“Beebo’s girl, hell. Beebo’s got a dozen girls. She can really pick ’em, though, I’ll say that much. I should get one like that.” And she made a face at the slim one by her side.
Chapter Eleven
Laura went home. She arrived before ten, but Marcie wasn’t back yet. Laura put a book she had been reading on Marcie’s bed and climbed into her own bed. She tried to read herself, but she couldn’t. An hour went by, and no Marcie. Nervously, Laura shut her book and dropped it to the floor. She got up and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, and remembered she had already done it.
Then she went to the phone. She didn’t know what was coming over her. She only felt a deep will-defying unhappiness. She pulled out the phone book and looked up the number of the McAlton Hotel. She sat for a moment with the book open in her lap, unable to move. Then she reached slowly for the phone.
Suddenly it rang. Laura screamed, a small quick cry of extreme surprise. Her heart had taken a tremendous leap at the piercing bell sound in that still apartment. She let it ring twice more while she caught her breath. It must be Marcie, she thought. Maybe she’s in trouble. She lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hello, Bo-peep.”
Laura’s heart gave another bound. She felt the sweat break out. “Beebo?” she said faintly.
“How are you, sweetheart? I hear you were looking for me tonight.”
“You didn’t waste any time.” Her voice was sharp.
“I hate to keep a lady waiting. What’s on your mind?”
“I just dropped in for a drink. I was down there in the Village to see Jack and I just wanted to pay you back.” She spoke in fits and starts.
“You don’t owe me a thing, Bo-peep. Not a thing.”
“A drink.” Laura hated to owe anybody anything. She was meticulous about her debts, however small the sum.
“You’re right.” Laura could feel her smile. “I nearly forgot. Okay lover, you owe me one drink.”
“Beebo, I can’t talk now, really.”
“You’re doing fine. What’s the matter, Marcie breathing down your neck?”
“It’s not that.”
“You don’t have to say you love me, you know. Just say you’ll meet me tomorrow night. About eight.”
“No.”
“Don’t be late, doll. I’ll call Marcie and ask her where the hell you are.”
“You wouldn’t! You won’t! Damn you, Beebo!”
“I would and I will.” She laughed. “Eight on the dot.”
“I won’t be there.”
“Want to bet?”
Laura hung up on her. She was trembling. Angrily she slammed the heavy phone back into place, switched out the bedroom light, and got into bed.
The black night settled around her but it brought more restless tossing than repose. The hours slipped by. No Marcie. No sleep. Only an endless bitter reviewing of what her father had done to her; the look on the clerk’s face when he gave her the message; the impotent fury and shame that besieged her. At last she turned the light back on and began to pace the room. The electric clock on Marcie’s dresser said two-thirty. Laura wondered whether to call Burr. Or Jack. She was getting afraid for Marcie. But nobody knew how to reach her. There was nothing to do but wait.
It was a few minutes past three when Marcie came in. Laura had left the living room light on for her and she heard her come in laughing and heard a male voice answer her. Not Burr’s voice. Somebody else. A deep mature voice. Laura peeked out through the crack in the kitchen door but couldn’t see him. Marcie was giggling, as if she were tight, and pushing him away. Laura could see her now and then.
Marcie said, “I’ll call my roommate. She’ll make you go home.”
“I can’t go home tonight. I live in Chicago.”
“That’s where she’s from!”
“Who?”
“My roommate.”
“To hell with her. Come here, Baby.”
“No!” High as she was, she nevertheless sounded a little scared. She had stopped laughing.
Laura threw a coat hastily over her pajamas and went into the living room. A large man, partly bald and handsome in a heavy featured way, had Marcie wrapped in a bear hug and was trying to drag her to the couch.
“All right,” said Laura sharply. “Get out.”
She startled them both so much that they froze where they were. The man stared at her. He was drunk, and his balance wasn’t the best. Laura, pale and silver blonde, her long hair falling down her shoulders, her face strange and sensitive and imperious, looked like an apparition to him. Without taking his eyes off her he asked Marcie, “Who the hell is that?”
“My roommate.” Marcie took advantage of his interest to slip free. Laura took her arm firmly and sent her through the kitchen door. Then she turned back to the man.
“All right, you,” she said as if he were a servant. “Out.”
The impudence of it amused him and angered him at the same time. “You can’t talk to me like that,” he said.
She advanced on him briskly, pulling the door open sharply and facing him. “It’s my home and I’ll speak as I please,” she said. She looked as cold and unapproachable as she was hot and angry. He stared at her, not sure how to take her, and then came toward her to put a hand on her shoulder.
“Marcie’s no good,” he said confidentially “Let’s you and me—”
Laura swept his hand off her shoulder. “Get out of here or I’ll call the police,” she said.
He got mad. “Jesus, what a chilly little bitch you are!” he growled.
“Get out,” Laura said, so cold, so controlled, that she froze him into submission. She shut the door after him, resisting the urge to slam it. Dear God, she thought intensely. If I could do that to my father. Just once.
“Laura? It was just a party, Laur,” Marcie said. “We went out after dinner. Just for kicks. He got sort of out of hand. Thanks, Laur, I don’t know what
