It was five past ten and the rain was fairly heavy outside. Terry was curled up in the armchair watching television, eating peanuts and drinking a beer. He was irritated with Jack for being late. He tried to get interested in the film and sat for a quarter of an hour with his eyes on the set, wiggling restlessly, like a child in need of a comfort station. He jumped when a knock on the door disturbed him.
“Come in, you know it’s not locked,” he said without looking up. “Where the hell were you? At least I tell you where I’m going. Well talk, damn it.” And he turned around to see a tall slim girl standing five feet from him, her long hair streaming wet and her clothes clinging to her body. He was conscious of nothing in her face but her eyes; huge, blue and heavy, dominating, agonized.
Terry stood up suddenly, stammering a little. “You must be Laura,” he said finally. “I was beginning to think you weren’t real.” He took another look at her, pale as a wraith, her eyes the only warmth in the cold oval of her face. “Are you?” he asked. And then smiled a little sheepishly. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in and sit down.”
She moved as if she were dreaming, one hand to her forehead, and he guided her to the sofa where she half sat and half collapsed, letting her head fall back against the cushions. She looked utterly exhausted.
Terry stood hovering uncertainly over her, staring at her. At last he said, “Jack says I’ve got to keep you here.” She shut her eyes. “He’s supposed to be home at ten. He should be right along. I’m Terry. Terry Fleming. Jack says he told you about me. He certainly talks a lot about you. He thinks the world of you.” She gave no sign that she had heard or cared to hear.
At last in some consternation he said, “Would you like something to eat, Laura? You look like you could do with something.” No answer. He went out to the kitchen and opened a can of soup. He fixed up the plate with crackers and cheese and, as a second thought, smoked oysters, and poured a glass of milk. Every two or three minutes he interrupted his task to go to the doorway and check on her. He thought she might vanish, like a ghost. But she didn’t move. She looked dead. She scared him.
He put the food on a tray and brought it into the living room and sat down on the sofa next to her. He put the soup and milk on the coffee table in front of her and then he said, “Wake up. Wake up, Laura.” She didn’t stir. Terry put an oyster on a cracker. “Here,” he said, shaking her a little. “Here, for God’s sake, eat it. It’s your oyster.”
Laura stirred and opened her eyes, took one look at the smoked oyster, and turned away with a grimace. Terry was offended. “So what’s wrong with smoked oysters?” he said. “Here. It’s yours.”
She looked at him then. Really saw him. And then sat up a little, rubbing her eyes. “Mine?” she repeated dimly.
“Jack says you bought ’em.” Terry looked at her with bright eyes, curious now. “You might as well enjoy them.”
Laura sighed and then saw the soup. Terry handed her a spoon and she ate it all without a pause or a word. It seemed to give her strength, to bring her back to life. “I haven’t eaten.” she apologized. “I can’t remember ...”
“Want some more?” he asked quickly.
“No. No thanks. Maybe later.” She looked around the apartment, recognition and sense coming back to her face. “Where’s Jack?” she said, and suddenly clutched Terry’s sleeve. “Where’s Jack?” She sounded frightened.
“He’ll be back any minute,” Terry said.
Laura stared at him then. “Oh, you’re Terry,” she said.
“You’re Laura.” He grinned. “I saw you first.”
She blinked at him, unable to joke with him. Dead serious, she asked, “Did the oysters help?”
“Help?” he said. “Oh. You mean Jack and me.”
“He says you love them.”
Terry studied her, frowning over his smile, and then looked away in embarrassment. “Not the oysters so much,” he said. “But you helped, in a roundabout way. By getting lost.”
“I’m glad,” she said, confused. “He loves you terribly.” She seemed to have no sense that this might startle him or be the wrong thing to say. She hadn’t the physical strength to censor herself. She spoke the necessary truths and no more. But Terry was strongly affected. He walked to the other side of the room and refused to look at her for a while, letting his feelings whirl around inside him. When he did look back, she was stretched out on the sofa, sleeping the sleep of complete exhaustion.
Laura woke up to find Jack sitting in the armchair sipping gingerly at a steaming cup of coffee. His eyes showed over the rim of the cup, heavy, anxious, and old. He lowered the cup when she wakened, putting it on the coffee table by the sofa and lighting a cigarette.
“It’s a nice day,” he said cautiously.
She sat up halfway. “What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty.”
Laura dropped back and shut her eyes. She found a blanket over herself and her shoes were on the floor beside the sofa.
“Well,” said Jack, “are you going to tell me where the hell you’ve been? Or am I going to ask?”
Laura turned her face suddenly to the back of the sofa and wept. “Oh, Jack,” she moaned. “I killed him. I killed him. Oh, God help me.” And she began to sob.
“Killed who?”
“My father.”
“Your father,” he said with friendly sharpness in his voice, “has a prize concussion. But he’s very much alive.”
She turned her head slowly to look at him, her eyes enormous and her heart stopped in her chest. “Alive?” Her voice was a startled whisper. She sat up suddenly and said it out loud. “Alive?” She grabbed Jack’s arms with the strength of shock. “How do you know? How do you know? Tell me quickly.”
“I will, give me half a chance.” He pushed her back down and told her of his trip to the McAlton. “I just went up to the fourteenth floor,” he said. “It was easy. There were a lot of people standing around outside his room and the elevator boy told me about it. Incidentally, you made a real friend. He thinks you’re the original Goof Nut.”
“But my father, Jack, my father?”
“There was a doctor with him. He’s okay, Mother.”
Laura half fainted and it was some minutes before Jack could bring her around. Terry sat on the floor by the sofa, watching her with interest while Jack propped her feet up on pillows. “That better?” he said.
“I hit him so hard,” she murmured the moment she was able to talk. “I was sure I killed him. Maybe he died of the concussion.” Her eyes went wide again with fear and she looked at Jack, but he shook his head with a little smile.
“No such luck,” he said. “I talked to him last night.”
She gasped. “What did you say? Is he all right? Did you tell him who you were?” The fears tumbled out of her.
“I called him on the house phone. Relax, Laura, you’re among friends. I asked him if he knew where you were. He said no.”
“What else?” Laura had clutched his arms with trembling hands.
“He was pretty curious about me, naturally. But I didn’t give him my name and phone number. Now calm down, will you? You’re giving me the screaming mimis.”
“What did he say?” She was crying again. “What? Tell me!”
“He tried to get me to talk but I didn’t tell him anything, except that I was your best friend. Finally he said he was afraid he had hurt you.” Laura shut her eyes and covered her face with a groan. “He wanted a chance to explain. He said if I found you to tell him right away. He has an agency trying to track you down. He said to tell you he’s sorry.” Jack looked curiously at her.
“He’s sorry,” she repeated, staring. “He’s sorry!”
“Did he hurt you, honey?” Jack said gently.
It was too enormous to describe, too torturous to explain; her own private agony. Not even Jack could share it with her. “Yes,” she whispered. “He hurt me.” She looked at Jack and he could see in her face how much more there was to it than the simple words told him.
Jack crushed out his cigarette angrily. “I wish I could break his head for him,” he said.
“No, no,” Laura said. “I thought I had killed him. I never meant to. I was sick. I’ve been so sick, Jack, you wouldn’t believe—Oh, thank God he’s alive. Thank God. I wanted to hurt him and I did. I never wanted anything more. Just a chance to get even with him.”
“What the hell happened between you two?”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“You can to me.”
“No. I can’t. Not to anybody.”
“Did he beat you?”
She shook her head. “Don’t ask me, Jack,” she said. “It’s my own personal sickness. And his. It’s between us, and nobody else.”
Jack lighted a cigarette, watching her closely through the blue smoke. “Why did you go to him in the first place? Didn’t you know it would be bad?”
“I had to,” she said, her face drawn and intense. “I’ve been running away from him all my life. I had to quit running and save myself. I had to tell him face to face what I am.”
Jack’s brows drew together heavily. “You told him you were gay?” he asked.
“Yes. I told him.”
“What did he do?”
She turned her deep eyes, accentuated by the thinness of her face, to Jack. “He hurt me, Jack. And I hurt him. But it’s all over. Oh, my God, I’m so grateful I didn’t kill him. Have you ever thought you killed somebody, and tried to go on living with it? It eats you up, it corrodes your brain and your body, it makes you sick, oh, so horribly sick. Oh, Jack....” And he put his arms around her while she wept and Terry watched them in silence.
“That bastard,” Jack murmured, comforting her. “That damn bastard. I think I hate him as much as you do, honey.”
“No, no, I don’t hate him,” she whispered. “I can’t any more. I never will again. I understand now, so much. Nothing ever made sense before, but now I understand. He was weaker than I was, Jack.” She spoke with wonderment. “He was more afraid of me than I was of him.” It was a strange new feeling this knowledge gave her. “I don’t know quite how I feel about him now. I won’t know for a long time, I guess. But I still love him. I always loved him, even when I hated him the most. I only hope we never meet again. I can stand it if I never have to see him again.”
Terry fixed her a breakfast, and she ate ravenously. She discovered they had stripped her wet clothes off and put a robe on her the night before while she slept. She pulled the robe close around her while Jack tried to make her tell him where she had been, but he got little satisfaction.
“I don’t know,” was all she would say, and when he protested, skeptically, she turned to him, her face earnest, and said, “I don’t know.”
“Ahhh, don’t tell me,” he said.
“I just walked, I guess. It all seems like a nightmare. The first thing I remember after I left Father is eating a bowl of soup. And then I fell asleep.”
“Don’t you remember me?” Terry said. “We had a nice little talk last night.”
“We did?” She was surprised.
“Sure.” He smiled, and made her blush with embarrassment. “I’ll tell you all about it sometime.” He grinned at Jack who gave him a quizzical smile.
“So you don’t know where you were?” he prodded Laura.
“I swear, Jack.”
“Well, we didn’t know either,” he said. “And we damn near lost our minds. We pictured you—well, never mind what we pictured. You had us frantic, I can tell you.”
Laura smiled at him a little. “Jack,” she said, and put a hand on his arm. “You’ve been so good to me. I wouldn’t have caused you any worry, only—only—oh, my God. Marcie! I forgot about Marcie. And Beebo.” She turned to him, but he calmed her with a glance, holding her down in her chair.
“I called them,” he said. “I called everybody. Even Papa Landon. I told them you were all right, and that’s all. Your father doesn’t know where you are.”
Laura hung her head. “Jack, I didn’t have a chance to tell you about Marcie.”
“I know. You don’t have to tell me. Marcie did.”
“Marcie did?” She looked up amazed.
“Not in so many words, Mother. She just said you quarreled, and I got the idea. She sounds pretty unhappy about things.”
Laura covered her face, her elbows resting on the table. “She knew, Jack. She knew all along that I was gay,” she whispered brokenly. “She and Burr had a bet that she could make me make a pass at her.”
After a long silence Jack squeezed her arm and said gently, “You had to learn. Now you know. We all go through it sooner or later.” He looked up at Terry and found the boy staring at him, his eyes full. He looked away, confused, turning his attention back to Laura. “She wants to see you. She means it.”
“I know. But I couldn’t stand to see her. Even talk to her. It would be hell.”
“I know what you mean.” Jack got up and poured himself another cup of coffee, saving himself a half inch in the cup for a jigger of whiskey.
“It’s not even ten o’clock yet,” Terry reproached him.
“Shut up and drink your milk,” Jack said and smiled at him.
“I’d better call the office,” Laura ventured quietly.
“I did,” Jack told her. “You’re fired. They were damn nice about it, though. Dr. Hollingsworth wants you to come in and talk to him. Sarah gave me the pitch. It seems they admire your brains but they figure your nerves are loused up. I suggest, Mother, that you see my analyst.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“Neither can I.” Jack laughed. “Let’s put Terry to work,” he said to Laura. “It’s time he earned his own way.”
“Doing what?” Terry said.
“I don’t know. What are you good for? Anything?”
“I can cook.” Terry grinned.
“Good. I know a Greasy Spoon two blocks from here.”
“Oh, hell!”
“Jack,” Laura said suddenly. “Does Beth know I’m all right?”
“Beth?” Jack frowned at her. “You mean Beebo, doll.”
“I mean Beebo,” Laura said quickly, growing hot.
“She knows.”
“Did you tell her when I disappeared?”
“She looked all over the Village for you. She was worried.”
“Do you think she’d talk to me?”
“No.”
“Oh, Jack.” She turned an unhappy face to him, pleading for a chance to hope.
“She might say ‘goodby’ to you. Or ‘go to hell’. Don’t expect miracles.”
“I guess I haven’t any right to her friendship any more.” But it suddenly seemed terribly important; the most important thing in the world.
“Not as long as you get her mixed up with Beth.”
“Oh, that was just a slip of the tongue.”
Jack stood up and paced across the kitchen. He turned, resting his rump on the counter by the sink, and parked his coffee cup next to him. “Laura,” he said seriously. “You fell in love with a girl named Beth once. You told me that. Then you and Beth broke up and Beth married somebody and quit school. And then you ran away from home. And you came to New York, and every damn female you met reminded you of Beth.”
“Oh, no—” Laura began, but he held up a hand to silence her.
“Now listen to me, damn it! I’m beginning to wonder if you were running away from your father or from Beth.”
“Jack!” Laura stood up and faced him, her temper rising.
“Marcie and Beebo look about as much alike as Laurel and Hardy. Yet they both remind you of Beth.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“And you fell for both of them. And don’t tell me they were the only ones.” His eyes were hard to meet. Laura looked down.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered, confused, rubbing her eyes. “No.”
“Beth must have been a great girl, Mother. But you can’t stay in love with her all of your life. Even if she was the first one.” Laura’s face flushed.
“I won’t talk about this, Jack!” she exclaimed.
“You don’t have to. I will.”
“It’s my private life.”
“You’ve pulled me into it. What’s the matter, are you afraid to hear me talk about it?”
She sat down, angry. “No,” she said sharply. “I’m not afraid.”
Jack took a sip of his café royale. “Okay,” he said in a business-like voice. “I’m going to tell you something you won’t like. But I think you ought to know it. You were never in love with Marcie, Laura.”
They looked at each other and finally Laura exploded, “You’re cracked! I thought you understood. I thought you—you, of all people—understood how I felt about her!”
“I did.”
“I don’t want to hear any more!”
“I don’t doubt it,” he said. She rose again and faced him, defiant and hurt. “You loved Beth,” he said, more gently. “You loved love. It showed in all you said to me, when we first met. You needed love and you went looking for it. You went looking for another Beth. You were bound to find her. You found her in every female face that appealed to you.
“Laura,” Jack said slowly. “Marcie doesn’t look like Beth. Neither does Beebo. Nobody looks like Beth but Beth. And Beth is gone. She isn’t yours any more. She belongs to a man.”
Laura covered her face suddenly with a groan. “Jack, don’t! Please,” she whimpered. Then, gathering her anger around her, she said, “They do look like her! I swear they do!”
Jack shook his head. “They just looked like love, Mother.”
Laura gave a little sob. “Jack, don’t torture me.”
“You know why I’m doing it. You know I don’t want to hurt you. Now listen to me, Laura. You can’t stay in love with Beth all your life.”
Laura put her hands down and looked at him again. “Jack, you don’t know how wonderful she was. You never knew her, you can’t talk about her. She was so beautiful, she was so good to me. She made me understand what I was, when I was so ignorant and scared that you wouldn’t believe it! And she made me understand without hurting me. She made it beautiful. I owe her so much. I loved her so.”
“But she’s married, Laura. You told me that yourself. You’ll never even see her again. No matter how good she was.”
“She never hurt me!” Laura flared. “Marcie hurt me, Beebo hurt me, but never Beth.”
“Oh, balls!” Jack said. “Never hurt you, hell! She left you, didn’t she! She slept with a guy and married him. What do you want, Mother, a silk-lined accident-proof guaranteed romance? Good for six months with lotsa kicks and no pain? Or your money back? They don’t come that way. Ask anybody. Ask me. Ask Terry.” And then his face softened. “She’s gone, Laura,” he said quietly, significantly. “And you can’t go back to Marcie.”
Laura sat down and let the tears roll down her face, and her mouth trembled. “And I can’t go back to Beebo,” she whispered.
Jack walked over to her and leaned on the table, one arm on either side of her. He put his head against hers and said into her ear, almost in a whisper, “Beebo loves you, honey. She’s no Beth. No Marcie. She’s herself, and for all you know, that may be even better.”
Laura covered her face then and cried.
Fifteen minutes later Jack, who had gone into the bedroom to dress, came back to the kitchen and said, “I’m going to the office for the rest of the day. Somebody has to pay the rent.” He looked at Terry with a wry smile.
Laura looked up quickly. “I’ve got to talk to her, Jack. Where can I find her?”
“Beebo? She’s working. Stick around till I get home, Mother. Sleep. You look like hell. Get Terry to read you a story or something. You can see her tonight.”
“Thanks.” She looked at him with wet eyes and then she smiled. “Thanks, Jack. For everything.”
He grinned. “It’s those damn oysters,” he said. “I’m a new man.” He winked at Terry and left.
