Beebo Brinker Chronicles 4 - Journey To A Woman (16 page)

At the last bar there were other men, but they never seemed to join the girls at the tables. They rather intrigued Beth, who wondered why they spent all their free time sitting quietly on bar stools watching the flirtations, the loves, the dancing and socializing of these women they could never touch. Some of them seemed to know the girls and were greeted affectionately with a nickname or a slap on the back. But they never presumed to follow a girl or to talk before they were spoken to. It was their solitary pleasure simply to watch, and now and then to be permitted a few words, a little sharing of this odd way of life.

Beth observed one who seemed particularly pathetic. He was overweight by quite a bit, balding, and with blue pockets under his eyes, and he looked not only sad but outright bored—something none of the others did. She wondered why he bothered to come by at all if it depressed him so. His face stuck in her mind later, and she pitied him. This third and last place they were in had a larger clientele than the others, probably because it was eleven o'clock by the time they got there.

Beth was absorbed by it. She wanted to wander all night around the Village, look into all the windows and share all the secrets. Behind some curtain, in some doorway or shop window, she might find Laura.

But when she stood up suddenly to go to the ladies’ room she realized with a start that she was drunk. Quite drunk. Nina had been telling her to quit for some time.

"You don't want to be hung over tomorrow,” she said.

But it was so condescending, so solicitous for the “country cousin,” that Beth had defiantly ordered another. And another. She knew now, gripping the table with both hands, that Nina was right, aggravating though her attitude was. Beth should have stopped early in the evening.

Nina appraised her skillfully. “You're going to feel like hell in the morning,” she said. “Too bad. I was going to take you out for lunch, too. One of my favorite places."

"I'll make it,” Beth said. She would feel rotten, all right—that was a cinch. But she'd go. She had to learn her way around here somehow, and doing it with Nina, however embarrassing or even upsetting, seemed safer than going it alone.

They drove home in a taxi, and Beth was disconcerted to find that the warmth and closeness of Nina's body in the rear seat pleased her. Nina said nothing and that made it easier to enjoy her. When she opened her mouth it threw Beth on her guard automatically and destroyed the sensual pleasure.

Beth left her with a queer feeling of dislike and desire that disturbed her sleep, tired as she was. She couldn't fathom Nina and the only thing she thought it was safe to count on was that Nina was playing the game only for herself. She had no special favors to grant Beth Ayers, and when Beth ceased to interest her, that would be the end. Kaput. End of guided tour through the Village, and end of information, such as it was. Beth thought fuzzily that she had better ask Nina about Laura, whether Nina laughed at the idea or not, before Nina got it into her head to drop her. For, strangely, on this first night of their acquaintance, she felt the break coming. It was inevitable with a girl like Nina. Things never last, things aren't meant to last. That would be her way of seeing it. So why not break it off as soon as it bores you? And Nina's philosophy, Beth was soon to learn on her own, was typical of many a weary Greenwich Villager. It was not the attitude that comes with sophistication, but the attitude of boredom and disappointment.

THEY HAD LUNCH THE next day, though Beth felt gray with the hangover. And somehow, over the salad and crackers, she found she couldn't speak of Laura. It was like trying to swallow a pill that was too big for her throat. She made the usual try at it, but it reached the back of her mouth and suddenly scared her, and she choked a little and finally gave up.

But several nights later, things changed. Nina unexpectedly asked her to come to her apartment for dinner. Beth had been hoping to see where she lived, how she lived, even what she ate. Nina was her link to the gay world, and though she couldn't quite like her she still was deeply interested in her, in the things Nina could teach her. She accepted the invitation gratefully, and was astonished, when she got there, to see that Nina had cooked the dinner—or was in process of cooking it—herself.

Nina fixed her a drink and Beth stood in the tiny living room looking at the books that banked one whole wall from floor to ceiling. It made her feel more comfortable with Nina to see that she read or, at least, had books around. Beth liked to read and when she found others who did she ordinarily cottoned to them. It helped her get over her suspicions with Nina, the shadowy feeling of being had, of being taken for a ride, that she couldn't quite pin down.

They ate in a corner of the bedroom, a room that was even smaller than the living room and literally gorged, like an overfed animal, with bed, a desk, and three typewriters, to say nothing of the card table from which they ate.

"Apartments up here are damn cracker boxes,” Nina said. “If you want a good address, you pay for it.” She was in the East Seventies, just off Fifth Avenue, in a staid old building that was eminently respectable. It was like her to look down on the Village, part of her philosophy to get out of it, or, at least, to live out of it. She could never stay away full time.

The dinner was good, to Beth's surprise, Nina had put candles, on the table and turned out the lights, and Beth began to feel, in spite of the shivers of warning that flashed through her when Nina smiled her knowledgeable little smile, a curious intimacy. After all, they had written many letters to each other. Nina had been kind, in her off-the-cuff way. Nina was being good to her now, taking time off from the book she was working on, showing her around.

Maybe I'm taking the teasing too hard, Beth thought, as she ate.

"Lord, I'm stuffed,” she said, when Nina offered her more. They smiled at each other and there was. a small pause. Nina's was a different kind of smile. There was almost warmth in it; at least, there was an absence of the mocking, twist that bothered Beth so.

Perhaps out of uncertainty, or stubbornness born of unaccustomed shyness, Beth refused to drop her eyes first. And Nina, her bluff called, had to keep her own eyes on Beth. And somehow—as though the two pairs of eyes, one sparkling green, the other misty violet, were magnetized—they leaned toward each other. Beth reached out without consciously directing her hand and cupped it gently behind Nina's neck, pressing the warm brown hair beneath it and pulling Nina closer still.

In utter silence, in the calm light of candles, over the steak plates, in the night of the city, they kissed each other. And leaned away again slightly to gaze at each other. Bern was inanely surprised to see that Nina's lipstick was smeared. And Nina smiled, the good smile, and they kissed again. And then she suddenly rose, as if it occurred to her she was risking a true affection for Beth by playing with her, and began to clear the plates as if nothing had happened.

Beth picked up a stack of plates and followed her into the cramped kitchen. She put the slippery crockery on the little table and her arms around Nina, and a voice inside her urged, Tell her. Tell her it's Laura you're looking for. Tell her now, before she gets bored and you lose her.

But I can't, Beth thought. She'd burst out laughing at me if I asked her now. It would rum the mood, it would make her sarcastic again. And I'd hate myself for asking.

Nina slipped away from her and brought in the rest of the plates, and they did the dishes together, speaking softly of small irrelevancies, enjoying each other's-physical presence.

And still Beth hesitated, with that name on the tip of her tongue and some ineffable misgiving freezing it there.

Nina showed her an album full of snapshots she had collected, and startled her by pointing to a nice-looking crew-cut boy and saying off-handedly, “That was my husband."

"Your husband? You never said you were married."

"I'm not. I was. Besides, why should I tell you?” And for an instant Beth felt the wall of sarcasm rising.

"No reason,” she said. “What happened?"

Nina shrugged. “What happened with you and Charlie? It didn't work. We divorced years ago."

"Did you love him?"

"Hell, no. He was just a nice kid. We had fun."

"And no children."

"And no children. You were a fool to have children, Beth."

"I love them,” she said humbly.

"Ha!” Nina cried. “Then what are you doing here? Why aren't you with them?” After a suggestive pause she prompted, “Was the old long lost love that tempting?"

In the midst of such sharp and painful needling Beth couldn't speak Laura's name. She couldn't bear to have it laughed at and she clammed up for a while. When she could control her voice a little she tried to explain.

"I left my kids because I treated them badly. I was unjust, I was unreasonable, I hurt them over and over. Even if there had never been any ‘long lost love,’ I think I would have left them. The more I hurt them the worse I hurt myself until I thought we would all go crazy."

Nina saw what a whirlpool of guilt and resentment she had stirred up, and, interested, she stirred it a little more. “So your solution was to dump the kids in the river and run to New York in search of a girl you haven't seen in nine years? Not very sensible, was it?"

"Not very!” Beth conceded. “Not much fun, either,” she added sharply.

Nina dropped her smile at once. “I'm not laughing,” she said with a solemn face. But of course she was, inside, in the dark and silence of her private self. “My first husband and I had it worked out a little better than that, that's all. You should have used your head."

"Your first husband?” Beth snapped. “Where in hell is your second?"

"Oh I mean my ex-husband. My former husband,” Nina corrected herself.

"Well, say so, then.” Beth had caught her lying. She had never married. It simply pleased her ego to say she had, to make Beth feel that no experience Beth had ever had was unique or different from any Nina had had. Nina had to be one up on you, or at least on a level with you, or she couldn't enjoy herself. Ordinarily she lied to this end with great skill, gracefully and casually. It gave Beth her first peace of mind with Nina to catch her in a blatant fib, to see that startled look flicker over her face.

Nina had the good sense to take it lightly. She passed over it, coming to the couch where Beth sat and settling beside her. She cocked one foot against the coffee table and said slowly, “Would you like to spend the night?” The conflict of desires on Beth's face tickled her, restored her self-assurance. “I don't think so,” Beth said. “Why not? Afraid of me?"

"Not of you.” Damn her! She would make a test of it, a challenge. How can I turn her down now? But Beth wasn't absolutely sure she wanted to turn her down. “Afraid of what, then?"

"You don't really want me to stay."

"Why do you think I asked you?” Nina had made her mind up. Beth was moody, she was pretty, she was new. Nina smiled at the swell of her breasts beneath the simple suit she wore and wondered how they looked undraped.

"Stay,” she said. And when Beth didn't answer she added, “I have a nightie you can borrow. Go take a shower and I'll get you a towel. Go on!” She shooed her as she might have a wayward child or a chicken, and Beth got up and obeyed her. It exhausted her to try to make a decision. It was easier to let Nina make it for her.

She showered and dried herself, gazing at herself critically in the mirror of the medicine chest, wondering just how big a fool she was to stay, to walk into whatever trap Nina might be laying for her. The small consolation was that you could only walk into Nina's kind of trap once. Nina had a way of stripping your innocence off with both hands. It hurt, but Beth was learning. She sensed that the lessons Nina taught her would bolster her when she faced the gay world alone.

"Finished?” Nina called outside the bathroom door. “Here's some pajamas."

Beth opened the door a few inches and grabbed them and saw Nina grin at her modesty. She slipped the blue cotton pants on and found they were too short. The jacket was too tight through the bust and she laughed silently at the picture she made in the mirror.

Nina was waiting for her, curled up on the foot end of the sofa-bed she had pulled out from the love seat in the living room.

"You can sleep in here,” she said. “There's plenty of room.” There was in fact room for two, but Nina had her own bed in the other room and Beth was relieved to know they would sleep apart.

She sat down on a pillow as far from Nina as the length of the bed would permit, and Nina fixed them both a nightcap. They drank in silence for a moment, and then Beth spoke. Maybe it was the liquor that prompted her, or the informality of the pajamas that were too small and looked silly, or just the need to know. At any rate, she spoke of the things closest to her then.

"How do you know if you're gay, Nina?” she asked.

"Simple. You go to a fortune teller,” Nina said.

"Is that how you found out about yourself?"

"No.” And Nina's face became more serious. “No, I did it the hard way."

"What's the hard way?"

"I got hurt."

"Well, I've been hurt before,” Beth said. “A thousand times, a thousand different ways. It didn't teach me a thing."

"You weren't a good student, then."

"I don't mean with women, Nina."

"I thought you were in New York trying to find some woman."

"I am. But she never hurt me. I hurt her, but she never did a thing to me."

"Well, there must have been others."

There had been Vega, of course. But Beth couldn't talk about her, and there seemed no reason to confess that sordid little chapter to Nina, who would only have laughed at it anyway.

"No,” Beth said. “No others.” She finished her drink quickly and Nina reached to refill it, but Beth held back.

"You mean that once nine years ago you had a fling with some girl,” Nina said, letting her hand drop, “and now you wonder if you're gay?” She spoke with exaggerated incredulity and the curl in her small mouth was not kind. But it was amused.