Beebo got up and lurched across the room in one giant step a_Women in the shadows

WOMEN

IN THE

SHADOWS

BY ANN BANNON

An Original Gold Medal Novel

GOLD MEDAL BOOKS

FAWCETT PUBLICATIONS, INC., GREENWICH, CONN.

MEMBER OF AMERICAN BOOK PUBLISHERS COUNCIL, INC.

or portions thereof.

All characters in this book are fictional and any resemblance to

persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America

_June 8: God help me. God help me to stand it. Today was our second

anniversary. If I have to go on living with her I’ll go crazy. But if I

leave her—? I’m afraid to think what will happen. Sometimes she’s not

rational. But what can I do? Where can I turn?_

_That damn party was awful. Anniversaries are supposed to be happy

affairs, but this one was more like a wake. Everybody got drunk and sang

songs, but there was always that corpse there in the middle of the room

... the corpse of that romance. Jack got terribly drunk, as usual.

There’s another one. If he doesn’t crack up it won’t be because he

hasn’t tried. What’s wrong with us all, anyway? What’s the use of living

when things are like this all the time?_

Laura shut her diary with a sudden furtive gesture, her pen still

poised, and strained her ears at a sound. She thought she heard the

front door open. It would be Beebo coming back. But it was only the

dachshund, Nix, scratching himself on a stool in the kitchen. Laura

sighed in relief and turned back to the diary. She ordinarily kept it

locked in a little steel strongbox on the closet floor, and she wrote in

it only when she was alone, in the evenings before Beebo got home from

work.

Beebo had never read it—or seen it, in fact. It was Laura’s own, Laura’s

aches and pains verbalized, Laura’s heart dissected and wept over, in

washable blue ink. If Beebo ever saw it she would tear it up in a

frenzy. She would make Laura swallow it, because it did not say very

nice things about Beebo. And Beebo always did things in a big way, the

good along with the bad.

Laura opened the notebook once more and wrote a last brief entry: _Jack

asked me to marry him again ... but I could never marry a man, not even

him. Never._

Then she closed it quickly and took it back to the closet and locked it

in the strongbox. She sat down from sheer inertia on the closet floor

and picked up a shoe. It was one of her pumps, rather long and

narrow—too large to be really fashionable. But it had the proper shape

and the newest styled heel. Beebo liked to see her smartly dressed. She

cared more about that than Laura did herself. Laura had worn these shoes

to the unfortunate anniversary party two nights before.

Beebo was still hung-over from that long night of dreary festivity. Jack

was always hung-over, so he didn’t count. As for Laura, she had learned

from Beebo to drink too much herself, and she was learning at the same

time how it feels the next day. _Bad._ Plain bad.

* * * * *

It had been a strange night, with moments of wild hilarity and stretches

of gloom when everybody drank as if they made their living at it. Laura

remembered Jack arriving ahead of everybody else with a couple of

bottles under his arm. “Thought I’d better bring my own,” he explained.

“Jack, you’re not going to drink two fifths all by yourself!” Laura had

exclaimed. She always took things at face value at first, a little too

seriously.

“I’m going to try, Mother,” he said, laughing, his eyes behind

horn-rimmed glasses sparkling cynically at her.

Beebo had been in a sweat of preparation all day, and the apartment

ended up looking almost new. A fever seemed to have gotten hold of her.

This had to be a big party, a good party, a loud, drunk, and very gay

party. Because this party was going to prove that Beebo and Laura had

lived together for two whole years, and in Greenwich Village that is a

pretty good record.

Friends were invited, to admire and congratulate. Oh, to get drunk and

live it up a little too, on Beebo and Laura. But mostly to stand witness

to the fact that the girls had been together two whole years. Or rather,

Beebo had hung on to Laura for two whole years.

Maybe that’s a hard way to say it. Maybe it isn’t fair. After all, Laura

stuck with Beebo, too. But Laura stuck because she didn’t have the

courage to let go; because her life was empty and without a purpose, and

living with somebody and loving—or pretending to love—seemed to bring

some sanity into her world. But for a long time she had begun to squirm

and struggle under Beebo’s jealous scrutiny.

Laura let Beebo make most of the arrangements for the party. She felt

almost no enthusiasm for it. The whole thing had been Beebo’s idea in

the first place. Laura felt almost as outside of it as a late-arriving

guest. She ran a few errands, but it was Beebo who planned and

organized, who put up streamers and cleaned the apartment, who called

everybody, picked up the liquor and the ice cubes, and even made hors

d’oeuvres.

She treated Laura with unwonted gentleness and attention all day. She

wanted her in a good mood for the party. They had quarreled so much and

so bitterly lately that they were both a little sick over it. Beebo

wanted to have a good day behind them, a day full of good will and even

tenderness.

There wasn’t much time to foster tenderness, though, with the vacuum

going, the kitchen upside down with food in various stages of readiness,

the dog barking, and the phone ringing in an endless hysterical

serenade. But still, Beebo tried. She touched Laura’s hair softly when

she passed her or brushed her hands over Laura’s face. And once she

stopped to kiss her, so carefully that Laura was touched in spite of

herself and submitted, though without returning the kiss. Beebo went

away flushed with success. Laura had not suffered herself to be kissed

for nearly a week.

So when the guests finally started arriving, Beebo greeted them with

high color in her cheeks and almost too much heartiness. Everything had

started out so well, it had to end well.

It was a weird group that assembled to fete the anniversary. Beebo had

wanted a big party. “Jesus, honey,” she complained. “How many people

down here stick it out this long? We have something to be proud of, for

God’s sake. Let’s advertise it.”

“What have we got to be proud of?” Laura said sarcastically. “We’re just

a couple of suckers for punishment. We just happen to enjoy beating each

other’s heads in.”

Beebo had risen to the occasion with her quick and awful temper and left

Laura crying. And she had had her way. They invited just about everybody

in the neighborhood: the ones they knew, the ones they knew by sight

only, and the ones they didn’t know at all, male and female. Beebo did

all the calling, so it came as a shock to Laura to see two of Beebo’s

old flames among the guests. But she said nothing about it. There would

be time to shout about it afterwards. And shout they no doubt would.

Jack came early because he liked the chance to talk to Laura by himself

now and then. He liked to be with her lately since his own life had

taken a sickening dip into loneliness and frustration. They were old

friends; sometimes they thought of one another as each other’s _only_

friend. They were very close. It could never be a question of physical

love between them; only deep affection, a mutual problem, a sort of

harmony that sprang from sympathy and long acquaintance.

They were both homosexual. And if Laura could never understand why a man

would desire another man, she at least knew, very well, how it was to

love another woman. And so she could build a bridge of empathy on that

knowledge and comfort Jack when some lovely boy was giving him hell. And

he could do the same when Beebo raked her over the coals.

The party went along well enough for the first hour or so. Every time

Beebo came near Laura she pinched her or bussed her. It was a part of

her advertising campaign—a way to say, “She’s still mine. And it’s been

two years. Hands off, the rest of you!” And she would look around at the

guests a little defiantly.

But for Laura it was tedious. It scared her and bored her all at once.

The fierce passion for Beebo that had boiled when they first knew each

other flared up rarely now. And when there was no love there was nothing

but fighting between them. She hated to be put on exhibit like this. And

yet she kept her peace and let Beebo kiss her when she felt like it.

After all, it was a party. Have a good time. If you can. Forget. If you

can. Everybody drink up and laugh. Laugh, damn you all! If you can.

It was when Lili (she _would_ spell it that way; she was born plain

Louise) was well plastered that the party took a downward curve from

which it never recovered. Lili was a former amour of Beebo’s; Lili of

the ash blonde hair and carefully blackened lashes; Lili of the lush,

silk-draped body; Lili with the lack of inhibitions. Laura hated her

with a good healthy female jealousy. It had been intolerable at first

when she was still in love with Beebo and Lili had tried to manage their

lives for them. Now it was just an exasperation to Laura to have her

around.

Lili got high in a hurry. She believed in getting things done

efficiently, and getting drunk was one of the things. She began to

saunter from group to group around the small apartment, flirting,

feeding sips from her martini to interested parties, telling tales. She

came upon Beebo in the kitchen, getting more sandwiches from the

refrigerator. The kitchen was crowded with people waving empty glasses

and looking for refills. Jack was pouring them as fast as he could and

sampling them all.

“Important to get it just right,” he said. “Takes a good concentration

of alcohol or you don’t get fried till three in the morning. Terrible

waste of time.”

Lili wriggled through the crowd to Beebo and stood in front of her,

weaving slightly, her underlip thrust out.

“I want something from you,” she pouted. Beebo offered her a sandwich,

but she shook her head murmuring, “No, no, no, no, _no_!”

“Jack’s handling the concession,” Beebo said a little nervously, jerking

her head toward him.

“I don’t want liquor,” Lili said. “I want you. How come you never come

to see me anymore, Beebo? You’re enough to drive a girl frantic.”

It was typical cocktail party drivel and Beebo was impatient with her.

“You know why, Lili,” she said. “Now scram.”

But Lili was pugnacious. “If it’s because of that bitchy little Laura

out there, everybody knows you’re all washed up. It’s been obvious for

weeks. You do nothing but fight. In fact, I was saying to Irene just

five minutes ago that I can’t imagine why you wanted to give this party

in the first place and—” She stopped. Beebo’s face had gone pale and

dangerous.

“You say that once more and I’ll kick you out of here on your fat can,”

Beebo snapped.

Lili drew herself up. “Okay, lie to yourself, I don’t give a damn,” she

said. “Only it’s perfectly clear—”

“Damn you, Lili, don’t you understand English?” She said it loud enough

to make heads turn.

Lili smiled. She generally performed better with an audience. “I

understand,” she cooed. “I understand you prefer a button-breasted

bad-tempered little prude to a real woman.”

Beebo took her roughly by the arms and pushed her out of the kitchen to

the front door, causing a stir of curiosity in her wake. “Now get out of

here and stay out!” she said.

“You never _could_ handle me right,” Lili smiled. Suddenly she took hold

of her dress at the neckline and pulled it—soft, unresisting knit—down

far enough to disclose that she wore nothing underneath. Two creamy,

full breasts were bared. “All right, you fool—suffer!” Lili cried

dramatically and burst out laughing. Beebo stared and then slammed the

door.

There was some confusion among the guests. It was funny. And yet there

was Laura, watching the whole thing. Everybody was uncomfortable. There

was uncertain laughter. Jack, who took it all in from the kitchen door,

said simply, “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing new. She did it to

Kitty Jackson last week.”

After that there was obvious tension between Laura and Beebo. Beebo

didn’t kiss her anymore and Laura had nothing to say to Beebo. She eyed

her coolly from across the room, and moved away if Beebo drew near. The

guests absorbed the mood.

Jack took it with quiet cynicism, the way he took most things. He saw

and he understood but he said very little. It was not his affair. No

matter that he had brought Beebo and Laura together once, a couple of

years ago. He hadn’t forced them to fall in love. That was their idea

and he took no credit. And no blame.

Laura came suddenly into the kitchen where he was lounging by the liquor

bottles, waiting for customers and watching the company through the

door.

“She’s impossible!” Laura cried. “God, I can’t stand it any more!” She

covered her face with her hands, and her usually ivory skin crimsoned

under her own harsh fingers.

“Take it easy, Mother,” he said mildly, crossing his arms over his

chest. “She may be impossible, but she loves you.”

“That doesn’t excuse the way she’s acting—”

“She loves you a hell of a lot, Laura. She wouldn’t hang on to you like

this if she didn’t.”

“I don’t want to be hung on to. I hate it! Jack, help me get out of

here.”

“I can’t, honey, it’s your mess. I wish to God I could. If I were young

and female I’d lure her away from you. But I’m middle-aged and male. And

short on allure.”

Laura took advantage of the momentary seclusion of the kitchen to speak

confidentially. She went to Jack and stood beside him, facing the sink,

while he watched the door for intruders.

“She’s in there showing off with that damn dog again,” Laura said.

“Nix is a nice dog.”

“Jack, we can’t go to bed without that animal.” She turned away to blow

her nose. “Sure, he’s a nice dog. But he eats more than I do, and he

isn’t housebroken when he’s excited—which is right now. I swear Beebo

loves that dog more than she loves me.” Nix gave a volley of excited

barks from the living room and they heard Beebo’s throaty laugh. “Do it

again,” she was saying. “Come on, Nix, do it again.”

“He will, too.” Laura sighed. “He’ll do anything she tells him to. And

wet the rug like a happy idiot. Do you know what that rug cost me?

Seventy-seven bucks. And I paid for it myself. Beebo didn’t even have a

rug in this place before I moved in.”

“Okay,” Jack said slowly. “The dog isn’t housebroken and Beebo’s old

mistresses are a pain in the neck. Still, she loves you, Mother. So much

that it astonishes me. I never thought I’d see that girl fall for

anybody. Maybe you don’t want her love, but you have to respect it. Real

love isn’t cheap, Laura. When you give it up once you sometimes never

find it again.”

“If it has to be like this, I don’t ever _want_ it again.”

Jack finished his drink quickly, put it down on the kitchen counter, and

turned Laura around to face him. He was the same height as she was but

Laura looked up to him with her mind and heart.

“Mother,” he said gently. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t ever throw love

away. If it gets so you can’t stand it, move out. But don’t degrade it

and don’t disdain it. You can’t stop her from loving you, Laura.”

“I wish I still loved her. That’s an odd way to feel but it would solve

everything.”

“You do love her, in a way. Only she exasperates you.”

“No. It’s all over, Jack. The only problem is how to get out without

hurting her too much.”

“No, the problem is to realize what your own feelings are and then have

the courage to live with them.”

“What you’re trying to say is, you don’t believe me. You think I still

love her.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Why?”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not!” she cried, grasping his arms, and then she heard Beebo laugh

again and looked up to see her standing in the other room against the

far wall. She was strikingly handsome and for a moment Laura felt the

old feeling for her, but the love left almost as fast as it had come.

Beebo was a big girl, big-boned and good looking, like a boy in early

adolescence. Her black hair was short and wavy and her eyes were an

off-blue, wide, well spaced. She had come to New York from a small town

near Milwaukee before she was twenty, and she had had a sort of

heartiness then, a rosy-cheeked health that had faded too fast in the

hot-house atmosphere of Greenwich Village. She took odd jobs where she

could; anything that would let her wear pants. And she ended up running

an elevator and wearing a blue uniform with gold trim. She had been

there for over ten years.

The manager took her for “one of those queers, but perfectly harmless.”

But he meant a _male_ homosexual, to Beebo’s endless hilarity. She was

fond of remarking, “I’m the world’s oldest adolescent. I’m a

professional teen-ager.” It was funny enough the first time, but Laura

was sick of it.

Now she stood in the living room of their small apartment playing with

Nix, and her merriment brought color to her cheeks. She had begun to

wear clothes that made her look sportier and healthier than she was:

men’s jackets and slacks, men’s shirts. And even, to Laura’s dismay, a

sort of riding habit, with modified jodhpurs, a slightly fitted coat,

and boots. She had a pair of high black boots in butter-smooth leather

with little ankle straps, boots made to fit the finely shaped feet that

she was proud of. It made her one of the sights of the village.

“You look like a freak!” Laura had exploded when Beebo first tried them

on, and succeeded in offending Beebo royally. But the older girl stuck

stubbornly to her outfit.

“I’m no man. Okay. But I’m sure as hell no woman, either. I don’t look

good in anything. At least these things fit me,” she defended herself.

“Your underwear fits you, too, darling,” Laura said acidly. “Why don’t

you parade around in that if you want to cause a sensation?” But though

she needled her, Laura couldn’t make her change.

Now Beebo stood in the living room, visible to Laura through the kitchen

door, dressed in the riding clothes. She did not look mannish like some

Lesbians. She simply looked like a boy. But she was thirty-three years

old, and there were very faint lines around her eyes and mouth.

Laura’s little flash of desire faded almost before it bloomed. And when

she found that Nix had wet the floor, that Beebo had kissed Frankie

Koehne and Jean Bettman, and that the police had appeared saying they

had two complaints and the party would have to simmer down, Laura gave

up.

She stormed into the bathroom and locked the door—the one lockable door

in the apartment. The guests took the hint and filed out, leaving the

apartment a quiet shambles.

When Laura came out, only Jack and Beebo were still there. They were

sitting in the kitchen where they had collected most of the glasses, and

were finishing up whatever liquor was left in them.

Beebo looked up when Laura came in. She was quite drunk and through the

mists she saw Laura, with her long blond hair and pale face, as a sort

of lovely vision. “Hi, sweetie,” she murmured. “You sure got rid of the

company in a hurry.” She grinned.

Laura glanced disapprovingly at the used glasses Beebo was drinking

from. “You’ll get trench mouth,” she predicted.

“Will you make love to me when I’ve got trench mouth?”

“NO!”

Beebo laughed. “You won’t anyway, so it doesn’t matter,” she said dryly.

“Come sit on my lap.”

Laura leaned against the kitchen counter near Jack. “No,” she said.

“Be nice to me, baby.”

“Nix is nice to you. You don’t need me. Nix ruins the rug for you. He

barks loud enough to wake the dead. He even sleeps with you.”

But Beebo felt too much desire for her to be jockeyed so fast into an

argument. “Please, baby,” she said softly. “I love you so.”

And Jack, watching her, felt a pang of sympathy and regret go through

him. She sounded too much as he sounded himself a couple of months ago.

And Terry had left him anyway and wrecked his life. It was all so sad

and wrong; unbearable when you’re mismated and desperately in love.

“Go to her, Mother,” he said suddenly. “She needs you.”

Laura was miffed at his interference. But she knew what was bothering

him, and to soften it for him, she went. Once she was on Beebo’s lap,

everything seemed to relax a little. Beebo held her, leaning back

against the wall and pulling Laura’s head down on her shoulder, and Jack

watched them enviously. He knew, as Laura knew, and even Beebo must have

known in her secret heart, that the affair was doomed, that the party

had celebrated an ending, not a new beginning. And yet for a moment

things were serene. Beebo held Laura and whispered to her and stroked

her hair, and Jack listened to it as if it were a lullaby, a lullaby he

had heard somewhere before and had sung once himself. But it was a

mournful lullaby and it turned into the blues—a dirge for love gone

wrong.

Beebo nuzzled Laura and Laura lay quietly in her arms and endured it.

She relaxed, and that made it better. She didn’t want Beebo to excite

her; she didn’t want to give her that satisfaction. So she shifted

suddenly and asked Jack, “Do you think they had a good time?”

“Lili did. She loves to promote her bosom,” he said.

“Laura, baby.” Beebo turned Laura’s face to hers and tickled her cheeks

with the tip of her tongue. “You taste so sweet,” she whispered. “I want

to lick you all over like a new puppy.”

Laura couldn’t stand it. The once-welcome intimacy sickened her now that

she no longer loved Beebo. She got up abruptly and walked over to the

stove. “Anybody want some coffee?” she said.

“You and your goddam coffee,” Beebo said irritably.

“You could use a little,” Laura said, “both of you.”

“I’d be delighted,” Jack said, speaking with deliberate care as he

always did when he was drunk.

Laura made the instant coffee and passed the cups around. Jack doctored

his with a double shot of scotch and took a cautious first sip.

“Delicious,” he said, looking up to find a storm brewing. Beebo was

glowering at Laura.

“I said I didn’t want coffee,” she said. “Nobody around here understands

English tonight.”

“If you’re referring to Lili, I don’t like to be classed with your old

whores,” Laura said.

“Why not? You’re in good company, baby. You don’t think you’re any

better than they are, do you?”

“You should have told me you asked Lili! You should have _told_ me,

Beebo! And Frankie, too. God, don’t you think I have feelings?”

“Good.” Beebo grinned. “I didn’t think you could get jealous any more.”

“Oh, grow up, Beebo!” Laura cried, exasperated. “I can be humiliated. I

can be embarrassed and hurt.”

Beebo poured her coffee into an empty highball glass, which cracked from

the heat with a loud snap. Her eyes looked up slyly at Laura, expecting

a reprimand, but Laura ignored it, too angry to do anything. Beebo

laughed and poured herself a watery drink from another glass. “Did I

hurt you, Laura, baby? Did I really? How did it feel? Tell me how you

liked it.”

Laura didn’t like the way she laughed. “Does that strike you funny?” she

said sharply.

Beebo began to chuckle, a low helpless sort of laugh that she couldn’t

control; the miserable sort of laugh that comes on after too much to

drink and too little to be happy about. “Yes,” she drawled, still

laughing. “Everything strikes me funny. Even you. Even you, my lovely,

solemn, angry, gorgeous Laura. Even me. Even Jackson here. Jack, you

doll, how come you’re so handsome?”

Jack grinned wryly, twisting his ugly intelligent face. “The Good

Fairy,” he explained. “The Good Fairy is an old buddy of mine. Gives me

anything I want. You want to be handsome like me? I’ll talk to him. No

charge.”

Beebo kept laughing while he talked. She sounded a little hysterical.

“No, I don’t want to be handsome,” she said. “I just want Laura. Tell

your damn fairy to talk to Laura. Tell him I need help. Laura won’t let

me kiss her any more.” She stopped laughing suddenly. “Will you, baby?”

“Beebo, please don’t talk about it. Not now.”

“Not now, not ever. Every time I bring it up, same damn thing. ‘Not now,

Beebo. Please, Beebo. Not now.’ You’re nothing but a busted record, my

love. A beautiful busted record. Kiss me, little Bo-peep.” Laura turned

away, biting her underlip, embarrassed and defiant. “Please kiss me,

Laura. That better? _Please._” She dragged the word out till it ended in

a soft growl.

Laura hated Beebo’s begging almost more than her swaggering. “If you

didn’t get so drunk all the time, you’d be a lot more appealing,” Laura

said.

Beebo got up and lurched across the room in one giant step and took

Laura’s arms roughly. She turned her around and forced a kiss on her

mouth. They were both silent afterwards for a moment, Laura looking

hot-faced at the floor and Beebo, her eyes shut, holding the love she

was losing with awful stubbornness. Jack watched them in a confusion of

pity.

He liked them both, but he loved Laura as well. In his own private way

he loved her, and if it ever came to a showdown it was Laura he would

side with.

At last Beebo said softly, “Don’t shut me out, Laura.”

Laura disengaged herself slightly. “If you didn’t drink so much I

wouldn’t shut you out.”

“If you didn’t shut me out I wouldn’t drink so much!” Beebo shouted,

suddenly. “I wouldn’t have to.”

“Beebo, you drink because you like to get drunk. You were drunk the

night I met you and you’ve been more or less drunk ever since. _I_

didn’t do it to you, you did it to yourself. You like the taste of

whiskey, that’s all. So don’t give me a sob story about my driving you

to drink.”

“There you go, getting holy on me again. Who says _you_ don’t like

whiskey?”

“I have a drink now and then,” Laura flashed at her. “There are so many

damn whiskey bottles in this apartment I’d have to be blind to avoid

them.”

Jack laughed. “I’m blind,” he said, “most of the time. But I can always

find the booze. In fact, the blinder I am the better I find it.” He

chuckled at his own nonsense and swirled the spiked coffee in his cup.

“Laura, you lie,” Beebo said. “You lie in your teeth. You just like the

way it tastes, like me.”

Laura had been drinking too much lately. Not as much as Beebo, but still

too much. She didn’t know exactly why. She blamed it on a multiplicity

of bad breaks, but never on herself. “If you wouldn’t drag me around to

the bars all night,” she said. “If you wouldn’t continually ask me to

drink with you....”

“I _ask_ you, Bo-peep. I don’t twist your arm.” She eyed Laura foggily.

Laura turned to Jack. “Do I drink as much as Beebo?” she demanded. “Am

_I_ an alcoholic?”

Beebo gave a snort. “Jack,” she mimicked, “am _I_ an alcoholic?”

“Do you have beer for breakfast?” he asked her.

“No.”

“Do you take a bottle to bed?”

“No.”

“Do you get soused for weeks at a time?”

“No.”

“Do you ... have a cocktail now and then?”

“Yes.”

“You’re an alcoholic.”

Beebo threw a wet dishcloth at him.

“I’m going to bed,” Laura announced abruptly.

“What’s the matter, baby, can’t you take it?”

“Enough is too much, that’s all.”

“Enough of what?”

“Of you!”

Beebo turned a cynical face to Jack. “That means I can sleep on the

couch tonight,” she said. “Too bad. I was just getting used to the bed

again....” She hiccuped, and smiled sadly. “Don’t you think we make an

ideal couple, Laura and me?”

“Inspirational,” Jack said. “They should serialize you in all the

women’s magazines. Give you a free honeymoon in Jersey City.”

“Knowing us as well as you do, Doctor,” Beebo said, and Laura, her teeth

clenched, stood waiting in the doorway to hear what she was going to

say, “what would you recommend in our case?”

“Nothing. It’s hopeless. Go home and die, you’ll feel better,” he said.

“Don’t say that.” Suddenly Beebo wasn’t kidding.

“All right. I won’t say it. I retract my statement.”

“Revise it?”

“God, in my condition?” he said doubtfully. “Well ... I’ll try. Let’s

see.... My friends, the patient is dead of the wrong disease. The

operation was a success. There is only one remedy.”

“What’s that?” Laura asked him.

“Bury the doctor. Oops, I got that one wrong too. Excuse me, ladies. I

mean, _marry_ the doctor. Laura, will you marry me?”

“No.” She smiled at him.

“I’m an alcoholic,” he offered, as if that might persuade her.

“You’re damn near as irresistible as I am, Jackson,” Beebo said. She

said it bitterly, and the tone of her voice turned Laura on her heel and

sent her out of the room to bed. Beebo went to the open kitchen door and

leaned unsteadily on it.

“Laura, you’re a bitch!” she called after her. “Laura, baby, I hate you!

I hate you! Listen to me!” She waited while Laura slammed the door

behind her and then stood with her head bowed. Finally she looked up and

whispered, “I love you, baby.”

She turned back to Jack, who had finished the coffee and was now

drinking out of the whiskey bottle without bothering with a glass. “What

do you do with a girl like that?” she asked.

Jack shrugged. “Take the lock off the bedroom door.”

“I already did.”

“Didn’t work?”

“Worked swell. She made me sleep on the couch for five days.”

“Why do you put up with it?”

“Why did you? It was your turn not so long ago, friend.”

“Because you’re crazy blind in love.” He looked toward her out of

unfocused eyes. Jack’s body got very intoxicated when he drank heavily,

but his mind did not. It was a curious situation and it produced bitter

wisdom, sometimes witty and more often painful.

Beebo slumped in a chair and put her hands tight over her face. Some

moments passed in silence before Jack realized she was crying. “I’m a

fool,” she whispered. “I drink too much, she’s right. I always did. And

now I’ve got her doing it.”

“Don’t be a martyr, Beebo. It’s unbecoming.”

“I’m no martyr, damn it. I just see how unhappy she is, how she is dying

to get away from me, and then I see her brighten up when she’s had a

couple, and I can only think one thing: I’m doing it to her. That’s my

contribution to Laura’s life. And I love her so. I love her so.” And the

tears spilled over her cheeks again.

Jack took one last drink and then left the bottle sitting in the sink.

He said, “I love her too. I wish I could help.”

“You can. Quit proposing to her.”

“You think I should?”

“Never mind what I think. It’s unprintable. I’m just telling you, quit

proposing to her.”

“She’ll never say yes,” he said mournfully. “So I don’t see that it

matters.”

“That’s not the point, Jackson. I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

“Jack, you don’t want to get married.”

“I know. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“What would you do if she did say yes?”

“Marry her.”

“Why?”

“I love her.”

“Drivel! You love me. Marry me.”

“I could live with her, but not with you,” he said. “I love her very

much. I love her terribly.”

“That’s not the reason you want to marry her. You can love her unmarried

as well as not. So what’s the real reason? Come on.”

If he had not been so drunk he would probably never have said it.

“I want a child,” he admitted suddenly, quietly.

Beebo was too startled to answer him for a moment. Then she began to

laugh. “You!” she exclaimed. “_You!_ Jack Mann, the homosexual’s

homosexual. Dandling a fat rosy baby on his knee. Father Jack. Oh, God!”

And she doubled up in laughter.

Jack stood in front of her, the faintest sad smile on his face. “It

would be a girl,” he mused. “She’d have long pale hair, like Laura.”

“And horn-rimmed glasses like her old man.”

“And she’d be bright and sweet and loving.”

“With _dames_, anyway.”

“With me.”

“Oh, God! All this and incest, too!” And Beebo’s laughter, cruel and

helpless, silenced him suddenly. He couldn’t be angry, she meant no

harm. She was writhing in a net of misery and it eased the pain when she

could tease. But the lovely child of his dreams went back to hide in the

secret places of his heart.

After a while Beebo stopped laughing and asked, “Why a girl?”

“Why not?”

“You’re gay. Don’t you want a pretty little boy to play with?”

“I’m afraid of boys. I’d ruin him. I’d be afraid to love him. Every time

I kissed him or stroked his hair I’d be thinking, ‘I can’t do this any

more, he’ll take it wrong. He’ll end up as queer as his old man.’”

“That’s not how little boys get queer, doll. Or didn’t your mama tell

you?”

“She never told me anything.” He smiled at her. “You know, Beebo, I

think I’m going mad,” he said pleasantly.

“That makes two of us.”

“I’m serious. I’m even bored with liquor. By Jesus, I think I’ll go on

the wagon.”

“When you go on the wagon, boy, I’ll believe you’re going mad for sure.

But not before.” She put her own glass down as if it suddenly frightened

her. “Why do we all drink so much, Jackson? Is it something in the air

down here? Does the Village contaminate us?”

“I wish to God it did. I’d move out tomorrow.”

“Are we all bad for each other?”

“Poisonous. But that’s not the reason.”

“It’s contagious, then. One person gets hooked on booze and he hooks

everybody else.”

“Guess again.”

“Because we’re queer?”

“No, doll. Come with me.” He took her by the hand and led her on a

weaving course through the living room to the bathroom. The dachshund,

Nix, followed them, bustling with non-alcoholic energy. Jack aimed Beebo

at the mirror over the washbowl. “There, sweetheart,” he said. “There’s

your answer.”

Beebo looked at herself with distaste. “My face?” she asked.

Jack chuckled. “Yourself,” he said. “You drink to suit yourself. As

Laura said, you drink because you like the taste.”

“I hate the taste. Tastes lousy.”

“Beebo, I love you but you are the goddam stubbornest female alive. You

don’t drink because anybody asks you to, or infects you, or forces you.

You’re like me. You need to or you wouldn’t! Ask that babe in the mirror

there.”

“I can’t live with that, Jack,” she whispered.

“Okay, don’t. I can’t either. I just made up my mind: I’m quitting.”

She turned and looked at him. “I don’t believe you.”

He smiled at her. “You don’t have to,” he said.

“And what if you do? How does that help me?”

He shook his head. “You have to help yourself, Beebo. That’s the hell of

it.” He turned and walked toward the front door and Beebo followed him,

scooping Nix off the floor and carrying him with her. “Don’t go, Jack,”

she said. “I need somebody to talk to.”

“Talk to Laura.”

“Sure. Like talking to a wall.”

“Talk anyway. Talk to Nix.”

“I do. All the time.” She held the little dog tight and turned a taut

face to it. “Why doesn’t she love me any more, Nix? What did I do wrong?

Tell me. Tell me....” She glanced up at Jack. “I apologize,” she said.

“What for?”

“For laughing about your kid. Your little girl.” She stroked Nix. “I

know how it feels. To want one. You just have to make do with what

you’ve got,” she added, squeezing Nix.

Jack stared a little at her. “You know, it comes to me as a shock now

and then that you’re a female,” he said.

“Yeah. Comes as a shock to me too.”

He saw tears starting in her eyes again and put a kind hand on her arm.

“Beebo, you’re trying too damn hard with Laura. Relax. Ignore her for a

couple of days.”

“Ignore her! I adore her! I die inside when she slams that door at me.”

She dropped Nix suddenly and threw her arms around Jack, nearly

smothering him. “Jack, you’ve been through it, you know what to do. Help

me. Tell me. Help me!” And her arms loosened and she slumped to the

floor and rolled over on her stomach and wept. Nix licked her face and

whimpered.

Jack stood looking over her, still smiling sadly. Nothing surprised him

now. He had lived with the heartbreaks of the homosexual world too long.

“Sure, I know what to do,” he said softly. “Just keep living. Whatever

else turns rotten and dies, never mind. Just keep living. Till it’s

worse than dying. Then it’s time to quit.”

“Ohhhh,” she groaned. “What shall I do?”

“Stop loving her,” he said.

Beebo turned over and gaped at him. Jack shrugged and there was sympathy

in his face and fate in his voice. “That would straighten things out,

wouldn’t it?”

Beebo shook her head and whispered, “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“I know,” Jack repeated. “Goodnight, Beebo.”

The bedroom door opened and Beebo surprised Laura sitting on the closet

floor fingering her shoes and dreaming. The party was two days past, the

hang-overs were still with them, but love was seven days behind them.

Beebo didn’t know how much longer she could take it. She had tried,

since Jack’s advice about relaxing, to keep her distance from Laura. It

had not worked miracles, but it had helped.

However, Laura resented the love she could no longer return. Perhaps it

was anger at her own failing, her own empty heart. Laura felt a sort of

shame when Beebo embraced her. She blamed herself secretly for her

fading affection. Beebo’s love had been the strongest and Beebo’s words,

when she spoke of it, the truest. And yet Laura had said those same

words and felt those same passions and believed, as Beebo had believed,

that it would last.

She could not be sure where she had gone wrong or when that lovely flush

of desire had begun to wane in her. She only knew one day that she did

not want Beebo to touch her. When Beebo had protested, Laura had lost

her temper and they had had their first terrible fight. Not a spat or an

argument or a disagreement, as before. A fight—a physical struggle as

well as a verbal one. An ugly and humiliating thing from which they

could not rise and make love and reassure each other. That had been

almost a year ago. Others had followed it and the breach became serious,

and still they clung to each other.

Only now Laura’s need was weakening and it was Beebo who held them

together almost by herself. It was Beebo who gave in when a quarrel

loomed, who took the lead to make peace afterwards, to try to soothe and

spoil Laura. Beebo had the terrible fear that one of these days the

quarrel would be too vicious and Laura would leave her. Or that she

would go beyond the point of rational suffering and kill Laura.

Once or twice she had dreamed of this, and when she had wakened in sweat

and panic she had gone to the living room and turned the light on and

spent the time until dawn staring at it, repeating the jingles of

popular tunes in her mind as a sort of desperate gesture at sanity.

Now Beebo stood looking down at Laura and at Nix, who was chewing on a

pair of slippers, and she felt a wrenching in her heart. It just wasn’t

possible for her to ignore Laura any longer. She had kept hands off

since the party and her talk with Jack. There had been no begging, no

shouting, no furious tears. Now she felt she deserved tenderness and she

knelt down and took Laura’s chin in her hand and kissed her mouth.

“I love you,” she said almost shyly.

And Laura, who wanted only to leave her, not to hurt her, lowered her

eyes and looked away. She could not say it any more. _I love you,

Beebo._ It wasn’t true. And Beebo knew it and the knowledge almost

killed her, and yet she didn’t insist. “Laura,” she said humbly. “Kiss

me.”

And Laura did. And in a little wave of compassion she said into Beebo’s

ear, “I don’t want to hurt you any more.”

Beebo took it the wrong way, the way that hurt her least. She took it to

mean that Laura was apologizing and wanted her love again. But Laura

meant only that Beebo had been dear to her once and that it was awful to

see her so unhappy. “It’s my fault,” she said. “Only—”

“Only nothing,” Beebo said quickly. “Don’t say it. Say sweet things to

me.”

“Oh, Beebo, I can’t. Don’t ask me. I’ve forgotten the sweet things.”

Suddenly she felt like crying. She had never meant to wound Beebo. She

had had the best intentions of loving her faithfully for the rest of her

life. And yet now every pretty face she saw on the streets caught her

eye, every new set of eyes or curving lips at the lunch counter.

Laura was afraid and ashamed. She had always protested hotly when

somebody accused Lesbians of promiscuity. And yet here she was refuting

her own argument, at least in her thoughts and desires. It was still

true that in the whole time they had lived together, she had never

betrayed Beebo with another woman.

Knowing how Beebo felt only made Laura’s conscience worse. It made her

resentful and gentle by fits. Either way it was nerve-wracking and left

her exhausted.

Suddenly Beebo picked her up and put her on the bed. She sat down beside

her and slipped her arms around her and began to kiss her with a

yearning that gradually brought little darts of desire to Laura. She

didn’t want it until it happened. And then, inexplicably, she did. It

was good, very good. And she heard Beebo whisper, “Oh, if it could

always be like this. Laura, Laura, love me. Love me!”

Laura turned her head away and shut her eyes and tried not to hear the

words. Gradually the world faded out of her consciousness and there was

only the ritual rhythm, the wonderful press of Beebo’s body against

hers. It hadn’t been like this for Laura for months, and she was both

grateful and annoyed.

Beebo made wonderful love. She knew how, she did it naturally, as other

people eat or walk. Her hands flowed over Laura like fine silk in the

wind, her lips bit and teased and murmured, all with a knowing touch

that amounted to witchery. In the early days of their love Laura had not

been able to resist her, and Beebo had loved her lavishly.

Often Laura had felt an ache for those days, when everything was sure

and safe and certain in the fortress of passion. She had taken passion

for love itself, and she had been secure in Beebo’s warm arms. Now it

seemed that Beebo had been just a harbor where she could rest and renew

herself at a time when her life was most shattered and unhappy. She

didn’t need the safe harbor now. She was grateful, but she needed to

move on. It was time to face life again and fight again and feel alive

again. For Beebo the time of searching was over. It ended when she met

Laura.

She had a small ten-watt bulb in a little bedstand lamp that shed a

peachy glow around them, and she always had it on when they went to bed.

Laura had loved it at first, when just the sight of Beebo’s big firm

body and marvelous limbs would set her trembling. But later, when she

was afraid her slackening interest would show in her face, she asked

Beebo to turn it out. It had been one more in a series of harsh

arguments, for Beebo had known what prompted her request.

Now they lay beside one another, their hearts slipping back into a

normal rhythm, their bodies limp and relaxed. Laura wanted only to

sleep; she dreaded long intimate talks with Beebo. But Beebo wanted

reassurance. She wanted Laura’s soft voice in her ears.

“Talk to me, Bo-peep,” Beebo said.

“Too sleepy,” Laura murmured, yawning.

“What did you do today?”

“Nothing.”

“Shall I tell you what I did?”

“No.”

“I got a new shirt at Davis’s,” Beebo said, ignoring her. “Blue with

little checks. And guess who rode in my elevator today?”

Laura didn’t answer.

“Ed Sullivan,” Beebo said. “He had to see one of the ad agency people on

the eighth floor.” Still no response. “Looks just like he does on TV,”

Beebo said.

Laura rolled over on her side and pulled the covers up over her ears.

For some moments Beebo remained quiet and then she said softly, “You’ve

been calling me ‘Beth’ again.”

Laura woke up suddenly and completely. Beth ... the name, the girl, the

love that wound through her life like a theme. The tender first love

that was born in her college days and died with them less than a year

later. The love she never could forget or forgive or wholly renounce.

She had called Beebo “Beth” when they first met, and now and then when

passion got the best of her, or whiskey, or nostalgia, Beth’s name would

come to her lips like an old song. Beebo had grown to hate it. It was

the only rival she knew for certain she had and it put her in the

unreasonable position of being helplessly jealous of a girl she didn’t

know and never would. Whenever she mentioned her, Laura knew there was a

storm coming.

“If I could only _see_ that goddam girl sometime and know what I was up

against!” she would shout, and Laura would have to pacify her one way or

another. She would have to protest that after all, it was all over, Beth

was married, and Beth had never even loved her. Not really. But when

Laura grew the most unhappy with Beebo, the most restless and

frustrated, she would start to call her Beth again when they made love.

So Beebo feared the name as much as she disliked it. It was an evil omen

in her life, as it was a love theme in Laura’s.

Laura turned back to face Beebo now, nervous and tensed for a fight.

“Beebo, darling—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Sure, I know. _Darling._” She lampooned Laura’s soothing love word

sarcastically. “You just pick that name out of a hat. For some screwy

reason it just happens to be the same name all the time.”

“If you’re going to be like that I won’t apologize next time.”

“_Next_ time! Are you planning on next time already? God!”

“Beebo, you know that’s all over—”

“I swear, Laura, sometimes I think you must have a girl somewhere.”

Laura gasped indignantly, but Beebo went on, “I do! You talk about Beth,

Beth, Beth so much I’m beginning to think she’s real. She’s my demon.

She lives around the corner on Seventh Avenue somewhere and you sneak

off and see her in the evenings when I work late. And her husband is

out.” Her voice was sharp and probing, like a needle in the hands of a

nervous nurse.

“Beebo, I’ve never betrayed you! Never!”

Beebo didn’t really believe she had. But Laura had hurt her enough

without betraying her and Beebo, who was not blind, could see that Laura

would not go on forever in beautiful blamelessness.

“You will,” Beebo said briefly. They were the words of near despair.

Laura was suddenly full of pity. “Beebo, don’t _make_ me hurt you,” she

begged. She got on her knees and bent over Beebo. “I swear I’ve never

touched another girl while we’ve lived together, and I never will.”

“You mean when you stumble on a tempting female one of these days you’ll

just move out. You can always say, ‘I never cheated on Beebo while we

lived together. I just got the hell out when I had a chance.’”

“Beebo, damn you, you’re impossible! _You’re_ the one who’s saying all

this! I don’t want to cheat, I don’t want to hurt you, I _hate_ these

ugly scenes!” She began to weep while she talked. “God, if you’re going

to accuse me of something, accuse me of something real. Sometimes I

think you’re getting a little crazy.”

Beebo clasped her around the waist then, her strong fingers digging

painfully into Laura’s smooth flesh, and sobbed. They were hard sobs,

painful as if each one were twisting her throat.

“Forgive me, forgive me,” she groaned. “Why do I do it? _Why?_ Laura, my

darling, my only love, tell me just once—you aren’t in love with anybody

else, are you?”

“No!” said Laura with the force of truth, resenting Beebo’s arms around

her. She wanted to comfort her, yet she feared that Beebo would pounce

on the gesture as a proof of love and force her into more love-making.

Her hands rested awkwardly on Beebo’s shoulders.

“If you ever fall for anybody, Bo-peep, tell me. Tell me first, don’t

spare me. Don’t wait till the breach is too wide to heal. Give me a

chance. Let me know who it is, let me know how it happened. Don’t keep

me wondering and agonizing over it. Anything would be better than lies

and wondering. Promise you’ll tell me. _Promise_, love.”

She looked up at Laura now, shaking her so hard that Laura gasped.

“Promise!” she said fiercely.

“All right,” Laura whispered, afraid of her.

“Say it.”

“I promise—to tell you—if I—oh, Beebo, please—”

“Go on, damn you!”

“If I ever fall—for somebody else.” Her voice was almost too weak to

hear.

Beebo released her then and they both fell back on the bed, worn out.

For a long time they lay awake, but neither would make a move toward the

other or utter a word.

* * * * *

The next day Beebo awoke feeling that they had come closer to the edge

of breaking up than ever before, and she could feel herself trembling

all over. She got up before Laura was awake and, taking Nix with her

into the kitchen, she poured herself a shot. She was ashamed of this new

little habit she was acquiring. She hadn’t told anybody about it, not

even Jack. Just one drink in the morning. Just one. Never more. It made

her hands steady. It made the day look brighter and not quite so

endless. It made her situation with Laura look hopeful.

She took the hot and satisfying amber liquid straight, letting it burn

her tight throat and ease her. Then she washed out the shot glass and

returned it to the shelf with the bottle.

“Nix,” she said softly to the little dog, “I’m a bad girl. Your Beebo is

a wicked bitch, Nix. Do you think anybody cares? Do you think it

matters? What the hell good is it to be a bad little girl if nobody

notices you? What fun is it then? Shall I have another shot, Nix?

Nobody’s looking.”

He whimpered a little, watching her with puddle-bright eyes, and made

her laugh. “_You_ care, don’t you, little dog?” She leaned down and

picked him up. “You care, anyway. You’re telling me not to be an ass and

let myself in for a lot of trouble. And you’re right. Absolutely.”