“No.” He turned and gave her a doleful grin, lighting another cigarette from the first. “We’ve been married almost two years but I don’t know her at all, to tell the truth. But I sure won’t let her go.”
“Does she want you too?”
“I don’t think she does,” he said. “Sound screwy? Well, not so very. She needs me. Because I’m a man.” There was a pause and Laura mopped up the useless tears and tried to think of Milo’s troubles, not her own.
“How long are you going to stay?” she asked him finally.
“I guess till they get back,” he said.
“Are you sure they’re together?”
“More or less. Patsy has a big thing about her.”
“Milo? Would you stay here till they get back, then? I’m afraid—I’m afraid of Beebo. She might hurt me.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “Yeah. Okay,” he said, studying her. “Say, haven’t you been gone a while? Patsy doesn’t tell me much, but I got the idea…I haven’t seen you around or anything.”
“Yes. I’ve been gone awhile,” she said, getting up. “I’m going to take a shower and get cleaned up. Don’t tell her I’m here if she comes.”
“Patsy?”
“Beebo! Either of them.”
“Who shall I say is in the shower?”
“Santa Claus,” she said. She looked at him sitting glumly slumped in the chair. “Why do you put up with it?” she said. “She’s too much. Tris is too much for anybody.”
“Don’t call her Tris. She’s been Patsy ever since she was six years old and skinned her knees in front of my house. Tris. Christ! It’s too affected.”
“Did she…ever really love me, Milo?” Laura asked it with a catch in her throat.
“Did she ever love any of us? I don’t know.”
“Why do you keep coming back for more?”
He shrugged. “Same reason you do. You love Beebo. You know it’s a mess and you’re in for a lot of hell. It’ll never be right. But you love her. So you take it.” He gave another sad little chuckle. “I wish I knew what it is about you girls. What makes you love each other?” Laura stared at him. “If I knew there’s one thing sure—I’d put a stop to it. What makes you queer, Laura? You tell me.”
“What makes you normal, Milo?”
“I was born that way. Don’t tell me you were born queer! Ha!” And he was sarcastic now.
“I was made that way,” she said calmly.
“By who?” he asked skeptically.
“A lot of people. My father. A girl named Beth. Myself. Fate.”
He snorted. “Why don’t you give up women?”
“Why don’t you!” she flashed.
He blinked at her, beginning to feel her stormy intensity. “Is it that bad?” he asked.
“Sure, it’s that bad! Do you think I live this way because I like it? Would you live like you do if you could live like a white man?”
After a moment he shook his head, looking curiously at her.
“Neither would Tris. Patsy. So don’t be too hard on her, Milo. You damn men, you’re all lousy selfish bastards.”
And to his astonishment, she threw the dirty dime at him. Laura was pulling on a pair of Beebo’s big men’s flannel pajamas when she heard the front door open, and her heart came to a sudden stop in her breast. It started again with a wild thump, and she stood with an ear to the door struggling to pull the roomy tops over her damp body and hear what was said.
“Where is she?” Milo demanded.
The front door shut and there was a pause. Laura heard the scrape of a match and the soft whistle of expelled breath.
“I sent her home,” Beebo said. And her voice sent a sharp thrill of desire and recognition through Laura. She pressed her hands firmly over her breasts till the flesh nearly burst between her fingers, as if to still her own hard breathing.
“Where, the studio?” Milo said.
“Yeah. You entertaining, Milo?”
“What?”
“Who’s the milk drinker?”
And Laura remembered suddenly the milk Milo had fixed her. She hadn’t finished it; just left it sitting on the table.
“Santa Claus,” Milo said.
“No kidding,” Beebo said with a grin. “I used to leave Santa Claus a glass of milk. And cookies. When I was a little kid. But that was Christmas Eve. This isn’t Christmas Eve, Milo.”
“Check the shower,” Milo said. “I didn’t ask her over. You sure Patsy’s home?”
“Hell, no,” Beebo said and she was right by the bedroom door. Laura leaped backwards across the room, stumbling and catching herself on the bed. She straightened up, her heart in her throat, watching the door. Her long blond hair was still damp from the shower, and she had on only the long, striped tops of Beebo’s pajamas. They reached to mid-thigh on her.
Beebo’s hand twisted the knob. “Go home, friend,” she said to Milo, pausing. “Your wife needs a man tonight.”
Milo shrugged at her. “She asked me to stay.”
“Who asked you to stay?”
He thumbed at the bedroom. “Says you might hurt her.”
Beebo stared hard at him for only a second more before she threw the door open hard. It cracked like a shot against the wall and Laura opened her eyes slowly. Her arms were crossed at the wrists and clamped tight over her breasts, as if to ward off attack. She looked at Beebo and Beebo looked at her without a word for several amazed minutes. Laura felt such a flash of agonized desire for this big, handsome, passionate girl who had been her lover that she was unable to speak.
Finally Beebo walked slowly into the room, her hands shoved into the pockets of her pants, squinting through the smoke of the cigarette between her lips. “I thought Lili was kidding,” she said softly. “Seeing things.” And she gave a single short laugh. She walked to the bed and dropped her coat. “Relax, Laura, I’m not going to rape you,” she said. She turned, with her weight on one foot and the other on the bed rung, and called to Milo, “You can go now, Sir Galahad.”
“It’s all right?” He came to the door and looked
