I am a woman
“I’ve got to find her, Beebo, and you’ve got to help me.”
“The hell I do.”
“I want you to check the Lessie joints. They won’t let me in. I busted
the mirror in the Colophon last month and they all hate me.”
“That’s your problem.”
“Beebo, for God’s sake. I know how bitchy she was. I’m not asking you to
forget it. I’m asking you to help me find her. I think she went to see
her father. From what she’s told me of him, she might be dead before we
find her.”
There was a shocked silence and finally Beebo said, “Don’t play around
with me, Jack. Tell me the truth.”
“That _is_ the truth. He’s a real bastard. God knows what he might have
done to her. He has the Devil’s own temper and he’s been beating hell
out of her since she was five years old.”
There was a reluctant pause at Beebo’s end and finally she said, “All
right, damn it. All right. I’ll go look for her. If she’s with her
father I don’t know what good it’ll do to check the bars down here.”
“You never know. Besides, there’s not much time.”
“Okay, Jack. I’ll get going.”
“Call me as soon as you get back. Whether you find her or not.”
“Right. Where are you going?”
“The McAlton. To check with her old man.”
“What about Terry? Can you trust him alone?” she asked with slight
sarcasm.
“No,” he said matter-of-factly, looking at Terry as he spoke, in a voice
that betrayed none of his passion for the boy. “I’m counting on the
smoked oysters to keep him out of trouble.”
Terry grinned a little but his eyes didn’t leave the television set.
Beebo laughed. “Okay, doll, I’ll help you out, but don’t expect me to
welcome Laura back and send her flowers. I’m through with that little
bitch. If I find her I’ll drag her home by the scruff of the neck and
dump her.”
“That’s good enough, Beebo. Thanks.”
Beebo scoured the Village. She knew it inside and out and backwards: all
the gay bars, the favorite coffee shops, the side streets; the markets,
the boutiques, the stalls and the brownstones; the parks, the alleys,
the bookshops. Some were closed, some stayed open half the night.
Wherever people collected down there, sooner or later Beebo investigated
the spot.
The hours stretched out. Every hour or so she called Jack’s apartment
and talked to Terry. He simply said, “Jack’s not back yet. He hasn’t
called in. Okay, I’ll tell him.” And as Beebo walked she began to feel a
real fear for Laura’s safety, a tender concern that welled up in her and
aroused her own contempt. At three in the morning she muttered, “Oh, the
hell with it. Nobody can cover the whole damn Village in one night.” She
called the penthouse.
Marcie, wide awake and alarmed, answered, hoping it would be Laura. She
wasn’t sure if she had a boy or a girl on the phone; she only knew it
wasn’t Laura.
“Marcie?” Beebo said.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“A friend of Laura’s. Is she there?”
“No. Do you know where she is?”
“I wish I did.”
“Who _is_ this?”
“I’ll call you back.”
Marcie sat holding the receiver and staring perplexed at the phone some
minutes after Beebo hung up.
Jack got back in the first light of dawn to find Terry asleep. He sat
down without taking his jacket off, and called Beebo. No answer. Terry
rolled over and looked at him. He was a medium-sized well-built boy,
bright and handsome and easily bored, affectionate by nature, but
spoiled, quick with his temper and quick with his generosity. He was not
quite sure, being young and desirable, if he was in love with Jack. He
liked being admired by a lot of people. But he was not the money grubber
Jack had painted for Laura. He liked to be dominated and he was waiting
for Jack to make a move in that direction.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asked Jack.
“Where’s Beebo?”
“How should I know? You’re the one who knows it all.”
“Just this once, don’t get smart with me, lover. I gotta find her.” Jack
was too worried to coddle him.
“She’ll call back on the hour. She’s been calling in every God-damn hour
since you went out. I can’t get any sleep around here. Who’s this Laura,
anyway? She must be a living doll.”
“I’ve told you a dozen times. She’s a friend.”
“You act like she was a lover.”
Jack stared at his handsome arrogant young face. “So what?” he said.
“You have your affairs. I have mine.” And he turned around and walked
into the bathroom and left Terry staring after him. Jack never talked
that way to him, not even when he caught him _in flagrante delicto_. He
never showed an erotic interest in girls, either.
The phone rang fifteen minutes later. It was Beebo. Terry answered and
handed Jack the phone, listening to the conversation with his eyes half
open.
“Absolutely no soap,” Beebo said. “I’ve been all over the damn Village.
Nobody’s seen her.”
“She saw Landon earlier this evening,” Jack said.
“She did? Does he know where she is?”
“He doesn’t know from nothing, doll. She gave him a first class
concussion. Walloped him with a glass ashtray. On the back of his head.
Must have snuck up on him when he had his back turned.”
“God!” Beebo exclaimed.
“And then took off, hysterical, according to the elevator boy. She
screamed all kinds of stuff at him. He says. Half of it’s crap, of
course. But he did tell me one thing—”
“What’s that?”
“She told him those pants he was wearing would never make a man of him.”
After a surprised silence Beebo gave a wry tired little laugh. “Jesus,”
she said. “She must have been screwy.”
“The elevator boy thought so. It sounds kind of bad. I’d better call
Marcie.”
“I called her at three.”
“God, Beebo, don’t make it any worse than it is!”
“Relax. I didn’t leave my name. Just asked for Laura and Marcie said she
wasn’t there. Well, Jackson? Now what? We call the cops?”
“You want us all to get thrown in the jug? They’d love to run in a bunch
of queers. No, let’s wait a day. She’s a sensible girl underneath it
all. She’ll come to her senses and I’m the first one she’ll call.”
Terry, on the bed beside him, gave a contemptuous snort.
“I wish I felt so confident,” Beebo said.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I do too,” he admitted.
“Okay, boy, keep in touch.”
Jack hung up and sat drooping on the bed, the fatigue showing in his
face.
“God, you look old,” Terry said with a characteristic lack of tact. “How
old are you? You never told me.”
“Eighty-two,” Jack said.
Terry grinned, “I don’t believe you.”
“You’re not supposed to.”
“How old? Tell me.”
Jack stood up and turned to face him, in no mood for jokes. “Terry,
don’t bug me. I’ve had enough of you today.” Terry gaped at him. Jack
had never talked harshly to him and now he was doing it every time he
opened his mouth. “I love this girl,” Jack told him. “I don’t know why,
but I do know that for once I’ve found a decent sweet kid who isn’t out
for every damn thing she can get from me. She can give a little, she
doesn’t have to take all the time.”
“Oh, you love her!” Terry said sarcastically, propping himself up on his
elbows. “That’s swell. Just swell! Thanks for letting me in on it.”
“And I’ll probably love her long after you’ve climbed out of this bed
for the last time, you little bastard. You and a dozen other guys. It’s
a kind of love you don’t know much about, Terry.” He was too tired, too
worried, to take much heed of what he said or how. His resentment
spilled out and it felt good to let go with it and he did.
Terry wasn’t used to being disciplined. He had managed, in eighteen
crafty years, to avoid it. So he was surprised at himself when he
reacted to Jack’s tongue lashing with a renewal of interest in him. He
lay back on the bed and watched Jack strip to his underwear. Jack was
not a beautiful man physically; tough and wiry, but not beautiful. Yet
Terry watched him with enjoyment, wondering what to expect from him
next.
Jack stretched out on the bed next to Terry. There was an hour or so
when he could sleep before he had to get to the office. He turned his
head a little and saw Terry watching him. “You still here?” he said. “I
thought I told you to go.”
“I think I’ll stay,” Terry said, smiling. “I’m a glutton for
punishment.” He was intrigued by this new side of Jack.
Jack turned over and looked at him, surprised. “You’re a brat,” he said
finally. “A beautiful, unbearable, stuck-up, silly, irresistible brat.”
Terry laughed. “That’s why you love me, Superman,” he said, poking Jack
in the ribs.
“Who says I love you?” Jack said wearily and turned away from him.
“Jack, be nice to me.”
“I’m worried sick and he wants me to be nice to him. Ha!” Jack told the
walls.
“Damn it, I think you _do_ love this girl.”
“She bought your oysters, lover. You can spare her a little good will
yourself.”
Terry dropped back on his pillow in silent surprise. It was the first
hint he had had of the state of Jack’s finances.
* * * * *
Jack went to work. There was nothing to be accomplished sitting around
the apartment quarreling with Terry. It wouldn’t bring Laura back any
sooner, and there was not much he could do to find her now. Except call
in the police and he gagged on that idea. He would wait at least until
the next morning.
But at the end of the day things were getting black. Laura was still
gone; Marcie was panicky and agitating for a call to the police; Beebo
was glowering, furious at herself for caring what happened to Laura and
yet caring anyway in spite of herself; and a thunderstorm was brewing.
They waited alone, Jack and Marcie and Beebo, in the gathering dark:
each with his own peculiar fears and hopes. Jack drank. Marcie paced
around the roof, praying God that Laura hadn’t killed herself. Beebo
came over after a while and talked to Jack.
They talked, they drank, the phone rang. Terry wandered around the
apartment in a pet because nobody was paying any attention to him. In
another part of town Burr cursed silently because Marcie would pay no
attention to _him_. And still elsewhere Merrill Landon lay with an
aching head and heart and peppered the detective agency he had hired
with evil-tempered calls while they labored to locate his daughter.
Finally Terry exploded at Jack, “If you don’t talk to me I’m going to
get out of here!” He gave the nearest chair a petulant kick. “I don’t
have to hang around here till I drop dead from boredom.”
“Go,” said Jack. “You’re driving me nuts anyway with that damn pacing
the floor.”
“I wish I _was_ driving you nuts,” Terry retorted. “I just seem to be in
your way.”
“You are, lover. Shut up and eat something. You’ll feel better.”
“I just ate!”
“Then just shut up.”
“God! This place is a mausoleum. I’ve had enough!” He went to the
bedroom and grabbed a sweater, but when he reached the front door he
turned and found that Jack wasn’t even looking at him. He was talking to
Beebo. He was saying, “By God, it’s worth a try. I’m going over there.
Nothing could be worse than sitting here wondering if she’s drowned in
the damn river or swinging from a rope somewhere.”
“Oh, for Chrissake, Jack!” Beebo snapped. “Have mercy. I’m not made of
stone.”
Jack got up and headed for the door. Terry stood uncertainly and watched
him approach. “Make up your mind,” Jack said to him. “In or out?” His
anxiety over Laura made this attitude of impatience with Terry perfectly
genuine. Yet Jack was not without a small sudden pleasure at Terry’s
reactions.
“How about you?” Terry said.
“Out.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“I’ll be back in an hour.”
“I want to go with you.”
Jack stared at him, again pleased and surprised. “You can’t,” was all he
said, putting his cigarette in his mouth while he pulled his jacket on.
“Why the hell not?”
Jack took him by the shoulders. “Terry, you want to do something for
me?”