“You don’t really think I give a damn if you find that girl, do you?” she asked Beth.
“I don’t care what you think.”
“You know something? I don’t believe there is any such person as Laura Landon.”
Beth shrugged, determined not to get nasty.
“I think you’re just leading me on. You just want a free tour of the Village,” Nina said. And when Beth still maintained silence she went on, “You think you’re something, don’t you, Beth? Just because Franny has been eying you all evening.”
“Has she?” Beth was surprised. She hadn’t noticed it.
“Don’t play innocent with me,” Nina said, and Beth wondered if she was jealous. Perhaps Nina had dressed herself like Beth in at least a partial effort to snag Franny’s eye.
But when Franny got back she slipped a little penciled note into Beth’s hand under the table. Later Beth got a chance to read it. There was a telephone number and a plea for a call scrawled in pencil on lined paper. Beth smiled slowly across the table at Franny, largely for Nina’s benefit.
And just then she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, the entrance of a woman whose face and manner captured her interest entirely. She was big, nearly six feet tall, wearing slacks and a man-cut jacket. She was a little over her best weight but strikingly handsome with the black-and-white hair—still mostly black—curling closely around her head, and light eyes. She walked with a slight swagger, her hands thrust into the pockets of her pants, and Beth wasn’t the only one who turned to look at her as she made her way up to the bar.
The bartender apparently knew her and fixed her something to drink in response to a nod she gave him. She stood alone at one end of the bar, seemingly preoccupied, although now and then she smiled at someone near her who spoke to her.
Beth watched her, captivated by her manner and the world-weariness in her face, for five or ten minutes. Finally she leaned over to ask Nina who she was.
Nina gave a quick glance at the bar, reluctant to turn her attention from Franny, and said, “Oh, God! Beebo Brinker. You don’t want to talk to her.”
“Why not?” Beth demanded.
“You won’t get anything straight from her. I mean that both ways.”
“Do you know her, Nina?”
“Hell, yes. Lousy bitch.”
“Why lousy?” Beth asked.
“Oh, it’s a long story. Leave her alone, Beth, she’s no good.”
“She might know Laura,” Beth said.
“If she does, Laura’ll never be the same. They never are when Beebo gets through with them.”
“What does she do to them?” Beth said.
“I don’t know, Beth. Don’t bother me about it.”
“I want to meet her,” Beth said stubbornly.
“Okay, damn it!” Nina flared suddenly. “Go meet her, I don’t care a damn what you do. She knows everybody in the Village. If Laura Landon is living here she’ll know.”
“Nina,” Beth protested, “you brought me down here to help me find Laura.” She stared at her bewildered. “Now you don’t want me to find her. Is that it?”
“Go on, Beth. Go talk to her. It’s about as bright as most of the things you do. But for God’s sake don’t bring her over here. I can’t stand her.”
Beth looked at her a moment longer, and then at Franny, who was afraid to talk to her. She turned on her heel and walked away from them.
Beebo had found a bar stool and was sitting down by the time Beth reached her. Beth stood a little behind her, nervous and hesitant for a moment, and then she touched her sleeve. Beebo glanced up and to one side, seeing a girl there but not looking at her.
“Hello,” Beebo said. Her face was nearly expressionless.
“Beebo Brinker?” Beth said.
“The same.” She didn’t seem to care who Beth was.
“Beebo, I’m looking for a friend of mine. It’s urgent that I find her. Someone told me you knew everybody down here.” Beth knew she sounded breathy and frightened but her voice, her manner, were out of her control. “I was wondering if you could tell me where she is.”
“Try me.” Beebo lighted a cigarette and Beth watched, mesmerized. Her gestures were perfectly masculine right down to the snap of the match, almost more masculine than a man’s, carefully learned, carefully studied, tellingly imitated.
“Well…” Beth leaned against the bar on one elbow, facing Beebo’s profile. Beebo still had not really seen her face. She smoked, or drank from her whiskey and water, and gazed into the mirror behind the bar.
“Well, her name is Laura,” Beth said, once again with the frightening feeling of exposing her love to laughter.
Beebo’s eyes narrowed and in the mirror she looked at Beth for the first time.
“Do you know a Laura, by any chance?” Beth said.
After a long tense pause Beebo said, “Laura? What’s her last name?”
“Landon.”
Slowly, very slowly, like someone moving in a dream, Beebo turned around and looked her full in the face. Her lips parted slightly and she studied Beth so closely that Beth involuntarily drew away a little, clinging to the edge of the bar for support. She felt suddenly weak, although Beebo’s gaze was not unkind and Beth liked her face. It even seemed to resemble Beth’s own in some ways, though Beth’s was softer and smaller and feminine. Beebo, still in her early forties, looked like a college boy—gray-haired to some extent, but still collegiate.
“Beth,” Beebo said, very softly, and it sounded like thunder in Beth’s ears. “You’re Beth. Beth! Goddamn! I never thought we’d come face to face, you and I.”
For a long bewildered moment Beth simply stared at her. “You know me?” she murmured at last. There was no other sound for her in all that noisy bar but Beebo’s voice.
“Know
