Another Kind of Love Page 5

  She found herself wondering now what it would have been like to have a normal home; then she tried to picture what Ginny’s family was like. Ginny had mentioned that she was from out of state, but not much else.

  Somehow Ginny made Laura think of summer fields and light breezes. . . . She had to be from the Midwest. Laura could just see her at a county fair with a young freckle-faced boyfriend whose arms were too long and whose pants were too short. A real corn-ball. In fact, the whole idea was corny as hell.

  Ginny might be just a simple girl from New York City. Sure, like a simple nightclub singer maybe, with a string of playboys or rich gangsters at her beck and call.

  Brother! I’m really getting high on clichés, Laura scolded her-38

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  self, then started walking up and down. Ten minutes had passed since she had hung up.

  Maybe Saundra was en route somewhere and Ginny hadn’t been able to reach her . . . or they were having an argument about tonight. But that would be silly, Laura thought. Why should they?

  Two women don’t argue over something like that. Yet what was taking her so—

  The phone rang sharply, and although she had been expecting it, Laura jumped.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s all right,” Ginny said. “Where shall we meet?”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Googie’s.”

  Laura calculated her time swiftly and decided to ignore her chores. “Okay. I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

  Before Laura entered the glass-walled café, she saw Ginny sitting inside by herself in a booth. She smiled to herself for no particular reason and went in.

  “Hello.”

  Ginny looked up and smiled. “Hi.”

  There was a moment of uneasy silence.

  “Shall we get started? You don’t want to spend the day in here, do you?” Laura asked cheerfully. Surprising herself, she picked up Ginny’s check and paid it while Ginny slid out of the modern, plastic-covered bench.

  She silenced Ginny’s attempt to object and led the way to the car.

  Laura had changed into a flowered skirt, topped by a black sleeveless blouse that showed to advantage her firm, slim arms. She looked sophisticated and coolly chic. It was gratifying to notice Ginny’s unconcealed expression of admiration.

  In the car, she felt positively brazen as she drove down Sunset Boulevard toward the beach . . . almost as if she hoped Saundra might drive by and see them together. How adolescent, she chided herself, but she did not change course.

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  As they drove, Laura began to ask Ginny questions about herself and her career. Not exactly a routine interview, but who was counting?

  Ginny, however, didn’t seem to want to talk about herself: unusual for anyone in Hollywood. Laura was about to write off the whole deal when Ginny said, “You’re really very nice, Laura. I mean, asking me out today and being friendly even when you don’t have to. You must know lots more fascinating people than me.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Laura grinned at her. “Besides, being

  ‘fascinating’ is an occupational disease in this town, and I’m rapidly developing an immunity. I just wanted some plain old-fashioned friendly conversation.”

  Ginny laughed. “That’s heresy. But it sounds wonderful.”

  The brief bit of banter broke the tension between them, and Laura found it very easy to talk with Ginny. And she had the pleased feeling that Ginny was enjoying herself, too.

  They arrived at Hermosa Beach a little after four. There wasn’t much to see in the town—it was just another small California beach community with as many acres of oil wells as there were of sand.

  They drove up and down the little streets slowly. “Anything you’d like to get out and see?” she asked Ginny.

  “Not particularly,” Ginny answered.

  Laura nodded without comment. The afternoon sun made the town look like a stage set now that the midday clouds had disappeared and the rich colors around them took on an unnatural vivid-ness.

  “I’m glad I came today,” Ginny said suddenly. “I like you even better than I thought I would.”

  Laura laughed.

  “No. I’m serious. You seemed so above it all and almost disdainful the other day. I was impressed because you were a writer and sophisticated and attractive. But now I’m not really what you’d call impressed. I just like you. You’re the kind of person I want to know and . . . and be good friends with.”

  “Thanks.” Laura felt a strange chill of excitement. Still, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Ginny was playing up to her.

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  “Just where are we heading for, by the way?” Ginny asked looking around.

  “Like Mexican food?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s a little early—are you hungry?”

  “Starved. I didn’t have lunch.” She reached over and placed her hand on Laura’s arm. “Let’s try the Mexican food.”

  Laura had not expected Ginny’s touch, and it came as a surprise.

  She felt her breath quicken. It was the first time Ginny had touched her, and for some strange reason it was disturbing.

  She thought about it as she turned off at the next intersection and headed back toward Redondo Beach and a little place called Consuelo’s.

  All through dinner Laura could not forget Ginny’s touch, that light touch on her arm. Yet it was such a small thing. It didn’t matter. Not really.

  Or did it?

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  Chapter 6

  Without any consciously deliberate effort Ginny and Laura either met or called each other at least once a day the following week.

  Laura had been surprised and delighted to see Ginny in the Excelsior Studio Commissary one afternoon that week, and later that day they had gone to the movies together on Hollywood Boulevard. Friday, someone had left two passes for Laura for one of the famous Greek Theater outdoor operettas. It had seemed only natural to call Ginny to go with her . . . nor did it seem odd that Ginny had had no date on a Friday night.

  Neither girl mentioned Saundra other than to swiftly send regards, usually in a mumble. It was tacitly understood that conversation about her was, if not taboo, at least unnecessary.

  Consequently, when Sunday morning came around, Laura was full of doubts and misgivings about the trip to Tijuana. Saundra had not forgotten about it: she had left word at Fanfare late Thursday afternoon as a reminder.

  Now Laura, driving slowly through the quiet Sunday morning, felt her anxiety growing with each mile.

  “Damn it,” she said aloud as she pulled into Saundra’s driveway 42

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  and parked. “Why should I feel guilty? It isn’t as if I were seducing anybody’s husband!”

  With a sudden burst of irritation she slammed the car door and strode up the steps. She felt herself rigidly awaiting the opening of the door. It stayed closed. After a few seconds she thought: they left without me.

  Laura fidgeted a moment, almost ready to retreat. Then she heard footsteps inside the house. Saundra flung the door open.

  “Laura, darling,” she purred. “I’m so glad you remembered our trip and could make it.”

  Oh, man! Laura thought. Has this one got a bug! “I wouldn’t have missed it for a scoop on Louella Parsons,” she replied. Smooth.

  “Well, come in, come in. Ginny’s been worried about you all weekend . . . and so have I.” Saundra placed an arm around Laura’s waist as she closed the door. “You look beautiful. You’ve a perfect figure for slacks with those long legs of yours.” A hand slipped down the side of Laura’s thigh and pinched her lightly. “Cup of coffee before we leave?” Saundra asked cheerfully, leading Laura toward the kitchen.

  Ginny came out of the kitchen looking like a scrubbed waif. “I’ve already poured three cups, so
come on in.” Her face was bright with welcome. Somehow Ginny made everything seem more normal and more relaxed.

  But as they sat down at the now-familiar table, Saundra said,

  “Ginny’s quite taken with you, Laura. I’m glad she’s showing such good taste.”

  It was an odd remark—a baited one. And though it disturbed her, Laura pretended to ignore it . . . and Ginny pretended not to hear.

  A few minutes later they settled into Saundra’s Cadillac convert-ible. Laura sat in the middle, and Ginny and Saundra debated spiritedly over whether to put the top down.

  Laura began to relax.

  The drive south to Tijuana was filled with laughter, and an atmosphere of genial companionship prevailed. Saundra told them some funny and fantastic anecdotes about her rise to stardom.

  There seemed to be no trace of her cutting sarcasm, and Laura found herself becoming utterly charmed.

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  PA U L A C H R I S T I A N

  Saundra took the longer route via the Palos Verdes Estates and pointed out the beautiful homes, and they admired the unbelievably impressive coastline. A short way beyond Laguna they stopped for breakfast and then continued down to San Diego. Instead of going around Coronado, they took the ferry across the narrow bay.

  About two o’clock they arrived at the Mexican border.

  “Look at the line of cars!” Ginny gasped. Cars were backed up for about five hundred yards, waiting to drive through the border inspection post. There was more honking and yelling than if the president had decided to fight the bulls himself that day.

  “Park here, ladies! Fifty cents all day.”

  “Win lots of money. Reliable scratch sheets.”

  “Over here. Over here. We watch your car! Fifty cents. All day.”

  People walked by dressed in what in had come to be known as the California fashion in clothing; cameras dangling, sunglasses, straw hats, cigars, and shorts with tossed-salad-patterned shirts.

  Saundra drove into a parking lot, and she explained, “It doesn’t pay to take the car across; it’s better to walk.” She accepted the lot ticket from a frowning youth.

  “Hey. Ain’t you Lana Turner?” he asked in awe.

  “Darling,” Saundra drawled, “she’s my mother.”

  The girls burst into laughter.

  “My admiring public,” Saundra commented dryly. They joined the crowd that walked toward the border inspection officers, joking and talking animatedly even under the hot early-afternoon sun.

  Laura felt enthusiastic about everything. She was aware that Saundra had contributed most of the wit to the day, but Laura knew without even thinking that it was Ginny who gave her the real pleasure. . . . She wondered briefly if just the two of them would have had as good a time. But she knew the answer to that, too.

  They could already hear the inspectors’ voices, touched by a trace of Spanish accent, “Anything to declare? How long is your stay?”

  As they reached the arches, Ginny grabbed Laura’s hand and squeezed it enthusiastically. “Look.” She pointed to the sign near the top.

  Laura looked up and then laughed. “It says Mexico. Where’d you think we were?”

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  “I know. I know. But it really is.”

  Laura laughed again and returned the squeeze of Ginny’s hand.

  She felt very young and very carefree. She glanced at Saundra to share her good mood and was surprised to see Saundra’s tight expression.

  Laura felt uneasy immediately. But she just smiled at Saundra and decided not to analyze so damn much. Live it up, she told herself. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt as relaxed with anyone as you have with Ginny—so very long.

  They cleared the inspectors quickly and, after an unbelievably hectic taxi ride, arrived in front of Caesar’s Hotel on the main street of downtown Tijuana.

  Saundra led the way across the hotel veranda into the lobby.

  People were everywhere, making conversation virtually impossible.

  The crowd was dressed in a variety of styles that went from native Jamaican casualness to cocktail dress. The hotel was a meeting place, a clearing house, a point of origin for most tourists whether they were registered there or not.

  Languages mixed; arms gestured; faces grimaced. The spell of the bullfight was everywhere and coursed through the crowds in waves of animated chatter; bits of predictions, reminiscences, comparisons floated through the air like confetti. Laura’s eyes shone with happy excitement.

  Saundra waved gaily to various friends as she led her little troupe across the sweltering room.

  Ginny walked close to Laura. “Don’t lose me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Laura said. She took Ginny’s hand and held it tight.

  “Here we are.” Saundra offered a bright smile to the bowing manager of the hotel as they entered the dark and even more crowded bar.

  She led them to a booth in the far corner where it appeared the occupants were about to vacate.

  “Only cats and lushes can see in these places,” Saundra laughed,

  “and I’m both. Sit down quick.”

  “Are we going to stay here long?” Laura asked quietly. “I hate to be a tourist, but I would like to browse around the shops before it gets dark.”

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  “So would I,” said Ginny, “if—if it’s all right with you, Saundra.”

  Saundra glanced at her; then she smiled, but there was a cold glint in her eyes. “Of course. But it would be a bore for me, dear.

  Why don’t you and Laura go alone?”

  She watched Saundra pull out a crisp fifty-dollar bill and place it on the table in front of Ginny. “Get the tickets for the fight while you’re in the lobby,” Saundra said. “Whatever’s left you can use for trinkets—but buy the best seats you can get.”

  The way Saundra laid the money on the table instead of handing it to Ginny struck Laura as a subtle insult to both of them. But as Ginny mechanically picked up the bill, folded it neatly, and placed it in her purse, Laura told herself that she was being absurd, reading meanings into anything.

  Then some of Saundra’s friends appeared.

  They ordered a round of margaritas. And Laura and Ginny decided it was time to see the town. Although Saundra had ostensibly been absorbed in her friends, she noted the girls’ departure with distinct irritation. She gave an annoyed little cluck as they stood up and then, as if not wanting to show her feelings, said a little too loudly, “Be back by quarter of four, you two.”

  “Darling!” An effeminate young man came bounding over to Saundra’s table as they walked away. Laura couldn’t help overhearing him ask Saundra, “Cutting your time?” and Saundra’s reply, which sounded like “Not likely!”

  Once in the lobby, Laura breathed a little more freely. She turned around and looked at Ginny, who stood rigidly next to her.

  “Relax, Ginny,” Laura said, and realized that she had not let go of Ginny’s hand. “It’s me—not Saundra.”

  Ginny looked up abruptly, pulling her hand away. “What made you say that?”

  “I don’t know.” Laura shrugged. “Maybe because I can see a few of your problems . . . in being Saundra’s protégé.”

  “Never mind,” Ginny said wearily. “Let’s buy the tickets and get it over with.” At the cigar counter in the hotel lobby an attractive young Mexican girl pulled out a handful of colorful tickets. “Sun or shade?”

  “Which is better?” Laura asked.

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  “Shade. But it is more expensive. We have very few left and only because of a cancellation by a party of six.”

  “Three of the best seats,” Laura said.

  “Tres, primera fila sombra,” the girl wrote down in some sort of log. It seemed an exorbitant price to Laura. She had insisted on paying for her own ticket. She did not want Saundra to pay her way.

 
; “It will be a good corrida. You will not be sorry,” the girl said with an apologetic smile, and handed the three narrow and long paper tickets to Laura.

  It better be, Laura thought as she stood waiting for Ginny to get her change.

  Outside they strolled up the busy street, investigating the more interesting shops, ignoring the street barkers in front of the run-down cabarets, buying tacos at the little pushcarts. On Ginny’s insistence they had their picture taken on top of a wagon pulled by a humiliated burro painted to look like a zebra.

  Laura didn’t have to ask Ginny if she was having a good time.

  Her enthusiasm about everything was more exciting than anything else on the trip so far. Each time Ginny took her hand or touched her arm to emphasize a conversational point, Laura felt her senses quicken with awareness. It was a feeling of closeness—and something else. Even as she reflected on it, her feeling of guilt grew. But why?

  It was odd, too, that although Ginny seemed to lean on her and relied on her to take care of everything from getting the tickets to deciding what street to walk on, Laura had the feeling that she was the one who was being led. There was something arch about Ginny’s helplessness, a sly quality that was disturbing.

  “It’s three-thirty, Ginny,” Laura said finally. “We’d better be on our way back to the hotel.”

  “My watch says two-thirty.” She put down the earthen jug.

  “They don’t go on daylight saving time here. We can walk around some more afterwards.”

  Ginny said quickly, “I doubt it!” Then, with a forced laugh,

  “Saundra wouldn’t like it.” She paused as if trying to think of some way to clarify her already simple statement. “I mean, well, we did come with her, and it’s only polite . . .”

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  PA U L A C H R I S T I A N

  “I get the picture, Ginny.” Laura put down a pair of Mexican wall masks and started for the street.

  “You’re not angry, are you?” Ginny asked, a slight frown on her face.

  “No. Of course not,” Laura answered. But she was angry, and it made her angrier to realize it.