by Ann Bannon
“I know, there are a million of ’em,” he sighed. “I wish to God I were straight. I’d marry her, poor kid.” Laura stared at him, then smiled. “I guess I can arrange something,” he said. “Do we have to double with them?”
“She expects it. I hate to ask.”
“Okay, okay. It won’t kill me. But dinner only. And I’ll be in a hurry.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
“I’d better find a tame one for her,” he mused and then laughed a little. “Whatever that means. Jesus, the poor girl has probably dreamed all her life of a good thorough raping. But I can’t assume the responsibility. Maybe Jensen can go. I’ll call you in the morning on it.”
“Thanks. She’d be so happy.” Laura finished a second drink. Jack was two up on her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, wanting to tell him about the change that had come over Marcie but afraid of his sarcasm. Finally she said, in the characteristic blunt way that disguised her uncertainty, “Jack, Marcie is different. Something’s happening to her. I—I’m scared.” She could go no further. She looked away from him.
Jack chuckled. “Well, what’s she doing, filching undies from Macy’s basement?”
“She doesn’t want to see Burr anymore.”
Jack frowned slightly. “She’s finally coming to her senses? That was a screwy match to begin with. Burr wants to worship one gal. Marcie wants to raise a little hell with every other man she sees.”
“She wants to be like me. That’s what she said. She wants to read books. Spend more time at home. She wants me to help her.”
“Help her what?’
Laura frowned. “I don’t know what. She says she’s sick of herself and she wants to be a better person.”
Jack bit his underlip reflectively. “I know what you’re thinking. And you’re wrong. She’s not turning gay.”
“I didn’t say that.” Laura turned to him indignantly.
“You don’t have to. You’re thinking it so hard I can hear the wheels going around in your head.” He looked at her. “Once and for all, Laura, she’s not gay. Maybe she’s got room in her somewhere for a little curiosity. Maybe living with you really has made her dissatisfied with herself. If so, so much the better. But she’s not mooning for you every night.”
“She acted so funny, Jack. Like—like she enjoyed having me near her. Like she wanted me to touch her. I mean, comfort her. You know.”
“The more you want her to enjoy it, the more it’ll seem like she does.”
“I’m not making up stories,” Laura said with some heat.
“No, Mother, I know. I believe you. I’m just telling you a fact. I’ve known Marcie for a couple of years. From the time she and Burr started dating right through their divorce. She’s capable of—let’s say—wondering. Like the night she wanted to touch tongues.” Laura shivered involuntarily. “Once in a while she gets a kick out of a fling in the Village. Maybe she just wants to see how far you’ll go. Maybe she’s egging you on, Laura. Did you ever think of that? Just to see what the hell you’ll do?”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Laura said positively, somewhat shocked. “Never.”
Jack gave a little snort. “Okay, maybe not. But she’s not about to fall for you. Not now or ever.”
“She meant it when she talked to me last night. She was sincere.”
“Sure she meant it. She’s on a book kick. She’s obviously very impressed with you. It shows when she talks about you. Temporarily, you’re somebody to imitate, somebody to admire.”
“Temporarily?”
“Don’t fall into a trap.” He put a hand on her knee.
“It’s no trap! She’s too innocent to set me a trap.”
“Innocent?” He laughed. “Don’t count on it. Besides, you’re too innocent to avoid one. Right now you have a lot to learn.”
Laura glared at him. “I’m not stupid.”
“No, you’re not. You’re very bright, honey. You’re just uninformed. If you want to learn, go scout up Beebo and take the Grand Tour of the Village.”
“I could no more fall for her than I could fall for—for—”
“For me?” He laughed.
She smiled suddenly and laughed with him. “Oh,” she said with a wave of her hand, “You’re taken.”
“Mother, that’s a beautiful one-line definition of my dilemma. My analyst could use you.”
“Are you being analyzed?” she asked.
“Aren’t we all?”
“Answer me!”
“I did. Let’s go. I hate to keep people waiting.”
“Who’s waiting?”
“My friend, Mr. Fleming.”
She slipped off the barstool, pulling her jacket on. “I’d like to meet him.”
“If it lasts another couple of weeks, I guess it’d be safe.” He took her arm and steered her through the crowd. They stared at her but it didn’t disconcert her so much now that she had had a drink or two.
“Where’s your adoring roommate tonight?” Jack said as they went up the stairs.
“Having dinner downtown.”
“Why don’t you go over to The Cellar? Let Beebo tell you some fairy stories. She’s got a million of ’em.”
“I couldn’t take Beebo tonight.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll walk you to the subway.”
“No, don’t bother. I know you want to get home. Thanks a lot, Jack. I don’t know why you’re so good to me.”
“My interest is purely academic. Your innocence amazes me.”
“You make me feel like a hayseed,” she said.
He laughed. “Okay, Hayseed. I’ll call you in the morning on what’s-her-name.”
“Sarah.”
“Sarah. See you.” And he turned and walked off.
Laura walked toward the subway but she knew she wasn’t going home. She knew she would walk right past it and she did. She walked for four blocks, seething with a renewed fury at Merrill Landon. Her hot hand was cramped around the slip of paper with Beebo’s number on it, in the pocket of her jacket…
I’ll pay her back. I’ll just give her the money I owe her, have one drink, and go home. She looked at her watch—a little past nine. For a moment she stood at the head of the stairs looking down at the double doors that opened into The Cellar, feeling her heart pound nervously. She never seemed able to walk into this place confidently. There was always a moment of fear and reluctance. But the need to be with her own kind quickly overpowered it.
She walked in, heading for the bar, ignoring the curious stares that greeted her. She stood at the end of the bar and when the bartender came up he recognized her.
“Hi,” he said. “What’ll it be?”
“Whisky and water, please,” she said. She looked around the place, up and down the bar, around the tables, but she didn’t see Beebo. She drank half her drink, and then walked back to the ladies’ room, looking into the rear of The Cellar, but Beebo wasn’t there. In extreme irritation she walked back to the bar, wondering whether to crush her pride and ask the bartender where Beebo was, or let it go. She finished her drink and decided if she had come this far she might as well go the whole way.
“Where’s Beebo tonight?” she asked the bartender the next time he got near. “I owe her some money,” she explained compulsively. He smiled.
“Oh, she’s been and gone already,” he said. “She’s probably over at The Colophon. She likes it over there. No boys.” He grinned.
“Thanks,” said Laura, slipping off her seat at the bar and heading for the door. She was embarrassed enough without asking him where The Colophon was. She didn’t want to advertise her “innocence.”
Near the door a slim pretty girl, who had kept an eye on her at the bar, approached her. The girl wore her hair in a short soft curly cut. She was blonde and feminine. Laura let herself be approached simply by returning the girl’s gaze as she came near her. She stopped when the girl spoke.
“Excuse me,” the girl said. “We noticed you were all alone. My fri
ends and me. Like to have a drink with us?” She nodded toward a table where three other girls were sitting watching them. One of them, sitting alone on one side of the table, stared coldly at Laura.
Laura was flattered. But the feelings in her were too personal, too rough, to dissipate with strangers. “Thanks,” she said. “I’d like to, but I’m looking for somebody. I’m in a hurry.”
“Who’re you looking for? Maybe we can help you out,” said the girl, stopping Laura as she started to move away.
Laura realized the girl was interested in her, and it made her turn back once more. “Oh,” she said with a little shrug, “you wouldn’t know her.”
“Somebody might. We’re over here a lot. What’s her name?”
Laura was dead certain they’d know Beebo, who came over here all the time. The last thing she wanted was to have everybody run up and tell Beebo that Laura had been looking for her. The bartender would no doubt tell her. That was bad enough.
“What’s her name?” the girl prompted, and then smiled. “Don’t want to tell?”
Laura blushed and backed away from her. “I just owe her some money. I thought she’d be down here tonight.”
“Who?” the girl goaded her, with a pretty smile.
“Beebo Brinker.” Laura didn’t mean to say it. Yet saying it was better than trying to hide it and getting laughed at. They could always ask the bartender who she was looking for after she left, and she would look even worse. They would take her stammering reluctance for infatuation. She said the name as casually as she could.
“Oh, Beebo!” The girl laughed. “She left half an hour ago. She’s over at The Colophon. She said this place was dead tonight. I guess if she’d known you were coming she would have waited—hm?” She smiled.
“I guess,” said Laura briefly. She stared at the girl. It occurred to her that she saw a slight resemblance to Beth in her face. Then she turned and walked out.
The slim girl walked back to her table. Her partner said peevishly, “Maybe that’ll teach you you’re not irresistible.”
“Oh, shut up,” the slim girl said quietly. “She’s Beebo Brinker’s girl.”
“Beebo’s girl, hell. Beebo’s got a dozen girls. She can really pick ’em, though, I’ll say that much. I should get one like that.” And she made a face at the slim one by her side.
Chapter Eleven
Laura went home. She arrived before ten, but Marcie wasn’t back yet. Laura put a book she had been reading on Marcie’s bed and climbed into her own bed. She tried to read herself, but she couldn’t. An hour went by, and no Marcie. Nervously, Laura shut her book and dropped it to the floor. She got up and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, and remembered she had already done it.
Then she went to the phone. She didn’t know what was coming over her. She only felt a deep will-defying unhappiness. She pulled out the phone book and looked up the number of the McAlton Hotel. She sat for a moment with the book open in her lap, unable to move. Then she reached slowly for the phone.
Suddenly it rang. Laura screamed, a small quick cry of extreme surprise. Her heart had taken a tremendous leap at the piercing bell sound in that still apartment. She let it ring twice more while she caught her breath. It must be Marcie, she thought. Maybe she’s in trouble. She lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hello, Bo-peep.”
Laura’s heart gave another bound. She felt the sweat break out. “Beebo?” she said faintly.
“How are you, sweetheart? I hear you were looking for me tonight.”
“You didn’t waste any time.” Her voice was sharp.
“I hate to keep a lady waiting. What’s on your mind?”
“I just dropped in for a drink. I was down there in the Village to see Jack and I just wanted to pay you back.” She spoke in fits and starts.
“You don’t owe me a thing, Bo-peep. Not a thing.”
“A drink.” Laura hated to owe anybody anything. She was meticulous about her debts, however small the sum.
“You’re right.” Laura could feel her smile. “I nearly forgot. Okay lover, you owe me one drink.”
“Beebo, I can’t talk now, really.”
“You’re doing fine. What’s the matter, Marcie breathing down your neck?”
“It’s not that.”
“You don’t have to say you love me, you know. Just say you’ll meet me tomorrow night. About eight.”
“No.”
“Don’t be late, doll. I’ll call Marcie and ask her where the hell you are.”
“You wouldn’t! You won’t! Damn you, Beebo!”
“I would and I will.” She laughed. “Eight on the dot.”
“I won’t be there.”
“Want to bet?”
Laura hung up on her. She was trembling. Angrily she slammed the heavy phone back into place, switched out the bedroom light, and got into bed.
The black night settled around her but it brought more restless tossing than repose. The hours slipped by. No Marcie. No sleep. Only an endless bitter reviewing of what her father had done to her; the look on the clerk’s face when he gave her the message; the impotent fury and shame that besieged her. At last she turned the light back on and began to pace the room. The electric clock on Marcie’s dresser said two-thirty. Laura wondered whether to call Burr. Or Jack. She was getting afraid for Marcie. But nobody knew how to reach her. There was nothing to do but wait.
It was a few minutes past three when Marcie came in. Laura had left the living room light on for her and she heard her come in laughing and heard a male voice answer her. Not Burr’s voice. Somebody else. A deep mature voice. Laura peeked out through the crack in the kitchen door but couldn’t see him. Marcie was giggling, as if she were tight, and pushing him away. Laura could see her now and then.
Marcie said, “I’ll call my roommate. She’ll make you go home.”
“I can’t go home tonight. I live in Chicago.”
“That’s where she’s from!”
“Who?”
“My roommate.”
“To hell with her. Come here, Baby.”
“No!” High as she was, she nevertheless sounded a little scared. She had stopped laughing.
Laura threw a coat hastily over her pajamas and went into the living room. A large man, partly bald and handsome in a heavy featured way, had Marcie wrapped in a bear hug and was trying to drag her to the couch.
“All right,” said Laura sharply. “Get out.”
She startled them both so much that they froze where they were. The man stared at her. He was drunk, and his balance wasn’t the best. Laura, pale and silver blonde, her long hair falling down her shoulders, her face strange and sensitive and imperious, looked like an apparition to him. Without taking his eyes off her he asked Marcie, “Who the hell is that?”
“My roommate.” Marcie took advantage of his interest to slip free. Laura took her arm firmly and sent her through the kitchen door. Then she turned back to the man.
“All right, you,” she said as if he were a servant. “Out.”
The impudence of it amused him and angered him at the same time. “You can’t talk to me like that,” he said.
She advanced on him briskly, pulling the door open sharply and facing him. “It’s my home and I’ll speak as I please,” she said. She looked as cold and unapproachable as she was hot and angry. He stared at her, not sure how to take her, and then came toward her to put a hand on her shoulder.
“Marcie’s no good,” he said confidentially “Let’s you and me—”
Laura swept his hand off her shoulder. “Get out of here or I’ll call the police,” she said.
He got mad. “Jesus, what a chilly little bitch you are!” he growled.
“Get out,” Laura said, so cold, so controlled, that she froze him into submission. She shut the door after him, resisting the urge to slam it. Dear God, she thought intensely. If I could do that to my father. Just once.
“Laura? It was just a party, Laur,” Marcie said. “We w
ent out after dinner. Just for kicks. He got sort of out of hand. Thanks, Laur, I don’t know what I’d have done.”
“Come on to bed.” Laura turned and walked toward her and Marcie preceded her into the bedroom. It occurred to her then that she was behaving with Marcie much as Beth used to behave with her. She was asserting herself, taking the lead. She liked it; with Marcie, anyway. She felt her influence and reveled in it. A feeling of tremendous strength swept through her when the man turned and left, like the other poor demented little fellow who pestered her on the subway. Only he was such a weakling he hardly counted. She had a mental image of herself treating Merrill Landon that way, and it worked a strange exaltation in her. She smiled.
Marcie grinned at her crookedly. “I thought you’d be sore,” she said.
“No. No, of course not. Why should I be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I felt kind of guilty going out with somebody besides Burr. But I had fun. Up to the end, anyway. I wouldn’t have minded that if he hadn’t slobbered so much.” She giggled and Laura ignored what she said. They were standing less than a foot from each other and suddenly Laura reached for her and gave her a little hug. “I’m not mad. I’m just glad you’re all right,” she said.
Marcie submitted, but she seemed embarrassed, and Laura quickly released her. With the release came a letdown, a loss of strength and confidence. She slipped quietly into bed and spent the hours till dawn wrestling with the bedclothes.
Laura didn’t feel much brighter than Marcie in the morning. She got to work on time, but all she wanted to do was sleep. I’ve got to catch up. I’ve got to catch up, she kept telling herself. Less than three weeks and Jean’ll be back. And I haven’t done a really good day’s work since she left. Even if they like me, they can’t keep me on as a charity case.
The episode at the McAlton flamed up in her mind and gave her an angry energy through most of the morning. Sarah said nothing to her, but she kept looking at her over her typewriter, apparently afraid to bring up the date subject again. It wasn’t till Jack called that Laura even remembered it.
“All set,” he said. “Carl Jensen can go. Friday night. Dinner and a show. What’s Sarah’s number?”
