Part 5 (1/2)

'These were all taken six months ago,” she said. ”This boy is German. Isn't he handsome? I love blond hair. He's wonderful looking.”

He was indeed. Jack would have appreciated the view more than Laura, for he was young and muscular and nearly naked. His body had been oiled so that every smooth ripple on arms and back and tight hips and long legs was highlighted. He had a shock of rich blond hair and particularly handsome features, and he was shown in a number of poses: some that looked Like Muscle Beach shots and others that seemed like dance positions.

”He does dance,” Tris said, antic.i.p.ating Laura's question. ”With me. He's named Paul Gate. We have a lot of routines together. We are a sort ofteam.”

”Are you engaged?” Laura asked. It sounded ridiculous once it was said, but she found herself unreasonably jealous of the boy.

Tris threw her head back and laughed. ”Engaged!” she exclaimed. ”He is a h.o.m.os.e.xual, Laura.”

”A h.o.m.os.e.xual?” It sounded like fake innocence, even to Laura.

But Tris was too amused to notice. ”Yes, of course,” she said, still laughing. ”Can you imagine two h.o.m.os.e.xuals getting married? Could anything be sillier? What would they do with each other?” And her laughter was too hard.

Laura was shocked at her crude dismissal of the possibility of a h.o.m.os.e.xual marriage, which made her feel instantly protective and tender about Jack. But she had said, 'Two h.o.m.os.e.xuals,” and Laura's heart rose. ”Are you gay, Tris?” she asked, almost in a whisper, afraid to look at her.

”Not really.” Tris flipped the words at her casually, turning pages in the sc.r.a.pbook and concentrating on them. Laura sensed embarra.s.sment in her concentration.

”Either you are or you aren't,” Laura said, more boldly.

”Then I'm not,” said Tris and startled her visitor. ”If you force me to choose between black and white, I'm white,” she explained, and Laura thought she heard a double emphasis on the word ”white.”

”I like men. More than women.” Laura was cowed into bewildered silence.

There were many enticing photographs of Tris. ”The photographer is a friend of mine,” she told Laura with a smile. ”He always makes me look good.” There was a series of her with the German boy, in dance poses. Tris was so lovely that Laura felt the gooseflesh rise up on her with Tris's breathing in her ear and her warmth touching Laura's arms.

”You would think we were madly in love,” Tris said with a little laugh. ”Oh, look at this one. This is my former husband.”

Laura did look, hard. ”You were married?” she said, unwilling to believe it.

”Yes. To him. He is handsome, no?”

”Yes.” He was pictured lying on his side, very much of a young athlete, with curly hair and an honest sort of face, a little like Jack's long-lost Terry. He looked Irish. ”Was he gay, Tris?”

”Yes,” she said and the annoyance was plain in her voice. ”It was an ugly mistake. We hated each other after we got married. Before that, we were the best of friends. So you see, I know what I am saying when I tell you gay marriages are h.e.l.l.”

Laura considered this in silence while Tris turned pages.

”Have some dinner with me?” Tris said, piling the pictures on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Laura looked at her watch. It was only seven. Beebo wouldn't be home for another two hours.

”I never cook,” Tris said, going across the room to pick up the phone. She began to order sandwiches, glancing at Laura for suggestions. ”They bring them up from the corner shop,” she said when she hung up. Laura looked up at her from her seat on the bed, and Tris began to move slowly, undulating, as if she were musing on a dance.

”Where did you learn to dance, Tris?” Laura asked her.

”England. Where do you live?”

”Cordelia Street. One-twenty-nine.”

”With the big one? What did you say her name is?”

Laura felt uncomfortable at the mention of her lover, and resentful of Tris's curiosity about her. ”Her name is Beebo,” she said rather sullenly.

”Oh, yesBeebo!” Tris laughed. ”It almost sounds Indian,” she said. ”Is she nice?”

Laura shrugged. ”I guess she is.”

”You aren't sure, hm?” Tris seemed amused. ”Are you in love with her?”

Laura was reluctant to say no, but determined not to say yes. ”II was,” she admitted finally.

”It is all over, then?”

Laura didn't like her bright-eyed interest. ”We still live together,” she said defensively.

”Does she still love you?”

”Yes. Yes, she does,” Laura said sharply, looking Tris square in the eye.

”I'm sorry,” Tris said softly, her gaze dropping. ”I shouldn't pry.”

”There are better things to talk about than Beebo,” Laura said.

The food came and they were both relieved to turn to something else.

When the food was gone a quiet little interlude fell when Tris simply sat on the bed and watched Laura and Laura wandered idly around the room.

There was a terrible growing excitement in Laura. She felt she must run, escape somehow, get out of the studio before she made a fool of herself and an enemy of Tris. She turned at last and looked down at Tris. There was only one lamp lit in the room, and in the pale pink light Tris looked even riper and lovelier than she did in bright daylight.

”Tris, II have to go,” Laura said. ”It's getting late. I had a lovely time...”

”Then why go?”

”I must. I shouldn't have come, really.”

”Will Beebo be angry with you?”

”She isn't home yet.”

”Then you don't have to go yet. I'll bet she has a fine temper.” She waited for an answer, but Laura ignored her remark. She was thinking only of the possibility of staying longer. Her heart fluttered with the temptation. She was afraid of Beebo and yet, in another way, even more afraid of Tris.

”Come sit beside me,” Tris urged her, whispering. And Laura, unable to refuse her, came slowly toward the bed, as if the were in a trance, and sat down. Tris leaned back into the pillows, her hand on Laura's arm, and pulled Laura after her.

Laura lay on her back next to Tris for a while, breathing softly, nervously aware of the sound of her breath. She held herself in as if she expected to explode. She was tense and the sweat rolled down her body, and yet she was happy, very happy.

They lay that way for some time, silent, gazing at the ceiling, neither one speaking, yet neither able to relax. At last Tris took Laura's hand in her own warm brown one and said, ”You're afraid of me, aren't you, Laura?”