Free Beebo Brinker Chronicles 4 - Journey To A Woman by Ann Bannon Page B

come to me. I haven't got a single cigarette and those s.o.b's at the desk won't send any up. I haven't even got enough whiskey for a lousy nightcap. You will come, won't you? And bring me some groceries?"
    And Beth understood then why she was calling. Cleve had already warned her: Vega couldn't sleep without a bottle by the bed. There was a moment of acute disappointment when she wanted to throw the phone down and smash it. And then it came to her suddenly that Vega could have called somebody else, even Cleve. But she chose her instead.
    "I'll come,” Beth said weakly. “I'll come, Vega."
    "Bless you, Beth, you're wonderful. I swear, nobody else is crazy like I am but you. I knew you'd do it. Darling, you make me feel so much less lonesome."
    "I'll be there as fast as I can,” Beth said, and hung up.
    Beth tried to find her clothes in the dark without waking Charlie. But he was listening for her. Suddenly he switched on the reading light over the bed. For a second or two they were both blinded: Beth on one-foot in the closet, pulling on a stocking, and Charlie leaning on his elbow against the pillow. When he opened his eyes and saw her he got out of bed and went to her without a word. Beth felt him come toward her and she was afraid of him; really afraid. He was a big man with a hard body and a strong streak of jealousy in him. His love for her was still alive but it was uncomfortable and a little the worse for wear and disappointments over the years. He was in no mood to deal gently with her.
    She felt his angry hands close on her arms and jerk her forward so that her face snapped up to his. “Now what's all this about?” he said.
    "I'm going downtown,” she said.
    'To Vega's?"
    Beth looked away. “Let go of me, Charlie."
    "Answer me, Beth!” He had no intention of letting go until she confessed what she was up to. And maybe not then.
    "Vega's downtown, at the Knickerbocker. She wants some cigarettes and things, and I told her—"
    "Cigarettes!” he flared. “And things! What things?” When she refused, panting with indignation, to tell him, he said disgustedly, “And booze I suppose. And you're going all the way into Hollywood in the middle of the night to take them to her. Good God, Beth, I didn't know it had gone this far."
    "What's that supposed to mean!” she cried. “I haven't done anything wrong! You have no right to hint that I have.” She was furious with the strength of her fear; the fear that always rose in her like a red wall at the suggestion of abnormality and shut off her judgment and good sense. Her voice stirred the children, asleep in the next room.
    "You haven't done anything wrong yet,” he amended. “But you go down there tonight and you will.” He was so cold, so bitter, so chagrined that she quailed at the sight of him. The moment his hands dropped from her arms, as if she were too wretched for him even to touch, she turned and fled from him, snatching up a coat from the hall closet. The liquor and cigarettes were ready in a paper bag on the hall table and she grabbed them on the way out.
    In the bedroom Polly woke up and began to cry. Beth heard her when she started the car, and she wondered at every panicky second why Charlie didn't stop her, why he didn't run after her and shake her till her bones came loose, or strangle her. She could feel his fury like a tangible thing wafting to her through the mild night air. Backing out the driveway with dangerous haste she felt that if she had not been fighting mad herself, desperate and determined, his anger would have swallowed her up and subdued her.
    She drove down the Pasadena freeway and into Hollywood, her mind stewing. If Charlie hadn't made such a fuss there wouldn't be any trouble. I'll be home in the morning, the kids don't ever need to know the difference. And if he could only realize—oh, God, make him realize—how happy I can be if I just have somebody to love. To have fun with. Somebody like Vega. Why doesn't he understand