Read Online The High Cost of Living by Marge Piercy - Free Book Online Page A

college?”
    â€œI had a high school teacher who decided I was a diamond in the rough. Miss Greening.” She had loved to talk to Miss Greening, Miss Greening loved to talk to her. Both of them were perishing of loneliness. Because she had already been in love with a woman, although nothing passed between them, she felt more sophisticated and more corrupt than Miss Greening, who did not know what the attraction between them was. She knew. She was grateful, but knowing made her fierce and bumbling, awkward and lumpy. Miss Greening helped her, gave to her, shared with her, and she was deeply, passionately grateful. Even though she was not physically attracted to the dumpy gray-haired woman, she wanted to make love to her out of love itself. But they remained Miss G. and Leslie, and all that was ever given to the affection was a peck on the cheek at final parting.
    â€œEvery time I turn on the stupid TV, I see some man I could have a passionate affair with,” Honor mourned, holding her hair on top of her head and turning to and fro to eye herself. “Why don’t I meet any in real life? Maybe they all left Detroit.… I had a fantastic dream about Paul. I do have the best dreams! If I could film them, I’d make a fortune! They’re like ten-course dinners. I dreamed I was married to him. He was, how shall I say? playful but affectionate.”
    Leslie laughed. “Sounds like a Saint Bernard puppy.”
    â€œSunday I told him I’d dreamed about him, and he forgave me for our tiff Saturday and got all enchanted up again.”
    â€œAre you really interested in him?”
    â€œHe’s fun to practice on. I can’t help it if I’m feeling fine. I’m not going to act dull and dreary on his account,” Honor said loftily.
    â€œYou don’t even like him, do you?”
    â€œWhat has liking to do with it?”
    â€œI wouldn’t want to … touch someone I didn’t like a lot.”
    â€œPooh. I don’t think sexual magnetism has much to do with liking. I like Bernar’ more than anyone—except possibly yourself, Leslie, and I’ve known him longer—but there’s no electricity. I can’t imagine him sweeping me up in his arms and throwing me on the bed.”
    â€œGay men seldom do that sort of thing,” Leslie muttered. “But why do you want to be raped?”
    â€œI don’t want to be raped! I don’t even like having my hair pulled when Mama’s trimming it. But I want a masterly sort of man. If I were tremendously experienced and sophisticated, like yourself, Leslie,” she added wickedly, “I’d know just what to do, and then I wouldn’t need to imagine the man taking charge. All I know is how to flirt, and I’m still learning that. How else will anything ever manage to happen?”
    Tuesday she was coming home just after ten in good spirits. She had made a breakthrough, she had done very well in karate class. Her instructor had given her a nod and said, “Like that, watch,” to another student. Afterward she had showered at the dojo and rubbed out her bruises and changed and even hung around socializing in the glow of the thing well done. As she passed the dark shoestore with its heavy metal grates pulled over the windows and approached the street door that opened on her stairway, she saw someone in the doorway lounging, and at once she crouched into a ready position, letting her gear drop.
    â€œReally, do I look like a ravening menace? You’re much more dangerous than I am on a dark street.”
    She recognized Bernard’s voice before she picked up her gear and moved close enough to see him slouched outside the locked door.
    â€œAre you waiting for me, or do you just like to piss in hallways?” Leslie unlocked the door and started up the straight steep flight. “That bell downstairs doesn’t work by the way.” Her adrenaline slowly subsided and she felt