Jonnie had been on the couch, Dr. Golden behind her, out of Jonnie’s line of vision. Jonnie had been describing an incident which had taken place a few nights before.
“It was between shows. I had to rinse a kidney. The way that cheap joint I work in’s set up, the performers have to use the same plumbing as the customers. So I went into the little girl’s room.”
“Why do you say it so defensively?” Dr. Golden had interjected.
“You’ll see why in a minute. Just as I came out of the stall, this dame comes into the head. She’s a type, know what I mean. Not bad-looking, but all powder and goo and a face that belongs on a cherub hanging off a cathedral somewhere. Looks like Little Miss Innocence — but expensive. One of those frilly evening gowns cut right down the middle to the gut. Flounces and things, but not where they’d hide that obscenely fleshy bust of hers, or disguise those girly-girl hips and No-Cal waist. The dress looked like Bergdorf and the chick looked like Westchester—the right side of the tracks with a hairdresser that knows when to quit teasing.”
“Her femininity and the wealthy status you think you saw in her made you feel aggressive toward her,” Dr. Golden said in a measured tone intended to help clarify Jonnie’s feelings.
“Right away. Like I said, she was a type. You know, the hoity-toity dames who come down to the Village in all their finery once a year for a look—and a laugh-—at the queers. I suppose it’s their one fling at admitting to their own hush-hush homosexuality.”
“That’s very perceptive. And probably true. Go on,” Dr. Golden said.
“Okay. So right away my dander’s zooming as soon as I see her. Then two things happen to make me even madder. First I notice she’s wearing a wedding ring, and second she opens her yap.”
“Hold it,” Dr. Golden interrupted. “Why did her being married bother you?”
“Because I spotted her right away for what she really was. A dame who swings my way is one thing. But a dame who does, and knows she does, and then denies it while she’s looking down her nose at girls like me —well, I can’t stand that. And a butch who tries to hide what she is behind a husband and sneers at me —well, that’s just too much!”
“Are you sure you judged her correctly?”
“Am I ever! Just listen! As soon as she sees me she lets out a little female-type yelp. ’I thought this was the ladies’ room,’ she says. ’You thought right,’ I tell her. ’But-then what are you doing here?’ she simpers. ’You’re not a lady.’ And she gives out with a disgusting giggle. ’That’s for sure,’ I tell her. ’But I am female.’ She gives me a stare. ’You certainly don’t look it,’ she says with a sneer. ‘Looks are deceiving,’ I tell her. ‘Well,’ she says real firm-like, as if I give a damn, ‘I’m just not going to do anything until you leave.’ This makes me bristle, and I decide I’ll damn well stay as long as I like and longer. ‘It’s you risking constipation,’ I tell her. ‘I’m in no hurry.’ ”
“What happened then?” Dr. Golden asked.
“She was quiet for a minute or two, and then she tells me she didn’t really come in because she had to go to the bathroom, but because the elastic on her panties snapped while she was dancing and she wants to take them off before she loses them in public. I tell her to go ahead and take them off, but she starts on how she can’t undress in front of a man again. This time she gets me so mad I decide I’ll prove to her that I’m a woman. So, quick as a bunny-rabbit, I unzip my pants and drop them to the floor.”
“What did she do?”
“First she gives a great big gasp and twists at her wedding ring so hard she almost pulls it off finger and all. She sucks in a lot of breath like she’s getting ready to scream, but by that time I’ve got m underwear down too and I’m shoving it in front off her face to prove my point. When she sees I’m telling the truth, she decides against screaming. Instead, she grabs me around from behind and pulls me up real close like she has to be on top of it to believe her eyes.”
“What did you do?”
“I saw right away what she was after, and I’m always ready for a quick kick. If she was willing — and she was obviously a damn sight more than willing! — then why not. I grabbed her by the back of the neck and pushed her nose right into it. And I tell you, the way she went at it, she’d been that route more than once before.”
“Weren’t you afraid somebody might walk in on you?”
“Yeah. The idea occurred to me. But I figured she had more to lose than I did. But she was kissing and licking and sucking so furiously I don’t think she ever gave it a thought. I don’t think she ever saw a girl that was shaved clean down there the way I am before. It drove her wild. When I went over the top, it was like a vacuum cleaner had latched onto me. And she held on right down to the last drop and then some.”
“What happened after that?”
“She gets up on her feet and pushes me down to the floor. She pulls up all that flouncy organdy jazz of her evening gown and closes her legs just a little so her panties fall on the floor. The elastic really was broken. Then she bends over me and pushes down the top so that one of her girly-girl balloons is dangling right in my face. It’s obvious she wants me to wrap my mouth around it.”
“Did you oblige her?”
“Oh, sure. I kissed it and bit it until the tip was sticking out at least a long, red inch. She’s moaning away by then and trying to push my head down to where I want it. I gave the target a look first, and in fairness I have to say it was as pretty a sight as I’ve ever seen. Just like a plump mango that’s been split and waiting. The muscles on her creamy white thighs on either side of it are jumping like she just can’t wait. So I do what she wants, and in only a minute or so her nails are digging into my neck and she’s giving little yelps and I know she’s about to go over the top. That’s when I stopped.”
“You stopped? But why?”
“ ’Cause I wanted to teach her a lesson. I Wanted to show her that a perverted slut like she was can’t always have it her way. I wanted to show her that if she’s going to act the hypocrite most of the time and pretend to be a normal woman, she can’t sneer at girls like me and still expect to get her ashes hauled. I wanted to show her good—-and I did. I just walked out on her and left her panting—and crying. But you know something—” Jonnie had twisted around on the couch to see the effect of what she was going to say on Dr. Mavis Golden — “Later, when I was doing my act, I saw that slut playing with herself and she actually yelled right out loud when my act reached its climax. I guess hers did at the same time.” Jonnie sat straight up to look at Dr. Golden now. “Playing with herself! That’s twenty times more perverted than anything I do!”
Her sudden shift had taken Dr. Golden by surprise. The doctor started, but before she could cease what she was doing, Jonnie had seen. Shock spread over Jonnie’s face as she recognized the full import of what Dr. Golden’s hands had been doing in Dr. Golden’s lap.
Jonnie raised her dazed eyes, and they met Dr. Golden’s gaze, caught the expression on Dr. Golden’s face off-guard, before the doctor had a chance to change it. What Jonnie saw there, she had seen many times before in other faces. The lust of woman for woman, the vicarious titillation over someone else’s Lesbian experience, the secret hunger by which one Lesbian knows another and knows that she is wanted by that other — these things Jonnie saw in place of the professional detachment and understanding she had come to expect from Dr. Golden. And without another word Jonnie had risen from the couch and fled her analyst’s office.
But she hadn’t been able to flee the knowledge of what Dr. Golden was. It had turned rancid in her brain and bubbled forth in anger and frustration all through that night and the following day. By the next evening, the one just before Dr. Golden’s murder, Jonnie was trying to drown her contempt and hatred of the doctor, her fury at the weak femaleness she’d uncovered in Dr. Golden. She attempted to drown it in a first, and then a second, bottle of scotch, but the liquor had only seemed to make her reaction more acute. At least, that was all Jonnie remembered of the night. The rest of it was a blank, a dark cloud of mystery stretching from twilight to long after dawn, a question mark which had been under-lined by violent death!