Читать книгу Women In The Shadow - Ann Bannon - Страница 6

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 hangovers 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 anymore. 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 anymore.”

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 goddamn 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 lovemaking. 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.”

She sat down on a kitchen chair and sighed. “You know, if she loved me, Nix, I wouldn’t have to do it. You know that, don’t you? Sure you do. You’re the only one who does. Everybody else thinks I’m just turning into an old souse. But it’s not true. It’s because of Laura, you know that as well as I do. She makes me so miserable. She has my life in her hands, Nix.” She laughed a little. “You know, that’s kind of frightening. I wish I knew if she was on my side or not.”

There was a moment when she thought she would cry and she dumped Nix off her lap and quickly poured herself one more shot. It went down easier than number one, but she washed the shot glass out as before and put it and the bottle back on the shelf as if to tell herself: That’s all, that’s enough.

Beebo turned and smiled at Nix. “Now look at me,” she said. “I’m more sober than when I’m really sober. My hands have quit shaking. And I’m not going to quarrel with her when she gets up. I’m going to say something nice. Come here, dog. Help me think of something….

“I’d sell my soul to be an honest-to-God male. I could marry Laura! I could marry her. Give her my name. Give her kids … oh, wouldn’t that be lovely? So lovely….” Jack’s desire for a child didn’t seem grotesque to her at all anymore.

“But Nix,” she went on, and her face fell, “she wouldn’t have me. My baby is gay, like me. She wants a woman. Would God she wanted me. But a woman, all the same, She’d never take a man for a mate.”

She felt the vile tears sneaking up on her again and shook her head hard. “She couldn’t take that, Nix. It’d be even worse than—than living with me.” And she gave a hard laugh.

Beebo heard the bedroom door open and she dropped Nix and went to the icebox. Within moments Laura entered the kitchen.

“‘Morning,” she said.

“Good morning, Madam Queen. What’ll it be?”

“Soft boiled egg, please. Have to hurry, I’ll be late to work.” She had a job in a tourist trap over on Greenwich Avenue, where they sold sandals and earrings and trinkets.

Beebo busied herself with the eggs and Laura poured orange juice and opened the paper. She buried herself in it, moving just a little to let Beebo put her plate down in front of her.

Beebo sat down opposite her and ate in silence for a minute, eating very little. She lighted a cigarette after a few minutes and sipped cautiously at her hot coffee.

“Laura?” she said.

“Hm?”

“Even in the morning, with your hair up and your nose in the paper and your eyes looking everywhere but at me … I love you, Laura.” She said it slowly, composing it as she went and smiling a little at the effect. The liquor had loosened her up.

“What?” said Laura, her eyes following a story and her ears deaf.

“I have a surprise for you, Bo-peep,” Beebo tried again.

“Oh. Says here it’s going up to ninety today … A surprise?” She lowered the paper a bit to look at Beebo.

“Um-hm. I didn’t get you an anniversary present. I thought we might get you a new dress tonight. Stores are open.”

Laura was embarrassed. It still upset her to have to accept gifts from Beebo. She felt as if each one was a bid for her love, a sort of investment Beebo was making in Laura’s good will. It made her resent the gifts and resist them. And still Beebo came home with things she couldn’t afford and forced them on Laura and made her almost frantic between the need to be grateful, the pity she felt, and the exasperation that was the result of it all.

“I don’t need a dress, honey,” Laura said.

“I want you to have one.”

“God, Beebo, if I bought all the clothes you want me to have we wouldn’t have money to eat on. We’d be broke. We’d be in hock for everything we own.”

“Please, baby. All I want to do is buy you an anniversary present.”

“Beebo, I—” What could she say? I don’t want the damn dress?

“I know,” Beebo said abruptly. “I embarrass you. You don’t like to be seen in the nice stores with me. I look so damn queer. Don’t argue, Bo-peep, I know it,” she said, waving Laura’s protests to silence. “I’ll wear a skirt tonight. Okay? I look pretty good in a skirt.”

It was true that Laura was ashamed to go anywhere out of Greenwich Village with her … Beebo, nearly six feet of her, with her hair cropped short and her strange clothes and her gruff voice. And when she flirted with the clerks!

Laura had been afraid more than once that they would call the police and drag Beebo off to jail. But it had never happened. Still, there was always a first time. And if she had a couple of drinks before they went, Laura wasn’t at all sure she could handle her.

“Why don’t you let me find something for myself?” Laura asked, pleading. “I know you hate to put a skirt on. You don’t have to come. I’ll pick out something pretty.” But she knew, and so did Beebo, that unless Beebo went along Laura would buy nothing. She would come home and say, “They just didn’t have a thing.” And Beebo would have to face the fact that Laura resented her little tributes.

So she said, “No, I don’t trust your taste. Besides, I like to see you try on all the different things.”

So it was that Laura met her at Lord and Taylor’s on Fifth Avenue after work. It had to be a really good store, and Beebo had to pay more than they could afford, or she wasn’t satisfied. Laura anticipated it with dread, but at least it was better than another awful quarrel. If Beebo would just be quiet. If she would just keep her eyes—and her hands—off the cute little clerks in the dress departments. Laura always tried to find a stolid middle-aged clerk, but the shops seemed to abound in sleek young ones.

Still, Beebo, subdued perhaps by her plain black dress and by Laura’s nervous concern, kept quiet. Laura noticed a little whiskey on her breath when they met outside the store, but nothing in her behavior betrayed it.

“Do I stink?” she had asked, and when Laura wrinkled her nose Beebo took a mint out and sucked on it. “I won’t disgrace you,” she said. She was making a real effort.

They zigzagged around the Avenue, finding nothing that both looked right and could be had for less than a fortune. At Peck and Peck, near nine o’clock, Laura said, “Beebo, I’ve had it. This is positively the last place. I don’t want you to dress me like a damn princess. I’d much rather have one of those big enamelware pots—”

“Oh, goddamn the pots! Don’t talk to me of pots!” Beebo exclaimed and Laura answered, “All right, all right, all right!” in a quick irritated whisper.

She went up to the first girl she saw, determined to waste as little time as possible. “Excuse me,” she said. “Could you show me something in a twelve?”

The girl turned around and looked at her out of jade green eyes. Laura stared at her. She was black-haired and her skin was the color of three parts cream and one part coffee. In such a setting her green eyes were amazing. There was a tiny red dot between them on her brow, Indian fashion, but she was dressed in Occidental clothes. She gazed at Laura with exquisite contempt.

“Something in a twelve?” she repeated, and her voice had a careful, educated sort of pronunciation. Laura was enchanted with her, pleased just to look at her marvelous smooth face. Her skin was incredibly pure and her color luminous.

“Yes, please,” Laura said.

With a light monosyllable, unintelligible to Laura, the girl shrugged at a row of dresses. “Help yourself,” she said in clipped English. “I cannot help you.”

Laura was surprised at her effrontery. “Well, I—I would like a little help, if you don’t mind,” she said pointedly.

“Not from me. Go look at the dresses. If you see one you like, buy it.”

Laura stared at her, her dander up. “You just don’t care if I buy a dress or not, do you?” she prodded. The girl, who had begun to turn away, looked back at her in annoyance.

“Can you think of one good reason why I should?” she asked.

“You’re a clerk and I’m a customer,” Laura shot back.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said icily. “But I am no clerk. And if I were, I wouldn’t wait on you.”

It was so royal, so precise, that Laura blushed crimson. “Oh,” she said in confusion. “Please forgive me. I—I just saw you standing there and I—”

“And you took it for granted that I must be a clerk? How flattering.” She stared at Laura for a minute and then she smiled slightly and turned away.

Laura was too interested in her just to let her fade away like that. She started after her with no idea of what to say, feeling idiotic and yet fascinated with the girl. She touched her sleeve and that lovely beige face swiveled toward her, this time plainly irritated. But before either of them could speak Beebo came toward them. She had a couple of dresses over one arm and she sauntered up with typical long strides, a cigarette drooping from one corner of her mouth. Laura saw her coming with a sinking feeling.

“I found these, Laura. Try them on,” she said, looking at the Indian girl. There was a small awkward silence. “Well?” Beebo said suddenly, smiling at the strange girl. “Friend of yours, Bo-peep?”

Laura could have slapped her. She hated that pet name. It was bad enough in private, but in public it was intolerable.

“No, I—I mistook her for a clerk,” Laura said. Her cheeks were still glowing and the girl looked from her to Beebo and back as if they were both dangerous. Laura’s hand fell from her arm and she stepped backwards, still watching them, as if she half-feared they would follow her.

“Don’t mind her,” Beebo told her, thumbing at Laura. “She thinks her best friends are clerks. She’s just being friendly.” Laura heard the edge in her voice and became uneasy.

But the Indian girl, if she was an Indian girl, unexpectedly relented a little and smiled. “It’s all right,” she said. She looked at Laura. “I’m not a clerk,” she said. “I’m a dancer.”

“Oh!” Suddenly an unwelcome little thrill flew through Laura. She couldn’t have explained it logically. The girl was very demure and distant. But she was also very lovely, and Laura had a brief vision of all that creamy tan skin unveiled and undulating to the rhythm of muffled gongs and bells and wailing reeds.

She must have looked incredulous for the girl said suddenly, “I can prove it.”

“Oh, no! No, that’s all right,” Laura protested, but the girl handed her a little card with a name printed on it, and Laura took it eagerly. “I did not mean I would demonstrate,” the girl said carefully.

Beebo laughed. “Go ahead,” she said. “We’re dance lovers. I don’t think Laura’d mind a bit, would you, baby?” She was mad at Laura for flirting and Laura knew it.

The little card read, Tris Robischon and underneath, Dance Studio and an address in the Village. “I just didn’t want you to think I was lying,” the girl said, somewhat haughtily. And before Laura or Beebo could answer her she turned and left them standing, staring after her.

Beebo turned to frown at Laura. “You made a hit, it seems,” she said acidly. “Let’s see her card.” She snatched it from Laura’s reluctant fingers.

“Take it. I don’t want it!” Laura said angrily, for she did want it very much. She turned away sharply, giving her attention to a row of dresses, but she knew Beebo wouldn’t let her off the hook so easily. There would be more nastiness and soon.

“You got her name out of her, at least. Pretty smooth.” Beebo’s voice was hard and hurt. “Tris Robischon. Doesn’t sound very Indian to me.”

“How would you know, swami?” Laura snapped. “If you throw a jealous scene in here I’ll leave you tonight and I’ll never come back, I’m warning you!” she added in a furious hiss, and Beebo glared at her. But she didn’t answer.

Finally Laura dragged some dresses off the rack and turned to her. “I’ll try these,” she said. Beebo followed her to the dressing room and watched her change into one and then another in angry silence.

At last Laura burst out, “I didn’t ask her for the damn card. I don’t know why she gave it to me.”

“It’s obvious. You’re irresistible.”

Laura took two handfuls of Beebo’s hair and shook her head till Beebo stopped her roughly and forced her to her knees. Fury paralyzed them both for a moment and they stared at each other helplessly, trembling.

Laura wanted that card. She wanted it enough to soften suddenly and play games for it. “Beebo, be gentle with me,” she pleaded, her tense body relaxing. “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered. “I don’t know who the girl is and I don’t care.”

Beebo stared at her suspiciously till Laura reminded her, “We came to get a dress, remember? Let’s not spoil it. Please, Beebo.”

Beebo released her and sat staring at the floor. Laura tried on dresses for her, but Beebo wouldn’t look at them. No tender words, no coaxing, no teasing that would have been so welcome any other time worked with her tonight. When Beebo got jealous she was a bitch—irrational, unreasonable, unkind.

“I’m going to take this one,” Laura said finally, a little desperate. “Whether you like it or not.”

Beebo looked up slowly. “I like it,” she said flatly, but she would have said, “I hate it,” in the same voice.

Laura went over to her and took her face in both hands, stooped down, and kissed her petulant mouth. “Beebo,” she murmured. “You love me. Act like it.” It was so foolishly selfish, so unexpected, and so almost affectionate that it was funny, and Beebo smiled wryly at her. She took Laura’s shoulders and pulled her down for another kiss just as a clerk—a genuine clerk—stuck her face in and said, “Need any help in here?”

“No thanks!” Laura blurted, looking up in alarm. Beebo put her head back and laughed and the clerk stared, pop-eyed. Then she shut the door and sped away. Beebo stood up and swept Laura into her arms and kissed her over and over, all over her face and shoulders and ears and throat until Laura had to beg her to stop. “Let’s get out of here before that clerk makes trouble!” she implored.

When they left the dressing room Laura noticed that Beebo had put Tris Robischon’s card in the sand pail for cigarettes. It stuck out like a little white flag. Laura risked her purse—with $15.87, all they had for the next week—to get the card back. She left the purse on the chair as she followed Beebo out. And so it was that she was able to make an excuse to go back and retrieve them both, purse and card, while Beebo paid for the dress.