The Beebo Brinker Omnibus

by Ann Bannon

  “I don’t think so. I mean—” She never knew when she was being teased until she had put on a solemn face and felt like an ass. “I’m impossible,” she said with a smile.

  “That settles it!” Marcie exclaimed, sitting up with the pillow crushed against her bosom.

  Chapter Two

  They got along unusually well together, as the weeks passed into months. April came, and Jean left on her European tour, Laura and Sarah were alone in the office with the doctors, and Laura worked with a will to make up for what she still had to learn. With each day, each fact acquired and skill polished, the job meant more to her.

  At home, there were no scenes or suspicions, such as female roommates have a talent for. Laura was quiet, shyly friendly, thoughtful. Marcie gave her a cram course in cooking, saw an occasional movie with her, and asked her how to spell things. Most of her free time was spent with Burr.

  Laura liked Marcie very much. She tried to keep it that way. She was relieved, as time went on, that her friendship didn’t get complicated by stronger feelings.

  I like Marcie, and that’s all, she mused to herself one time. It gave her a certain satisfaction that most women would not have understood.

  As for Marcie, she was somewhat amused with Laura; with her modesty, which seemed so old-fashioned; with her shyness; with her books. But she felt a real affection for her. Laura wasn’t much for gossip, but she always listened to Marcie’s compulsive confessions. She was gentle and sympathetic. Her ideas were different, and Marcie listened to her with respect.

  Laura wasn’t pretty, but at certain angles, with certain expressions, she was striking and even memorable. Not everyone saw this quality; not everyone took the trouble to study her features. But they made a curious appeal to those who did. Her face was long and slim, and her coloring pale. But her eyes were deep and cornflower blue. If Marcie had studied them she might have seen more worldly wisdom than she dreamed of in her bookish roommate.

  Laura had a good grasp on what it meant to be a woman; on what it meant to live deeply, completely, even when it didn’t last; on what it meant to be a loser. And everyone must lose at least once before he can understand what it is to win.

  Burr had come over the night after Laura moved in. He was of medium height but powerfully built, with a pleasant face. His brown hair was crew cut, his brown eyes sparkled zealously, like those of a man with a mission. His mission, apparently, was Marcie. He seemed to adore her; it was so plain, in fact, that it made you wonder if it was real.

  He walked into the kitchen where Laura and Marcie were finishing the dishes, grabbed Marcie without a word to Laura—he didn’t even seem to see her—and kissed her passionately. Laura self-consciously wiped a dish, put it on the cupboard shelf, and started to back out of the room.

  “Burr! You could have said hello!” Marcie gasped when he released her. “Laura, don’t go. This is—” But he kissed her again. This time when he let go she was mad. It was beautiful to see. Laura was exhilarated with the force of it. Marcie, who was always full of laughter, was walloping Burr with a wet dishcloth and calling him “You bastard!” Her eyes flashed, and she swiped at his face with long meticulously pointed nails. Laura headed for the bedroom, but Marcie turned and caught her.

  “Oh, no!” she said, pulling Laura back. “I want you to see what I married. I want you to tell me if I wasn’t smart to get a divorce. Look at him.”

  Burr, his face damp with dishwater, was gently exploring a nail-inflicted wound with one finger.

  Laura tried to back out, but Burr saw her then and smiled. “Hello, Laura,” he said. “You’ll have to forgive my charming wife. She’s very emotional.”

  “I’m not your wife!” Marcie flared.

  Laura couldn’t help thinking it was all a joke. They both seemed to be enjoying it too much.

  Burr ignored Marcie. “You’ve probably never seen this side of her,” he remarked to Laura. “I used to get it once or twice a day, like medicine. Finally drove me to divorce.” Marcie threw a towel at him and he smiled pleasantly at Laura. “But don’t let it bother you. You’ll never have to marry her, so you’ll avoid the problem.”

  There was a stormy pause. “Have some coffee?” Laura said suddenly to Burr.

  “I’ll fix him a highball,” Marcie sighed. “He hates coffee.”

  “I don’t hate it. Why do you exaggerate, honey?”

  “Well, you drink that horrible Postum crap, like all the grandfathers.”

  “It’s not crap. It’s a hell of a lot better for you than coffee, I can tell you that.”

  “Then why don’t you live on it, darling?”

  “If I wanted sarcasm tonight, I would have gone over to Chita’s.”

  “That whore!”

  “I—I think I’ll turn in,” Laura said softly and hurried toward the door.

  “Don’t be silly!” Marcie looked at her, chagrined. “You haven’t said two words to Burr.”

  “She couldn’t say two words, honey. You’ve been talking too fast. I couldn’t either, for that matter.” He went over to Laura and led her by the hand to a chair. “Let’s talk about you,” he said. “Sit down.”

  Laura felt ridiculous, but she obeyed him.

  “Where’re you from?” he demanded.

  “She’s from Chicago.” Marcie handed him his drink and perched on the drainboard of the sink.

  “Say something from Chicago, Laura.” He grinned at her.

  She shrugged and laughed, embarrassed.

  “What does your old man do?”

  Laura was startled to think of him. He had been out of her mind in the bustle of moving in with Marcie. “He’s a writer—a newspaperman,” she said. She looked so uncomfortable that Burr let it drop.

  After a slight quiet he said, “What do you think of my girl?”

  “Burr, please!” Marcie exclaimed, but he waved at her to shut up.

  “You know you won’t be rooming with her for long, don’t you?” He smiled at Laura, and it looked like a warning sort of smile. It made Laura faintly queasy, as if she had already done something wrong.

  Laura hated to compliment a woman. It was always hypocritical because she could never tell the truth without blushing. The more she admired a girl, the harder it was to talk about her. She began to blush. “She’s a very nice girl,” she said hesitantly.

  “Say it like you mean it!” Burr said. “She’s a wonderful girl. Even if she is a shrew.”

  “Damn! Stop humiliating us, Burr. You aren’t funny.”

  Burr stared at Laura, until she had to say something. “We get along just fine,” she said.

  “Sure. The first two days.” He laughed a little.

  “Burr!” Marcie exploded. “She’s a girl, not an ornery bastard male like you.”

  “Well, I hope you two will be ecstatically happy,” he said, and downed his drink.

  “I won’t be talked about like this!” Marcie said. She dropped down from the drainboard and started out of the room, but Burr caught her around the waist. He was sitting next to Laura, and he buried his face in Marcie’s stomach. Marcie tried to grasp his short hair and push him back. Laura felt the old revulsion rising in her. Burr was doing nothing very shocking or immoral. He was just embracing the girl he loved, the girl who had been his wife. Laura knew that intellectually but her spirit retreated from the sight, repulsed.

  “You know something, Laura?” Burr turned his head to look at her, still pressed against Marcie. “She acts like a damn virgin with me. She acts like she didn’t have any idea what it’s all about. Like we’d never been married at all, and I’d never—well, never mind what I did. She won’t let me do it anymore.”

  “Burr, you’re really repulsive,” Marcie said, shaking her head at him.

  “Am I?” He smiled at her.

  “You know you are. Laura doesn’t want to hear about that. Do you, Laura?”

  “I think I’d better get to bed,” Laura said.

  “That’s a good girl,” Burr said
approvingly. “Always knows when to cut out. Laura, we’re going to get along fine.”

  “Don’t go, Laura!” Marcie ordered her.

  Laura, halfway to the bedroom, stopped.

  “Scram!” said Burr. As she shut the door behind her he added, “Sweet dreams, Laura. You’re a doll.”

  Laura shut the door on them as he took Marcie, still resisting, in his arms. She walked uncertainly around the bedroom for a few minutes. It occurred to her that Burr would be grateful for the use of the bedroom, but Marcie would never forgive her for suggesting it. Laura ran a bath—it took fifteen minutes to get enough water to sit in—and sat contemplatively in it, wondering what her roommate was doing in the kitchen. She tried not to think of it. But when a thing revolted her it stuck stubbornly in her head and tormented her deeply.

  Laura climbed out of the tub and dried herself, looking in the mirror as she did so. She had never liked the looks of herself very well. It still amazed her to think that this slim white body of hers, this tall, slightly awkward, firm-fleshed body, had been desirable to someone once. She studied herself. She was not remarkable. She was not lush and ripe and sweet-scented. On the contrary, she was firm and flat everywhere, with long limbs and fine bones. Her pale hair hung long over her shoulders, and bangs framed her brow.

  I am certainly not beautiful, she thought consciously to herself. And yet I have been loved. I have loved.

  She gazed at herself for a moment more and the ghosts of old kisses sent shivers down her limbs. Then she rubbed herself briskly with the towel and put her pajamas on.

  That’s over now, she said to herself. That happened a million years ago. I’m not the same Laura anymore. I can’t—I won’t love like that again. I’ll work, I’ll read, I’ll travel. Some people aren’t made for love. Even when they find it, it’s wrong. I’m one of those.

  She picked up a book she had been reading—one of Burr’s—and climbed into bed. There was a small lamp between the beds and she switched it on, drawing her knees up for a book rest. The covers formed a tent over her legs.

  For a long while she sat and read about the mixups of other people, the people in the book. Then she closed it and put it on the bedside table. She turned the light off, but still she didn’t lie down. She simply sat there in the dark, listening…listening…and heard nothing. She put her head back, resting, thinking about them in the other room, hating her thoughts but unable to shake them. After a while she slept, still sitting half-upright.

  Much later, muscle cramps woke her up and forced her to lie down. She noticed that the light under the kitchen door was out. She pulled the covers over her shoulders, wondering what time it was. In a moment, all was silence again.

  “Laura?” It was Marcie, whispering.

  Laura sat up with a start. “Yes? Marcie, are you all right?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Is he gone?”

  “Yes. For the time being.”

  “Oh. What time is it?”

  “About three.”

  “You shouldn’t stay up so late. You have to go to work in the morning.”

  There was a little silence.

  “Laura?”

  “Yes?”

  “Were you ever in love?”

  Laura felt a terrible wave of emotion come up in her throat. What a damnable time, what a damnable way, to ask such a question! She was defenseless against her feeling in the soft black night, with the soft voice of a lovely girl asking her, “Were you ever in love?” For a while she tried to keep her mouth clamped shut. But Marcie asked her again and she was undone.

  “Were you, Laura?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “What was it like?”

  “Oh, God, Marcie—it was so long ago—it was so complicated. I don’t know what it was like.”

  “Was it good?”

  “It was awful.”

  Marcie turned over in bed at this, raising herself on her elbows. “Wasn’t it good sometimes? Now and then?”

  “Now and then—” Laura whispered, “it was paradise. But most of the time it was hell.”

  “Did—did he love you? As much, I mean?”

  Laura pressed her hands to her mouth, not trusting herself for a minute. Then she whispered, “No.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Marcie’s voice was warm with sympathy. “Men are such bastards, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. They are.”

  After a moment of thought Marcie said, “Burr likes you.”

  “I’m glad.” She couldn’t stand to talk anymore. “Good night, Marcie.”

  “Good night, Laura.” Marcie sounded a little disappointed. But she said nothing more and in a minute Laura heard her roll over and fall asleep. Laura did not sleep again that night.

  Chapter Three

  If Laura and Marcie went along together on greased wheels, Marcie and Burr did nothing of the kind. There was never anything real to argue about. But Burr couldn’t pick up a book or clear his throat or make a suggestion without causing a disagreement. And he was as quick to snap at his ex-wife. The only times they weren’t shouting at each other, they were kissing each other.

  “You probably wonder why we keep seeing each other when we fight like this,” Marcie said to her one night.

  “Do you love each other?”

  “I don’t know—Yes.”

  “Then I guess it doesn’t matter if you fight.”

  “I hope it doesn’t drive you nuts.”

  “No, not at all.” Laura wouldn’t even look up from her book. Marcie embarrassed her with these confidences. But she couldn’t go on reading. She stared at the page and waited for Marcie to continue.

  Marcie couldn’t keep a secret. Things poured out of her, even intimate things, even things that belonged to her private soul and should have stayed there. Laura squirmed to hear her sometimes.

  “We see each other,” Marcie went on, “because we can’t keep our hands off each other. We fight because we’re ashamed of what we want from each other. At least, I am. I guess Burr doesn’t have any shame. No, that’s not fair. I guess he’s the one who’s sure he’s in love. Sometimes I think I am, because I want to keep seeing him. And other times, I think it’s just his big broad shoulders.”

  “Don’t see him for a while,” Laura said. “Or try talking less when you do. See what happens. Or do you just want to keep torturing yourself?”

  “I guess I do,” said Marcie with such a disarming smile that Laura had to smile back.

  “Well, it’s not my business. I can’t pass out any helpful hints,” Laura said. I won’t care about your personal life, I can’t, she thought.

  Marcie laughed, walking around the room, peeling off her clothes. “Laura, you’re a funny girl,” she said. “You’re not like other girls I know.”

  “I’m not?” Laura felt an old near-forgotten sick feeling come up in her chest.

  “No. Other girls love to talk about things. They love to gossip. Why, I know some who would get started on Burr and keep going until they had to be gagged. But you’re different. You just sit there and read and think. Don’t you get worn out doing so much thinking?”

  “What makes you think I do so much?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you?”

  “Everybody thinks.”

  “Not as much as you do.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

  “I don’t mean that. I mean—I guess I mean, why don’t you ever go out?”

  “I do. I saw that musical last week.”

  “I don’t mean with me. Or other girls. I mean with boys.”

  Laura loathed conversations like these. She felt as if she had spent her whole life justifying herself to somebody—mostly Merrill Landon, but others too. As if everything she did or didn’t do had to be inspected and approved. If it wasn’t approved it stuck in her craw somewhere and came up now and then to make her sick. “I’m new in New York,” she said. “I don’t know anyone yet.”

  “How abou
t Dr. Carstens? You said he was good-looking.”

  “He’s married.”

  “Well, the other one, then?”

  “He’s practically married.”

  “Well, how about the big shot?”

  “He’s a grandfather.” She said it sarcastically.

  Marcie threw her hands up and laughed. “Laura, I’m going to have to do something about you.”

  “Don’t do anything about me, please, Marcie.” Something in the tone of her voice sobered Marcie up.

  “Why not?” she said.

  “I—I just don’t want to be a bother, that’s all.”

  “A bother!” Marcie came and sat beside her on the bed, wearing only the bottoms of a pair of blue jersey pajamas, cut like slim harem pants. Her breasts were high and full and unbearably sweet. “Laura, I like you. We’re living together. We’re friends. I guess I’ve made a bad impression on you with Burr and everything, but I want you to know I really like you. You’re no bother.” She smiled. “I’ll get Burr to fix you up with Jack Mann. We’ll go somewhere together. We need to get out. Maybe we’d quit quarreling if we didn’t sit around this apartment all the time.”

  She paused, and Laura tried not to look at her.

  “How about it?” Marcie said.

  Laura was in a familiar situation. She’d been in it before, she’d be in it again, there was no escaping it. This is a heterosexual society and everybody plays the game one way or another. Or pretends to play it for appearances’ sake.

  “I’d love to,” Laura said.

  “Good! What night?”

  “Any night.” Laura wanted to shove her off the bed, to throw the covers at her; anything to cover up her gleaming bosom. She felt herself go hot and cold by turns and it exasperated her. She wondered how obvious it was. But even in her discomfort she knew it didn’t show as much as it felt. She finally climbed past Marcie and out of the bed, making a hasty way to the bathroom.