shoulder, unwanted and unsure. “Well, I don’t know why _you_ left the
Village but I think I know why _I_ did. Finally,” she said. Her voice
was hard and she knew she was going to hurt him and she cringed from it
almost as much as he did. And still she spoke, compulsively. “I left
because it was the only way I could see out of my problems. You were my
escape hatch, Jack. You were just too damn convenient.”
“That’s my charm,” he said harshly. “Ask Terry.”
“It isn’t the first time I’ve run away from my problems. I ran away from
Beth in college. I ran away from my father. From Marcie—remember her?
She was straight. I didn’t find out till I tried to make love to her.”
“I remember. You ran straight to me. And if you hadn’t you’d be enjoying
a protracted vacation in a mental institution at this moment.”
“You helped, I admit it. I don’t know what I would have done. But that’s
not the point. The point is, that here I am doing it again. Running
away. Not _to_ you this time, but _with_ you.”
“So?” he said. “So we run away. So what the hell? Let’s run. Who gives a
damn? What’s _eating_ you, Laura?”
“It’s wrong, that’s what! You told me when we left the Village I’d get
over it and Beebo didn’t matter ... she’d survive. And I believed you.
Until today.”
“And now you think she won’t survive?” he asked bitingly. “Because of
something she did ten months ago while you were still living with her?”
Laura was swallowed up for a moment in a sob. “I want her!” she gasped
finally. “Oh, God and Heaven, I want her!” And she stamped her foot like
a furious child.
When she was quiet enough so he could talk without shouting, Jack said,
“Sure. I want Terry. But we’re poison together. So are you and Beebo. If
you go to her you’ll come running back to Uncle Jack before the month is
out. Fed up all over again. Only this time there’ll be a difference.
This time Beebo really will commit mayhem. Or murder. Or both. And if
you don’t run fast enough, Mother, it may be you she murders. I wouldn’t
put it past her.”
“I want her back!” Laura amazed herself with her own words, words she
never meant to say. Jack stared at her, his face pale and determined.
“You can’t have her.”
“Jack,” she said, suddenly pleading, “let me go to her. Just for a week
or two. Please. Please let me.” She walked toward him as she spoke, her
arms extended.
“No,” he said flatly. “Two weeks, hell.” He was afraid she wouldn’t ever
come back.
“Jack, I wouldn’t stay. I’d come back to you.”
“No!” It was absolute. He couldn’t take the chance. “We’ve had all this
out. We agreed to it before we got married.”
“Jack, darling—”
“I won’t talk about it, Laura. You can’t go back to her and that’s
final.”
“But only for a week or two, just a few days....”
“You’re my wife,” he blazed so fiercely that she stopped in her tracks,
startled. “You’re my wife and you’re not going to live with any Lesbian
in any Village! Not while I live!”
She tried once more. “Jack, don’t you understand? For the first time I’m
beginning to realize how I feel about her, how I always felt. Tris made
me realize it a little. And now Lili. And even living with you—”
“Living with me has made you lonesome for women, that’s all. And Beebo’s
a handy woman. Goddam it, Laura, I never denied you women. I’ve
encouraged you. Admit it, go on! I’ve _asked_ you to chase a few broads.
It’s not my fault if you’ve developed an itch. Go out and have yourself
a fling; you should have done it long ago. I don’t give a damn, only
don’t go to Beebo. And come back. Come back here, you understand? If you
don’t I’ll come after you! And I’m capable of mayhem myself!”
She looked at his big burning eyes and trembled. “I just want to see
her,” she whispered.
“What makes you think she wants to see _you_?” he demanded. “What makes
you think she won’t greet you at the door with the same knife she used
on Nix?”
“That’s what Lili said.”
“Well, for once Lili is right. I know Beebo; she’s crazy. You catch her
on a wrong day in a wrong mood and she won’t even think about it. She’ll
just operate on you as she did on the dogs.” He gazed unblinking at her.
“That would kill me, Laura, as sure as it would you. Besides, I can’t
take any chances. You might be carrying my child.”
This struck fury into Laura. She had nearly managed to forget the child,
in the press of other things, but no longer. She picked up a pair of his
shoes, sprawled near the closet, and flung them at him, one after the
other. One flew through the window, splattering glass in its wake, and
the other struck his arm.
“Why do you torment me?” she shouted. “Why do you talk about nothing but
baby, baby, baby? I never wanted the damn thing! I hope I never have a
baby! I hope I never have _your_ baby! I hope it’s born a boy! I hope
it’s born blind! I hope it’s never born at all!” She was screaming at
him, and he came to her carefully, coaxing her.
“You’re all wrought up, Mother,” he said. He could see that she was
hysterical.
“Don’t call me Mother!” she shrieked, her voice strained so that she
could hardly articulate.
“Laura, for God’s sake,” he said, trying to brush it off, trying to keep
calm, help her. “I call you ‘Mother’ in honor of my Oedipus complex.
Purely a formality. It has nothing to do with babies. Come lie down,
honey. Come on. I’ll get you something to quiet you down. Come on,” he
wheedled gently, but she looked at him like he meant to murder her then
and there, backing away from him. When he made a quick move to grab her,
she sprang away, picking up the stool to her dressing table. She threw
it at him with all her strength. While he dodged she grabbed her shoes
and coat and ran from the room.
At the front door she paused briefly to stare at him with desperate eyes
and then she heaved an ashtray at him and fled. It cut his hand, which
he threw up to protect his face.
Laura ran down the stairs. There was no time to wait for the elevator.
She could hear Jack behind her, running and calling her name. At the
front door she turned swiftly toward the river and climbed a chain link
fence, ripping the flesh here and there along her limbs and tearing her
blouse. She dropped, torn and gasping, to the other side just as Jack
burst from the door and looked wildly in all directions for her. She
rolled soundlessly some feet down the long slope that ended in chill
black water.
There she waited, sobbing quietly, clinging to handfuls of greasy mud
and roots and embedded rocks. She heard his footsteps going toward First
Avenue. He thought she would run for a taxi or hide in a doorway. Laura
scrambled and stumbled south along the embankment, not waiting for him
to come back looking for her. There was a suffocating panic in her. She
didn’t question it or wonder where it came from. She just did as it bid
her, struggling through the dirt on the incline.
There was no looking back, no stopping for rest. She moved forward
doggedly, tripping and sinking to her knees and clambering up again and
going on, trying to stay near the fence in case she lost her footing.
The going was slippery and rough and her breath rasped in and out with a
fast whining sound. She had gone nearly three blocks when a jutting
stone, invisible in the semi-dark, threw her, and she felt herself begin
to skid and roll. She made a wild grab for the fence but it was already
fifteen feet above her and receding fast. The wind was bumped out of her
and she could not even scream. She had no idea how far she had fallen
before she stopped.
Laura lay gasping and moaning for a few minutes, trying to get her
breath back. She knew she was crying but she made no effort to stop. She
moved herself gently to see if anything was broken, but the ground was
not hard and she had missed the bad stones. She had no idea how long she
had been there. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours.
She thought vaguely it must have been hours when she finally stirred,
chilled through, and opened her eyes. Beside her, on the ground, sat a
man.
Laura screamed, a weak shuddering noise, and fell back, covering her
face with her hands.
“Don’t mind me,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”
Laura felt herself trembling with fear. She tried to pull her torn
clothes straight, but it was so dark she could hardly see what she was
doing. When he turned his face toward her she could see a little of it.
It was very indeterminate; there was no way to guess his age or anything
about him.
She stood up quickly and started to scramble up the hill, but he said,
“There’s an easier way.”
She gave him one quick scared glance and then went on, but he stood up
and said, “There’s steps about a half block on.”
Again she turned, very wary but willing to listen now. It looked a
million miles to the top.
“I’ll show you,” he offered. His voice was not menacing and he stood
facing her with his hands in his back pockets, a black statue with
silver edges. “Come on, I’ll walk ahead.”
He turned then and went southward, agile and sure. After a moment Laura
began to follow him, moving clumsily and with great effort, trying to
copy his movements and praying that he wouldn’t suddenly attack her. She
stooped and grabbed a sharp stone glinting at her feet and held it tight
in a sweating hand, just in case.
He heard her panting behind him and stopped, bringing Laura up sharp
with a gasp. “You’re tired,” he said. “Want to sit down a minute?”
She shook her head at him.
“You can talk to me, I’m no devil,” he said. And she had the idea he was
grinning at her. But when she maintained her tense silence he shrugged
and turned back. Now and then he glanced at her to see how she was
doing. “Want some help?” he asked when she stumbled once, leaning toward
her, but she drew back fast and he said, “Okay. Just trying to help.”
They walked for a few moments and Laura was almost ready to bolt from
him when she realized that the lights ahead she had taken for far
distant were in reality small bulbs strung up to illuminate a row of
steps.
“Maybe you’re wondering who I am,” he said almost hopefully as they
neared the steps, as if he had a story to tell and was looking for a
listener.
He turned, one hand on the iron rail that ran alongside the steps, and
held out a hand to her. “Here y’are. Help you?”
She ignored him, turning her back to him to swing a leg over the low
railing.
“Don’t you wonder who I am?” he said. “I don’t help just anybody, little
girl.” He spoke sharply. “Don’t you want to know my name?”
“No!” she cried suddenly, angrily, startling herself. “You’re just a man
and all men are alike. No matter what their names are!” He gaped at her,
astonished. “You don’t really care about me, only about yourself. You
don’t want to know _my_ name, you only want me to know _yours_.” She
spoke breathlessly at breakneck speed. “You can’t suffer like a woman
can. You aren’t made to take it, you men. You’re just made big enough
and brute enough to hurt us. But we can’t hurt you. We can’t hurt you,
do you hear?” And she stopped abruptly, putting her hand over her mouth
in a storm of self-pity and shame and revulsion. It was Jack she was
screaming at, not this stranger. She couldn’t believe she had hurt Jack
as she had hurt Beebo or it would destroy her. She screamed to make
herself believe she couldn’t really hurt him, no matter what she did.
The tears burst from her eyes when she saw it all for a lie. A lie
shouted to spare her own tortured feelings. The man looked at her,
patient now and unamazed. He was over his first surprise. And hers was
not the first desperate speech he had heard on the shores of the East
River.
Laura began to run up the steps.
“You won’t get far, looking like that,” he called after her.
Momentarily Laura stopped and looked at herself in dismay. She turned
and glanced back at her guide. He was standing on the steps some twenty
feet below her, smiling at her consternation. He was a large man,
big-boned, and she thought, _My God, he could break me in two. Like my
father._
“Cat got your tongue?” he said.
She started up again on shaky legs and he called, “Is that all the
thanks I get?”
At this Laura began to run, but to her alarm he ran after her. She felt
her heart balloon in her chest, beating frantically, and when he caught
her, only a few steps from the top, she yelled in fear. She would have
screamed without stopping until somebody heard her if he had not wrapped
a big hand around her mouth and forced her against the gate.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I told you that. I never hurt anyone. I’m
harmless.” He grinned, and Laura, squirming under his big hand, was
dizzy with panic.
He held her quietly for a few minutes as if to assure her that he spoke
in good faith. Finally he asked her, “Where are you going?” and released
her mouth. When she tried to holler at once he covered it again.
“I’ll ask you again,” he said. “But don’t yell. Where are you going?”
When he freed her mouth this time she murmured, “Home. I’m going home.
Let me go.”
“How you getting home?”
“I—I’ll walk. It’s not far. Just a block.”
“You know what block this is?” He smiled with superior knowledge.
“It can’t be far,” she said.
He shook his head quizzically. “I don’t get it. You’re not even drunk.
You’re tore up but you’re no tramp neither. Mostly the ones I find down
here are hitting the bottle. Or they wouldn’t be down here. Or kids,
exploring. Not pretty girls.” He smiled and Laura’s one intense hope was
that she not faint and fall into his clutches.
“Let me go,” she said, trying to sound controlled. But her big eyes and
urgent breathing gave her away.
“Okay.” He took his hands away from her altogether, and said, “Go. But
I’ll bet you need a dime to telephone with.”
She turned, dragging on the gate behind her until he said, “Here. Let
me.” He opened it for her. And when she saw that he was really going to
let her go, she allowed herself to turn and look at him. See him. He was
holding out a dime.
“Take it,” he said. “At least you can call somebody to come get you.”
Laura stared at him. He was big and ugly, seamy-faced, and wearing dirty
clothes with a worn cap tilted over his ear. But he had a nice honest
grin. And he looked, for all his dirt and size, rather childish. Laura
stood poised at the gate, wavering between flight and the dime. At last
she took it, her face reddening. She had to drop her sharp stone to get
it.
“Didn’t need that, didya?” he said with a smile, watching it fall.
She shook her head and whispered, “Thanks.”
“That’s all I want to hear,” he said and let her go. She ran halfway
down the block, and then turned, overwhelmed with curiosity, to see what
had happened to him. He was standing there behind the closed gate gazing
after her, smiling. _He’s nuts_, she thought. _An idiot. A damn man!
That’s probably all he does, save people from the river. But even that
... even that pitiful life is worth more than mine. All I’ve ever done
is hurt the people I love the most._
At the end of the block she stopped running and looked once more. He was
gone.
10
Laura hid herself for a minute in a shadowed doorway and tried to make
sense of things. She was a mess, with mud on her torn clothes and on her
face, tangled hair and dried blood.
She made an effort to smooth her hair down. There was some Kleenex in
her pocket and she wiped her face off carefully, reaching every corner
of it and rubbing till the skin turned pink. She brushed at her
disheveled clothes rather hopelessly. Maybe it was late enough so nobody
would notice her.
She began to walk, holding her arms together in front of her as if to
keep herself warm, but in fact to keep the worst rips from showing. And
she kept her head down. _If only the police don’t stop me_, she thought.
_I must look like a whore._
Laura walked straight west on Forty-first Street, for it was
Forty-first, past Lexington Avenue and Park and Fifth and Broadway and
over to Seventh. No cops stopped her, although more than one passerby
stared.
It was cold, a raw March night with the sting of coming storm in the
air. Laura went south on Seventh Avenue, walking almost mechanically.
When she thought of it she realized it was cold. But she hardly thought
of it. There was too much else on her mind.
She was very surprised to reach Fourth Street so quickly. She had known,
without thinking, that that was where she was going. In less than five
minutes she had entered the little court in front of Beebo’s apartment
building and the old familiar trembling had begun.
She sat down on a bench in the court to gather her strength. At last she
looked up the wall of dark windows behind her, twisting on the bench to
see, and saw lights in Beebo’s living room, and began to shiver.
Ten or a dozen times she looked up anxiously at the lights on the second
floor. They were faint, as if only one small light were on. With a
sudden rush of desire that eliminated the need to make a decision, she
pulled open the inside door and raced up the stairs.
At the top she stood trying desperately to get her breath. But she knew
after a moment that her whole body would shake and sweat and wear itself
out with unbearable anticipation if she didn’t get the door open. She
reached for the knob, but it was locked.
She rattled the knob hard and then she knocked.
When the door swung open a moment later she gasped in amazement. It was
Milo Robinson—Tris’s husband.
“Milo!” she exclaimed.
He stared at her.
“Don’t you remember me? I’m Laura. Laura Landon.”
“I remember,” he said quietly. “I just never saw you fresh out of the
gutter before.”
She looked down at herself and her cheeks went scarlet. “I look awful,
don’t I?”
“Somebody after you?” Milo asked.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Can I come in?”
“I guess you can,” he said, stepping back. “You’ve got as much right to
be here as me, that’s for sure.”
Laura walked into the living room and just the sight of it, warm and
comfortable and a little raggy, made her want to weep. She sank down on
the couch, exhausted.
“Want some coffee?” Milo said, staring at her.
“No, thanks. I’ve had too much tonight.”
“Milk?”
“I guess so. Thanks.”
“You look real bad, Laura. You’d better get to bed,” he said frowning at
her.
“Where’s Beebo?”
“Tell me that and I’ll tell you where my wife is,” he said sharply.
“You coming back to Beebo?” he asked her.
“If she’ll have me.”
“From what I know of it, she won’t. But I’m on your side, Laura. I’d do
anything to pry Patsy loose.”
It startled her to hear him call Tris by her real name. “Is Beebo in
love with her?” she asked cautiously.
“Naw,” he said with leisurely disgust. “She puts up with her but she’s
not in love with her.” He ambled out to the kitchen to pour her some
milk. “I should be so lucky,” he called. “I’d dump her. Right now.”
“How about Tris? How does she feel?”
He answered her while he poured the milk. “I don’t know, Laura. I never
could figure that kid. Living with her only makes it more confusing.” He
sounded very tired, like a man defeated. “I wish I could forget her,
forget the whole thing.”
He came back and handed her the milk and sat down in a chair near her.
They looked at each other. He was a tall young man in his early
twenties, handsome and well educated. His skin was dark and satiny in
the pink lamplight.
“Does she love you?” Laura asked gently.
He shrugged and gave a little laugh. “Who knows?” he said. “She says so
now and then. But that’s only when I lay down the law on the Lessie
stuff.”
“What’s the law?” Laura said.
“Well, goddam it, enough’s enough!” he exclaimed. “I like to see her
once in a while myself. She’s my wife.”
Laura thought of Jack and felt the tears start quietly down again.
“Excuse me,” she sniffled. “I’m running like a sieve tonight. I don’t
know why. Did Jack Mann come over here tonight?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Milo said. “I’ve only been here since midnight.”
“Did he call?”
“Nobody called.”
“Nobody?” She had been so certain Jack would follow her here. “When does
Beebo get in?”
“You tell me, then we’ll both know.” He sighed.
“What will you do with Tris, Milo?” She spoke softly, sympathetically,
in a raspy tired voice.
“Take her home again.”
“Do you understand her? What makes her so contrary?”
“No.” He turned and gave her a doleful grin, lighting another cigarette
from the first. “We’ve been married almost two years but I don’t know
her at all, to tell the truth. But I sure won’t let her go.”
“Does she want you to?”
“I don’t think she does,” he said. “Sound screwy? Well, not so very. She
needs me. Because I’m a man.” There was a pause and Laura mopped up the
useless tears and tried to think of Milo’s troubles, not her own.
“How long are you going to stay?” she asked him finally.
“I guess till they get back,” he said.
“Are you sure they’re together?”
“More or less. Patsy has a big thing on her.”
“Milo? Would you stay here till they get back, then? I’m afraid—I’m
afraid of Beebo. She might hurt me.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “Yeah. Okay,” he said, studying her.
“Say, haven’t you been gone a while? Patsy doesn’t tell me much, but I
got the idea.... I haven’t seen you around or anything.”
“Yes. I’ve been gone awhile,” she said, getting up. “I’m going to take a
shower and get cleaned up. Don’t tell her I’m here if she comes.”
“Patsy?”
“Beebo! Either of them.”
“Who shall I say is in the shower?”
“Santa Claus,” she said. She looked at him sitting glumly slumped in the
chair. “Why do you put up with it?” she said. “She’s too much. Tris is
too much for anybody.”
“Don’t call her Tris. She’s been Patsy ever since she was six years old
and skinned her knees in front of my house. Tris. Christ! It’s too
affected.”
“Did she ... ever really love me, Milo?” Laura asked it with a catch in
her throat.
“Did she ever love any of us? I don’t know.”
“Why do you keep coming back for more?”
He shrugged. “Same reason you do. You love Beebo. You know it’s a mess
and you’re in for a lot of hell. It’ll never be right. But you love her.
So you take it.” He gave another sad little chuckle. “I wish I knew what
it is about you girls. What makes you love each other?” Laura stared at
him. “If I knew there’s one thing sure—I’d put a stop to it. What makes
you queer, Laura? You tell me.”
“What makes you normal, Milo?”
“I was born that way. Don’t tell me you were _born_ queer! Ha!” And he
was sarcastic now.
“I was made that way,” she said calmly.
“By who?” he asked skeptically.
“A lot of people. My father. A girl named Beth. Myself. Fate.”
He snorted. “Why don’t you give up women?”
“Why don’t _you_!” she flashed.
He blinked at her, beginning to feel her stormy intensity.
“Is it _that_ bad?” he asked.
“_Sure_, it’s that bad! Do you think I live this way because I like it?
Would you live like you do if you could live like a white man?”
After a moment he shook his head, looking curiously at her.
“Neither would Tris. _Patsy._ So don’t be too hard on her, Milo. You
damn men, you’re all lousy selfish bastards.”
And to his astonishment, she threw the dirty dime at him.
Laura was pulling on a pair of Beebo’s big men’s flannel pajamas when
she heard the front door open, and her heart came to a sudden stop in
her breast. It started again with a wild thump, and she stood with an
ear to the door struggling to pull the roomy tops over her damp body and
hear what was said.
“Where is she?” Milo demanded.
The front door shut and there was a pause. Laura heard the scrape of a
match and the soft whistle of expelled breath.
“I sent her home,” Beebo said. And her voice sent a sharp thrill of
desire and recognition through Laura. She pressed her hands firmly over
her breasts till the flesh nearly burst between her fingers, as if to
still her own hard breathing.
“Where, the studio?” Milo said.
“Yeah. You entertaining, Milo?”
“What?”
“Who’s the milk drinker?”
And Laura remembered suddenly the milk Milo had fixed her. She hadn’t
finished it; just left it sitting on the table.
“Santa Claus,” Milo said.
“No kidding,” Beebo said with a grin. “I used to leave Santa Claus a
glass of milk. And cookies. When I was a little kid. But that was
Christmas Eve. This isn’t Christmas Eve, Milo.”
“Check the shower,” Milo said. “I didn’t ask her over. You sure Patsy’s
home?”
“Hell, no,” Beebo said and she was right by the bedroom door. Laura
leaped backwards across the room, stumbling and catching herself on the
bed. She straightened up, her heart in her throat, watching the door.
Her long blond hair was still damp from the shower, and she had on only
the long, striped tops of Beebo’s pajamas. They reached to mid-thigh on
her.
Beebo’s hand twisted the knob. “Go home, friend,” she said to Milo,
pausing. “Your wife needs a man tonight.”
Milo shrugged at her. “She asked me to stay.”
“_Who_ asked you to stay?”
He thumbed at the bedroom. “Says you might hurt her.”