Chapter 11

She held a tray. Her reddish hair was lightly peppered with a few strands of gray, arranged as though deliberate; a perfect patch at each temple that on a man would be called "distinguished." It looked exactly that on Louise, too.

She wore a white lab coat.

Eve looked from one woman to the other, a frown on her forehead. Her eyes were stark with sudden, instinctive fear.

Louise was the first to move from the tableau of shock that had held them both. She approached the table, balancing the tray with too much caution, as though she were concentrating on the simple task to avoid confusion and panic.

"Vivian Bennett," she said slowly.

"Louise...."

She was causing a traffic jam in the crowded thoroughfare. "Sit down," Vivian said. She did. The three of them sat there like chess figures that had been lined up anew, waiting for a hand to move them as the game began.

Then Vivian and Louise both looked down-at each other's left hands. Louise wore no rings.

"Well, you're not Vivian Bennett anymore, I suppose." This time, Louise smiled very slightly.

"Lawler," Vivian replied. "And you're ... still...."

"Fowler," Louise said, pronouncing her maiden name with a definitive firmness. There was a look of confusion in her eyes as she glanced at Eve. Vivian introduced them.

"Eve Banner ... Louise Fowler."

Eve surveyed the woman curiously. "Aren't you the new infirmary head? I saw something in the school paper."

"Yes, I am."

Vivian's stiff body relaxed a little. "You made it," she said softly. "I'm glad."

Louise inclined her head. "Yes, I made it." She smiled briefly at Eve; it was polite, noncommittal smile, as though she were merely doing the correct thing. "We were in college together," she explained.

They fell silent; everybody began to eat with an air of utter lack of appetite. Louise was uncomfortable; Vivian trance-like; and Eve distraught.

"What are you doing around here?" Louise asked at last.

"I'm taking a couple of art courses. Just part time," she added. She felt second-best. Louise had done what she set out to do, but she had not.

"Eve models at the art department," she added.

"Oh, I see."

Again, it was noncommittal. Everything was noncommittal. Vivian's hands tightened on her lap.

"Is your husband on the faculty?" Louise asked with a frown. "There's a Lawler in history."

"No, he's the editor of the local paper."

Louise's eyes showed amusement and a touch of hostility. She had obviously read Tim's rabid editorials.

"Have you been in the area long? When did you come here?"

"Just a couple of weeks ago. I've been getting settled."

"Where ... do you live?"

Louise hesitated, throwing up a silent wall. "In the faculty houses," she said slowly. She pushed the half-eaten lunch away. "Well, I have to hurry back. It's been nice talking to you." She rose, smiled tightly at Eve, nodded at Vivian, and left.

"Vivian."

She looked at Eve. The girl was trembling. She seemed to have shrunk in the chair; she looked smaller.

"Is she the one?"

"Yes."

"You want her again, don't you? I can see it in your face." The voice did not accuse; it was a plaintive whimper.

"I don't-"

"Vivian, don't leave. Don't leave me."

"Stop it! Come on, let's get out of here."

They drove back to the art department in Vivian's car. As they wove their way down the wooded copse, Eve cried silently. Vivian ground the car to a halt.

"Listen! Get off my back! Do you think you own me?"

"Vivian!"

"Get out. Go on, get out!"

Eve shrank back against the door, her face white and stricken. She gave a broken cry and flung herself out of the car.

She drove aimlessly. It seemed as though twenty years had fallen away. It was still the same; nothing had changed. The magic of the first lover....There was no one quite like the first. She wondered if everyone, deep down inside, felt the same way.

She shook as she thought about Louise. The figure, the marvelously sensual yet slim figure had not gained an ounce. The lofty, somewhat closed face had aged only a little bit, and the hair ... that rich cinnamon color that she had never forgotten. No redhead she had ever met since had had quite that shade of hair. It was brunette because it was dark, and yet fair because it was red.

But she had been so cold! Suppose she doesn't want to see me again, suppose she doesn't want anything to do with me? Did she have someone else? Was she living with another woman?

Or was there now a man...? She must have met many men in the medical field. Suppose But somehow, Vivian knew this was not true.

The thought of Eve burned out her memories like a splash of acid. The girl had become as maddening as a bevy of gnats about her head. She wanted, literally, to slap her away.

How ironic it all was. Eve wanted a mother in her, and twenty years ago, she herself had wanted a mother in Louise. Was that the name of this game-mother and daughter? It sounded like look-a-like dresses.

But no. Vivian knew what it was that made her want Louise and not Eve. Louise was unattainable; even though she had had her, there was still that detachment, that self-possession, that made her so appealing, while Eve was....

An easy make.

Suddenly she remembered one of Tim's editorials that had brought fury of the press association and a national magazine down on his head. There had been talk of libel suits, apologies and retractions before it finally died down. The subject of the piece had been a famous movie star who had become embroiled in still another international romance. "The queen of the silver screen is nothing but an easy make," he had written.

The words, just like a man popped into her head, but she quickly forced them away.