Beebo Brinker Chronicles 1 - Odd Girl Out (25 page)

Beth laughed and caressed her, but her doubts grew stronger, nevertheless. She might have revolted against the plan, begged Laura to wait till the school year was up, if a letter hadn't come the next day from Emmy.

There had been several; Beth answered them all and they had been brave and hopeful. But this one was forsaken and bitter for the first time. Emmy hadn't seen Bud for two weeks, her parents were needling her, she couldn't find a job. She said:

"Beth, whatever happens, don't ever let yourself get into a mess like this, ever. Everybody knows what happened—it's so hard to face them all.

"I'd always thought men would give you a fair shake if you were honest with them. But now I'm beginning to wonder. I haven't heard from Bud for two weeks—not a word. And I've written every day. I'd call, but I'm afraid I'd embarrass him—make him mad, or something."

Make Bud mad! What's Bud done to deserve any consideration?

"Besides, I have some unwelcome news for him. He may have to marry me, whether he wants to or not."

Beth crumpled the letter harshly in her hand, too angry and vengeful even for tears.

Laura came into the room, back from her last class. She was breathless and happy and she threw her arms around Beth and said, “Oh, Beth, I can't wait!"

Beth hugged her. She felt good, the weather was good, the idea was good, the time was right. Emmy was right, there was no good in men.

They planned to meet at the station at four-thirty. The train pulled out at five-fifteen; they'd have time for a sandwich, plenty of time to get good seats.

A lot of trunks went home in April full of winter clothes. Theirs had left with a bunch of others, unnoticed. Beth simply left most of the room furnishings. They were hers and she didn't care about them.

"I'm rich, Laura,” she said gaily. “I'm twenty-one and I've got my own money now, and no one can take it away from me, not even Uncle John. I'm free.” And it was wonderful.

Beth had an afternoon class, and as Laura didn't, they planned to go down to the station separately and meet there.

Beth got out of her last class at three and headed for the Union. Her conscience troubled her; she was leaving a big job in a big mess. She went up to her office and tried to straighten things out.

"Leaving us?” someone called out, eying her little traveling bag.

She was startled for a minute. “No,” she said. “I mean—home for the weekend."

"Lucky girl. Wish I could take a weekend off."

She laughed nervously and went to work. It was after four when she stopped. She tidied up her desk with an unsettling sense of finality, pulled her jacket on, took her bag firmly by the handle, and walked out of her office, through the Student Activities room and into the spacious hall, heading for the elevator.

Charlie stood up from a bench by the stair well. “I've been waiting for you,” he said.

She stood frozen for a minute, and then she started briskly for the elevator. “I haven't got time, Charlie."

"Well, make time,” he said. He caught her arms and took her bag from her. “Going someplace?"

"Yes. Let me go."

"Not this time, Beth. Where're you going?"

"That's none of your business."

"All right,” he said. An elevator stopped and the doors opened and people spilled out. “I'm going to talk to you, Beth, whether you like it or not,” Charlie said. People looked at them curiously. “I'm going to talk to you right here and now, in front of anybody and everybody—unless you'd care to give me a little privacy."

"Charlie, don't be a fool,” she said sharply. “Give me my bag."

"Beth, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time."

People stopped and watched them. “All right, Charlie,” she said in a brittle voice. She went to the door of a conference room, looked in and found it empty. “We can use this,” she said. “But make it snappy.” He followed her in, shutting the door behind him. “Beth, where are you going?” he said seriously, indicating the bag.

Beth sighed impatiently. “I'm going home for the weekend. With Laura. On the five-fifteen.” She looked significantly at her watch.

Charlie looked at her in alarm, suddenly alerted. “With Laura?” he said.

Beth turned her back on him. “Yes, with Laura. Now, what is it you're so anxious to tell me?"

Charlie knew he might lose her, then; really lose her. The bag looked ominous, sitting quietly on the long polished conference table. He leaned against the wall, watching Beth pace up the other side of the table, wondering if he could flush the truth out of her with a scare. “Why don't you take her to New York?” he said,

Beth stood absolutely still. The click of her heels died abruptly and she was tense as a guy wire, motionless. He hit home—her back told him so. Finally she turned and looked at him.

"What do you mean?” she said, and her voice was very soft.

He straightened up. “If you're in love with her, go live with her.” His eyes were relentless.

Beth gazed at him with a stricken frown on her face, and suddenly she hurried toward the door. Charlie stepped in front of it, and she stopped, unwilling to touch him. She turned her back to him again.

"Is that all you have to say to me, Charlie?"

"No,” he said. “Do you love her, Beth?"

"What are you trying to prove, Charlie?"

"What are you trying to hide, Beth?"

"Nothing!” she flared.

"Then be honest with me. Do you love her?"

She paused, looking anxiously for an answer. “What makes you think I love her?"

"Answer me, damn it!” he said.

She said, in a haggard, scarcely audible voice, “I don't know ... I don't know.” And then she turned angry eyes on him. “How did you know?"

"I figured it out. Look, Beth—all I want is a chance to talk to you. I'm not going to strong-arm you into anything; I'm not going to beat you over the head. You ought to know that by this time. I didn't expect to find you running away, but—"

"I'm not running away. Damn it, Charlie, I'm running into more problems than I'm running away from. I'm not a coward."

"Listen to me, Beth,” he said, and his eyes were intense and his voice was soft. “Just listen to me for a minute. And remember, no matter what I say, no matter what you feel, I love you."

That silenced her. For a minute he regarded her quietly and then he said, “Grow up, Beth. I don't know how much there is to this thing between you and Laura, honey, but it's all off balance, 111 tell you that. It's cockeyed because Laura's in love with you and you aren't in love with Laura."

"I am!"

"A minute ago you didn't know.” Her eyes fell, and she rubbed them in confusion. “And what's more,” he went on in his firm voice, “she doesn't know you're in love with me. She doesn't know you ever were.'

"I'm not."

He ignored her. “This is child stuff, Beth, this thing between you and Laura. You're deceiving yourself, denying yourself. You're a woman, honey—a grown woman. An intelligent, beautiful girl with a good life ahead of you. And that life has a man in it and kids and a college degree. Maybe it can't be that way for Laura. But it's got to be that way for you."

"I want something more than that.” Her voice was contemptuous.

"Then you'll find it. But not by running away. And certainly not by running away with a girl, and a girl you don't love, at that."

"Charlie, damn it—"

"You can't run away, Beth.” His voice, his gestures, were urgent. “My God, you've read the books. What do they all say—every damn one? They say running away won't help, it won't solve the problem. You can't run away from the problem, you have to stand pat and face it. Look, darling, he said, “you aren't in love with Laura. Laura's in love with you, yes, but—my God, don't you see what you're doing? You're using her as an excuse. You're sorry for her, you want to take care of her as if she were a little girl, without thinking what harm that's doing her. You're sorry for Emmy, you're sorry for yourself. You're mad at the whole God-damned world and me in particular because there are rules that you don't like, and when somebody breaks the rules somebody gets hurt.

"Don't you see how young that is? It's kid stuff, honey. That's the kind of thing you did back in grade school when the world was a big mystery and rules didn't seem to make any sense. You couldn't fight them, you couldn't make sense of them, so you either kicked and screamed or you ran away."

"Charlie,” she whispered, and he could hear the tears in her voice, “I can't hurt Laura. I can't hurt her. Not now. It's too late."

"Beth...” He came up behind her and took her shoulders in his hands, bending his head down close to hers. “Jesus, Beth, don't you see how much greater the harm would be if you let her go along thinking you love her—let her leave school and home and everything she knows for you—and then let her find out some day that you don't really love her? That you never loved her? That you've only been playing with her, using her for your own self-assurance, lying to her all along?"

"Oh, Charlie.” Her shoulders trembled. “You make it sound so terrible."

"It is terrible, darling. But it hasn't happened yet.” He felt the first twinge of hope. He was right; she was frightened. The premise he had gambled on was true. She loved him, not Laura; it remained only to convince her of this herself. “It would hurt her so awfully if I—if I—"

"Not like it will a few months from now. Or a year. Then it could hurt so much that she'd never recover. Beth, my love...” He put his arms around her. “Running away now won't help Emmy either. It won't undo the wrong. It won't make Laura happy. And think what it's going to do to you. Face it, honey, look ahead. Think, not just of Laura or Emmy or me, but of yourself. What will this do to your life? Beth,” he said, turning her around and lifting her chin.

She looked at him through welling tears.

"You don't need to be loved right now, my darling,” he said, and she frowned in wonderment. “You are, but that's not the point. You don't need to be loved one half so much as you need to love, Beth. And you need to love a man ... and you do."

They stared at each other for a long time while her tears slowed and stopped and his face came into focus and his strength held her fast and warmed and thrilled her.

"Charlie?” she said.

He kissed her wet cheeks and her lips for a long lovely while, cradling her body against his own, letting her forget a little, find her courage and will again, pressed hard against the clean friendly power of himself. And then he pushed her firmly away.

"Your train leaves in half an hour,” he said. “I'll drop you off at the station."

He picked up her bag and led her out of the room. She followed him in confusion, her mind in an alarming uproar, her heart in knots. They left the Union and walked half a block to his car without saying anything. She got in and settled herself, trying at the same time to settle her frantic nerves.

They drove to the station. He stopped at the corner, some distance from the entrance, in case Laura should be there waiting. Beth hesitated, her hand on the door handle. Charlie watched her.

"It's your decision, Beth,” he said.

She closed her eyes and clamped her teeth together, and pushed the handle down. The door gave a little, and still she waited, agonized.

"It's five o'clock. Better get going,” he said. “Train leaves at five-fifteen."

"Charlie—” She turned her tortured face to him. “Charlie—"

"I'm going over to Walgreen's and get a cup of coffee,” he said. “I'll be there until five-thirty."

Slowly she got out of the car, pulling her bag after her. She gave him a long supplicating look and then shut the car door and watched him drive off. He didn't look back. She turned and walked up the steps and along the station to the entrance and went in. Laura saw her instantly.

"Oh, Beth!” she said thankfully. “For a minute I—I—oh, never mind. You're here. Thank God, you're here.” Beth tried to smile at her. “Laura, I—” she began. “I got your ticket, darling. It got so late, I—What happened, Beth? Why are you so late?"

"I—I got held up at the Union.” Could she never tell the truth?

"Oh,” Laura laughed. “I nearly had heart failure. It got later and later and—Well, anyway, you're here. We'd better go on up if we want seats. The train's loading.” She gave a Tittle tug at Beth's sleeve.

"Laura—wait. Wait. I—” She stopped, unable to talk, hardly able to face Laura.

With a forced, frightened calm, Laura took Beth's bag from her and led her to a wooden bench near the ticket windows. She made her sit down and then she took her hands and said, with inexplicable dread, “What is it, Beth?” Far away inside her it was turning cold.

"Laura—” Beth's cheeks were hot with a needling shame and uncertainty.

"Beth, you've been crying. What's the matter?"

"Oh, Laura...” Beth couldn't find her tongue. Her voice was rough with sorrow.

"Don't you want to go, darling?” Laura sounded unbelievably sad and soft and sweet. “Laura, couldn't we—couldn't we wait till Tune? I—” Laura shook her head gravely. “No, we can't wait, Beth. We have to go now, or we'll never go. You know that."

She did know it, but she couldn't come right out and admit it. “No, Laur, we could do it later. Couldn't we?” For the first time she was asking Laura instead of telling her.

Laura shook her head again and murmured, “No, Beth, tell me the truth. We haven't much time. What's the matter?"

"Laura—darling—I just can't do it. I just can't. Oh, Laura—hate me. Hate me!” And she put her head down against the bench and wept, unable to look at Laura, pulling her hand free to cover her face.

Laura held the other one hard. When Beth was quieter she raised her eyes and saw Laura's face, white and heart-breakingly gentle, and there was a curious new strength in it, an almost awesome dignity that Beth, in her distress, lacked completely.

"Laura, stay with me,” she said a little wildly. “Stay here. We'll go back to the house. It's only another month or so. Please—"

"No,” said Laura. “I have to go.” She was cold all over now, but the frost brought clarity as well as suffering. She began to understand. She heard Beth start to implore her and she stopped her.