Women In The Shadow. Ann Bannon
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no!”
Tris handed her a cup quickly, as if to make her forget the suggestion. “Do you like me, Laura?” she said, her green eyes too close and her sweet skin redolent of jasmine.
“Yes, Tris,” Laura said, saying her name for the first time and feeling the fine shivering return to her limbs.
“Good.” Tris grinned at her. “That is payment enough.” Laura felt suddenly like she had better sit down or she would fall down. “You say my name now, that means you feel closer to me, hm?” Tris asked.
“Yes. A little.” Laura gazed at her, completely confused, afraid to move, until Tris gave a little laugh.
“Come, we’ll sit in the other room,” she said, and Laura once again followed her across the bare studio into the bedroom.
The room was fitted up Indian fashion with rich red silk drapes on the bed. The bed itself was actually more of a low couch, very capacious, and covered with tumbled silk cushions. There were books and records scattered around, a couple of pillows on the floor to take the place of chairs, and a number of ashtrays.
“This is my bedroom, my living room, my den, my playroom—whatever you want,” Tris said smiling, and sat down on the bed. “Come, don’t stand there looking afraid of me,” she said, “sit down.” And she patted the bed beside her.
Laura came and sat there and as she did Tris lay back on the cushions and watched her. She put her tea on the floor while Laura held hers carefully, anxious about spilling it on the lush red silk.
“Are you—are you Indian, Tris?” she asked awkwardly, turning to look at her.
Tris crossed her black-sheathed legs. “Yes,” she said. “Half
Indian, at least. My mother was Indian but my father was French.”
“Did you grow up in India?”
“Yes. In New Delhi. Have you been there?” Her clear eyes looked sharply at Laura.
“No. I’ve never been anywhere,” Laura said. “Except New York and Chicago. I was born in Chicago.”
“Is your family there?”
“Just my father. He’s all the family I have.”
“Do you see him often?”
“I never see him.” She looked away, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of her father. She had not seen him for two years. Not since she had gone to live with Beebo and admitted to him that she was a Lesbian. There had been a terrible scene. And then Laura had fled and Merrill Landon, for all she knew, had gone back to Chicago.
“Is that where your roommate is from? Chicago?” Tris asked slowly.
“No. Milwaukee.” Laura turned to frown at her and Tris, sensing her reticence, changed the subject. “Would you like to see my scrapbook?” she said. Before Laura could answer she was off the bed and searching for it among some books and papers across the room. She came back and sat next to Laura, spreading the green leather book open over their knees and putting an arm around Laura’s waist.
“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, anticipating Laura’s question. “With me. He’s named Paul Cate. We have a lot of routines together. We are a sort of—team.”
“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 homosexual, Laura.”
“A homosexual?” 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 homosexuals 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 homosexual marriage, which made her feel instantly protective and tender about Jack. But she had said, “Two homosexuals,” 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 scrapbook and concentrating on them. Laura sensed embarrassment in her concentration.
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