“That’s too bad.”
Beebo laughed. “I get along,” she said.
The bartender set Laura’s glass down and she reached for her change. “What’s your last name?” she said to Beebo.
“Brinker. Like the silver skates.”
Laura counted her change. She had sixty-five cents. The bartender was telling a joke to some people a few seats down, resting one hand on the bar in front of Laura, waiting for his money. She was a dime short. She counted it again, her cheeks turning hot.
Beebo watched and began to laugh. “Want your dime back?” she said.
“It’s your dime,” Laura said haughtily.
“You must have left home in a hurry, baby. Poor Laura. Hasn’t got a dime for a lousy drink.”
Laura wanted to strangle her. The bartender turned back to her suddenly and she felt her face burning. Beebo leaned toward him, laughing. “I’ve got it, Mort,” she said.
“No!” Laura said. “If you could just lend me a dime.”
Beebo laughed and waved Mort away.
“I don’t want to owe you a thing,” Laura told her.
“Too bad, doll. You can’t help yourself.” She laughed again. Laura tried to give her the change she had left, but Beebo wouldn’t take it. “Sure, I’ll take it,” she said. “And you’ll be flat busted. How’ll you get home?”
Laura went pale then. She couldn’t go home. Even if she had a hundred dollars in her pocket. She couldn’t stand to face Marcie, to explain her crazy behavior, to try to make herself sound normal and ordinary when her whole body was begging for strange passion, for forbidden release.
Beebo watched her face change and then she shook her head. “It must have been a bad fight,” she said.
“You’ve got it all wrong, Beebo. It wasn’t a fight. It was—I don’t know what it was.”
“She straight?”
“I don’t know.” Laura put her forehead down on the heel of her right hand. “Yes, she’s straight,” she whispered.
“Well, did you tell her? About yourself?”
“I don’t know if I did or not. I didn’t say it but I acted like a fool. I don’t know what she thinks.”
“Then things could be worse,” Beebo said. “But if she’s straight, they’re probably hopeless.”
“That’s what Jack said.”
“Jack’s right.”
“He’s not in love with her!”
“Makes him even righter. He sees what you can’t see. If he says she’s straight, believe him. Get out while you can.”
“I can’t.” Laura felt an awful twist of tenderness for Marcie in her throat.
“Okay, baby, go home and get your heart broken. It’s the only way to learn, I guess.”
“I can’t go home. Not tonight.”
“Come home with me.”
“No.”
“Well…” Beebo smiled. “I know a nice bench in Washington Square. If you’re lucky the bums’ll leave you alone. And the cops.”
“I’ll—I’ll go to Jack’s,” she said, suddenly brightening with the idea. “He won’t mind.”
“He might,” Beebo said, and raised her glass to her lips. “Call him first.”
Laura started to leave the bar and then recalled that all her change was sitting on the counter in front of Beebo. She turned back in confusion, her face flushing again. Beebo turned and looked at her. “What’s the matter, baby?” And then she laughed. “Need a dime?” She handed her one.
For a moment, in the relative quiet of the phone booth, Laura leaned against a wall and wondered if she might faint. But she didn’t. She deposited the dime and dialed Jack’s number. The phone rang nine times before he answered, and she was on the verge of panic when she heard him lift the receiver at last and say sleepily, “Hello?”
“Hello, Jack? Jack, this is Laura.” She was vastly relieved to find him at home.
“Sorry, we don’t want any.”
“Jack, I’ve got to see you.”
“My husband contributes to that stuff at the office.”
“Jack, please! It’s terribly important.”
“I love you, Mother, but you call me at the God-damnedest times.”
“Can I come over?”
“Jesus, no!” he exclaimed, suddenly coming wide awake.
“Oh, Jack, what’ll I do?” She sounded desperate.
“All right now, let’s get straightened out here. Let’s make an effort.” He sounded as if he had drunk a lot and just gotten to sleep, still drunk, when Laura’s call woke him up. “Now start at the beginning. And make it quick. What’s the problem?”
She felt hurt, slighted. Of all people, Jack was the one she had to count on. “I—I acted like a fool with Marcie. I don’t know what she thinks,” she half-sobbed. “Jack, help me.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing—everything. I don’t know.”
“God, Mother. Why did you pick tonight? Of all nights?”
“I didn’t pick it, it just happened.”
“What happened, damn it?”
“I—I sort of embraced her.”
There was a silence on the other end for a minute. Laura heard him say away from the receiver, “Okay, it’s okay. No, she’s a friend of mine. A friend, damn it, a girl.” Then his voice became clear and close again. “Mother, I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure I understand what happened, and if I did I still wouldn’t know what the hell to say. Where are you?”
“At The Cellar. Jack, you’ve just got to help me. Please.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. No. I’ve been talking to Beebo, but—”
“Oh! Well, God, that’s it, that’s the answer. Go home with Beebo.”
“No! I can’t, Jack. I want to come to your place.”
“Laura, honey—” He was wide awake now, sympathetic, but caught in his own domestic moils. “Laura, I’m—well, I’m entertaining.” He laughed a little at his own silliness. “I’m involved. I’m fraternizing. Oh, hell, I’m making love. You can’t come over here.” His voice went suddenly in the other direction as he said, “No, calm down, she’s not coming over.”
Then he said, “Laura, I wish I could help, honest to God. I just can’t, not now. You’ve got to believe me.” He spoke softly, confidentially, as if he didn’t want the other to hear what he said. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll call Marcie and get it straightened out. Don’t worry, Marcie believes in me. She thinks I’m Jack Armstrong, the all-American boy. The four-square troubleshooter. I’ll fix it up for you.”
“Jack, please,” she whimpered, like a plaintive child.
“I’ll do
