CHAPTER 9

Elaine had optimistically expected the gossip over Paul Hennessy to dwindle into past history in a day or two. It didn't. She was increasingly disturbed by the buzzing that echoed through the agency, the favorite story evidently being that Rick Stacy and Paul had had a knock-out brawl over her, with Paul being thrown out on his ear. She kept telling herself it didn't matter, why should she care what people said? She was grateful, at least, that Rick was so deeply involved with one of his accounts that he never managed more than a brief, secretive murmur about their spending an evening together.

She'd put off calling Kathy, as she'd promised to, about their having lunch together. Rush of business would serve as an excuse, she thought guiltily, if Kathy should make an overture herself. She couldn't bring herself to face Kathy again just yet. Though even now, sitting at her desk determined to follow through on the roughs she'd promised Rick for this afternoon, Kathy's face kept merging with the sketches spread on the desk before her.

"Damn!" Rising to her feet with a sigh of futility, she reached for her purse and headed for the washroom.

Some sixth sense warned her to enter quietly, and then the voices of the two girls around the bend came to her with shocking clarity.

"Don't believe that stuff about Rick Stacy fighting it out with Paul," the voice of the receptionist scoffed arrogantly. "The great Stacy wouldn't soil his hands over any gal, so long as there was one more alive on earth."

"What's the scoop?" the other, a girl in the steno pool, prodded avidly.

"The way I got it—and it came from somebody who seemed awfully sure—Paul was burnt to a cinder over her landing Truly Yours. He got loaded, accused her of beating him out via the familiar bed routine. Then he knocked the hell out of her."

Thoroughly shaken up, Elaine moved with slow, halting steps out of that haunted washroom into the corridor, turning off into a tiny alcove to try to regain her equilibrium. Her eyes stared into space as she tried to assimilate what she'd heard. Had Terry been talking? How else could a nightmarish rumor like this be in circulation? Terry with a few cocktails in her was unpredictable, and she gloated over feeling important. Spreading around an "inside story" like tins would make her feel definitely important.

Elaine lifted her head in a stern attempt at poise and walked swiftly back into the sanctuary of her own office.

Terry was fast developing into a frightening menace to her peace of mind. No matter how she tried to brush away the memory, she couldn't forget Terry's threats the other night about the photographs Stephie had taken of them. She'd always been so careful, how had she slipped up then? Why did there always have to be one misstep to throw a whole lifetime out of focus, she thought wearily. Somehow, she had to get those negatives, to eliminate this hold Terry would dangle over her head for an eternity.

Elaine dallied briefly with the idea of asking Terry for them, then discarded it. This would be walking right into a trap. Talking to Stephie would be stupid—he'd run, popping with excitement to Terry, find out if they were splitting up. Only one solution she concluded—if somehow, she could talk to Fred. He'd understand her position, the real and shattering threat those negatives were to her very existence. If somehow she could persuade Fred to get them for her! On impulse she walked outside to the stack of phone directories, a hazy idea in her mind of Fred's firm name. With a sigh of relief, she recognized the name and the community Stephie mentioned. She dialed, asked for Fred, and was told he was in conference. At least, she knew what she must do now. She'd keep calling Fred Reynolds until she reached him.

Fred was still in conference when she tried to reach him again right after lunch, but he was due back shortly. She'd call again in five minutes, she told herself urgently, not caring that his secretary was distinctly annoyed at the frequency of her calls. But before she could get on to him, Kathy phoned.

"I hope you aren't angry at Eric for being a little potted the other night," Kathy murmured in sweet apology, after they'd exchanged the routine small talk.

"Of course not," Elaine hastened to reassure her, while her breath quickened with the excitement of talking with Kathy again. "As a matter of fact, I was going to call you today—you must be psychic."

"You were?" Pleasure bubbled over in Kathy. "Have you been doing anything about looking for a studio?"

"I figured I might take time off this afternoon, just an hour or two, to run down to an agency. It's not too far from you, if you'd like to meet me." She hadn't meant to say that at all, Elaine realized in dismay. What was the matter with her?

"I'd love it," Kathy agreed promptly. "I adore people, but I'm always so slow in making friends. I haven't actually talked to a soul for days, except for Eric and the doorman and people in the supermarket."

"I'll pick you up in a cab at your place about two-thirty," Elaine decided with a surge of good humor. "I'll give you a buzz before I leave so you can be waiting downstairs. I do have to put in an appearance at the agency afterwards, you know."

"I won't keep you waiting," Kathy promised eagerly. "I'll be standing by for your call."

When Elaine hung up, she was beset with a cataclysmic torrent of misgivings. She'd made one frightening misstep already—now she was charging ahead into even more dangerous waters. Where would she finally stop?

Before she could forge her thoughts into some concrete action, Comstock called her in for conference. By the time the conference was over, she knew she'd have to find some way of channeling her personal problems into after-office hours—she'd barely stumbled through the meeting with coherence. Comstock probably felt she was still off the beam from the mess with Paul Hennessy, she assumed gratefully—he'd been bristling with sympathy. But that would suffice for a day or two longer, at most. Now it was a question of her job!

It was too late to try Fred Reynolds again, she decided; she'd just have time to phone Kathy and hurry downstairs for a cab to the Village. She'd have to be back in the office in an hour and a half at the most. But the question of those negatives—and Terry's obviously growing instability—plagued at her even during the drive to Kathy's apartment.

Kathy was full of exuberance over the project of locating a studio for Elaine.

"Now hold it, baby," Elaine chuckled. "It isn't so easy to find space today. Haven't you heard of the shortage?"

"I have a hunch," Kathy sparkled. "You're going to find a studio this same afternoon—and you're going to start painting again. My family used to laugh at me, but my hunches usually work out. Wait and see," she smiled mysteriously.

Elaine was sharply aware of Kathy sitting there in the cozy intimacy of the cab, enjoying her presence even while admitting this was meager solace. She ached to take Kathy by the hand and run with her into another existence, where love like hers wouldn't be looked down upon as something sick and unclean. But Kathy would never understand, she reminded herself ruthlessly. Kathy would only be disgusted.

To Elaine's amazement, the real-estate broker promptly referred them to a vacant studio a few blocks south. Climbing the four flights to the skylight studio, Elaine felt as though time was rolling back and she was in Paris again. It was a suffocating, frightening memory because Alex had been her first, her one big love—and here she was with Kathy, whom she longed to possess with more intensity than anyone ever, even Alex.

"It's wonderful!" Kathy whirled about enthusiastically. "Elaine, are you taking it?"

"Yes." She was powerless to say no, because she knew she had to paint again, to have something to hang on to that was real in her world of subterfuge.

It was almost like before, she told herself with unbridled exuberance! A place to work, someone to love! Though the love was one-sided, and must be secret and denied. At least, she'd see Kathy, be with her, touch her, oh so innocently. That would have to be enough.

"I'm so glad." Kathy threw her arms about Elaine with her young delight, and pain charged through Elaine that Kathy couldn't ever know.

"We'd better go now," she said abruptly, and gathered her things together. "We can stop off at the agency and I'll arrange for the lease."

Coming out of the building and hailing a cab again, Elaine had an odd feeling that somebody was watching them. A figure popping back into the shadows. Then she brushed this aside with a stab of impatience. She was seeing ghosts already. Who would be trailing them? Terry was at the office— who else would care?

* * *

Elaine sat at her desk, hunched in thought. She was no doubt all wrong about their being followed this afternoon, but the suspicion only heightened her need to recover those negatives, destroy them before they could destroy her. She dialed again, asked for Fred Reynolds.

“How are you, my dear?" This was his polite business voice talking to her, the one that wouldn't even know Stephie existed.

“Fred, I'm afraid I have a problem," she started off hesitantly, wondering how she could put it on the phone so he could understand the urgency.

"Wait a moment," he said, and she held on till he returned. "It's okay—we can talk now."

"Freely?" She had to be absolutely sure, not only for herself but Fred.

"Nobody'll cut in on this line. What's bothering you, Elaine? Something about Terry?"

"Yes." Then she remembered she was calling from the agency. "I'm calling from the office," she put him on guard, "But you remember my cousin Terry out on the West Coast?"

"Yes, of course," he caught on promptly. "Is she planning on coming into town—or isn't she here?" he corrected, leading the way for Elaine.

"She's here," Elaine accepted gratefully, "but I'm a bit concerned about her. You know how impulsive she is. She may be better off back there."

"Could be messy," Fred warned, and alarm caught at Elaine, lest he say more.

"What I really called about," she fenced, in case the switchboard operator was listening in, "she thinks she left her camera at your place, with a roll of film. Is there—is there any way I could get it?"

There was moment's silence at the other end, and Elaine's throat tightened with concern.

"Tell you what," Fred decided, "I have to be in the city this evening. Suppose I meet you for a drink about five-thirty? We can talk about it then."

"Wonderful," she babbled in relief, and then listened while he set a meeting place. It meant nothing, actually, but she felt infinitely better. If anybody could get those negatives for her, Fred could. If he wanted to…

Elaine paced her office, wondering how to alibi her absence this evening. Should she lie and say she lie and say she had to meet Rick for a cocktail? Or better to say Eric wanted to see her for a few moments to discuss something—she could always dream up something on that score later. She hated to think of the repercussions if Fred did come through and get the negatives for her—and Stephie had to tell Terry. She closed her eyes in pain, dreading the ugly scene sure to follow. If only they could work it out so Stephie would tell her the negatives were spoiled, anything to forestall nastiness. But Stephie would adore passing on that kind of information, she guessed instinctively—it'd appeal utterly to his sense of the dramatic. Unless, of course, Fred made him see the impracticality of it. Stephie, for all his kittenish ways, was basically thoroughly practical—he'd want to protect his own interests.

Elaine collapsed into her chair, worn out by mental controversy. She hated ugliness! It made her physically sick to drag out their relationship the way Terry relished doing. It'd been so different at first:—or so it had seemed to Elaine. Terry had not been obvious then, flaunting herself, telegraphing to the world! "See, I'm a dyke!" she seemed to screech aloud when she'd had a drink or two, or when she was angry with Elaine. She'd been so sweet, so appealing, those first few weeks. Elaine faced reality; the affair with Terry had to end, not only because everything she cherished was in jeopardy but because Terry meant nothing to her anymore, except cheap, fleeting physical relief when her body's demands became overwhelming. The price Terry demanded was too high.

"Elaine!" The door to the office was flung open and slammed shut, and Terry stood there, two violent patches of red staining her cheeks.

"What's the matter?" Elaine shot to her feet, rushed to make sure the door was closed. Terry knew better than to come bursting in here this way!

"That creep Kennedy, the narrow-minded old bitch! She just fired me!"

"What for?" Automatically, Elaine led her to a chair and sat her down.

"She's got some screwy idea I'm arrogant. That's the word she used. Arrogant! You tell her off, honey." Suddenly, Terry was wistfully tearful. "Who does she think she is, anyhow, to go around firing girls because they don't look like sour-pussed old maids?"

"Terry, I have nothing to do with the steno pool," she reminded her worriedly. Actually, she should have expected something like this—Terry had been courting it for weeks.

"You can talk to Rick Stacy. He’ll change her mind for her awful fast."

"Terry, how can I?" Elaine shook her head tiredly. "To everybody here I barely know you."

"You're smart, Elaine, you can figure out a way," she wheedled. "I'm not terribly good as a steno, you know. It won't be easy for me to get another job without a reference from the agency."

Terry was lazy, that was the basic problem, Elaine thought subconsciously. She'd wanted to be fired, to have an excuse to lounge around the apartment all day. Probably, in her mind, Elaine could easily afford to support her.

"Sweetie, have you tried to talk to her? I mean, perhaps apologize…" Elaine trailed off, reading fury in Terry's eyes as they met hers.

"Elaine, I've done nothing wrong!" Terry rose from the chair to fling herself against the other woman. "She's a nasty-minded old bitch, that's all. She wants me out of here. Darling, you go to Rick Stacy. Make her eat crow!" Malicious determination shone starkly for an instant, to be replaced by wistful pleading. "Oh, darling, you won't let me down, will you?"

"Terry, I don't know." Elaine put her arms about Terry's small body, foisted against her own. "I'm completely at a loss."

"You’ll think of something," Terry smiled with sultry sweetness. I know you will." She reached up and pulled Elaine's face to hers, her mouth finding Elaine's and kissing her with stormy passion.

"Excuse me!"

In trance-like horror Elaine stared back at Eddie, the smirking office-boy who hadn't bothered to knock. That was a nasty habit of his that others had complained about.

"Get out!" Elaine spat at him. "Get out!"