Beebo Brinker Chronicles 2 - I Am A Woman, In Love With A Woman

by Ann Bannon

  "Why?” Laura asked softly, her forehead wrinkled with sympathy.

  "Because I was gay. He didn't say it that way, of course. He didn't say, ‘Because you're queer, you poor bastard. I'm sorry for you but I can't take it any more.’ I could have stood that. But he just handed me a lot of bull."

  Laura felt like crying again. But she only said, “Isn't that something to be grateful for? He tried, anyway."

  "Yeah. He tried.” He said it so acidly that Laura was afraid to say any more.

  "There've been a lot since Joe,” he said, after a while. “Just like there'll be a lot for you after Marcie.” Laura tried to protest but he waved her down. “I know, I know, you're going to keep hands off. You're going to spend your whole life ignoring sex, ignoring what you are. Denying that you want it, running away from it. I was going to, too. That was twenty-five years ago."

  "Twenty-five years ago!” Laura stared at him. “How old are you, Jack?"

  "Forty-two. Surprised?” He smiled at her gaping astonishment.

  "I thought you were maybe five years older than I am. Twenty-five or so. You can't be forty-two."

  "That's what I keep telling myself. I can't be. But I sure as hell am."

  "I don't believe it.” He grinned. “Good,” he said. “I like to fool people."

  "Why?” It seemed crazy. “What does a man care how young he looks? I thought that was for women,” Laura said.

  "Women and gay boys. Do you think some pretty twenty-year-old is going to fall for a fat bald, middle-aged bastard with not even a bankroll to offer? I'm ugly, Mother. That's enough of a handicap. When I start looking old, I'll quit."

  "You're not ugly, Jack,” she said gently, trying to console him.

  But he took it with a sardonic laugh. “Only a Mother could love me,” he said.

  "Don't talk like this. You make me so sad."

  "Ahhh, Christ,” he said, and drank. He looked up at Laura, and she could see he wasn't focusing very well now. “I came here to talk about you anyway, not me. What did your father do to you when you were five years old?"

  Laura started. “When did I say that? Did I mention my father?” she asked. “Yes. In The Cellar. Probably as good a place as any."

  "I-I didn't mean my father,” she said. “Don't fib to me, Laura. Let's be friends."

  After a few moments, she said, “I can't talk about it, Jack."

  "What did he do?"

  "We-we were at a summer resort.” It began to spill out of her. Jack had bared his anguish, and she felt suddenly safe with him, and needed. “We were there for a vacation one summer. We went fishing on the lake-Father and Mother and my brother and me.” Her voice grew soft as she spoke. “The boat capsized. I was the only one he could save. I was the closest to him. Mother and Rod drowned.” She shut her eyes with a little gasp against the old horror, still so sharp in her heart, like a big ugly needle stuck there to remind her she had no right to be alive. “All my life I've felt as if I killed them. He says I did. He hates me because I'm not his Son. He hates me because I'm not my own mother, his wife.” Jack seemed completely sober for a minute, staring at her with his brows knit. She put her head down and cried quietly. “That's all,” she said. “I can't tell you any more."

  "You don't need to,” he said softly. “Jesus."

  She took a deep breath and sat up, feeling as if she had lightened the weight of that leaden secret by sharing it. She was somewhat surprised to find that she was able to share it. She felt very close to Jack, as if they were now truly friends. Each of them had risked a little of himself to the other. And neither, now, was sorry.

  With a sigh, she looked at her watch. It was getting late. “I have to get up early,” she said, her voice still unsteady. “So do you. I know, Burr's always yelling about the hours. Let's go."

  "One more,” he said, holding up his glass. “I'm not quite through with you yet."

  "I don't get it,” Laura said to him. “We don't even know each other. This is the second time we've seen each other. And here we are talking like old friends."

  You're wrong, Laura. We know each other a lot better than some people who've been acquainted for years. Like Burr and Marcie. We know each other instinctively, don't you feel that? I wouldn't have called you otherwise. You wouldn't have let me drag you out tonight otherwise."

  "Don't talk about Marcie as if she didn't have a brain in her head,” Laura said.

  Jack smiled. “You are in love,” he said. “This is serious. She has a few brains, Mother, she just doesn't use them."

  "She's not stupid,” Laura defended her eagerly. “She's not sacred either."

  "I didn't mean that."

  "Oh, yes you did. I thought Burr was once."

  "Burr?” Laura stared at him. “Did you-were you—"

  "Nuts for Burr? Yes. Once. When I first met him."

  "What happened?"

  "Nothing. Thank God. I got over it. I go for big virile sons of bitches, just like Marcie. But I take care not to room with them anymore."

  Laura shook her head, a wry little smile on her face. “Don't you ever fall for the gay ones?"

  "I try to make a point of it.” He grinned sadly. “Unfortunately I sometimes miss the point. If you know what I mean."

  "I'm not sure."

  "It's just as well. I met Burr at work when he was hired about four years ago. I knew he was straight."

  "What's ‘straight'?"

  "Everything that's not ‘gay'-so I pussyfooted around the issue. I made him like me. I did his homework for him. I made him laugh. I told him what to tell the boss. I double-dated with him and Marcie and I was an usher at the wedding. I was Number One trouble-shooter after the. wedding. He thinks I'm indispensible."

  "But you-you don't still—"

  "No, I don't. Not anymore. But I still like to be with him. I like to watch them fight.” He smiled at her. “You do too."

  She felt embarrassed, as if he were looking through her clothes to her naked feelings. “However,” he went on, “I'm not under any lovely illusions about him being an intellectual giant. Or Marcie either. And I know damn well he won't give me a tumble if I just stick around long enough.” He gave her a piercing look. “Those are your illusions, Mother,” he said. “I suggest you drown them."

  "What does that mean?"

  "You can set Marcie's hair till the moon turns blue and she's not going to crawl into your bed to thank you for it."

  "I don't expect her to."

  "Sure you do. It's a mark of our breed. We're hopeless optimists. Otherwise we'd all commit suicide. We get a crush on somebody, and if he's straight we figure we'll just love him so much he'll have to turn gay. It doesn't work that way. Marcie isn't going to start kissing you just because you want her to.” Laura was incensed. “She already has,” she snapped. Jack's eyebrows went up. “When?” he said.

  "The night we got back from The Cellar. She said she felt funny in there with all those girls staring at her. She said she used to touch tongues with a girl when she was in her teens, and she wanted to do it again. And she did. You-you—” She didn't know what to call him. “You had to call me up right in the middle, just when I thought—” She stopped herself. “Oh, this isn't like me,” she moaned. “I never talk like this."

  "Only to yourself, hm?” He laughed. “I mess up your daydreams and your affair. God! What more can I do? I'm becoming the Man in your Life, Mother.” His laughter fizzled slowly, and Laura could tell he was quite drunk from the way he let his head hang for a minute. “You know,” he said and wagged a finger at her, articulating cautiously, “I never have trouble thinking when I'm drunk. But my tongue gets sloppy.” He laughed a little. “I say what I want to say, that's one good thing. But it sounds sloppy as hell.” He finished the drink in front of him. Laura started to get up, but he caught her wrist and said, suddenly very serious again, “You're in trouble, Laura. Marcie's straight. Accept that. It's a fact. If she's playing games with you, she's doing it for private kicks, not to give you
a thrill. And her kicks have nothing to do with being gay. They have to do with going out on a limb, with acting nuts once in a while. Maybe she's just pushing you out on a limb to see if you'll fall off. And you'll fall all right. Flat on your can.” He stopped for a minute to focus his gaze on her. “Marcie's about as queer as Post Toasties, Laura. Take my advice: move out."

  "But I can't! I won't!” she exclaimed defensively. “Why should I? I've done nothing wrong!"

  "I hadn't either when Joe gave me the glad news."

  "I'm not you. I've done nothing I'm ashamed of."

  "No, but you will. If you hang around, feeling like you feel. You were saved by a phone call Friday night. What if my timing isn't so good next time?"

  "I don't want to move out.” She said it stubbornly like a thwarted child. “All the more reason why you should."

  Laura got indignant. “I've got more will power than you give me credit for and I'm not going to be scared out."

  "What are you going to do for will power if she gets cold some night and crawls into your bed to keep warm? Or you take a shower together? Or she feels like pulling your nerves out by the roots one by one again, and makes you play let's-touch-tongues just for the hell of it? Just to see if she can get you sent up for sodomy? Be thankful you're female, Mother. At least your passion won't stand up and salute her."

  "I've had enough from you tonight!"

  "Okay, okay. But I advise you to find a nice butch somewhere and set up housekeeping in the Village. Or at least, cultivate a few lovelies down there so you'll have a place to let off steam when Marcie feels like playing games."

  "You're drunk and repulsive."

  "I know what I am, Laura. Don't change the subject."

  "I'm going home."

  "I'm coming with you.” He got up unsteadily and followed her toward the door. Outside he stopped her. “Don't hate me, Laura,” he said. And she couldn't, looking at him there in the pink glare of neon, short and plain, brilliant and miserable, offering her his curious stinging sympathy. “I wish I could,” she said and shook her head. He smiled at her. “I'll walk you home,” he said.

  "You don't need to. Why don't you get a taxi and get yourself home?"

  "Are you suggesting I can't walk?"

  "No.” She laughed.

  "You are. Just for that I'm going to walk you home whether you like it or not. To prove I can."

  "All right.” But she had to lead him most of the way. Jack could talk better than he could navigate when he was high. When they reached the apartment she hailed a cab for him and put him in it. She stood there watching it pull away down West End Avenue, watching it till it was indistinguishable from the sea of red tail lights traveling with it. And she felt an awakening affection for him.

  CHAPTER 7

  It was hard to get up the next day. Not impossible, just hard. Discouraging. Her head ached, and she was dissatisfied with herself. For the first time she wanted to cut work. But she went and she did her job. It wasn't until the middle of the afternoon that she jumped to hear Sarah ask, “What's the matter, Laura? A little under the weather?"

  Laura looked up at her. Do I look that bad? she wondered. “I'm a little tired. Why?"

  "The reports are piling up,” Sarah said, nodding at them.

  Laura rubbed her forehead. “I'm sorry, Sarah. I'll catch up. I'll work late."

  "Don't be silly!” Sarah laughed good-naturedly. “Catch up tomorrow. There's not that much of a rush."

  But the next day she didn't quite catch up; she got farther behind, in fact. Burr and Marcie had kept her up. It was partly the quarrel and partly the torturing silence that followed it. he went to work still more tired than the day before. Dr. Carstens came in to tell her a story about one of his woman patients, and she was frankly irritated. He picked himself up from her desk, where he was sitting, and huffed out, offended. “Okay, don't laugh,” he said. “The others thought it was funny."

  Laura drove herself almost crazy with her errors that afternoon. When her phone rang she jumped half out of her chair. It was Jack.

  "Good afternoon, Mother,” he said. “I'm selling used tooth brushes. Interested?"

  "No. I'm very busy. Goodby."

  "I'll see you at eight."

  "No."

  "Eight-fifteen."

  "No."

  "Eight-thirty."

  "All right! All right! All right! Goodby!” She slammed the receiver down and Sarah stared at her.

  Laura decided to work late, and it was close to eight-thirty when she got up to go. The reports, though fewer, were still not done. At the elevator the boy said, “Nice evening."

  "Is it?” She answered him apathetically, involved in her own world.

  "Yes, ma'am. It's really spring tonight.” He smiled at her.

  He was right. The air was soft and gentle, lavender and clear. It even smelled good, right there in mid-Manhattan, although that was probably an hallucination. Laura smiled a little. She hated to go underground to the subway, but it was late, and she wanted to get home in a hurry. It would really be gorgeous out on the roof tonight.

  She walked in to find Jack and Burr playing checkers. Marcie was cross-legged on the floor, in velvet lounging pants and a silk shot, humming while she covered the top of the round cocktail table with a plastic veneer treated to look like marble.

  She smiled up at Laura, who paused to admire her. “Alcohol proof,” Marcie said, rattling the table cover. “Mr. Marquardt gave it to me. We're advertising it for a new client, and they passed some around today. It sticks by itself. How do you like it?"

  "It looks wonderful,” Laura said. So did Marcie, her cheeks pink with enthusiasm.

  "You've had it, Mann,” Burr said, and Laura heard a checker smacking triumphantly over the board in a devastating series of jumps.

  "Touche, boy."

  "Why don't you take up tiddly winks? I could beat you at tiddly winks.” Jack sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand. He looked up at Laura without raising his head and smiled. She looked at him, absorbed in the idea that he had once been infatuated with the man beside him, and Burr had never known it. Burr thought he was as normal as himself. But of course, they had never roomed together. Suddenly Laura recalled that she had agreed to go out with Jack. “Jack—” she began, but he cut her off.

  "I see I have less allure than your typewriter,” he said. He cocked an eye at her. “Well, never mind, I don't have so many friends I can afford to be jealous of their typewriters."

  "Thanks, Jack,” she said with a little smile. She turned to go into the kitchen, but he jumped up and followed her. “Where the hell do you think you're going?"

  "Straight to the icebox. I'm starved."

  "We have a date. I'm taking you out to dinner."

  "Why don't we just stay here?” she pleaded.

  But all he said was, “No,” and she understood that he had made his mind up and had something planned.

  She was reluctant to leave Marcie, who looked so pretty. But the prettier Marcie looked, the worse Laura suffered. Maybe it would be better just to talk about her tonight. Talk to Jack about her. It sounded good.

  "Okay, but let's get home early. I'm beat, I really am,” she said.

  "Whatever you say, Mother.” He smiled, and she felt suddenly that it was terribly good to have him for a friend.

  When they got outside she said, “Let's go over to Hempel's. It's only a block."

  "No. We're going to The Cellar."

  "Oh, God no! It's miles away. We wouldn't get home till midnight."

  "A friend of mine wants to meet you."

  "Who?"

  "The name wouldn't mean anything. It would just scare you away, probably. She saw you when we were there last week. She likes your face."

  "Oh, that's ridiculous. Come on, I'm starving. I've got to eat or I'll faint."

  "This is a very interesting girl. She could teach you a lot."

  "I know everything I want to know.” He laughed, but she went on
, “Jack, I'm not going to the Village with you."

  But when they reached Broadway he hailed a cab and she let him put her in it, as she knew she would. “I can't. I won't. I'm tired and hungry,” she said. But she got in. “I'll fall asleep over my typewriter tomorrow,” she moaned.

  When they reached the Cellar she felt a lift of excitement in spite of herself. They arrived after the kitchen had closed, but Jack was a regular customer, and they were willing to fix him up.

  They followed a waitress to a table. Laura walked with a strange light queasiness in her stomach and sat down with Jack feeling terribly self-conscious and looked-at, as if every pair of eyes in the room was inspecting her. Jack laughed, waving at somebody. “All my friends'll think I've gone straight,” he said. He gave the waitress an order and she scuttled off. He leaned back in his chair to look at Laura then. “Sorry you're here?” he asked. “No. But I wish it was Friday night."

  "Relax. We'll leave when you say the word."

  She began to feel adventurous and crazy. Jack went up to get them both a drink. She eyed it with suspicion, but then she picked it up and drank half of it down, and it hit her like a bomb, a big soft lovely explosion of warmth in the pit of her stomach. She blinked at Jack, who only smiled, knowing the feeling.

  "How would you like to be in here some night,” he said slowly, “with Marcie. beside you? And sit alone together at that little table over there? And tell her you love her?” Laura took another gulp of the drink and almost finished it “And hear her say the same thing?"

  Laura put the glass down with trembling hands. “Oh, Jack, you bastard,” she said, her insides aflame. “Cut it out."

  "You want it so badly,” he said, “that it's tearing your guts out. And it's never going to happen. So open your eyes. Look around. There ace some beautiful women here tonight There's one as pretty as Marcie.” He squinted over her shoulder. Laura turned around indignantly to look, and saw a charming face framed in short brown curls smiling at a table partner. She looked up at the sudden sight of Laura's own face, pale and compelling. “Nobody's as pretty as Marcie,” Laura told him.