taped everything—words, sounds. Would you believe that he's even fixed his bed so it creaks every time someone moves?"
"I believe. Peter sounds like a riot. Sure is a shame I'm not a switch-hitter like Stella, or I'd get him to give me some of his bedroom therapy."
"Marti—"
Marti picked up the glass and waved it vaguely in Eve's direction.
"Go on to bed, baby, and don't worry about me. In a mood like this, no one can help me. We had a big fight, Stel and I, but we'll make up. Don't we always?"
Marti didn't sound convinced, but it wasn't any of Eve's business.
"Well, I guess neither of us will be getting any telephone calls tomorrow, so we can both sleep later. 'Night Marti."
After Eve had gone into her bedroom, Marti fixed herself another drink. She thought about what Eve had said, about the tape recorder. Maybe she should get herself one and talk into it on nights like this. It might be better therapy than alcohol, at that. The drink was much stronger than the last one she'd had, and she grimaced at the taste. Mustn't turn into an alcoholic; it ran in the family. When she lived at home, very long ago, someone was always warning her about her drinking. And then she'd quit. But Stella—Stella was enough to drive anyone to drink.
Oh, God, what a bitch Stella was. But how beautiful, how very clever with her hands and her tongue and her soft, ladylike voice that could make even the dirtiest words sound like a love poem.
Marti supposed it was funny, in a sick sort of way, that she and Eve should both be in the same boat. Eve had lost David, and she had lost Stella. Wasn't it odd how all their lives were mixed up together in some way? Here were Marti and Eve sharing an apartment; Stella and David sharing office space. At least, she hoped that was all they shared, but with Stel, who could tell? "Mr. Zimmer," she called David in the office. When she brought him to the party, it had been "David." And how could anybody really blame David or any man for looking twice at Stella, for wanting her? Stella was lovely;
if she hadn't been so petite, she could have been a model, too. So innocent, Stella could look, and when she cried, so pathetic, so sad!
Tonight, Stella had cried.
Marti had known, from the time Stella walked in, that something was going to happen. Stella was tense, edgy. When Marti kissed her, she had ended the kiss quickly, drawing away.
"Okay, baby, give. Something's bugging you, and you might as well tell me now as later."
Marti had been pouring drinks, her face turned away from Stella's. Why let Stella see how much she was affected? Stella was already too sure of her power over Marti.
"Mart," Stella said nervously, chewing on her lower lip. She paused, and Marti could almost feel her gathering up her courage. The words tumbled out in a rush. "George asked me out. George Cox—you remember I told you about him? And—I said I would. Marti, I've got to try it, don't you see? I—I want to."
Marti had heard her own voic
e bridge the distance between them, sounding calm, so damn calm!
"Well, darling, if you want to, there's nothing I can say, is there?" She came back with their drinks and handed one to Stella. "I don't exactly own you, baby."
Stella reached out and touched her lightly on the arm, and she had to force herself to remain calm, casual.
"Marti?" Stella's voice pleaded with her. "Baby, it's just a date, that's all. And he's so old. All he wants is companionship—he said so. And to be seen with a girl, someone young, you know? It's just an ego thing."
"And what is it for you? Do you have to be the one to feed his damned male ego?"
Stella pouted, bending her head to study the liquid in her glass.
"There's nothing wrong with being nice to someone, is there? And he's a friend of Mr. Bernstein's—he can help me get ahead, don't you see that? He won't make any demands of me; we'll still have each other, see each other. Oh, Marti, darling, please understand! I'm so damned weak; I'm not strong like you are. I have to put on an act like I'm—I don't want people to know. My never going out on dates—people are bound to think it's not normal, not natural. I feel as if they've started to wonder already, to talk about me. And I can't stand that thought, Marti."
Marti ground her teeth, her hands clenching, but she managed to make her voice come out even.
"Stella, I do understand. You've made up your mind already; you've been thinking about this, and you think you're doing what you have to do. But think about this, baby—I love you. Marti loves Stella—does George? Or does he just want a pretty face to take out to dinner? I want more than that, Stel. God, sometimes I wish I were a man, so I could take you out in public and show you proudly to the world as mine. But I'm a goddam coward, too. I'm not going to fight for you. Know what, baby? You go ahead, go out with George. Me, I think I'll get good and drunk!"
Stella began to cry, leaning her head against Marti's shoulder.
