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

know myself."
    "Vega, I'm so sorry, it was thoughtless, I just—"
    "No darling, I don't want you to explain.” Her hand tightened on Beth's warm knee. “I just want you to tell me what Cleve thinks it is I don't know about myself. Tell me, Beth,"
    Beth opened her mouth to speak and found no voice. How could she possibly say such a thing? He thinks you're a Lesbian, and you don't know it. It could be torment for a sensitive person to have something that shocking, that personal, thrown at her from the blue.
    "I can't say it, Vega,” she admitted, and Vega read her pale face accurately.
    "Well, then, I know what it is,” she said. “And he's telling you what he honestly believes.” Her face became pensive suddenly and she gazed downward at the whiskey in the glass tumbler. “I have never let him understand me very well. I have good reasons for it. He thinks he does, of course. It's rather painful sometimes, he thinks I'm so dense."
    Beth felt herself in a state of tremulous anticipation. She didn't want to talk, only to touch, only to feel. And yet talking like this might bring her closer to Vega, help her understand her.
    "If I tell you, Beth,” Vega said slowly, “that I have never been attracted to men ... I hope it won't give you wrong ideas.” She glanced up to see how her remark was taken, but Beth said only, “Wrong ideas?” She sat holding her hands together tightly to keep from reaching out for Vega.
    Vega smiled at her suddenly and said, “Relax.” The squeeze she gave Beth's knee tickled her and they both laughed. “You didn't come here to get a lecture on me, anyway,” Vega added. “You deserve some reward for your effort. Here, have another.” She offered Beth the glass and Beth tried to turn it down. But she saw a quick shy retreat in Vega's eyes, as if Vega feared Beth were disapproving, and she took the glass anyway and drank.
    "Was Charlie mad at you for coming?” Vega asked.
    "Yes,” Beth said simply. Her head was getting light.
    "I'm sorry,” Vega said. Her voice was tender and grateful.
    "You know, I had an odd thought on the way over here tonight,” Beth said, to change the subject.
    "Tell me.” Vega leaned back into the pillows and gazed up at her, the whiskey glass resting on her stomach. She held it lightly, almost casually, as if she could easily give it up, as if she could go to bed without a drink, without a bottle on the table beside her.
    "I'd like to get lost with you in Hollywood. I mean—” Beth laughed, flustered. “See the sights, like the tourists."
    "You don't go wandering in Hollywood at night without a man unless you want to get picked up, darling. Is that what you mean?"
    "No, I just want to share it with you. You're fun to be with. I guess—to be frank—that's why I came tonight.” She took the proffered glass again, avoiding Vega's penetrating smile bashfully, and when she returned it she felt quite dizzy. She leaned toward Vega slightly, steadying herself with both hands pressed into the bed in front of her. She found herself tilted close to Vega.
    "Feel okay?” Vega asked. “You look way out. No need to keep up with me, you know. I'm more or less immune to the stuff. Ask Cleve."
    "I feel fine. Wonderful,” Beth said, raising her eyes to Vega's. She felt reckless, even. Then: closeness was like a challenge, a dare that brought her pulse up high and visible in her throat and made her work for her breath. “Vega, you—you are the loveliest woman,” she whispered.
    Slowly Vega placed her glass on the floor and then her hands went up to Beth's shoulders, more to subdue her than encourage her.
    "Beth?” she said, and the name itself was a question. “I never thought you of all people..."
    In one quick painful second, Beth saw that she was caught; her fascination, her desire were clear and hot in her eyes and mouth. Vega could see them. There was nothing for it but to declare herself or retreat and run, spouting half-baked excuses that would fool neither of