The Revelation of Beatrice Darby

by Jean Copeland

  “Clearly,” Abby said, trying not to smile.

  “I was so humiliated.” Suddenly, Beatrice’s smile was gone. “It ruined our friendship.”

  “I’m sorry, Bea.” Abby shook her head as she crushed out her cigarette. “Oh, the whole goddamn game is so awkward. Chalk it up to growing pains.”

  Beatrice raised her glass in a mock toast.

  “I have a confession,” Abby said, her bare toes wandering over Beatrice’s foot. “Your smooch in the library is still the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

  “Oh, Abby,” she said in a breathy whisper.

  Abby leaned over the table, and they formed a delicate arch, kissing over the collection of empty drink glasses and overflowing ashtray. Beatrice closed her eyes, transported by the rapture of her first kiss not stolen but given freely from the heart.

  “My apartment’s over on Tenth,” Abby said. “We can have a cup of tea and talk more in private.”

  “I’d like that,” Beatrice replied.

  *

  Sitting on a plush burgundy sofa, Beatrice glanced around Abby’s apartment cramped with antique furniture, and shelves crowded with books and a variety of porcelain dolls. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, cradling her teacup in her lap. Abby sat next to her sipping her tea, one leg thrown over the other, and air-tapping her toe as the Drifters crooned “Up on the Roof” from a transistor radio.

  Beatrice held her breath as Abby’s eyes took a slow tour around her face.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” Abby said, “I’m as nervous as you are.”

  Remembering to exhale, Beatrice slid her palms up and down her thighs. “It does a little. I don’t know why I’m like this. It feels like we’ve just met and known each other forever all at the same time.”

  “It’s the first time we’ve ever been alone, not in some dusty corner of a library hoping no one comes in.” Abby smiled as she replaced her cup in its saucer. “I know what we should do.”

  Beatrice’s heart fluttered in her throat. “What?”

  Abby reached for her hand and wound her fingers through Beatrice’s, holding them gently. “This is what I meant, silly. Better?”

  Beatrice nodded and smiled. Her body trembled, her throat was dry, yet she’d never felt more alive as Abby’s soft palm fell into hers.

  “I keep looking at you,” Abby said, “but I still can’t believe you’re sitting here.”

  “You?” Beatrice said. “Imagine what I’m thinking. I had the biggest crush on you. My God, to think I’d actually be next to you holding your hand all these years later.”

  Abby smiled and began tracing figure eights with her index finger on the inside of Beatrice’s forearm. “Looking back, I had a little crush on you, too. Of course, with the age difference…” She punctuated her sentence with a frown.

  “You don’t have to remind me. I remember that day you walked away from the library with your box of belongings like it was yesterday. I never thought I’d see you again. My heart was broken.”

  “I thought about writing you at college, to see how you were doing, but something told me I should leave you to discover yourself on your own.”

  Beatrice nodded. “I guess it was a good thing you didn’t—although you might’ve saved me from falling in love with my best friend.”

  Abby grinned. “Show me a lesbian who hasn’t fallen in love with one of her friends, and I’ll show you a woman whose friends are all men.”

  “Boy, I’ve done some stupid things in the name of love.”

  “Stupid or hopelessly romantic? You were so adorable asking me to come to Newport with you.”

  Beatrice blushed. “I hoped you would’ve forgotten that. God, that was so embarrassing.”

  Abby smiled warmly. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed. Life is so complicated when you’re a teenager. Then you grow up, and it gets even more complicated.”

  Beatrice laughed. “It can also surprise you in the most amazing ways. Being with you tonight, this is magical.”

  “We’re just having tea in my tiny apartment,” Abby said. “But yeah, it is pretty magical.”

  “It feels so right, so easy. I don’t know how to describe it other than…” She searched for the precise word. “Natural.”

  Abby kissed Beatrice’s cheek, pecking slowly across until she reached her lips. Beatrice shuddered as Abby’s fingers crawled under her ponytail and gently pulled it free from the elastic. Trying to divest herself of her empty cup and saucer, Beatrice missed as she reached for the coffee table and sent the dishes crashing to the hardwood floor.

  “I’m sorry, Abby. I think I broke the handle.”

  “Forget it, honey,” Abby whispered, smothering her neck with kisses. She nudged Beatrice down on the couch.

  How different this felt with Abby. With Paul, her body would automatically tense in response to his touch as she waited for it to be over. But with Abby, she couldn’t get close enough. As hard as she clutched her, she wanted to sense Abby more deeply, to crawl inside of her and feel her beating heart. Her desire was overwhelming, alarming. Good girls weren’t supposed to want sex—they did it because it was their wifely duty. But with no husband or man in the mix, where did that leave her? She’d always heard that only loose women loved sex, but this feeling Abby gave her was more intense than anything she’d experienced.

  “I want to make love to you,” Abby whispered.

  Beatrice opened her eyes. “I want that, too, but isn’t it too soon? We haven’t even gone on our first date.”

  “Oh, Bea,” Abby said, laughing. “You’re delightful, such an old-fashioned girl.”

  Beatrice bristled at the remark. She felt silly, like she was still that goofy teenager too immature for this kind of experience—that is until Abby began tracing her bottom lip with her finger.

  “We can wait if you want to,” Abby whispered seductively.

  Beatrice nuzzled her face in Abby’s neck. “I don’t want to wait. I’m just a little nervous.”

  Abby hugged her tightly. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. The first time isn’t uncomfortable like it is with a man. It feels marvelous.”

  “That’s not why I’m nervous.”

  Abby stroked Beatrice’s cheek and smiled tenderly. “Tell me what you want.”

  While her body screamed for Abby’s touch, Beatrice struggled to make sense of her feelings—fear of falling too hard, shame at having no self-control, anxiety knowing once she allowed it to happen she couldn’t turn back.

  “I have to go to the powder room.”

  “Sure, baby. Take your time.” Abby kissed her on the nose and sat up to light a cigarette.

  In the bathroom, Beatrice examined her reflection. Her hair was mussed, her lips puffy and smeared with Abby’s lipstick. Pushing her cheeks together with her fingers, she still couldn’t erase the smile lines on her face. She’d made Paul wait several months before she went to bed with him and then broke it off with him a month later. Could that happen with Abby if she had sex with her? A voice inside said no—this situation was unlike any other.

  She smeared a dollop of Abby’s Gleem toothpaste across her teeth, took a deep breath, and started toward the couch where Abby lay reclined, launching smoke rings into the air. On her way back, Beatrice stopped at the bookshelf when she recognized Abby as one of two women in a photo nestled among the porcelain dolls.

  She picked up the frame. “Who is this girl with you, Abby?”

  Abby poked her head up over the back of the couch. “Who?”

  “This girl.” Beatrice showed her the photo.

  “Uh, she’s just a friend.”

  “Oh,” Beatrice said, unconvinced. She strolled to the sofa and sat down at the far end. “Just a friend,” she said after a moment. “You look awfully cozy for just friends.”

  “Bea, let’s not make a big deal out of this,” Abby said.

  Beatrice eyed her for a moment. “Well, what kind of deal is it?”

  Abby exhaled and reached for Be
atrice’s hand. “I was going tell you. I just didn’t know how to work it into the conversation.”

  Beatrice yanked her hand away and stood up, furrowing her brows in shock. “You have a girlfriend? Did you figure you’d work it into the conversation after you made love to me?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to deceive you. It’s a very complicated situation.”

  “Yes, I’m sure two-timing is quite complicated. How could you make love to me when you’re in love with someone else? You know how I’ve always felt about you.”

  “See, that’s the thing, Bea. I’m not in love with her. You don’t understand the—”

  “What’s to understand? You’re a lousy cheat.” Beatrice’s eyes pooled as she marched toward the door.

  Abby went after her, pressing her hand against the door to stop Beatrice from storming out. “Bea, listen to me. Janice and I aren’t happy.”

  Janice. Hearing Abby say her name churned her stomach.

  “I’ve wanted to break it off with her,” Abby said, “but it’s been easier to keep putting it off. And right now is the absolute worst time.”

  “Oh, I’m such a fool. I can’t believe I let you break my heart again.” She tried to shove Abby away from the door, but Abby held her footing.

  “Bea, you’ve got to believe me. If I thought there was any chance I’d run into you some day here in New York and we’d rekindle our old flame, I would’ve broken up with Janice months ago. But things are so complex right now. If you’d only let me explain.”

  Beatrice looked into Abby’s eyes, desperately wanting to believe her.

  “I’ve never felt with anyone what I felt from our first kiss at the library,” Abby said. “I was so ashamed at the time because you were still a kid, but that doesn’t change the facts. I truly never thought I’d ever see you again.”

  “Does she live with you?”

  Abby looked away and nodded.

  “Where is she?”

  “Up in Albany. Her mother’s sick.”

  “Shouldn’t you be with her?”

  “Oh, sure. How’s she supposed to explain me to her dying mother?” Abby sighed and stepped away from the door. “If you want to leave, I understand.”

  “I should leave.”

  “Go ahead if you want to.” Abby’s expression was stoic at first but gave way to an irresistible pout. “Do you?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I mean I don’t know what I mean.”

  Abby caressed her cheek. “Then stay.”

  “I can’t,” Beatrice said, staring at Abby’s lips.

  Abby pushed her against the door and kissed her passionately. When it came down to it, some things weren’t complicated at all.

  *

  The rising sun seeped around the window shade, casting a glow across their feet tangled under the bedsheet. Beatrice opened her eyes with a start. She hoped that when she glanced down at the face still cuddled in the crook of her armpit, it would be Abby’s smiling up at her. The night before flashed through her mind like a slide show—nothing like she feared and more passionate than her imagination had the talent to conjure.

  “Good morning.” Abby’s voice was sleepy as she kissed Beatrice’s shoulder.

  “Good morning,” Beatrice whispered.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’m floating on air. Is this what it’s like every morning after?”

  Abby giggled. “Only for the lucky ones. I’m surprised you’re not still exhausted. I thought you’d never want to go to sleep.”

  Beatrice blushed. “I’m sorry. Did I do okay?”

  “Oh, you were more than okay,” Abby purred as she rolled on top of her. “You’ve spoiled me for everyone else,” she added, nibbling Beatrice’s earlobe.

  “Even Janice?”

  Abby buried her face in Beatrice’s pillow. “I told you I’m going to take care of that.”

  “I’m not trying to tell you your business. I mean I can’t force you to, but I know I wouldn’t feel comfortable continuing to see you if you’re taken.”

  Abby’s head snapped up. “You still want to see me?”

  Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Of course I do.”

  Abby pecked at her lips. “I could see myself really falling for you, Bea.”

  “Me too. In fact, I think I already have.” She hugged Abby close to her. “When do you think you’ll talk to her?”

  “I will tonight, but I’m not sure when I’ll talk to her about breaking up.”

  Beatrice gently pushed Abby off her and sat up, covering her chest with the bedsheet. “Why not?”

  Abby propped herself up on her elbows. “How exactly do you propose I handle this? Give her the gate over the phone while she’s sitting at her mother’s deathbed? This is going to take a little time and a lot of finesse.”

  Beatrice got up and fumbled to put on last night’s clothes bunched on the floor. “I think I should just go.”

  She pushed past Abby, who trailed her to the door.

  “Bea, I thought you understood. I mean we had such a special night together.”

  “We did, but the more I think about it, the more this whole thing stinks. Why didn’t you break it off when you realized you weren’t in love with her? It’s pretty cowardly to string someone along.”

  “Boy, everything is so cut and dried with you, isn’t it, Miss Young and Independent? This may come as a shock to you, but it’s a lonely world out there, especially if you’re waiting around for Miss Right to come knocking on your door.”

  Beatrice scoffed. “Like I don’t know anything about being lonely. You can spare me the condescension.”

  “I’m sorry, but wait till you’re alone in your mid-thirties and then tell me about it. It’s damn hard to find a decent girl, Bea. You have to play a thousand guessing games to figure out who is and who isn’t, who you can approach and who you can’t. When you do learn about joints like Dandy’s, then you have to wade through the lot of them to find the ones who aren’t drunks or aren’t running so scared from themselves, they can’t stop long enough to let someone love them.”

  As Abby paused to regain her composure, Beatrice studied the lines around her mouth and eyes, reminders of how loneliness cast an even darker shadow in their world.

  “Janice is a nice girl. It felt good and safe to be with a decent woman.” She slipped both of Beatrice’s hands in hers. “But she never made me feel like you do.”

  Beatrice’s mind swirled with confusion.

  “I’ll call her later and find out when she’s coming home,” Abby said.

  Her hands still captive, Beatrice nodded, fighting the allure of Abby’s eyes.

  “Say something, Bea. Tell me you understand. Tell me to call you later or tell me to fuck off—anything.”

  “I don’t want you to fuck off, Abby.” Beatrice closed her eyes as Abby cupped her cheeks and gently kissed her lips.

  *

  As Beatrice walked home through the tranquility of Sunday morning in the Village, she could still smell Abby on her skin, traces of Evening in Paris and faded cigarette smoke. She wrapped her arms around herself against the early chill, recalling the physical sensation of rolling and twisting together in Abby’s sheets, Abby’s lips discovering parts of her body it seemed she hadn’t known existed before last night. Best of all was the completeness in waking up in Abby’s arms after not even remembering falling asleep. How could this feeling be wrong? If God is love and love is natural, how could anyone believe this unnatural?

  Her reverie halted when she remembered Janice. She found no moral ambiguity to play with in that. This woman, an apparition smiling at her from a photo, was sheltered away somewhere in upstate New York awaiting her mother’s demise, completely unaware that her lover was betraying her.

  Suddenly, as Beatrice’s guilt built momentum, her mind flashed with grotesque carnival side-show images of how their breakup would transpire: a casket draped in roses, a preacher throwing dirt on Janice’s mother as Abby broke the news to J
anice graveside. As Janice collapsed in heartbreak, her dead mother would pop open the lid of her casket, shake her head, and wag a reproachful finger at Beatrice. Soon a chorus of others would join in the upbraiding: the preacher, Janice herself, and the rest of the gathered mourners, all of them closing in on her with menacing features.

  Beatrice leaned against the cold brick of the coffee shop around the corner from her apartment and squeezed her eyes shut to block out the horrible images. Although her night with Abby felt like stepping into the most romantic of dreams, how could she have allowed herself to do that? Her mother’s face flashed before her with the same contemptuous glare as the ones from the funeral. Did this make her an adulterer? At the very least, she must have been an accomplice to adultery.

  “Holy shit,” she said out loud. “I broke one of the big commandments.”

  She immediately thought of turning around and attending Sunday mass, but with only fifteen minutes till it started, she’d never make it home to shower first. She couldn’t possibly sit in a church pew with the magnificent stink of Abby and sin all over her. That would be downright mocking God. She closed her eyes and propped her head against the building’s façade, sucking in a long, deep breath before going inside and searching for redemption in a cup of espresso.

  Chapter Twelve

  The day Beatrice had dreaded for weeks had arrived. With less than a month until its due date, she was to meet with Paul to discuss the final draft of her research thesis on Emily Dickinson. She loitered in the hall around the corner from his campus office, trying to dispel the awkward scene of the night she broke up with him. Why was she feeling so guilty about it now that they were to meet professionally?

  She simply didn’t love him, and it was better to let him down now than after they were unhappily married. If anything, she’d done him a huge favor, freeing him for a girl who would love him the way he wanted to be loved. Still, for some reason, she couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that she’d again disappointed someone. Inching toward his office like the floor was a sheet of ice, she braced herself before rapping on his open door.