by Ann Bannon
Laura got it from her and made her face light up with expectation. Jack put Carl on the phone, and Laura gave her end to Sarah. It gave her a momentary lift to see somebody else stammering with pleasure and anticipation. But the day she lived through was endless, bleak with undone work, dragging will, impotent anger.
“You’re late,” Marcie said when Laura walked in. “I wanted you to tell me about that book Burr brought over last week.”
“Nothing to tell.” Laura felt too low to talk, to joke, even to eat. She picked listlessly at her food. After a while Marcie fell silent, too.
When the dishes were done Marcie said, “I called Burr. Broke our date tonight.” She looked expectantly at Laura, as if this were a significant revelation, and she wanted a proper reaction.
But Laura only said, “Oh?” and walked into the bedroom.
Marcie followed her. “What’s the matter, Laur?” she said. And when Laura didn’t answer, she asked, “Bad day?”
“Um-hm. Bad day.” Laura lay down on her bed, face downward, one leg hanging over the edge, her mind wholly occupied with her father: her hatred, her stifled love for him, her fear of him.
“Talk to me, Laura,” Marcie said, coming over to sit next to her.
“Not tonight.”
“Please. You said you would.”
“I can’t, Marcie. I can’t talk. I’m too tired.” She rolled over and looked at her. “Don’t look like that,” she said. “I’m—I’m worried about my job, that’s all. I’ll be all right.”
“What’s wrong with your job?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, Laura! God! Make sense!” Marcie exclaimed. But when she evoked no response she dropped it with a sigh. “Let’s go out on the roof,” she said, “and get some fresh air. It’s a beautiful night.”
“Looks like rain.”
“How would you know? You’re staring at the ceiling.”
“It did, earlier.”
“That’s what’s beautiful about it. Maybe there’ll be thunder. I love to stand naked in the rain.” She glanced down slowly at Laura.
But Laura turned back on her stomach without a word. A terrible apathy nailed her to the bed. Not even the nearness of Marcie could arouse her. They sat quietly for a few minutes, Laura lost in herself, and Marcie searching for a way to cheer her up. The phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” Marcie said, and got up. She walked across the room and picked up the receiver when Laura suddenly remembered Beebo. She sat up in a rush.
“No,” Marcie was saying, “I can’t. I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue, not any more. I’ve had enough, that’s all. I won’t talk to you, Burr. No, it’s not her fault, it’s nobody’s fault.” She looked at Laura stretched out again on her bed. “That has nothing to do with it. No. Good night, Burr.”
She hung up and stood for a moment motionless, watching Laura, who lay with her face turned away, apparently relaxed. Burr was getting jealous, impatient. He was ready to accuse anybody of anything to get Marcie’s favor back. Their phone conversations were little more than arguments which Marcie terminated by hanging up on him. But he wouldn’t be put off for long.
Marcie sat down on her own bed with a book, the one she meant to ask Laura about. She stared at the pages without reading, and wondered about her moody roommate.
Laura was watching her wristwatch. It was two minutes fast. She lay still, but she was alert, poised to jump. At two minutes past eight, by her watch, the phone rang again. “It’s for me,” she told Marcie, who had no intention of going for it. Laura came across the room and sat on Marcie’s bed.
“Hello?” she said into the receiver.
“Hi, lover. Where are you?”
“At home,” Laura said sarcastically. “Where else?”
“You want me to come over?”
“I’ll be down in a few minutes. I was delayed.”
“Okay, but make it fast. I’ll call again at eight-thirty. And every ten minutes after that.”
Laura hung up without a further word and turned to look at Marcie. “I met him at work,” she said, her face flushing. “He’s been pestering me. I don’t want to see him.” She didn’t know what she was going to do.
“Oh,” said Marcie. Then why all the fuss? She looked curiously at Laura’s pink face. Laura turned away and began to walk up and down the room, feeling as if there were a bomb sealed in her breast, ticking, about to go off. She knew her nails were cutting her underarms, yet she hardly felt them. It was an expression of terrible tension in her. Suddenly she whipped the closet door open and pulled out her coat.
Marcie, watching her, said quickly, “Where’re you going?”
“I’ll be back early,” Laura said, heading for the door, propelled by the tight violence that was boiling inside her.
“Laura!” Marcie jumped up and followed her. “Damn it, Laur, please tell me, I’m worried about you.”
Laura turned abruptly at the door. “I’m just going out for a little while,” she said. “I won’t be late.” She tried to leave, but Marcie grabbed her arms.
“You’re not fit to go anywhere, Laura. I never saw you so upset,” Marcie said. “Except once. And you—you spent the night with Jack that time. It was my fault. Is this my fault? Am I driving you out again?”
“No, no, nothing’s your fault.” Laura covered her face with her hand for a minute and when Marcie’s arms went around her to comfort her, she wept. “Please don’t let me go,” she whispered. “I mean—God!—I mean, let me go. Let me go, Marcie.” She began to resist.
But the curiosity in Marcie had taken over. “You’re trembling all over. Come to bed, Laur. Come on, honey, you’re in no shape to go anywhere. Come tell me about it,” she coaxed, trying to guide Laura away from the door. But Laura knew what was in store for her if she obeyed. She uncovered her face to gaze for a moment at Marcie, so close to her, so tantalizing. And that terrible storm brewing inside her made her feel as if she might do any wild thing that her body demanded of her. She was afraid.
“Please,” Marcie said softly. “I’ll give you a rubdown, I’m a great masseuse. My father taught me how.” She smiled. “Please, Laur.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love him very much?”
“Yes.” Marcie frowned at her.
“And he loves you?”
“Of course.”
“You’re lucky, Marcie.”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be, Laur. I’m not lucky. I’m just normal. Ordinary, I mean.”
Laura stared at her. The emotion in her simmered dangerously near the top. With a sudden swift movement, Laura kissed Marcie’s cheek lightly, leaving the wet of her tears on Marcie’s face, and then whispered, “So lucky…so lucky…” Then she turned and ran down the stairs to the elevator.
Marcie sat down on a living room chair and put her head in her hands and tried to think. Laura’s strange behavior made her tickle inside. She felt close to the storm that had barely brushed past her, and yet she remained untouched. There was only the wet on her cheek as a token, and she brushed it off, inexplicably embarrassed.
Laura made the taxi driver take her past the McAlton. She counted to the fourteenth floor, as nearly as she could figure it, and stared at the golden blocks of windows, and wondered which ones opened into 1402. And if Merrill Landon was in his room.
She walked in quickly when she reached The Cellar, with no hesitation, and made for the bar. It was a little past eight-thirty by her watch. She hoped anxiously that Beebo hadn’t called Marcie again. She saw her at the far end of the bar talking to two very pretty young girls. They looked like teenagers. Laura was dismayed at the flash of jealousy that went through her. She walked right up to Beebo, without being seen, until she stood next to her. She took a seat beside her, watching Beebo while she talked, until one of the teens nudged her and nodded curiously at Laura. Beebo turned and broke into a smile.
“Well, Bo-peep,” she said. “Didn’t hear
you come in. How are you?”
“Am I interrupting something?” Laura looked away.
Beebo laughed. “Not a thing. This is Josie. And this is Bella. Laura.” She leaned back on her stool so they could all see each other.
The younger girls made effusive greetings, the better to exhibit luscious smiles, but Laura only said, “Hello,” to them briefly. Beebo laughed again, and leaned closer to her.
“Jealous, baby?” she said.
“I owe you one drink,” Laura snapped. “What do you want?”
“Whisky and water.”
Laura nodded at the bartender.
“Is that all you came for, Bo-peep?”
“Don’t talk like that, Beebo, you make me sick.” Laura still wouldn’t look at her.
“I didn’t last time.”
“Yes you did. I hope you’ve bought your friends there one of Dutton’s cartoons. It’s the quickest way to get rid of them I know.”
“Why didn’t it work with you?” Beebo laughed softly in Laura’s ear. “You came home with me that night, if you recall.”
Laura turned angrily away from her. “What happened was in spite of the God damn juvenile cartoon, not because of it. I nearly walked out when he gave it to me.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I should have.”
The bartender came up and Laura started to order. She wanted to buy Beebo the drink and have one quick one herself, and then get out. Go home. Forget she had come. But before she could give an order, Beebo said, “Come home with me, Laura.”
“No.”
“Come on.” Beebo spun her slowly around on the barstool with one arm. Laura looked reluctantly at her for the first time since she had been noticed. Beebo smiled down at her, her short black hair and wide brow making her face more boyish even than Laura remembered. She was remarkably handsome. Laura was deeply ashamed of what she was feeling, sitting there on the barstool, letting herself be influenced by this girl she tried so hard to despise.
“Why don’t you invite Bella?” she said.
“She’s busy.”
Laura’s cheeks went hot with fury, and she shook Beebo’s arm off and started to get up, to walk past her, to get out. But Beebo caught her, laughing deep in her throat, thoroughly amused. “By Jesus, you are jealous!” she said. “Sorry, baby, I had to know. Come on, let’s go.”
Laura, who was pulling against her, suddenly found herself going in the same direction as Beebo, heading for the door, all her resistance dissipated.
“Beebo, I didn’t come here for that! I came to keep you from calling Marcie. To pay you back that drink.”
“I want you to owe me that drink all the rest of your life, Bo-peep.”
Laura gasped. Then she walked hurriedly ahead of Beebo, trying to get far enough ahead to escape. In the faces around the tables she spotted the slim little blonde who had approached her before about Beebo. She was laughing and the sudden humiliation that filled Laura sent her running up the steps to the street. But Beebo was close behind her, and Laura felt her arms come around her from behind, and Beebo’s lips on her neck, and her own knees going shaky.
“No, no, oh Beebo, please! Not here, not here please.”
“Laura, darling.” Beebo kissed her again. “Not here is right. Come on.” She put an arm around her and led her away as she had before, and suddenly, strangely, Laura felt like running. She felt like running with all her strength until they reached Beebo’s apartment. For there was no doubt about it any longer, that was where they were going.
She wanted her arms around Beebo, their hot bare bodies pressed together as before. Almost without realizing it she began to speed up and then to run. Instantly Beebo was after her, then beside her, laughing that pagan laugh of hers. She caught a handful of Laura’s streaming hair, silver in the street light, and pulled her to a stop, whirling her around. In almost the same gesture she swept her into a dark doorway and kissed her, still laughing.
“You’re wonderful,” she said in a rough whisper. “You’re nuts. I love you.”
“No, no no no no,” Laura moaned, but she returned Beebo’s kisses passionately. It was Beebo who had to quit suddenly.
“Oh, God, Laura, stop. Stop!” she said. “We can’t come in the streets. Come on, baby.” She dragged her on for another two blocks. Laura walked if she were drunk. She had no liquor in her, but she was not sober. Not at all. She felt punchy. She half ran, half skipped, to keep up with Beebo’s stride. For the last two blocks they ran as fast as they could go. Beebo led her into Cordelia Street, and through the green door into the court.
Inside the door, standing in the little court, the urgency left Laura. She stood gasping for breath, leaning against the brick wall by the door. She was where she wanted to be, next to a fascinating woman whom she wanted to make love to. It was a huge physical need, an emotional hypnotism, that drew her to Beebo. After the wild race she had just come through Laura wanted suddenly to slow down. To tease, to tantalize. She felt like somebody entirely different. Not the tightly controlled Laura who lived anxiously with Marcie, with an uncertain job, with the spectre of a hated father. Not the nerve-tortured cautious girl her roommate knew, but a warm excited woman on the verge of the ultimate intimacy. She wanted it, she asked for it, she accepted it. She stood watching Beebo, her eyes enormous with it, her nostrils flared, her lips parted. Beebo came toward her, smiling, but Laura slipped away.
She moved, almost glided, to a circle of benches in the center of the court. Beebo followed her. And again when she reached for her, Laura slipped around the benches. Beebo reached again, and Laura faded out of her grasp. And suddenly Beebo was on fire.
“Come here, come here, baby. Pretty baby. Pretty Laura,” she chanted like a spell. But Laura eluded her, moving just a little faster each time, until they were running again, and Laura felt the laughter coming out of her, soft and light at first, but growing wilder, uncontrollable. She fled, inches from Beebo’s hands, into the dark hallway, and scrambled up the stairs, losing her footing, and nearly losing her freedom, twice. Beebo was so close behind her near the top that she could hear her breath. With a little shriek of unbearable excitement she fell against Beebo’s door, and felt within a second Beebo’s weight come hard against her. The laughter burst out of her again until Beebo got the door open and they almost fell into the living room.
Nix was all over them instantly, but Beebo, dragging Laura by the neck and Nix by his collar, locked him in the bathroom. Then she turned on Laura. Laura, seeing her, suddenly stopped laughing. Beebo looked unearthly. Her black hair was tumbled, her cheeks were crimson, her chest heaved. But it was her eyes that almost frightened Laura.
Laura let her jacket drop from her shoulders slowly, provocatively, and Beebo approached her. They stood motionless, so close that just the tips of Laura’s breasts touched Beebo, and they stood that way, without moving, until Laura shut her eyes, letting her head rock back on her shoulders, and groaned.
“Do it, Beebo,” she said. “Do it. I can’t stand it, do it to me.”
“Beg me. Beg me, baby.”
Laura’s eyes opened. She didn’t know how hard her breath was coming, how strange and wonderful she looked with all her inhibitions burning up in her own flame of desire. “Beebo, Beebo, take me,” she groaned.
Still Beebo didn’t move. Her breath was hot and pure on Laura’s face when she spoke. “When I start, Laura,” she said slowly, “I’m never going to stop.” She put her hands against the wall over Laura’s head and leaned on them, her eyes boring into Laura’s, her body closing gently in on Laura’s, pressing. “Never,” she whispered.
“Do it, Beebo. God! Do it!”
“I’ll never stop. Never.” Her lips grazed Laura’s brow. Laura shook all over. She couldn’t talk, except to repeat Beebo’s name over and over and over, as if she were in a trance. Beebo’s hands came slowly over her hair, her face, her breasts, her waist, her hips. And then one strong arm went around her and Laura groaned. They sank
to the floor, wracked with passion, kissing each other ravenously, tearing at each other’s clothes.
They never heard Nix’s indignant barking from the bathroom, or the phone when it rang a half hour later. They never felt the chill of the rainy night nor the hard discomfort of the floor where they lay. Or the phone when it rang again. And later, yet again. It was not until late morning and brilliant sunshine invaded the room that they were aware of anything but themselves.
Once again it was Laura who woke up first. She was too bewildered to think straight at first, and the sight of Beebo, turning over slowly and opening her eyes, did nothing to straighten her out. Physically she felt wonderful. For a few moments she luxuriated in her body, letting her mind go blank.
She rubbed her hands gently over herself and discovered a bruise on her thigh. The little ache gave her a sudden hard thrill and she remembered how Beebo made the bruise with her mouth. She had to fight hard against the need to roll over on Beebo and start loving her all over again. She touched the small bruise once more and felt the same shameless pleasure. She stretched, more for Beebo’s benefit than her own.
Beebo caught her and pulled her down and rubbed her black hair against Laura’s breasts. Laura laughed and struggled with her.
“Beebo, I’ve got to get up. I have to get to work.”
“To hell with work. This is love.”
“Don’t keep me, Beebo. This job means the world to me. I don’t want to be late.” She spoke the truth, yet she had no idea of how she was going to get up and get out.
“What time do you think it is, baby?”
“I don’t know.”
Beebo peered over her head at the dresser clock. “Eleven-thirty,” she said.
Laura gasped and tried to get off the floor, the surprise giving her impetus, but Beebo held her. “You’re going nowhere, Bo-peep,” she said. Her tone, her self-assurance, brought out the fight in Laura.
“I’ve got to get there. You don’t know how far behind we are. I could lose my job. And if my father ever—” She stopped, still squirming to get up. She got as far as her knees but Beebo grasped her wrists and held her there.
