by Ann Bannon
“You look like a freak!” Laura had exploded when Beebo first tried them on, and succeeded in offending Beebo royally. But the older girl stuck stubbornly to her outfit.
“I’m no man. Okay. But I’m sure as hell no woman, either. I don’t look good in anything. At least these things fit me,” she defended herself.
“Your underwear fits you, too, darling,” Laura said acidly. “Why don’t you parade around in that if you want to cause a sensation?” But though she needled her, Laura couldn’t make her change.
Now Beebo stood in the living room, visible to Laura through the kitchen door, dressed in the riding clothes. She did not look mannish like some Lesbians. She simply looked like a boy. But she was thirty-three years old, and there were very faint lines around her eyes and mouth.
Laura’s little flash of desire faded almost before it bloomed. And when she found that Nix had wet the floor, that Beebo had kissed Frankie Koehne and Jean Bettman, and that the police had appeared saying they had two complaints and the party would have to simmer down, Laura gave up.
She stormed into the bathroom and locked the door—the one lockable door in the apartment. The guests took the hint and filed out, leaving the apartment a quiet shambles.
When Laura came out, only Jack and Beebo were still there. They were sitting in the kitchen where they had collected most of the glasses, and were finishing up whatever liquor was left in them.
Beebo looked up when Laura came in. She was quite drunk and through the mists she saw Laura, with her long blond hair and pale face, as a sort of lovely vision. “Hi, sweetie,” she murmured. “You sure got rid of the company in a hurry.” She grinned.
Laura glanced disapprovingly at the used glasses Beebo was drinking from. “You’ll get trench mouth,” she predicted.
“Will you make love to me when I’ve got trench mouth?”
“NO!”
Beebo laughed. “You won’t anyway, so it doesn’t matter,” she said dryly. “Come sit on my lap.”
Laura leaned against the kitchen counter near Jack. “No,” she said.
“Be nice to me, baby.”
“Nix is nice to you. You don’t need me. Nix ruins the rug for you. He barks loud enough to wake the dead. He even sleeps with you.”
But Beebo felt too much desire for her to be jockeyed so fast into an argument. “Please, baby,” she said softly. “I love you so.”
And Jack, watching her, felt a pang of sympathy and regret go through him. She sounded too much as he sounded himself a couple of months ago. And Terry had left him anyway and wrecked his life. It was all so sad and wrong; unbearable when you’re mis-mated and desperately in love.
“Go to her, Mother,” he said suddenly. “She needs you.” Laura was miffed at his interference. But she knew what was bothering him, and to soften it for him, she went. Once she was on Beebo’s lap, everything seemed to relax a little. Beebo held her, leaning back against the wall and pulling Laura’s head down on her shoulder, and Jack watched them enviously. He knew, as Laura knew, and even Beebo must have known in her secret heart, that the affair was doomed, that the party had celebrated an ending, not a new beginning. And yet for a moment things were serene. Beebo held Laura and whispered to her and stroked her hair, and Jack listened to it as if it were a lullaby, a lullaby he had heard somewhere before and had sung once himself. But it was a mournful lullaby and it turned into the blues—a dirge for love gone wrong.
Beebo nuzzled Laura and Laura lay quietly in her arms and endured it. She relaxed, and that made it better. She didn’t want Beebo to excite her; she didn’t want to give her that satisfaction. So she shifted suddenly and asked Jack, “Do you think they had a good time?”
“Lili did. She loves to promote her bosom,” he said.
“Laura, baby.” Beebo turned Laura’s face to hers and tickled her cheeks with the tip of her tongue. “You taste so sweet,” she whispered. “I want to lick you all over like a new puppy.”
Laura couldn’t stand it. The once-welcome intimacy sickened her now that she no longer loved Beebo. She got up abruptly and walked over to the stove. “Anybody want some coffee?” she said.
“You and your goddamn coffee,” Beebo said irritably.
“You could use a little,” Laura said, “both of you.”
“I’d be delighted,” Jack said, speaking with deliberate care as he always did when he was drunk.
Laura made the instant coffee and passed the cups around. Jack doctored his with a double shot of scotch and took a cautious first sip. “Delicious,” he said, looking up to find a storm brewing. Beebo was glowering at Laura.
“I said I didn’t want coffee,” she said. “Nobody around here understands English tonight.”
“If you’re referring to Lili, I don’t like to be classed with your old whores,” Laura said.
“Why not? You’re in good company baby. You don’t think you’re any better than they are, do you?”
“You should have told me you asked Lili! You should have told me, Beebo! And Frankie, too. God, don’t you think I have feelings?”
“Good.” Beebo grinned. “I didn’t think you could get jealous any more.”
“Oh, grow up, Beebo!” Laura cried, exasperated. “I can be humiliated. I can be embarrassed and hurt.”
Beebo poured her coffee into an empty highball glass, which cracked from the heat with a loud snap. Her eyes looked up slyly at Laura, expecting a reprimand, but Laura ignored it, too angry to do anything. Beebo laughed and poured herself a watery drink from another glass. “Did I hurt you, Laura, baby? Did I really? How did it feel? Tell me how you liked it.”
Laura didn’t like the way she laughed. “Does that strike you funny?” she said sharply.
Beebo began to chuckle, a low helpless sort of laugh that she couldn’t control; the miserable sort of laugh that comes on after too much to drink and too little to be happy about. “Yes,” she drawled, still laughing. “Everything strikes me funny. Even you. Even you, my lovely, solemn, angry, gorgeous Laura. Even me. Even Jackson here. Jack, you doll, how come you’re so handsome?”
Jack grinned wryly, twisting his ugly intelligent face. “The Good Fairy,” he explained. “The Good Fairy is an old buddy of mine. Gives me anything I want. You want to be handsome like me? I’ll talk to him. No charge.”
Beebo kept laughing while he talked. She sounded a little hysterical. “No, I don’t want to be handsome,” she said. “I just want Laura. Tell your damn fairy to talk to Laura. Tell him I need help. Laura won’t let me kiss her any more.” She stopped laughing suddenly. “Will you, baby?”
“Beebo, please don’t talk about it. Not now.”
“Not now, not ever. Every time I bring it up, same damn thing. ‘Not now, Beebo. Please, Beebo. Not now.’ You’re nothing but a busted record, my love. A beautiful busted record. Kiss me, little Bo-peep.” Laura turned away, biting her underlip, embarrassed and defiant. “Please kiss me, Laura. That better? Please.” She dragged the word out till it ended in a soft growl.
Laura hated Beebo’s begging almost more than her swaggering. “If you didn’t get so drunk all the time, you’d be a lot more appealing,” Laura said.
Beebo got up and lurched across the room in one giant step and took Laura’s arms roughly. She turned her around and forced a kiss on her mouth. They were both silent afterwards for a moment, Laura looking hot-faced at the floor and Beebo, her eyes shut, holding the love she was losing with awful stubbornness. Jack watched them in a confusion of pity.
He liked them both, but he loved Laura as well. In his own private way he loved her, and if it ever came to a showdown it was Laura he would side with.
At last Beebo said softly, “Don’t shut me out, Laura.”
Laura disengaged herself slightly. “If you didn’t drink so much I wouldn’t shut you out.”
“If you didn’t shut me out I wouldn’t drink so much!” Beebo shouted, suddenly. “I wouldn’t have to.”
“Beebo, you drink because you like
to get drunk. You were drunk the night I met you and you’ve been more or less drunk ever since. I didn’t do it to you, you did it to yourself. You like the taste of whiskey, that’s all. So don’t give me a sob story about my driving you to drink.”
“There you go, getting holy on me again. Who says you don’t like whiskey?”
“I have a drink now and then,” Laura flashed at her. “There are so many damn whiskey bottles in this apartment I’d have to be blind to avoid them.”
Jack laughed. “I’m blind,” he said, “most of the time. But I can always find the booze. In fact, the blinder I am the better I find it.” He chuckled at his own nonsense and swirled the spiked coffee in his cup.
“Laura, you lie,” Beebo said. “You lie in your teeth. You just like the way it tastes, like me.”
Laura had been drinking too much lately. Not as much as Beebo, but still too much. She didn’t know exactly why. She blamed it on a multiplicity of bad breaks, but never on herself. “If you wouldn’t drag me around to the bars all night,” she said. “If you wouldn’t continually ask me to drink with you….”
“I ask you, Bo-peep. I don’t twist your arm.” She eyed Laura foggily.
Laura turned to Jack. “Do I drink as much as Beebo?” she demanded. “Am I an alcoholic?”
Beebo gave a snort. “Jack,” she mimicked, “am I an alcoholic?”
“Do you have beer for breakfast?” he asked her.
“No.”
“Do you take a bottle to bed?”
“No.”
“Do you get soused for weeks at a time?”
“No.”
“Do you…have a cocktail now and then?”
“Yes.”
“You’re an alcoholic.”
Beebo threw a wet dishcloth at him.
“I’m going to bed,” Laura announced abruptly.
“What’s the matter, baby, can’t you take it?”
“Enough is too much, that’s all.”
“Enough of what?”
“Of you!”
Beebo turned a cynical face to Jack “That means I can sleep on the couch tonight,” she said. “Too bad. I was just getting used to the bed again….” She hiccuped, and smiled sadly. “Don’t you think we make an ideal couple, Laura and me?”
“Inspirational,” Jack said. “They should serialize you in all the women’s magazines. Give you a free honeymoon in Jersey City.”
“Knowing us as well as you do, Doctor,” Beebo said, and Laura, her teeth clenched, stood waiting in the doorway to hear what she was going to say, “what would you recommend in our case?”
“Nothing. It’s hopeless. Go home and die, you’ll feel better,” he said
“Don’t say that.” Suddenly Beebo wasn’t kidding.
“All right. I won’t say it. I retract my statement.”
“Revise it?”
“God, in my condition?” he said doubtfully. “Well…I’ll try. Let’s see… My friends, the patient is dead of the wrong disease. The operation was a success. There is only one remedy.”
“What’s that?” Laura asked him.
“Bury the doctor. Oops, I got that one wrong too. Excuse me, ladies. I mean, marry the doctor. Laura, will you marry me?”
“No.” She smiled at him.
“I’m an alcoholic,” he offered, as if that might persuade her.
“You’re damn near as irresistible as I am, Jackson,” Beebo said. She said it bitterly, and the tone of her voice turned Laura on her heel and sent her out of the room to bed. Beebo went to the open kitchen door and leaned unsteadily on it.
“Laura, you’re a bitch!” she called after her. “Laura, baby, I hate you! I hate you! Listen to me!” She waited while Laura slammed the door behind her and then stood with her head bowed. Finally she looked up and whispered, “I love you, baby.”
She turned back to Jack, who had finished the coffee and was now drinking out of the whiskey bottle without bothering with a glass. “What do you do with a girl like that?” she asked.
Jack shrugged. “Take the lock off the bedroom door.”
“I already did.”
“Didn’t work?”
“Worked swell. She made me sleep on the couch for five days.”
“Why do you put up with it?”
“Why did you? It was your turn not so long ago, friend.”
“Because you’re crazy blind in love.” He looked toward her out of unfocused eyes. Jack’s body got very intoxicated when he drank heavily, but his mind did not. It was a curious situation and it produced bitter wisdom, sometimes witty and more often painful.
Beebo slumped in a chair and put her hands tight over her face. Some moments passed in silence before Jack realized she was crying. “I’m a fool,” she whispered. “I drink too much, she’s right. I always did. And now I’ve got her doing it.”
“Don’t be a martyr, Beebo. It’s unbecoming.”
“I’m no martyr, damn it. I just see how unhappy she is, how she is dying to get away from me, and then I see her brighten up when she’s had a couple, and I can only think one thing: I’m doing it to her. That’s my contribution to Laura’s life. And I love her so. I love her so.” And the tears spilled over her cheeks again.
Jack took one last drink and then left the bottle sitting in the sink. He said, “I love her too. I wish I could help.”
“You can. Quit proposing to her.”
“You think I should?”
“Never mind what I think. It’s unprintable. I’m just telling you, quit proposing to her.”
“She’ll never say yes,” he said mournfully. “So I don’t see that it matters.”
“That’s not the point, Jackson. I don’t like it.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”
“Jack, you don’t want to get married.”
“I know. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“What would you do if she did say yes?”
“Marry her.”
“Why?”
“I love her.”
“Drivel! You love me. Marry me.”
“I could live with her, but not with you,” he said. “I love her very much. I love her terribly.”
“That’s not the reason you want to marry her. You can love her unmarried as well as not. So what’s the real reason? Come on.”
If he had not been so drunk he would probably never have said it.
“I want a child,” he admitted suddenly, quietly.
Beebo was too startled to answer him for a moment. Then she began to laugh. “You!” she exclaimed. “You! Jack Mann, the homosexual’s homosexual. Dandling a fat rosy baby on his knee. Father Jack. Oh, God!” And she doubled up in laughter.
Jack stood in front of her, the faintest sad smile on his face. “It would be a girl,” he mused. “She’d have long pale hair, like Laura.”
“And horn-rimmed glasses like her old man.”
“And she’d be bright and sweet and loving.”
“With dames, anyway.”
“With me.”
“Oh, God! All this and incest, too!” And Beebo’s laughter, cruel and helpless, silenced him suddenly. He couldn’t be angry, she meant no harm. She was writhing in a net of misery and it eased the pain when she could tease. But the lovely child of his dreams went back to hide in the secret places of his heart.
After a while Beebo stopped laughing and asked, “Why a girl?”
“Why not?”
“You’re gay. Don’t you want a pretty little boy to play with?”
“I’m afraid of boys. I’d ruin him. I’d be afraid to love him. Every time I kissed him or stroked his hair I’d be thinking, ‘I can’t do this any more, he’ll take it wrong. He’ll end up as queer as his old man.’ ”
“That’s not how little boys get queer, doll. Or didn’t your mama tell you?”
“She never told me anything.” He smiled at her. “You know, Beebo, I think I’m going mad,” he said pleasantly.
“That makes two of us.”
“I’m serious. I’m even bored with liquor. By Jesus, I think I’ll go on the wagon.”
“When you go on the wagon, boy, I’ll believe you’re going mad for sure. But not before.” She put her own glass down as if it suddenly frightened her. “Why do we all drink so much, Jackson? Is it something in the air down here? Does the Village contaminate us?”
“I wish to God it did. I’d move out tomorrow.”
“Are we all bad for each other?”
“Poisonous. But that’s not the reason.”
“It’s contagious, then. One person gets hooked on booze and he hooks everybody else.”
“Guess again.”
“Because we’re queer?”
“No, doll. Come with me.” He took her by the hand and led her on a weaving course through the living room to the bathroom. The dachshund, Nix, followed them, bustling with non-alcoholic energy. Jack aimed Beebo at the mirror over the washbowl. “There, sweetheart,” he said. “There’s your answer.”
Beebo looked at herself with distaste. “My face?” she asked. Jack chuckled. “Yourself,” he said. “You drink to suit yourself. As Laura said, you drink because you like the taste.”
“I hate the taste. Tastes lousy.”
“Beebo, I love you but you are the goddamn stubbornest female alive. You don’t drink because anybody asks you to, or infects you, or forces you. You’re like me. You need to or you wouldn’t! Ask that babe in the mirror there.”
“I can’t live with that, Jack,” she whispered.
“Okay, don’t. I can’t either. I just made up my mind: I’m quitting.”
She turned and looked at him. “I don’t believe you.”
He smiled at her. “You don’t have to,” he said.
“And what if you do? How does that help me?”
He shook his head. “You have to help yourself, Beebo. That’s the hell of it.” He turned and walked toward the front door and Beebo followed him, scooping Nix off the floor and carrying him with her. “Don’t go, Jack,” she said. “I need somebody to talk to.”
