Free Unlike Others by Valerie Taylor Page A

frightening. And Betsy will be making eyes at Stan, and just when I get into the work, Stan will come wandering in and tell me how persecuted he is. I'm getting fed up.
    There was the old dream of escape. Save two or three hundred dollars—it wasn't easy, but you could do it if you didn't buy a single thing—and go to New York. That was the place for publishing. The city's full of gay girls, she reminded herself. There's less danger of getting your personal life tangled up with your business life.
    But her stomach pinched when she thought about it. She was afraid to make the change.
    She went up, feeling listless. Past Gayle, who was sorting out carbon copies for a change; past the other offices. Betsy and Stan would be taking a two-hour lunch, holding hands over the dessert, making verbal passes at each other. How adolescent can you get? she asked herself savagely. Why don't they go to bed and get it over with?
    She shut her eyes and shook her head to shake out the picture of Betsy, undressed and moving with pleasure in a man's arms.
    It was after two when they came in. Stan came to her door, looked in, and backed away. Now what? Do I look like I bite, or something? She bore down on her pencil until the point snapped.
    He came back half an hour later, looking fatuous and ashamed at the same time. "Betsy says she'll drive over to Cal City with me on Saturday," he said, not looking at her. "Have dinner and a movie and maybe take in some of the gambling places. I told my mother I was going out with some customers. Maybe we’ll find a place with a good floor show, huh?"
    "That's nice," Jo said. She wondered why he had chosen Calumet City, the local small-time version of Las Vegas—but of course it represented glitter and gilded vice to squares like Stan. Nothing there you couldn't find in Chicago, if you knew where to look, but it was across the Indiana line and that made it seem safer. It was the old gimmick, take the girl to a burlesque show and get her warmed up. He doesn't know much about girls, she thought.
    The Travel Now, Pay Later sign across the street flashed off and on. That's a good idea, Jo decided. Maybe I will.
    Stan didn't notice her inattention. He stood looking at the floor, getting more and more embarrassed. "Look, I don't expect anything to happen. You know how it is though, people get carried away sometimes. I could get something—but that doesn't always work. I don't suppose—"
    She stiffened. "What?"
    "You couldn't give her a little good advice, could you?”
    Like, stay away from the guy? Jo said coldly, "I'm not married."
    "Yeah, sure, I know. I just thought—"
    You just thought you could have some fun and not take any chances, Jo filled it in for him. You just thought I'd been around, seeing I'm older and have a place of my own. You just thought Betsy was a helpless little thing who needed good advice, how to have fun without getting caught. You can go and screw yourself—no, I guess not, it takes two. She said aloud, chipping the words off like icicles, "She's been married. She can probably take care of herself."
    By this time he was obviously wishing he'd never brought the matter up. He'd fire me this minute if he dared, she told herself. He said, "Well, okay," wanting to untangle himself from this embarrassing situation and leave but not knowing how. Jo sat with her eyes lowered, waiting for him to rescue himself. Finally he got his feet into gear and ambled off without saying another word.
    She didn't know whether to laugh or cry—or throw something. Her fingers closed around the cube of monotype metal she used for a paperweight. It was solid and heavy. She hefted it. Make a nice satisfying crash if I sent it flying through the window. But the habit of self-control was too strong. She said, "Oh, hell," and put the slug down again, blinking back tears of anger.
    At least he was giving her credit for being normal. At least he assumed she'd been with men. Which meant that, although she might