Free The Women's Room by Marilyn French Page A

She was moving and swinging and her head pounded, but the outside world had disappeared, she did not have to think about Lanny. She was music and movement, she was irresponsible, she did not even have to think about her partner, since whoever he was, she didn’t care about him. She was whirling in a great ballroom, she was sheer motion.
    As a song ended, Biff appeared suddenly at her side and took her elbow in his hand. He whispered in her ear: ‘I think you’d better leave.’
    She turned on him indignantly. ‘Why?’
    ‘Mira.’ His voice was urgent. ‘Come on.’
    ‘I have to wait for Lanny.’
    ‘Mira.’ His voice was low, but almost desperate. She was totally bewildered.
    ‘Trust me,’ he said, and since she did, she docilely allowed him to guide her through the crowd and out the back door. They stood there for a moment, then he said quickly, ‘Let’s go upstairs.’
    Upstairs was an apartment shared by Biff and Lanny and two other boys. She had been there at many parties, and Biff had often been the one to drive her home after Lanny collapsed, using Lanny’s car. So she felt no nervousness at all. But the fresh air had made her know how drunk she was, three Canadians being more than her system was used to, and when they got upstairs, she fell on the couch.
    ‘No,’ Biff said, and pointed toward the bedroom.
    She obeyed him easily, let him help her up and lead her gently towardthe bedroom she knew was Lanny’s. He helped her gently onto the bed, and when she was lying there watching the room swirl, he softly placed a blanket over her, went out, and closed the door. She thought she heard him fuss with the key, but the dizziness made her so wretched that she forced herself to go to sleep.
    After a time she awoke, gradually, drifting in and out of puzzlement. She seemed to hear noise, shouting, slamming, arguing. It grew louder. She tried to sit up. The room was still whirling, and she half-sat, resting her body on her arm. She listened, trying to make out what was happening. The noises grew nearer, they seemed to be coming down the hall toward the bedrooms. There was a crash, slams, it sounded like a fight. She leaped up and headed for the door and tried to open it. It was locked. She fell back and sat on the bed, sitting there with her shoes off, huddled in the blanket. The noises subsided. There were door slams, several of them. Then silence. She started to get up again, planning to pound for Biff to let her out, when suddenly the door flew open, light poured in blinding her, and a figure was standing in the doorway.
    ‘I hope you’re satisfied, you slut!’ Lanny shouted.
    She blinked. He slammed the door. She sat there blinking. There were other slams, then again quiet, then the door opened again. Biff came in and switched on a dim lamp on the bureau. She blinked at him. He came over and sat on the bed beside her.
    ‘What happened?’
    His voice sounded thin, like someone else’s voice. He talked around and around; she did not understand what he was saying. She asked questions; he tried to parry them. She insisted. At last she understood. The dancing, he said, and Lanny’s leaving her alone. It was all Lanny’s fault, the bastard. So those guys got the wrong impression. It was not her fault. They didn’t know her as Biff knew her, didn’t know her innocence, her ‘purity’ he called it. So …
    ‘All of them?’ she asked, appalled.
    He nodded grimly.
    Her mind churned that. How would they manage that? ‘In turns?’ she asked him.
    He shrugged disgustedly.
    She put her hand on his arm. ‘Biff, you had to fight them all off? Oh, Biff!’
    He was frail; he weighed less than she did. ‘It was okay. Not realfighting, just some shoving and yelling. No harm done.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll take you home. I’ve got the keys to Lanny’s car.’
    He had tried hard enough to spare her the ugliness, as if not knowing were somehow less ugly than knowing. But nothing could spare her that. He drove