The girl was a poor liar. Paul was probably waiting and would hear of this. She lit a cigarette and switched on all the lights. "A pity."
Lucy looked at the drawn face and blank eyes and dressed hastily, chattering to cover her confusion. It was her first glimpse of tragedy, and she wanted to put her arms around Simone and kiss her to show she was not offended. She felt woebegone as though losing a friend and, oddly, a mother more understanding than Mother.
"I'm really sorry I have to go. I hope you will let me visit you again because I do value you highly as a real friend. This has been a wonderful evening for me. I'm coming to see you again soon at the Club. Will you sing the Annette song then?"
Simone shrugged at the stilted words. "Why not? I usually do."
They looked at each other, Simone expressionless, and Lucy came forward and kissed her awkwardly on the cheek. "Thank you."
"Not at all. Thank you for coming." She made no movement to accompany Lucy to the door but stood motionless, her arms dangling, wilted stems, a grimace cracking her face straining to smile politely.
"Don't forget, until the next time then," Lucy strove to reassure and closed the door softly.
She pities me! Oh Paul, Paul, save me! She stood motionless for a long moment, switched off the lights, and went into the bedroom to take blessed sleep-bringing pellets.
Under the hotel marquee Lucy breathed the fresh October night and wrapped her coat around herself protectively. The Park was a black cut-out stagedrop green-tinged by streetlights, as if by a feeble stage pilot-light after the show. At this play though she had been the audience. Countercurrents streamed the Avenue with sibilant whispers, and the city lay cuddled in its man-made roseate glow off toward Broadway. She got into a taxi but could not go home until she thought things over. "Drive around the Park first, about to 86th and back."
She felt as if she had been in a foreign land. Simone's hands were like a hot parchment shade. For a woman to have to love women is tragic. If only she doesn't think I'm mad at her. I like her more than I thought I would but I am very very sorry for her. She's not like Miss Shaver at all. Miss Shaver really preferred that girl, and could hardly keep her hands off me. But Simone really didn't want me. That was a good idea, about the songs singing to her. I wonder
