Read Online Unlike Others by Valerie Taylor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Valerie Taylor
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yesterday?"
She had to stop and think. So much had happened since yesterday. "Oh sure, I bought some new shoes. That is, I picked some out," she said happily, "They're beautiful."
"Women!"
"Well, you wouldn't want me to come to work barefoot."
"My mother's always buying shoes."
She made a mental note not to bring the subject up again. "Anything exciting happen after I left?"
"Not especially. I’ll sure be glad when Gayle marries that guy and gets her mind back on her work. She's got a bad case of hot pants."
Jo thought that Gayle would most likely start worrying about a possible pregnancy the minute she got back from her honeymoon, but she knew better than to say so. "Well have to send wedding presents. A small office like this."
"I don't mind that." He looked past her at the gold curtain, rippling in the breeze. "I left a little early myself, last night. In fact, I took Betsy out for a drink."
"Yeah?" She looked at him. "That was nice."
"Why are women so inconsistent?"
"Are they?"
"One minute they're snuggling up to you, wide open for attention. The next they're ready to push your face in. It doesn't make sense."
"Maybe you startled her. She hasn't been divorced very long. Maybe she's a little jumpy."
"You don't think she's queer or anything, do you?"
I should be so lucky, Jo thought. She said, "No, I don't think so. She's just a little nervous."
"I'm taking her out tonight." He stopped, looking abashed. I will not ask for details, she thought stubbornly. But it didn't do any good, she was going to get them just the same. He said, "I told my mother I have to go to a meeting. As long as I'm in by ten-thirty or eleven she won't mind."
Well, Jo thought, we've been over this before. But she was a slow learner, she had to try one more time. She said gently, "Look, you're a grown man. Why don't you simply tell your mother you have a date with a girl?"
"She might have an attack."
"If she can have an attack whenever she feels like it, then she's faking."
"I know it. The thing is," Stan said miserably, "if anything serious happened, I'd never forgive myself."
So there you are, Miss Bates. You can't very well tell this devoted son he'd be better off with the old girl dead. Or that he ought to put her in a nursing home with an attendant physician who knows the difference between real heart trouble and the kind you turn on and off. She said cheerfully, "Well, have fun. Buy her a couple of drinks, a girl always appreciates that."
"My mother always waits up for me. She’ll smell it on my breath."
Oh, Jesus, Jo thought, who unbuttons your rompers when you go to the bathroom? She turned away, spreading the galleys on her desk, reaching for a pencil, testing the point against her thumb. Stan said, "Let me know if you get snowed under, I’ll help," and moved away, his high forehead puckered with anxiety.
He hadn't solved anything, but he felt better. Jo thought: poor weak-minded bastard, if he'd put his foot down just once he'd have it made. Maybe he doesn't want a solution. Maybe he just likes to suffer; lots of people do.
But she couldn't waste this day worrying about Stan and his mother. Not when she felt like this, with the wonderful warm languor of after-love running through her like fine wine. She shoved the galleys away, stretched, and got up and went to the window. The familiar scene below was like a confirmation of her own well-being. The roofs of the cabs were bright and shiny, the buildings rose proudly above the street, the sounds of traffic and voices came up muted and harmonious.
She didn't know Linda's last name, where she lived, what she worked at or whether she would ever see her again. She didn't know, really, whether she had a steady girl—it was possible, in spite of Linda's protests. Fidelity didn't always go hand in hand with love. It had taken her a long time to realize that. Now she no longer blamed a girl for lying, or at least keeping one side of her life secret.
Linda might even be
She had to stop and think. So much had happened since yesterday. "Oh sure, I bought some new shoes. That is, I picked some out," she said happily, "They're beautiful."
"Women!"
"Well, you wouldn't want me to come to work barefoot."
"My mother's always buying shoes."
She made a mental note not to bring the subject up again. "Anything exciting happen after I left?"
"Not especially. I’ll sure be glad when Gayle marries that guy and gets her mind back on her work. She's got a bad case of hot pants."
Jo thought that Gayle would most likely start worrying about a possible pregnancy the minute she got back from her honeymoon, but she knew better than to say so. "Well have to send wedding presents. A small office like this."
"I don't mind that." He looked past her at the gold curtain, rippling in the breeze. "I left a little early myself, last night. In fact, I took Betsy out for a drink."
"Yeah?" She looked at him. "That was nice."
"Why are women so inconsistent?"
"Are they?"
"One minute they're snuggling up to you, wide open for attention. The next they're ready to push your face in. It doesn't make sense."
"Maybe you startled her. She hasn't been divorced very long. Maybe she's a little jumpy."
"You don't think she's queer or anything, do you?"
I should be so lucky, Jo thought. She said, "No, I don't think so. She's just a little nervous."
"I'm taking her out tonight." He stopped, looking abashed. I will not ask for details, she thought stubbornly. But it didn't do any good, she was going to get them just the same. He said, "I told my mother I have to go to a meeting. As long as I'm in by ten-thirty or eleven she won't mind."
Well, Jo thought, we've been over this before. But she was a slow learner, she had to try one more time. She said gently, "Look, you're a grown man. Why don't you simply tell your mother you have a date with a girl?"
"She might have an attack."
"If she can have an attack whenever she feels like it, then she's faking."
"I know it. The thing is," Stan said miserably, "if anything serious happened, I'd never forgive myself."
So there you are, Miss Bates. You can't very well tell this devoted son he'd be better off with the old girl dead. Or that he ought to put her in a nursing home with an attendant physician who knows the difference between real heart trouble and the kind you turn on and off. She said cheerfully, "Well, have fun. Buy her a couple of drinks, a girl always appreciates that."
"My mother always waits up for me. She’ll smell it on my breath."
Oh, Jesus, Jo thought, who unbuttons your rompers when you go to the bathroom? She turned away, spreading the galleys on her desk, reaching for a pencil, testing the point against her thumb. Stan said, "Let me know if you get snowed under, I’ll help," and moved away, his high forehead puckered with anxiety.
He hadn't solved anything, but he felt better. Jo thought: poor weak-minded bastard, if he'd put his foot down just once he'd have it made. Maybe he doesn't want a solution. Maybe he just likes to suffer; lots of people do.
But she couldn't waste this day worrying about Stan and his mother. Not when she felt like this, with the wonderful warm languor of after-love running through her like fine wine. She shoved the galleys away, stretched, and got up and went to the window. The familiar scene below was like a confirmation of her own well-being. The roofs of the cabs were bright and shiny, the buildings rose proudly above the street, the sounds of traffic and voices came up muted and harmonious.
She didn't know Linda's last name, where she lived, what she worked at or whether she would ever see her again. She didn't know, really, whether she had a steady girl—it was possible, in spite of Linda's protests. Fidelity didn't always go hand in hand with love. It had taken her a long time to realize that. Now she no longer blamed a girl for lying, or at least keeping one side of her life secret.
Linda might even be
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