Free Strange Women, The by Miriam Gardner Page A

bare feet were touching Nora's ankles. No wonder Mack adores her...
    With infinite caution, compelled by something she could not resist, Nora loosened the buttons of her own pajama jacket so that their bare breasts touched. Her hand on Jill's silky back moved down, pressing the sleeping girl close.
    And that shocked her wide awake again. Good God have I come that low—getting my kicks by pawing a girl when she's asleep? What would Jill think if she was awake enough to know what was going on?
    She whispered "Asleep, darling?"
    Jill sighed drowsily and nuzzled her head into Nora's bare neck. "Mrnmmm."
    Nora kissed the tip of her ear and settled Jill down on her arm. Already drifting into sleep, she knew what she would deny fiercely when she woke; they had started something which could have only one end. It was only a matter of time.

CHAPTER 7
    Nora had been kept all morning by one crisis after another, and by the time she got downstairs, dinner had long been cleared away in the staff dining room. As she carried a tray between rows of empty tables, she saw Vic Demorino, still in the glareless green jacket of the operating room.
    "Hello, Vic. I didn't know you were in."
    He did not rise, only nodded tiredly as she set her tray down. "I'm having a run like a bank in a market crash. The drugstores must be clean out of castor oil. Every unprintable pregnant female in Albany, Troy and Schenectady must have decided to give birth. The astrology magazines must have told them it's a lucky day. Do you know how many little squallers I've delivered since two AM? Go on, make a guess!"
    "Three?"
    "Oh, hell, girl, I delivered three before I got breakfast, including one classic breech. Seven's the score so far, and another coming on. Sister Gabrielle was parking them in the elevator. The fifth and sixth came on almost simultaneously, and DiLuccio was having a bad time, so Quentin took over the sixth for me, and by the time I got through, went to check on the little details, Mrs. Reski was out of the ether already and giving me blue flaming hell. No young snip of a girl doctor was going to learn how—get that, learn how, and Barbara Quentin's been on maternity for three years—on her! And the Reski female could have dropped her kid in a potato patch."
    Nora found herself laughing. "Poor Barbara. But we get used to that. You do look beat."
    "The original beatnik. Can I cadge a cigarette?" He indicated his pocketless operating trousers. "I've got another gal working upstairs, but she's a primapara and thank God, she won't need me for a couple of hours." He took a deep pull at the cigarette. "You have it soft. Your patients make appointments before they hit the hospital."
    This was ritual and she made the expected answer. "You have nine months to get ready for yours."
    "I'm going to grab a nap in the doctor's lounge. Will you tell Ramona to cancel my appointments, and you see anyone who looks like an emergency?"
    "Sure."
    "I ought to be finished with the population explosion by four. Dinner?"
    "We had that all out last fall, Vic," she said, smiling.
    "I don't take no for an answer that easy. You're eating dinner with me now. Does it make that much difference if I'm wearing a tie and picking up the check?"
    "Not if it stopped there. It wouldn't, Vic."
    "Damn right." He reached for her hand. "We went good together, didn't we?"
    "Very. That was a long time ago, though."
    "We still could, Nora."
    She said it carefully, for this man was a friend she valued. "You're forgetting, Vic. Things have changed. I'm married."
    "Don't you forget it yourself?"
    "I'd rather not discuss that. Do you mind?"
    "Yes, I do. Pity is a damnably poor foundation for faithfulness in marriage," he said. She sat very straight, the Spartan who has had and must conceal his death-wound. He put his elbows on the table, not smiling.
    "Truth hurts, doesn't it? So you're married. What good has it done you? This year has taken it out of you, you know. You look like hell. You're a