body, lightly sheathed in silk. Her eyes snapped angrily at Tris, and
Tris saw it. “Sit down,” Laura said.
“So ...,” Beebo mused, her eyes half-closed and calculating. “You
discovered Laura in the Hobby Shop and got chummy, hm?”
“She told me where you live,” Tris said, turning to her with an
ingratiating smile. “It’s not far from me. She said to come over
sometime, so here I am. Perhaps I come at a bad time?” She looked from
one to the other.
“Any time is a bad time in this little love nest,” Beebo said. She
thumbed at Laura. “We hate each other,” she explained. “We only live
together so we can fight.”
“Oh.” Tris looked uncomfortable.
Beebo grinned at the two girls, pleased to have embarrassed them both,
her mind simmering with suspicions. Laura, stony-faced, refused to say
anything to Tris to put her at ease. She was furious with her for coming
in the first place.
“What’s your name, honey?” Beebo said to Tris. “I’ve forgotten.”
“Tris Robischon.”
“Didn’t you say you were Indian or something?”
“Yes.”
Beebo laughed and shook her head. “Yeah ...,” she said. “Indian.”
Tris began to squirm under her gaze. She was no longer so pleased to be
looked at as she had been when she entered. Beebo stared so hard, in
fact, that Tris finally said coldly, “Perhaps you object to dark skins.”
“So what if I do?” Beebo said casually, grinning.
Tris gasped. “Some people,” she said sharply, “think all non-whites are
inferior. Perhaps you are one of those?”
“Now what gives you a dumb idea like that?” Beebo said. “Do I look
unfriendly?”
“You stare at me as if I were not welcome.”
“I stare at you as if you were a damn pretty girl. Which you are. You’re
also too sensitive, but you’re welcome. I like that color.” She waved at
Tris’s shapely legs, crossed at the knees and poised on high-heeled
shoes. “On you it looks good.” And she grinned. There was an awkward
pause and Laura saw, with great irritation, that Tris was simply
returning Beebo’s gaze now, bashfully but rather eagerly.
“Have some coffee, Tris?” Laura said.
“Yes, please.” Tris looked at her swiftly, as if she knew Laura didn’t
like her interest in Beebo.
“What do you do with yourself all day, Tris?” Beebo said. Laura was
afraid of the way her voice sounded now.
“I dance.”
“Where?”
“My studio. I teach.”
“That all?”
“I—I have done professional work.”
They talked for a few minutes until Laura brought the coffee in. She
gave Tris a cup and placed one in front of Beebo. But Beebo reached out
and collared her with one long arm and pulled her down on the couch
beside her.
“Let go!” Laura snapped, but Beebo only held her harder.
“So you ... just ran into Laura in the Hobby Shop,” Beebo said to Tris.
“Fancy that.” She smiled a dangerous smile.
“Yes. It’s not so surprising. I mean I—I live so close by.”
Laura felt her fear rising in her throat and sweat bursting from her and
she was desperately impatient to get rid of Tris.
“You know something, little Indian girl?” Beebo said.
“What?”
“I don’t believe you.”
The atmosphere became tense and ominous. “I apologize for her, Tris,”
Laura said with a show of casualness. “She doesn’t believe anything.”
“Now tell me, Tris,” Beebo said, ignoring her, “how did you and Laura
really meet?”
Tris looked squarely at her and said, “You know how. I have told the
truth.” She lied very gracefully. Laura wondered how many lies she had
been fed herself. “But I see I am not welcome here,” Tris went on. She
stood up and replaced her coffee cup carefully in the saucer on the
table. “Thank you for the coffee,” she said regally and headed for the
front door.
Beebo sprang up from the couch suddenly and Laura, frightened, followed
her with almost the same movement. Beebo caught Tris at the door and
turned her around and without even a pause for breath kissed her harshly
on the mouth. It was a long and physically painful kiss, and Laura’s
furious exclamations did nothing to help. She pounded ineffectually on
Beebo’s back. “Beebo, stop it!” she cried.
But Beebo stopped in her own good time, and that was not until she had
bruised Tris’s mouth enough to make her cry. She cried softly, without a
sound, her eyes shut and her head back against the door, still lifted
toward Beebo.
Laura was shaken. “Tris—Tris—” she said, trying to get near her, but
Beebo shouldered her out of the way.
“That’s for being such a good friend of Laura’s,” Beebo said. “And
that’s all you get, too, my little Indian. Now get the hell out and
don’t come back.”
“Beebo, please!” Laura felt her own angry tears start up, and it was
unbearable to have Tris turn and leave so quickly, so quietly, without
giving her a gesture of comfort or apology. “Tris, I’m so sorry!” she
called after her, but it sounded trite and insincere.
Beebo shut the door and stood for a moment with her back to Laura.
Laura, shaking, moved away from her.
“Where did you meet her?” Beebo asked, still not looking at her. “Tell
the truth, Laura.”
“At work.”
Beebo whirled around. “How long are you going to lie to me!” she said.
“This is the last time!” Laura exploded, throwing her caution out with
her patience. “I’m leaving you, Beebo. I’ve _had_ it. You make me sick.
You’re ruining my life. I’m so damn scared and so damn miserable that
nothing is any fun, nothing helps. Life isn’t worth living, not like
this!”
“Where did you meet her?” Beebo said, with single-minded jealous fury.
“I went to her apartment!” Laura blazed at her. “I went back for her
card and I went to her apartment.”
“And made love to her.”
“No!” She shouted it angrily at first, but then she repeated it,
frightened, “No, Beebo! I swear!”
But Beebo came across the room in one sudden leap of rage and threw her
down hard on the floor, her big hands on Laura’s slim shoulders, holding
her cruelly and banging her head down again and again until Laura
screamed with pain and terror. And then Beebo dropped her and slapped
her and all the time she kept repeating like a mad woman, “You made love
to her, love to her. Where’s that key? The _key_, damn it!”
“I’ll give it to you,” Laura sobbed at last. “Oh, God, Beebo, don’t kill
me! I’ll give it to you.”
Beebo let her up then, or rather, dragged her to her feet. Laura stood
beside her, swaying and dizzy, her eyes blurred by tears and her head
aching. She went into the bedroom, shoving Beebo’s hands away from her
with sharp gestures of hatred, her teeth clenched. And she opened her
purse and pulled out her wallet and gave Beebo the key.
Beebo snatched it from her and picked up the box like a miser going
after a cache of gold. And Laura, seeing her chance, grabbed the purse
and a sweater that hung on the back of a chair and backed silently out
of the bedroom. She fled, on feet made feather-light with fear, to the
front door. She ran down the stairs with all the speed her fear could
muster and ran all the way—two blocks—to Seventh Avenue.
After a few frantic moments of scanning the street and looking back over
her shoulder she hailed a cab and climbed in, crying audibly. “Drive
uptown,” she told the man. “Just drive uptown for a few minutes.”
“Okay,” he said, giving her a quick, cynical onceover.
Laura looked up and saw Beebo rush into Fourth Street as the cab turned
around and headed north, and she sank down in the back seat, her hands
over her face. She let him drive her almost to Times Square before she
could control her sobs and give him Jack’s address.
_What if Beebo’s already there?_ she wondered suddenly. _Oh, God!_ She
would be, of course. But Jack would save her somehow. Better to be with
him, even if it meant facing Beebo again.
6
Laura was right. Beebo went straight to Jack’s apartment. She stormed in
and beat noisily on his door until he opened it.
“Christ in the foothills!” he exclaimed, pulling on the door and looking
into her wild furious face. She entered and slammed it behind her.
“She’ll be over here in a few minutes,” Beebo said wildly, waving the
diary at him. “I haven’t read much of this but I’ve read enough to know
what a bitch she is. And you—you—” For once in her life Beebo was at a
loss for words. “You lousy crawling scum sonofabitch, you’ve been egging
her on! You’ve been putting ideas into her head—about leaving me.”
She ranted hysterically at him, and Jack, although Laura had never
described her diary to him, began to get the idea in a hurry.
“Where is she now?” he said quietly when he could get a word in
edgewise.
“I don’t know, but she’ll be here before long. Whenever we have a
quarrel she drags her can over here as fast as she can move. You’re her
father confessor, her lover by proxy. She tells you everything. She only
lives with me.” She spat it at him enviously. “I’m her lover for good
and real but I’m not good enough to know what she thinks or what she
does. She saves that for you. I’ll kill her! By God, I will.”
“Scram, Beebo,” Jack said. His low voice was in sharp contrast to her
own, loud and hard with wrath.
“What’s the matter, isn’t my company good enough for you?” She turned on
him suddenly. He would have to take her threats till Laura got there;
she couldn’t hold them back.
“It’s just that I don’t like prospective murderers,” Jack said. “They
make me nervous.”
“You bastard! You holier-than-thou bastard! You think you’re so damn
superior because you’re still on the wagon. You _are_ on the wagon, I
can tell. You look so goddam sober it’s repulsive. Repulsive!”
“That’s the word for it, all right,” Jack agreed. His compliant attitude
only goaded her further.
“You hate me because Laura only comes to see you when she feels bad. She
_lives_ with me. But she doesn’t give a damn about you until she feels
bad. Then she comes running to good old Jack!”
“Beebo,” he said and did not raise his voice. “When I lost Terry I did a
hell of a lot of drinking and hollering. I came and drank your whiskey
and told you my troubles and you listened to me. And it helped. Now
you’re welcome to my whiskey—there’s still a little in the kitchen—and
you’re welcome to cry on my shoulder. But you’re not going to murder
anybody, here or anywhere else.”
“Only Laura,” Beebo said, and her voice was low now, too.
“Nobody,” Jack said. “Now scram, or I’ll throw you out.”
Beebo grabbed the lapels of his sport jacket. “She cheated on me, Jack.
You gave her the idea so don’t try to squirm out of it.”
“Cheated on you with who?”
“An Indian!” Her eyes were so big and her face so contorted that Jack
came very near laughter.
“What tribe?” he asked carefully.
“Not an _American_ Indian, you owl-eyed idiot! An _Indian_ Indian. A
dancer! Jesus!” And she lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “A _dancer_!”
“Classical or belly?”
“Oh, shut up! You think it’s funny!” She gave him a hard shove, but Jack
didn’t shove easily. He just stood his ground and surprised her. “It
doesn’t matter who she is, anyway,” she said and ran a distraught hand
through her close-cropped dark hair that waved and rolled around her
head and used to delight Laura. “What matters is, they’ve been sleeping
together and that cheeky little bitch—”
“Which one?”
“Jack, goddam you, quit interrupting me!” She paused to glare at him and
then said, “Tris. The dancer. She had the nerve to come over to the
apartment. Tried to tell me they met at the Hobby Shop. Oh, God!” And
she gave a despairing laugh.
“Maybe they did.” He offered it unobtrusively.
“Who’re you kidding?” Beebo snapped. “Laura _admitted_ she went to the
girl’s apartment.”
“After you pounded it out of her.”
Beebo held the diary out to him. “Read this, Jack. It’s all in here,”
she said.
“Does it say they slept together?”
“Damn right!”
“Did you read it?”
“No, but it’s in here,” she said positively, in the grip of the
spiraling violence that possessed her. “Jack Mann, college graduate,
engineer, former gay boy, former whiskey drinker, former human being.
Current know-it-all and champion bastard of Greenwich Village. _Read_
it!”
He shook his head without even glancing at it.
“Are you too proper? Too moral? Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed
a conscience! After all these years,” she said.
He shrugged. “Why read it? You’ve told me what’s in it.”
“Maybe you’d like to know what she says about me.” He saw her face color
up again and a shivering clearly visible in her hands and he said, “No.”
But Beebo opened the diary, leafing through it for the worst slander she
could find.
Jack took the book from her hands so suddenly that she let it slip
before she knew what he was up to, and then he socked her when she
reached for it, catching her on the chin. She reeled backwards and sank
to the floor. Jack leaned down and picked her up, hoisting her over his
shoulder. He carried her that way, head dangling in back and feet in
front, down the hall and out the door to the apartment building.
There he set her dizzily on her feet. She hardly knew where she was and
let him hold her up. He found a taxi for her on the corner of Fourth and
Seventh Avenue and told the driver, “She’s drunk. It’s only a couple of
blocks, but I can’t take her home,” and handed him five dollars. “Take
her upstairs,” he said, giving him the address. “Apartment 2B.”
He was headed up the steps to his apartment again when he heard Laura’s
voice calling him, and he turned around to see her running up the
sidewalk, hair awry and face like chalk.
“Laura!” he exclaimed and caught her. She began to sob the moment she
felt his arms around her, as if she had only been waiting to feel him
for the tears to start.
“Is she here?” she asked, and he could feel her quivering.
“She left,” he said. “I just put her in a cab. Your timing is faultless,
Mother.”
Laura looked at him out of big amazed eyes. “She’s gone? How did you do
it?” she asked. “What happened?”
“Come on inside,” he said. He led her down the hall and in his kitchen
at last, with the front door locked and no Beebo anywhere around and a
comforting drink to brace her, she heaved a long sigh of relief.
“Now,” said Jack, making himself some coffee. “Who is Tris?”
Laura clasped her glass in both hands and looked into the whiskey for an
answer. “She’s a dancer—”
“I know that part. I mean, are you sleeping with her?”
“No!” Laura flashed.
“Do you want to?”
And after a pause she whispered honestly, “Yes.”
“So Beebo’s not imagining things.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Laura cried bitterly. “She’s got my diary.”
“I saw it.”
“Did you read it?”
“No, but Beebo did.”
“What did she say?” Laura’s throat had gone dry all of a sudden at the
idea of Beebo perusing those private pages, and she took a sip of her
whiskey.
“She wants to solve the whole thing by murdering you.”
“I think she would, too,” Laura said, unsurprised. “Oh, Jack, help me.
I’m scared to death.”
“All right.” He came over, pulling his chair, and sat down beside her.
“Marry me.”
Laura covered her face with her hands and gave a little moan. “Is that
all you can think of? Is that all you can say?” she said, and she
sounded a little desperate. “I’m in love with Tris, and Beebo wants to
_murder_ me and you want to _marry_ me. What good will that do? I might
as well be dead as married!” And she said it so emphatically that Jack
was stung.
But he never let personal hurts show.
“Mother, you’re in a mess,” he said. “Nobody has a perfect solution for
you. And you have none at all for yourself. So listen to one from an old
friend who loves you and don’t stomp on it out of sheer spite.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, sipping the drink again. She let the tears
flow unchecked, without really crying. Her face was motionless, but
still the tears rolled down her cheeks, as if they had business of their
own unrelated to her emotion.
“Tell me something,” Jack said gently, putting an arm over the back of
her chair and leaning close to her. And as always with him, she didn’t
mind. She liked his nearness and the fact that he was male and strong
and full of affection for her. Perhaps it was because she knew he would
never demand of her what a normal man would; because she felt so safe
with him and so able to trust him. “Tell me why you went to live with
Beebo two years ago,” he said.
“I thought I loved her.”
“Why did you think you loved her?” he asked.
“Because she—well, she was so—I don’t know, Jack. She excited me.”
He lighted a cigarette with a sigh. “And that’s love,” he said.
“Excitement. As long as you’re excited you’re in love. When it turns
flat you’re not in love. Lord, what a way to live.”
Laura was taken aback by the selfishness she betrayed. “I didn’t mean it
that way,” she said. It had never seemed so cheap to her before.
“Are you in love with Tris?” he asked.
“I—I—” She was afraid to answer now.
“Sure you are,” he said. “Just like Beebo. Fascinating girl. More
excitement. Beebo’s worn out now, let’s try Tris. And when we wear Tris
out, let’s find another—”
“Stop it!” Laura begged.
“Where’s your life going, Laura?” he asked her. “What have you done with
it so far? Does it matter a damn, really? To anybody but you ... and
me?”
“And Beebo.”
“Beebo’s more worried about where her next drink is coming from than she
is about you.” He knew it wasn’t true. He knew if it ever came to a
choice, Beebo loved Laura desperately enough to give up drinking. But
Jack was fighting for Laura now.
Laura began to cry now, her face concealed behind her hands. “Please,
Jack,” she whispered, but he knew what he was doing. He had to make her
see it his way so clearly, feel the hurt so hard, that she would turn
away from the whole discouraging mess of homosexual life and come to
live with him far from it all.
“Look at me, Laura,” he said and lifted her face. “We can’t think
straight because we always think gay,” he said. “We don’t know anything
about a love that lasts or a life that means something. We spend all our
time on our knees singing hosannas to the queers. Trying to make
ourselves look good. Trying to forget we aren’t wholesome and healthy
like other people.”
“Some of the other people aren’t so damn wholesome either,” Laura said.
Jack put his arms around her suddenly and pulled her tight against him
and said, “Let’s get out of it, Laura. Let’s run like hell while we have
a chance. We could get away, just the two of us. But we can’t do it
alone; we need each other. We could move uptown and get a nice apartment
and you wouldn’t have to work. We could get married, honey.”
“But—”
“Please, Laura, please,” he begged her. “Maybe we could even ... adopt a
child. Would you like that? Would you?” He sounded a little breathless
and he leaned back to see her face.
Laura was startled. “I don’t know anything about kids. They scare me to
death.”
“You’d get over it in a hurry,” he said. “You’re female. You have
instinct on your side.”
“Do _you_ like kids?”
“I love them.”
“_I_ don’t. You’re more female than I am,” she said.
He laughed. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” he said. “Seriously,
Laura—would you like a child? A daughter?”
“Why not a son?” she asked him, sharp-eyed.
“Okay.” He shrugged warily. “A son.”
Laura slid back in her chair and looked at the ceiling. “I never even
thought about it before,” she said. “I just never dreamed I’d ever have
anything to do with a child of my own ... with _any_ child.”
“Do you want one?” He seemed so eager that she was reluctant to hurt
him. But she couldn’t lie to him.
“No,” she said. And when his face hardened, she added, “Because I’d be a
terrible mother, Jack. I’d be afraid of it. And jealous, I think. I’d be
all thumbs. I’d stick it full of pins and never be sure if I did it on
purpose or by mistake.”
“You won’t always feel that way,” he said, and she knew from the tone of
his voice that there was no arguing with him.
“Maybe not,” she said. “But if I marry you, Jack—” And they were both
startled to hear the words, as if neither had really expected Laura to
consider it seriously. “If I marry you, I wouldn’t dare adopt a child
for years. Not till I was sure we were safe together and the marriage
would last.”
“It would. It will. Say yes.”
“I can’t,” she said and drove him to his feet in a fit of temper.
“Goddam it, Laura, do you want to grow _old_ here in the Village?” he
said. “Have you seen the pitiful old women in their men’s oxfords and
chopped-off hair, stumping around like lost souls, wandering from bar to
bar and staring at the pretty kids and weeping because they can’t have
them any more? Or living together, two of them, ugly and fat and
wrinkled, with nothing to do and nothing to care about but the good old
days that are no more? Is that what you want? Because if you stay here,
that’s what you’ll get.
“Pretty soon you won’t know any other way of life. You won’t know how to
live in the big world. You don’t care a goddam about that world now when
you’re young. So when you’re old you won’t _know_ a goddam about it.
You’ll be afraid of it and of normal people and you’ll hide in a cheap
walk-up with a dowdy old friend or a stinking cat and you’ll yammer
about lost loves. Tempting, huh?” And he leaned on the kitchen table,
his eyes so bright with urgency that she couldn’t look at them and only
watched his mouth.
“Horrible,” she said.
He straightened up and shoved his hands in his pockets, and when he
started to speak again he was gazing out the window. “I want to get so
far away from here,” he said, “that—”
“That Terry will never find you again,” she guessed.
He dropped his head a little. “Yes,” he said. “That, too. Terry and Joe
and Archie and John and God knows who. We’d go way uptown and leave no
forwarding address ... nothing. Just fade out of the Village forever. No
Beebo, no Terry....”
“No Tris,” Laura whispered.
“I told you, Mother ... I’m no bluebeard. If you want affairs, have
them. You’re young, you need a few. Only keep them out of the Village
and keep them very quiet.”
“Do you think Terry would really come looking for you again?” she asked.
“After the way you threw him out?”
“There aren’t many men stupid enough to put up with his antics as I
did,” he said. “I think he might try to put the touch on me between
affairs.”
“Damn him!” Laura cried indignantly.
“Yes, he might try to find me. And Beebo would pace the city looking for
you. But let them. We’d be through with them forever.”
And Laura felt a very queer unwelcome pang for Beebo, for all that
wealth of misdirected love. Jack was standing behind her now, his hands
on her shoulders. “Well?” he said quietly. “Will you marry me?”
“Could I—answer you in the morning?” she asked.
“What the hell will you do tonight?”
“See Tris.”
“Oh. And if she’s nice, it’s no to old Jack. If she’s bitchy, it’s yes.
Right?” He said it lightly but she knew he was hurt.
“Not quite,” she said. “I want to test myself, I guess. Jack, for the
first time I feel almost—almost like saying yes. But I want to see her
first. Please let me.”
“You don’t need my permission, Mother.”
“Maybe Beebo’s found her already.”
“Beebo’s in bad shape. I lay odds she sleeps it off for a while. Even if
she’s found Tris she won’t be in condition to do either of you much
harm. Just call a cop and say she’s molesting you.”
Laura got up and turned to face him and they gazed at each other for
some minutes in silence. “Okay, Mother,” he said. “Go. And come back
_mine_.”
She smiled and then she walked past him to the door.
* * * * *
Tris was at home giving lessons when Laura got there. She had evening
classes twice a week, for adults. She didn’t slam the door in Laura’s
face, but she gave her a black look and directed her curtly to sit down
and be quiet. Her delicate mouth was ever so slightly swollen.
Tris went back to work and danced with her pupils for another forty
minutes without a word or a glance at Laura. It was lovely to watch.
There were only two students—a man and a girl—and they were learning an
intricate duet at Tris’s direction. They would execute what looked to
Laura like a perfect step and suddenly Tris would swoop down on them,
shouting temperamental criticisms. She finally made the man dance with
her, to give the girl the idea.
Laura watched her fascinated as she leaped into his arms, straight and
smooth and beautifully sure of herself. And Laura realized slowly that
only when she danced with the man did Tris look over at her to see her
expression.
_She’s trying to make me jealous_, Laura thought, and she was suddenly
weary; weary of all the envy and ill feeling and violence. She wanted
nothing more than to lie down quietly by Tris’s side, when the couple
had gone, and gently, without explanations or apologies, make love till
they both fell asleep. She knew if it happened like that—naturally and
easily and without pain—that she would stay with Tris. But she was
afraid that even if it were bitter and unhappy, she would stay anyway.