Beth felt herself in a state of tremulous anticipation. She didn’t want to talk, only to touch, only to feel. And yet talking like this might bring her closer to Vega, help her understand her.
“If I tell you, Beth,” Vega said slowly, “that I have never been attracted to men…I hope it won’t give you wrong ideas.” She glanced up to see how her remark was taken, but Beth said only, “Wrong ideas?” She sat holding her hands together tightly to keep from reaching out for Vega.
Vega smiled at her suddenly and said, “Relax.” The squeeze she gave Beth’s knee tickled her and they both laughed. “You didn’t come here to get a lecture on me, anyway,” Vega added. “You deserve some reward for your effort. Here, have another.” She offered Beth the glass and Beth tried to turn it down. But she saw a quick shy retreat in Vega’s eyes, as if Vega feared Beth were disapproving, and she took the glass anyway and drank.
“Was Charlie mad at you for coming?” Vega asked.
“Yes,” Beth said simply. Her head was getting light.
“I’m sorry,” Vega said. Her voice was tender and grateful.
“You know, I had an odd thought on the way over here tonight,” Beth said, to change the subject.
“Tell me.” Vega leaned back into the pillows and gazed up at her, the whiskey glass resting on her stomach. She held it lightly, almost casually, as if she could easily give it up, as if she could go to bed without a drink, without a bottle on the table beside her.
“I’d like to get lost with you in Hollywood. I mean—” Beth laughed, flustered. “See the sights, like the tourists.”
“You don’t go wandering in Hollywood at night without a man unless you want to get picked up, darling. Is that what you mean?”
“No, I just want to share it with you. You’re fun to be with. I guess—to be frank—that’s why I came tonight.” She took the proffered glass again, avoiding Vega’s penetrating smile bashfully, and when she returned it she felt quite dizzy. She leaned toward Vega slightly, steadying herself with both hands pressed into the bed in front of her. She found herself tilted close to Vega.
“Feel okay?” Vega asked. “You look way out. No need to keep up with me, you know. I’m more or less immune to the stuff. Ask Cleve.”
“I feel fine. Wonderful,” Beth said, raising her eyes to Vega’s. She felt reckless, even. Their closeness was like a challenge, a dare that brought her pulse up high and visible in her throat and made her work for her breath. “Vega, you—you are the loveliest woman,” she whispered.
Slowly Vega placed her glass on the floor and then her hands went up to Beth’s shoulders, more to subdue her than encourage her.
“Beth?” she said, and the name itself was a question. “I never thought you of all people…”
In one quick painful second, Beth saw that she was caught; her fascination, her desire were clear and hot in her eyes and mouth. Vega could see them. There was nothing for it but to declare herself or retreat and run, spouting half-baked excuses that would fool neither of them. Back to Charlie she would go, back to the kids, back to Sierra Bella, humiliated and disappointed beyond her capacity to bear it. She could not give up so easily; she had come too far, risked too much.
“Vega, let me, you must let me,” she said, trying to lean closer to her, but Vega’s thin arms restrained her. Beth was afraid of hurting her and she paused.
“You know how I feel about this,” Vega said, and there was something sharp, almost fearful, in her voice. Her eyes were quite wide. Beth felt her own strength and Vega’s weakness and she forced Vega’s arms down suddenly.
“You…of all people, you,” Vega moaned. “No, Beth. Please!”
“Vega, forgive me,” Beth said wildly. “I love you, I can’t help it!” And she bent her head in one swift hungry movement and kissed Vega’s exquisite mouth.
For the space of a heartbeat there was no response, only a chill, a palpable terror. And then suddenly Vega returned her kiss, and Beth, murmuring insanities, kissed her face and her mouth all over, holding her tightly and panting with the sheer forgotten glory of it: the marvelous sweetness and suppleness of a woman’s body, the instinctive understanding that surpasses words, the indescribable tenderness two women in love with each other can create.
She became aware only slowly that Vega was desperate for breath. The weight of Beth’s body was too much for her, and Beth rolled off suddenly, exclaiming, “Vega, darling, did I hurt you? Are you all right?”
Vega swept to her feet and nearly fell back again. Beth leaped up after her and caught her from behind, putting her arms around Vega and rocking her gently, her lips against Vega’s throat.
“Come sit down,” she said, and when she had Vega safely into a chair, she knelt and put her head down in Vega’s lap, her arms around that tiny waist and her lips moving still against Vega’s warm body, exploring, caressing, reverencing.
Until Vega pushed her head back and said, as if her breath had only then come back to her, “Stop it! Will you stop it?” with such anguish that Beth pulled away in alarm.
“Oh, I hurt you,” she said, dismayed.
Vega got to her feet. “No, don’t help me,” she ordered. “Don’t touch me.”
“But Vega—”
“Shut up!” Vega turned a tormented face to her. She walked to a window and pulled it up, gasping up the air. “I told you not to get any wrong ideas,” she said finally, when some measure of calm had returned to her. She gazed stonily at the street eight stories below, her face almost a mask now.
“I didn’t know that was so awfully wrong,” Beth said, rising and coming toward her.
Vega
