She was mad enough at Mona, in fact, to be nice to Pete. After all, Mona had stood him up too, long ago. He was still under her feet, and although he had never made any indecent proposals, he managed to always look as if he were just about to. Beebo was comforted to see that he gave the same look, and likely the same impression, to every woman in range of his sight, except his wife.
One day at noon, she went deliberately to the table in the kitchen where he was eating and pulled up a chair, while Marie served them. Pete looked at her with his somber eyes and stopped munching for a minute. She ordinarily managed her schedule so she could eat before or after he did. Marie noticed the change, as she noticed everything, but whatever she thought, she kept her own counsel.
“How is it with Jack and Pat?” Marie said conversationally.
Beebo straightened around. “How did you know about that?” she said, surprised.
“They was in earlier. Pat says he knows about bugs. Maybe he can stomp out my roaches…. He is a nice boy? I never did trust blonds.”
Beebo felt threatened, as if Marie had just announced the end of Beebo’s life with Jack. “Sure. Very nice,” she said, and swallowed her stew. She was conscious of Pete’s piercing gaze on her face.
“So?” Marie said, nodding. “He got a friendly style.”
Beebo recounted mentally her evenings in the past week. Since Jack and Pat had met they had been together every night. Pat was in the apartment all day—no matter what hour Beebo dropped in during her deliveries. What about his job? And Jack? Jack Mann was a charming and persuasive man, and the fact that his face was plain did not alter the fact that his strong body was clean and pleasing, nor that his wits were quick and could make you learn and laugh.
“What’s the matter, Beebo? You don’t like rabbit?”
She started at Pete’s voice and pulled away. His face was too close. But she was glad for the diversion. He aimed a big spoon at her stew. “Maybe you like a cheese sandwich?”
“No, this is fine,” she said, forcing a social smile…and then wishing it were possible to retract it. Pete was examining her curiously.
She ate with concentration for several moments, still seeing Pat and Jack in her mind’s eye. Pat liked Jack already. He was afraid of the city, and he abominated his job. If he didn’t get back to it fast, he wouldn’t have it any more, and she knew he didn’t give a damn—as long as somebody fed and loved him. He was like a pet: a big lovable goddamn poodle. She knew his liking for Jack would grow to fondness, if not love. She could see it coming, especially at night when Jack let him talk his heart out. Nobody listened or comforted more intelligently than Jack.
And when they fall in love—then where do I go? Shack up with Mona and her stable of strange men? she wondered. Jack’s remarks about Mona’s past were haunting her days and ruining her nights.
“Beebo,” said a quiet male voice into her ear. “You want the afternoon off?”
It was an indecent proposal, all right. His voice made it one.
“No thanks,” she said frostily.
“You look bad.”
“I’m all right,” she snapped.
“You could’ve fooled me,” he said. And when she didn’t answer, he went on, unwilling to let the conversation die, “The way you was acting, I thought you was sick.”
“Maybe I am,” she said sardonically. “I’ve got the plague.”
“The plague?” He stopped eating, his teeth poised around a bite, and grinned. “Plague, like the rats bring?”
“Yeah.” Beebo frowned at him.
“I got a friend with an obsession about rats,” he said. “You seen her in here once or twice. Mona. You know?” Beebo nodded, her eyes fixed on him. It was the longest she had looked at him squarely. “She tells every man she knows—and that’s plenty—he’s a rat. I asked her why once. Want to know what she said?” He paused, building suspense, while Beebo held her breath. “She says they’re all hairy…filthy…and stupid. And they’ll sleep with anything ain’t already dead. You agree?” He grinned at her.
Beebo turned away. “I don’t know any men,” she said pointedly.
Pete threw his hands out. “Is that nice to say?” he demanded. “Jack, I can understand. All he got of man is his name. Your father, who knows? Another fag.” Beebo got halfway out of her seat, but he protested elaborately at once. When she simmered down, he added confidentially, “But me…even Marie will admit that much, when she’s feeling honest.”
“Marie’s in a position to have an opinion,” Beebo said acidly. “But I don’t think that’s it.”
Pete folded his arms on the table and leaned on them, unoffended. “You want to be in that position too, Beebo?”
“Not for a million bucks,” she said, and drank down her milk in a gesture of scorn.
“I know a lot of good positions,” he said cozily, laughing at her.
Beebo had enough sense not to get visibly angry; not to make a scene. It wasn’t worth it and it would only tickle Pete. If it did no more than embarrass the two women, he would be satisfied.
She put her glass down. “What do you do with all your women, Pete?” she asked him, making no effort to keep her voice from Marie. “Line them up in half-hour shifts? It beats me how one mighty male can keep so many women happy.”
She picked up her plate and took it to the sink.
Marie tossed her a grin. “You tell him, Beebo,” she said. “To hear him talk, he’s sold out till next March.”
“I’m selling nothing, bitch,” Pete told her sharply. “What I got, I give away.”
“Listen to Robin Hood,” Beebo cracked, and walked out of the kitchen toward the truck with a load of Marie’s packaged foods.
