The Revelation of Beatrice Darby

by Jean Copeland

  “What do you think, Darby, huh? Phil’s pretty cute. Love his duck’s ass.” She giggled as she teased the top of her hair with her fingers.

  “He’s all right.” Beatrice refused to make eye contact as she blotted her slacks with a wad of paper towels.

  “What do you think of Aaron? He’s really something, isn’t he? Just like I knew he would be. Such manners and refinement. Oh, Bea,” she said, swinging around to face her. “I think he could be the one.”

  Beatrice grimaced as she studied her complexion in the mirror—her face florid, her forehead wrinkled from the agitation of sitting across from Aaron and watching him do with Gwen everything she wished she could.

  “You said that about the last guy you dated.”

  “Who? Christopher? No, no. He definitely was not the one. Aaron is just a dream.”

  “A regular Adonis,” Beatrice mumbled as she blotted a streak of mascara under her eye.

  “Why’s your neck all red?” Gwen asked, trying to get a closer look. “Are you allergic to shellfish or something?”

  Beatrice cursed her sensitive skin for betraying her jealousy. She shooed Gwen’s hand away. “I don’t know. Let’s go back before they call in a search party.”

  Gwen nodded, and as they headed to the table Beatrice slowed her pace, annoyed that her mood had grown increasingly solemn as the night progressed, and Gwen hadn’t even noticed.

  “We took the liberty of ordering a round of cheesecakes while you gals were in the powder room,” Aaron said, all smiles.

  “Naturally,” Beatrice said, and then mumbled, “I hate cheesecake.”

  Finally, Gwen noticed Beatrice’s disposition, acknowledging it with a kick to her shin under the table.

  “Was that really necessary?” Beatrice asked quietly, rubbing her leg.

  Gwen scolded Beatrice with her eyes. “I’m sorry, pal. I was crossing my legs and misjudged the distance between us.”

  Beatrice settled down and decided to focus on the cluster of sailboats swaying in the harbor, out of commission for the winter. What she wouldn’t give to deposit Aaron on one of them right now, unmoor it, and let it blow away in the February wind. Suddenly, she curled the fingers on her right hand into a fist as Aaron’s weaved through the ends of Gwen’s champagne hair. By the time their desserts arrived, what little appetite she had left was gone. When Gwen began feeding Aaron some of her cheesecake with her spoon, giggling like Barbie would have if her head wasn’t made of plastic, Beatrice imploded with rage.

  “Excuse me.”

  She shoved her way out of the booth and ran to the bathroom. She was rinsing her face with cool water at the sink when Gwen finally came in.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m better now.” She blotted the excess water with a paper towel.

  “You look terrible, so pale. Did you get sick?”

  Beatrice pressed two fingers to her lips. “Just a little nauseated.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well? We could’ve asked the guys to take you home.”

  Gwen’s choice of you instead of us sparked a jealousy Beatrice had had no prior experience with. “Well, I certainly didn’t want to ruin your date with your precious Aaron. God knows it’s all you seem to care about.”

  “Bea, that’s not true,” Gwen said softly. Her wounded eyes fed Beatrice full of satisfaction.

  “That’s sure what it feels like lately.”

  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help being excited. I’ve liked him for such a long while.”

  “I know, but you don’t have to push your best friend aside.” Beatrice was spiraling. She sensed she was bordering on cruelty with Gwen but couldn’t stop herself.

  “Gee, I guess I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

  “Gee, I guess that’s what you do when you like a boy.” Beatrice mocked her. “I’m sorry I’m getting in the way.” She glided past her in dramatic fashion, hoping Gwen would stop her.

  “Beatrice, would you wait a minute.” Gwen latched onto her arm. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

  “If you don’t have time for me anymore, I wish you’d just come out with it. I’ll understand.”

  Gwen looked genuinely confused. “You’re my best friend. If I don’t have time for you, then I don’t have time for anyone. Look, Aaron’s just a guy. He’s not worth ruining a friendship over.”

  “I don’t want it ruined either.” Beatrice faced the mirror, monitoring Gwen’s reaction in her periphery. “On the other hand, I don’t want to be a nuisance to you.”

  Gwen smiled warmly. “A nuisance? That’s crazy. I love you, Darby.” She threw her arms around Beatrice’s shoulders.

  Beatrice hugged her tightly, pressing her close. “I love you, too.” A tear rolled off her cheek onto Gwen’s hair. Usually the first to disengage from hugs in defense of her secret, this time she held onto Gwen for as long as Gwen would allow.

  “Cripes, Darby, is it that time of the month or what?” Gwen wiped away Beatrice’s tears with her thumbs.

  Beatrice chuckled, relieved to have an excuse. “Yes, it must be.”

  “Are you okay, or do you want the boys to take us home?”

  There it was, the us Beatrice wanted to keep forever. Her shoulders relaxed in gratification—she hadn’t lost Gwen to Aaron after all.

  She smiled. “No, I’m all right now.”

  *

  As they dropped Beatrice off after the movie, she wasted no time jumping out of the car. Exhausted, she fumbled for the key to get into her dormitory and tiptoed into the darkened room so she wouldn’t wake her roommate, Ruth. But when she started to undress in the blackness, she heard strange moans, almost nightmarish whimpers coming from Ruth’s bed. She flipped on the light to wake Ruth, only to find her already awake.

  “Beatrice, what the hell?” Ruth uttered breathlessly.

  She examined the bed and noticed a large lump under the covers midway down Ruth and a pair of hairy calves jutting out at the foot of the bed.

  “What on earth,” Beatrice said, squinting to decipher what was happening.

  “Do you think you could come back in about half an hour?” Ruth asked. “And turn off the light on your way out.”

  “Yeah, uh, okay,” Beatrice said, creeping out of the room.

  As she sat on the brick wall surrounding a dead rose garden, watching her breath stream out in the frigid night, she realized Ruth had to go. The gum-smacking and the borrowing of her clothes without permission were bad enough, but thanks to visits from Rudy, the custodian, Beatrice was about ready to build herself an igloo outside their dorm and move in. It was such a clear, beautiful night she decided to take a walk to Gwen’s to kill some time until Ruth was done receiving her weekly janitorial service. She trod across campus, crunching the hardened snow beneath her shoes.

  Gwen was a captive audience sitting on her bed Indian-style, as Beatrice explained the situation with her roommate.

  “I can’t stand her anymore, and it’s not only ’cause of her visits from the jolly janitor. We’re simply not compatible and haven’t been from the start.”

  After a chuckle, Gwen yanked a sticky pair of Twizzlers from the package and nibbled pensively. “So, my roommate is transferring schools at the end of the year and yours is a nymphomaniac. Sounds like the perfect opportunity for us to become roomies. What do you think?”

  Beatrice scratched through her ponytail, making sure she heard Gwen right. “Roomies?”

  “Sure,” Gwen said. “One of us is always over at the other’s dorm anyway. Why not? We already know we get along famously—unless you think it’s a bad idea. You know, familiarity breeding contempt and all.”

  “No, no, I think it’s a great idea.”

  “Yeah? Great. I’ll contact the Residence Life office tomorrow and see about making arrangements. Say, how about a cup of cocoa to celebrate?”

  “Sure.”

  Beatrice smiled to herself. Living with Gwen�
�waking to her every morning and seeing her every night before she went to bed—they would become closer than ever. Finally, one of her dreams was coming true.

  “Can you toss me my nightie over here?” Gwen asked. “It’s behind the door.”

  Beatrice reached for the flowery flannel nightgown hanging behind the closet door and handed it to Gwen, who was standing stripped to her bra and panties. After taking in an eyeful, Beatrice stared at her shoes, panicked that Gwen had noticed her looking at her body.

  “Thanks,” Gwen said, raising the nightgown over her head.

  Beatrice’s heart pounded as she sneaked another quick glance at her slender torso, beautifully elongated as Gwen struggled into the nightgown from the top down. She then cringed as her face flamed with shame.

  Still staring at the floor, Beatrice stuttered, “Uh, do you want me to go get the water down the hall?”

  “Oh, sure. Stop at Margaret’s room on the way back. She has marshmallows.”

  Beatrice took the teapot and walked toward the door, still unable to face Gwen. Once outside in the hall, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Was she about to make a horrible mistake moving in with Gwen? Suppose Gwen made a habit of changing clothes in front of her? Suppose next time she didn’t look away fast enough, and Gwen caught her leering? Or she did more than just steal a glance? Beatrice shuddered.

  She was still shaking as she sucked in a deep breath. “Pull yourself together, Darby,” she mumbled, and started for the bathroom. “You’re an intelligent woman with a strong moral center. Even if Gwen pulls a Gypsy Rose Lee every night, you can certainly control yourself.”

  After she completed her water-and-marshmallow mission, she returned to Gwen’s room only slightly less agitated than when she left.

  “Here you go. I think I’m gonna pass on the cocoa. It’s getting late.”

  “Bea, it’s almost two in the morning. Sleep here. Melanie won’t be here all weekend.”

  Sudden images of kissing Gwen’s shoulders began taunting Beatrice. She ached for Gwen with alarming intensity.

  “No, no, I really have to go,” she said, backing toward the door.

  “Are you still feeling sick?” Gwen asked, following her.

  “Well, no, but I just, well, now that you mention it, my stomach does feel a little funny,” she said and banged the back of her head on the door.

  “You’re looking awfully flush,” Gwen said, trapping her against the door. “Do you have a fever?” She cupped her hands on Beatrice’s cheeks.

  “Gwen, don’t.” Beatrice wrested Gwen’s wrists, terrified she was about to do something she’d undoubtedly regret.

  “Okay, okay,” Gwen said. “Gosh, you’re a cranky patient.”

  Beatrice released Gwen’s arms and forced a smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve always been. I’m sorry.”

  Gwen nodded with understanding. “Go then if you insist, but be careful. It’s late. And watch out for creeps.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “If we’re going to be roomies, you’d better get used to that. I can’t help mothering people I care about.”

  Beatrice looked away, afraid her eyes would betray her. She’d heard people say the eyes were the windows to the soul. Did that include the heart, too? If Gwen knew the things Beatrice thought about her, the romantic feelings she harbored, she’d never consent to being her roommate and would undoubtedly end the friendship. But for the moment, the euphoria of it all calmed the tempest of anxiety.

  She descended the front steps of Gwen’s dorm without her feet ever touching cement. Clouds had rolled in off the Atlantic, covering the moon, and she could taste the smoke of wood-burning stoves as she ran home, a blur of adrenaline streaking across campus. She never slackened her pace, not even for a breath.

  Chapter Six

  Beatrice had never once wished for a summer to end. Freezing her knees off and sloshing through mounds of snow and slush left much to be desired. But in 1959, as August faded in New Haven, it couldn’t have departed fast enough. She and Gwen were going to be roommates for the rest of their time at Salve, which only made the pettiness of living with her mother and Quentin for the last three months all the more insufferable.

  “Quentin, I’m sick of telling Theresa you’re not home,” she yelled from the kitchen. “Why are you torturing that poor fool?” She glanced at her mother for support as she replaced the telephone receiver on the wall.

  “I don’t blame him one bit for ignoring her,” their mother said, wiping her hands on her apron. “What kind of girl calls a young man?”

  Quentin sauntered in, took a swig from a glass milk bottle, and placed it on the counter.

  Mrs. Darby put it in the refrigerator as though it were her duty. “Quent, drink from a glass, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Yeah, who wants your germs? God knows where those lips have been.”

  “Beatrice,” her mother said. “What an awful thing to say. Is that what you’re learning at that fancy college?”

  “Jealous?” Quentin said.

  “Why don’t you be a man and take Theresa’s phone calls? Or better yet, stop treating girls like your personal playthings.”

  “Beatrice, what are you saying?” her mother asked.

  “He’s a regular lothario, a two-timer.”

  “I already told Theresa I didn’t want to see her anymore,” Quentin said casually as he bit at a hangnail on his thumb. “It’s not my fault if she’s a sucker for punishment. She’s looking for a husband, and frankly, I’m not getting hooked up with her wop family.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying that about her. You dated her for months.”

  “Darling, your brother isn’t going to marry just anyone. He can do better than Theresa Santoro.”

  Beatrice rolled her eyes at them and retreated to her bedroom. She couldn’t remember when their family had broken into factions—her mother and Quentin versus her father and her—but it felt like it had been forever. Since her dad had passed away years ago, her family was a lonely place. It didn’t matter anymore. In a few more days, she’d be going home to her real family, Gwen.

  *

  Beatrice stood at the open door of Gwen’s dorm room as Robert placed the last of the cardboard boxes stuffed with Beatrice’s clothing and belongings at the foot of her bed. She watched him look around her room as he absently rubbed the muscles in his tanned arms.

  “Thanks for giving me a lift and helping with all this, Rob.”

  “No sweat,” Robert said. “I enjoyed the ride. I always enjoy talking with you.” He blinked his unassuming eyes at her and blotted the sweat from his forehead with a hanky.

  His boyish charm always made Beatrice smile. She’d been friends with him forever, it seemed, and a few times she’d seriously considered dating him, but something in her always hindered her. Maybe now that they were both twenty years old and no longer kids, she could start viewing him as boyfriend material.

  “I suppose you want your pizza now,” she said with a grin.

  “That was the deal.” He smiled as he adjusted the belt slipping down his narrow waist.

  “Well, I’m no welsher. We’ll go to Atlantic Pizza.”

  She nodded matter-of-factly and licked her fingers to smooth the wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail.

  “Is it any good?”

  “We grew up on Pepe’s pizza,” she said. “Of course it isn’t any good. But it’s all we got, unless you want cafeteria food.”

  “Atlantic Pizza it is.”

  Outside on a picnic table at the pizzeria, Beatrice managed to snatch two slices of pepperoni and onion off the tray before Robert devoured the rest of it, along with three root beers. She watched in awe as his last piece disappeared in two bites.

  “I’d love to see how much pizza you can actually eat in one sitting, but I don’t have money for another pie.”

  “’At’s okay,” he said, stifling an enormous belch. “I’m full anyways.” He wiped the corners of his mouth wit
h the frayed napkin he’d used all through the meal. “So, do you have a lot of hoity-toity boyfriends here or what?”

  “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking me. Did my mother put you up to that?”

  “No, I was just curious. I’ve kinda had the feeling I’m gonna lose you to some preppie with a lot of daddy-o’s dough.”

  Beatrice chuckled. “Lose me? You never had me to lose.”

  “Sure, rub salt in my wounds.”

  She tapped the top of his hand like a grandmother would. “Maria was a fool to let you go, Rob. She’ll regret it one day.”

  He tugged at the napkin until it was little more than a pile of cottony bits. “Will you ever regret saying no to me all the time?” He looked up with eyes full of disappointment.

  He was quite appealing at that moment, vulnerable and innocent, imbued with a gentleness she hadn’t known to exist in young men. She felt a slight urge to lean across the table and kiss his tanned, fuzzy cheek—just not enough to actually do it. So why not? It took every ounce of self-control she could muster not to give in to her urges around Gwen. And how could she ever forget kissing Abby Gill that summer of ’57?

  “Rob, we’re friends, good friends,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to mess it all up by dating you. What if it didn’t work out?”

  She paused, feeling awful about lying to him. Friendship wasn’t the issue. If Gwen ever wanted to become romantically involved, she wouldn’t hesitate to take the risk.

  “What makes you think it wouldn’t?” Rob asked, appearing slightly offended.

  “Sometimes these things just don’t.”

  “Bea, we were best friends as kids,” he said. “But we’re adults now. Men and women can’t be friends. It doesn’t happen like that once you grow up.”

  She scoffed. “Who says it can’t?”

  “Come on. Get real. When you get married, how’s it gonna look if you’re hanging around another man? Same thing goes for me when I get married. Now if we married each other…”

  “Oh, Rob, this whole conversation is silly. Let’s get going. I have just enough money left for some ice-cream cones.”