Three Women (18 page)

"Oh, please," Byrne pleaded, "let me be." The anguish in her voice made Paula instantly contrite and full of guilt for her anger. She went to the couch and took Byrne's hands away from her face.

"If you love me, Byrne," she said, kneeling and holding the woman's face between her palms, "if you love me, that's all that matters."

"I do love you," Byrne said intensely. "You know that."

"Then let's not talk about it any more. We'll get dressed and go out just the way we planned."

"You're wonderful," Byrne said and kissed her lingeringly on the lips.

They took showers and Paula donned one of her new suits. She made herself chatter about all kinds of unimportant things to convince Byrne that Greta didn't really disturb her. She was young, she was shapely, her chinline was smooth and graceful. Surely Byrne must appreciate this. Greta couldn't be taken anyplace without being stared at like a sideshow. It was a crime for Byrne to pull herself down to Greta's level.

But Paula didn't feel any of the confidence she displayed. She was glad when they found their seats in the orchestra and the lights dimmed so Byrne wouldn't see the worry in her eyes.

Paula, engrossed in her thoughts, paid little attention to the show. She applauded when everyone else did, but her fingers were clenched around the program booklet. I've got to get Byrne away, she thought. If we stay in New York, I haven't a chance against Greta.

After the last act they crossed between the traffic to a small restaurant. Surrounding them were happy faces of young couples out on their Saturday night dates. Girls in cocktail dresses laughed at their boyfriends' jokes and older people sat quietly and just enjoyed being with each other.

Paula ordered a Scotch and soda and Byrne didn't try to stop her.

"You know," Paula said after the waiter had placed their drinks on the table, "I think we could use a vacation."

Byrne smiled a slow understanding smile. She took her own glass and finished most of the drink. In the smooth forehead Paula noticed a wrinkle she'd never seen before. It came vertically to her eyebrow and disappeared in the golden arch.

"Well, after all," Paula persisted, realizing her motives were quite clear to Byrne, "there's no use going through the same thing week after week. I need you all to myself and you should give me the chance to have it."

The waiter placed menus before them but neither woman had any appetite. Paula lay her menu on the table and waited for Byrne's response to her demand.

"If you think distance will make a difference, let me warn you beforehand. I've tried it." She shook her head. "There are some things you just can't kill."

"Don't you want to kill it? Honestly, Byrne, don't you?”

"As long as you live, my dear, I'm afraid you won't ever be able to understand what this is all about." She sounded as though she were sorry for Paula.

Paula raised her glass and drank to push away the sound of that tone, to drown it out with the sound of clinking ice cubes. She must remember they were in a public place. No scenes here. Only calm discussion as if they were talking about a new hat.

"How much does it take to understand," Paula said with her most adult manner, "that three people can't—"

"Be married?" Byrne finished for her. "So we're back to that again. My poor darling, why can't you realize that this game doesn't have any set of rules?" The waiter returned and hovered at Paula's elbow. Byrne ordered prime ribs and Paula said the same just to be rid of him.

"Rules or not" Paula said, 'let's go away for a while. Maybe it'll work this time, just for me." She put on a cheerful expression.

"Whatever you say. I can't stand your being unhappy."

They picked through the meal and ordered a few more drinks each. Paula drank them without caring about the taste. After the third, she didn't taste anything, anyway. A giddy sensation made her feel quite confident. All the pieces fell magically into place. A giggle rose in her throat and tumbled from her lips. Of course everything would be fine. Byrne was alive and here and all hers. No freaky thing could take Byrne away from her. They would sail on a slow boat to Florida and never come back. Her unspoken secret emerged in more giggles.

"You're annoyed?" Paula hiccoughed.

"Let's get you home," Byrne said evenly. She glanced at the check and put a bill under the saucer. "You're drunk."

All the way home in the cab, Paula couldn't stop giggling. She wished Byrne wouldn't look so cross. She wished Byrne would sit closer to her and not stare out the window like that

They got inside the house and Paula kicked off her shoes. She stumbled around the apartment until Byrne cornered her, pulled off her things and steered her into bed.

She clamped her eyes shut to fight off the dizziness that whirled the pillow round and round.

* * *

The next thing Paula knew a headache had awakened her with an insistent pounding behind her eyes. She squinted into the daylight and groaned with discomfort. She felt beside her for Byrne but found only warm sheets and blankets.

Tensely, she lay wondering what had happened. The sound of Byrne's sandals on the linoleum in the kitchen reassured her. She put the pillow over her head to block out the sunlight.

Byrne came in and sat down on the edge of the mattress. "Drink this," she said. "It might help."

"No... no... no," Paula groaned from beneath the pillow.

"Come on, sit up." Byrne pulled the pillow away. "The first hangover is always the worst. You'll get used to them after awhile."

Through the misery of her throbbing head, Paula wondered why Byrne wasn't angry with her for drinking. Obediently she sat up and downed the tomato juice. "Will I ever get rid of this?" she moaned

"Who knows?" Byrne laughed.

Through bleary eyes Paula examined Byrne for traces of displeasure.

"Why should I be angry with you?" Byrne volunteered. "You're old enough for this sort of thing." She tucked the covers around Paula's waist and set the empty glass on the night table. "And heaven knows I'm not saint enough to bawl you out. But you'd better start pulling yourself together, old girl. Unless you've forgotten everything."

"Oh, I remember, all right," Paula said, engulfed by the recollected sadness. "Can we start packing today?"

"Yes. But don't make it sound like we're leaving forever. There's nothing more horrible than an exiled New Yorker."

Paula thought it wiser not to argue. If they went for a week, she could somehow stretch it into two. And from there maybe to three. For all she cared, they could spend the rest of their lives travelling around the world. Anything to be away from the threat that dogged the happiness that had become her life.

Paula let Byrne decide where they would go. If only Byrne might become enthusiastic over some spot. But they all seemed the same to her.

"I've always wanted to go to Florida," Paula said. The idea of swimming in February was the most fantastic thing she could imagine. Paula never dreamed she might loll on the beach like the girls in the newspaper ads.

"Well, if that's what you want it's all right with me."

And Paula could hardly contain her delight. Surely Byrne would respond to the romantic far away place. And nobody could walk in on them in the middle of… anything.

Paula had no summer clothes except for. an old pair of sneakers lying in the bottom of her closet back home. Firmly she pushed out the thought of Ma and Mike. She hadn't phoned them all this time, more than three weeks. She wished she could become invisible and go over there for a few minutes to see how they were doing.

"Well get you all the clothes you need down South," Byrne interrupted her thoughts. "We’ll fatten them up on the expense of your new wardrobe."

Paula, from her position on the bed, watched Byrne pull out two small pieces of luggage. "They're not big enough," Paula suggested, "even without my clothes."

"Remember, darling, we're only going for a couple of weeks. We don't need to take the whole house."

"But that's not even room enough for both our lipsticks," Paula joked.

Byrne let the remark slide. She snapped the lids open and contemplated each valise in turn. "It's been a long time since I've used these," she said, not to Paula, but to herself.

With difficulty, Paula got out of bed and went to wash her face. She could not afford to let a mere headache get in her way now. She must keep Byrne at this business of packing, and she knew they must hurry. If Greta returned before they left, she might not be able to get Byrne away at all.

Paula splashed her face with cold water and slipped into a black jersey dress. She tied her loose hair back and thought how much older she looked that way. The old casual appearance had left her. She seemed business-like and well-groomed. The windswept Paula had become a sleek woman. Her movements, in imitation of Byrne, were more graceful. Conscious of her posture and the gestures of her hands, Paula realized that in many ways she had experienced a lifetime in less than two months.

With the same joking attitude, she helped, Byrne sort out and pack the articles which they would both need most. And she continued to talk about Florida as though Byrne were taking her on a honeymoon.

Byrne phoned for plane reservations only to discover that they would have to wait until Wednesday. It had not occurred to Paula that they would have difficulty getting hotel reservations either. She had developed the habit of thinking that Byrne's money could buy whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it.

"Don't let it worry you," Byrne said. "Well make arrangements to hire a car at the airport. Some motel is bound to have a spot open for us."

Paula remembered that Byrne didn't like to drive, and she was grateful to see how much Byrne was going out of her way to please her.

But although they had these few days before leaving, Paula insisted that everything be packed and ready to go immediately. She was tense with the dread of Greta returning before they left. And the days before Wednesday loomed long before her.

She made Byrne take her to museums and to the movies. She did anything to keep them out of the house in case Greta should call. The hours became a race in which she must stay always a few leaps ahead of Greta.

Sometimes at night when she lay in Byrne's arms, Paula would suddenly tense, thinking she heard steps coming toward the door. She could no longer abandon herself to the delight of Byrne's kisses. Paula's nerves, always alert, prevented her from experiencing the delight she had once been able to find.

When Wednesday finally arrived, she fairly dragged Byrne out of the house and hailed a cab almost before the door was locked.

Only when they were seated in the plane did Paula relax. She fastened her seat belt and felt lightness return to her heart as they rose slowly to meet the clouds.

Thrilled with her first experience of flying, she watched the sparks shooting out from behind the propellors and looked all the way down to the dots and patches of land that spread like a checkerboard below. "I'm glad you thought to take a day flight," Paula said, examining the white mountains that hung just beyond the edges of the plane's wing.

"That's all I could get," Byrne said. "But I would have asked for it anyway," she responded to Paula's reproachful look.

"You're sweet and good and I love you," Paula whispered.

The stewardess brought them containers of coffee and slim halves of sandwiches wrapped in cellophane.

Byrne gave hers to Paula. "I'm saving my appetite for Miami," she explained.

Paula tried to believe it but she knew that Byrne's anxiety about Greta had taken up now when hers had stopped. She was almost glad when Byrne put her chair back and closed her eyes. At least she wouldn't have to keep up the chatter that neither felt like making.

Staring out into the acres of blue, Paula wondered if there were distance enough in the whole universe to escape from Greta.

Four hours later, the sign lit up in the front of the plane notifying the passengers that they were about to land.

Gently she shook Byrne's arm. "We're coming in," she said eagerly, and Byrne yawned.

They stepped out into the brilliant sunlight and Paula lifted her face to it and smiled.

"Look, Byrne, a palm tree!" and immediately she felt silly for behaving like a child.

"Don't stop yourself," Byrne said good-naturedly. The tropic sun made a flame of her hair and her eyes shone a clear emerald in the dustless air.

"How different it smells," Paula exclaimed as they walked to pick up their luggage. "I thought all cities had exhaust smoke around them."

"Wait till we get to the ocean," Byrne promised. "It’ll knock you out if you go for clean smells."

Paula noted the lilt in Byrne's voice and thought: She's enjoying me now. I'm pleasing her again the way I did at first. I've got to remember not to nag her about anything. And she realized, gleefully, that there was nothing here to nag Byrne about at all They could really be happy together.

Byrne went to the office of a car rental agency and escorted Paula into a white Chevvy convertible.

"Keep your eyes wide open, my darling. You're about to see the millionaires' playground." The flight had not tired Byrne and she didn't seem to mind driving.

They drove across the causeway and Paula gawked at the yachts anchored beside palace after palace. Spanish-style mansions—candy pink, gleaming white, baby blue-decorated the waterfront. The sight of all this, sprawling wealth made Paula nearly weak. What could Byrne possibly want with dirty crowded New York when they could live in spacious beauty like this?

"Byrne, can we afford this?" she said seriously. She never really considered Byrne's money before. It had meant nothing to her except that they didn't have to go to work every day.

Byrne laughed and pushed back a strand of hair that the breeze had blown into her ear. "Well, not quite all this. Did you want me to buy you Miami?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. Could we maybe have a little house?"

"Don't be so hasty. After all, you might get tired of it in a few days."