by Ann Bannon
"Where did she meet him—her husband?” Beth asked. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in Beebo's living room, drinking the coffee Beebo had fixed for her, while Beebo sat on the couch above her with her. legs split casually over the long coffee table. She was still drinking whiskey and water.
"She met him on a blind date,” Beebo said. “And a few weeks later he introduced me to Laura. He lived down here at the time."
"What's his name?"
"Jack. Jack Mann."
Beth memorized it. “But you and Laura lived together for a couple of years before she married Jack?"
"Yeah. They loved each other all along, though. They got very close. The worse things were between me and Laura, the closer they were between Laura and Jack. She always ran to him when anything went wrong."
"Was she in love with him?"
"No. And he isn't in love with her. Maybe that's why they're so happy. No romance, no jealousy. No matter what passionate affairs they may be having on the outside, their marriage is sacred to them. And it works. It works a hell of a lot better than a lot of straight marriages I know."
"Do you mean Jack's gay too?"
"Yes, honey. He's gay.” Beebo looked down at her, and smiled “He had ‘Beth’ problems when he married her, too. She was still thinking about you even then. Used to drive him nuts. I remember he finally gave her a lecture about it. Said you'd never see her again, you were gone out of her life and probably married, and Laura had better grow up and realize it."
"Did she?” Beth asked shyly.
"I'm inclined to think she did,” Beebo said, “As a matter of fact, I can't help wondering what good it'll do to open a closed chapter, Beth. If it's no good for Laura it can't be much good for you."
Beth hung her head, watching her cigarette burn and feeling the smoke sting her eyes, without moving the thing or blowing at it.
"Maybe no good at all,” she admitted. “But I have to know. I've come so far and I've had to face so much. I can't run out now when I'm so close to finding her. I wonder how she thinks of me now."
"Probably pretty much the same way, when she thinks of you. Romanticized. You symbolized everything good, everything wise and beautiful for her. You were an ideal love that, just by accident, wasn't so ideal after all. If you ever hurt her or crossed her up, you were forgiven. As far as Jack and I could see you never did any wrong."
Beth smiled ironically at her.
"I think she realizes now that you weren't perfect, if only because you were human. She's not in love with you any more, but she still idealizes you to some extent. That's the way I see it, at least."
"Is she still so beautiful?” Beth asked softly.
"Yes.” Beebo was watching her carefully, deeply interested in this pretty young woman who had caused her such exasperation and heartache years before. “Some people don't think she is beautiful, you know."
"Some people are blind. She's lovely—I mean, unless she's changed?"
"No, not so much. Not to look at. But in other ways she's changed a lot. Remember, when you knew her before, you were the sophisticated one. You were the one with experience and you taught Laura. Now it's the other way around. Laura's the woman of the world and you're the provincial housewife. Do you want to start all over with her on that basis? Can you?"
It was an acute observation. Beth had never thought of her relationship with Laura. “Well, I—I'm not that provincial,” she said in stammering defense of herself. “I've been married, I have a couple of children. That counts for some experience, doesn't it?"
"Laura's married too. Laura has a daughter six years old. And why the hell did you lie to me about having children?"
Beth flushed crimson, overcome by the revelation of Laura's maternity as much as her own lie. After a moment's confusion she said, “Beebo, I—forgive me. I didn't know you, I didn't know whether to trust you. I—” and she had to cry. It was the first time since she had met Beebo that evening that her feelings unwound enough for her to let the tears come. The storm was brief and hard but it cleared the air. “I love them terribly, but I can't live with them,” she confessed brokenly when she could talk. “I left them with Charlie, my husband."
"You ran away?” Beebo frowned at her.
"Sort of. He knew I was going; I didn't try to hide it. But he doesn't know where I am now. He thinks I'm with my aunt and uncle in Chicago."
"And where do they think you are?"
"God knows. I blew up at my uncle and when I left, I sneaked off like a thief in the night.” Beebo tossed her a white linen handkerchief and Beth blew her nose gratefully.
"That's too bad, honey,” Beebo said gently. “You're in a hell of a situation. Me, I told off all my relatives twenty-five years ago, and left before I had any obligations. They all predicted I'd go straight to hell. But when I look back on it, I'm not sorry, strange to say. Some of it's been hell, all right But some of it's been ... wonderful. Just wonderful. Makes the rest of it worth the pain. Like the first year with Laura."
Beth gazed up at her and caught a faraway smile on her face. “You must be lonely, Beebo,” she said. “Living alone like this. Or aren't you alone?"
"I live alone,” Beebo said. “But I have a lot of company. A lot of drinking buddies."
"That still makes you pretty lonely, doesn't it?” Beth knew that loneliness, and she sympathized eagerly.
"Yes, honey, it does. I had a couple of dogs, once. Dachshunds. They helped for a while. But they died."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Actually, they were—killed."
"How awful.” And Beth sensed a whole story, a whole miniature tragedy behind the words. But she dared not press Beebo for it.
"What's Laura's little girl's name?” Beth asked.
Beebo came back from her reverie and smiled at her, pouring herself another inch of whiskey from the bottle by her feet. “Elizabeth,” she said. “What else?"
"For me?” Beth said.
Beebo nodded. “They call her Betsy, though. Jack put his foot down on Beth."
And oddly it struck them both funny and they laughed together, and Beth found herself reaching for Beebo's hand. Just to grasp, just to hold for an instant in gratitude. “God, I'm so glad I found you,” she said. “I was so depressed. It all seemed so hopeless."
"I can imagine,” Beebo said with a humorous edge in her voice, “if Nina Spicer was showing you around town."
"Is she like that with everybody?"
"She tries to be. Too bad. She's a shrewd girl and she's made quite a success of this writing bit But she has to analyze everybody. She learns enough about human nature to use people but not enough to help them. It's not in her nature to give a damn what happens to them after they cease to amuse her. She just likes to pull the strings and see them hop. That's not saying she can't teach you a few things, Beth. But she can crack your ego at the same time and it's not worth the aches and pains involved."
"Are most gay people like that?” Beth asked.
"No. But a lot of them are. Too many. That's the most valuable lesson Nina can teach you, honey. It doesn't last long in the gay world and when it's over it keeps on hurting for a long time. You're on your own. You watch out for yourself. You haven't any of the safeguards or the consolations or the help that straight people have. There's nobody you can run crying to when you're the loser."
"Nina taught me something else. I'm gay,” Beth said.
"Oh, hell,” Beebo said and laughed good-naturedly. “You learn that yourself, nobody teaches you."
"She said if I cut off my hair and went to live in the Village I'd be a butch."
"Good God, you're no butch!” Beebo exclaimed. “She's filling you full of bull just to amuse herself."
"I thought so,” Beth sighed. “But I'm so damned ignorant. I'm not sure of anything. I thought maybe Laura could help me understand myself. Show me what I am."
"Nobody's going to draw you any diagrams, sweetheart,” Beebo said.
"I've been wondering about
it for all these years. Wondering if I did the right thing in marrying Charlie and leaving Laura."
"Why did you marry him?” “I loved him.” “Do you still?"
"I don't know. Yes, in a way. I hate him too, though. There were times when I think I could have killed him."
"How do you know it won't be like that with Laura?” Beebo asked. “How do you know you weren't cut out to be a loner? Bisexual, maybe. Or the kind who can only love from a distance, no matter which sex, no matter how much passion?"
And Beth had to turn away from Beebo's brilliant, absorbing eyes, too troubled by her ideas to face her squarely. To change Beebo's train of thought she asked, “Why doesn't Nina like you?"
"I jilted her once. A few years ago. And I don't read her books. And, I suppose, she didn't want me to waltz off with you tonight. Sort of lets the ah* out of her balloon."
Beth smiled silently into her near-empty coffee cup. “Beebo,” she said. “Will you tell me where Jack and Laura live?"
"Made up your mind?” Beebo said.
"Yes."
"You're going to see her?"
"Yes."
"In spite of all the pitfalls?"
"I'd walk through hell to see her,” Beth whispered.
Unexpectedly Beebo reached over, putting a hand on each of Beth's shoulders and pulling her back so that she leaned against the couch between Beebo's knees. The hands were strong and firm as a boy's, disconcerting in the warm grip. Beth could feel Beebo looking down on the top of her head and she wished she could see her face.
"Okay, honey,” she heard Beebo say. “I'll call them and tell them you're coming."
"Oh, God, no!” Beth cried. “No, Beebo. Please. I don't want her to know in advance. I want to surprise her. If she knows she'll change things, she'll clean the house, she'll fix a big dinner, she'll have something fixed to say to me that won't be genuine. It just won't be the same. Please, let me surprise her."
"She won't thank me for that,” Beebo quipped. “But if that's the way you want it."
"That's the way."
"Okay, okay,” Beebo sighed. “They're up at 528 North Lexington. Eighth floor. His name is J. F. Mann. And Beth—just for the record—she's interested in somebody right now. I don't know how seriously."
"Okay. It's okay. That's something I expected,” Beth said She turned her head to Beebo's leg and kissed it fervently, impulsively. “Thank you,” she said, and experienced a strange, unexpected flash of pleasure at her own boldness, at Beebo's nearness and warmth.
She stayed the rest of the night, sleeping in spite of her excitement. Beebo gave her the bed and slept on the couch in the living room. She had gone out by the time Beth got up the next morning, but there was a note for her to help herself to some breakfast and to keep in touch with Beebo. Beth scribbled down her room number and phone at the Beaton on Beebo's telephone pad and drank some orange juice. Her mouth was dry with excitement and she found it hard to eat, but she made herself take something. At the same time she riffled through the pages of Beebo's telephone directory. And there it was. There it had been all along, but without Beebo's help she wouldn't have found it. “J. F. Mann,” and the address. Beth tore another sheet of paper off the phone pad and made a note of the number, slipping it into her purse.
Before she left she cleaned up her dishes and the ones Beebo had left, including the coffee cup and the whiskey glass from the night before. She made the bed, thinking as she did it that Laura must have slept in this bed too, once. After that she straightened up the living room. It wasn't the same as keeping house for Charlie. She actually enjoyed the tasks, enjoyed the feeling that Beebo would come home to a clean house and a tidy kitchen, and it would be due to Beth's care.
She took a long look at the rooms before she closed tie front door after herself, and she had the feeling that sooner or later, some day, she would be back. She hoped so. She liked Beebo, she had learned from her, and it hadn't been the sharp, painful sort of lesson Nina Spicer taught. But just as effective. Perhaps more so.
Chapter Sixteen
BETH WALKED OVER TO Seventh Avenue to get a taxi. She walked with a light, swinging step, feeling a small new joy in her heart that almost amounted to hope for a happy ending to it all—the mess and bewilderment and misery of the past few months.
As she walked she noticed a short balding man ahead of bar with a noticeable aura of ennui about him, standing baggy-eyed and uninterested before a window full of leather-Work. He looked familiar, though she was sure she didn't know anybody in the city outside of Nina and Beebo.
Still ... Maybe I saw him at one of the bars, she thought, vaguely disturbed by his face yet unable to recall it. She walked briskly past him as if she had not noticed him at all. He probably lives down here. He probably goes bar hopping at night. I've seen him in a bar, that's all. But it piqued her not to remember where.
She had the taxi driver let her off at Fifth Avenue and 38th Street, near the public library. She wanted to buy something, some little house gift for Jack and Laura that would make her appearance less awkward, give them all something to say. For half an hour she wandered from store to store, north and south, trying to find the appropriate thing, ignoring Merrill Landon's strictures about budgeting her money. It had to be something really nice or it just wouldn't do.
She stopped to look into the toy window at F. A. O. Schwartz, thinking suddenly of Polly and Skipper and wondering if she could send them something without upsetting them. In the middle of the window, prominently displayed, was a big, gaudy, orange giant spring, with an elaborate bow attached to the top like a gift wrapping. A big sign leaned against the bottom: “THE SCOOTCH—bounce on it, roll in it, dive through it. The new sensation!"
After a moment she went in and asked one of the clerks about it.
"Yes, it's quite unusual, isn't it?” he beamed. “We can't keep them in stock. The kids adore them. Just like those hoops a couple of years ago. I'd be willing to bet the Scootch will outsell them."
"Who makes it?” she asked faintly.
"Who? Uh—let's see.” He up-ended a carton behind the counter. “California firm,” he said. “Ayers-Purvis Toys.” He read the name slowly. “That must be a new one, I don't recall it,” he said. “All the new ideas come from California,” he explained, smiling. “Don't know why. They breed out there like cats."
"Thank you,” she said, turning to leave.
He called after her, “Excuse me, wouldn't you like to buy one? I mean—you'll have to get one sooner or later for your own kids."
"My own kids probably have twenty of them,” she said, and left, knowing he would go to the back of the store and tell the others about the wacky customer he had.
She felt a tormented tenderness for Charlie, standing there gazing at his supreme achievement in the window. It was so silly. It was so ingenious. It would make him and Cleve a fortune. She wished him well; she wished for the first time in a long time that she had been able to adapt to him better than she had. She wished fervently that they might have made each other happy, that the children could have brought a sense of fulfillment to her life. She wished that she had been there when he came home with his face lighted up and that happy, abstract look in his eyes to tell her about his wonderful new idea, wished she could have seen Polly and Skipper with their daddy's great invention.
She leaned momentarily against the wall of the toy shop and a woman stopped to inquire if she needed help.
"No,” she said, and straightened up and walked into the crowd. She finally bought a pair of crystal candlestick holders at Black, Starr, and Gorham's. While they were being gift-wrapped her spirits revived a little. She thought of Laura, thought of her very hard. Tried to picture the man she married. Was he good to her, was he rich, was he intelligent? He was gay—did that make him swishy, too? A nancy? Or could a man be gay and reasonably masculine at the same time? She burned to meet him. She was prepared to hate him.
At the hotel she collapsed on her bed and slept the rest of th
e day. When she awoke, late in the afternoon, she wrote Merrill Landon a note to say that Laura, his lost Laura, was found. She gave him Laura's address and told him she was married. “And you have a granddaughter,” she added “Betsy.” She asked him to forward a note she enclosed to Charlie, so it would have a Chicago postmark on it.
To Charlie she wrote: “I saw the Scootch in the shop windows today. For what it's worth, I'm proud of you. I hope you make a million dollars. The kids must love it. I'm fine, don't worry about me. I haven't made my mind up yet on anything. Take care of yourself and give the children my fondest love. Beth."
She cried while she wrote it, knowing she had no right to the tears. They were tears of self-pity more than anything eke. She had given up a lot when she gave up her children, her home, her conjugal rights. She had given them up on a gamble, in the hope that she might someday find something else, something that would mean more to her. But she hadn't found that something yet and it scared her to feel herself suspended between two worlds, belonging to neither. And she had done it all, deliberately, to herself.
* * * *
Beth took a taxi to Laura's apartment building. It was a short ride in the pleasant twilight, with the sun almost down and the air cooling.
She asked at the desk for Mr. and Mrs. Mann.
The clerk telephoned up and then asked Beth who was calling, one hand judiciously placed over the receiver.
"Mrs. Ayers,” Beth said doubtfully.
"Mrs. Ayers,” the clerk repeated, gazing down at the floor and speaking into the receiver. He glanced up again at Beth and then handed the phone to her.
"Hello?” she said, her heart pounding, rising in her throat, her ears geared for Laura's light voice.
"Mrs. Ayers?” It was Jack. He sounded rather growly, but pleasant.
"Yes."
"I'm afraid I don't know you."
"I—I'm an old school friend of Laura's,” she said, wishing the trembling in her would go away just long enough for her to make a serene first impression on him.
"Oh,” he said. And then, with just a hint of enlightenment, “Oh. Well, then, won't you come up?"
