like her old man.”
“And she’d be bright and sweet and loving.”
“With dames, anyway.”
“With me.”
“Oh, God! All this and incest, too!” And Beebo’s laughter, cruel and helpless, silenced him suddenly. He couldn’t be angry, she meant no harm. She was writhing in a net of misery and it eased the pain when she could tease. But the lovely child of his dreams went back to hide in the secret places of his heart.
After a while Beebo stopped laughing and asked, “Why a girl?”
“Why not?”
“You’re gay. Don’t you want a pretty little boy to play with?”
“I’m afraid of boys. I’d ruin him. I’d be afraid to love him. Every time I kissed him or stroked his hair I’d be thinking, ‘I can’t do this any more, he’ll take it wrong. He’ll end up as queer as his old man.’”
“That’s not how little boys get queer, doll. Or didn’t your mama tell you?”
“She never told me anything.” He smiled at her. “You know, Beebo, I think I’m going mad,” he said pleasantly.
“That makes two of us.”
“I’m serious. I’m even bored with liquor. By Jesus, I think I’ll go on the wagon.”
“When you go on the wagon, boy, I’ll believe you’re going mad for sure. But not before.” She put her own glass down as if it suddenly frightened her. “Why do we all drink so much, Jackson? Is it something in the air down here? Does the Village contaminate us?”
“I wish to God it did. I’d move out tomorrow.”
“Are we all bad for each other?”
“Poisonous. But that’s not the reason.”
“It’s contagious, then. One person gets hooked on booze and he hooks everybody else.”
“Guess again.”
“Because we’re queer?”
“No, doll. Come with me.” He took her by the hand and led her on a weaving course through the living room to the bathroom. The dachshund, Nix, followed them, bustling with non-alcoholic energy. Jack aimed Beebo at the mirror over the washbowl. “There, sweetheart,” he said. “There’s your answer.”
Beebo looked at herself with distaste. “My face?” she asked. Jack chuckled. “Yourself,” he said. “You drink to suit yourself. As Laura said, you drink because you like the taste.”
“I hate the taste. Tastes lousy.”
“Beebo, I love you but you are the goddamn stubbornest female alive. You don’t drink because anybody asks you to, or infects you, or forces you. You’re like me. You need to or you wouldn’t! Ask that babe in the mirror there.”
“I can’t live with that, Jack,” she whispered.
“Okay, don’t. I can’t either. I just made up my mind: I’m quitting.”
She turned and looked at him. “I don’t believe you.”
He smiled at her. “You don’t have to,” he said.
“And what if you do? How does that help me?”
He shook his head. “You have to help yourself, Beebo. That’s the hell of it.” He turned and walked toward the front door and Beebo followed him, scooping Nix off the floor and carrying him with her. “Don’t go, Jack,” she said. “I need somebody to talk to.”
“Talk to Laura.”
“Sure. Like talking to a wall.”
“Talk anyway. Talk to Nix.”
“I do. All the time.” She held the little dog tight and turned a taut face to it. “Why doesn’t she love me anymore, Nix? What did I do wrong? Tell me. Tell me …” She glanced up at Jack. “I apologize,” she said.
“What for?”
“For laughing about your kid. Your little girl.” She stroked Nix. “I know how it feels. To want one. You just have to make do with what you’ve got,” she added, squeezing Nix.
Jack stared a little at her. “You know, it comes to me as a shock now and then that you’re a female,” he said.
“Yeah. Comes as a shock to me too.”
He saw tears starting in her eyes again and put a kind hand on her arm. “Beebo, you’re trying too damn hard with Laura. Relax. Ignore her for a couple of days.”
“Ignore her! I adore her! I die inside when she slams that door at me.” She dropped Nix suddenly and threw her arms around Jack, nearly smothering him. “Jack, you’ve been through it, you know what to do. Help me. Tell me. Help me!” And her arms loosened and she slumped to the floor and rolled over on her stomach and wept. Nix licked her face and whimpered.
Jack stood looking over her, still smiling sadly. Nothing surprised him now. He had lived with the heartbreaks of the homosexual world too long.
“Sure, I know what to do,” he said softly. “Just keep living. Whatever else turns rotten and dies, never mind. Just keep living. Till it’s worse than dying. Then it’s time to quit.”
“Ohhhh,” she groaned. “What shall I do?”
“Stop loving her,” he said.
Beebo turned over and gaped at him. Jack shrugged and there was sympathy in his face and fate in his voice. “That would straighten things out, wouldn’t it?”
Beebo shook her head and whispered, “I can’t You know 1 can’t.”
“I know,” Jack repeated. “Goodnight, Beebo.”
THE BEDROOM DOOR opened and Beebo surprised Laura sitting on the closet floor fingering her shoes and dreaming. The party was two days past, the hangovers were still with them, but love was seven days behind them. Beebo didn’t know how much longer she could take it. She had tried, since Jack’s advice about relaxing, to keep her distance from Laura. It had not worked miracles, but it had helped.
However, Laura resented the love she could no longer return. Perhaps it was anger at her own failing, her own empty heart. Laura felt a sort of shame when Beebo embraced her. She blamed herself secretly for her fading affection. Beebo’s love had been the strongest and Beebo’s words, when she spoke of it, the truest. And yet Laura had said those same words and felt those same passions and believed, as Beebo had believed, that it would last.
She could not be sure where
