Unlike Others by Valerie Taylor Page B

paid the man. There was a little office at one end, and I sat in the car while he went in. I guess they expect you to do that. I thought, well, what difference does it make? I like Stan." She sounded defiant. "He's been nice to me and he has a pretty thin time at home. I thought we could go in and smooch a while and then I'd stop him before things got out of hand. You know what I mean. If you've had any experience with men you can usually head them off before they really do anything."
    Why, you little cheat, Jo thought. But she couldn't take her eyes off the back of Betsy's neck, where the little tendrils of soft fair hair stirred when she moved. It was as though there were two Jos, one scornful of Betsy and one wanting to love and cherish her. She asked hoarsely, "What happened?"
    Betsy looked at the floor. "It didn't work," she said flatly. "We hardly got inside the door when he started pulling my clothes off. He'd had about five drinks, more than I had—maybe he didn't really know what he was doing. I didn't know a man could be so rough."
    "And then?"
    "I started to yell. I was scared, honest. He put his hand over my mouth. He pushed me down on the bed,"
    Jo whispered, "He raped you."
    "No. He couldn't."
    "What do you mean?"
    “Nothing happened."
    A flow of relief poured through Jo. It was all right Betsy was unharmed.
    "He kept trying and trying," Betsy said in such a small voice that Jo had to lean closer to hear her. "He made me help him, you know what I mean? But even then he couldn't do anything."
    "So?"
    "So we got dressed and came back and he never said anything the whole way," Betsy said rapidly. "He never said anything all the way home, and I was scared to death. I mean, you keep hearing about men going berserk and killing people. Only I don't think he's the kind. Anyway, it wasn't my fault."
    Jo clenched her hands behind her back.
    "I felt terrible. I kept feeling like I was going to throw up. I got out at my aunts' house. I was scared to death she'd be waiting up for me, but she wasn't. I felt like I couldn't stand it to go to bed, I had to talk to somebody and I couldn't talk to my aunt because she'd flip. So I went down to the drugstore on the corner and called you."
    "Will she worry about you if you don't come home?"
    Betsy's blush darkened. "I told her I might stay all night with a girl friend."
    And what a giveaway that is, Jo thought, her tenderness mixed with disgust. She stood up, stretching muscles that were stiff and sore. It's been quite a night, she thought. She said, "You better stay here. You can sleep in the bedroom and I'll curl up on the davenport. I got in late myself."
    "I wouldn't take your bed. Let me sleep on the davenport."
    "No, that's all right. Just give me a minute to change the sheets. I’ll fix you some hot milk and a pill," Jo said, glad to be moving around and doing something useful, "and you’ll be asleep in no time. Good thing this is Sunday, we can sleep all day if we want to."
    "I hate to think about going back to work."
    "It’ll be even more embarrassing for him than for you, if that's any comfort. Anyway, you don't have to date him again."
    "I suppose not." But she sounded depressed.
    Jo, stripping the blue sheets from the double bed, turned and looked at her sharply. "What do you mean, you suppose not? You don't want to go out with him again, do you?"
    "I guess not. Only I haven't dated anybody since I got my divorce and it seems too bad to have it work out like this. Maybe he won't try any funny business the next time—I mean, if I don't want to—well, maybe he’ll be willing to just park or something." Betsy's eyes filled with tears. "Don't make me say such things, it's too embarrassing."
    Careful, Jo thought. She carried the used sheets into the bathroom and stuffed them into the hamper, came back with clean linens and remade the bed. Shaking the pillow into a fresh case, she said in a voice that tried to be unconcerned, "I don't know much about men, but I don't