I am a woman
been a pleasure. Most of it. She’s lovely ... So long.”
When Beebo returned to the bathroom, Laura was standing at the washbowl,
rinsing her face, trying to compose herself.
“What did he say?” she asked Beebo.
“It was Jack.”
“I heard.”
Beebo put her arms around Laura from behind, leaning a little against
her, front to back, planting kisses in her hair while she talked. “He
says you’re forgiven. He handed Marcie some psychological hocus pocus
about a neurosis. You are neurotic, love. As of now. As far as Marcie’s
concerned, you have attacks. She should have a few herself.”
“Don’t be so sarcastic, Beebo. If you knew what I’ve been through—how
scared I was—”
“Okay, no more sarcasm. For a few minutes at least. God, you’re pretty,
Laura.” Like Jack, like Marcie, like many others, she realized it
slowly. Laura’s singular face fit no pattern. It had to be discovered.
Laura herself had never discovered it. She didn’t believe in it. She
grew up convinced she was as plain as her father seemed to think, and
when she looked into the mirror she didn’t see her own reflection. She
saw what she thought she looked like; a mask, a cliche left over from
adolescence. It embarrassed her when people told her she was pretty.
“Don’t flatter me,” she said sharply to Beebo. “I hate it.”
Beebo shut her eyes and laughed in Laura’s ear. “You’re nuts,” she said.
“You are _nuts_, Bo-peep.”
“I’m sane. And I’m plain. There’s a poem for you. Now let me go.”
“There’s no rush, baby.”
“There is. I want to get home.” She twisted away from Beebo, turning
around to face her.
Beebo let her hands trail up the front of Laura. “Home to Marcie?” she
said, and let them drop suddenly. “Okay. Go home. Go home, now that you
can stand it for another couple of days. And when the pressure gets too
great, come back down again. Come back to Beebo, your faithful safety
valve.”
“You said you wouldn’t be sarcastic.”
Beebo wheeled away, walking into the bedroom. “What do you want me to
do, sing songs? Write poems? Dance? Shall I congratulate you?
Congratulations, Laura, you’ve finally found a way to beat the problem.
Every time Marcie sexes you up, run down to Beebo’s and let it off.
Beebo’ll fix you up. Lovely arrangement.”
She turned to Laura, her eyes narrowed. “Laura gets loved up for free,
Beebo gets a treat, and Marcie stays pure. Whatever happens, let’s not
dirty Marcie up. Let’s not muss up that gorgeous blonde hair.”
“Don’t talk about her!” Laura had followed her into the bedroom.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Bo-peep. I’m not complaining. You’re too good
to me, you know. You give me your throw-away kisses. I get your cast-off
passion, I’m your Salvation Army, doll, I get all the left-overs. Throw
me a bone.” She was sitting on the edge of her rump on her dresser, legs
crossed at the ankles, arms folded on her chest—a favorite stance with
her.
Laura was suddenly ashamed of the way she had used Beebo. Beebo was
hurt. And it was Laura’s fault.
“Everything’s my fault, Beebo,” she said. “I’m sorry.” There was silence
for a minute. Laura was acutely aware that “I’m sorry” was no recompense
for what she was doing to Beebo.
Beebo smiled wryly. “Thanks,” she said.
“I am, Beebo. Really. I didn’t come to you last night just because of
Marcie.” It was suffocatingly hard to talk. She spoke in fits and starts
as her nerve came and left her.
“No?” Beebo remained motionless with a ‘tell-me-another’ look on her
face.
“No. I came—I came because—” She covered her face with her hands, stuck
for words and ashamed.
“You came, baby. That’s enough,” Beebo finished for her, relenting a
little. “You came and I’m not sorry. Neither are you, not really. The
situation isn’t perfect.” She laughed. “But last night was perfect. It
isn’t like that very often, I can tell you.”
Laura looked at her again. Then she moved toward her clothes, afraid to
stay naked any longer, afraid the whole thing would start over again.
Beebo came toward her, pulling the slip from her hand and dropping it on
the floor. “There’s no hurry,” she said.
“I’m going, Beebo. Don’t try to stop me.”
For a moment Beebo didn’t answer. Then she scooped up some of Laura’s
clothes on her foot and flung them at her. “Okay, baby,” she said. “But
next time, you don’t get off so easily. Clear?”
“There won’t be a next time.” Laura concentrated on dressing, on getting
her body covered as quickly as possible. “I’m grateful to you, but I’ll
never do it again. It isn’t fair, not to you.”
Beebo laughed disagreeably. “Don’t worry about being fair to _me_, baby.
It didn’t bother you last night.”
“I couldn’t think last night! You know that.”
“Yes. I know that. I’m glad. I hope I drive you out of your mind.”
Beebo’s eyes bored into her and made her rush and stumble. She was
afraid to confront her, and when she had her clothes on she caught her
jacket up with one hand and headed for the door without looking back.
Nix pranced after her. Before she got the front door open, Beebo caught
her and turned her around. “Goodby, Beebo,” she said stiffly.
Beebo smiled, upsetting Laura with her nude closeness. “You’ll be back,
Little Bo-peep. You know that, don’t you.” It was a statement, not a
question.
_I’ll never come back_, she told herself. _I’ll never open this door
again._
And, confident that she meant what she said, she turned and walked away.
Within minutes she was riding uptown on the subway. In less than half an
hour she was climbing the flight of stairs to the penthouse, her heart
pounding.
* * * * *
The door was open. Laura went in, feeling her legs start to shake. There
didn’t seem to be anyone around. She walked through the apartment:
no-one. She slipped her jacket off and went into the kitchen to find
something for breakfast. Out on the roof she could hear people laughing,
while competing portable radios squeaked from different corners. The
population of the apartment building had taken to sunning itself on the
roof on fair weekends.
Laura ate some toast and orange juice, sitting quietly, on the kitchen
table. _She’s out there on the porch. I know she’s out there_, she told
herself. She was afraid to face her, afraid to go looking for her. She
wanted to fall into bed and sleep, but she knew she would never rest
until the thing was straightened out.
Laura emptied her orange juice glass and put it down resolutely on the
table. She set her chin and slipped off the table, heading for the door.
She bumped flat into Jack as he came in.
Laura gave a little scream and jumped backwards. “Oh,” she said,
shutting her eyes for a minute to let her heart come back to normal.
“It’s you.”
“Say it like you’re glad to see me, Mother,” he said, smiling wistfully.
“I am,” she exclaimed, coming toward him then and taking his hands. “Oh,
Jack, I am. I don’t know what I would have done—”
“Now you’re embarrassing me,” he said. “They’re out on the roof
sunbathing, by the way.”
“They?”
“Burr’s here.”
Laura started for the door, but Jack caught her sleeve. “Are you
cracked?” he said. “This isn’t the time. Wait till Burr leaves.” Laura
stopped, unsure. “You don’t want to go out there and try to explain it
to her now, do you?” Jack said.
“I just want to get it over with.”
“It’ll keep. Don’t be pushy.”
Laura rubbed her forehead. “You’re right,” she said. “I can’t talk to
her in front of Burr.” She laughed a little. “I _am_ cracked. People
have been telling me that all day.”
“You don’t have to say much anyway,” Jack said. “I did a smooth patch
job. She thinks you’re a little goofy. But harmless.”
Laura smiled at him in relief. But as they gazed at each other the ghost
of Beebo came up in her mind and she was suddenly blushing without
Jack’s having said a word. “I—I think I’d better go in and lie down, if
you’ll excuse me,” she said, anxious to get away from him.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night?” he said.
“Not much.” She looked at the floor, not quite forgiving him for leaving
her in the lurch the night before. “You sent me home with her,” she
reminded him.
“I didn’t send you to bed with her. I gave her orders. I told her no
monkey business. She promised to behave.” He was still smiling, curious
to hear her defend herself.
Laura wondered quickly whether she could get away with a lie, ashamed as
she was of the truth. But she knew her hot cheeks would betray her. They
always did.
“She did behave, Jack.” His eyebrows went up skeptically. “She—what I
mean is—it was me.”
He looked at her sideways. “You mean you just sort of fell into each
other’s arms?”
“Well, sort of.”
“By mistake? In the dark?”
“I—I—”
“You’re fibbing. I know Beebo. Who made who?” He opened the ice box and
fished out a beer. “Do I have to say it, or are you going to tell me?”
“Well, damn it, who are you?” she exclaimed. “You have no right to know
anything.”
“Okay. I’ll get it from Beebo. She says you raped her.”
“She’s a liar! I heard her say that. Damn!”
Jack laughed, opening the beer. He sniffed it. “God, what awful stuff,”
he remarked. “I only drink it before noon. Cheers.” He drank, and held
the can toward her. “Want some?”
“At this hour?”
“Your stomach doesn’t know what time it is.”
“_Your_ stomach, maybe.”
“Did Beebo jump you, Laura? If she did I’ll break her head.” He asked it
suddenly and quietly, and she saw that he meant help and comfort to her.
He had to stick a few pins in her, only to pull them out and offer first
aid. It was the way he did things.
“She didn’t—no,” Laura said, turning away. “Jack, don’t make me talk
about it.”
“You could talk to me before.”
“You turned me down last night,” she said pettishly.
“I had to. There was someone else last night.”
“I ... oh damn it, Jack, I’m ashamed of myself. It was my fault, I made
it so easy. No, that’s a lie. I did it on purpose.” A wave of tears
welled through her and subsided, leaving her with her hands over her
face. Jack started to speak but she silenced him with a wave of her
hand. “It’s been so long, Jack. It’s been hell. I’ve been so lonely. I
didn’t know a person could be that lonely and live. And then I moved in
with Marcie and it was suddenly torture. All these months I’ve been
here. And most of the time I’ve been dying for her. And last night—I was
so tired, so mixed up and I had a couple of drinks—”
“You sounded nuts on the phone.”
“I felt nuts. I felt awful. She took me home, and she was very decent.
She really was. She wanted to, I know that. But she didn’t. She gave me
her bed and she went in the living room and slept on the couch. I
thought I’d fall right to sleep. But I couldn’t. I just tossed and
turned, and every time I heard her turn over I was on fire. It got too
strong for me. I finally gave in. _I_ did it. It was my fault, Jack.”
“Poor Laura.” He said it sympathetically. “Come here, honey.” He put his
arms around her and held her, stroking her back. When he did it, she
didn’t mind. She’d have resented any other man ... except maybe Merrill
Landon. But Merrill Landon never showed affection to anyone.
“I know how it is, believe me,” Jack said. “You’re starving, and
somebody puts a feast in front of you. What happens after that is
Instinct. Overwhelming. You eat. Or you die of hunger, right there, with
all that food in front of you.”
Laura clung to him, letting herself cry softly and gratefully into his
shoulder.
“Let me give you just one little word of advice, Mother. Don’t starve
yourself anymore. Or that hunger is going to kill you.”
She looked at him with wet eyes. Her face was strangely different, and
Jack could see it. A night of love, a night of luxurious satiation, had
changed her. For all her fatigue, her shame at herself, her body was