I am a woman
he brought her the drink she gulped it anxiously. Marcie kept coming
into her thoughts; Marcie’s face, her shocked voice saying,
“Laura—don’t!”
The bartender took her dollar and brought some change. It meant she
could have another drink. Drinking your dinner. Where had she heard
that? One of her father’s friends, no doubt. She gazed at the ceiling.
She wanted to talk to Jack, but she was ashamed to call him. She thought
of her father again, and it gave her a sort of bitter satisfaction to
imagine his face if he could see her now, alone and unhappy, disgracing
him by drinking by herself, in a bar—a gay bar. Gay—that would strike
him dead. She was sure of it. She smiled a little, but it was a
mirthless smile.
After a moment, she ordered another drink. She counted her change
fuzzily. There might be enough for a third. She slipped it back in her
pocket and looked up to find a young man forcing himself into a place
beside her.
_Damn!_ she exclaimed to herself. _As if I didn’t have enough on my
mind._ Her slim arresting face registered subtle contempt and she turned
away. It would have frozen another man, but this one only seemed amused.
“Hello, Laura,” he said.
At this, she looked at him. Her mind was a blank; she couldn’t place
him. “Do I know you?” she said.
“No.” He grinned. “I’m Dutton. This is for you.” He held out a piece of
paper and she took it, curious. On it was a devilish reproduction of her
own features mocking her from the white page.
“You’re the artist,” she accused him suddenly.
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Keep it.”
“I won’t pay for it.”
“You don’t have to.” He laughed at her consternation. “It’s paid for,
doll. Take it home. Frame it. Enjoy it.”
Laura stared at him. “Who paid for it?”
“She said not to tell.” He laughed. “You’re a bitch to caricature. You
know? Look me up sometime, I’ll do a good one. I like your face.” And he
turned and wriggled out of the crowd.
Laura was left standing at the bar with the cartoon of herself. She was
suddenly humiliated and angry. She felt ridiculous standing there
holding the silly thing, not knowing who paid for it. Her glance swept
down the bar, looking for a face to accuse, but she recognized no one.
No one paid her any attention.
She studied the sketch once more. It was clever, insolent; it made a
carnival curiosity of her face. Quietly, deliberately, with a feeling of
satisfaction, she tore the sketch in half. And in half again. And threw
it down behind the bar where the bartender would grind it into the wet
floor. Then she picked up her glass and finished her drink.
“What did you do that for?” said a low voice, so close to her ear that
she jumped and a drop of whisky ran down her chin. “It was a damn good
likeness.”
Laura looked up, gazing straight ahead of her, knowing who it was now
and mad. She pulled a dime out of her pocket and smacked it on the bar
in front of her.
“I owe you a dime, Beebo. There it is. Thanks for the picture. Next time
don’t waste your money.”
Beebo laughed. “I always get what I pay for, lover,” she said. Laura
refused to look at her, and after a pause Beebo said, “What’s the
matter, Laura, ’fraid to look at me?”
Laura had to look then. She turned her head slowly, reluctantly. Her
face was cold and composed. Beebo chuckled at her. She was handsome,
like a young boy of fourteen, with her smooth skin and deep blue eyes.
She was leaning on her elbows on the bar, and she looked sly and amused.
“Laura’s afraid of me,” she said with a quick grin.
“Laura’s not afraid of you or anybody else. Laura thinks you’re a bitch.
That’s all.”
“That makes two of us.”
Under her masklike face Laura found herself troubled by the smile so
close to her; the snapping blue eyes.
“Where’s your guardian angel tonight?” Beebo said.
“I suppose you mean Jack. I don’t know where he is, he doesn’t have to
tell me where he goes.” She turned back to the bar. “He’s not my
guardian angel. I don’t need one. I’m a big girl now.”
“Oh, excuse me. I should have noticed.”
Laura’s cheeks prickled with embarrassment. “You only see what you want
to see,” she said.
“I see what I want to see right now,” Beebo said, and Laura felt her
hand on the small of her back. She straightened suddenly.
“Go away,” she said sharply. “Leave me alone.”
“I can’t.”
“Then shut up.”
Beebo laughed softly. “What’s the matter, little girl? Hate the world
tonight?” Laura wouldn’t answer. “Think that’s going to make it any
prettier?” Beebo pushed Laura’s whisky glass toward her with one finger.
“I’m having a drink for the hell of it,” Laura said briefly. “If it
bothers you, go away. You weren’t invited, anyway.”
“Don’t tell me you’re drinking just because you like the taste.”
“I don’t mind it.”
“You’re unlucky in love, then. Or you just found out you’re gay and you
can’t take it. That it?”
Laura pursed her lips angrily. “I’m not in love. I never was.”
“You mean love is filth and all that crap? Love is dirty?”
“I didn’t say that!” Laura turned on her.
Beebo shrugged. “You’re a big girl, lover. You said it yourself. Big
girls know all about love. So don’t lie to me.”
“I didn’t ask you to bother me, Beebo. I don’t want to talk to you. Now
scram!”
“There she stands at the bar, drinking whisky because it tastes good,”
Beebo drawled, gazing toward the ceiling and letting the smoke from a
cigarette drift from her mouth. “Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.”
“Twenty,” Laura snapped.
“Excuse me, twenty. Your innocence is getting tedious, lover.” She
smiled.
“Beebo, I don’t like you,” Laura said. “I don’t like the way you dress
or the way you talk or the way you wear your hair. I don’t like the
things you say and the money you throw around. I don’t want your dimes
and I don’t want you. I hope that’s plain because I don’t know how to
make it any plainer.” Her voice broke as she talked and toward the end
she felt her own crazy tears coming up again. Beebo saw them before they
spilled over and they changed her. They touched her. She ignored the
hard words Laura spoke for she knew enough to know they meant nothing.
“Tell me, baby,” she said gently. “Tell me all about it. Tell me you
hate me if it’ll help.”
For a moment Laura sat there, not trusting her, not wanting to risk a
word with her, letting the stray tears roll over her cheeks without even
brushing them away. Then she straightened up and swept them off her face
with her long slim fingers, turning away from Beebo. “I can’t tell you,
or anybody.”
Beebo shrugged. “All right. Have it your way.” She dinched her cigarette
and leaned on the bar again, her face close to Laura’s. “Try, baby,” she
said softly. “Try to tell me.”
“It’s stupid, it’s ridiculous. We’re complete strangers.”
“We aren’t strangers.” She put an arm around Laura and squeezed her a
little. Laura was embarrassed and grateful at the same time. It felt
good, so good. Beebo sighed at her silence. “I’m a bitch, you’re right
about that,” she admitted. “But I didn’t want to be. It’s an attitude.
You develop it after a while, like a turtle grows a shell. You need it.
Pretty soon you live it, you don’t know any other way.”
Laura finished her drink without answering. She put it down on the bar
and looked for the bartender. She wouldn’t care what Beebo said, she
wouldn’t look at her, she wouldn’t answer her. She didn’t dare.
“You don’t need to tell me about it,” Beebo went on. “Because I already
know. I’ve lived through it, too. You fall in love. You’re young,
inexperienced. What the hell, maybe you’re a virgin, even. You fall, up
to your ears, and there’s nobody to talk to, nobody to lean on. You’re
all alone with that great big miserable feeling and she’s driving you
out of your mind. Every time you look at her, every time you’re near
her. Finally you give in to it—and she’s straight.” She said the last
word with such acid sharpness that Laura jumped. “End of story,” Beebo
added. “End of soap opera. Beginning of soap opera. That’s all the
Village is, honey, just one crazy little soap opera after another, like
Jack says. All tangled up with each other, one piled on top of the next,
ad infinitum. Mary loves Jane loves Joan loves Jean loves Beebo loves
Laura.” She stopped and grinned at Laura.
“Doesn’t mean a thing,” she said. “It goes on forever. Where one stops
another begins.” She looked around The Cellar with Laura following her
gaze. “I know most of the girls in here,” she said. “I’ve probably slept
with half of them. I’ve lived with half of the half I’ve slept with.
I’ve loved half of the half I’ve lived with. What does it all come to?”
She turned to Laura who was caught with her fascinated face very close
to Beebo’s. She started to back away but Beebo’s arm around her waist
tightened and kept her close. “You know something, baby? It doesn’t
matter. Nothing matters. You don’t like me, and that doesn’t matter.
Someday maybe you’ll love me, and that won’t matter either. Because it
won’t last. Not down here. Not anywhere in the world, if you’re gay.
You’ll never find peace, you’ll never find Love. With a capital L.”
She took a drag on her cigarette and let it flow out of her nostrils. “L
for Love,” she said, looking into space. “L for Laura.” She turned and
smiled at her, a little sadly. “L for Lust and L for the L of it. L for
Lesbian. L for Let’s—let’s,” she said, and blew smoke softly into
Laura’s ear. Laura was startled to feel the strength of the feeling
inside her.
_It’s the whiskey_, she thought. _It’s because I’m tired. It’s because I
want Marcie so much. No, that doesn’t make sense._ She caught the
bartender’s eye and he fixed her another drink.
Beebo’s arm pressed her again. “Let’s,” she said. “How about it?” She
was smiling, not pushy, not demanding, just asking. As if it didn’t
really matter whether Laura said yes or no.
“Where did you get that ridiculous name?” Laura hedged.
“My family.”
“They named you _Beebo_?”
“They named me Betty Jean,” she said, smiling. “Which is even worse.”
“It’s a pretty name.”
“It’s a lousy name. Even Mother couldn’t stand it. And she could stand
damn near anything. But they had to call me something. So they called me
Beebo.”
“That’s too bad.”
Beebo laughed. “I get along,” she said.
The bartender set Laura’s glass down and she reached for her change.
“What’s your last name?” she said to Beebo.
“Brinker. Like the silver skates.”
Laura counted her change. She had sixty-five cents. The bartender was
telling a joke to some people a few seats down, resting one hand on the
bar in front of Laura, waiting for his money. She was a dime short. She
counted it again, her cheeks turning hot.
Beebo watched and began to laugh. “Want your dime back?” she said.
“It’s your dime,” Laura said haughtily.
“You must have left home in a hurry, baby. Poor Laura. Hasn’t got a dime
for a lousy drink.”
Laura wanted to strangle her. The bartender turned back to her suddenly
and she felt her face burning. Beebo leaned toward him, laughing. “I’ve
got it, Mort,” she said.
“No!” Laura said. “If you could just lend me a dime.”
Beebo laughed and waved Mort away.
“I don’t want to owe you a thing,” Laura told her.
“Too bad, doll. You can’t help yourself.” She laughed again. Laura tried
to give her the change she had left, but Beebo wouldn’t take it. “Sure,
I’ll take it,” she said. “And you’ll be flat busted. How’ll you get
home?”
Laura went pale then. She couldn’t go home. Even if she had a hundred
dollars in her pocket. She couldn’t stand to face Marcie, to explain her
crazy behavior, to try to make herself sound normal and ordinary when
her whole body was begging for strange passion, for forbidden release.
Beebo watched her face change and then she shook her head. “It must have