The Love Talker Part 17

Doug was no help. Gloom and depression fairly radiated from him. He didn't speak the rest of the way home.

If Laurie had known what was awaiting her she would have been even more depressed. Having no premonitions, she did not sneak in the back, but walked boldly through the front door just in time to hear Lizzie announce in ringing tones, "Wait, I hear someone coming. I'll just see if it's Laura."

Laurie turned to flee, but she was too late. Lizzie peeped around the corner of the stair, saw her, and returned to the telephone. "Yes, it is Laura. You called at just the right moment. Now you wait, and I'll get her."

"Tell him I just dropped dead," Laurie said.

"Oh, darling, not so loud! He'll hear you."

Oh, well, Laurie thought, I may as well get it over with. I can't go on das.h.i.+ng out of the house every time the telephone rings. She took the phone from her aunt's hand. What an obscene shape it was, all black and curved and waiting. . . .

"h.e.l.lo," she said.

The caller was, as she had suspected, Hermann.

Shortly thereafter she returned the telephone to its cradle and turned to her aunt, who was dusting a table in the hall and humming loudly to herself. .

"Aunt Lizzie."

". . . tiptoe through the tulips. . . ." The humming formed words and then broke off. Lizzie turned an innocent gaze upon her niece.

"Oh, are you through talking, darling? I didn't hear a word you said, honestly."

"You did, too. I was caught off guard or I never would have . . . Aunt Lizzie, I can't stand that man. I don't want to have dinner with him."

"Then why did you tell him you would?" Lizzie inquired.

Laurie yearned to tell her why. Everybody was conspiring against her, that was why. The implicit pressure and the explicit approval of the old ladies, and all those long years of trying to do what would please them . .. Pleasing the aunts had become a habit as hard to break as alcoholism. She had been trapped by love.

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"You can wear my dress, the gold one," Lizzie said happily. "You look so pretty in it. Oh, darling, you'll have a nice time."

"I'll have a headache," Laurie said. "I'm getting one now."

CHAPTER 9.

Laurie didn't have to feign a headache as an excuse to get home early. Her temples began to throb when Hermann started on his lobster, and by the time he had dissected that repulsive arthropod the headache was well developed. There was something horrible about the way Hermann ate lobster. Oh, he was neat-too neat-dabbing genteelly at his mouth after almost every bite. His plump pink fingers gripped the silverware with the precision of a surgeon, and the crunch, as he crushed the claw. . . . Every sliver was meticulously coated with b.u.t.ter and then inspected carefully before it was conveyed to Hermann's mouth, wherein it vanished with a slight snapping sound.

Laurie refused dessert. Hermann had cherry cheesecake.

Laurie refused a liqueur. Hermann ordered brandy, and added that it was really a man's drink, not suitable for ladies.

Laurie ordered brandy.

At least she didn't have to talk. Hermann did all the talking. He told her about his job and detailed the inefficiencies of the people who outranked him. He told her what was wrong with the President's anti-inflation policy and outlined the legislation that should have been pa.s.sed. One day, he explained, he might consider running for office himself. It was high time the state had some good solid conservative representation.

Laurie had had a c.o.c.ktail before dinner and several gla.s.ses of wine with dinner, though Hermann had drunk most of the bottle. She should not have ordered the brandy. She didn't even like brandy. It had an astonis.h.i.+ng effect, however. After her first few sips she found herself staring at Hermann in mild astonishment. Why on earth had she worried about what she should say to this simpleminded egotist?

She put both elbows on the table and interrupted Hermann with a distinctly provocative statement about the ERA.

It took Hermann's slow wits some seconds to adjust to the change of subject. He gaped at her, and then chuckled.

"What a little tease you are. You aren't one of those feminists. You're too sweet and-er-feminine."

Often before, when she had been so challenged, Laurie had pulled in her horns. She didn't want to be identified with the extremist elements of the women's movement. As she had said, such advocates did the movement more harm than good by making it repellent, not only to men but to many women who might otherwise have supported its aims. But that wasn't the real reason why she had backed down. She had backed down because she didn't want to be considered unattractive and unfeminine-even by creeps like Hermann.

Now, without warning, a great gusty wave of reckless abandon swept over her.

"You're d.a.m.ned right I'm a feminist," she informed Hermann. Rising, she waved an imperious arm at the waiter. "More brandy here," she called.

The remainder of the evening was a triumph, if a shortlived one. Laurie would have been willing to sit on indefinitely, her elbows planted, debating women's rights. She found that by raising her voice slightly she could silence Hermann. He was afraid someone would overhear the vulgarities she was uttering. And of course her intelligence could run rings around his any day of the week, drunk or sober.

He got her out of the restaurant, finally, and dragged her to the door. Laurie knew she wasn't drunk. If she had been, the cold night air would have sobered her. Instead it inspired her to further enormities.

"Keep both your hands on the wheel," she said loudly, as Hermann, encouraged by the darkness and intimacy of the front seat, reached for her knee. "Men are such rotten drivers. Watch out for that patch of ice on the hill. Fifteen miles an hour is plenty fast enough. Look out, that's a dog. Oh; it isn't. Well, there might be a dog. The speed limit is thirty-five here; you're going forty."

Hermann made it fifty. He got her home in record time.

Laurie thanked him for a lovely evening and got nimbly out, while he was fumbling with his seat belt. Hermann was slow, but that final move drove the point home. He did not get out of the car. He departed, leaving Laurie standing on the steps.

Laurie giggled. She was in no mood to go in. The aunts would want to know why she was home so early and they would inquire minutely into the details of her date. Besides . . . She was not drunk. Not at all. It might be a good idea, however, to let the cold air steady her steps just a trifle before she confronted the aunts.

It was a beautiful night, cold and crystal clear. The stars blazed like scattered diamonds on black velvet. Her headache was gone. She felt wonderful. Even the high heels, which gave her such an admirable psychological advantage over Hermann, did not impede her walking.

Whistling between her teeth-and regretting she had not thought to display this vulgar accomplishment to Hermann-she strolled along the path that circled the house. She had no particular goal in mind, just a little walk in the lovely winter night. She would, of course, keep an eye out for elves. Laurie giggled. She seldom giggled, but tonight she felt like doing it.

At the entrance to the boxwood alley she hesitated, and a cold breath of sobriety dulled her euphoria. It was dark in there. Really, really dark. Maybe she had better go into the house.

No. Had she not announced, in ringing tones, that very evening, her devotion to the credo of the New Woman? I am strong-I am invincible! I can walk down icy graveled paths in tottery high heels anytime I feel like it.

She had not gone far before she began to regret her valor and suspect she was not as invincible as she had thought. The shoes were poorly adapted to walking on gravel. The thin heels caught and failed to find firm footing. The boxwood reached as high as her head. Not the faintest beam of light penetrated the interwoven branches. Laurie let out a gasp as the undergrowth ahead rustled. Light shaped itself into two small spots like staring eyes. She had to remind herself that the grounds were inhabited by small nocturnal animals-rabbits, possums, racc.o.o.ns, rats. . . . Rats. She pursed her lips and produced a whistle. "I am strong, I am invincible. . . ."

The staring eyes vanished as she approached. Perhaps they had only been a trick of her imagination. Now she could see lighted windows ahead. My goodness, she told herself with false surprise, they must be Jeff's windows. Maybe I'll stop in for a cup of coffee. He said he wanted to talk about the Middle Ages.

Then something came out of the boxwood and ran straight at her.

It was, of course, one of the nocturnal animals she had postulated, a little more stupid or less wary than its kind; but Laurie's nerves failed to register this sensible theory until it was too late. The creature actually brushed against her leg. She let out a strangled whoop and began to run. After two steps she lost her balance and the run turned into a flapping, scrambling attempt to stay on her feet. She might have succeeded in that aim if an object had not loomed up in her path-a shape waist-high and squat, like a thick tree trunk, but s.h.i.+ning faintly in the light from the window.

Unable to stop herself, Laurie plunged into it. It fell over backward with a metallic crash that echoed through the still night. Laurie followed it down onto the ground.

The echoes died. Laurie rolled over. Now that she was out of the dire shadow of the boxwood the light from Jeff's cottage enabled her to see more clearly, and her dark fancies vanished. She looked from the ruins of her nylons to the fallen object. What was a garbage can doing out in the middle of the path? Or could she possibly be off' the path? She had lost one of her shoes. When she picked it up and shook out the gravel, the heel fell off.

Laurie's lower lip protruded. What kind of a place was this, where a person could practically break her neck and make enough noise to raise the dead, and n.o.body even came out to see whether everything was all right?

Jeff's door opened.

"Is somebody there?" he asked, without much interest.

"Me," said Laurie.

"Laurie? What the h.e.l.l are you doing there? Are you hurt?"

He dragged her to her feet. Laurie tilted to one side and Jeff let out a wordless hiss of concern.

"It's my shoe," Laurie explained. She held it out to him. "The heel broke off."

Jeff peered at her suspiciously.

"Laurie, are you drunk?"

"I guess so," Laurie said placidly.

He scooped her up in his arms, bulky coat, broken shoe and all. He carried her into the house and put her in a chair. When he came back to her, after closing the door, she saw that his face was alight with laughter.

"I thought it was a c.o.o.n or something," he explained. "Animals are always knocking over trash cans looking for food. Weren't you supposed to go out tonight?"

"I was out," Laurie said. "Boy, did I fix Hermann! I had a wonderful time. You know, Jeff, we missed the most obvious excuse of all the other day, when we were talking about how to get rid of Hermann. All I had to do was be myself."

"Your present self is all banged up," Jeff said, looking her over. "I'd better give you some emergency first aid. If you go in looking like that, you'll scare the old ladies into a heart attack. Uh-how about a cup of coffee or three?"

"I'm perfectly sober," Laurie said.

Jeff's eyes danced. "A few minutes ago you told me you were drunk."

"I just said that to be polite."

Jeff studied her, his hands on his hips, his lips twitching.

"Sit still," he said. "Don't move."

"I have no intention of going anywhere," Laurie a.s.sured him.

After two cups of coffee her mellow glow had subsided enough to make her conscious of the pain of sc.r.a.ped knees and bruised hands, but she still felt fine. One might be a feminist at heart, she told herself, but that didn't mean one could not enjoy someone's tending one's wounds. The only thing that annoyed her was that Jeff insisted that she remove her shredded pantyhose without a.s.sistance. Grumbling, she complied. Jeff's lean brown hands were gentle as he bathed the b.l.o.o.d.y scratches with warm water. When he had finished he sat back on his heels and contemplated his handiwork.

"So far, so good. But you can't walk, not in those shoes. How are you going to get back to the house?"

"Carry me."

"I guess I'll have to. Better put on a pair of my socks. It's cold out there."

Kneeling at her feet he slipped the socks on. Laurie wriggled her toes.

"Pretty," she said, admiring the bright argyle pattern of blue and crimson.

"Your aunt made them for me. Okay, let's go."

He picked her up. Laurie looped an arm around his neck.

"You're in an awful hurry to get rid of me," she said.

"Laurie-don't."

"Don't what?"

His lips were warm and hard and experienced. Laurie's head spun-but her eyes remained wide open. Bob had complained of this habit, probably, Laurie thought, because he liked his women to be swooning and semiconscious when he deigned to kiss them. Once she had asked him how he could tell her eyes were open if his were closed. He had not answered, and he had continued to be unreasonably annoyed even though she kept telling him she couldn't help it; it was an uncontrollable reflex, she didn't really see anything. . ..

On this occasion, however, she did see something, over Jeffs shoulder-a flash of movement and of color at the back window. Her muscles went rigid. Jeff let out a yelp of pain as her nails dug into his neck.

"Now what?" he demanded.

"Out there-" Laurie gestured. "Outside the window."

"What was it?"

"You won't believe me."

"Try me."

"It had golden hair," Laurie whispered. "And . . . and wings."

Jeff's grip relaxed. For a moment she thought he was going to drop her.

"I really saw it," she said. "Really."

"Okay." Jeff started toward the door.

Laurie knew she had affronted, not only his ego, but his intelligence. As soon as they were outside she stared wildly around, trying to catch another glimpse of the unbelievable thing she had seen.

"Stop wriggling," Jeff grumbled.

"I'm sorry. I really-"

"Okay, okay. I believe you."

He didn't, and she didn't blame him. It had moved so fast she had not gotten a good look, but she knew she had seen it; a flash of translucent, gauzy lavender, and a face distorted by staring eyes and a squared-off mouth into something not too unlike the faces in Lizzie's photographs.

As they approached the kitchen door it burst open and Laurie saw her brother. The very outlines of his body bristled with fury.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"She fell," Jeff said briefly.