The Beebo Brinker Omnibus

by Ann Bannon

  “That’s pretty drunk,” Jack said. He knew from the way she spoke that it had hurt her to make love like that, wanting so much herself, and herself so unwanted. “I know, Laura honey, I know the feeling,” he said and the words comforted her.

  “Jack, I hope I always love you this much,” she said softly. He looked up from his coffee cup with a little smile. “So do I,” he said. And they looked at each other without speaking for a minute before she went on.

  “Well,” she said, “it was torture. I didn’t want it any more than she did if it had to be so cold and sad, and at the same time I had to have her. I was on fire for her. I have to give her credit, Jack, she tried. But it didn’t mean anything to her.”

  “It’s a lonesome job,” Jack said. “And it’s never worth it.”

  “I cried all night,” Laura said. “Afterwards…I just got in my own bed and cried. And she was awake all night too, but she didn’t come to me or try to comfort me. I think she was embarrassed. I think she just wished she’d never gotten mixed up with me.

  “The next night—around dinner time—her husband arrived. I don’t know whether she got sick of me or just scared and called him, or if they got their dates scrambled and he came too soon. You see, it turned out she had planned to meet him out there all along, after I left. But maybe I got to be too much for her and she told him to come and chase me out…I don’t know. There wasn’t time to go into the fine points. But I think myself she needed a man just then, to make herself feel normal. And protected.”

  “What was he like?”

  “A nice guy. He really is. I know I sound—Tris would say—hypocritical. But I liked him. I understood right away, the minute I saw him, an awful lot of things about Tris.”

  “How?”

  Laura paused, gazing seriously at Jack. At last she explained, “He’s a Negro. And so is she. Only he’s much darker than Tris. Very handsome, but he’d never pass as an Indian. And right away he humiliated her, without meaning to.” She smiled sadly. “She’s from New York, Jack. She was born right here and her name is Patsy Robinson. She’s only seventeen but they’ve been married two years. She makes him keep out of sight because she thinks he’d be a drag on her career. That’s why she tells everybody she’s Indian, too—because she wants to get ahead and she thinks it makes it easier.”

  Jack shook his head. “I feel for her,” he said.

  “And I weep for her,” Laura said. “You should have seen her, Jack. She was wild when Milo talked about her fake Indian past. I think it made him pretty damn mad. That, and all the flirting, and having to live apart. And her gay and him straight! Lord, what a mess. He’s in love with her; she’s his wife. And she denies him, and hides him.”

  Laura stopped talking then for a little while, sipping the burgundy and staring at her feet. “I took the bus back,” she said at last. “She screamed at me to leave. Milo apologized for her. That poor guy.”

  “Do you still think you love her?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t know.” She sighed. “She fascinates me. I feel sick about it, about the way things happened. If I thought I could stand it I’d go back to her. But I know I couldn’t. What is love, anyway, Jack?”

  “If you have to ask you never get to know,” he quoted. “More?” He reached for her glass and she relinquished it with an unsteady hand. She felt completely lost, completely frustrated.

  “What’s Beebo doing?” she asked.

  He picked up the bottle and poured some more wine into her glass. “All kinds of things,” he said. “She got fired, of course. Hadn’t showed up for weeks.”

  “Of course,” Laura repeated, bowing her head.

  “She’s shacking up with Lili at the moment.”

  “Ohhh,” Laura groaned, and it made her feel dismal to think of it. She felt a spasm of possessiveness for Beebo. “Lili is a terrible influence on her,” she said irritably.

  “So are you.” He handed her her drink. “The worst.”

  “Not that bad.”

  “Life with you,” he reminded her, “damn near killed the girl.”

  “And me,” Laura replied. “Did she leave the apartment?”

  “No, she gets over there from time to time.”

  “I wonder how she pays the rent.”

  “It isn’t due yet,” he said. “Besides, I imagine Lili can help out.”

  Laura shut her eyes suddenly, overwhelmed with a maddening tenderness for Beebo. “I hate her!” she said emphatically to Jack. And he, with his uncanny ear for emotion, didn’t like the emphasis.

  After a slight pause he said, “I got her a dog. Another dachshund pup.”

  “That was nice of you,” she said to him in the tone mothers use when someone has done a kindly favor for their children.

  “Beebo didn’t think so. She didn’t know whether to kiss it or throw it at me,” he said. “She finally kissed it. But the poor thing died two days later…yesterday, it was.”

  “It died?”

  “Yes.” He looked at her sharply. “I think she…shall we say—put it to sleep?”

  “Oh, Jack!” she breathed, shocked. “Why? Did it remind her of Nix?”

  “I don’t know. It didn’t cheer her up, that’s for damn sure.” Laura sat there for a while, letting him fill her glass a couple of times and listening to the FM radio and trying not to feel sorry for Beebo. “She doesn’t really need me anymore, Jack,” she told him.

  “I do,” he said, and she smiled.

  “You didn’t fall off the wagon,” she said. “I’m so glad. I was afraid you might.”

  “I never get drunk over the women in my life,” he said sardonically. “Only over the boys. And there are no more boys in my life. Now or ever.”

  Laura swirled the royal purple liquid in her long-stemmed glass and whispered into it, “Do you think I could make you happy, Jack?”

  “Are you proposing, Mother?”

  She swallowed and looked up at him with butterflies in her stomach. “Yes,” she said.

  He sat quite still and smiled slowly at her. And then he got up and came to her and kissed her cheeks, one after the other, holding her head tenderly in his hands.

  “I accept,” he said.

  The day was hot and muggy, one of those insufferably humid August days in New York. Laura and Jack waited together outside the office of Judge Sterling Webster with half a dozen other sweating, hand-clasping couples.

  Jack wasted no time when Laura said yes. As fast as arrangements could be made, they were made. Laura stayed with him in the Village apartment a few days while they hunted for another apartment, cooking for him and getting the feel of living with him. During the days, when he was out, she went uptown. This was Jack’s idea. He had no intention of making his bride a sitting duck for Beebo. It was only for four days, anyway, and much to Laura’s surprise, Beebo made no attempt to reach her.

  They had found the apartment on the east side two days after Laura got back from the disillusioning sojourn with Tris. It was too expensive, but it was newly renovated, lustrous with new paint, elegant with a new elevator, and bursting with chic tenants.

  “We can’t afford it,” was Laura’s first comment, to which Jack replied, smiling, “You’re beginning to sound like a wife already.”

  And now, here they were, waiting on yellow oak chairs in the hall, while one couple after another passed in and out of the judge’s office with the classic stars in their eyes.

  Laura, who was sitting quietly in her chair, said, “They all look so happy,” and drew courage from the fact.

  “They’re scared witless,” Jack said, pacing up and down in front of her.

  “Jack!” Laura exclaimed, appalled. “They’ll hear you.”

  “Ours will be a happier marriage than any of these,” he said with a contemptuous wave of his hand. He sat down suddenly beside her. “Ours could be damn near perfect, Laura, if we work at it a little. You know that? We won’t have to face the usual pitfalls. Ours will be different…better.”


  “I hope so, Jack,” she said in a near whisper, and a little thrill of passionate hope went through her.

  “Will you try, honey?” he asked.

  “I will. With all my heart I will.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I want this to work, Jack, as much as you do. I’ll give it all I’ve got. I want terribly for it to be right.” And she meant it.

  “Then it will,” he said and his smile gave her a needed shot of confidence.

  Laura had had some bad nights since she said yes to him. Awful hours of yearning for Tris had tormented her. Stray unwelcome thoughts of Beebo had hurt her even more.

  There were the lonely times when she thought about herself and Jack, so different, so dear to each other, and wondered if marital intimacy might not ruin it all with its innocent vulgarity. She tried to imagine Jack shaving in the morning…the toilet flushing…his wrinkled pajamas, still warm from sleep, tossed on the floor…his naked loneliness mutely reproaching her. The idea of living with a man…a man…made her think of her father, her huge heavy domineering father, with his aggressive maleness stamped all over his body.

  But for the most part, Laura tried not to think at all. She let Jack do her thinking. She let Jack make the plans. She let Jack take her by the hand and lead her where he deemed it best for her to go. And, trusting him, she went.

  So here they were outside Judge Sterling Webster’s door with its glass window and neatly stenciled name, and they were next in line. Their predecessors in the marriage mill were slower than the rest, or so it seemed. And by the time they came out Jack was very nervous.

  He herded her in ahead of him, and Judge Webster, as dignified and antique as his name, stood to greet them with an extended hand.

  In less than five minutes he pronounced them man and wife and they signed the certificate of marriage. Jack turned to Laura and kissed his tall and trembling young wife on her cheek. He gave the Judge ten dollars, and then he took Laura’s arm and steered her out again to let the next impatient couple take over.

  Laura had to sit down for a minute on one of the limed oak chairs and cover her face with her hands. Jack leaned over her and said, “You’re setting a lousy example, Mother. Every female here is watching you and figuring me for a wife-beater. Come on, Mrs. Mann.”

  She looked up and saw him grinning at her, and it gave her a lift. She grasped his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He was beaming, and Laura had to smile at all the nervous cynicism of half an hour ago.

  They went straight to the apartment to rest for a while before they went out to dinner. Jack had made reservations for them at the Stork Club.

  “We’ll have a proper honeymoon at Christmastime,” he said, when they reached the house on East Fifty-third. “I’ll take a month off then. I have it coming.”

  Ignoring Laura’s protests, he insisted on carrying her across the threshold. He swung her up easily, to their mutual pleasure.

  “Jack, I think you’re the world’s worst sentimentalist,” she teased him when he set her down, but he denied it at once.

  “God forbid!” he said. “I just don’t want anything to go wrong. We’re going to do it all right, right from the start.”

  “And you’re superstitious.”

  He laughed with delight. “Laura,” he said and came to take her hands. “I’m so happy. You’ve made me so happy.”

  “I haven’t done a thing, yet,” she said, wondering a little at him, at his uncontainable good spirits.

  “You’ve married me. That’s something,” he said. “I’m a married man. God Almighty, think of it!”

  “If you were any prouder you’d explode,” she giggled.

  “I just may,” he said. And they gazed at each other with a huge, wordless approval and relief.

  “This calls for a celebration,” he said suddenly. “I got a little something—”

  “Oh, Jack, no drinking,” she said. “I don’t have to have a drink, really. I don’t want you to get started.”

  “No nagging on our wedding day,” he said and produced a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. He poured her a glassful and himself a swallow. “Medicinal,” he explained, and they toasted each other. He made her drink all of hers and kept pace with her with ginger ale. “I feel so good, by God, I don’t even need it,” he said, and laughed.

  Laura watched him affectionately. She had never seen him so animated, so happy. He glowed with it. He was almost handsome, with his brilliant eyes and his proud smile. It made her feel a little like crying, and she stopped him in the middle of a delirious tirade of compliments to say, “Jack, please. You embarrass me. I’m afraid I won’t live up to it all.”

  “Oh, but you will. I’ll beat you if you don’t,” he said, laughing, and kissed her cheek. And she caught his hands and kissed them.

  “You’d think we were a couple of normal people,” she said.

  He sobered a little, sitting down on the floor in front of her. “They have no monopoly on happiness, Mother. We have a right to our share. We have a chance now. We can make something beautiful of it together.” He stopped and chuckled at himself. “I sound like a bad poem,” he said. “But I mean it. I have so many wonderful plans, so many hopes.” And the thought of that bright-eyed little girl he had cherished for so long danced into his head.

  Laura couldn’t look at his face. She got up and went to lie on her bed.

  They stayed up very late and Laura had too much champagne and Jack had too much ginger ale, and they talked endlessly and held one another’s hands tightly. And the next day they slept until four in the afternoon and got up smiling to treat Laura’s hangover and make the beds and shop for groceries together. And Jack introduced her to the butcher with, “Meet my wife. She’s a doll.”

  Laura blushed crimson and the butcher laughed at them and tried to sell them some oysters. “You want kids? Buy oysters,” he advised. “Never fails. I know, I got eight.”

  It was smooth and sweet the first few months; smoother than either of them had dared to hope. Laura was naturally mild and yielding; Jack, efficient and good-humored and terribly proud of her. As soon as they had enough chairs and crates collected to seat a fair number of guests, they threw a party and Jack’s office staff came to wish them well.

  None of them knew he was a homosexual. Jack was a past master at deception. “You have to be if you’re going to survive in the world,” he said to her once. “It’s either that or retire into a rotten little prison with the rest of the gay people and spend your life feeling sorry for yourself. No thanks, not for me. Sex rules my nights. But by God, as far as the world knows, I’m a normal man from dawn to dusk. And there isn’t one guy in that office who’d question it.”

  She admired him for it. Her own vagrant sensuality had dominated her ever since the fatal day she first recognized it, and her efforts to hide it or deny it had always backfired sooner or later. Jack filled her with determination to make herself a part of what he called “the real world,” the straight world. He made it seem very desirable to her for the first time.

  Jack’s office buddies brought their wives, except for two dauntless bachelors who spent the evening berating Jack for treason.

  “Are they gay?” Laura asked him in a whisper. “The unmarried ones?”

  “Not gay, just scared,” he said. “Winslow is, though. That one over there with the gorgeous wife. Poor guy, I don’t think he knows it. They aren’t very happy.” And he nodded at the suave young man in his early thirties with a stunning and rather bored young woman beside him. Laura looked at the girl without a trace of desire and felt a quiet little spark of triumph. The future looked bright if she could be around so lovely a woman without even a hungry glance.

  The autumn months passed uneventfully, and they got used to each other, and most of their worst fears abated. Jack never wandered around the apartment naked, out of instinctive respect for Laura. He did drop his socks all over the floor and leave his dresser drawers open. But he never lost his temper. He took her out to
dinner once or twice a week, and he brought her flowers and books and pretty things that caught his eye in the windows of the stores he passed.

  And he loved her. It sustained Laura through her low hours of doubt and confusion. She was the weak one of the two, and they both knew it. There were times when Jack had to be strong enough for both of them; times when Laura would cling to him weeping and tell him it was all a horrible mistake and she couldn’t live without Tris, no matter how godawful it would be.

  And then he didn’t argue with her. He only said, “If you have to go, go, but come back. I want you here tonight at dinner time. I want you here in the morning when I get up. There’ll be women in your life, I’m prepared for that, honey. Tris won’t be the last. But there’s only one man, and there will only be one man and don’t you ever forget it.”

  He sounded so sensible and firm to her that her unrest would disappear. Now and then, when she was not in a passion for Tris, they talked about it. And she would say, “I know it’ll happen one of these days, but I won’t let it hurt us, Jack. When I can think about it like this, rationally and without fear, I know I can handle it. I won’t panic when the time comes. I’ll just accept it as quietly as I can. I won’t let it touch our marriage.”

  “Good girl,” he said and squeezed her arm.

  There was no sex between them. Neither of them wanted it, and that was the way they planned it. Jack would make her take his arm when they went anywhere because he was proud of her. And he gave her a friendly peck when he left in the morning and when he came back at night. When she was frightened or depressed he held her and stroked her hair and talked to her the way she had always prayed her father would. And he liked to lie with his head in her lap and have her read to him before they went to bed.

  But that was the limit of their physical contact. It was affectionate and gentle but utterly sexless. After the first few weeks, Laura began to like it. She had been shy at first and reluctant. But he didn’t force her, and after a while she welcomed his little gestures of love. They spelled security and reassurance to her. Suddenly it occurred to her that Jack was a man who was taking care of his woman. And she relaxed. She felt her nerves ease and her tension relax. The apartment was quiet and pretty, and Laura, who was lazy as a cat for the first time in her life, felt like a princess.