Table Of ContentOdd Girl
Artemis Smith
First published in 1959.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To Willyum
CHAPTER 1
Anne left the subway and dug her hands in her raincoat pockets. She
hurried past the crowds on Fourteenth Street, heading toward the quiet block and
the brownstone house where the Circle Players met for rehearsal. She was happy
—it was her day to work with Beth.
Anne knew what she felt for her. She had had crushes before—painful and
wonderful infatuations with women who were older and lovely or kind. But now
she was twenty, so this must be more than a crush; it had to be love. It was an
idea she barely dared say aloud even in her own mind.
"Anne!" She heard Mark call her and half turned, sorry that he was catching
up with her, and allowed him to walk beside her.
"Hey, how about lunch?" he said, taking hold of her elbow. "You can't turn
me down again."
"Sorry," she said. "We're not stopping for lunch."
They reached the house and he ran up the stairs and opened the door for her.
"Then supper?" he insisted.
"Sorry," she said, as she walked past him.
"Okay," Mark shouted after her, running upstairs to his class, "but I'm not
giving up."
She entered the room with the makeshift stage and flung her coat down on
one of the benches and combed the rain out of her long hair. Beth would not be
here yet. Anne always came too early. She kicked off her heels and put on her
dance slippers and then went to the small dressing room to put on tights. She
wanted nothing to go wrong with the scene—she wanted it to be perfect so that
Beth would be proud of her. It had been perfect at home.
The mounting nervousness came and she did not know where to put herself.
Beth was coming at any minute and Anne felt her heart could not take the shock
of seeing her after a week of doing without her.
"Waiting long, Anne?"
Anne whirled and saw her and at once felt weak. "Not long," she managed
to say. Beth was earlier today; the rain must have hurried her. Her silver hair was
under a kerchief and she wore no makeup.
Anne remained standing, seemingly composed, waiting for Beth to take off
her coat. She was wearing black tights underneath, which fit snugly around her
small, perfect body.
"How have you been?" Beth said, smiling with her mouth and eyes. Anne
wondered briefly if Beth knew what her eyes did to her, wondered if Beth knew
that she was trembling.
"Okay," Anne said, "and you?" She tried not to seem too interested.
"So-so," she said. They walked back to the large room and Beth jumped on
the stage. Standing in front of Anne, she asked, "Got the script?"
Anne forced her hand to steadiness and gave her the sheets of paper.
"Know it by heart?"
Anne nodded. But now she could not remember the first line.
"Sit over by the table," Beth said, "and don't move till you finish the first
line."
Anne nodded and obeyed awkwardly. Sitting would make it easier. She
began. "Oh, Alfred."
"Say, Beth." Mark was standing in the doorway now, munching an apple.
Anne stopped and watched Beth turn.
"Hi, Mark." She waved. "We’re working."
"Come here a minute," he gestured.
"Not now, Mark," she answered, sounding annoyed.
But Mark wouldn't be put off. He stepped into the room and went to Beth
and lifted her from the stage. "I said I want to talk to you." He whirled Beth
around and down and then dragged her by the hand to the hallway.
Anne felt a tearing inside her. Mark was doing it again—taking Beth away
from her. She wanted to fling something at him. But she knew she had no right
to be angry. He had a right to Beth; she did not.
He was whispering to her in the hallway and laughing and Anne could hear
Beth laughing along with him.
Anne jumped down from the stage and walked toward them as their
laughter became louder. Then she heard Beth say, "Stop it Mark! Stop it!"
She had broken away and ran back into the room, Mark following. Both
almost bumped into Anne.
"Oh, Anne," Beth blushed self-consciously. "Come on, honey, let's start that
scene."
She pushed a stray lock of silver hair from her face and firmly took Anne's
hand and looked back at Mark. "Damn you!" she said.
Again Anne mounted the stage with her, all the while trembling at the touch
of Beth's hand; trembling because she did not dare hold it tightly; trembling
because she had to keep her own hands limp.
"Oh, Alfred," Anne began again, this time reading from the script.
"Not with the script," Beth stopped her.
Mark was watching them. The tearing in Anne's stomach was unbearable.
She gulped and put the script down and tried to remember the first line.
"Oh, Alfred," she said, and could go no further.
"Perhaps you'd rather stand up," Beth said. "It might be easier for you."
Anne stood, sneaking a look at the first sentence from the script. "Oh,
Alfred—"
"No, honey, not that way," Beth interrupted. "If you're going to stand, put
your legs together. You're standing like a man."
"Let her stand like a man," Mark said from the rear. "She makes a
wonderful Joan. You're wasting her on Candida."
"Oh, go mind your speech class," Beth said. "Anne needs to learn poise."
Anne's forehead throbbed. She could not stand on the stage anymore, not
with Mark and Beth there.
"Please excuse me," she said. "I feel sick."
Anne ran from the stage and back to the small toilet, slammed the door
behind her. She sat down and sobbed violently. She had to stop thinking of Beth.
She had to stop behaving this way. She had to stop.
"Anne, Anne." Beth's voice came from behind the door, and then the door
was flung open and Beth grabbed hold of her. "What are you doing here, you
crazy kid?" She folded Anne into her arms and let her cry as she walked her to
the small office and sat her down. "Mark's not worth all that. He's not even
handsome."
It's not Mark, not Mark, it's you! But Anne's throat choked with sobs and
she had no more strength.
Beth stroked her head and put her soft cheek to Anne's temple and it was
soothing so that Anne's sobs grew quiet and her eyes and head let themselves
rest on Beth's chest.
Beth was talking strangely, as if she did not believe what she said but said it
loudly so that others could hear. "You mustn't take Mark seriously. He flirts with
everyone. He likes to prove he's a man."
She knows it's not Mark. She's protecting me. But that was too much to
hope for. Beth wasn't really aware.
Mark stood in the doorway now, broad-shouldered and careless, and looked
down at them. "Mustn't take who seriously? I've been trying to date her for
weeks."
"Oh, go away," Beth said.
But he stood there persistently, looking down, with his constant look of
laughter.
The regular class was beginning to arrive and Beth sighed, patted Anne and
gently made her let go.
"There goes our lesson," she said. "Come tomorrow, Anne."
Anne's grip tightened on Beth's shoulder. Afraid to leave her so soon, she
choked a new sob. "I—I guess so."
Beth held her firmly one more moment, giving her strength, and Anne felt
again, vaguely, that Beth was aware of her in a way controlled and full of
friendship. It made the world stop turning.
"Tomorrow, Anne," Beth repeated. Her eyes had met Anne's and were
strong and definite. Anne saw them and realized that Beth knew, and recognized
in them a strong determination to help her fight against it.
"Thank you," Anne said. She quickly rose and ran back to the dressing
room.
"Hey," Mark called after her, "how about that lunch?" The door slammed on
his question. The dressing room was small and shared by both sexes with a
curtain in the middle that was constantly violated. When Anne entered, Marcel
was fastening Jennie's bra while she was busy painting her eyebrows.
"That was some scene you threw out there," he whistled. "What's Mark got,
anyway?"
"Absolutely nothing," Anne said. She turned around and took off her tights
and replaced them with a dress in the same motion.
She bent over Jennie to glance in the mirror and dabbed her face with a
damp towel. Her hair needed combing but she would let that go. She had to
leave quickly. She couldn't bear another moment.
But when she opened the door Mark blocked her way. He was smiling and
confident and offered her his arm. "So accept a free lunch," he said. "Or was it
me that really upset you?"
A cold fear splashed through Anne. He was forcing her to go out to lunch.
He knew she wouldn't embarrass Beth. She set her jaw and limply took his arm.
He led her quietly across the street to Frank's and then to a corner table and sat
her close to him.
"Say, I've been trying to talk to you for days," he said. His perennial
friendly look exposed itself to her with all its charm. Anne remained silent. "Say,
Anne—" he tried again, putting his hand on hers. She drew it away. He shrugged
and stopped smiling to become serious. "Anne, you don't have to act this way.
I'm just trying to help you. I know what's wrong." He broke a crumb on the table
with his nail.
Her expression was lifeless. She did not want to talk to him.
"You love Beth," he said.
It was a simple statement, not an accusation. She knew he had been going
to say it but it startled her all the same. She could not answer.
"You crazy kid," he put his hand firmly on hers and would not let her pull
away. "You need to talk to someone about it. There's nothing really wrong with
you."
Anne looked at him. Without his smile Mark was a different person. Truly
handsome, even likeable. She was a fool not to like him. Everyone else thought
so. She might at least try.
"Look," he went on, "it's safe to talk to me, Anne. I'm A-l understanding,
honest." His silly smile came back and then went again.
She looked steadily at him and then forced herself to nod. "All right, Mark,
I'll talk to you."
He straightened, feeling that he had won a step forward, and broke another
crumb on the table, more happily.
"How about going out with me some night?" he said. "I get free passes to
all the off-Broadway shows."
She smiled and then began to laugh. He was so persistent. Perhaps she
might be able to endure him if they were both watching a play.
Frank brought them the veal and peppers and they both lay down their arms
for a truce. They were starved.
But Anne could not rid herself of Beth's presence. She dreaded going back
tomorrow, to face her again. Beth would behave as if nothing had happened
today and Anne would again watch her from the corner of her eye, conscious
always of a wish to hold her and a horrid burning frustration. Perhaps Mark was
right. She would someday get over it. She had to get over it.
She looked desperately up at Mark. He sensed her glance and met her eyes.
"All right, Mark," she said, "I'll go out with you—on one condition."
"Shoot," he said.
"What happened today," she said, "can we pretend that it was because of
you?"
He laughed. "That's a twist. I don't know if I can take it."
"I'm sure your ego will survive," she answered bitterly.
"All right," he shrugged, laughing. "But before I'm through, you will feel
that way about me!”
She laughed. Somehow that was very funny.
Later, he walked her to the subway and they stopped the entrance.
"Look," he said, "seriously, let's be friends. I'm harmless—and passive." He
put up his hands to show her. "I can wait until you decide you like me."
