She did not know what to say.
“And I suppose you-”
“Yes.”
“You and Roberta?”
She felt her face reddening. “Yes.”
“It’s very strange,” Mrs. Langer said. “I think my generation is a very awkward one. If we understood a little more, or even a little less, things might be simpler. We seem to know and understand just enough to be utterly confused. The awkward age, which is what we used to say about teen-agers. You won’t tell Terry about this, will you?”
“No.”
“I hope you won’t. I suppose I shouldn’t have said anything at all, but I felt that I wanted to. You’re a very sweet girl. If only-”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The Langers did not stay long after that. When they left Terry offered to see her home.
“I can manage,” she said.
“Really, I don’t mind.”
“I can get home alone. But thanks.”
She called Bobbie, told her she was on her way. Then she went downstairs and walked to Broadway and took the subway home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
New Year’s Eve.
The touch-off party was at their apartment, just a handful of couples dropping by for a first drink or three to start the evening rolling. Peg and Lucia, Grace and Allie, Jan and Megan, Roz Merrimac and some nameless fragile blonde. There was a big party set for an apartment two gay boys were sharing over on Barrow Street, and they were just fitting in an opening get-together before they headed over there.
Rhoda played hostess. She mixed drinks while Bobbie sat in a corner and sulked. There was a lot of talk, a lot of laughter. Allie had just gotten back from Baltimore and she was giving a play-by-play of her reunion with her parents. They were very upset over the fact that she had not managed to get married yet, and were at the same time quite concerned that she was ruining her health in New York. Her mother thought she was leading an immoral life. “You mustn’t let men go too far with you,” she had told the girl. “If you lead them on too far, they’ll never marry you. But you can’t be cold, either, then they won’t be interested,” Allie imitated her mother’s voice. She had a talent for mimicry and everyone laughed.
Rhoda didn’t laugh. Neither did Bobbie. Rhoda went on being the perfect hostess. Bobbie went on sulking, hitting the scotch bottle a little heavy, and keeping to herself. Rhoda made a drink of her own and drained it quickly.
It was going to be one hell of a night, she thought. One perfect hell of an evening.
The day itself had been gruesome enough. They had stayed in the apartment, watching the Christmas tree-a skimpy two-dollar affair-lose its needles and turn slowly brown around the edges. The first flare of temper came before noon, some petty argument that she could hardly remember now. And the rest of the day followed along in predictable fashion.
“Are Jan and Megan coming?”
“It’s important to you, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you still love her.”
“The hell I do. I don’t-”
“You always loved her, damn you. You just took a flyer with me to hurt her. You don’t care who you hurt, Rho, do you?”
Or, “Bobbie, this is your party too, isn’t it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were the one who thought of it. You invited everybody.”
“So? Don’t you want them to come?”
“Yes, but-”
“You don’t like my friends.”
“I like them fine. But you just sit there all day while I’m supposed to get the place looking decent.”
“It’s about time you did something, Rho.”
“Oh, really? So you can sit around like a queen on your fat-”
“Fat!”
Each time they made up and each time they started in again flying at each other’s throat. Each argument got a little worse than the one before it. Once, when Bobbie absolutely infuriated her, she had her hand back ready to slap the girl across the face. She managed to stop the blow before it started, but she couldn’t avoid realizing what she bad almost done. The thought made her shake. She had come perilously close to hitting Bobbie.
And now the party was in full swing. This was an evening that should have been the ultimate in relaxation, in furious happiness. It was New Year’s Eve, the best excuse in the world for getting wildly drunk and staying up until dawn and having a perfectly wonderful time. But they were spoiling it for each other. Neither of them could relax, not the way things were between them.
She moved to join Bobbie. “Let’s put a lid on it for the time being,” she said. “Let’s have a good time tonight.”
“I’m willing if you are.”
“I didn’t mean the things I said, Bobbie.”
“I know it. Rhoda, I’m sorry-”
“I love you, Bobbie.”
“Right. And that’s what counts, isn’t it?”
She held Bobbie’s arm when the five couples walked in a body to the Barrow Street party. There was snow on the ground and more snow falling. Across the street, a batch of college kids were having a snowball fight. One of their shots was way off and came cascading down on the ten girls. Jan Pomeroy squealed and pressed her face against Megan’s coat. Roz Merrimac and her girl friend tossed a few snowballs back at the college kids. Everybody was laughing.
The party was in full swing when they got to it. The crowd was composed mostly of gay boys with a sprinkling of heterosexual couples who stalked around looking alternately daring and embarrassed. When the ten girls walked in, everybody looked their way. Bernie and Terry were there, and Bernie yelled out, “Here comes the Ladies’ Auxiliary!” Somebody took Rhoda’s coat, someone else pressed a drink into her hand. A girl she had never seen came over and greeted her like a long lost sister and wished her a Happy New Year. Rhoda drank her drink.
There was a momentary flash of jealousy when she saw Bobbie staring after a girl with long red hair. But there was no time to be jealous or moody or bitter. The party moved at too fast a pace. Things kept happening and people kept handing her drinks. A very thin boy with rouged cheeks stood on a chair and did a Bette Davis imitation. Terry Langer kissed her cheek and told her that his parents had gone home, finally. “They never suspected a thing,” he said. “You were wonderful. If only you were a boy, I’d marry you.”
A very fat man sat on the floor playing a guitar. There were jazz records going on a hi-fi in the corner. Two boys in their late teens came out of a bedroom smiling oddly. One of the straight males tried to ward off a pass by a camping gay boy without coming on too square. A husband tried to stop his wife from flirting with Peg. The fat guitarist stood up and began singing.
At five minutes to twelve someone shut off the hi-fi and turned on the television set. They watched the mob scene at Times Square. Rhoda slipped through the throng, found Bobbie. Someone was talking about the Times Square scene-“In the morning the police always come by with a wagon and clean up the debris. They always find underwear, piles of it. Bras and pants everything else. People do it standing up in the crowd with total strangers, they do everything. I almost went one year-”
At the stroke of twelve somebody turned off the lights. Everybody was shouting and screaming. She kissed Bobbie, a long, hard kiss with her arms tossed around Bobbie’s neck and their bodies pressed tightly together. They held the kiss a long time, and then the party was erupting around them, and everybody was kissing everybody. She kissed girls and gay boys, shouted Happy New Year at everyone, drank scotch straight from a bottle. A married man grabbed her and kissed her and tried to get his tongue in her mouth. His hand moved over the front of her dress. She pushed him away and got away from him. When she saw him later he was trying to get Megan to go in the back room with him.