Beth took them, and Beebo said when she saw them disappear, “They’re hangover pills. Aspirin, codeine, caffeine, and God knows what else. Should bring you back to life.” She stepped out of the way when Beth moved toward the bathroom door, letting her find the way back into the bedroom.
“Beebo, I—would you mind telling me where my clothes are?” Beth faltered.
“I was just ironing them. Everything but the undies, and they don’t show,” Beebo said. She pulled Beth’s things from a drawer in her dresser. “Never iron what doesn’t show,” she said, holding them out. “Life’s too damn short.”
Beth took them, gazing at her. “You mean you cleaned them up? You washed them all out? All my clothes?”
“Didn’t take much figuring to see they were dirty,” Beebo said. “How long do you ordinarily wear a thing before you wash it?” She was smiling, a warm, even and compelling smile of amusement that both pleased and disconcerted Beth.
“I—I haven’t been back to my room for a few days,” Beth admitted, ashamed and exasperated to feel her face color.
“I would have guessed as much,” Beebo said, sitting down on her bed and crossing her long legs at the ankles. “Only, I didn’t have to guess. You told me.”
“I told you? When? Last night when I was drunk?”
“Last night and the night before that. I didn’t realize how far gone you were, baby, or I’d have rescued you sooner. My friendly enemy, Nina Spicer, called me finally. Said she’d have taken you home with her but she already had company, and she thought somebody’d better get you out of sight before the cops got interested.”
Beth, struggling to get into her brassiere without exposing any of herself to those sharp and interested eyes of Beebo’s, said mournfully, “The cops already know.”
“Know what?” Beebo exclaimed, suddenly concerned. “The bastards,” she added under her breath.
“There’s been one following me for days. Weeks, I mean. God, months, for all I know.” She lost her towel suddenly and pulled the panties up the rest of the way with a movement that betrayed her self-consciousness.
“Do you mean a cop or a lousy detective?” Beebo said. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there? Which is best? Or worst?” Beth said, standing on the towel and wiggling into her brassiere.
Beebo watched her, but not critically, not suggestively. “Depends,” she said laconically. “Have you done anything wicked lately?”
Beth pulled her slip over her head before answering, as if the extra covering might increase her dignity a little. Then she sat down at the foot of the bed, turned half away from Beebo, wondering what to tell her, whether to tell her anything. It would feel so good, it would help so much, the way it had helped to spill some of it to Nina before. But how far, how much, could she trust this strange man-nish woman who had taken her in and out of harm’s way?
“Afraid to tell me?” Beebo said. “You don’t have to. But if it’s bad, maybe I can help. I’ve been in every conceivable scrape in my time, baby. I know the ropes.”
Beth lowered her head. “I—I ran away,” she said, her voice only slightly above a whisper.
“That’s nothing new.”
“From my husband. I’m not divorced, Beebo. I just ducked out.”
“Well, I never had a husband, thank God, but I’ve done some running away.”
Beth turned her face to Beebo’s and searched her for hidden laughter, for the sort of veiled scorn Nina showed her, for the hint of future betrayal. But Beebo’s face was frank and open and Beth found, being so near her again, so close to that face, that she liked it inordinately. There was wisdom in it and the trace of pain lived through and learned from, and a very special personal beauty that almost no one else would have called by that gentle name.
“I ran away and left Charlie. And my children,” she said. “I have two, a boy and a girl. I abandoned them, Beebo. There was no excuse for it, no warning, no preparation for the kids. They just woke up the next morning and I was gone. I had no right to do it. I had no right to have children. Oh, God…” She stopped a minute to steady her voice. “If I’d only known years ago, if I’d only realized….”
They simply gazed at each other for a moment and then, as naturally as a mother and child coming together, they embraced. Beebo took Beth in her arms and comforted her and let her cry. She never asked her if she loved her children. She knew.
“I failed them,” Beth sobbed. “They were so young, just five and six, and they needed me so. But I was beastly to them; I hurt them. It was worse being there with them—worse for them, I mean.”
“Worse for you, too, baby,” Beebo told her gently. “Don’t lie to yourself.”
“And now Charlie, or Uncle John, or somebody, has a goddamn detective following me around New York. He must know everything, he must have seen everything.”
“Well, he can’t see this,” Beebo reassured her, and Beth felt Beebo’s lips against her forehead. It sent a curious thrill through her that pierced even her melancholy and made her cling the tighter. “How do you know he’s found you yet?” Beebo said.
“Because I know who he is. I didn’t realize it; I just thought he was somebody from the Village at first, but I’ve seen him uptown too and I swear it’s the same guy. A dumpy little guy with bags under his eyes and a wrinkled suit. He looks tired all the time. And he’s bald. I’m sure he’s the one. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, he’s all over the damn place, everywhere I go. He’s probably downstairs right now, picking his nails and waiting for me to leave.”
“I’ll break his head,” Beebo murmured.
“And now Charlie’s in Chicago and he’ll probably come to New York and give me hell. And my family will disown me. Charlie at least had some idea of why
