I am a woman
“I just walked, I guess. It all seems like a nightmare. The first thing
I remember after I left Father is eating a bowl of soup. And then I fell
asleep.”
“Don’t you remember me?” Terry said. “We had a nice little talk last
night.”
“We did?” She was surprised.
“Sure.” He smiled, and made her blush with embarrassment. “I’ll tell you
all about it sometime.” He grinned at Jack who gave him a quizzical
smile.
“So you don’t know where you were?” he prodded Laura.
“I swear, Jack.”
“Well, we didn’t know either,” he said. “And we damn near lost our
minds. We pictured you—well, never mind what we pictured. You had us
frantic, I can tell you.”
Laura smiled at him a little. “Jack,” she said, and put a hand on his
arm. “You’ve been so good to me. I wouldn’t have caused you any worry,
only—only—oh, my God. Marcie! I forgot about Marcie. And Beebo.” She
turned to him, but he calmed her with a glance, holding her down in her
chair.
“I called them,” he said. “I called everybody. Even Papa Landon. I told
them you were all right, and that’s all. Your father doesn’t know where
you are.”
Laura hung her head. “Jack, I didn’t have a chance to tell you about
Marcie.”
“I know. You don’t have to tell me. Marcie did.”
“Marcie did?” She looked up amazed.
“Not in so many words, Mother. She just said you quarreled, and I got
the idea. She sounds pretty unhappy about things.”
Laura covered her face, her elbows resting on the table. “She knew,
Jack. She knew all along that I was gay,” she whispered brokenly. “She
and Burr had a bet that she could make me make a pass at her.”
After a long silence Jack squeezed her arm and said gently, “You had to
learn. Now you know. We all go through it sooner or later.” He looked up
at Terry and found the boy staring at him, his eyes full. He looked
away, confused, turning his attention back to Laura. “She wants to see
you. She means it.”
“I know. But I couldn’t stand to see her. Even talk to her. It would be
hell.”
“I know what you mean.” Jack got up and poured himself another cup of
coffee, saving himself a half inch in the cup for a jigger of whiskey.
“It’s not even ten o’clock yet,” Terry reproached him.
“Shut up and drink your milk,” Jack said and smiled at him.
“I’d better call the office,” Laura ventured quietly.
“I did,” Jack told her. “You’re fired. They were damn nice about it,
though. Dr. Hollingsworth wants you to come in and talk to him. Sarah
gave me the pitch. It seems they admire your brains but they figure your
nerves are loused up. I suggest, Mother, that you see my analyst.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“Neither can I.” Jack laughed. “Let’s put Terry to work,” he said to
Laura. “It’s time he earned his own way.”
“Doing what?” Terry said.
“I don’t know. What are you good for? Anything?”
“I can cook.” Terry grinned.
“Good. I know a Greasy Spoon two blocks from here.”
“Oh, hell!”
“Jack,” Laura said suddenly. “Does Beth know I’m all right?”
“Beth?” Jack frowned at her. “You mean Beebo, doll.”
“I mean Beebo,” Laura said quickly, growing hot.
“She knows.”
“Did you tell her when I disappeared?”
“She looked all over the Village for you. She was worried.”
“Do you think she’d talk to me?”
“No.”
“Oh, Jack.” She turned an unhappy face to him, pleading for a chance to
hope.
“She might say ‘goodby’ to you. Or ‘go to hell’. Don’t expect miracles.”
“I guess I haven’t any right to her friendship any more.” But it
suddenly seemed terribly important; the most important thing in the
world.
“Not as long as you get her mixed up with Beth.”
“Oh, that was just a slip of the tongue.”
Jack stood up and paced across the kitchen. He turned, resting his rump
on the counter by the sink, and parked his coffee cup next to him.
“Laura,” he said seriously. “You fell in love with a girl named Beth
once. You told me that. Then you and Beth broke up and Beth married
somebody and quit school. And then you ran away from home. And you came
to New York, and every damn female you met reminded you of Beth.”
“Oh, no—” Laura began, but he held up a hand to silence her.
“Now listen to me, damn it! I’m beginning to wonder if you were running
away from your father or from Beth.”
“Jack!” Laura stood up and faced him, her temper rising.
“Marcie and Beebo look about as much alike as Laurel and Hardy. Yet they
both remind you of Beth.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“And you fell for both of them. And don’t tell me they were the only
ones.” His eyes were hard to meet. Laura looked down.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered, confused, rubbing her eyes.
“No.”
“Beth must have been a great girl, Mother. But you can’t stay in love
with her all of your life. Even if she _was_ the first one.” Laura’s
face flushed.
“I won’t talk about this, Jack!” she exclaimed.
“You don’t have to. I will.”
“It’s _my_ private life.”
“You’ve pulled me into it. What’s the matter, are you afraid to hear me
talk about it?”
She sat down, angry. “No,” she said sharply. “I’m not afraid.”
Jack took a sip of his café royale. “Okay,” he said in a business-like
voice. “I’m going to tell you something you won’t like. But I think you
ought to know it. You were never in love with Marcie, Laura.”
They looked at each other and finally Laura exploded, “You’re cracked! I
thought you understood. I thought you—_you_, of all people—understood
how I felt about her!”
“I did.”
“I don’t want to hear any more!”
“I don’t doubt it,” he said. She rose again and faced him, defiant and
hurt. “You loved Beth,” he said, more gently. “You loved love. It showed
in all you said to me, when we first met. You needed love and you went
looking for it. You went looking for another Beth. You were bound to
find her. You found her in every female face that appealed to you.
“Laura,” Jack said slowly. “Marcie doesn’t look like Beth. Neither does
Beebo. Nobody looks like Beth but Beth. And Beth is gone. She isn’t
yours any more. She belongs to a man.”
Laura covered her face suddenly with a groan. “Jack, don’t! Please,” she
whimpered. Then, gathering her anger around her, she said, “They _do_
look like her! I swear they do!”
Jack shook his head. “They just looked like love, Mother.”
Laura gave a little sob. “Jack, don’t torture me.”
“You know why I’m doing it. You know I don’t want to hurt you. Now
listen to me, Laura. You can’t stay in love with Beth all your life.”
Laura put her hands down and looked at him again. “Jack, you don’t know
how wonderful she was. You never knew her, you can’t talk about her. She
was so beautiful, she was so good to me. She made me understand what I
was, when I was so ignorant and scared that you wouldn’t believe it! And
she made me understand without hurting me. She made it beautiful. I owe
her so much. I loved her so.”
“But she’s married, Laura. You told me that yourself. You’ll never even
see her again. No matter how good she was.”
“She never hurt me!” Laura flared. “Marcie hurt me, Beebo hurt me, but
never Beth.”
“Oh, balls!” Jack said. “Never hurt you, hell! She left you, didn’t she!
She slept with a guy and married him. What do you want, Mother, a
silk-lined accident-proof guaranteed romance? Good for six months with
lotsa kicks and no pain? Or your money back? They don’t come that way.
Ask anybody. Ask me. Ask Terry.” And then his face softened. “She’s
gone, Laura,” he said quietly, significantly. “And you can’t go back to
Marcie.”
Laura sat down and let the tears roll down her face, and her mouth
trembled. “And I can’t go back to Beebo,” she whispered.
Jack walked over to her and leaned on the table, one arm on either side
of her. He put his head against hers and said into her ear, almost in a
whisper, “Beebo loves you, honey. She’s no Beth. No Marcie. She’s
herself, and for all you know, that may be even better.”
Laura covered her face then and cried.
Fifteen minutes later Jack, who had gone into the bedroom to dress, came
back to the kitchen and said, “I’m going to the office for the rest of
the day. Somebody has to pay the rent.” He looked at Terry with a wry
smile.
Laura looked up quickly. “I’ve _got_ to talk to her, Jack. Where can I
find her?”
“Beebo? She’s working. Stick around till I get home, Mother. Sleep. You
look like hell. Get Terry to read you a story or something. You can see
her tonight.”
“Thanks.” She looked at him with wet eyes and then she smiled. “Thanks,
Jack. For everything.”
He grinned. “It’s those damn oysters,” he said. “I’m a new man.” He
winked at Terry and left.
Chapter Seventeen
The Cellar was not very crowded when Laura walked in at eight o’clock.
By a quarter to nine, when Beebo got there, the place had filled up a
little and the juke box was going. Dutton, the sketch artist, was making
a few bucks with the tourists. There was a tableful of them in one
corner that he was working on. Beebo sat down at the bar and began to
josh the bartender. She didn’t see Laura, and Laura’s heart was pounding
so high in her chest that she was afraid to go near Beebo. She didn’t
know what to say. She was sickeningly afraid of a rebuff, and she hung
back in a sweat. She deserved a rebuttal, but she was afraid she
couldn’t take it.
She watched Beebo for a while, her face shaded slightly as she leaned
away from the bar lights. She let the heads of the people next to her
serve as a sort of cover behind which she could dodge when Beebo glanced
her way.
For a while she was tortured to see Beebo chatting with other women;
young pretty girls, like the two high-schoolers Laura had met with her
one night.
* * * * *
Beebo was tired. She had two drinks and then she meant to go home. But
she was detained by a boy who ran an antique shop a block from her
apartment, who was a friend. They talked about nothing in particular,
just glad to talk with somebody for a while. Beebo was slightly
surprised when Dutton came up and handed her one of his sheets of
drawing paper. Beebo took it with a wry little grin. “I knew you’d get
around to me sooner or later, Dutton,” she said. “I’m part of the décor
in this joint. Let’s see.” She studied the caricature. “I hate to admit
it, but it’s good. Does my chin stick out like that?”
Dutton grinned. “Take it from me,” he said.
Beebo eyed him. “You don’t think you’re going to get a buck out of me
for this, do you?” she said, waving it under his nose.
“I’ve got my buck, friend,” Dutton said, holding a folded bill up
between his thumb and index finger. He smiled and pushed the sketch back
at her. “It’s yours,” he said. “Keep it.”
Beebo studied him a moment, frowning, and then she looked up and down
the bar.
“If you don’t like it,” Laura said softly in her ear, “just tear it up.
I can’t complain.”
Beebo turned on the bar stool to find Laura standing close behind her.
They gazed at each other in silence for a moment. Then Beebo tore the
sketch once across the long way and once the short, still watching
Laura. And dropped the pieces on the floor. Laura looked at her,
trembling. Beebo turned back to the bar and finished her drink at one
swallow. Then she said to the boy beside her, “See you, Daisy.” And she
got up and left the bar.
For a moment, Laura thought she would die where she stood. And then she
followed Beebo, walking twenty feet behind her, her heart working hard
and making her gasp a little. Beebo walked out into the night, and Laura
followed her, coming just a little closer, until she was about five feet
behind her. Beebo walked on, slowly, without glancing back, without
hurrying her pace. They walked for two full blocks like this, and across
the street into a third.
And then Beebo stopped. Startled and scared, Laura stopped where she