“I don’t see why I should be being difficult just because I want to talk to somebody once in a while. Somebody with a little life in them, for a change.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
“It’s the truth, though. You’re always telling the truth for no other reason than that it is the truth. But you don’t like it when somebody does it to you! A lot of people could, too.”
Martha was disturbed by her vehemence. Laura wasn’t easy to handle; in a quiet way she managed to break most of the rules laid down for her. But this open defiance was a new step. It was as if her contact with Steve had made her realize she was a woman, and as a woman, she had certain rights. She no longer had to submit to being bossed by another woman.
Laura took advantage of the silence. “It’s not that I have a crush on him, or anything, which is probably what you’re thinking. It’s just that he makes me feel good. I mean, even when he’s making cracks, he makes me feel...”
“Steve has quite a success with women, especially young girls. If I see you talking to him over there again, he’ll have to leave immediately!”
“But why?” Laura cried. “Why?”
“I can’t take any chances on your reputation. You’re only...”
“What about your reputation? You talk to him.”
“Only because I had to.”
“In the garage?” Laura said. “I saw you.”
“What of it?”
“I was coming home from class and you were leaving the garage and he was there.”
“Please keep your voice down. I was leaving the garage, certainly. For some extraordinary reason he had started to wash the car. His costume was inappropriate and I had to tell him so.”
“I know why you don’t want me to talk to him,” Laura said. “You’re jealous.”
“You’d better go up to your room before I lose my patience with you.” The girl didn’t move. “Do you understand me, Laura? You’d better go upstairs and think over what you’ve just said. When you realize the complete irresponsibility and stupidity of your remark, you may come down and apologize.”
“If you think you’re going to make me apologize, I may as well do it now.”
“I don’t want you to do it now. Think it over.”
“All right. I’m sorry.” She was on the verge of tears already, fumbling in her skirt pocket for her handkerchief.
“Surely you’re not going to cry, Laura,” Martha said, but the tears and the handkerchief had appeared simultaneously.
She put her arm around Laura’s shoulders. She felt suddenly worn out, as if there were a number of things fighting each other inside her, draining her vitality.
She said in a ragged voice, “What on earth is the matter with you, Laura?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s Steve, I suppose.”
“I... I guess so. I think he... he’s marvelous. I’m the one that’s jealous.”
“I see.”
“I’m perfectly crazy about him. I’ve never felt like this before, never.”
Martha stroked her hair. She was smiling but her eyes were bleak and bitter. It was not Laura who stood crying in the hall, it was herself, Martha. “Oh, you’ll get over it, Laura. Spring is awful when you’re sixteen.”
“But I won’t get over it! This is it. Lots of girls get married when they’re sixteen.”
“You won’t, I hope. In the first place, he hasn’t asked you, has he?”
“No, but I haven’t had a chance yet to get him interested in me. I mean, he hasn’t even seen me in my new blue suit, with my hair up, or anything.”
“And you want me to give you a chance to get him — interested in you?”
“Oh, Martha, would you? I know he likes me, I feel it. No matter what he says about me being just a kid, I know he’s just doing it to protect himself against me. I mean, he’s so cynical and sarcastic, but I feel so safe when he’s around, as if he’s looking after me. Oh, I can’t explain it to anyone!”
“You’re doing very well. Go on.”
“And he does look after me. He even wants me to give up smoking because he’s afraid it will stunt my growth. It’s a little thing like that that makes me realize he cares for me, even if he doesn’t show it.” Laura’s eyes were shining, still moist from the tears. “Oh, Martha, did you ever feel like this about Charley?”
“I was older than you when I met Charles.”
“Well, about anyone, ever?”
“I suppose so; I don’t remember.”
“But you couldn’t ever forget a thing like this,” Laura cried. “You couldn’t in a million years!”
“Yes, you can. You’d be surprised how easy it is to forget, though I suppose you’re too young to believe that.”
“Age hasn’t anything to do with it.”
“I expect you won’t believe anything I say about it at all, for a while anyway. Later on, when you’re calmer, we’ll discuss the matter.”
“We have discussed it. There isn’t anything more to discuss,” Laura said. She took a step back, an expression of shock crossed her face. “You don’t think you’re going to change this with words, do you?”
“Please be...”
“You do think it, I can tell by your face. You think you’re going to talk at me, say things about Steve — about love... As if you knew anything about love! You and Charley... you... you hate each other!”
Martha said, “I’ve taken enough from you today. Go upstairs.”
“And everybody knows it! You can’t even hide it!”
Flushed with triumph she started for the stairs.
“Just a minute,” Martha said. She reached out and grasped Laura by the sleeve of her sweater. The sleeve stretched grotesquely into a wing. “It’s all right, don’t bother, there’s nothing to say.” She let go suddenly, and the wing deflated into a flabby sac of wool.
“You’ve ruined my sweater.”
“No, I haven’t. It will be all right when it’s washed.”
“No, it won’t. You’ve ruined it!” She let out a little sob of rage and ran toward the stairs.
Martha walked slowly back into the drawing room. “I won’t get over it. This is it. Lots of girls get married when they’re sixteen.”
Silly, ordinary words. There were probably very few girls that age who hadn’t said them, and very few older sisters who hadn’t sneered at them. There was nothing unusual about the situation at all; nothing to get excited about. This was just another in the series of crushes that filled out Laura’s emotional existence. The difference was that this time the man was Steve Ferris.
She thought of all the nights she had dreamed that Steve was dead, and had awakened with her breasts taut and aching, and a terrifying gladness surging inside her: “So there. That’s what you get. That’s what you deserve!” But gradually the gladness would dissolve and she was left empty and alone in the darkness.
Sometimes Charles would come padding into the room in his slippers and stand beside her bed looking down at her uncertainly, a little shyly.
“Did you call me, Martha?”
“No.”
“Oh. I guess you were dreaming.”
“Yes.”
“Well. Well, good night, Martha.”
“Good night.”
“If you want anything — call me, won’t you?”
“Yes. Thank you, Charles.”
“Well. Good night, Martha.”
But he could never leave right away, briskly. He lingered at the door, he came back to find a cigarette, he brought her a glass of sherry to soothe her. And all the time she’d lie rigid beneath the covers, waiting, her mind screaming: Please go away. Get out. I know what you want but I can’t, Charles. I can’t. Oh, please, I can’t. It isn’t my fault, anybody’s fault, but I can’t!
“Well, guess I’ll turn in now.”