by Ann Bannon
“Pete told me he dumped Mona when he found out she was a Lesbian,” Beebo frowned.
“He’s lying, as usual. He only falls for gay girls,” Paula said. She had gone to Beebo’s side and put her arms around her for consolation. Beebo, reviewing Pete’s behavior toward her in a new light, felt faintly nauseated. “And I thought he was just trying to get my goat,” she said, returning Paula’s embrace.
“Darling,” Paula said, and Beebo thought how much warmer and truer the word was when Paula spoke it than when it bloomed on Venus’s perfect lips like a gaudy rose.
“Beebo, I want to explain—about myself—” Paula said haltingly.
“You don’t have to, I understand.”
“No, you don’t. I didn’t myself. Beebo, I’ve always been such a steady, sensible girl. Even when I discovered I was gay, I didn’t go all to pieces like so many kids. It shook me up, yes, but I did the reasonable thing. I went out and learned all I could about it. I’d never had special prejudices against other people’s problems, and I hadn’t any against my own.
“I tried to accept the fact, and after a while I got used to it. But all the time I was waiting for somebody wonderful to come along; for a beautiful love affair to make it all right. We’d live quietly together, we’d cherish each other, and life would be rosy.
“I didn’t think it would be simple, but I thought it would be satisfying—and permanent. That’s the kind of girl I am, Beebo.
“I found other girls while I was waiting so trustingly for this perfect love,” she said, speaking with the disillusioned realism of hindsight. “And they taught me a lot. I thought this was necessary. You have to know the different kinds of love before you can recognize the kind you need. I met Mona during this period. She’s mean as an old crow, but she’s sharp and I learned a lot from her.
“And then the girl in the plaid pajamas came along. It wasn’t beautiful, Beebo. Nothing I had learned before prepared me for what I went through.
“I lost my self-respect…my ideals. My efforts to please her rubbed her the wrong way. I did everything I thought would draw us close, even when it seemed like madness. I moved to the Village, I went with her fast crowd, I quit my job. I drank too much and played too hard, for fear if I didn’t she’d think I was square. I did things that were downright degrading.”
Beebo embraced her tightly. “Honey, you’re the sweetest girl I ever knew,” she said. “I won’t believe anything bad about you.” She guided her back to the bedroom.
“What I want you to know is,” Paula whispered, lying down on the bed, “that I’m not a kook. I don’t usually fly off the handle emotionally. I never did it before my affair with the girl in the pajamas. I live an orderly life, I work hard, I care about people. Only, Beebo, you just couldn’t have happened. You walked in here asking for Mona last night—was it only last night!—and I realized that all I’d suffered before was the dark before the dawn. Maybe it was a sort of price I had to pay for being gay. I paid it, and Heaven dropped you in my lap. I want to deserve you, Beebo.”
Beebo was nonplused. She kissed Paula’s white throat, holding her and frowning into the dim light where Paula couldn’t see her face. It was disturbing to have such a strong emotion centered on her. She desired Paula passionately. Every endearment Beebo had spoken to her, she had spoken truthfully, but without once repeating, “I love you.”
Paula had brought her out; something Paula herself couldn’t believe. And no matter what other women might figure in Beebo’s life, Paula would always be dear to her for that alone.
But Beebo was afraid of hurting her. There was more than a humble excuse in Paula’s explanations; there was also that weapon of amorous women, a plea for sympathy. It was a hint to Beebo: Don’t hurt me like the girl in the plaid pajamas did, or you’ll destroy me. Beebo caught it and fretted over it in silence.
Paula began to worry that she had said too much. She raised up on one elbow, pressed her mouth against Beebo’s cheek, and said, “I want you to know I’m as surprised as you are by this love-at-first-sight thing. I thought it was all rot till I met you. Darling, I’m well aware it didn’t hit you as hard as it did me. I promise I won’t be a nuisance. I’ll love you very quietly like a good sensible girl. I won’t shriek and weep in public, or chase you, or take pills. I’ll just love you. So much and so well you’ll have to love me back…someday. You will, won’t you?”
Beebo felt suddenly cornered and couldn’t answer. But when she finally glanced at Paula, Paula had found the courage to smile at her, to tuck her dismay out of sight. It gave Beebo an odd sort of pride in her, as if a child of hers had performed bravely in the face of a hard disappointment. It made Paula still sweeter and more attractive.
“Doesn’t everybody love you, little Paula?”
“Almost everybody…except Miss Plaid Pajamas and Beebo Brinker.” Paula gave her a wry grin that let Beebo relax. “But they don’t count. All the intelligent, rich, beautiful people are insanely in love with me.”
Beebo laughed and pulled her down on the bed. “Not hard to see why,” she said. “You’re adorable.” She was still full of wonderment and fascination over the new role she was playing with Paula: lover, friend, protector. It felt so good, it fit so well, it rather astounded her. It was like picking up a violin for the first time and finding you could play a lilting tune with no practice at all.
Beebo’s good humor rescued Paula from the dumps. She began to feel affectionate again. For Beebo, it was a delirious pleasure to act out on a real girl in a real bed all the intense love play that had filled her solitude. She fell asleep very late, very tired, with Paula in her arms.
Beebo got up early the next morning. She was in no hurry to face Pete Pasquini, knowing what she now knew about him, but she didn’t want to lose her job till she could scout down another. She was not in a financial position to get hard-nosed with him yet, and besides she was confident that she could handle whatever he could dish out. They were nearly of a size, and he had never shown himself more than a brash nuisance. And anyway, a man who could fall in love with the likes of Mona Petry was not likely to find himself erotically interested in Beebo Brinker.
Paula was pensive throughout breakfast and when Beebo demanded to know why, she admitted, “It’s Mona.”
Beebo laughed, but Paula was serious. “She’s one of those people with nothing to do. She has to make trouble to keep from going mad with the ‘Flats’—that’s what she calls it. She doesn’t work—her men give her enough money to live on. She doesn’t do a thing but amuse herself. If you know her at all, you have to be a lover or a hater. There’s no middle ground with her.”
“Shall I hire a bodyguard?” Beebo kidded.
“She’ll try to punish you somehow. She’s been stood up by you and tricked by Pete. She’s not the kind who can tolerate being made a fool of. Pete doesn’t count, he’s only a man, and she can twist him around her finger if she’s in the mood. But you…”
“What can Mona do to me?” Beebo said, still smiling.
“Mona is very inventive. She’ll think of something,” Paula said.
“Do you mean she’d hurt you?” Beebo’s smile faded.
“Oh, I doubt it,” Paula said. “It wouldn’t be half as much fun as making an effigy of Beebo and sticking pins in it. If she does, you’ll squirm, too. For heaven’s sake, darling, don’t do anything she could blackmail you for.”
Beebo laughed and reassured her. Mona’s jealousy seemed more silly to her than dangerous.
Beebo didn’t see Pete Pasquini at work all day, and Marie had no idea where he was. “Out making babies with the filles,” she said with offhand contempt.
Beebo had no wish to confront him and she finished out the day’s work in relief. But when she got home that night, there was a new surprise for her.
Jack let her in, taking the bags of groceries from her. “Haven’t seen you for two nights,” he said. “Paula must have attractions I can’t match.”
“Oh, you’re
not bad,” Beebo smiled. “For a man.”
He started stowing things in the refrigerator, and Beebo became aware of Pat, who had followed them into the kitchen. “Good news,” Jack said. “Celebration tonight.” He pulled a bottle of sparkling burgundy from the shelf.
Beebo glanced from one to the other. “Did you boys finally tie the knot?” she said, trying to make it sound light.
“Nothing formal yet,” Jack grinned. “I believe in long engagements. No, little pal, we are festive tonight because Pat is no longer with the Sanitary Department.”
“It was too unsanitary,” Pat chuckled.
“I thought you were taking your vacation,” Beebo said. Suddenly, her precarious place in this still-new city was menaced. The time to move out was coming fast.
“Vacation, hell. He quit,” Jack said. “I asked him to.”
“How come?”
“I don’t want my betrothed to work,” Jack said, pouring the champagne. It exploded into tiny fountains of fizz, and they each took a glass.
Jack lifted his. “Long life and health,” he said, and added significantly, “and love all around.”
They drank. Beebo nodded to Pat. “All I can say, Pat, is what they said to me when I left Juniper Hill: good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“Beebo, you should have been a poet,” Jack said.
She finished her drink and stood up. “I guess you two want to celebrate by yourselves,” she said.
“Not at all. Have dinner with us,” Jack said.
“I think Paula’s waiting for me,” Beebo said. After an awkward pause she added, “She asked me to move in with her.”
“She doesn’t waste time, does she?” said Jack. “Do you want to?”
“I don’t know. It would give her the right to expect me to be faithful. I can’t imagine a lovelier girl. But I hardly know her. And there are so damn many girls in the world.”
“Which reminds me. How was La Bogardus?”
“If you mean the bosom, it’s authentic.”
Jack laughed. “You must have been a big hit, if you got that far.”
“No. I just have good eyes. And she’s allergic to underwear, which makes it pretty obvious.” She sat down heavily for a moment on a kitchen chair across the table from Pat.
“You look tired, honey,” Jack said concernedly.
“I haven’t had much sleep the last two nights,” she said and let them chortle at her, smiling a little.
“She’s a doll, that Paula,” Jack said. “If I were you, I’d keep a close eye on her.” He waited a moment. “You don’t have to go as far as moving in with her, though. Not if you’re not ready.”
Beebo looked up at him and reached out to squeeze his arm. “You’re too damn good to me, Jack,” she said. “I know it’s getting crowded here.”
“Nobody’s complaining!” Jack said. “Besides, if you move out, Pat will probably go, too. You’re still my biggest asset.”
Pat smiled and Beebo laughed, but there was just enough truth in it to make them all a little uncomfortable.
“If only you could get your elbow in your ear,” Pat said to her wistfully, making Jack hilarious. But despite the bantering tone, Pat had found a serious new interest in himself. He was staring and wondering at the many handsome, mannish, and somewhat authoritative girls around Greenwich Village. His crush on Beebo had the effect of opening his eyes to a new and quite fascinating possibility. But so far it was nothing to threaten his affection for Jack, and he said nothing.
Beebo lighted a cigarette, watching as Jack refilled her wine glass. “If I ask a hard question, will you boys tell me the truth?” she said at last. They nodded at her curiously in silent assent.
“When you want me to move out, will you, for God’s sake, please say so? I feel bad enough about mooching from Jack as it is.”
“Forget it,” Jack said. “Stay as long as you want to, pal.”
She sipped the drink. “It’s not that I don’t want Paula,” she said. “I just don’t want her enough to cut loose from all the rest of the women in the world yet. And I’m not earning enough to live alone.”
“You should have met her five years from now,” Jack said sagely. “You would have been ready then.”
“Maybe we can make it together after a few months,” Beebo said. She was musing guiltily about somebody else; someone who had nothing to do with Paula, and yet who affected Beebo’s decision not to go live with the pretty little redhead. Beebo had been eager to stay with Paula, eager to be asked, throughout the first night and day of their acquaintance. It would have solved so many problems, economic and emotional.
Then she got away from Paula for a few hours. She met a woman of provocative beauty who stuck in her imagination, almost without her realizing it at first, and who roused her desire for variety: Venus. When she got back to Paula, she was made to see that Paula was urgently in love with her, and it scared her. She was flattered but afraid of the responsibility. And not at all sure she could return the love in full measure.
So she dodged the decision temporarily by volunteering to take Jack’s sofa and leave the bed to the men. And for a while it worked out. Beebo spent most of her evenings with Paula—and sometimes the entire night—and Paula wisely refrained from pushing her any more on moving in.
There was a complete—and, Paula thought, ominous—silence from Mona. And another odd development was the disappearance of Pete Pasquini. For almost two weeks, nobody saw him. Marie kept saying she hoped to God he had deserted her at last. She was massively uninterested in finding him.
When he finally made a startling appearance, he touched off a howling family feud, with Marie vowing to drown him in spaghetti sauce and his mother promising to throw Marie in after him. The children lined up on the narrow stairs leading up from the kitchen and shrieked approval of the melee.
Beebo walked in on it at eight-thirty in the morning and brought a sudden stillness to the room. She stood there uncertainly with all eyes on her and finally said, “Don’t let me stop you.” Pete smiled at her.
Marie came to life, striding toward Beebo to plead her case with feminine ardor. “We find out this morning. He gets back last night, without telling nobody,” she said, waving a steaming red spoon at her husband. The coating of sauce underlined her threats to drown him.
“We’re all asleep, it’s late. The phone rings twice and stops. We go back to sleep—they must’ve hung up. What we don’t know,” she hollered in a rising voice, “this piece of dung is in the shop and he answers it. Why is he in the shop in the middle of the night? It’s dark, no customers, nothing to do. Nothing but tin cans and dry pasta. Is he making love to the tomato paste? Who knows what a crazy dago goes for?”
Pete laughed, and all the while his brilliant black eyes were fixed on Beebo, who refused to meet them, concentrating instead on Marie’s theatrics.
“So who’s on the phone? Bogardus,” Marie said.
Beebo gasped.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Marie said, hands on her hips, spoon dripping bloody sauce. “She wants spaghetti this time. It’s the middle of the night—never mind. She got a taste for spaghetti. ‘Send me that one with the funny name,’ she says. And she don’t mean Pasquini.” She threw Pete a look of ferocious scorn. “So Hot Pants here, he says sure, he bring it right up, the stupid sonofabitch. No spaghetti, never mind, he makes up a leftover pizza.” She rolled her eyes to Heaven for vengeance.
“What happened?” Beebo said, her mind suddenly full of the star’s vivid face and sensual body.
“So I make the delivery,” Pete said languidly, seating himself on a table amid the crunchy bread crumbs. “Bogardus opens the door herself and says, ‘Where’s Beebo?’ Well, I’m surprised, I don’t realize how popular you are with these actress types.” He grinned and picked his teeth with neat nonchalance, while Beebo began to sweat nervously.
“So I tell her, you’re sick, you can’t make it, but it’s okay, I got her spaghetti. She says, ‘Thank you, darling�
��’” He rolled the endearment interminably off his tongue, always smiling directly at Beebo. “—and opens it. I’m waiting for her to hand me some money, minding my own business—”
“For the first time in two weeks!” Marie interpolated. “Where was your hands all this time, Pete?”
“In my pockets,” he replied coolly. “She wasn’t in a mood for no man last night.”
Beebo’s whole face flushed a high red. She wanted to turn and rush out of the place, but the thought of his raucous laughter alone prevented her.
“So instead of the money,” he went on leisurely, “she hands me back the pizza. In the face.”
“I begin to respect this woman,” Marie commented.
Pete continued, “She says, ‘What do you mean spaghetti? This ain’t spaghetti. And you ain’t no Beebo Brinker, neither.’ How do you like that, butch? You can write your own ticket with that one. Only you better make it a round trip. I understand you got a good reason for visiting back on McDonald Street these days.”
“She got a good reason to spit in your face, you damn wop!” Marie declared, siding with Beebo.
Pete ignored her. “That Paula, she’s a looker, hm? I wouldn’t mind cracking that little nut myself,” he said to Beebo, folding his arms and enjoying her alarm.
“I’ll crack yours one of these days,” Beebo said in a sudden fury. “Don’t talk about Paula, you dirty her name.”
“Don’t mind him, Beebo,” Marie said, sensing trouble. “It ain’t just Paula, anyway. It ain’t enough he runs after skirts all the time. He wants the girls who want other girls. Figure that one out. After all his big talk about fags.”
“Fags go for other fags. I go for girls,” Pete said, but Marie had finally rattled him. Any challenge to his manhood threw him into a panic. It was clear he drew a fine distinction between his own sexual preferences—“normal”—and everybody else’s.
“You go for Lesbians,” Marie said, silencing him with a wave of her gory spoon. She did him further insult by describing his desires to Beebo, as if Pete were not even in the room. “He’s three-fourths fag and the rest sadist,” she said. “That’s why he don’t chase real women. He has to hurt a girl—a girl who don’t want it—before he can get it up.” She glared at him like a cannibal.
