A World Without Men
A WORLD WITHOUT MEN
by
Valerie Taylor
A World Without Men
By Valerie Taylor
First published in 1963.
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Published by She Winked Press,
An imprint of SRS Internet Publishing
236 West Portal Avenue, #525
San Francisco, CA 94127 USA.
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ISBN: 978-1-936456-41-3
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
CHAPTER 1
It was no good. She was going to be sick again. Kate looked wildly around the women's restroom trying to find something that would divert her attention from the churning inside. Long mirror above a row of basins, green couch, table with old magazines. There was no help here. The slow rise of panic inside her was familiar.
Its too soon, she thought, bending over the disinfectant-smelling bowl. Too soon. A new job ought to last at least a month—routines to learn, people to meet. Keep your mind off the emptiness until you could pay a month's rent, at least. It had never happened the first week, before.
I'm worse, she told herself dully, combing her hair. I'm never going to get better.
She took her shabby tweed coat from the hanger and pushed her arms into the sleeves. From the mirror her own face looked back at her, pale with fatigue, a carbon smudge on one cheek, eyes circled. She turned away from it and walked out through the empty office, the typewriters and billing machines covered for the night, the time clock ticking eerily in the silence.
A strong wind met her at the outside door. Cigarette butts and pieces of torn paper swirled in the gutters. I ought to go somewhere and eat a good meal, she thought vaguely, standing on the corner while the red light lasted forever. Maybe if I ate a real meal I could sleep. She tried to think of something appetizing, but her throat felt thick and the unease still lurked inside her.
She rubbed the back of a wool glove across her eyes. No wonder, she thought; those damn credit letters. Every time you shoved another stack of carbons into the machine you felt sorry for the poor bastard that owed the money. There was enough trouble in the world. Why add to it?
And how about the filing job, and the dime store job, and the time you tried doing housework? The job had nothing to do with it.
A woman pushed past her, fat, shabby, loaded down with a big sack of groceries, the veins standing out in bunches on her legs. She gave Kate a curious look. The light changed and they crossed side by side, avoiding each other's eyes. The woman's eyes were deep gray, like Paul's.