Another Kind of Love by Paula Christian

Laura, old girl. Helen is your friend—she can’t know your problems. Take it easy or the only place you’ll go to is an institution. Lesbians Anonymous, she joked bitterly, a quaint Village home for shook-up broads.
    She saw Helen’s hand place a cup of steaming coffee on her desk, then felt Helen’s other hand on her shoulder.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Laura?” she asked with serious concern. “Are you feeling all right?”
    â€œOh, yes, Helen,” she answered guiltily. “Got a wire from Mr. Hobson.” She gave the news as a peace offering. “Wants me to leave for New York right away and I’m trying to figure out how I’ll do it.” With an effort Laura smiled. “Would you be a doll, Helen, and call the airport? Find out if I can get on a plane this afternoon . . . nonstop. Buy a ticket and charge it to Fanfare .”
    â€œSure, Laura. Sure.” Helen returned to her desk, leaving Laura alone to think things out. She’d just have to let Walter handle the loose ends around here when he got back. Walter, she thought. Her own part in his life seemed like an adolescent fling now.
    Compared to what she and Ginny had shared . . . Ginny, Ginny.
    Kismet. Reservations were available. Helen got her a seat on a 4:10 plane leaving from International Airport. With all the hectic arranging for her departure, the morning passed quickly.
    At last Laura picked up her purse, looked over her desk to be sure she had forgotten nothing, and in an unexpected moment of fear of what she was venturing upon, hugged Helen quickly. “Thanks for everything, Helen. Take care of the boss for me when he comes back.”
    She turned quickly to hide the unwanted tears coming into her eyes and walked swiftly out of the office. She hardly heard Helen’s call of good luck.
    She was leaving behind everything that she knew, everything familiar. . . for what? This wasn’t the way to go, was it? But she knew the tears were mostly for Ginny. Never to see Ginny again . . . never touch her soft cheek with her own, never feel the young breasts with her own . . .
    It had been so strange and so wonderful.
    Laura drove home like a madwoman, packing hastily in constant fear that her phone would ring—or that like an alcoholic, she would weaken and make that “one call” just to say good-bye.
    But nothing happened.
    Ready at last, Laura ran out of the apartment.

C hapter 10
    â€œE leven,” Laura told the bored-looking hotel elevator operator. The car was crowded with people who looked even more bored.
    Laura leaned against the back of the elevator with a soft sigh of relief. The worst was over—at least for the moment. She’d made the break, and the trip itself had been quite painless. As soon as she had boarded the plane, she had taken a sleeping pill so that she wouldn’t have those idle hours to think....
    So far, so good.
    She wondered if Ginny had ever called her.
    â€œNine,” the operator called out in a dry little voice.
    Ginny. Forget Ginny, damn it. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?
    â€œEleven.”
    Laura took a deep breath and stepped out of the car, grateful for the freedom. There was something about elevators that was too confining.
    She stood a moment in the hallway, breathing the musty air and staring blankly at the opposing arrows indicating the division of rooms. Forcing herself to focus on the numbers, she turned left down the corridor, her footsteps making a muffled sound on the thick, worn carpet.
    From the fire escape window at the end of the hall she could hear faint strands of dance music from the cocktail lounge in the hotel.
    Funny, she thought, how most hotel dance bands sound the same . . . But the couples on the floor don’t notice it. If I were dancing with Ginny, I wouldn’t notice it.
    And then that terrible stab of loss, of injustice. She could never go dancing with Ginny in public, never look