CHAPTER 12

When Walter finally answered the bell, Carolyn fell into his arms. He pulled her inside and let the door slam shut behind them.

Holding her against him, he gripped her elbows and tried to make her face him. She blubbered incoherently, trying to tell him about Angie. He shook his head and just held her.

When she had stopped shaking, he put an arm around her and steered her into the livingroom.

He sat her down on the couch. "You must lead a pretty exciting life," he said calmly. Then he left her and went into the kitchen.

She was in no mood to have Walter be sarcastic. Oh, he had every reason to be. As far as he could see, she had probably been behaving like an ass. But right now she wanted him to be the good, gentle Walter she loved and who always helped her. Not a spoiled child with hurt feelings. That pose went better with Angie.

She settled on the cushions where he had deposited her and waited for him to come back. When he did, he was carrying a bottle of brandy and two exquisite crystal glasses. He set them on the end table and stood there looking down at her, his expression half smile, half frown. She could not tell what he was feeling but something about the way he looked at her made her itchy all over.

"Walter, I know I owe you an explanation," she began. "An apology, I suppose. But…"

"No," he interrupted. "I owe you one. I shouldn't have let you get away with shoving me back on the shelf. I couldn't expect you to know this would happen again. But I did." He poured her a shot of brandy.

She took the glass and sipped from it, using it to hide behind, to conceal the unhappiness in her eyes. Of all the things she had to be ashamed of, Walter hurt the most. She did not know what to say that would make him forgive her. "I'm sorry, Walter. Please believe me," she said. "I don't know why you should understand."

"I don't understand," he answered. "But I do love you, Carolyn."

"Still?"

"Of course." He sat down beside her and took her hand. "Now, what did she do this time?"

While she told him everything that had happened, Walter listened with interest but with no show of concern. She could not understand his change of attitude and she found herself becoming annoyed with him, with his placid acceptance of tragedy. She had always known that he did not care for Angie but it was not like him to wish anyone ill.

Finally, when she had finished her story, Walter calmly offered her a cigarette and took one for himself.

"Well, what am I going to do?" she asked impatiently. She could not bear the way he sat there, smugly, while Angie might be dead or dying. Couldn't he see that...

He put his hand over hers and held it tightly. "First of all,” he said quietly, "you're going to calm down and face the fact that Angie is perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

It felt like a slap in the face. Yet maybe that was exactly what she needed. And he was right, after all. She had forgotten that about Angie, that she always took care of herself.

And there she sat with Walter, asking him to help her because he loved her, and thinking of nothing but Angie. She felt like a fraud. She wanted to fling herself at him, to be in his arms where it was safe, where she could forget about Angie, forget about herself.

Yet she knew she would not be free to give herself to Walter, to anyone, until she had gotten the poison that was Angie out of her system.

She shook her head sadly. "I can't calm down, Walter. I just can't. You don't know. You didn't see her."

"I didn't see her, Carolyn, but I spoke to her."

She frowned. "When?"

"I was on the phone with Angie when you rang the bell," he said quietly. "That's why it took me so long to answer."

She looked at him for a long time, hating the smug assurance on his face.

He put his cigarette out and leaned toward her. "Now, just let me tell you the other side of this story, Carolyn. Then maybe you'll understand why I'm not worried."

She backed away from him into the corner of the couch, not wanting him near her, afraid of the tone in his voice.

She knew she did not want to hear what he had to say. But she made no attempt to quiet him.

"According to Angie," he began, "you came home late tonight and for no reason tried to kill her. She managed to knock you down. She fled out of the apartment, running for her life. She's with a friend, she says, but she wouldn't tell me where."

"Why did she call you?"

"Well, I gather, she left everything, even her money, behind. She said she tried to call you and got no answer, so she called to see if you were here. She's scared to come back herself. But she wants you to pack her stuff and her friend’ll pick it up in the morning." He shrugged. "With a little luck, you might be rid of her for good this time.

Though I wouldn't count on it. I don't believe anything that girl says anymore."

She heard the disappointment in his voice. She knew that he didn't care what happened to Angie but he had expected more of the girl he loved. He had every reason to be ashamed of her. She wasn't very proud of herself.

"Look," he said, "it's not all that bad, is it? Sure, you've had a rough time with this girl—but we've got a lifetime ahead of us, Carolyn. You'll forget Angie and everything that's happened between you. After we're married, you won't have time—"

"Oh Walter, for God's sake, stop talking like a man!" she exploded. "I won't forget Angie. I don't even want to. I've loved Angie very much, Walter. Very much. And I don't give a damn if she is rotten." She watched the shock widen his eyes, then his mouth tightened into a thin line. She smiled. "That upsets you? It shouldn't. I wouldn't be of much use to you as a wife if I fell out of love every time we disagreed."

He raised his eyebrows. "You're not making much sense, little girl. Try that again."

She pushed herself up off the couch and took a few quick paces away from him. Then she turned to face him squarely. "I'm not sure I know myself, Walter. Oh, I'm finished with Angie, that's sure enough. But I can't say that I'll never be sorry. Or that I won't think about her now and then. It wouldn't be normal if I didn't. If you can't accept the simple facts, we might as well find it out right now."

He stood up close to her, his eyes serious, his mouth still drawn. He put his hands on her shoulders and peered at her. She saw that he was deeply concerned and she was sorry for an instant that she had lashed out at him. Yet something was not quite right about the whole picture.

"There's only one thing I care about," he said. "And that is if you'll marry me and give us a fair chance. I know how involved you've been with Angie and I'm not enough of a fool to overlook it. But I think we can work things out between us." He smiled gently. "Anyway, I'd like to give it a try."

He was the old familiar Walter again, soothing her, reassuring her. Yet, somehow, it didn't feel the same anymore.

Always, in the past, he had seemed to know what she was feeling before she said a word. But she knew in her heart that he didn't really understand how she felt about Angie, that he probably never had.

She glanced at the tight line of his mouth. So proper. So unforgiving. It would never occur to Walter that her love for Angie had been deep and sincere. Not because he didn't believe her capable of love. He would expect her to feel that way about him. But simply because he could not really approve of the love of woman for woman. And because he did not approve, he refused to allow for the existence of it.

No wonder he had always known how she felt! She had gotten so used to him telling her everything that she had come to accept his word. He told her what to think about plays, what to think about books, whom she ought to vote for. And she had listened. Listened to everything except the one thing that really mattered. He had not been able to tell her who or how to love. Her feeling for Angie was pure and entirely her own.

She stepped back and took a good look at him. It was as though she had never seen him before. How could she have been so wrong about so many things? Why hadn't she been able to see him for what he really was before?

Good, dear, gentle Walter, her beloved friend—a stuffed shirt and a prig. And he claimed to love her. In his own way, he was no different from Angie. Or maybe he was worse Angie at least made a try. But sex with Walter would be a dull, sterile, hopeless thing. She did not need that. She needed someone who could thrill her, bring her alive.

She could just imagine what marriage with Walter would be like. He would rule her life completely, pulling the strings that made her walk and talk, speaking of love in academic abstractions to hide his own incompetence. By his standards, that would be fine. It was only wrong when Angie did it.

She could have slapped his smug, prim face. Yet she did not really despise Walter for being himself. She despised him for making her feel like a fraud when he was the guilty one. And for what he thought of Angie. It would take a lot of man to make her forget the joy she had known in Angie's arms. Walter was a fool if he thought he could do it.

Obviously he did. Suddenly she had to prove to him that he was wrong. It would mean the end of everything for them. Still, she knew it would have to be that way. It was the only language he would understand.

She leaned close to him and looked into his eyes. "Walter," she said cagily, "do you know you've never even kissed me?"

He looked astonished. "Well, of course I know," he said. "I thought..."

"You're not supposed to think. If you feel like it, just go ahead and do it."

She put her arms around his neck and drew his head down to hers. She saw that he was flushed and his breath was warm against her lips.

"Like this," she whispered.

She kissed him hard, her tongue forcing his lips apart and darting into his mouth. He held her primly, like a maiden aunt. She put her hands on his behind, pulling herself against him. She felt his body go tense and try to draw away.

She would not let him go.

By now she was furious with him but determined to make him take her. Holding him tight, she rubbed herself against him, forcing him to respond.

It was Walter who got them to the couch and he who pushed up her skirt. But it was Carolyn who did the rest. She stopped his fumbling hands and led him to her.

It was as dull, as uninspired as she had known it would be. She lay there, wretched and immobile, hoping he would soon be satisfied.

He withdrew his weight from her and snuggled beside her on the couch. His eyes were closed, the smile on his lips triumphant.

She watched his face with interest, seeing him even more clearly now than she had before. When he stirred and opened his eyes, she winked at him and trailed a fingertip around his lips.

"Was it good?" she murmured.

"Hmm," he sighed.

"I'm glad," she said. She sat up then and reached for her panties. "It's the first time I've been to bed with a virgin."

He didn't say anything, didn't move, just sat looking as if he were going to be ill. She had wanted to jolt him, to shake the complacency right off his face. And she had certainly succeeded. She felt no pity for him. Like Angie, he would not change as a result of the experience, not really.

With her back to him, she slipped into the panties and stood up. She adjusted her skirt and smoothed down her hair. Then she finished the brandy in her glass with one swallow and prepared to leave.

He leaned forward and grabbed her arm. "What are you trying to do?" he said harshly. He was on the verge of tears.

"I'm not trying anything," she said. She pulled away from his grasp. "You're the one who's been playing games, Walter. My friend. My bosom buddy. You've had me right where you wanted me for ten years and I didn't have the sense to realize what was going on. If it hadn't been for Angie, I never would have found out." She shook her head.

"You don't want a wife, Walter."

She watched a spot of color flare in his cheeks. She knew he wanted to strangle her. Yet he tried to remain calm, rational.

"That's not true," he insisted. "I want to marry you, Carolyn. You know that."

She reached out and patted his cheek. "I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth, Walter."

He raised an eyebrow. "You went to bed with me," he said. "Why?"

She shrugged. "You weren't the first person," she said. "Or the last, thank heaven. I usually enjoy sex." She was being deliberately cruel but she didn't care.

"And, of course, you didn't enjoy it with me," he said, his eyes narrowed with satisfaction. "So, you are a lesbian, then. Angie was right."

Carolyn laughed in his face. "No. Just a woman," she said. "But you don't like women, do you, Walter? They're all either queers or whores, aren't they? And, I suppose, by your standards, I'm both."

He stood up, towering over her, murder in his eyes.

She knew he could kill her easily, but she didn't think he'd dare. She did not back away. "What do you with your desires, Walter? Read dirty books? Or maybe you don't have any sexual needs."

He slapped her then, a stinging blow across the cheek.

She didn't flinch. "I suppose that's as good a way as any to get your kicks," she said.

"Get out of here," he muttered. His voice was dry and hoarse. "Get out and don't come back. You deserve Angie.

You don't deserve anybody that's decent."

She laughed again and reached out to pat his arm. "I certainly don't deserve you, if that's what you mean."

He took a step toward her.

She held up her hand. "Never mind," she said. "I was just on my way out."

She turned and walked rapidly away from him, her steps quickened by the fury bursting inside her. He made no move to stop her.

Without looking back, she slammed out of the apartment.