I am a woman
half her drink, and then walked back to the ladies’ room, looking into
the rear of The Cellar, but Beebo wasn’t there. In extreme irritation
she walked back to the bar, wondering whether to crush her pride and ask
the bartender where Beebo was, or let it go. She finished her drink and
decided if she had come this far she might as well go the whole way.
“Where’s Beebo tonight?” she asked the bartender the next time he got
near. “I owe her some money,” she explained compulsively. He smiled.
“Oh, she’s been and gone already,” he said. “She’s probably over at The
Colophon. She likes it over there. No boys.” He grinned.
“Thanks,” said Laura, slipping off her seat at the bar and heading for
the door. She was embarrassed enough without asking him where The
Colophon was. She didn’t want to advertise her “innocence.”
Near the door a slim pretty girl, who had kept an eye on her at the bar,
approached her. The girl wore her hair in a short soft curly cut. She
was blonde and feminine. Laura let herself be approached simply by
returning the girl’s gaze as she came near her. She stopped when the
girl spoke.
“Excuse me,” the girl said. “We noticed you were all alone. My friends
and me. Like to have a drink with us?” She nodded toward a table where
three other girls were sitting, watching them. One of them, sitting
alone on one side of the table, stared coldly at Laura.
Laura was flattered. But the feelings in her were too personal, too
rough, to dissipate with strangers. “Thanks,” she said. “I’d like to,
but I’m looking for somebody. I’m in a hurry.”
“Who’re you looking for? Maybe we can help you out,” said the girl,
stopping Laura as she started to move away.
Laura realized the girl was interested in her, and it made her turn back
once more. “Oh,” she said with a little shrug, “you wouldn’t know her.”
“Somebody might. We’re over here a lot. What’s her name?”
Laura was dead certain they’d know Beebo, who came over here all the
time. The last thing she wanted was to have everybody run up and tell
Beebo that Laura had been looking for her. The bartender would no doubt
tell her. That was bad enough.
“What’s her name?” the girl prompted, and then smiled. “Don’t want to
tell?”
Laura blushed and backed away from her. “I just owe her some money. I
thought she’d be down here tonight.”
“Who?” the girl goaded her, with a pretty smile.
“Beebo Brinker.” Laura didn’t mean to say it. Yet saying it was better
than trying to hide it and getting laughed at. They could always ask the
bartender who she was looking for after she left, and she would look
even worse. They would take her stammering reluctance for infatuation.
She said the name as casually as she could.
“Oh, Beebo!” The girl laughed. “She left half an hour ago. She’s over at
the Colophon. She said this place was dead tonight. I guess if she’d
known you were coming she would have waited—hm?” She smiled.
“I guess,” said Laura briefly. She stared at the girl. It occurred to
her that she saw a slight resemblance to Beth in her face. Then she
turned and walked out.
The slim girl walked back to her table. Her partner said peevishly,
“Maybe that’ll teach you you’re not irresistible.”
“Oh, shut up,” the slim girl said quietly. “She’s Beebo Brinker’s girl.”
“Beebo’s girl, hell. Beebo’s got a dozen girls. She can really pick ’em
though, I’ll say that much. I should get one like that.” And she made a
face at the slim one by her side.
Chapter Eleven
Laura went home. She arrived before ten, but Marcie wasn’t back yet.
Laura put a book she had been reading on Marcie’s bed and climbed into
her own bed. She tried to read herself, but she couldn’t. An hour went
by, and no Marcie. Nervously, Laura shut her book and dropped it to the
floor. She got up and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, and
remembered she had already done it.
Then she went to the phone. She didn’t know what was coming over her.
She only felt a deep will-defying unhappiness. She pulled out the phone
book and looked up the number of the McAlton Hotel. She sat for a moment
with the book open in her lap, unable to move. Then she reached slowly
for the phone.
Suddenly it rang. Laura screamed, a small quick cry of extreme surprise.
Her heart had taken a tremendous leap at the piercing bell sound in that
still apartment. She let it ring twice more while she caught her breath.
_It must be Marcie_, she thought. _Maybe she’s in trouble._ She lifted
the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hello, Bo-peep.”
Laura’s heart gave another bound. She felt the sweat break out. “Beebo?”
she said faintly.
“How are you, sweetheart? I hear you were looking for me tonight.”
“You didn’t waste any time.” Her voice was sharp.
“I hate to keep a lady waiting. What’s on your mind?”
“I just dropped in for a drink. I was down there in the Village to see
Jack and I just wanted to pay you back.” She spoke in fits and starts.
“You don’t owe me a thing, Bo-peep. Not a thing.”
“A drink.” Laura hated to owe anybody anything. She was meticulous about
her debts, however small the sum.
“You’re right.” Laura could feel her smile. “I nearly forgot. Okay
lover, you owe me one drink.”
“Beebo, I can’t talk now, really.”
“You’re doing fine. What’s the matter, Marcie breathing down your neck?”
“It’s not that.”
“You don’t have to say you love me, you know. Just say you’ll meet me
tomorrow night. About eight.”
“No.”
“Don’t be late, doll. I’ll call Marcie and ask her where the hell you
are.”
“You wouldn’t! You won’t! Damn you, Beebo!”
“I would and I will.” She laughed. “Eight on the dot.”
“I won’t be there.”
“Want to bet?”
Laura hung up on her. She was trembling. Angrily she slammed the heavy
phone back into place, switched out the bedroom light, and got into bed.
The black night settled around her but it brought more restless tossing
than repose. The hours slipped by. No Marcie. No sleep. Only an endless
bitter reviewing of what her father had done to her; the look on the
clerk’s face when he gave her the message; the impotent fury and shame
that besieged her. At last she turned the light back on and began to
pace the room. The electric clock on Marcie’s dresser said two-thirty.
Laura wondered whether to call Burr. Or Jack. She was getting afraid for
Marcie. But nobody knew how to reach her. There was nothing to do but
wait.
It was a few minutes past three when Marcie came in. Laura had left the
living room light on for her and she heard her come in laughing and
heard a male voice answer her. Not Burr’s voice. Somebody else. A deep
mature voice. Laura peeked out through the crack in the kitchen door but
couldn’t see him. Marcie was giggling, as if she were tight, and pushing
him away. Laura could see her now and then.
Marcie said, “I’ll call my roommate. She’ll make you go home.”
“I can’t go home tonight. I live in Chicago.”
“That’s where she’s from!”
“Who?”
“My roommate.”
“To hell with her. Come here, Baby.”
“No!” High as she was, she nevertheless sounded a little scared. She had
stopped laughing.
Laura threw a coat hastily over her pajamas and went into the living
room. A large man, partly bald and handsome in a heavy featured way, had
Marcie wrapped in a bear hug and was trying to drag her to the couch.
“All right,” said Laura sharply. “Get out.”
She startled them both so much that they froze where they were. The man
stared at her. He was drunk, and his balance wasn’t the best. Laura,
pale and silver blond, her long hair falling down her shoulders, her
face strange and sensitive and imperious, looked like an apparition to
him. Without taking his eyes off her he asked Marcie, “Who the hell is
_that_?”
“My roommate.” Marcie took advantage of his interest to slip free. Laura
took her arm firmly and sent her through the kitchen door. Then she
turned back to the man.
“All right, you,” she said as if he were a servant. “Out.”
The impudence of it amused him and angered him at the same time. “You
can’t talk to me like that,” he said.
She advanced on him briskly, pulling the door open sharply and facing
him. “It’s my home and I’ll speak as I please,” she said. She looked as
cold and unapproachable as she was hot and angry. He stared at her, not
sure how to take her, and then came toward her to put a hand on her
shoulder.
“Marcie’s no good,” he said confidentially. “Let’s you and me—”
Laura swept his hand off her shoulder. “Get out of here or I’ll call the
police,” she said.
He got mad. “Jesus, what a chilly little bitch you are!” he growled.
“Get out,” Laura said, so cold, so controlled, that she froze him into
submission. She shut the door after him, resisting the urge to slam it.
_Dear God_, she thought intensely. _If I could do that to my father.
Just once._
“Laura? It was just a party, Laur,” Marcie said. “We went out after
dinner. Just for kicks. He got sort of out of hand. Thanks, Laur, I
don’t know what I’d have done.”
“Come on to bed.” Laura turned and walked toward her and Marcie preceded
her into the bedroom. It occurred to her then that she was behaving with
Marcie much as Beth used to behave with her. She was asserting herself,
taking the lead. She liked it; with Marcie, anyway. She felt her
influence and reveled in it. A feeling of tremendous strength swept
through her when the man turned and left, like the other poor demented
little fellow who pestered her on the subway. Only he was such a
weakling he hardly counted. She had a mental image of herself treating
Merrill Landon that way, and it worked a strange exaltation in her. She
smiled.
Marcie grinned at her crookedly. “I thought you’d be sore,” she said.
“No. No, of course not. Why should I be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I felt kind of guilty going out with
somebody besides Burr. But I had fun. Up to the end, anyway. I wouldn’t
have minded that if he hadn’t slobbered so much.” She giggled and Laura
ignored what she said. They were standing less than a foot from each
other and suddenly Laura reached for her and gave her a little hug. “I’m
not mad. I’m just glad you’re all right,” she said.
Marcie submitted, but she seemed embarrassed, and Laura quickly released
her. With the release came a letdown, a loss of strength and confidence.
She slipped quietly into bed and spent the hours till dawn wrestling
with the bedclothes.
* * * * *
Laura didn’t feel much brighter than Marcie in the morning. She got to
work on time, but all she wanted to do was sleep. _I’ve got to catch up.
I’ve got to catch up_, she kept telling herself. _Less than three weeks
and Jean’ll be back. And I haven’t done a really good day’s work since
she left. Even if they like me, they can’t keep me on as a charity
case._
The episode at the McAlton flamed up in her mind and gave her an angry
energy through most of the morning. Sarah said nothing to her, but she
kept looking at her over her typewriter, apparently afraid to bring up
the date subject again. It wasn’t till Jack called that Laura even
remembered it.
“All set,” he said. “Carl Jensen can go. Friday night. Dinner and a
show. What’s Sarah’s number?”
Laura got it from her and made her face light up with expectation. Jack
put Carl on the phone, and Laura gave her end to Sarah. It gave her a
momentary lift to see somebody else stammering with pleasure and
anticipation. But the day she lived through was endless, bleak with
undone work, dragging will, impotent anger.
* * * * *
“You’re late,” Marcie said when Laura walked in. “I wanted you to tell
me about that book Burr brought over last week.”
“Nothing to tell.” Laura felt too low to talk, to joke, even to eat. She