by Ann Bannon
“I don’t know what I believe any more.”
And Paula said, “I love you, Beebo. Do you believe that?”
Beebo lifted Paula’s fine face and covered it with kisses while Paula kept repeating, “I love you, I love you,” until the words—the unadorned words—brought Beebo crashing to a climax, rolling over on Paula, embracing her with those long strong legs.
She felt Paula sobbing in the early dawn and raised up on an elbow to look at her. “Darling, did I hurt you?” she asked anxiously, not stopping to think that she had never called a girl “darling” before, either.
“No,” Paula said. “It’s just—I’ve been so unhappy, so confused. I thought the world had ended a month ago, and tonight it’s just beginning. It’s brand new. I’m so happy it scares me.”
Beebo held her tenderly and brushed the tears off her cheeks. Paula put her head in the crook of Beebo’s arm and gazed at her. “You must have been born making love, Beebo.”
“How do you know?” Beebo had no intention of setting the record straight just then.
“I don’t, really. It’s just that I never reacted to anybody the way I have to you. I never did this with anybody before.”
“Never made love?” Beebo said, surprised almost into laughter. The blind leading the blind, she thought.
“No, I’ve made love before,” Paula said thoughtfully. “With men, too. It’s just that I never…. You’ll think I’m making this up, but it’s the truth. I never—oh, God help me, I’m frigid. I mean, I was, till tonight.”
Beebo lay there in the dark, holding her, torn between the wish to accept it and the suspicion that she was fibbing.
“You don’t believe me,” Paula said resignedly. “I shouldn’t have told you. It’s enough that it happened.”
Beebo petted her, smoothing her hair and letting her hands glide over Paula’s silky body. “Okay, you never came before,” she said. “Now I’ll tell you a fish story. I never made love before.”
Paula laughed good-naturedly. “All right, we’re even,” she said. “That’s a real whopper. Mine was the truth.”
Beebo laughed with her, and it didn’t matter any more whether she had been lied to or not. It was the truth in spirit, and only Paula knew if it was the truth in fact. Her attraction to Beebo was so real that it took shape in the night, surrounding her like the aura of her perfume. Beebo kissed her while she was still laughing. “You have such a mouth, Paula. Such a mouth…”
“Does it please you?”
“You please me. All of you,” Beebo said, and she meant it. Paula was wholly feminine, soft and submissive. She was finely constructed, looking somehow as breakable, as valuable—and as durable—as Limoges china. Beebo wanted to protect her, accomplish things for her.
She kept touching her admiringly. “You’re so tiny,” she said. “I’m going to feed you lasagna and put some meat on your bones.”
“Will you buy me a new wardrobe when I get too fat for my old one?”
“I’ll buy you anything. Mink coats. Meals at the Ritz. New York City,” Beebo said.
“All of it?”
“Just the good parts.”
Paula clutched at her suddenly, first laughing, then trembling. “Beebo, don’t leave me,” she said. “I do love you.” She seemed dumbfounded. “It frightens me, it makes me believe all over again in my childhood dreams. Did you ever feel like that?”
“Only on the bad days. My childhood wasn’t that pretty,” Beebo said.
“When are the bad days?”
“Never any more. Not with Paula around.”
They got up at noon the next day, and it was some time before Beebo could think rationally about her job. She should call Marie, she should call Jack and tell him where she was. But it was impossible to get out of the bed while Paula was in it. And every time Paula sat up, Beebo pulled her down.
“Let me make breakfast,” Paula smiled, and after wrestling a moment, pulled free and scampered halfway across the bedroom, pulling a sheet after her. She stood with her dazzling naked back, delicately sugared with freckles, to Beebo, who admired it in infatuated silence.
Paula ruffled through her closet looking for a negligee until Beebo said, “Paula, are you in love with me or that sheet?”
“I don’t want you to see me,” Paula confessed. “You said I was too thin.”
“I said ‘tiny.’ And beautiful. Honey, I felt you all over; I know you with my hands. Would it be so awful if I know you with my eyes, too?” When Paula hesitated, Beebo threw the covers off and stood by the bed.
Paula studied her in silence. “You’re wonderful,” she breathed at last.
“I’m homely,” Beebo answered. “But I’m not ashamed of it.”
“You are many things, Beebo, but homely isn’t one of them,” Paula declared. She faced Beebo sheet-first, like a highborn Roman girl in her wedding chiton. “How many girls have admired you like this?”
“Never a one,” Beebo said. She crossed the room toward Paula and saw her flinch. “Are you afraid of me?” she said, surprised.
“A little.”
“No, Paula.” Beebo reached her, touching her with gentle hands. “I’d never hurt you. Don’t you know that?”
“Not with your hands, maybe,” Paula said, bending her graceful neck to kiss one. “But I’m so in love…it would take so little. And scores of other girls must want you, Beebo. It would hurt me awfully if you ever wanted them.”
“What girls?” Beebo scoffed.
“Well, for a starter—Mona.”
“Paula, I kissed Mona twice. She stood me up twice. That’s the end of that,” Beebo said flatly. Abruptly, she pulled Paula’s sheet off and gazed delightedly on the fresh fair curves beneath. And before Paula had time to blush, Beebo picked her up, grateful at last for the uncomely strength in her arms, and placed her on the bed.
“Beebo,” Paula whispered, her arms locked tightly around Beebo’s neck. “How old are you?”
Beebo couldn’t blurt idiotically, “Eighteen.” Instead she asked, “How old do I look?”
“Like a college kid,” Paula sighed. “Which makes me older than you. I’m twenty-five, Beebo.”
“An ancient ruin.” Beebo kissed her nonchalantly, but she was secretly surprised. Nonetheless it pleased her to have won an older girl.
They made love again, lazily now. There was no wild rush, no fear on Beebo’s part that it would hurt and disillusion her. They rolled in caresses like millionaires in blue chips…ran their fingers over each other, and kissed and tickled and laughed and blew in each other’s ears.
And all the while Paula kept repeating, with the transparent affection that is the crown of femininity, “I love you, Beebo. I love you so much.”
Beebo couldn’t answer. She couldn’t have been happier, or hotter, or more rapturously charmed with the girl. She could hardly believe she had found one so lovely, so generous, so responsive, so single.
But there was a lot of roaming restless curiosity in Beebo, and while she was willing and eager to make love to and romanticize Paula, she was not willing to fall in love with her.
It wasn’t Paula’s fault, though Paula, with a woman’s quick awareness of emotions, sensed the situation. It was just that Beebo wasn’t ready for it. Paula had come too early in Beebo’s life. And that fact alone made Paula realize how young Beebo must be.
Beebo had caught Paula in a vulnerable state, on the rebound from an unhappy love affair with the girl in the plaid pajamas. But it was the culmination of a lot of bad affairs with both sexes that had left Paula drained and skeptical; hopeless about her future and unable to cope with her present. She had nearly taken the whole bottle of sleeping pills the night before, instead of the four that knocked her out.
Beebo was too good to be true, too young to know herself, too masculine to be faithful. But how strong she was, how sensual and sure; in some ways, wise beyond her years with that hard-won maturity Jack had perceived months before.
Paula tried
to tell herself, as she lay in Beebo’s embrace, that she had nothing more than a hot crush that would end as suddenly as it began, and make her laugh to think she had called it love. She wanted very much to believe it, because it would have spared her the pain of losing Beebo Brinker to another girl—a pain she was in no condition to take safely then.
They ate together in Paula’s kitchen, and Paula obligingly sat on Beebo’s lap and let Beebo feed her. They were enchanted with each other. It was the kind of day everybody ought to have once in a while; if you knew it was coming, you could bear the boredom and solitude in the interim.
Paula told Beebo about her young years in Washington, D.C., and the shock that accompanied her suspicions that she was a Lesbian. Because it was Paula speaking, and because Beebo had never talked heart-to-heart with another Lesbian, the story seemed remarkable. She held Paula on her knees, answering with sympathy and affection, troubled and touched by it…and stirred by the warmth of Paula’s close, firm bottom.
They were startled when the phone cut in on them late in the afternoon.
Paula answered it over Beebo’s protests. “Hello?” she said, and as she listened her eyes went to Beebo in surprise. Finally she held out the receiver. “It’s for you,” she said. “Jack Mann.”
Beebo stood up, concerned. “How did he know I was here?”
“You’re his roommate, he says. Roommates ought to keep track of each other,” Paula said, teasing but with just a trace of chill in her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me you were straight, Beebo?”
Beebo took the phone with a comical grimace. “You would have guessed, anyway,” she said. “Hey—do you know Jack?”
“Everybody knows Jack,” said Paula.
Into the receiver Beebo said, “Jackson?”
“I hear you’ve been out stupefying the female population of Greenwich Village,” Jack said. “You must have something. Paula’s usually a deep freeze.”
“How did you know I was here?” Beebo said.
“My spies are everywhere. And a damn good thing, too. I would have given you up for dead. Listen, pal, I just got an S.O.S. from Marie. There’s a very large customer on Park Avenue who wants a very large pizza right now. Marie is whipping it up and Beebo will whip it over to said customer.”
“Park Avenue is Pete’s territory,” Beebo said. “He won’t like it.”
“He’s out somewhere, as usual. Marie can’t find him and besides, she’s afraid to look.”
“You want me to leave now?” Disappointment growled in her voice.
“I know Paula, honey; she’s a good girl. If she likes you enough to sleep with you, she likes you enough to wait for you.”
“You mean you knew this beautiful girl all along and didn’t tell me about her?” Beebo said, grinning at Paula.
“Well, hell, you waited two months to tell me you wanted one. Come on, Marie’s in a hurry. Show her what you’re made of.”
“I’m made of sugar and spice, like the rest of the girls,” Beebo said sourly. “It doesn’t mix with cheese and anchovies.”
“Get your ass over there, Beebo,” Jack said. “This order goes to Venus Bogardus.”
The name rang in Beebo’s head. “The actress?” she said, frowning. “She’s not one of our customers.”
“She is now.”
“But Jack, my God. Venus Bogardus!”
“The original. The girl with the bosom that just won’t stop. Can you take it?”
“It’s worth it just for a look,” Beebo grinned. “Okay, call Marie and tell her I’m coming. And Jack—I know I should have called you. I’m sorry.”
Beebo hung up and walked to Paula, expecting to embrace her and explain. But Paula was quite pale. “What’s all this about Pete and Marie? Do you mean the Pasquinis?”
“Yes. I work for them. Marie wants me to deliver a pizza to—”
“—to Venus Bogardus. I heard. Beebo, why didn’t you tell me about Pete?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Beebo said, mystified. “Honey, are you mad at me? Why?”
“Pete and Mona are thick as thieves. What Mona does, Pete does; what Mona thinks, Pete thinks—unless they’re quarreling. If they don’t like you, they’d as soon exterminate you. They wouldn’t cut you down if you were hanging.”
Beebo laughed a little at this explosion. “I know you don’t like Mona, honey. But Pete’s just a twerp. He’s the one who sent me over here last night. I’ll admit it wasn’t exactly ethical.”
“Then Mona knows you’re here. How charming,” Paula said sourly.
“So what’s Mona, the Wicked Witch?” Paula scowled and Beebo said, “Okay, Pete’s a slob; and my opinion of Mona is slipping fast. But I can’t be mad at anybody who sent me to you, Paula, no matter what their motives were.”
“Now they’ll do everything to take you away from me,” Paula said, looking fearfully at Beebo.
“There’s no way they could do that, sweetheart,” Beebo said, pulling Paula down beside her on the bed. “Paula, I’ll be back in an hour. I won’t do anything but deliver the pizza.”
Paula clung to her. “Promise,” she said. “And if Milady Bogardus walks into the room, you have to shut your eyes and run.”
“At the same time?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to break my neck?” Beebo laughed.
“Better your neck than my heart,” Paula whispered.
At the door Beebo took Paula’s hands and kissed them the way Paula had first kissed hers. “I never liked Venus Bogardus,” she said. “I read somewhere that her curves are built into her clothes. She’s about as sexy as a hatrack under the finery—and a cool forty-eight years old.”
“Come back,” Paula said seriously. “That’s all I ask.”
They parted and Beebo left the building with a soaring pride and satisfaction that seemed to lift her clear of the pavement.
Marie Pasquini was waiting in the shop when Beebo arrived. She had just argued with her mother-in-law and it made her visage long and dark.
“Thank God, a happy face,” she said when she saw Beebo.
“Maybe we ought to find Pete, Marie,” Beebo said. “He considers Park his street.”
“His street!” Marie spat. “It’s too good for him. An alley full of donkey-do is too good for him.”
“Too bad for you there ain’t no such alleys handy,” said Pete’s voice from the front of the shop, approaching the kitchen. “You’d be right at home in one. Like the one where I found you in Bordeaux.” He appeared in the kitchen doorway, making Beebo wonder how long he had been lurking there. Unaccountably, he gave her a case of gooseflesh.
“Here he comes,” said Marie to Beebo. “Captain Marvel. Okay, Captain, here’s an order. You want to deliver?”
“That depends on Beebo,” Pete said, meandering unsteadily toward her. “Where were you today, butch? I had to make all the deliveries myself.” His grin made her want to hit him.
“I was indisposed,” she said.
“Indisposed,” he mimicked in a fussy voice. “Well, ain’t that a shame. I understand Paula Ash was indisposed today, too.” His breath smelled of zinfandel.
Beebo stared at him with cold-eyed loathing and then stalked toward the back door.
“Wait a minute!” Pete called.
“Not for you,” Beebo said.
“Beebo!” It was Marie’s voice this time. “He’s full of dry red. He can’t drive. Please, I don’t want to lose Venus Bogardus. Nor the truck, neither,” she added, with a significant glance at Pete.
At the sound of that famous name, Pete burst into winy laughter. “Go on, Beebo, go on. Maybe she’ll fall for you, too,” he said. “How you gonna keep two of ’em happy at the same time? You want a few lessons?”
Beebo took the wrapped pizza from Marie and stormed out of the kitchen. She could hear the opening blast of a real wingding behind her.
Beebo drove through a light rain that was quickly slicking down the city streets. It was Midwestern weather
. Her father’s face crossed her mind, obscuring some of her revulsion against Pete. I wonder where Dad thinks I am now? she mused despondently.
She punished herself by picturing her father: a tan solid man, with the lines of worry and weather on his face, delivering a foal to its snorting, laboring mother; stooping with the burdens of alcohol and anxiety over his strange young daughter.
Beebo felt a surge of guilty love for him as she neared the address Marie had given her. She almost drove past. It was a big chilly building that looked loftily down on the summer sprinkle.
Beebo went up on the service elevator, her head full of whirling images: Paula, of the glorious red hair and sweet mouth. The big kindly father whose love had made her strong and himself weak. The people who had lately come to matter in her life in the city.
She knocked on the back door, becoming aware as she did so of strident voices within: a woman’s, bright and soprano with anger; a boy’s breaking with resentment; another woman, refereeing timidly for the first two.
“All right, all right, answer the goddamn door!” cried the soprano.
“Mother, do you have to swear like a whore?” the boy cried. “In front of delivery boys?”
“What do you care what I do with delivery boys, darling?”
Beebo recognized the celebrated voice, just as the door opened. “Are you the pizza?” asked a gray dumpling of a woman.
“No, but I have one with me,” Beebo grinned. Her voice stilled the argument momentarily. “Five bucks,” Beebo told the Dumpling, who wore a white uniform like a nurse, or nanny. Beebo waited for the money, suddenly full of springy laughter that might go off any second like a string of firecrackers.
“Five bucks?” said Venus Bogardus. “I haven’t got a damn dime.”
With a thrill of recognition, Beebo suddenly saw her. She was wearing a scarlet, silk-jersey dress. When she moved, she proved there was nothing beneath it. The hatrack story lay down and died. But Beebo was still so full of Paula that the sight of Venus Bogardus was little more than an entertainment.