Читать книгу Women In The Shadow - Ann Bannon - Страница 5

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 hungover from that long night of dreary festivity. Jack was always hungover, 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, who 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 anymore!” 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 hothouse 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 teenager.” 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 goddamn 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 goddamn 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 anymore, 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 1 can’t.”

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