The Beebo Brinker Omnibus

by Ann Bannon

  Chapter Nineteen

  OUTSIDE IT WAS MUGGY AND HOT, WITH AN OVERCAST SKY. “Rain,” Beebo said. “In an hour. It can’t miss.”

  They walked over to Sixth Avenue and hailed a taxi, and all the while Beth was looking around her, behind and on all sides for the little man she was so sure was the detective. Now, when she was aware of him, when she knew who he was and what he was up to, she couldn’t find him anywhere. And yet she was convinced that his eyes were on her, peering around some shadowy corner.

  “Do you see him?” said Beebo, noticing her nervousness.

  “No. I’ll tell you if I do.”

  At the Beaton she checked at the desk for a note from Merrill Landon. Or her family, she thought suddenly, with rancor. There was no reason why they couldn’t write to her now if they wanted to. They certainly knew where she was.

  But there was nothing, nothing but the curious stares of the clerk and the elevator boy. Beth didn’t know if they were for her or Beebo, or both. For Beebo cut rather a startling figure, even in her own milieu in the Village. Uptown, where everybody looked or tried to look perfectly conventional and ordinary, she was painfully obvious. Beth guessed that she didn’t often come uptown, if only to spare herself embarrassment. There wasn’t much Beebo could do about her looks, and rather than hide them she had finally surrendered to nature and even exaggerated them. It was a question which would have made her stand out the more—trying to hide her looks or playing them up. At least playing them up didn’t expose her to the condescending pity that hiding them would have.

  Beebo went with Beth up to her room. “It’s a miracle I still have the key,” Beth said, opening her purse. “And a little money. I thought people were supposed to rob you in the big city.”

  “They are,” Beebo said as Beth pushed the door open. “Keep trying, they will.”

  Beth hesitated a moment before going in, feeling her heart give a tight squeeze and half expecting Charlie’s handsome disillusioned face to rise up from the chair or the bed and stare at the two women with a look of evil suspicion confirmed. But the room was empty.

  “Will you come in?” Beth asked, turning to Beebo, but Beebo shook her head.

  “You rest, baby,” she said. “You don’t need me. You’re beat. It shows all over you. I’ll call you later, maybe tonight.”

  “Thanks,” Beth said, “for coming home with me. I was so afraid he’d be here.”

  “I don’t know what I could have done if he was,” Beebo grinned. “Except get the hell out and let the sparks fly. He probably will show up, by the way, if your detective is worth his pay.”

  “I know. But I’m glad it’s not now,” Beth said. “I couldn’t face anything just now.”

  “Okay, baby, get some sleep,” Beebo said and turned to go.

  “You will call, won’t you?” Beth called after her, and immediately wished she had kept her mouth shut. It made her sound so eager.

  “Yes, I’ll call.” Beebo smiled, and then Beth shut the door after her, leaning on it until she heard the elevator stop, open, and start up again, carrying Beebo down with it.

  For the first time since she had met Beebo, it caused her real pain to leave her. Beebo seemed like a protection to her, a gentle strength and a certainty to lean on. Was it only because Beebo was good to her? Patient with her? Was it because she knew so much about the strange and special world of Lesbianism and was willing to share her knowledge without making it painful for Beth? Or was it something compelling, something ineffably attractive in Beebo herself?

  I’m just grateful to her, that’s all, Beth tried to tell herself. She saved me from a lot of extra suffering. She’s been good and generous. But then, why is it—why—? Why did she tremble when Beebo touched her? It was not the quake of fear but rather the lovely shivering of pleasure. Beebo stirred her physically. At first Beebo had appealed to Beth’s mind, her need for help and understanding. And then, subtly and softly, like an enveloping cloud, the appeal had broadened and deepened, assumed an erotic glow.

  Now, at last, thinking of her and afraid to think of her, wanting her and afraid to want her, Beth found herself absorbed in this unique, rather frightening, rather wonderful human being.

  Coming back to reality, Beth turned and pulled down the bed, taking off her shoes and dress and tossing them carelessly into the chair beside the bed. Then she opened both windows partway, letting in a breeze and a few drops of rain. She lay down, half falling because it felt so good to let go, and she lay with her eyes open for a little while, fixed on the ceiling but seeing Beebo. She did not try to puzzle out the glow she felt. Instead she simply relaxed and let herself be drawn to this odd human being who was like no one else she had ever seen or known.

  Her limbs began to feel warm and soft, and gradually, in spite of herself, her eyes closed. They fluttered open once or twice but shut again almost immediately. Her thoughts reached that state of confusion and haphazardness that resembles dreams, and she was very near to sleep when the door opened.

  Which door? Beth never afterward was sure. The closet door and the door to the hall were the only two in the room, and she could not recall whether she had locked the hall door after Beebo or not.

  It seemed to her, later, when she tried to reconstruct it all in her mind, that it must have been the closet door, that Beth and Beebo had surprised Vega when they first entered the room and she had taken refuge in the closet, like a spy in a bad thriller, and waited until everything was quiet again.

  Beth opened her eyes at the small sound of the door squeaking and looked about a little, unalarmed. There was still a breeze in the room from the two half-open windows. It could have moved the door. But it hadn’t. She realized, with a sudden horrified shudder of fear, that she was not alone. And when she raised herself up partway on the bed she saw Vega standing at the foot of it.

  “Just stay there, don’t get up,” Vega said, and her words, the look of her, her tragic eyes, terrified Beth. “Who was that other one? The one that was just here with you?” Vega said.

  “Beebo?” Beth said. “Do you know her?” she added inanely, her fear distorting her sense.

  “No.” Vega smiled sadly.

  “Vega, what are you doing here? How did you find me?” Beth stammered. “How long have you been here?”

  “Since yesterday. The whole family knows where you are now, Beth. I only wish I’d known sooner.” There was a flat controlled quality about her, as if she was hanging on tightly to herself, her feelings, that was new and ominous in Vega.

  Beth made a move to get up, but Vega motioned her back on the bed with a swift movement of her hand, and Beth saw then for the first time that she held a gun. It was small and black, shiny and almost dainty for the deadly thing it was. It gleamed softly with reflected light in Vega’s hand and for a long time Beth stared at it incredulously. The knowledge that she was in mortal danger gave her a grip on herself, a sort of eerie calm that floated on top of her panic.

  “Vega, you aren’t going to use that thing,” she said, her voice low and coaxing. “Whatever I did to you, it wasn’t that bad. I don’t deserve it.”

  “It didn’t seem that bad to you because you weren’t the one who was hurt,” Vega said.

  “It was a lot of things that hurt you, not just me,” Beth urged.

  “You were all that mattered.”

  She was so beautiful, so pale, so alarmingly thin, thinner even than Beth had remembered her. Beth felt a start of compassion for her, but the weapon in Vega’s hand restrained her.

  “Vega, can’t we talk?” she pleaded. “Can’t we talk about it? Don’t do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

  “I wish somebody had been there to tell you the same thing before you left me,” she said.

  “I—I’m desperately sorry, Vega,” Beth murmured. “I was a coward. I’m ashamed of it. God knows I’ve suffered too. I’ve thought of you so often, I—”

  “I know, I saw your letter to Cleve. You must have asked a
bout me at least once.”

  “I was afraid it would upset him to ask more.”

  “You just didn’t care.”

  “I cared, Vega,” she said urgently. “I loved you once.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Vega said and her eyes widened and her hand began to tremble. “Is that what you call the hell you put me through, never knowing if I’d see you or hear from you from one day to the next? Dying of love for you and need of you, and having to beg to see you? You loathed me, Beth, you were just looking for a way to get rid of me.” Her voice rose steadily through her words, though she tried to stop it.

  “No, Vega. That’s not why I ran away. That had nothing to do with it.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Beth!” Vega cried, and Beth could almost feel, like a tightening wire, her nerves stretching and the electric feeling of hysteria in the air. She mustn’t let Vega get hysterical.

  “Vega, whatever happened, it was all a mistake. It was all my fault, too, I should never have done the things I did, but I did them anyway. I did what I felt compelled to do. I wasn’t happy hurting you. I never wanted to see you suffer.”

  “You left in time to miss most of it,” Vega told her acidly. “Maybe you know about that part. I was in Camarillo for a while.

  Did Cleve tell you?”

  “Yes, he told me,” Beth said, humble before this catalog of torments.

  “Did he also tell you that he knows everything about us?”

  “No!” Beth cried, chagrin plain in her open mouth and startled eyes.

  “I told him,” Vega said with quiet desperation. “I was out of my mind. I couldn’t help it, but I think I would have anyway. It couldn’t hurt me anymore and I had to hurt you somehow. It festered in me like a cancer, Beth. It’s been eating me alive all this time.” The feverish flush in her thin cheeks bore out her words.

  Beth tried to sit up again but Vega threatened her with a swift movement of the gun and Beth stayed where she was, propped on one elbow. “Vega,” she pleaded, beginning to lose faith in her powers of persuasion. “I know it’s been bad, I know it’s been terrible for you. Do you think that’s the only reason I ran away? Didn’t Cleve tell you anything? I told him to explain about Charlie, and the rest of it. Do you think it was easy for me to leave my children?”

  “I don’t know. I only know I’m the one who suffered most from your going. Aside from that I don’t think anything anymore. And I know just one other thing, Beth, I want to see you suffer. I want to see you scared and shaking and miserable the way I’ve been ever since you left.”

  She sat down in a chair facing the bed, as though she meant to stay a while.

  “Will you—have a drink?” Beth asked. God, if I could just get her drunk! she thought.

  “Cleve’s been doing all the family drinking lately,” Vega said. “I dried out in the hospital.” Her voice was so cold, her attitude so rare and strange in one given to hysterics, that Beth shivered involuntarily.

  “Cigarette?” Beth said. If only she could get things on a talking basis, instead of this sharp bitter exchange that cut and frightened her; if only Vega would break down and cry and wail and let herself be comforted.

  “I don’t feel like it,” Vega said, waving the pack away. Her voice, her eyes, left no doubt that she spoke the truth.

  They stayed like that for a little while, neither one speaking or moving. Beth found Vega’s desperate eyes, the only part of her that seemed alive, more than she could bear, and she looked away.

  “How long are you going to stay there like that?” she said at last.

  “As long as I need to,” Vega said cryptically.

  “Vega, I know what I did was crazy. I know you’ve been miserable.”

  “My life was wrecked, Beth.”

  “I—I know—”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I only meant—”

  “Nothing you can say means anything.”

  And Beth, for the first time, thought that her life might end that very day in the face of that very gun, sitting idle and quiet in the hands of a madwoman. For it was clear that Vega blamed her whole life on Beth. All the sorrows and errors and accidents somehow had been Beth’s fault and Vega, feeling as she did, could kill her with a clear conscience. It made Beth’s flesh creep.

  Death. She had never thought about it much before, except to wonder how it felt, if it felt, and to think it could never happen to her. It was as unreal as old age, as a hydrogen war, as blindness, as any tragedy that had never happened to her. How could you face death when you knew nothing about it? How could you die all unprepared like this, terrified and ugly and foolish in your underwear? Didn’t she have a right to dignity, a right to respect and to a decent end with some warning? Didn’t she have a right to a long life before that happened, a life that would end slowly and gradually and gracefully—not in one sickening crack of doom?

  When would Vega pull the trigger? Beth began to watch the gun as if it were an animal with a life of its own, a third presence in the room. She couldn’t drag her eyes from it. She looked at the sleek short barrel and the small black hole at the end, wondering when it would erupt in flashing death.

  Maybe the bullet will miss me, she thought, feeling the pounding of her constricted heart. Maybe she’ll just wound me. And I’ll leap at her and grab the thing before she realizes what’s happened. No, maybe it would be better to pretend I’m dead, just fall back and lie on the bed as if I’m stone dead. But what if she comes over and looks at me and sees it’s just a flesh wound? Or what if she empties the damned gun into me? She almost whimpered aloud with terror. Her fear was a thing alive, a separate living creature in that haunted room, and Vega could feel it. But her face was stony and dreadful.

  Beth lay back on the bed at last. If she wants to shoot me dead she’ll have to stand up to do it now, she thought. At least that’ll give me some warning. And almost in the next instant she wondered if she wanted any warning. If it had to be, wouldn’t it be better to die abruptly and without the agony of seeing it come and being helpless to stop it?

  The day ended little by little to the tune of rain and wind and the room grew dark. Small drops pattered in at the windows. Beth reached over with utmost caution and turned the light on beside the bed, and immediately cursed herself for it. It only made her a better target. But Vega would have done it herself anyway, sooner or later, and maybe the mere fact of having to move would have stirred her to fire.

  Beth watched her, her mad, despairing eyes, and the horror of it was almost unbearable. “Vega, do something,” she cried, and her own voice shocked her into stillness again. “It couldn’t have been that bad,” she cried again, later, supplicating, unwittingly using the same words to Vega that Charlie had used to her.

  “If you scream I’ll do it now,” Vega said, and with a sick gasp Beth clamped her mouth shut.

  They sat in tortured silence for a while longer. Beth looked at her watch. It was past ten. Her stomach stirred and she knew it was empty, but there was no desire for food in her. She thought with urgent envy of the careless, casual people below her in the streets, eating in the bright, cheerful restaurants, seeing the movies and shows, crossing the streets and chatting with each other. And life, so mundane and full of anxieties, seemed achingly beautiful to her. It didn’t matter who she was, it didn’t matter where she belonged. It only mattered to keep on living, to keep life strong and safe and have a second chance at it.

  “Vega,” she tried again in a raspy voice at close to midnight, “you’ll never get away with it. You know that, don’t you?”

  “What makes you think I care?” Vega said. “Do you think I could possibly give a damn anymore what happens to me?”

  “But your mother. And Gramp. And Cleve and Jean!” Beth said, hoping with the force of panic to hit a sensitive chord.

  “I spit on them all,” Vega said. “Do you wonder why I’m not screaming, Beth?” she added in her voice that was calm with the serenity of madness. “I’ve don
e all my screaming, that’s why. I did it all at Cleve and Mother. And the doctors, the first few weeks I was in the hospital. There isn’t any left in me. Gramp is dead, Beth. And Mother is dying, just like all those neglected cats. Cleve doesn’t count, he never amounted to anything. I have only you now. I have your whole future in my hand, here. And it’s going to pay for my whole past.” She shook the gun back and forth. “I have your life and your death, I have infinite power over you, and nothing, not tears or begging or hypocritical love or fancy excuses, is going to save you. Nothing.”

  “Then do it now!” Beth cried in a cracking voice. “Do it now!” But every inch of her was tense with prayers for mercy.

  “When I’m ready,” Vega said. “When I’m good and ready.”

  And so they sat on in the small pool of light in the little hotel room with the instrument of death a wall between them and an everlasting tie. Beth thought of Gramp, Vega’s grandfather, small and dry, coming into the overheated house with his arms full of cats. He was only a vague image in her mind, yet she mourned him with a sort of stricken sympathy.

  She wondered if Vega was trying to drive her mad, too, and she felt so near to abandoned shrieking, so near to violent shudders and agonized pleas for help, that she thought her heart and bones would crack from the pressure. If that was what Vega was after, it wouldn’t be long before she had it.

  And still they sat on and on and on. And Beth thought of her children. Perhaps now, at long last, they’d be happy. She couldn’t shame them anymore. No rotten little detective was going to follow her around New York or any other town, taking notes on the girls she met and the food she ate and the money she spent, and then sell his pitiful information to her rich uncle.

  And Charlie. Would he care? How would it strike him? Would he mourn her? In her deepest heart she knew he would, and that made her more frightened, more miserable.

  The phone rang with a shattering clamor that drew a small scream of suppressed hysteria from Beth. She looked at Vega with wide eyes, and Vega said, “Answer it.”