She drove home like a punch-drunk novice, laughing at the panic she
caused and feeling light, giddy, peculiarly happy in a way that almost
seemed familiar. She was unable even to feel guilty when she got home
and found that Charlie had had to feed the kids and was waiting with
stubborn hungry impatience for her to feed him.
She did her chores with a smile. Everything seemed easy. Even the
children. The bedtime routine charmed her, the way it would have if she
had to go through it only once or twice a year. She put her arms around
her children and cuddled them, to their surprise. And Charlie, who was
ready to bite her head off when she came in, traded his wrath for
astonished love two hours later.
It did something to Beth to be in the company of a desirable woman, a
woman whose interest was obviously reciprocal, and the first thing it
did was make her happy. Her kids reflected the lighter mood gratefully
and innocently, but Charlie ... Charlie wondered where it came from and,
knowing his wife, he worried.
Beth was surprised two days later when Cleve Purvis called her. She had
been in a state of wonderful tickling anticipation all day, picking out
a dress, pondering what to say when she got to the studio. And now, at
two o’clock in the afternoon, Cleve called.
“I know this is goofy,” he admitted, “but could I talk to you?”
“Sure,” she said. “Go ahead.”
“Not on the phone.”
“Why not?” she said, surprised.
“Don’t ask me, I feel like enough of an ass already. I’ll pick you up in
half an hour.”
“But Cleve—”
“Thanks,” he said and hung up. So she got her clothes on and decided
that whatever it was she’d make him drop her off at Vega’s afterward.
Cleve took her to a small key club bar and sat her down at a table in
the rear. They faced each other over the table. Strangers? Friends?
Acquaintances? What were they exactly to each other? Cleve had left
college before Beth met Charlie and they had only known each other
fairly well since she had come to California. They had seen each other
often, they had exchanged a few jokes, and now and then when Cleve was
tight they danced together. But never alone. Never had they had a
private talk. Charlie or Jean or the kids or somebody was always with
them.
It made Beth feel odd, unsure, to be with him now in a private bar.
Nobody knew about the meeting, apparently, and no one was there to see
them but a few late lunchers and early imbibers. It gave the meeting
something of the character of a secret tryst.
Cleve ordered a couple of Martinis. “I know this must seem funny to
you,” he said, and covered his awkwardness with a gulp of gin.
“Does Charlie know you asked me here?” she said.
“Not unless you told him.”
“No,” she said, and somehow the fact that both of them _could_ have told
him and neither of them had made her feel part of an illegal conspiracy.
“Well, don’t, Beth,” he said. “Just keep it to yourself. I may not have
any right to stick my nose in your affairs, but when your affairs get
scrambled up with Vega’s, somebody’s got to tell you a few things.”
Beth felt the hair on her scalp begin to tingle. “What things?” she
said. Cleve finished his drink and ordered another. He drank like
Vega—briskly and for a purpose. Beth looked hard at him, studying the
face she thought she knew so well. It seemed different now, pensive
under the thick dark blond hair. His mustache drooped and the deep cleft
in his chin gave a droll twist to his frown. Cleve was not a handsome
man, although Vega was a beautiful woman and they looked a good deal
alike. It happens that way sometimes in a family. Two of the kids will
resemble each other, yet the features that go so harmoniously in one
face are awkward and out of proportion in the other. And still, Cleve’s
face was pleasant enough—not out-and-out ugly. Beth liked it. She liked
the tired green eyes and the small wry grin he usually wore, and now and
then, when she thought about it, she wondered why in hell such a man
would marry a giggling good-natured idiot like Jean. Maybe her endless
smile comforted him. Maybe it bucked him up through the dismal periods
Charlie said he had, when he was more interested in booze than selling
plastic toys.
Up until the present it had not interfered with his business. Charlie
was willing to let him drink what he wanted, as long as he could do his
job. So far, it appeared, he could. Beth, looking at him, wondered what
strange, strong hold liquor held over the Purvises. Vega and Cleve both
worshipped the stuff, and Mrs. Purvis was blind and crippled and leaking
because of it.
Cleve had trouble telling Beth why he had brought her there this
afternoon. It was easier after a couple of drinks, and by that time they
were both looking at each other through new eyes.
“By God,” Cleve mused. “I never realized you had violet eyes before. I
always thought they were plain blue.”
“Is that why you dragged me down here? To tell me that?” she asked.
He grinned sheepishly. “That’s probably as good a reason as any. Better
than the real one.”
“You were going to tell me something about your wicked sister,” Beth
said. “And you better had before I get drunk. I have a date with her
this afternoon at four.”
“A date?” The phrase seemed to rock him a little. “Well, what the hell,
drink all you want, you won’t be any up on her. She’s never sober.”
“She’s never drunk, either,” Beth said.
“Yeah, how about that? I wish I were that kind of a drinker,” he said
enviously. “Never sober but never drunk.”
“It doesn’t seem to make _her_ very happy,” Beth observed. “Maybe it
would be better not to be a drinker at all.”
“No doubt about it,” Cleve said, grinning, and ordered another.
“Cleve, I can’t sit around all day,” she said, giving him a smile. “Tell
me about Vega, or I’ll leave you here with only the booze for company.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “Beth, I—I—Vega’s queer.” He threw it at her,
curt and clumsy, as if it were hot and burned his mouth.
Beth stared at him, her face frozen with surprise, with a sudden fear
and wariness. “That’s a lousy word, Cleve. _Queer._”
“It’s a lousy condition. I only tell you because she won’t.”
“Well, give her the credit of a little kindness, anyway,” Beth snapped.
“She’s your sister.”
“Nobody needs to remind me,” he said. “Beth, this isn’t a nice way to
put it and I wish to hell I could laugh it off or forget it or put it
some genteel way. But when Charlie told me she asked you to come in and
model I thought somebody had better let you know.”
“And that somebody was you? Is this what you tell all her girls? Must be
great for business.” She put all her scorn into it.
“No.”
“Well, then why tell me? Why not let me find out for myself? If the
other girls can be trusted with her, why can’t I?” Her temper ignited
quickly.
“You’re special,” he said. “You’re different from the other
girls—_better_, I mean. And she likes you more. That’s obvious.”
“Well, if Vega’s so damn dangerous she probably would have made it clear
to me herself.” She was angry; her innocent idyll with Vega was
jeopardized by his harsh words. How could she fool around now, just play
a little, if Vega’s own brother watched every move with morbid
suspicion?
“That’s the hell of it, Beth,” he said, leaning toward her over the
table. “Vega doesn’t realize it. She doesn’t know she’s gay.”
Beth’s mouth dropped open slightly. “Good God, how can you be gay and
not know it?” she exclaimed.
And it was Cleve’s turn to stare. “I wouldn’t know,” he said finally,
slowly, still staring. “I don’t know anything about it, frankly. I’ve
never felt that way.”
Beth felt her whole neck flush and her cheeks turn scarlet. She was
suddenly embarrassed and irritated. “Is that all you came here to tell
me, Cleve? Vega’s gay? Nobody in the whole world has figured this
mystery out but you, of course, and you ‘don’t know anything about it.’
Not even _Vega_ knows about it. Just you. Not your mother, not Gramp,
not the people who live with her, not the models who study with her.
Just good old Doctor Cleve, expert analyst. He doesn’t know anything
about the subject, by his own admission, but he’s willing to damn his
sister and smear her reputation on the strength of his own intuition.
Oh, Cleve, come off it,” she said, disgusted and disappointed.
He wouldn’t argue with her. “I know she’s gay,” he said simply.
“Shouting at me won’t change that.”
“Nuts!” said Beth—but she believed him. “Can you prove it?”
He smiled, a melancholy smile. “I’m glad you’re defending her,” he said.
“I’m glad you’re mad about it. I wouldn’t have liked to see you take it
for granted.... No, I can’t prove it. I can only tell you things.... I
say this, not because your eyes are violet, not because you have such a
lovely mouth, not even because we’re both a little high. I say it in
honor of your innocence. I say it to spare you shock. I say it because I
hope you and Vega can be friends, and nothing more. She needs a friend.
She really does. All she has is Mother, and Mother has run her life
since it began. Vega adores her as much as she hates her, and that’s a
lot. She can’t get away from her, even though she wants to. In her
heart, in her secret thoughts—I don’t know—maybe she has some idea she’s
gay. But Mother hates the queers, she’s always poured contempt on them.
How can Vega admit, even to herself, that she’s the kind of creature
Mother despises?”
“Your mother doesn’t despise alcoholics, or quacks, or physical wrecks.”
“Yes, but you see, none of those are _queer_,” he said earnestly.
“Oh, Cleve, that word! That ugly, mean, pitiless word!”
“I’m sorry,” he said, studying her.
Beth finished her drink with a quiver of excitement and desire and
disgust—all the feelings that Vega roused in her.
“Vega’s going broke,” Cleve said. “That’s why the studio’s so bare.
Looks like a barn. She’s had to hock a lot of stuff and return a lot.
She used to support Mother and she told me they didn’t want my goddamn
charity. Now they’re getting it—they can’t live without it—but they let
me know every time I hand them a check that they run right in and wash
their hands as soon as it’s deposited at the bank.”
“Why?” Beth said, shocked.
“Mother thinks I’m a bastard because I didn’t study medicine like my
father. Gramp thinks whatever Mother thinks. And so does Vega.”
Beth began to see what a tyrannical hold Mrs. Purvis, in spite of her
debilities, had on her children.
“Vega and I understand each other,” Cleve said. “We’re both
contemptible.”
For a moment it seemed like he was begging for sympathy and Beth said,
rather sharply, “Oh, you’re not so bad. When you’re tight.”
Cleve gave a dispirited little laugh. “We know each other better than we
know ourselves,” he said. “Someday you’ll understand us, too,” he said,
looking into his glass. “If you keep on running around with Vega.” He
sounded almost jealous. He sounded almost like a man warning another man
away from his wife, not a friend warning another friend of his sister’s
emotional quirks.
Beth cautiously steered him back to finances. “Why is she going broke?”
she asked. “She has a nice studio, lots of students.”
“Not so many, not any more. Their mothers are worried about them. There
was a scandal a couple of years ago.”
“I never heard about it,” Beth declared, as if that proved it a
deliberate fib.
“You don’t hear about everything in the Purvis family,” he retorted, and
silenced her. “One of the girls had an affair with one of the others.
Vega knew about it and she didn’t exactly discourage it. And then some
of the others found out and told their parents. Vega should have quit
then and there and tried somewhere else, but she hates that kid who
started it all and she wants to stay here and make a go of it in spite
of what happened. Show everybody. Show the girl herself most of all.
Damn!” he said, and finished another drink.
Beth thought suddenly of the strange tough little blonde with no makeup
and a cigarette drooping from her mouth in the caffè espresso place.
“Who was the girl?” she asked.
“P.K. Schaefer is her name. Vega hates everybody but she hates P.K.
worse than poison.”
“Is she sort of a beatnik type? I mean, does she hang out in the coffee
houses, does she dress like—”
“Like a goddamn boy,” he finished for her, with the sound of his
mother’s disapproval plain in his voice. “Always has a cigarette hanging
out of the corner of her mouth, as if that would make a male of her. As
if that would take the place of—oh, hell.” He ordered another drink,
staring moodily at the floor.
And Beth knew it was P.K. she had seen. Did Vega love her or hate her?
Or, as with the other important people in her life, did she feel both
emotions for her? Beth felt a spark of jealousy.
“Vega doesn’t hate everybody, Cleve,” she said. “Maybe you two have had
some bad arguments, maybe life with her wasn’t all sugar candy when you
were growing up, but, my God, she’s a nice girl. She’s fun, she’s a
lovely person. If you think you’re going to make me drop her just by
throwing a few old scandals and half-baked suspicions in my face, you’re
wrong. We get along fine and I enjoy her. After all, it wasn’t Vega who
had the affair, it was her students. She’s not making any passes at me.
And from what she’s said about Lesbians I think she’d put the whole damn
clan in jail if she had her way.”
“Ah, she’s had you over to The Griffin to see P.K.,” he said, shocking
her. “Exhibit A. She works fast, I have to say that for her.”
“How did you know that?” She was mad again.
“She’s given you her famous lecture on the beastly Lesbians.”
Beth blushed. “Thanks for the drinks, Cleve,” she said sharply, starting
to rise, but he caught her wrist and pulled her down again. “Why do you
think she talks about them if she doesn’t have it on her mind all the
time?” he said fiercely, his face close to hers. There was a high pink
of excitement in his cheeks, as if he really, secretly, hated these
women who were rivals for his sister’s affection; as if he were
admonishing Beth, for his own selfish reasons, not to become one of
them.
“You said she didn’t even know she was—_gay_, herself,” Beth protested.
“Right,” he said. “She’d quit spouting all that crap about putting them
in jail if it meant she’d be going along with them.” He sighed and gazed
intently at her, and she smelled the whiskey on his breath. “Beth,
you’re a damn nice girl,” he pleaded. “You’re a lovely girl. You’re
bored as all hell with your life, it sticks out all over you. You
stumble across my sister and she’s charming, she’s different, she shocks
you a little and interests you a lot. You’re looking for kicks; you’re
sick of that little house and that great big husband and those noisy
kids, and Vega looks like heaven. She’s got all the sophistication, all
the glamor anybody could want. Hell, yes, I can understand it.”
And Beth, thunderstruck, only gazed at him in silence, too surprised
even to wonder when he had been observing her, when it began to matter
to him what she did. _Not until Vega began to matter to me_, she
thought, full of wonderment.
“Beth, she’s nuts. Please believe me. She’s goofy and she’s pure
trouble. I know; nobody knows like I know. I nurse her through her
emotional storms; I have all our lives. She gets these desperate crushes
she won’t admit, or can’t admit, or doesn’t understand, and I go through
hell with her. I don’t want it to happen with you. Life has been too
pleasant these past few months. No complications. Vega’s been getting
along so well.”
“Why do you fight with her so much?” Beth said softly. “If all you’re
trying to do is help her. That _is_ what you’re trying to do, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said, and looked away. “God knows I love her. I just fight
with her when I find out what she’s done.”
“Like what?” She felt as if he was almost on the verge of a confession
of some kind to her.
“Like socking Mother right out of her chair. It’s the only way she has
of getting back at Mother for dominating her life. Or like getting
stewed at seven in the morning when she’s supposed to be at a Chamber of
Commerce meeting that’ll mean jobs for her girls. Like bugging me all
the time about the money situation. And that goddamn blind spot of hers
a mile square! If she’d only admit what she is and arrange her life
accordingly. At least maybe she could live like other human beings
then.”
“How? What do you mean?”
“I mean face the fact there are two things she can’t live with—whiskey
and women. Put them out of her life. Get back to normal.” He sounded
bitter.
“But Cleve, _you’re_ normal, and _you_ drink.”
“Not like she does,” he said quickly, untruthfully. “I can go to sleep
at night without a bottle by my bed.” There was pride in his tone.
“Is it that bad?” Beth said. _Oh, Vega!_ It made her want to nurse her,
comfort her.
“She’s sick,” he said. “I don’t mean the TB, I mean up here,” and he
tapped his head at the temple. “You can’t provoke her, you can’t cross
her. She comes unglued. You haven’t seen that side of her yet. You keep
after her, you will.”
“You’ve accused her of some pretty ugly things this afternoon, Cleve,”
she said quietly.
“I’m not accusing her of anything. I’m trying to show you what she’s
like. What she’s capable of. I’m telling you not to let yourself get
mixed up with a woman like that.”
“You don’t think I can handle myself, do you?” she said.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But Vega can’t handle herself, that’s
certain. She leaves it up to me.” He laughed, looking at his drink, but
the laugh was mirthless. “Maybe it’s from being so spoiled all her life,
from being a favorite child and a worshipped wife who kept two husbands
out of her bedroom for years.”
Beth wondered, looking at him, his face dark and brooding, why he had
really asked her there. Was he just trying to forewarn her of her
potentially unhappy situation? Or was he threatening her? Beth eyed him
suspiciously.
“You’re warned now, Beth, and that’s all I can do,” he said. “Except,
thank you for listening. And—ask you not to mention it to anyone.”
“Are you afraid Charlie’d think you’re as daffy as I think you are?” she
said.
He laughed again, a short sad noise. “I’m afraid Charlie knew that years
ago,” he said. He leaned across the table and took her hands. “Beth, why
in hell do you suppose I went to all this trouble for you? Exposed
myself and my shameful family to you? Because I want to get laughed at,
because I want to hear you say how buggy I am?”
“I don’t know why you’re doing it, Cleve. I really don’t.”
“You don’t need to freeze up,” he told her, his voice softening. “I just
don’t want to see you hurt, Beth. Jesus, I know _you’re_ normal. Don’t
get the idea I brought you down here to make you feel uncomfortable.
You’re as wholesome as cherry pie, you’re no neurotic self-blinded
Lessie. You’re sweet and healthy. I guess I just like you that way. I
guess I just don’t want to see Vega _change_ you.” But Beth had the
uncanny feeling that what he _really_ wanted was to keep them apart,
keep her away from Vega. Why?
“She won’t change me, Cleve. I am what I am. It’s too late for her to
make me over, even if she tried.”
“Thanks,” he said, as if she had promised him she would never see his
sister again. And then he let her go.
* * * * *
Vega’s lips met hers a half hour later and this time Beth felt none of
the resentment she had the first time, no desire to scold her and run.
Instead, it was Vega who was irritable, rushed and nervous. She was
preparing for a fashion show that night at the Hollywood Knickerbocker
Hotel, and there were clothes and girls all over the studio.
Beth knew, without being told, that there was no time for her today, and
it aroused a keen hunger in her for Vega’s company. She watched the
lovely woman glide smoothly about, her excitement showing only in her
eyes, and Beth experienced an unwelcome qualm of jealousy for the second
time that day. The girls, the young models, were so lithe and fresh. She
found herself imagining their sweet young bodies full of tender untried
places, and a sort of fever came over her.
It came as a shock when Vega asked her to leave. She pulled Beth aside
and said in a warm whisper, “Darling, really, I’m up to my ears in this.
I forgot all about it Tuesday. I just forgot everything Tuesday, all I
could think of was you.” And Beth wanted suddenly, urgently, in a sweat
of fear and delight, to put her arms around Vega and kiss her indecently
until her desire was satisfied.
“I hate to ask you,” Vega said, “but—well, let’s put it off till next
week. I’ve got so much to do. Beth, don’t look so disappointed!” She
smiled like an angel of the devil and Beth said, almost humbly, “Don’t
kick me out, Vega. Can’t I help? I’ll do anything.”
“No, you don’t know a damn thing about it. I’ve got to do it myself. Now
go, darling. Be a good girl and go.” And she gave Beth a kiss on the
cheek. Beth nearly suffocated for one lovely moment with the urge to
pull Vega back into the shadows and tell her how beautiful she was, how
unfairly beautiful.
But Vega left her and Beth was soon completely alone in the swirl of
frenetic activity. Girls in tulle, girls in tights, girls in skin-fitted
sheathes—all so young, all so feather-headed with excitement. Beth
watched them a moment, enjoying the practiced movements, the bursts of
nervous giggling, the fascinated preening at mirrors. Until she was
jostled once too often and felt her solitude in the inconvenience she
caused.
Shortly afterward she left. But she spent the whole evening in a misty
fantasy of Vega that even Charlie could not penetrate with his
grumblings about Cleve.
“I think he was out somewhere swilling booze this afternoon,” he said.
“He came in about five and he was loaded. If it happens again I’m going
to raise the roof.”
“Why does he do it?” Beth asked vaguely. “He’s happy with Jean, isn’t
he?”
“I guess so. At least she never complains. He could shove a knife in her
ribs and all she’d do is hand him that same old smile. But that isn’t
it. Something is bugging the guy. Always has been, since I first knew
him, like he’d committed murder and gotten away with it, and then
discovered he couldn’t live with his conscience. It almost seems
sometimes like he’s trying to tell you about it. But he just ends up
telling you to be careful.”
Beth looked up at this, remembering her afternoon with Cleve. “Be
careful of what?” she said.
Charlie shrugged. “Who knows? He never gets it said.”