Free Odd Girl by Artemis Smith Page B

she asked.
    "With her aunt," Carl said briefly.
    So, Esther had some sort of family. Carl's house was a place for her to escape to, like Mark's apartment had been a retreat for Anne. At once Anne felt a kinship with Esther and wondered again in what way Carl fit into her life. There had to be more to their relationship than Jacques had seen. People were more complex than that.
    "Tell me about Esther," she said to Carl. Hearing his opinion of her would give some clue.
    "What would you like to know?" Carl asked.
    "Is she gay?" Anne said seriously, "I mean, really so?" She knew this was a loaded question to ask—Carl's answer would betray his own feelings for Esther.
    Carl looked up at her and searched her face with his eyes and then looked down and took another spoonful of soup. Anne thought he seemed disturbed by her question. Finally he said, "She thinks so. Let's put it that way." He almost mumbled this and quickly swallowed more soup.
    "Then you think it's mostly psychological, even curable," Anne said, pursuing his answer.
    Carl paused for a long moment and then looked up at her. "Yes," he said, challenging her.
    Anne took another spoonful of soup and dropped the subject.
    They finished and the maid came in again with the main course. Carl proudly carved the steak which was bathed in mushrooms and red wine.
    Anne ate with less appetite. Carl's attitude toward Esther had soured her meal. He was, fundamentally, the same as Mark. He refused to admit to others or to himself that Esther's preferring women to men was anything more than a temporary state of mind. Anne wondered why he felt this way. Surely he was not the same as Mark—he did not seem to be interested in women as Mark was. Then why was he interested in Esther? Was it because Esther, in being unobtainable, fulfilled a double purpose—an opportunity to assert his normalcy, and yet no obligation to follow through? Anne decided she would have to watch Carl carefully. He was not about to let Esther slip away from him; he was not about to let Anne or anyone else make a lasting impression on her.
    They had finished the steak in silence and part of the dessert of brandied cherries before Carl decided to break the quiet.
    "I hope you two planned to stay all day," he said. "I have first editions dying to be shown, and records itching to be heard." Then he added, almost pleadingly, "It gets so lonely here day after day. I'm crammed full of things to tell you."
    Anne looked at Jacques and sighed. Carl was pitifully alone, with his dull house and his dull books and records. She prepared herself for a tedious afternoon. Her one consolation was that Jacques at least would find it interesting.
    And so they rose from the table and went back to the study and sat, and allowed themselves to be shown things that were in their own way magnificent; but in the present setting, in Anne's present mood—her impatient mood of hoping that Esther would come home—they were oppressively boring.
    Carl was leaving a wide berth between himself and Anne, addressing everything indirectly to Jacques. He seemed afraid of her, and yet determined to be friends, determined to play a harmless—or nearly harmless—game with her where Esther was the prize. It was a strange, strained afternoon. And then Esther did come.
    It was about five o'clock and the conversation had died. Anne was holding an eleventh-century manuscript asserting the existence of Pope Joan, encased in plastic and difficult to read. The hi-fi set had just finished blasting a chorus of castrati and the arm was revolving defiantly, despite its pretense of being automatic. The heavy wrought-iron door to the outside world opened with a creak and shut with the determination of a vault. Anne looked up and saw Esther. There was a long pause and then Esther's black velvet voice said hello.
    She stood directly below a chandelier and the dull light made her ghostly. Her skin was stark white and her hair raven black. She wore a dress this time,