Warm and Willing - Lawrence Block [55]
“I…can’t help it.”
“Did I say something? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just—”
“Rho, I love you!”
“Oh, Bobbie—”
“We won’t fight, you’re right, we won’t fight any more. I love you so much, Rho. We won’t fight, we’ll just love each other and build something good out of this.”
“Yes.” Her heart pounding wildly, her eyes misty with embryonic tears. “Don’t talk, darling. Just come to me.”
“My clothes—”
“Take them off.”
She hadn’t expected to make love. But love came quick and warm and very tender, clearing her head and taking the unbearable weight away. She buried herself in Bobbie’s love and let the sweetness of it bathe her and cleanse her, then lay close to Bobbie and floated in the afterglow of love until sleep reached for her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The year was two weeks old. It was a Wednesday, cold but clear, the sidewalks gray with day-old snow toned by the dirt of the city. The day’s work dragged on forever, and she was exhausted by the time she left Heaven’s Door. She wanted a drink in a bad way, but decided to wait for it until she got home. Bobbie had a shaker of martinis ready. They sat together and drank quietly. When Bobbie talked to her she answered in monosyllables. Bobbie finished her drink, went into the kitchen to open a tin of clams for Claude. She came back and sank into a chair.
“Bad day, Rho?”
“Not too bad.”
“Party tonight. At Megan’s place.”
“Do we have to dress?”
“No. Just slacks and sweaters.”
“I suppose we’ll go.”
“You don’t sound happy about it, kiddo. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Just a mood.”
“Nothing I did, is it?”
“No. Just…nothing.”
“Want to kick the cat? Get that mad out of your system?”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Because we could just as easily stay home.”
“We’ll go,” she said.
They went. The walk through the cold air was briskly refreshing. They stopped at Leonetti’s for a quick drink, then went on to Megan’s apartment on Cornelia Street. Rhoda felt very strange walking into the apartment. She hadn’t been there since she cleared out her clothes and moved in with Bobbie. She had been in company with Megan often enough after that, so that there was no awkwardness between them any more, but they had not been together at Megan’s apartment and she was surprised how jarring it was. Every stick of furniture held memories, every room brought back a shattering memory of the way they had loved one another.
“I may get a little bit stoned,” she told Bobbie.
“Do you good.”
“Uh-huh.”
She got hold of a drink right away, finished it quickly, poured more scotch over the ice cubes and drank again. Go ahead, she told herself fiercely. Let yourself go. Loosen up, relax.
And the liquor worked. She joined a little group in one corner—Jan Pomeroy was telling a joke about a butch and a queen trying to figure out which rest room to use. Someone told a limerick about the queer from Khartoum and Rhoda laughed, although she had heard it dozens of times. The party picked up momentum and moved at a good pace. She kept drinking, keeping a good even high without going over the line.
Everything would be all right. The shop was nonsense, adolescent nonsense, and she could live without such dreams. She was what she was—there was no changing that. No reason to inquire into it too closely. She was what she was and she would lead the kind of life that was right for her. It might not be a perfect life but very few lives were ever perfect. The world itself was an imperfect world. She would make the best of it. That was all she or anyone else could do.
Then Megan was talking to her. “I’m glad you and Bobbie could come tonight, Rhoda.”
“It’s a swell party.”
“Like the song, what a swell party this is. You haven’t been here since—”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I was thinking about that. Jan and I are very happy together, did you know that? I never thought it would last.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Maybe the secret is not living together. I don’t know. How are things with you and Bobbie?”
“Fine. They were a little rocky for awhile, but we’ve weathered that storm. We’re good for each other.”
“I’m glad, Rhoda.