Laura went out of the booth to get her, feeling half dazed, and found her way back to the bar. “He wants to talk to you,” she said to Beebo, without looking at her.
Beebo frowned at her and then swung herself off her seat and headed for the phone. Laura sat down in her place, disturbed by the warmth Beebo left behind, twirling her glass slowly in her hand. She was crushed that Jack had turned her down.
Perhaps he had a lover, perhaps this night was so important to him that he couldn’t give it up, even though she had all his sympathy. These things might be—in fact, were—true. But Laura could hardly discern them through her private pains.
Beebo came back in a minute and leaned over Laura, one hand on the bar, the other on Laura’s shoulder. “He says I’m to take you home,” she said, “feed you aspirins, dry your tears, and put you to bed. And no monkey business.” She smiled as Laura looked slowly up into her face. It was a strong interesting face. With a little softness, a little innocence, it might have been lovely. But it was too hard and cynical, too restless and disillusioned. “Come on, sweetie pie,” Beebo said. “I’m a nice kid, I won’t eat you.”
They walked until they came to a small dark street, and the second door up—dark green—faced right on the sidewalk. Beebo opened it and they walked down a couple of steps into a small square court surrounded by the windowed walls of apartment buildings. On the far side was another door with benches and play areas grouped in between on the court. Beebo unlocked the other door and led Laura up two flights of unlighted stairs to her apartment.
When they went inside a brown dachshund rushed to meet them and tried to climb up their legs. Beebo laughed and talked to him, reaching down to push him away.
Laura stood inside the door, her hands over her eyes, somewhat unsteady on her feet.
“Here, baby, let’s get you fixed up,” Beebo said. “Okay, Nix, down. Down!” she said sharply to the excited little dog, and shoved him away with her foot. He slunk off to a chair where he studied her reproachfully.
Beebo led Laura through the small living room to an even smaller bedroom and sat her down on the bed. She knelt in front of her and took her shoes off. Then, gently, she leaned against her, forcing her legs slightly apart, and put her arms around Laura’s waist. She rubbed her head against Laura’s breasts and said, “Don’t be afraid, baby.” Laura tried weakly to hold her off but she said, “I won’t hurt you Laura,” and looked up at her. She squeezed her gently, rhythmically, her arms tightening and loosening around Laura’s body. She made a little sound in her throat and, lifting her face, kissed Laura’s neck. And then she stood up slowly, releasing her.
“Okay,” she said. “Fini. No monkey business. Make yourself comfortable, honey. There’s the john—old, but serviceable. You sleep here. I’ll take the couch. Here! Here, Nix!” She grabbed the little dog, which had bounded onto the bed and was trying to lick Laura’s face, and picked him up in her arms like a baby. She grinned at Laura. “I’ll take him to bed, he won’t bother you,” she said. “Call me if there’s anything you need.” She looked at Laura closely while Laura tried to answer her. The younger girl sat on the bed, pale with fatigue and hunger, feeling completely lost and helpless. “Thanks,” she murmured.
Beebo sat down beside her. “You look beat, honey,” she said.
“I am.”
“Want to tell me about it now?”
Laura shook her head.
“Well…” she said. “Good night, Little Bo-peep. Sleep tight.” And she kissed her forehead, then turned around and went out of the bedroom, turning out the light on her way.
Laura had gotten off the bed without looking at her, but feeling Beebo’s eyes on her. She shut the door slowly, until she heard the catch snap. Then she turned, leaning on the door, and looked at the room. It was small and full of stuff, with yellowed walls. Everything looked clean, although the room was in a state of complete confusion, with clothes draped over chairs and drawers half shut.
All of a sudden, Laura felt stronger. She undressed quickly, taking off everything but her nylon slip, and pulled down the bedclothes. She climbed in gratefully.
She didn’t even try to forget Marcie or what had happened. It would have been impossible. Mere trying would have made it worse. She relaxed on her back in the dark, her arms outflung, and waited for the awful scene to come up in her mind and torture her.
Her mind wandered. The awful embrace was awful no longer—only wrong and silly and far away. The damage was irreparable. She stared at the ceiling, invisible in the dark, and felt a soft lassitude come over her. She felt as if she were melting into the bed; as if she could not have moved if she tried.
Time flowed by and she waited for sleep. It was some time before she realized she was actually waiting for it. It didn’t come. She turned on her side, and still it eluded her. Finally she snapped the light on to squint at her watch. It said five of four. She switched it off again, her eyes dazzled, and wondered what the matter was. And then she heard Beebo turn over in the next room, and she knew.
An old creeping need began to writhe in Laura, coming up suddenly out of the past and twisting itself around her innards. The pressure increased while she lay there trying to ignore it, becoming more insistent. It began to swell and fade with a rhythm of its own; a rhythm she knew too well and feared. Slowly the
