Three Women by March Hastings Page A

demanding than all the others: Did Greta do this? It must be Greta. Surely Byrne would lot inflict those marks upon herself. She righted the cigarette box and searched the angelic face of evil. She recalled the degraded, puffy creature who had passed beneath the street lights. Certainly Greta was capable anything. It occurred to Paula that this woman was not in her right mind. Oh, my poor Byrne, she thought, why do you feel responsible for this creature? For she knew Byrne was strong enough to free herself, if only she wanted to do so.
    Miserably, Paula went to the closet. She put her cheek against Byrne's jacket and clung to it, begging knowledge and understanding. The intimate smell of Byrne's clothes flamed her agony into tears. Goodness, warmth, love was Byrne. Not insane fury that shredded life's meaning into tatters. But she swallowed her tears and reached up for the sketch pads neatly stacked on the shelf. As she pulled them down, a shower of loose drawings fluttered and scattered about her shoulders. Carefully, she retrieved them. As she sorted the portraits, their serenity and blending colors made her calmer. For each was signed with the initials B.E.
    When she had put them back, she left the room and went businesslike to the easel. Byrne lay on the couch, her coffee cup resting on the buckle of her trousers.
    "No comment?" Byrne said, her eyes narrowing alertly as Paula flipped open to a clean page.
    "No comment." Paula's voice was steady. She wet her lips and quickly began to draw. She would show Byrne how well she could take all this. Paula's importance, after all, was making Byrne forget. Her business would be to make her forget, not for a while, but forever. She concentrated on the reclining figure to draw its magnificent lines and shadows.
    When she had been sketching for a while and Byrne seemed relaxed, Paula said casually, 'It would be nice if you'd tell me your last name. You know, just for the record." She kept her eyes looking at the picture so Byrne could not tell if Paula were leading up to anything.
    "You're a funny girl," Byrne said, and Paula knew she had made the right move. "And the reason I like you is not because you're talented. God knows, talented people are a dime a dozen. But you have courage and faith in something that seems to promise nothing but unhappiness. I admire you for it."
    Paula thought, I have faith in you, Byrne. But she kept her silence. Better to let Byrne talk, if she would. Paula continued drawing.
    "Yes, I like you very much." Byrne's voice was low and flowed gently. Paula sensed that the door to Byrne was beginning to open. "You're emotional, yet you know how to control it. People much older than yourself rarely learn that. You're wise with nature's wisdom."
    Paula caught a quick glance of the daylight quietly playing among the strands of red gold in Byrne's hair. Speak, my darling, speak. Share the secrets with me that are tearing you.
    As though she heard her thoughts, Byrne continued. "If you were anyone else, Paula, I would send you away. In fact I don't even know, now, whether I shouldn't. Perhaps I don't because I am selfish. You offer..."
    A jiggling of the doorknob halted Byrne's words. They both turned to it. The knob rattled, waited a few moments, rattled harder.
    "Damn it to hell!" Byrne's voice rasped.
    Fists pounded on the other side.
    Paula said nothing. She stood still. She watched Byrne.
    Knuckles drummed insistently, demanding attention.
    Byrne flung herself off the couch. She strode to the door. Paula held her breath as Byrne opened it.
    Head tilted like a puppy's, Greta looked up at Byrne.
    "I think I want to go to the movies." Her voice floated like the wind high above the trees. "Is it all right if I go to the movies, dear? You won't be angry?" Aimlessly, her fingers moved in the air. Dainty fingers with jagged skin stained brown from iodine.
    "Of course I won't be angry."
    Paula listened with astonishment to the soothing tone that Byrne used. She seemed