by Ann Bannon
Laura looked at her watch. It was only seven. Beebo wouldn’t be home for another two hours.
“I never cook,” Tris said, going across the room to pick up the phone. She began to order sandwiches, glancing at Laura for suggestions. “They bring them up from the corner shop,” she said when she hung up. Laura looked up at her from her seat on the bed, and Tris began to move slowly, undulating, as if she were musing on a dance.
“Where did you learn to dance, Tris?” Laura asked her.
“England. Where do you live?”
“Cordelia Street. One-twenty-nine.”
“With the big one? What did you say her name is?”
Laura felt uncomfortable at the mention of her lover, and resentful of Tris’s curiosity about her. “Her name is Beebo,” she said rather sullenly.
“Oh, yes—Beebo!” Tris laughed. “It almost sounds Indian,” she said. “Is she nice?”
Laura shrugged. “I guess she is.”
“You aren’t sure, hm?” Tris seemed amused. “Are you in love with her?”
Laura was reluctant to say no, but determined not to say yes. “I—I was,” she admitted finally.
“It is all over, then?”
Laura didn’t like her bright-eyed interest. “We still live together,” she said defensively.
“Does she still love you?”
“Yes. Yes, she does,” Laura said sharply, looking Tris square in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” Tris said softly, her gaze dropping. “I shouldn’t pry.”
“There are better things to talk about than Beebo,” Laura said.
The food came and they were both relieved to turn to something else.
When the food was gone a quiet little interlude fell when Tris simply sat on the bed and watched Laura and Laura wandered idly around the room.
There was a terrible growing excitement in Laura. She felt she must run, escape somehow, get out of the studio before she made a fool of herself and an enemy of Tris. She turned at last and looked down at Tris. There was only one lamp lit in the room, and in the pale pink light Tris looked even riper and lovelier than she did in bright daylight.
“Tris, I—I have to go,” Laura said. “It’s getting late. I had a lovely time…”
“Then why go?”
“I must. I shouldn’t have come, really.”
“Will Beebo be angry with you?”
“She isn’t home yet.”
“Then you don’t have to go yet. I’ll bet she has a fine temper.” She waited for an answer, but Laura ignored her remark. She was thinking only of the possibility of staying longer. Her heart fluttered with the temptation. She was afraid of Beebo and yet, in another way, even more afraid of Tris.
“Come sit beside me,” Tris urged her, whispering, And Laura, unable to refuse her, came slowly toward the bed, as if she were in a trance, and sat down. Tris leaned back into the pillows, her hand on Laura’s arm, and pulled Laura after her.
Laura lay on her back next to Tris for a while, breathing softly, nervously aware of the sound of her breath. She held herself in as if she expected to explode. She was tense and the sweat rolled down her body, and yet she was happy, very happy.
They lay that way for some time, silent, gazing at the ceiling, neither one speaking, yet neither able to relax. At last Tris took Laura’s hand in her own warm brown one and said, “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you, Laura?”
There was a slight pause, almost a panic, while Laura tried to collect herself. “Yes,” she mumbled at last.
“Why?”
“You’re so beautiful…” Laura fumbled.
“Does beauty frighten you?”
“Yes. I don’t know why. Maybe because I never had it.”
Tris chuckled, a sweet throaty sound, and said, “Who ever told you that?” And it occurred to Laura, strangely, that Tris spoke without any accent at all. It sounded clear and plain, like Laura’s own English. But it was only a quick impression and it passed. She thought Tris was teasing her, imitating her.
“Don’t kid me,” she said.
“Take your hair down, Laura,” Tris said, her fingers playing with the prim bun at the back of Laura’s head. Her hair had grown so long—Beebo wouldn’t let her cut it—that she was obliged to roll it up one way or another in the back. It hung nearly to her waist when it was loose. She took the pins out of it now, raising herself on one elbow to accomplish the job. Tris helped her and the roll of hair came free suddenly and fell around Laura’s shoulders like silk streamers, pale gold and scented. Tris took a handful of it, pressing it to her face.
“How lovely!” she exclaimed. “Lovely blond hair…”
She put her hands on Laura’s shoulders and pushed her down into the pillows, bending over her to study her face. “I think you’re very pretty,” she said, and made Laura smile.
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“I’ll bet Beebo thinks you’re very pretty, too.”
“Please, Tris. Let’s not talk about Beebo.”
Tris leaned down and kissed her forehead very softly. “Now do you believe me?” she asked.
Laura stared at her, her heart suddenly pounding. “No,” she said in a whisper.
Tris kissed her cheeks, so lightly that Laura could hardly feel it “Now?” she said.
“No,” Laura breathed.
And Tris kissed her lips. Laura lay beneath her, too thrilled to move, only letting the lovely shock flow through her body and closing her eyes to feel it better. At last Tris moved away—only a breath away—and she said, “Now?”
“Tris…” she murmured and all the melody of suppressed passion sang in the name. Her hands went up to Tris’s bare arms, over the bandeau and down that silky midriff, and then they went around Tris’s waist and pulled her close and kissed her.
It was a long kiss, so leisurely, so lovely, that Laura never wanted it to end. And when it did she followed Tris, laughing, all over the bed, kissing her wherever she could reach her, feeling Tris’s fine body move beneath her hands and the fire of her own longing bursting in her bosom.
Suddenly Tris got off the bed and stood looking at Laura and trying to catch her breath. “No,” she said. “No! That’s enough! It’s late.”
Laura stared at her, amazed. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Tris, come here. Come to me. Don’t do this to me. Tris!”
But Tris pulled her off the bed with sudden strength.
“Tris, it’s only nine-thirty,” Laura said.
“Nine-thirty? Is it that late? Laura, you must excuse me.” She was transformed. All the play and warmth had gone out of her.
“But—” Laura began, but Tris interrupted sharply, “Time for you to go home to Beebo.” There was no smile on her face.
Laura looked at her incredulously a minute longer, her cheeks burning, and then she smoothed her clothes out with lowered eyes. She was too proud and too hurt to speak. She walked noiselessly to one of the mirrors, taking her purse with her, and ran a comb through her long hair.
She stared at herself—her flushed face and trembling fingers, her body so ready for love only moments ago and now weak with denial and outraged nerves. Two feet of unpinned hair hung down her back to remind her of Tris’s admiration. But it would take five minutes to get it up again properly.
Laura looked into the mirror over her own shoulder at Tris, who was standing on one foot and then the other, bent forward slightly and obviously waiting for Laura to get out of her way. What secret activities would occupy her as soon as she got rid of Laura? Her impatience was audible in her sharp breathing. Laura dared not risk her displeasure by taking the time to wind up her hair. She simply turned and walked out of the bedroom without a backward glance, without a word.
At the front door her heart jumped when Tris called after her. Laura turned to find her running lightly across the bare studio and she waited, holding her feelings in warily.
Tris stopped at the door. “I’m sorry,” she said self-consciously. “I
didn’t know it was so late. I have something to do tonight, it slipped my mind.”
Laura looked at her haughtily. “Goodnight, Tris,” was all she said. When she turned to walk down the stairs Tris added, “Say hello to your bad-tempered roommate for me.”
Incensed, Laura almost ran out the door below.
Chapter Four
LAURA WALKED HOME as full of hope as of frustration and anger. Tris had treated her badly but she had treated her beautifully too. With a little start of alarm, Laura knew she was falling in love. Maybe it was worse than that already.
It was a dark soft night with no moon, only the dozens of quiet yellow streetlights. Her heels rang against the cement sidewalk as she turned down Cordelia Street and she left the world outside with regret when she opened her apartment door.
She knew Beebo would be there by now. If only she’s not drunk, she thought to herself. “Beebo?” she called aloud. She heard a little groan from the bedroom and went toward it with a sinking feeling. She couldn’t be drunk already. She’d only been home forty-five minutes. Unless she cut work again. God forbid!
Laura walked across the living room slowly, in no hurry to face the argument that would result if Beebo was full of whiskey and had been sitting there fuming because Laura was late. Beebo would have been phoning all over the neighborhood for her—a practice Laura abhorred but couldn’t break her of. She touched her long loose hair nervously, wondering what Beebo would say when she saw it.
Laura pushed open the bedroom door. The first thing she saw was Nix—Nix, lying on the floor with his belly slit open from jaws to tail. Beside him was a crimson chef’s knife. Laura recognized it from the kitchen.
She stared at him for a full ten seconds in a paralysis of horror. Then she screamed with a force she had never suspected in herself. She turned back to the wall with her hands over her face and sobbed with all her strength. And while her face was hidden she heard another groan and knew it was Beebo, and she was too terrified even to open her eyes and look.
“Beebo?” she whispered, and her voice was rough with fear. “Beebo?”
Another sickening groan, and suddenly Beebo’s voice saying confusedly, “Laura? Baby, where are you? Laura…” It faded out and Laura brought her hands away from her face quickly and looked around the room, carefully avoiding Nix. Beebo was on the bed.
Her clothes were torn—what few she still had on. Her shirt was in shreds and the jacket appeared to be ripped down the back, though she was lying on most of it and Laura couldn’t be sure. She had nothing on from the waist down and there were several ugly bruises on her body. Laura felt nausea well in her. Beebo’s face was not so badly hurt. There was a cut over one eye that was beginning to swell but that seemed to be all. Laura clapped her hands over her mouth and stood weaving by the bed, afraid to leave and afraid to stay, feeling the sandwiches she had just shared with Tris like a load of poison in her stomach. Until Beebo opened her eyes and looked at her.
“Laura!” she said, with such passionate relief that Laura went to her instantly and threw her arms around her and wept.
She could feel Beebo’s tears on her face and she hugged her tight in a frenzy of sympathy and sorrow and whispered over and over, “Beebo, darling. Beebo, darling.”
It was a long time before either of them made sense; a long time before either could speak. Laura finally raised herself on one elbow so she could see Beebo better.
“What’s the matter with me?” she said softly. “I should be taking care of you. Crying isn’t going to do you any good.” She started to get up but Beebo caught her, and Laura was heartened to feel the strength in her arms.
“Stay with me, baby,” she said, almost fiercely.
“Let me clean you up, Beebo. Let me make you comfortable. Please, sweetheart.”
“Laura, I don’t need anything but you. Just let me feel you lying beside me and I’ll get over it somehow. I won’t lose my mind. If you’ll just stay with me. Please.”
There were tears in her voice and rather than make her more miserable, Laura obeyed. She put her arms around Beebo and cuddled against her in a way she had almost forgotten.
“Beebo, can you talk about it, darling? Can you tell me what happened?”
“Not now. Not yet,”
“I think you ought to see a doctor. You’ve got some awful-looking bruises.”
“You’re my doctor.”
“Beebo, I’m scared. I don’t even know what happened to you. I want to call a doctor,” she said urgently.
“I don’t need a doctor,” Beebo declared.
“Please tell me what happened,” Laura pleaded. She lay at the edge of the bed, her face away from the floor and the grisly spectacle of the little dog she had never liked very well and now felt such a horrified pity for.
“It’s an old story,” Beebo said, her voice tired and bitter, but curiously resigned. “I don’t know why it didn’t happen to me years sooner. Nearly every butch I know gets it one way or another. Sooner or later they catch up with you.”
“Who catches up with you?”
“The goddamn sonofabitch toughs who think it’s smart to pick fights with Lesbians. They ask you who the hell do you think you are, going around in pants all the time. They say if you’re going to wear pants and act like a man you can damn well fight like a man. And they jump you for laughs…God.”
Her hand went up to her face, which was contorted with remembered pain and fury. After a silence of several minutes while she composed herself a little she resumed briefly, “So they jumped me. They followed me home, hollering all the way. I hollered back. I—I was pretty tight and it was pretty noisy. I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have brought them here, but I knew you wouldn’t be home so soon…I didn’t work today, baby.” She said it guiltily, and Laura knew it meant she had spent the day at Julian’s or the Cellar or one of the other homosexual bars. But she didn’t condemn her or shout, “You’ll lose your job!” as she would have another time. She only listened in silence.
“So anyway,” Beebo said, after an awkward pause, “I came home early. About four-thirty, I guess. They just followed me in. Oh, I got in the apartment all right and slammed the door and locked it. But one of them came up the fire escape and he let the others in. Gave me this.” She pointed to the cut under her eye, and Laura kissed it. “I thought I’d gotten rid of them, baby, but those bastards followed me right up here and tried to prove what men they are.” She spat the words out as if they had a bad taste and then she stopped, looking at Laura to see how she was taking it. And Laura, lying next to her and holding her tight, was overwhelmed with helpless anger and pity and even a sort of love for Beebo.
Beebo felt Laura clinging to her and the flow of sympathy warmed and encouraged her. Finally she said, softly, as if the whole thing had been her fault and she was ashamed of it, “I’m not a virgin anymore, Laura. Don’t ever let a man touch you.” She said it vehemently, her fingers digging into the submissive girl at her side and her hurt face turned to Laura’s. Laura let out a little sob and pulled closer to her.
“Beebo, darling,” she said in a broken voice, “I can’t stand to think of it. I can’t stand to think of how it must have hurt. I know I’m a coward, I can’t help it.” And then, in her anxiety to heal the bitter misery of it, she blurted, “I love you, Beebo.”
Beebo pulled her very close and lifted her face and kissed it delicately, almost reverently, for a very long time. At last she whispered, her lips against Laura’s lips, “I adore you, Laura. You’re my life. Stay with me, stay with me, don’t ever leave me. I can stand this, I can stand anything, if you’re with me. Swear you’ll stay with me, darling.”
Laura’s voice stuck in her throat. She couldn’t refuse. And yet she knew full well she would be swearing to a lie. It made her hide her face in painful indecision for a moment.
“Swear,” Beebo demanded imperiously. “Swear, Laura!”
“I swear,” Laura sobbed. She felt Beebo relax then with a si
gh, running her hands through Laura’s hair.
Beebo gave a faint little laugh. “I never thought anything so rotten ugly could have a good side,” she murmured. “But if it’s brought us back together, I’m glad it happened. It was worth it.”
Laura was shocked. Beebo sounded a little unbalanced. “You can’t be grateful for anything that horrible, Beebo,” she protested. “You can’t, not if you’re in your right mind.”
“You can if you’re as much in love as I am!” Beebo said, looking at her. Laura was shamed into silence.
After a little while, Laura raised herself on an elbow. “Beebo, I’m going to call a doctor.”
“You’re going to do no such goddamn silly thing.”
Laura lost her patience. “Now you listen to me, you stubborn idiot!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been badly hurt. It’s just madness not to have medical help, Beebo. You know that as well as I do. Don’t argue with me!” She cut Beebo off as she was about to protest. “Besides,” Laura went on, “you might want to prosecute them. How could you prove anything without medical evidence?”
“Prosecute?” Beebo stared at her and then she gave a short, sharp laugh. “Are you kidding? Who’s going to mourn for the lost virtue of a Lesbian? What lawyer is going to make a case for a poor queer gone wrong? Everybody will think I got what I deserved.”
Laura stared at her, disbelieving. “Beebo,” she said finally, as if she were explaining a simple fact to a slow beginner, “you don’t go into court and say, ‘I am a Lesbian.’ You don’t go to a lawyer and say it. You don’t say it to anybody, you nut! You say, ‘I’m a poor innocent girl and I was criminally assaulted and hurt and raped and I have medical proof of it and I can identify the man who did it!’”
Beebo turned on her side and laughed, and her laughter made Laura want to weep. “Not man, Bo-peep,” she said when she got her breath. “Men. Bastards, every last one. There were four of them.”
Laura moaned, an involuntary sound of revulsion.
“No thanks, baby,” Beebo said, her voice suddenly tired. “I’ve got enough trouble in the world without advertising that I’m gay. I always knew this would happen and I always knew what I’d do about it…just exactly nothing. Because there’s nothing I can do. It’s part of the crazy life I live. A sort of occupational hazard, you might say.”
