Beebo Brinker Chronicles 4 - Journey To A Woman (20 page)

After a moment, when she could talk, Beth whispered, “I thought of everything. Everything but that. I thought she might have gone to Europe or somewhere. I thought she might be in love with somebody else. I thought she might have disappeared. I even thought she might be dead. But, God help me, God help me, I never thought she would be married. Married! I hate him!” She whispered the words with near-despair, too stunned even to cry.

Beebo half lifted and half pulled her off her stool. “Come on, sweetheart,” she said in her hoarse low voice. “You're coming home with me. I'll tell you about it. Believe me, I felt just the way you feel now when I found out. But that was seven years ago, after she left me. I didn't think I could stand it but I did.” She spoke with a sweetness that amazed Beth in one so gruff and strange, and Beth clutched at her words for courage. She never thought to argue with Beebo about going home with her. She never even tried to stop and tell Nina where she was going.

But Nina saw her go out with Beebo's arm around her and Nina said softly to herself, “Damn!” She knew that was the end of her influence on Beth, and Beth had held promise for more pleasure. It was for that reason that she had tried to discourage Beth from meeting Beebo. Nina liked to control her visitor, and she loved to make love to her. It piqued her vanity to see Beth so easily slip out from under her only to go to someone she disliked and feared. With alcoholic malice she watched the two of them leave.

Someone else watched them go: a small rotund man, balding, with bags beneath his eyes and an air of fatigue and boredom that seemed never to leave him. When the door of the bar swung shut behind Beth and Beebo, the small heavy man got up and walked slowly toward it and followed them into the night.

BETH STAYED WITH Beebo that night and they sat up and talked through most of it. Beebo told her about the two years she and Laura had lived together, what a paradise it had been at first, what a red hell it had become when Laura had fallen out of love.

"She was looking for a substitute for you when I met her,” Beebo admitted. “When I turned out to be myself, not you, she was disillusioned. She held it against me, in a way. And in another way, after a while, I think she learned to love me for myself. But-it was never good enough. I was so much older; I'd done my running around and I wanted to settle down. Laura was It as far as I was concerned. The end of the trail. I was through looking over the field, through chasing after new affairs.

"But for Laura it came too soon. She was too young. She hadn't seen more than a little corner of life and I wasn't enough for her. She needed variety, she needed to know other women, and that was more than I could bear. And at the same time, she needed security. Somebody had to take care of her, watch over her, provide for her. All of that. I wanted to desperately, but I didn't qualify. I was a woman and I was a disappointing lover to boot. She needed a man, one who understood that she was gay and would always be gay, and not interfere with that part of her life."

"Where did she meet him—her husband?” Beth asked. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in Beebo's living room, drinking the coffee Beebo had fixed for her, while Beebo sat on the couch above her with her. legs split casually over the long coffee table. She was still drinking whiskey and water.

"She met him on a blind date,” Beebo said. “And a few weeks later he introduced me to Laura. He lived down here at the time."

"What's his name?"

"Jack. Jack Mann."

Beth memorized it. “But you and Laura lived together for a couple of years before she married Jack?"

"Yeah. They loved each other all along, though. They got very close. The worse things were between me and Laura, the closer they were between Laura and Jack. She always ran to him when anything went wrong."

"Was she in love with him?"

"No. And he isn't in love with her. Maybe that's why they're so happy. No romance, no jealousy. No matter what passionate affairs they may be having on the outside, their marriage is sacred to them. And it works. It works a hell of a lot better than a lot of straight marriages I know."

"Do you mean Jack's gay too?"

"Yes, honey. He's gay.” Beebo looked down at her, and smiled “He had ‘Beth’ problems when he married her, too. She was still thinking about you even then. Used to drive him nuts. I remember he finally gave her a lecture about it. Said you'd never see her again, you were gone out of her life and probably married, and Laura had better grow up and realize it."

"Did she?” Beth asked shyly.

"I'm inclined to think she did,” Beebo said, “As a matter of fact, I can't help wondering what good it'll do to open a closed chapter, Beth. If it's no good for Laura it can't be much good for you."

Beth hung her head, watching her cigarette burn and feeling the smoke sting her eyes, without moving the thing or blowing at it.

"Maybe no good at all,” she admitted. “But I have to know. I've come so far and I've had to face so much. I can't run out now when I'm so close to finding her. I wonder how she thinks of me now."

"Probably pretty much the same way, when she thinks of you. Romanticized. You symbolized everything good, everything wise and beautiful for her. You were an ideal love that, just by accident, wasn't so ideal after all. If you ever hurt her or crossed her up, you were forgiven. As far as Jack and I could see you never did any wrong."

Beth smiled ironically at her.

"I think she realizes now that you weren't perfect, if only because you were human. She's not in love with you any more, but she still idealizes you to some extent. That's the way I see it, at least."

"Is she still so beautiful?” Beth asked softly.

"Yes.” Beebo was watching her carefully, deeply interested in this pretty young woman who had caused her such exasperation and heartache years before. “Some people don't think she is beautiful, you know."

"Some people are blind. She's lovely—I mean, unless she's changed?"

"No, not so much. Not to look at. But in other ways she's changed a lot. Remember, when you knew her before, you were the sophisticated one. You were the one with experience and you taught Laura. Now it's the other way around. Laura's the woman of the world and you're the provincial housewife. Do you want to start all over with her on that basis? Can you?"

It was an acute observation. Beth had never thought of her relationship with Laura. “Well, I—I'm not that provincial,” she said in stammering defense of herself. “I've been married, I have a couple of children. That counts for some experience, doesn't it?"

"Laura's married too. Laura has a daughter six years old. And why the hell did you lie to me about having children?"

Beth flushed crimson, overcome by the revelation of Laura's maternity as much as her own lie. After a moment's confusion she said, “Beebo, I—forgive me. I didn't know you, I didn't know whether to trust you. I—” and she had to cry. It was the first time since she had met Beebo that evening that her feelings unwound enough for her to let the tears come. The storm was brief and hard but it cleared the air. “I love them terribly, but I can't live with them,” she confessed brokenly when she could talk. “I left them with Charlie, my husband."

"You ran away?” Beebo frowned at her.

"Sort of. He knew I was going; I didn't try to hide it. But he doesn't know where I am now. He thinks I'm with my aunt and uncle in Chicago."

"And where do they think you are?"

"God knows. I blew up at my uncle and when I left, I sneaked off like a thief in the night.” Beebo tossed her a white linen handkerchief and Beth blew her nose gratefully.

"That's too bad, honey,” Beebo said gently. “You're in a hell of a situation. Me, I told off all my relatives twenty-five years ago, and left before I had any obligations. They all predicted I'd go straight to hell. But when I look back on it, I'm not sorry, strange to say. Some of it's been hell, all right But some of it's been ... wonderful. Just wonderful. Makes the rest of it worth the pain. Like the first year with Laura."

Beth gazed up at her and caught a faraway smile on her face. “You must be lonely, Beebo,” she said. “Living alone like this. Or aren't you alone?"

"I live alone,” Beebo said. “But I have a lot of company. A lot of drinking buddies."

"That still makes you pretty lonely, doesn't it?” Beth knew that loneliness, and she sympathized eagerly.

"Yes, honey, it does. I had a couple of dogs, once. Dachshunds. They helped for a while. But they died."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Actually, they were—killed."

"How awful.” And Beth sensed a whole story, a whole miniature tragedy behind the words. But she dared not press Beebo for it.

"What's Laura's little girl's name?” Beth asked.

Beebo came back from her reverie and smiled at her, pouring herself another inch of whiskey from the bottle by her feet. “Elizabeth,” she said. “What else?"

"For me?” Beth said.

Beebo nodded. “They call her Betsy, though. Jack put his foot down on Beth."

And oddly it struck them both funny and they laughed together, and Beth found herself reaching for Beebo's hand. Just to grasp, just to hold for an instant in gratitude. “God, I'm so glad I found you,” she said. “I was so depressed. It all seemed so hopeless."

"I can imagine,” Beebo said with a humorous edge in her voice, “if Nina Spicer was showing you around town."

"Is she like that with everybody?"

"She tries to be. Too bad. She's a shrewd girl and she's made quite a success of this writing bit But she has to analyze everybody. She learns enough about human nature to use people but not enough to help them. It's not in her nature to give a damn what happens to them after they cease to amuse her. She just likes to pull the strings and see them hop. That's not saying she can't teach you a few things, Beth. But she can crack your ego at the same time and it's not worth the aches and pains involved."

"Are most gay people like that?” Beth asked.

"No. But a lot of them are. Too many. That's the most valuable lesson Nina can teach you, honey. It doesn't last long in the gay world and when it's over it keeps on hurting for a long time. You're on your own. You watch out for yourself. You haven't any of the safeguards or the consolations or the help that straight people have. There's nobody you can run crying to when you're the loser."

"Nina taught me something else. I'm gay,” Beth said.

"Oh, hell,” Beebo said and laughed good-naturedly. “You learn that yourself, nobody teaches you."

"She said if I cut off my hair and went to live in the Village I'd be a butch."

"Good God, you're no butch!” Beebo exclaimed. “She's filling you full of bull just to amuse herself."

"I thought so,” Beth sighed. “But I'm so damned ignorant. I'm not sure of anything. I thought maybe Laura could help me understand myself. Show me what I am."

"Nobody's going to draw you any diagrams, sweetheart,” Beebo said.

"I've been wondering about it for all these years. Wondering if I did the right thing in marrying Charlie and leaving Laura."

"Why did you marry him?” “I loved him.” “Do you still?"

"I don't know. Yes, in a way. I hate him too, though. There were times when I think I could have killed him."

"How do you know it won't be like that with Laura?” Beebo asked. “How do you know you weren't cut out to be a loner? Bisexual, maybe. Or the kind who can only love from a distance, no matter which sex, no matter how much passion?"

And Beth had to turn away from Beebo's brilliant, absorbing eyes, too troubled by her ideas to face her squarely. To change Beebo's train of thought she asked, “Why doesn't Nina like you?"

"I jilted her once. A few years ago. And I don't read her books. And, I suppose, she didn't want me to waltz off with you tonight. Sort of lets the ah* out of her balloon."

Beth smiled silently into her near-empty coffee cup. “Beebo,” she said. “Will you tell me where Jack and Laura live?"

"Made up your mind?” Beebo said.

"Yes."

"You're going to see her?"

"Yes."

"In spite of all the pitfalls?"

"I'd walk through hell to see her,” Beth whispered.

Unexpectedly Beebo reached over, putting a hand on each of Beth's shoulders and pulling her back so that she leaned against the couch between Beebo's knees. The hands were strong and firm as a boy's, disconcerting in the warm grip. Beth could feel Beebo looking down on the top of her head and she wished she could see her face.

"Okay, honey,” she heard Beebo say. “I'll call them and tell them you're coming."

"Oh, God, no!” Beth cried. “No, Beebo. Please. I don't want her to know in advance. I want to surprise her. If she knows she'll change things, she'll clean the house, she'll fix a big dinner, she'll have something fixed to say to me that won't be genuine. It just won't be the same. Please, let me surprise her."

"She won't thank me for that,” Beebo quipped. “But if that's the way you want it."

"That's the way."

"Okay, okay,” Beebo sighed. “They're up at 528 North Lexington. Eighth floor. His name is J. F. Mann. And Beth—just for the record—she's interested in somebody right now. I don't know how seriously."

"Okay. It's okay. That's something I expected,” Beth said She turned her head to Beebo's leg and kissed it fervently, impulsively. “Thank you,” she said, and experienced a strange, unexpected flash of pleasure at her own boldness, at Beebo's nearness and warmth.

She stayed the rest of the night, sleeping in spite of her excitement. Beebo gave her the bed and slept on the couch in the living room. She had gone out by the time Beth got up the next morning, but there was a note for her to help herself to some breakfast and to keep in touch with Beebo. Beth scribbled down her room number and phone at the Beaton on Beebo's telephone pad and drank some orange juice. Her mouth was dry with excitement and she found it hard to eat, but she made herself take something. At the same time she riffled through the pages of Beebo's telephone directory. And there it was. There it had been all along, but without Beebo's help she wouldn't have found it. “J. F. Mann,” and the address. Beth tore another sheet of paper off the phone pad and made a note of the number, slipping it into her purse.