She looked younger lying there naked than she had wearing the tailored dressing gown in which she’d greeted Debbie. But she still looked distinguished. That aura of somehow being ageless still emanated from her. It was part of the feeling she gave of being someone who could be leaned upon, of being someone who had been leaned upon by many people and whose strength had been equal to the task.
Even now Debbie felt this about the woman lying beside her. But the feeling was at odds with the youthful passion which had just been vented upon Debbie's body. It jarred by comparison with the energy which had been expended, with the pitch of wave upon wave of desire attained. Debbie groped to pinpoint the inconsistency, and fastened on Dr. Golden’s hair.
“Is your hair really going gray?” Debbie put it into words.
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, you seem awfully young to get gray.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But is it? Naturally gray, I mean.”
Dr. Golden pondered the question a moment. “I guess there’s no reason to keep it from you, Debbie,” she said finally. “No. My hair isn’t naturally gray. I touch it up at the temples to make it look that way.”
“But why? I mean, it makes you look older. Do you want to look older?”
“Not older, necessarily. I prefer my age to be—indeterminate. The gray helps convey that impression.”
“But why do you want to give people that idea?" Debbie was still puzzled.
“It’s an aid to my profession. It makes transference easier.”
“Transference?
“Yes. That’s what it’s called when the patient identifies the analyst with a parent. It’s a necessary stage in psychoanalysis. It allows the patient to express those aggressions toward the parent-figure analyst which he never dared show his mother or father during childhood. The gray hair subconsciously—or even perhaps consciously—makes the patient look on the analyst as older than he—the patient—is. Thus the analyst becomes in the patient’s eyes an authority figure—which is to say a parent-substitute.”
“Then what happens?”
“As I said, the patient strives to release whatever aggressions he may have felt toward his parents.”
“Couldn’t that be dangerous?” Debbie laughed nervously. “My old man used to whale tar out of me. Sometimes just ’cause he had a load on. I never dared lift a finger back at him, of course. But if I was gonna — what did you call it?—‘release my aggressions’ toward him on somebody else, I’d be likely to kill that somebody. I don’t mean everybody had a lousy wino for a father like mine, but all the same, wouldn’t they be likely to get violent if they made this ‘transference’?”
“Not as a general rule, but it has happened,” Dr. Golden told her.
“But aren’t you afraid?”
“On rare occasions, yes. I am.”
“I gotta hand it to you. You got guts, Doc.”
“Do me a favor, will you, Debbie? Don’t call me ‘Doc’. Under the circumstances, it seems somewhat lacking in romance.”
“You want me to call you Mrs. Golden?” Debbie asked, naive in her confusion.
“Lord, no!” Dr. Golden laughed. “That certainly wouldn’t add to the romantic atmosphere. Call me by my first name. Call me Mavis.”
“Mavis. That’s a real pretty name. Sort of glamorous. All right, Mavis.” Debbie snuggled up to her, resting her cheek on Mavis’ bare breast. “How come you dig this sort of thing?” Debbie asked idly.
“What sort of thing?”
“You know. Two women. ’Stead of a woman and a man, I mean.”
“Everybody is basically bi-sexual. Most people repress it. I just don’t believe in repressing it. That’s all. But how is it that you ask me, Debbie? After all, it takes two, doesn’t it? You’ve been indulging in Lesbianism the same as I.”
“Oh, that’s different. With me it’s strictly business. I got a body to sell. Anybody can pay the price, it’s theirs.”
“And is that all, Debbie?”
“Sure. What else is there?”
“There’s what you felt before. The way you responded. That wasn’t just business. And it wasn’t acting to please the customer, either. Believe me, I’m experienced enough to know the difference. You were getting as much pleasure out of it as I was. Admit it. Weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Debbie actually blushed. “I was.”
“There. You see. There’s nothing abnormal about that. It’s simply a matter of variety. A well-adjusted woman can enjoy sex with another woman occasionally just as much as she can with a man. Even you enjoy a switch once in a while. Even a professional like you gets her kicks both ways. Isn’t that right?”
“Wrong.”
“I beg pardon?”
“I said you’re wrong.” Debbie went on to explain. “You see, Mavis, I’ve never made it with a man.”
“But in your profession—?”
“That’s really strictly business. To tell the truth, I’m kind of new at the game. I’ve only been at it a little more than a year. Oh, I guess I had plenty of men during that time. But I never made it with even one of them.”
“What about with other women?” Dr. Golden wanted to know.
“Once in a while. Like tonight, with you. Never as good as tonight, though.” Debbie fell silent with the silence of regret. Finally, she shook it off. “But that still doesn’t explain why you want this kind of kick, Mavis,” she said.
“I thought I had explained it. What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re married. What about your husband?”
“What about him?” Mavis answered. “He’s away at a medical convention.”
“Oh, is he a doctor too? Like you?”
“A DOCTOR, YES. Like me, no. He’s an orthopedist. A bone specialist.”
“Don’t you make it with him?” Debbie asked. “In the hay, I mean?”
“Yes, I do. My husband is a very adept and wonderful lover. He satisfies me completely.”
“Then why—?”
“I told you. Variety. It’s that simple. Nobody else can give me what my husband gives me. I have no desire for another man. But I do sometimes desire a woman. Wonderful as my husband is, that’s one need he can’t satisfy. And so, when the opportunity presents itself, I call Mrs. Wilson and arrange for some female companionship. Now do you understand?”
“Not really. But I guess it doesn’t matter.” Debbie turned restlessly. “Gee, you’d think this rain would cool things off,” she remarked, “but it just seems to make things hotter and stickier.”
“As they say, it’s the humidity. It’s oppressive. I feel it too. Say, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we take a shower? It will make us both feel better.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“All right, let’s go.” Mavis stood up.
“You mean together?”
“Sure. Why not? It will be fun.” Mavis led the way to the bathroom. “See, there's plenty of room.” She indicated the oversize shower stall to Debbie.
“Oh, this is lovely.” Debbie clapped her hands.
“Ladies first.” Mavis opened the frosted glass door so that Debbie might enter. She followed the blonde in and closed the door behind. her. She reached around the younger girl and turned the handle. A heavy torrent gushed forth, pelting them both.
“Yikes! That’s cold!” Debbie tried to duck behind Mavis, away from the icy stream.
“Coward.” Mavis laughed, not letting the blonde use her as a shield. “All right, I’ll fix it so it doesn’t hurt my baby’s tender skin.” She turned the other handle until the pouring water took on warmth. “That better?”
“Oh, yes. It’s delightful.” Debbie leaned back so that the force of the warm water struck her breasts directly. “Ahh, that makes me feel hot and sweet all over.”
“Here, let me soap you up.” Mavis took a small bottle of liquid soap, poured a generous amount into the palm of her hand, and then rubbed her hands together until she’d worked up a thick lather. She applied it to Debbie’s shoulders, kneading the froth into the skin with nimble fingers.