Beebo Brinker Chronicles 4 - Journey To A Woman (7 page)

Up until the present it had not interfered with his business. Charlie was willing to let him drink what he wanted, as long as he could do his job. So far, it appeared, he could. Beth, looking at him, wondered what strange, strong hold liquor held over the Purvises. Vega and Cleve both worshipped the stuff, and Mrs. Purvis was blind and crippled and leaking because of it.

Cleve had trouble telling Beth why he had brought her there this afternoon. It was easier after a couple of drinks, and by that time they were both looking at each other through new eyes.

"By god,” Cleve mused. “I never realized you had violet eyes before. I always thought they were plain blue."

"Is that why you dragged me down here? To tell me that?” she asked.

He grinned sheepishly. “That's probably as good a reason as any. Better than the real one."

"You were going to tell me something about your wicked sister,” Beth said. “And you better had before I get drunk. I have a date with her this afternoon at four."

"A date?” The phrase seemed to rock him a little. “Well, what the hell, drink all you want, you won't be any up on her. She's never sober."

"She's never drunk, either,” Beth said. “Yeah, how about that? I wish I were that kind of a drinker,” he said enviously. “Never sober but never drunk.” “It doesn't seem to make her very happy,” Beth observed. “Maybe it would be better not to be a drinker at all."

"No doubt about it,” Cleve said, grinning, and ordered another.

"Cleve, I can't sit around all day,” she said, giving him a smile. ‘Tell me about Vega, or I'll leave you here with only the booze for company."

"Okay, okay,” he said. “Beth, I—I—Vega's queer.” He threw it at her, curt and clumsy, as if it were hot and burned his mouth.

Beth stared at him, her face frozen with surprise, with a sudden fear and wariness. That's a lousy word, Cleve. Queer."

"It's a lousy condition. I only tell you because she won't."

"Well, give her the credit of a little kindness, anyway,” Beth snapped. “She's your sister."

"Nobody needs to remind me,” he said. “Beth, this isn't a nice way to put it and I wish to hell I could laugh it off or forget it or put it some genteel way. But when Charlie told me she asked you to come in and model I thought somebody had better let you know."

"And that somebody was you? Is this what you tell all her girls? Must be great for business.” She put all her scorn into it.

"No."

"Well, then why tell me? Why not let me find out for myself? If the other girls can be trusted with her, why can't I?” Her temper ignited quickly.

"You're special,” he said. “You're different from the other girls—better, I mean. And she likes you more. That's obvious."

"Well, if Vega's so damn dangerous she probably would have made it clear to me herself.” She was angry; her innocent idyll with Vega was jeopardized by his harsh words. How could she fool around now, just play a little, if Vega's own brother watched every move with morbid suspicion?

"That's the hell of it, Beth,” he said, leaning toward her over the table. “Vega doesn't realize it. She doesn't know she's gay."

Beth's mouth dropped open slightly. “Good god, how can you be gay and not know it?” she exclaimed.

And it was Cleve's turn to stare. “I wouldn't know,” he said finally, slowly, still staring. “I don't know anything about it, frankly. I've never felt that way."

Beth felt her whole neck flush and her cheeks turn scarlet. She was suddenly embarrassed and irritated. “Is that all you came here to tell me, Cleve? Vega's gay? Nobody in the whole world has figured this mystery out but you, of course, and you don't know anything about it.’ Not even Vega knows about it. Just you. Not your mother, not Gramp, not the people who live with her, not the models who study with her. Just good old Doctor Cleve, expert analyst. He doesn't know anything about the subject, by his own admission, but he's willing to damn his sister and smear her reputation on the strength of his own intuition. “Oh, Cleve, come off it,” she said, disgusted and disappointed.

He wouldn't argue with her., “I know she's gay,” he said simply. “Shouting at me won't change that."

"Nuts!” said Beth—but she believed him. “Can you prove it?"

He smiled, a melancholy smile. “I'm glad you're defending her,” he said. “I'm glad you're mad about it. I wouldn't have liked to see you take it for granted.... No, I can't prove it. I can only tell you things.... I say this, not because your eyes are violet, not because you have such a lovely mouth, not even because we're both a little high. I say it in honor of your innocence. I say it to spare you shock. I say it because I hope you and Vega can be friends, and nothing more. She needs a friend. She really does. All she has is Mother, and Mother has run her life since it began. Vega adores her as much as she hates her, and that's a lot She can't get away from her, even though she wants to. In her heart, in her secret thoughts—I don't know—maybe she has some idea she's gay. But Mother hates the queers, she's always poured contempt on them. How can Vega admit, even to herself, that she's the kind of creature Mother despises?"

"Your mother doesn't despise alcoholics, or quacks, or physical wrecks."

"Yes, but you see, none of those are queer” he said earnestly.

"Oh, Cleve, that word! That ugly, mean, pitiless word!"

"I'm sorry,” he said, studying her.

Beth finished her drink with a quiver of excitement and desire and disgust—all the feelings that Vega roused in her.

"Vega's going broke,” Cleve said. “That's why the studio's so bare. Looks like a barn. She's had to hock a lot of stuff and return a lot. She used to support Mother and she told me they didn't want my goddamn charity. Now they're getting it—they can't live without it—but they let me know every time I hand them a check that they run right in and wash their hands as soon as it's deposited at the bank."

"Why?” Beth said, shocked.

"Mother thinks I'm a bastard because I didn't study medicine like my father. Gramp thinks whatever Mother thinks. And so does Vega."

Beth began to see what a tyrannical hold Mrs. Purvis, in spite of her debilities, had on her children.

"Vega and I understand each other,” Cleve said. “We're both contemptible."

For a moment it seemed like he was begging for sympathy and Beth said, rather sharply, “Oh, you're not so bad. When you're tight."

Cleve gave a dispirited little laugh. “We know each other better than we know ourselves,” he said. “Someday you'll understand us, too,” he said, looking into his glass. “If you keep on running around with Vega.” He sounded almost jealous. He sounded almost like a man warning another man away from his wife, not a friend warning another friend of his sister's emotional quirks.

Beth cautiously steered him back to finances. “Why is she going broke?” she asked. “She has a nice studio, lots of students."

"Not so many, not any more. Their mothers are worried about them. There was a scandal a couple of years ago."

"I never heard about it,” Beth declared, as if that proved it a deliberate fib.

"You don't hear about everything in the Purvis family,” he retorted, and silenced her. “One of the girls had an affair with one of the others. Vega knew about it and she didn't exactly discourage it. And then some of the others found out and told their parents. Vega should have quit then and there and tried somewhere else, but she hates that kid who started it all and she wants to stay here and make a go of it in spite of what happened. Show everybody. Show the girl herself most of all. Damn!” he said, and finished another drink.

Beth thought suddenly of the strange tough little blonde with no makeup and a cigarette drooping from her mouth in the caffe espresso place. “Who was the girl?” she asked.

"P.K. Schaefer is her name. Vega hates everybody but she hates P.K. worse than poison."

"Is she sort of a beatnik type? I mean, does she hang out in the coffee houses, does she dress like—"

"Like a goddamn boy,” he finished for her, with the sound of his mother's disapproval plain in his voice. “Always has a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth, as if that would make a male of her. As if that would take the place of—oh, hell.” He ordered another drink, staring moodily at the floor.

And Beth knew it was P.K. she had seen. Did Vega love her or hate her? Or, as with the other important people in her life, did she feel both emotions for her? Beth felt a spark of jealousy.

"Vega doesn't hate everybody, Cleve,” she said. “Maybe you two have had some bad arguments, maybe life with her wasn't all sugar candy when you were growing up, but, my God, she's a nice girl. She's fun, she's a lovely person. If you think you're going to make me drop her just by throwing a few old scandals and half-baked suspicions in my face, you're wrong. We get along fine and I enjoy her. After all, it wasn't Vega who had the affair, it was her students. She's not making any passes at me. And from what she's said about Lesbians I think she'd put the whole damn clan in jail if she had her way."

"Ah, she's had you over to The Griffin to see P.K.,” he said, shocking her. “Exhibit A. She works fast, I have to say that for her."

"How did you know that?” She was mad again.

"She's given you her famous lecture on the beastly Lesbians."

Beth blushed. “Thanks for the drinks, Cleve,” she said sharply, starting to rise, but he caught her wrist and pulled her down again. “Why do you think she talks about them if she doesn't have it on her mind all the time?” he said fiercely, his face close to hers. There was a high pink of excitement in his cheeks, as if he really, secretly, hated these women who were rivals for his sister's affection; as if he were admonishing Beth, for his own selfish reasons, not to become one of them.

"You said she didn't even know she was—gay, herself,” Beth protested.

"Right,” he said. “She'd quit spouting all that crap about putting them in jail if it meant she'd be going along with them.” He sighed and gazed intently at her, and she smelled the whiskey on his breath. “Beth, you're a damn nice girl,” he pleaded. “You're a lovely girl. You're bored as all hell with your life, it sticks out all over you. You stumble across my sister and she's charming, she's different, she shocks you a little and interests you a lot. You're looking for kicks; you're sick of that little house and that great big husband and those noisy kids, and Vega looks like heaven. She's got all the sophistication, all the glamour anybody could want. Hell, yes, I can understand it."

And Beth, thunderstruck, only gazed at him in silence, too surprised even to wonder when he had been observing her, when it began to matter to him what she did. Not until Vega began to matter to me, she thought, full of wonderment.

"Beth, she's nuts. Please believe me. She's goofy and she's pure trouble. I know; nobody knows like I know. I nurse her through her emotional storms; I have all our lives. She gets these desperate crushes she won't admit, or can't admit, or doesn't understand, and I go through hell with her. I don't want it to happen with you. Life has been too pleasant these past few months. No complications. Vega's been getting along so well."

"Why do you fight with her so much?” Beth said softly. “If all you're trying to do is help her. That is what you're trying to do, isn't it?"

"Yes,” he said, and looked away. “God knows I love her. I just fight with her when I find out what she's done."

"Like what?” She felt as if he was almost on the verge of a confession of some kind to her.

"Like socking Mother right out of her chair. It's the only way she has of getting back at Mother for dominating her life. Or like getting stewed at seven in the morning when she's supposed to be at a Chamber of Commerce meeting that'll mean jobs for her girls. Like bugging me all the time about the money situation. And that goddamn blind spot of hers a mile square! If she'd only admit what she is and arrange her life accordingly. At least maybe she could live like other human beings then."

"How? What do you mean?"

"I mean face the fact there are two things she can't live with—whiskey and women. Put them out of her life. Get back to normal.” He sounded bitter.

"But Cleve, you're normal, and you drink."

"Not like she does,” he said quickly, untruthfully. “I can go to sleep at night without a bottle by my bed.” There was pride in his tone.

"Is it that bad?” Beth said. Oh, Vega! It made her want to nurse her, comfort her.

"She's sick,” he said. “I don't mean the TB, I mean up here,” and he tapped his head at the temple. “You can't provoke her, you can't cross her. She comes unglued. You haven't seen that side of her yet. You keep after her, you will."

"You've accused her of some pretty ugly things this afternoon, Cleve,” she said quietly.

"I'm not accusing her of anything. I'm trying to show you what she's like. What she's capable of. I'm telling you not to let yourself get mixed up with a woman like that."

"You don't think I can handle myself, do you?” she said.

He shrugged. “I don't know. But Vega can't handle herself, that's certain. She leaves it up to me.” He laughed, looking at his drink, but the laugh was mirthless. “Maybe it's from being so spoiled all her life, from being a favorite child and a worshipped wife who kept two husbands out of her bedroom for years."

Beth wondered, looking at him, his face dark and brooding, why he had really asked her there. Was he just trying to forewarn her of her potentially unhappy situation? Or was he threatening her? Beth eyed him suspiciously.

"You're warned now, Beth, and that's all I can do,” he said. “Except, thank you for listening. And—ask you not to mention it to anyone."

"Are you afraid Charlie'd think you're as daffy as I think you are?” she said.

He laughed again, a short sad noise. “I'm afraid Charlie knew that years ago,” he said. He leaned across the table and took her hands. “Beth, why in hell do you suppose I went to all this trouble for you? Exposed myself and my shameful family to you? Because I want to get laughed at. because I want to hear you say how buggy I am?"

"I don't know why you're doing it, Cleve. I really don't."