But to Elsa, Maxene was compounded of all the beauty, all the glamour that Elsa had never had for her own.

Their conversation was one-sided. Maxene kept up a bold vivacious chatter about commonplaces, meanwhile eating her lunch with much gusto. Elsa giggled and gaped rather foolishly, nodded her head, choked on her food, and appeared altogether carried away by her tete-a-tete. Then the lunch hour ended and everyone scattered. Elsa returned to her desk with a rapt expression, the target for many inquisitive stares. This episode was repeated for several days, with little variation except in Maxene's costumes. She seemed to have an unlimited wardrobe, chiefly of knitted, sheathlike dresses, scanty of bodice, that clung closely to the strong curves of her body. She was the center of attraction for most male eyes, but for those first few days she elaborately ignored this, as she publicly contrasted her charms with the small, drab sparrow who was Elsa.

After a few such occasions, Elsa was completely captured. She made no attempt to analyze or classify her situation, beyond acknowledging to herself that she desired Maxene above all else, that Maxene's company transported her into a delirium of happiness and she took it for granted, of course, that Maxene was drawn to her with an equal and similar attachment. Had she followed Maxene's veiled glances toward the tables in the center, where the office executives sat in white shirts and expensive suits, she might have suspected Maxene's designs. But even so she could not have comprehended.

Then one sweltering July day, Elsa and Maxene lingered at table a few minutes after lunch hour ended, both having arrived a little late. Maxene had been narrating at length some bit of office gossip, but finally she concluded her tale and stood up with a pretty yawn. Elsa followed her as she started for the cafeteria door. But, quickly changing direction, she headed instead for the ladies' powder room whose entrance was at an opposite corner.

"My makeup simply disappears in this heat," she remarked to Elsa. "I'll have to do the paint job over in seclusion!"

Elsa hung back, uncertain whether to follow or to return to her office. "Come along, Elsa," Maxene coaxed provocatively, "it's too hot to work anyway."

In her infatuated state Elsa's better judgment was easily overridden, and she paddled happily after her idol. The cafeteria was by now deserted, and so was the powder room.

Maxene seated herself before the dressing-table's enormous mirror. Elsa stood close behind, her eyes feasting on Maxene's beautiful back and shoulders, and the rounded arms and hands busily setting out an array of cosmetics. Elsa was seized with a blind yearning to rest her hands upon the soft, warm skin, to pour out her heart to Maxene, to whisper the words that would tell Maxene of her adoration. Had she spoken a little sooner, while still in some control of herself, the sequel might have been different. But instead a fear of displeasing Maxene restrained her longing, and in the ensuing moments the unreleased desires of years reached their bursting point. Suddenly, almost violently, she threw her arms around Maxene, pressing her fingers into Maxene's flesh, uttering sighs that were near to sobs. Maxene stiffened at the onslaught, hands poised in midair, eyes wide with astonishment.

"Elsa . . . Elsa . . . whatever's come over you?" Still unaware of the exact situation, Maxene forced a laugh, "Goodness, but you're certainly an affectionate one!" However, Elsa's emotions had become too unbridled to be laughed away. Now she was pressing her lips against the naked shoulders. Her whole body trembled visibly. As Maxene watched her companion narrowly in the mirror, a wise, knowing look stole into her eyes. Then, with an expression of cold rage settling upon her face, she flung back Elsa's arms and stood up. Her mouth grew terrible with anger.

"Don't ever touch me again with your foul hands or your filthy slobbering lips! You slimy old bitch! . slut! ... queer!" The words were spit out