The Beebo Brinker Omnibus

by Ann Bannon

  Laura turned her face suddenly to the back of the sofa and wept. “Oh, Jack,” she moaned. “I killed him. I killed him. Oh, God help me.” And she began to sob.

  “Killed who?”

  “My father.”

  “Your father,” he said with friendly sharpness in his voice, “has a prize concussion. But he’s very much alive.”

  She turned her head slowly to look at him, her eyes enormous and her heart stopped in her chest. “Alive?” Her voice was a startled whisper. She sat up suddenly and said it out loud. “Alive?” She grabbed Jack’s arms with the strength of shock. “How do you know? How do you know? Tell me quickly.”

  “I will, give me half a chance.” He pushed her back down and told her of his trip to the McAlton. “I just went up to the fourteenth floor,” he said. “It was easy. There were a lot of people standing around outside his room and the elevator boy told me about it. Incidentally, you made a real friend. He thinks you’re the original Goof Nut.”

  “But my father, Jack, my father?”

  “There was a doctor with him. He’s okay, Mother.”

  Laura half fainted and it was some minutes before Jack could bring her around. Terry sat on the floor by the sofa, watching her with interest while Jack propped her feet up on pillows. “That better?” he said.

  “I hit him so hard,” she murmured the moment she was able to talk. “I was sure I killed him. Maybe he died of the concussion.” Her eyes went wide again with fear and she looked at Jack, but he shook his head with a little smile.

  “No such luck,” he said. “I talked to him last night.”

  She gasped. “What did you say? Is he all right? Did you tell him who you were?” The fears tumbled out of her.

  “I called him on the house phone. Relax, Laura, you’re among friends. I asked him if he knew where you were. He said no.”

  “What else?” Laura had clutched his arms with trembling hands.

  “He was pretty curious about me, naturally. But I didn’t give him my name and phone number. Now calm down, will you? You’re giving me the screaming mimis.”

  “What did he say?” She was crying again. “What? Tell me!”

  “He tried to get me to talk but I didn’t tell him anything, except that I was your best friend. Finally he said he was afraid he had hurt you.” Laura shut her eyes and covered her face with a groan. “He wanted a chance to explain. He said if I found you to tell him right away. He has an agency trying to track you down. He said to tell you he’s sorry.” Jack looked curiously at her.

  “He’s sorry,” she repeated, staring. “He’s sorry!”

  “Did he hurt you, honey?” Jack said gently.

  It was too enormous to describe, too torturous to explain; her own private agony. Not even Jack could share it with her. “Yes,” she whispered. “He hurt me.” She looked at Jack and he could see in her face how much more there was to it than the simple words told him.

  Jack crushed out his cigarette angrily. “I wish I could break his head for him,” he said.

  “No, no,” Laura said. “I thought I had killed him. I never meant to. I was sick. I’ve been so sick, Jack, you wouldn’t believe—Oh, thank God he’s alive. Thank God. I wanted to hurt him and I did. I never wanted anything more. Just a chance to get even with him.”

  “What the hell happened between you two?”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  “You can to me.”

  “No. I can’t. Not to anybody.”

  “Did he beat you?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t ask me, Jack,” she said. “It’s my own personal sickness. And his. It’s between us, and nobody else.”

  Jack lighted a cigarette, watching her closely through the blue smoke. “Why did you go to him in the first place? Didn’t you know it would be bad?”

  “I had to,” she said, her face drawn and intense. “I’ve been running away from him all my life. I had to quit running and save myself. I had to tell him face to face what I am.”

  Jack’s brows drew together heavily. “You told him you were gay?” he asked.

  “Yes. I told him.”

  “What did he do?”

  She turned her deep eyes, accentuated by the thinness of her face, to Jack. “He hurt me, Jack. And I hurt him. But it’s all over. Oh, my God, I’m so grateful I didn’t kill him. Have you ever thought you killed somebody, and tried to go on living with it? It eats you up, it corrodes your brain and your body, it makes you sick, oh, so horribly sick Oh, Jack…” And he put his arms around her while she wept and Terry watched them in silence.

  “That bastard,” Jack murmured, comforting her. “That damn bastard. I think I hate him as much as you do, honey.”

  “No, no, I don’t hate him,” she whispered. “I can’t anymore. I never will again. I understand now, so much. Nothing ever made sense before, but now I understand. He was weaker than I was, Jack.” She spoke with wonderment. “He was more afraid of me than I was of him.” It was a strange new feeling this knowledge gave her. “I don’t know quite how I feel about him now. I won’t know for a long time, I guess. But I still love him. I always loved him, even when I hated him the most. I only hope we never meet again. I can stand it if I never have to see him again.”

  Terry fixed her a breakfast, and she ate ravenously. She discovered they had stripped her wet clothes off and put a robe on her the night before while she slept. She pulled the robe close around her while Jack tried to make her tell him where she had been, but he got little satisfaction.

  “I don’t know,” was all she would say, and when he protested, skeptically, she turned to him, her face earnest, and said, “I don’t know.”

  “Ahhh, don’t tell me,” he said.

  “I just walked, I guess. It all seems like a nightmare. The first thing I remember after I left Father is eating a bowl of soup. And then I fell asleep.”

  “Don’t you remember me?” Terry said. “We had a nice little talk last night.”

  “We did?” She was surprised.

  “Sure.” He smiled, and made her blush with embarrassment. “I’ll tell you all about it sometime.” He grinned at Jack, who gave him a quizzical smile.

  “So you don’t know where you were?” he prodded Laura.

  “I swear, Jack.”

  “Well, we didn’t know either,” he said. “And we damn near lost our minds. We pictured you—well, never mind what we pictured. You had us frantic, I can tell you.”

  Laura smiled at him a little. “Jack,” she said, and put a hand on his arm. “You’ve been so good to me. I wouldn’t have caused you any worry, only—only—oh, my God. Marcie! I forgot about Marcie. And Beebo.” She turned to him, but he calmed her with a glance, holding her down in her chair.

  “I called them,” he said. “I called everybody. Even Papa Landon. I told them you were all right, and that’s all. Your father doesn’t know where you are.”

  Laura hung her head. “Jack, I didn’t have a chance to tell you about Marcie.”

  “I know. You don’t have to tell me. Marcie did.”

  “Marcie did?” She looked up amazed.

  “Not in so many words, Mother. She just said you quarreled, and I got the idea. She sounds pretty unhappy about things.”

  Laura covered her face, her elbows resting on the table. “She knew, Jack. She knew all along that I was gay,” she whispered brokenly. “She and Burr had a bet that she could make me make a pass at her.”

  After a long silence Jack squeezed her arm and said gently, “You had to learn. Now you know. We all go through it sooner or later.” He looked up at Terry and found the boy staring at him, his eyes full. He looked away, confused, turning his attention back to Laura. “She wants to see you. She means it.”

  “I know. But I couldn’t stand to see her. Even to talk to her. It would be hell.”

  “I know what you mean.” Jack got up and poured himself another cup of coffee, saving himself a half inch in the cup for a jigger of whisky.

 
; “It’s not even ten o’clock yet,” Terry reproached him.

  “Shut up and drink your milk,” Jack said and smiled at him.

  “I’d better call the office,” Laura ventured quietly.

  “I did,” Jack told her. “You’re fired. They were damn nice about it, though. Dr. Hollingsworth wants you to come in and talk to him. Sarah gave me the pitch. It seems they admire your brains but they figure your nerves are loused up. I suggest, Mother, that you see my analyst.”

  “I can’t afford it.”

  “Neither can I.” Jack laughed. “Let’s put Terry to work,” he said to Laura. “It’s time he earned his own way.”

  “Doing what?” Terry said.

  “I don’t know. What are you good for? Anything?”

  “I can cook.” Terry grinned.

  “Good. I know a Greasy Spoon two blocks from here.”

  “Oh, hell!”

  “Jack,” Laura said suddenly. “Does Beth know I’m all right?”

  “Beth?” Jack frowned at her. “You mean Beebo, doll?”

  “I mean Beebo,” Laura said quickly, growing hot.

  “She knows.”

  “Did you tell her when I disappeared?”

  “She looked all over the Village for you. She was worried.”

  “Do you think she’d talk to me?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, Jack.” She turned an unhappy face to him, pleading for a chance to hope.

  “She might say ‘good-bye’ to you. Or ‘go to hell.’ Don’t expect miracles.”

  “I guess I haven’t any right to her friendship anymore.” But it suddenly seemed terribly important; the most important thing in the world.

  “Not as long as you get her mixed up with Beth.”

  “Oh, that was just a slip of the tongue.”

  Jack stood up and paced across the kitchen. He turned, resting his rump on the counter by the sink, and parked his coffee cup next to him. “Laura,” he said seriously. “You fell in love with a girl named Beth once. You told me that. Then you and Beth broke up and Beth married somebody and quit school. And then you ran away from home. And you came to New York, and every damn female you met reminded you of Beth.”

  “Oh, no—” Laura began, but he held up a hand to silence her.

  “Now listen to me, damn it! I’m beginning to wonder if you were running away from your father or from Beth.”

  “Jack!” Laura stood up and faced him, her temper rising.

  “Marcie and Beebo look about as much alike as Laurel and Hardy. Yet they both remind you of Beth.”

  “But that doesn’t mean—”

  “And you fell for both of them. And don’t tell me they were the only ones.” His eyes were hard to meet. Laura looked down.

  She shook her head. “No,” she whispered, confused, rubbing her eyes. “No.”

  “Beth must have been a great girl, Mother. But you can’t stay in love with her all of your life. Even if she was the first one.” Laura’s face flushed.

  “I won’t talk about this, Jack!” she exclaimed.

  “You don’t have to. I will.”

  “It’s my private life.”

  “You’ve pulled me into it. What’s the matter, are you afraid to hear me talk about it?”

  She sat down, angry. “No,” she said sharply. “I’m not afraid.”

  Jack took a sip of his café royale. “Okay,” he said in a businesslike voice. “I’m going to tell you something you won’t like. But I think you ought to know it. You were never in love with Marcie, Laura.”

  They looked at each other and finally Laura exploded, “You’re cracked! I thought you understood. I thought—you, of all people—understood how I felt about her!”

  “I did.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more!”

  “I don’t doubt it,” he said. She rose again and faced him, defiant and hurt. “You loved Beth,” he said, more gently. “You loved love. It showed in all you said to me, when we first met. You needed love and you went looking for it. You went looking for another Beth. You were bound to find her. You found her in every female face that appealed to you.

  “Laura,” Jack said slowly. “Marcie doesn’t look like Beth. Neither does Beebo. Nobody looks like Beth but Beth. And Beth is gone. She isn’t yours anymore. She belongs to a man.”

  Laura covered her face suddenly with a groan. “Jack, don’t! Please,” she whimpered. Then, gathering her anger around her, she said, “They do look like her! I swear they do!”

  Jack shook his head. “They just looked like love, Mother.”

  Laura gave a little sob. “Jack, don’t torture me.”

  “You know why I’m doing it. You know I don’t want to hurt you. Now listen to me, Laura. You can’t stay in love with Beth all your life.”

  Laura put her hands down and looked at him again. “Jack, you don’t know how wonderful she was. You never knew her, you can’t talk about her. She was so beautiful, she was so good to me. She made me understand what I was, when I was so ignorant and scared that you wouldn’t believe it! And she made me understand without hurting me. She made it beautiful. I owe her so much. I loved her so.”

  “But she’s married, Laura. You told me that yourself. You’ll never even see her again. No matter how good she was.”

  “She never hurt me!” Laura flared. “Marcie hurt me, Beebo hurt me, but never Beth.”

  “Oh, balls!” Jack said. “Never hurt you, hell! She left you, didn’t she! She slept with a guy and married him. What do you want, Mother, a silk-lined accident-proof guaranteed romance? Good for six months with lotsa kicks and no pain? Or your money back? They don’t come that way. Ask anybody. Ask me. Ask Terry.” And then his face softened. “She’s gone, Laura,” he said quietly, significantly. “And you can’t go back to Marcie.”

  Laura sat down and let the tears roll down her face, and her mouth trembled. “And I can’t go back to Beebo,” she whispered.

  Jack walked over to her and leaned on the table, one arm on either side of her. He put his head against hers and said into her ear, almost in a whisper, “Beebo loves you, honey. She’s no Beth. No Marcie. She’s herself, and for all you know, that may be even better.”

  Laura covered her face then and cried.

  Fifteen minutes later Jack, who had gone into the bedroom to dress, came back to the kitchen and said, “I’m going to the office for the rest of the day. Somebody has to pay the rent.” He looked at Terry with a wry smile.

  Laura looked up quickly. “I’ve got to talk to her, Jack. Where can I find her?”

  “Beebo? She’s working. Stick around till I get home, Mother. Sleep. You look like hell. Get Terry to read you a story or something. You can see her tonight.”

  “Thanks.” She looked at him with wet eyes and then she smiled. “Thanks, Jack. For everything.”

  He grinned. “It’s those damn oysters,” he said. “I’m a new man.” He winked at Terry and left.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Cellar was not very crowded when Laura walked in at eight o’clock. By a quarter to nine, when Beebo got there, the place had filled up a little and the jukebox was going. Dutton, the sketch artist, was making a few bucks with the tourists. There was a tableful of them in one corner that he was working on. Beebo sat down at the bar and began to josh the bartender. She didn’t see Laura, and Laura’s heart was pounding so high in her chest that she was afraid to go near Beebo. She didn’t know what to say. She was sickeningly afraid of a rebuff, and she hung back in a sweat. She deserved a rebuttal, but she was afraid she couldn’t take it.

  She watched Beebo for a while, her face shaded slightly as she leaned away from the bar lights. She let the heads of the people next to her serve as a sort of cover behind which she could dodge when Beebo glanced her way.

  For a while she was tortured to see Beebo chatting with other women; young pretty girls, like the two high-schoolers Laura had met with her one night.

  Beebo was tired. She had two drinks a
nd then she meant to go home. But she was detained by a boy who ran an antique shop a block from her apartment, who was a friend. They talked about nothing in particular, just glad to talk with somebody for a while. Beebo was slightly surprised when Dutton came up and handed her one of his sheets of drawing paper. Beebo took it with a wry little grin. “I knew you’d get around to me sooner or later, Dutton,” she said. “I’m part of the decor in this joint. Let’s see.” She studied the caricature. “I hate to admit it, but it’s good. Does my chin stick out like that?”

  Dutton grinned. “Take it from me,” he said.

  Beebo eyed him. “You don’t think you’re going to get a buck out of me for this, do you?” she said, waving it under his nose.

  “I’ve got my buck, friend,” Dutton said, holding a folded bill up between his thumb and index finger. He smiled and pushed the sketch back at her. “It’s yours,” he said. “Keep it.”

  Beebo studied him a moment, frowning, and then she looked up and down the bar.

  “If you don’t like it,” Laura said softly in her ear, “just tear it up. I can’t complain.”

  Beebo turned on the bar stool to find Laura standing close behind her. They gazed at each other in silence for a moment. Then Beebo tore the sketch once across the long way and once the short, still watching Laura. And dropped the pieces on the floor. Laura looked at her, trembling. Beebo turned back to the bar and finished her drink in one swallow. Then she said to the boy beside her, “See you, Daisy.” And she got up and left the bar.

  For a moment, Laura thought she would die where she stood. And then she followed Beebo, walking twenty feet behind her, her heart working hard and making her gasp a little. Beebo walked out into the night, and Laura followed her, coming just a little closer, until she was about five feet behind her. Beebo walked on, slowly, without glancing back, without hurrying her pace. They walked for two full blocks like this, and across the street into a third.

  And then Beebo stopped. Startled and scared, Laura stopped where she was, on the curb, with the street light illuminating her silver blonde hair and leaving her face in the shadow.