The Beebo Brinker Omnibus

by Ann Bannon

  “I’m not sorry I’m dancing with you, if that’s what you mean,” Beebo said.

  “That’s what I mean,” Mona smiled. “Would you like to dance without an audience, Beebo?”

  Beebo frowned at her. “You mean ditch your friends?”

  Mona could see that Beebo was offended by such a suggestion of two-timing; and Mona was interested enough in this big, beautiful, strange girl not to want her offended. “They aren’t true friends,” Mona said plaintively, “that you can count on, anyway. It’s all over between Todd and me, too. We just came here to bury the corpse tonight. This is where we met five months ago.”

  “Five months? That’s not very long to be in love with somebody,” Beebo said.

  “I wasn’t,” Mona said.

  “Was she?” It seemed indescribably sad to Beebo that one partner be in love and the other feel nothing. She wanted everyone to be happy on this night full of sequin-lights and clouds of music: even Todd.

  “I never meant much to Todd,” Mona said. “Talk about ditching, Beebo. I’m the one who’s getting ditched.”

  “You?” Beebo held her tightly, glad for the excuse. “How could anyone ever do that to you?”

  Mona swayed against her, smiling with her eyes shut, and Beebo was too immersed in her to notice the look on Todd’s face.

  “She likes to torment her lovers,” Mona whispered. “She uses them, as if they were things. When she gets tired of them, she puts them in a drawer and pulls them out to show off, like trophies. That’s all she does—collect broken hearts.”

  “She sounds like a female dog,” Beebo commented. And yet the little speech recalled disturbingly some of Jack’s remarks about Mona; as if Mona were amusing herself by describing her own faults to Beebo and pretending they were Todd’s.

  The music ended and they stood on the floor a moment, arms still clasped about each other. “Wait at the bar,” Mona whispered into Beebo’s ear. “I’ll get my coat.” Beebo glanced doubtfully at the table, but Mona said, “It’ll be better if I tell her alone. Go on.”

  Beebo released her reluctantly, went to her seat, and sipped at her drink till Mona came up. She let Mona lead the way, feeling a sudden wild exhilaration as she followed, lighting a cigarette, holding the door for Mona, taking the street side when they reached the sidewalk.

  “Was Todd angry?” she asked.

  “No one wants to look the fool,” Mona said lightly, with a smile.

  “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t like to get you up the creek, Mona,” Beebo said. “I didn’t want trouble.”

  “I make my own trouble, Beebo. I thrive on it. The way I see it—” she paused to give Beebo her arm, and Beebo took it smoothly, with a sense of power and burgeoning desire, “—life is flat and dreary without trouble.” Mona dodged a puddle, then continued. “Good trouble. Exciting trouble. You can’t just walk across the Flats forever, doing what’s expected of you. Excitement. That’s everything to me.” Mona stopped in her tracks to look at Beebo with bright sly eyes. “Being good isn’t exciting. Right?”

  “I’m no philosopher,” Beebo said.

  “I’ll prove it to you. You’re a good person, aren’t you? You felt bad about Todd. You’ve been good all your life. But are you happy?”

  “I am right now. Are you telling me to be bad?” Beebo said, laughing.

  “Would making love to me be bad?” Mona asked her, so directly that Beebo wondered if she were being made fun of. There was no respect in Mona for the innate privacy and mystery of every human soul. She saw them all as part of the Flats—unless they could make beautiful trouble with her. Then, she was interested. Then, she saw an individual.

  “Making love to you,” Beebo said slowly, “would have to be good.”

  “I’ll make it better than good.” Mona reached up for Beebo’s shoulders, pulling her back into the dusk of a doorway. They stood there a moment, Beebo in a fever of need and fear, till Mona’s hand slid up behind her head, cupped it downward, and brought their lips together.

  Beebo came to life with a swift jerking movement. Mona’s kiss had been light and brief, until Beebo caught her again in a violent embrace and imprisoned her mouth. She forgot everything for a few minutes, holding Mona there in her arms and kissing her lips, pressing her back against the doorway and feeling the whole length of her body against Beebo’s own.

  It wasn’t till she became aware that Mona was protesting that she let her go. She stood in front of Mona, still trembling and weak-kneed, her breath coming fast and her head spinning, and she felt oddly apologetic. Mona had started it, but Beebo had carried it too far. “I’m sorry,” she panted.

  “Stop saying you’re sorry all the time,” Mona told her in a sulky voice. And, with a briskness that all but shattered the mood, she turned and started walking off, her heels snapping against the asphalt. Beebo stared after her, shocked. Was this the end of it?

  But Mona turned back after a quarter of a block and called her. “You aren’t going to spend the night there, are you?” she said crisply.

  Beebo hurried after her, and they walked for two more blocks without exchanging a word. Beebo could only suppose she had done something wrong. Yet she didn’t know what, or how to make amends.

  Mona stopped at a brownstone house with six front steps. “I live here,” she said.

  Beebo glanced up at it. “Shall I leave?” she said.

  “Do you want to?”

  “Don’t answer my questions with more questions!” Beebo said, a tide of anger releasing her tongue. “Damn it, Mona, I don’t like evasions.”

  “All right. Don’t go,” Mona said, and smiled at the outburst. She went up the steps with Beebo coming uneasily behind her, opened the door, and went to the first-floor apartment in the back. At her door she pulled out her key and waited. Beebo was looking around at the hall, old and modest, but cleanly kept. The apartments in a place like this could be astonishingly chic. She had seen some belonging to Jack’s friends.

  Mona let her take it in till Beebo became aware of the silence and turned to her quizzically.

  “Approve?” Mona said.

  Beebo nodded, and Mona, as if that were the signal, turned the key in the lock. She walked over the threshold, switched on a light, and abruptly backed out again, preventing Beebo from entering.

  “What’s wrong?” Beebo said, surprised.

  “There’s someone in there,” Mona said.

  Without thinking, Beebo made a lunge for the door. She had thrown prowlers out of her father’s house before. A situation like this scared her far less than being in that room alone with Mona—much as she wanted it.

  But Mona caught her arm. “It’s a friend of mine!” she hissed. “Beebo, please!” Beebo stopped, irritated, waiting for an explanation. “It’s a girl. I told her Todd and I were breaking up,” Mona shrugged. “I guess she came over to cheer me up. We’ve been friends a long time. Oh, it’s nothing romantic, Beebo.”

  “Well, send her home,” Beebo said. It was one thing to be afraid of Mona, but another entirely to forfeit the whole night in honor of a hen party.

  “I can’t.” Mona looked up at her in pretty distress. “She’s my one real friend and I owe her a lot. She’s had some bad times in her own life lately. Beebo, look—here’s my phone number. Call me in an hour. Maybe we can still make it.” She took a scratch pad from her purse and scribbled on it.

  Beebo took it, feeling rebuffed and insulted. But Mona stood on tiptoes and kissed her lips again. And when Beebo refused to embrace her, Mona took her wrists and pulled them around her and gave Beebo a luxurious kiss. “Forgive me,” she said. “It would be tough if she knew I’d brought someone home—it really would.” She slipped out of Beebo’s arms and put a hand on the doorknob. “Be sure to call me,” she said. And then she disappeared inside her apartment.

  Beebo stood in the hall a while, leaning on the dingy plaster and trying to make sense out of Mona. There was no sound from the apartment. Perhaps Mona and the girl had gone into a be
droom to talk. The idea made Beebo angry and jealous. She went slowly down the front hall. There was a pay phone by the entrance. Beebo went outside and sat on the front stoop for about forty-five minutes, and then went in to call.

  She had lifted the telephone receiver and was about to drop in a dime, when she heard a bang from the end of the hall, as if someone had dropped something heavy. It seemed to come from Mona’s door, and Beebo rushed toward it. But at the threshold, she froze.

  Mona’s voice, muffled as if through the walls of several rooms, but discernible, penetrated the wood. “And you! You sneak in here like a rat with the plague! God damn, how many times do I have to say it? Call first. Are you deaf or just stupid?”

  Beebo’s mouth opened as she strained to hear the answer. It came after a slight pause: “Rats don’t scare you, doll. You already got the plague.”

  Beebo whirled away from the door as if she had been burned, and stood with her knuckles pressed angrily against her temples.

  The voice belonged to a man.

  It was several days before anything happened. Beebo went back to work as usual. There were no calls, no notes, no effort on Mona’s part to get in touch with her and explain. Or apologize.

  Beebo worked dully, but gratefully. Keeping busy was a balm to her nerves. She took pleasure in driving, taking corners faster and making deliveries in better time as she learned the routes. During the morning she took out groceries. In the afternoon, it was fresh-cooked, hot Italian food in insulated cartons.

  Mona and her male visitor were on Beebo’s mind so constantly that she didn’t even take time to worry about Jack, or the possibility that he might fall in love with Pat. She saw them every evening, but said little and saw less.

  She was full of a boiling bad temper: half-persuaded to go out on the town with as many girls as she could find, sure that Mona would hear about it; and half-toying with the idea of dating a man out of sheer spite. It would be nice irony—almost worth the embarrassment and social discomfort.

  She was mad enough at Mona, in fact, to be nice to Pete. After all, Mona had stood him up too, long ago. He was still under her feet, and although he had never made any indecent proposals, he managed to always look as if he were just about to. Beebo was comforted to see that he gave the same look, and likely the same impression, to every woman in range of his sight, except his wife.

  One day at noon, she went deliberately to the table in the kitchen where he was eating and pulled up a chair, while Marie served them. Pete looked at her with his somber eyes and stopped munching for a minute. She ordinarily managed her schedule so she could eat before or after he did. Marie noticed the change, as she noticed everything, but whatever she thought, she kept her own counsel.

  “How is it with Jack and Pat?” Marie said conversationally.

  Beebo straightened around. “How did you know about that?” she said, surprised.

  “They was in earlier. Pat says he knows about bugs. Maybe he can stomp out my roaches…. He is a nice boy? I never did trust blonds.”

  Beebo felt threatened, as if Marie had just announced the end of Beebo’s life with Jack. “Sure. Very nice,” she said, and swallowed her stew. She was conscious of Pete’s piercing gaze on her face.

  “So?” Marie said, nodding. “He got a friendly style.”

  Beebo recounted mentally her evenings in the past week. Since Jack and Pat had met they had been together every night. Pat was in the apartment all day—no matter what hour Beebo dropped in during her deliveries. What about his job? And Jack? Jack Mann was a charming and persuasive man, and the fact that his face was plain did not alter the fact that his strong body was clean and pleasing, nor that his wits were quick and could make you learn and laugh.

  “What’s the matter, Beebo? You don’t like rabbit?”

  She started at Pete’s voice and pulled away. His face was too close. But she was glad for the diversion. He aimed a big spoon at her stew. “Maybe you like a cheese sandwich?”

  “No, this is fine,” she said, forcing a social smile…and then wishing it were possible to retract it. Pete was examining her curiously.

  She ate with concentration for several moments, still seeing Pat and Jack in her mind’s eye. Pat liked Jack already. He was afraid of the city, and he abominated his job. If he didn’t get back to it fast, he wouldn’t have it any more, and she knew he didn’t give a damn—as long as somebody fed and loved him. He was like a pet: a big lovable goddamn poodle. She knew his liking for Jack would grow to fondness, if not love. She could see it coming, especially at night when Jack let him talk his heart out. Nobody listened or comforted more intelligently than Jack.

  And when they fall in love—then where do I go? Shack up with Mona and her stable of strange men? she wondered. Jack’s remarks about Mona’s past were haunting her days and ruining her nights.

  “Beebo,” said a quiet male voice into her ear. “You want the afternoon off?”

  It was an indecent proposal, all right. His voice made it one.

  “No thanks,” she said frostily.

  “You look bad.”

  “I’m all right,” she snapped.

  “You could’ve fooled me,” he said. And when she didn’t answer, he went on, unwilling to let the conversation die, “The way you was acting, I thought you was sick.”

  “Maybe I am,” she said sardonically. “I’ve got the plague.”

  “The plague?” He stopped eating, his teeth poised around a bite, and grinned. “Plague, like the rats bring?”

  “Yeah.” Beebo frowned at him.

  “I got a friend with an obsession about rats,” he said. “You seen her in here once or twice. Mona. You know?” Beebo nodded, her eyes fixed on him. It was the longest she had looked at him squarely. “She tells every man she knows—and that’s plenty—he’s a rat. I asked her why once. Want to know what she said?” He paused, building suspense, while Beebo held her breath. “She says they’re all hairy…filthy…and stupid. And they’ll sleep with anything ain’t already dead. You agree?” He grinned at her.

  Beebo turned away. “I don’t know any men,” she said pointedly.

  Pete threw his hands out. “Is that nice to say?” he demanded. “Jack, I can understand. All he got of man is his name. Your father, who knows? Another fag.” Beebo got halfway out of her seat, but he protested elaborately at once. When she simmered down, he added confidentially, “But me…even Marie will admit that much, when she’s feeling honest.”

  “Marie’s in a position to have an opinion,” Beebo said acidly. “But I don’t think that’s it.”

  Pete folded his arms on the table and leaned on them, unoffended. “You want to be in that position too, Beebo?”

  “Not for a million bucks,” she said, and drank down her milk in a gesture of scorn.

  “I know a lot of good positions,” he said cozily, laughing at her.

  Beebo had enough sense not to get visibly angry; not to make a scene. It wasn’t worth it and it would only tickle Pete. If it did no more than embarrass the two women, he would be satisfied.

  She put her glass down. “What do you do with all your women, Pete?” she asked him, making no effort to keep her voice from Marie. “Line them up in half-hour shifts? It beats me how one mighty male can keep so many women happy.”

  She picked up her plate and took it to the sink.

  Marie tossed her a grin. “You tell him, Beebo,” she said. “To hear him talk, he’s sold out till next March.”

  “I’m selling nothing, bitch,” Pete told her sharply. “What I got, I give away.”

  “Listen to Robin Hood,” Beebo cracked, and walked out of the kitchen toward the truck with a load of Marie’s packaged foods. Pete followed her. Marie turned and took a step toward them, thought better of it, and returned to brood over the stove. Beebo could handle him. She didn’t need any help.

  In the parking area, Pete took some of the load from Beebo and helped her put it in the truck. “You think I brag a lot, Beebo?” he said.
>
  “I think you’re a creep,” she said.

  He waited a moment, chagrined but not about to show it. “That mean you don’t like me?” he said finally.

  “Let’s drop it, Pete.”

  “You do like me?” he pestered her.

  “What do you want, a friendship ring?” she demanded.

  Pete shrugged, staring at the low clouds, taking out a toothpick to spear the food specks stuck in his white teeth. “Just an opinion,” he said.

  “I told you. That’s Marie’s department. Now, if you’ll get out of my way, I have some deliveries to make.”

  He turned to her. “Everybody got an opinion, Beebo. You worked for me over two months now. So say it. Say the truth.”

  Beebo swallowed her aggravation. This was a game of wits, and the first man to blow off, lost. She put on the same casual cloak Pete was wearing. “You’re my boss. You keep clear of me, I keep clear of you, and we get along.”

  “You make a big thing of keeping clear,” he said. “I smell bad, or something?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I never get that close,” Beebo said.

  Something in his eyes made her swing up into the driver’s seat with unusual speed. She started the motor, but he came around the truck and pulled her door open.

  “You want to know where Mona hangs out?” he said.

  Beebo set her jaw. “Not from you,” she said tautly.

  Pete grinned. “Why not? My information is as good as the next guy’s.”

  It made Beebo wildly impatient. She gripped the steering wheel in hard hands. “You through now, Pete?” she said, gunning the motor.

  But he stood there, angled into the truck doorway so that she couldn’t move without bending some of his bones the wrong way.

  “It’s okay, Beebo, don’t get sore,” he said, and put a hand on her knee. She picked it up and dropped it like a knot of worms, and he laughed. “You know why I do that?” he asked. “‘Cause you put on such a good show. It really bugs you, don’t it? When I touch you.”