Beebo Brinker Chronicles 4 - Journey To A Woman (31 page)

She turned a supplicating face to him.

"I don't understand it,” he said. “You were all I ever wanted. The only thing wrong with my life now is that you're not in it."

"The only thing wrong with your life when I am in it is me. I had to leave,” she said, feeling that old needling desperation that plagued her when she tried to explain her private self to Charlie. He felt it too, as he tried to grasp it all, and came away with a head full of her words and no meanings to hang them on.

"I thought when I found Laura it would all come clear, all be explained to me,” she said, speaking as though explaining it to a child. “But when I found her, it was more like the beginning of the search than the end of it. I guess I'll never know the answer to who I am. Or why. I guess the answer is that there is no answer.” She gave a shy hopeless little laugh. “Does that make things any clearer?"

"No,” he said and shook his head, an earnest sweat of concentration on his face. “I hope you aren't telling me you won't come back with me. That's the only thing that matters."

"But Charlie, darling, we're right back where we started. That isn't enough. Not for me. If we could only be friends and—"

"Friends I” he flared, and she knew she was in for it now. “How can a husband and wife be just friends? Do you want to live like Cleve and Jean lived all these years? A pitiful farce of a marriage? It may fool their friends but it doesn't fool them."

"Charlie, let's face it, ours wasn't much better."

"It was till you got a bunch of goddamn half-baked ideas in your head!"

"I don't think I could go back to you now, even loving you,” she said.

"You mean you don't love me enough? Beth, Beth, I've always known that. In a marriage, one always loves more than the other. I'm willing to be that one.” He had risen and come toward her and now he stood behind her with his big warm hands on her shoulders, feeling her sobs and aching to stop them with kisses.

’”Oh, don't!” she cried, shaking him away from her. “Don't talk that way. You'll break my heart."

"'Come home with me then."

"I can't!” she cried, moving still further away from him.

"I need you."

"I can't, Charlie."

"The children need you. Think of them if you can't think of me, for God's sake."

"I have, I have, I've almost lost my mind over them. I wish somebody had cared that much about me when I was a child! I can't go home!"

’”You can, goddamn you! You will!” he exclaimed.

She whirled and faced him and shrieked with desperate determination, “No!"

There was a trembling silence for several moments while they stared at each other, both shaking with the intensity of their love, their hate, their helplessness.

"Beth, not once since I found you and got you out of that jail and brought you here have I said anything about what you've done to me. I was hoping I wouldn't have to. I haven't told you about the nights I've spent alone and the restaurant dinners I've eaten and the stories I've had to make up for the kids about you and the things I've had to tell the neighbors. I haven't told you—"

"Don't!” she cried in anguish. “Don't tell me unless you want to kill me."

"I want you to know what I've been through!” he said fiercely.

"Charlie, I'm telling you now and forever, once and for all, I can't come home with you. I can't go back to you. I—” “You said you loved me.” He had turned quite pale and was staring at her.

"I want a divorce,” she said, and crumbled into a chair at the foot of the bed.

They sat in utter silence then for ten minutes, neither of them moving, neither speaking. At last he said, “I could have killed you when you left. I felt that way for a long time. But when I heard about Vega, all the mess in the papers, everything changed. I was so worried about you. I knew you couldn't have done it and I wanted to forgive you. I don't know why, I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment. I just wanted you back, no questions asked."

"You didn't need to ask. Mr. Heinrich had all the answers,” she said sharply.

"I came here to forgive you, to rescue you and start over."

"I can't be rescued,” she said firmly.

"You're not worth it,” he said grimly. “I didn't know that till now. Or rather, I couldn't face it. I guess because I loved you so much."

She covered her face with her hands, refusing to look at him or answer. At last he rose.

"I'll take another room,” he said. “I'll be leaving tomorrow, I guess. There isn't much point in staying on."

She listened to him moving about the room, taking his things from the drawers where he had put them the night before, and her heart contracted. But still she didn't move, didn't try to stop him. It was better that he go off mad. It would give him strength and reassure him in the future that he had done the right thing. It would help him give her up. He stopped at the door and she looked up then, aware that he was leaving. His chin was set and his eyes were hard. He was very handsome and straight.

"Charlie, I wish—with all my heart, I wish—"

"I know. So do I,” he said.

"I'll never know, all the rest of my life, if what I'm doing is a brave thing or a cowardly thing, Charlie. A right thing or a wrong one. I only know I have to do it."

He listened, quiet and Uncomprehending, and then he said, almost gently, “Goodbye, Beth."

"Goodbye,” she whispered. He shut the door softly after him.

THERE WAS ONLY ONE THING left that she knew she had to do, and that was see Laura and tell her the truths she had withheld before. She wrote to her aunt and uncle first and explained why she could not, and never would, come home, and thanked them for the hospitality. She was honest, although she was brief.

If she had to start a new life, and there was no question any more about that, she was going to start it without the lies and self-deceptions that had marred the other. She was going to pare away the fibs and selfish miseries, as many of them as she could, even if it meant hurting herself, hurting others. It would be a clean, honest pain and it would heal. She hadn't the guts to face Laura that day; to face anyone, for that matter. She waited until the next morning and then slipped out early, afraid of running into Charlie in the hotel lobby. But she was spared that.

She took a cab over to Laura's apartment. It was only eight-thirty. It seemed like an odd hour for confession and atonement, an odd time of day to be making your apologies and refashioning your life. But we don't pick our own times for these things; they happen when they are ready. The tangled strands of Beth's life were smoothing out a little. This was the last task. Until it was done she was not free. The rest would have to wait. When Laura herself knew the whole truth, Beth would be liberated at last from her self-contempt, from her obsessive need for Laura.

She rang the elevator buzzer after the clerk had phoned the Manns and told her she could see them. She rode up with her spine tingling and all the delicate nerves of her face taut. It wouldn't be so, bad; it couldn't be worse than what she had been through with Charlie or with Vega, she told herself. It had to be done. And still she trembled.

She tried to think of herself riding back down in that same elevator in half an hour with her lies behind her, her selfishness exposed and, in part, atoned for, and her heart lighter. Even if Laura was angry and disillusioned with her, even if her idealization of Beth was rudely shattered, even if there was no friendship left to salvage. It was Laura, she had come to find and Laura was her last bridge to cross before she could begin her life over again somewhere and try to do better with it this time.

She knocked quickly on Laura's front door, as if by hesitating she would squander her courage. Jack opened it for her. She stared at him.

"Good morning,” he said. “It's all right, I live here,” he added, seeing the look of faint dismay on her face.

"I thought you'd be at work,” she said clumsily.

"I'm on my way, sweetheart,” he said, smiling. “She's all yours.” He thumbed over his shoulder and Beth saw Laura behind him in the living room, tying Betsy's hair ribbons. “Come on in,” he said and Beth walked in behind him. “We're relieved to see you,” he told her seriously.

Laura stood up, her face a picture of pale consternation. “Beth,” she said. The name was almost a question. “Are you all right?"

"Yes,” Beth said, and the relief Laura showed touched her.

"We saw in the papers that it was all over. They released you and everything."

Beth sat down in a chair and Laura busied herself with goodbyes until Jack and Betsy had gone out. She understood intuitively that Beth had to talk to her, only her, to set things right with herself.

When they were alone she came and sat on a hassock beside Beth's chair—the leather chair that Jack liked so well.

"I came to tell you the truth about a few things, Laura,” Beth said softly. “I won't take much time."

"Have some breakfast with me,” Laura said, but Beth shook her head. “Some coffee then?” and without waiting for an answer Laura sprang up and went into the kitchen. Beth didn't want her hospitality. She didn't want to watch Laura's warm concern turn slowly to disdain when she found out that Beth had deserted two children and her husband. The children, mercifully, had been kept out of the papers. It was up to Beth to confess their existence to Laura.

Beth came over to the stove where Laura was arranging two cups and saucers.

"Laura, please,” she said, touching her hand gently. “Don't do this. You may not want to look at me after I tell you—tell you—"

"You don't have to tell me anything, Beth. I trust you,” Laura said. “I love you. Friends don't need to apologize to each other."

"Yes, they do. Sometimes it's the only way."

"We've said too much to each other already. The less we say to each other, the happier we are together.” And she smiled intimately.

"I can't help it,” Beth said miserably. There's one thing more."

"Have your coffee first, then,” Laura said with a sigh, pouring it and carrying the cups to the sunny breakfast table. She sat down and looked up at Beth expectantly.

"I'm still married,” Beth blurted fearfully after a tight little pause. She stood rigidly by the stove, forcing out the words with an effort of will. “I have—I have two children.” She stopped to steady her breath, to quell the shakes, shutting her eyes for a second. “I lied to you. I had made love to other women when I saw you before. Not just you, Vega—Vega—” She broke down and had to turn away.

"I know,” Laura said softly. I know it all. You don't need to tell me, Beth. Come sit down."

After a stunned pause, a hiatus of disbelief and relief both, Beth cried, “You know! You know—all that—about the kids, about—"

"Yes. All of it.” Laura held out her hands and Beth came toward her, trembling, and suddenly sank to her knees and put her head in Laura's lap and wept. “How?” she said. “How did you know?” She looked up with a quick premonition. “Charlie didn't try to see you, did he?"

Laura shook her head. “My father,” she said, stroking Beth's hair. “My bastard of a father, who still loves me in spite of everything. I wonder why I still love him?” She looked away, perplexed.

"Your father?” Beth felt a stab of regret go through her. She should never have trusted him.

"He wrote to me,——” Laura said. “He told me about you. Just a couple of days ago, after all that stuff in the papers. He said he wouldn't have written even then, but you were in such desperate trouble and he thought I ought to know. And you know something? I'm glad he did.” She was really surprised at herself. “I never thought I could care about him again, when we quarreled years ago. Not after what he tried to do to me. I would never have broken down and written him myself. But I worried about him. I've thought a lot about him these past years, now that my life is so much happier. So in a way it was a load off my mind to hear from him."

"He promised me he wouldn't write,” Beth whispered. “He promised me he wouldn't interfere with your life again. I should never have told him about you behind your back."

"Maybe not, but it all turned out all right,” Laura said. “Now I'm glad. No, really, honey. If you had asked me first I would have said no. So maybe it's for the best, because I would have been a stubborn fool if I'd refused. He was so curious about Betsy. I guess the idea of being a grandfather really tickles him. He didn't know he was until you wrote him about it."

"And all these days you've known about me,” Beth said, raising her head a little to look up at Laura. “You knew what I was, what I'd done, and you didn't despise me for it."

"Oh, but I did. At first,” Laura admitted. “I was good and mad at first. But I think I've gotten over it. What good is it to stay mad? It doesn't help things at all. Besides, everything you've done these past few weeks you've done in a fog. I know that."

"I did some terrible things to you, Laura,” Beth said. “I've lied to you and betrayed you to your father and accused you of bad faith and—"

But Laura put a restraining finger on her mouth, and then, to Beth's surprise, she kissed her. It was a pardon for all the sorrows, big and little, Beth had caused her. It was an end to pity and a start to love without illusions, the tender love of friends.

"Please,” Laura said. “It's over now. You told me everything. I wouldn't have asked that of you. I gave you a chance to get out of it, and you had the guts to go ahead and tell me on your own. That's enough for anybody, Beth."

And Beth understood, looking at her, that she really meant it. She was not angry or hurt. She had had her moments of temper when she heard from her father, but they were past and Beth had missed them. And Beth knew, too, that if Laura still loved her the way she had loved her once, long ago, she would be furious now with jealousy and disappointment. There could be no more eloquent testimony to the change in Laura's feelings than the gentleness and affection Laura showed her now.

"I came so far to find you, Laura,” Beth murmured. “I thought it was terribly important to revive your love for me; thought that that by itself could save me. I wanted you to think of me the way you did when we were roommates in school.” She gave a small self-deprecating laugh. “You know, I wonder if it isn't true after all."