She would stop at Paula’s apartment before she left. She had to. It was one thing to hurt somebody, but to do it like a snake, striking and slipping away before the victim knows what hit her—or who, or how—was beyond Beebo. She would tell Paula the truth herself, however much it cost them both in sorrow and resentment.
Beebo returned the Pasquinis’ truck, hoping to escape unnoticed. But Pete was lying in wait for her.
“So, you brought it back!” he said, grinning at her like a slick little fox. “We thought maybe you was taking a vacation in it.”
“It’s your truck,” she said, getting down. “I don’t want the damn thing.” She turned to look at him. “I—uh…I’m quitting, Pete. I got another job.”
“No kidding.” He picked his teeth without disturbing the leer on his face. “Walking the dog for some swell lady?”
“I’ve had it with dogs,” Beebo shot back. “I’ve been working for one all summer.”
Pete left the pick in his teeth in order to fold his arms over his chest in imitation of Beebo when she was insulted. “So, Beebo,” he said softly. “You don’t like it here with us no more?”
“You tell Marie I’m sorry,” Beebo said. “I like her fine.”
“Sure you do, sweetheart. She wears a skirt,” he said, rocking back and forth on his heels, needling her skillfully.
Beebo felt her temper expanding in her like hot air. It would have relieved her hugely to have punched him where it would hurt the worst. But that was no way to solve any problems—especially not with this covert, twisted young man who was trying to provoke the punch out of her on purpose.
“Marie is a friend of mine,” Beebo said stiffly.
“Meaning I ain’t? Ain’t I been friendly to you, Beebo?” he said, sauntering toward her. “Well, I can fix that up right now.” And with one abrupt movement he reached her side and threw her hard against the door of the truck, pulling her left arm up high in the back in a wrenchingly painful hammer lock. Beebo gave a gasp of shock and tried to break free. But for all her size and strength, she was still a girl, and no match for an angry, jealous man who had been wanting her and wanting to hurt her since he first saw her.
He forced his mouth on hers and when she struggled he bit her. She tried to knee him, and he pulled her arm up so hard they both thought for a moment he had broken it. Beebo went white with the pain, and leaned weakly against the door. Pete kissed her again, taking his time and not trying to unhinge her arm any more. The rough scratch of his whiskers and smell of his winy breath, the push of his hard hips, almost made her faint.
“Now why do you make me hurt you, Beebo? Why do you do that?” he said in a tense whisper, as if it were all her fault. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to be friends.” He kissed her again. “Don’t that prove it?”
Beebo knew she was crying with pain and fury and sickness. “Let me go,” she said hoarsely. She would have screamed if she had had any strength, but her heart was pounding and she was clammy pale, very near to toppling over.
Pete released her suddenly, caught her as she stumbled, and seated her on the running board. He shoved her head down between her knees till the blood flow revived her. “You don’t got to put on a show,” he said irritably. “I know you don’t want it from a man. I know you’re gay, for chrissakes. That’s one thing I can spot a mile off. I like gay girls, Beebo, in case you ain’t noticed. I’m on your side. Jesus God, you’d think I hated you, or something.”
She looked at him sideways, when she thought she was strong enough to stomach him. “Get out of my sight, you rotten little creep,” she said. “Go find Mona. She plays both sides of the street.”
“Ah, Mona’s a drag,” he said. “She’s got this big thing about putting you down on account of Paula. And you standing her up that night. I’m sorry about that, Beebo, it was kind of my fault. It was me at her place that night.”
“Oh, God,” Beebo said, and let her head drop into her hands again. “I should have known.”
“Well, how am I supposed to know she’s bringing somebody home? I know this girl for years. I drop in on her when I feel like it.”
“If you’re so goddamn big with Mona, you call on her when you feel like it, not me. Don’t you come tomcatting around to me, Pasquini.” She stood up, weaving slightly, and put a hand on the fender to steady herself.
He stood beside her, and she saw that her angry disgust with him was beginning to annoy him. He wanted a fight—that was part of the build-up for him. But he wanted an eventual surrender, on his terms. Beebo showed no signs of yielding and her revulsion for him was plain enough to anger him.
“Maybe Mona was right,” he said, his voice getting thin and mean. “Maybe you need a lesson before you learn what’s good for you.”
“I don’t need any from you,” Beebo spat at him. “I’m getting out of here right now, and you’ll never see me again.”
“I’ll catch up with you one of these days,” he said. “No matter where you go.”
“The hell you will. You’re not going to chase me all the way to California just to kick my can,” Beebo said hotly. But when Pete began to smile, she rethought her words in sudden panic.
“California?” Pete grinned. “Well, that’d almost be worth the trip. I think I’d like it out there. Maybe get another autograph from Venus. Huh, butch? You could work it
