“What did he say?”
“He said you were a wonderful girl.”
“Did you believe him?”
Beebo hesitated and finally said, huskily, “Yes.”
“You’re a good dancer, Beebo,” Mona said, knowing, like an expert, just how far to go before she switched gears.
“I dance like a donkey,” Beebo grinned, strong enough in her victory to laugh at herself.
“No, you’re a natural,” Mona insisted. “A natural dancer, I mean.”
“I don’t care what you mean, just keep dancing,” Beebo said.
Mona put her head down against Beebo’s shoulder and laughed, and Beebo felt the same elation as a man when he has impressed a desirable girl and she lets him know it with her flattery. Mona—so elusive, so pretty, so dominant in Beebo’s dreams lately. Beebo was holding her tighter than she meant to, but when she tried to loosen her embrace, Mona put both arms about her neck and pulled her back again.
For the first time, Beebo had the nerve to look straight at her. It was a long hungry look that took in everything: the long dark square-cut hair and bangs; the big hazel eyes; the fine figure, slim and exaggeratedly tall in high heels. But it was still necessary for her to look up at Beebo.
“It’s nice you’re so tall,” Mona told her.
“Who’s the girl you’re with?” Beebo said. “I think she wants to drown me.”
“No doubt. Her name’s Todd.”
“Is she a friend?”
“She was, till you asked for this dance,” Mona smiled.
Beebo didn’t want to make trouble. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Are you?” Mona was forward as only a world-weary girl with nothing to learn—or lose—could be. And yet she seemed too young for such ennui—still in her twenties. “Are you sorry about Todd?” she pressed Beebo.
“I’m not sorry I’m dancing with you, if that’s what you mean,” Beebo said.
“That’s what I mean,” Mona smiled. “Would you like to dance without an audience, Beebo?”
Beebo frowned at her. “You mean ditch your friends?”
Mona could see that Beebo was offended by such a suggestion of two-timing; and Mona was interested enough in this big, beautiful, strange girl not to want her offended. “They aren’t true friends,” Mona said plaintively, “that you can count on, anyway. It’s all over between Todd and me, too. We just came here to bury the corpse tonight. This is where we met five months ago.”
“Five months? That’s not very long to be in love with somebody,” Beebo said.
“I wasn’t,” Mona said.
“Was she?” It seemed indescribably sad to Beebo that one partner be in love and the other feel nothing. She wanted everyone to be happy on this night full of sequin-lights and clouds of music: even Todd.
“I never meant much to Todd,” Mona said. “Talk about ditching, Beebo. I’m the one who’s getting ditched.”
“You?” Beebo held her tightly, glad for the excuse. “How could anyone ever do that to you?”
Mona swayed against her, smiling with her eyes shut, and Beebo was too immersed in her to notice the look on Todd’s face.
“She likes to torment her lovers,” Mona whispered. “She uses them, as if they were things. When she gets tired of them, she puts them in a drawer and pulls them out to show off, like trophies. That’s all she does—collect broken hearts.”
“She sounds like a female dog,” Beebo commented. And yet the little speech recalled disturbingly some of Jack’s remarks about Mona; as if Mona were amusing herself by describing her own faults to Beebo and pretending they were Todd’s.
The music ended and they stood on the floor a moment, arms still clasped about each other. “Wait at the bar,” Mona whispered into Beebo’s ear. “I’ll get my coat.” Beebo glanced doubtfully at the table, but Mona said, “It’ll be better if I tell her alone. Go on.”
Beebo released her reluctantly, went to her seat, and sipped at her drink till Mona came up. She let Mona lead the way, feeling a sudden wild exhilaration as she followed, lighting a cigarette, holding the door for Mona, taking the street side when they reached the sidewalk.
“Was Todd angry?” she asked.
“No one wants to look the fool,” Mona said lightly, with a smile.
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t like to get you up the creek, Mona,” Beebo said. “I didn’t want trouble.”
“I make my own trouble, Beebo. I thrive on it. The way I see it—” she paused to give Beebo her arm, and Beebo took it smoothly, with a sense of power and burgeoning desire, “—life is flat and dreary without trouble.” Mona dodged a puddle, then continued. “Good trouble. Exciting trouble. You can’t just walk across the Flats forever, doing what’s expected of you. Excitement. That’s everything to me.” Mona stopped in her tracks to look at Beebo with bright sly eyes. “Being good isn’t exciting. Right?”
“I’m no philosopher,” Beebo said.
“I’ll prove it to you. You’re a good person, aren’t you? You felt bad about Todd. You’ve been good all your life. But are you happy?”
“I am right now. Are you telling me to be bad?” Beebo said, laughing.
“Would making love to me be bad?” Mona asked her, so directly that Beebo wondered if she were being made fun of. There was no respect in Mona for the innate privacy and mystery of every human soul. She saw them all as part of the Flats—unless they could make beautiful trouble with her. Then, she was interested. Then, she saw an individual.
“Making love to you,” Beebo said slowly, “would have to be good.”
“I’ll make it better than good.” Mona reached up for Beebo’s shoulders, pulling her back into the dusk of a doorway. They stood there a moment, Beebo in a fever of need and fear, till Mona’s hand slid up behind her head, cupped it downward, and brought their lips together.
Beebo came to life with a swift jerking movement. Mona’s kiss had been light and brief, until Beebo caught her again in a violent embrace and imprisoned her mouth. She forgot everything for a few minutes, holding Mona there in her arms and kissing her lips, pressing her back against
