Another Kind of Love by Paula Christian

answered.
    Laura nodded without comment. The afternoon sun made the town look like a stage set now that the midday clouds had disappeared and the rich colors around them took on an unnatural vividness.
    â€œI’m glad I came today,” Ginny said suddenly. “I like you even better than I thought I would.”
    Laura laughed.
    â€œNo. I’m serious. You seemed so above it all and almost disdainful the other day. I was impressed because you were a writer and sophisticated and attractive. But now I’m not really what you’d call impressed. I just like you. You’re the kind of person I want to know and . . . and be good friends with.”
    â€œThanks.” Laura felt a strange chill of excitement. Still, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Ginny was playing up to her.
    â€œJust where are we heading for, by the way?” Ginny asked looking around.
    â€œLike Mexican food?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œIt’s a little early—are you hungry?”
    â€œStarved. I didn’t have lunch.” She reached over and placed her hand on Laura’s arm. “Let’s try the Mexican food.”
    Laura had not expected Ginny’s touch, and it came as a surprise. She felt her breath quicken. It was the first time Ginny had touched her, and for some strange reason it was disturbing.
    She thought about it as she turned off at the next intersection and headed back toward Redondo Beach and a little place called Consuelo’s.
    All through dinner Laura could not forget Ginny’s touch, that light touch on her arm. Yet it was such a small thing. It didn’t matter. Not really.
    Or did it?

C hapter 6
    W ithout any consciously deliberate effort Ginny and Laura either met or called each other at least once a day the following week.
    Laura had been surprised and delighted to see Ginny in the Excelsior Studio Commissary one afternoon that week, and later that day they had gone to the movies together on Hollywood Boulevard. Friday, someone had left two passes for Laura for one of the famous Greek Theater outdoor operettas. It had seemed only natural to call Ginny to go with her . . . nor did it seem odd that Ginny had had no date on a Friday night.
    Neither girl mentioned Saundra other than to swiftly send regards, usually in a mumble. It was tacitly understood that conversation about her was, if not taboo, at least unnecessary.
    Consequently, when Sunday morning came around, Laura was full of doubts and misgivings about the trip to Tijuana. Saundra had not forgotten about it: she had left word at Fanfare late Thursday afternoon as a reminder.
    Now Laura, driving slowly through the quiet Sunday morning, felt her anxiety growing with each mile.
    â€œDamn it,” she said aloud as she pulled into Saundra’s driveway and parked. “Why should I feel guilty? It isn’t as if I were seducing anybody’s husband!”
    With a sudden burst of irritation she slammed the car door and strode up the steps. She felt herself rigidly awaiting the opening of the door. It stayed closed. After a few seconds she thought: they left without me.
    Laura fidgeted a moment, almost ready to retreat. Then she heard footsteps inside the house. Saundra flung the door open.
    â€œLaura, darling,” she purred. “I’m so glad you remembered our trip and could make it.”
    Oh, man! Laura thought. Has this one got a bug! “I wouldn’t have missed it for a scoop on Louella Parsons,” she replied. Smooth.
    â€œWell, come in, come in. Ginny’s been worried about you all weekend. . . and so have I.” Saundra placed an arm around Laura’s waist as she closed the door. “You look beautiful. You’ve a perfect figure for slacks with those long legs of yours.” A hand slipped down the side of Laura’s thigh and pinched her lightly. “Cup of coffee before we leave?” Saundra asked cheerfully, leading Laura toward the