The Beast (v1.0), page 7
He was left to find his own way home and had to take a taxi, finally, since he could not figure out which streetcar went near his rooming house. He arrived late, cold, angry and somewhat stunned to find Mrs. Peavey cleaning out his room.
“Mrs. Peavey,” Bo said to the short, energetic woman making his bed. “I won’t be leaving for a couple of days yet.”
She spoke without turning around, snapping the sheets across the slumped bed. “You are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I say you’re leaving, Mister Beaumont.” She looked around. “I guess that’s your real name? Or is it an alias name you’re using?”
“This is all a bad mistake,” Bo said.
“Exactly what I’m thinking, Mister Beaumont.” Mrs. Peavey turned around, hands on hips, her face red. “That little baggage told me you was her long-lost father, she did.”
Bo was stunned again. Her father?
“And I find out I’m running a house of ill fame here. Shame, Mister Beaumont, shame!”
“That’s not true,” George began, but he gave it up. Too much.
He put the few things he had into his suitcase and found himself back on the street. It was getting dark, and snow was coming down steadily. He felt like Little Eva starting across the ice. Mrs. Peavey had stoutly refused to take a message for Lilly and said the woman would not ever get into her house again. George decided he would wait right there at the curb until she showed up, since she usually came around after work on weekdays.
When she did not appear by the time it was quite dark and George was afraid of being frozen to the sidewalk, he walked the three blocks to the streetcar line and rode into Malden to look for a room at the little downtown hotel. There were three Carrothers in the Malden phone book and one in the Revere book. One number did not answer and the other three had never heard of Lillian. By the time he went to bed that night in another saggy little bed in another fusty little room, Bo felt as if life had betrayed him once more. But he was tired. He slept.
Next morning there was snow on the ground and gray skies that meant probably more snow coming. Bo sat in a diner on the main street eating scrambled eggs, and wheat toast (no coffee, no jam) and trying to assemble his life. While the world turned predictably on toward Christmas, which was now only two days away, George Beaumont had three strikes called and was still standing in the batter’s box, in the snow—that’s what it’s like, he thought. The pain is gone, so I guess I’m on the way to being alive again, he thought, putting events in order of importance. Number two, Mary Louise is divorcing me; number three, I can’t find Lilly. He wanted a cup of coffee or a cigarette, or both, but the thought of going back to what he had been before, with pain and fear in every waking minute, made his mind turn away from those lost pleasures. And, finally, his funds were on the edge of extinction.
He wondered idly what Mary Louise would reply to a telegram asking for a hundred dollars from the savings. Maybe Mr. Kneipe would loan him something. Ha, with him going off sick just as the holiday business got to its peak the first week in November? Fat chance. The thought of a divorce rested heavily on his mind, making his body slump as if it were really a physical weight that Mary Louise had placed on his head. There hadn’t been much love in the last few years, sure, Bo was thinking. But he had loved her, and there had been Charles and the good times; but then they lost him. It was two years ago and more, the end of June when it happened. And now they almost didn’t speak anymore. Maybe the divorce was the right thing. He certainly didn’t feel any sense of present loss, as he felt because he couldn’t locate Lilly. Mary Louise was his wife, and Lilly was a kind young woman who had nursed him away from death. He was certain the cancer would have killed him if the Beast and Lilly had not saved him.
He had to appear in court in a week, which meant he had to leave here probably the day after Christmas at the latest to get back by train, since he would have to go the cheapest route possible and would have to find a lawyer. The thought of being in court added to the weight he felt in his head. They would cut him up good in court, especially with the “evidence” those two gumshoes had with their picture of Lilly and him in the park that innocent time, all the innocent times. And at that, Bo started to get angry. Damn them, they not only wouldn’t believe what had happened to save him from dying, they would think he was a middle-aged scoundrel out seducing a young girl, and they hadn’t even hardly touched each other, not even a kiss. And at that thought, Bo felt mad enough to put his clenched fist, which now rested beside his empty plate, right through the counter.
“Merry Christmas, friend!” said a hearty voice at his elbow.
He turned to find a gaunt, rouge-colored Santa Claus standing beside his stool with a red bucket and his hand out. The man’s false beard hung from his ears with ratty abandon, and the eyes were appropriately twinkly, aided no doubt by the liquor on Santa’s breath. Bo felt like flooring the dope.
“What, not a Scrooge so early in the morning,” Santa boomed so that the other diners turned to look. “Help the children of St. Boniface with a nickel or a dime. Do without that extra cup of coffee just this one morning!” The man’s voice was as obnoxious as his breath, but he was persistent, and the other people began to look at Bo with distaste for not contributing. He gave in and fished out some nickels left over from last night’s phone calls.
“Thank you, sir, a few nickels for the poor children. Thank you so much for your philanthropic largesse.”
Bo was about to make an angry remark, but Santa moved on down the line, extorting money from the rest of the patrons, the waitress watching sourly as most of her tips went into the red bucket.
Christmas, Bo thought. He wanted to get something for Lilly, even though what he felt for her was a gratitude larger than any gift he could afford. There must be a way to find her. The other Carrothers in the phone book, maybe. He left ten cents under his plate and slid off the stool. She was standing almost behind him and he almost knocked her down.
“Going shopping?” Lilly said, looking up at his astonished face.
Bo felt his features go in several different directions before assembling into a lopsided smile.
“How did you happen, I mean how’d you know I was here?”
“You’re not so hard to find,” she said, putting her hand through his arm as they walked for the door. “After all, there’s only one hotel in Malden, and this is the closest diner to the hotel and it’s breakfast time.” She looked up at Bo with such a joyous smile that he forgot to pay the cashier and had to be yelled at before they got out the door.
While they rode the streetcar into Boston, Bo filled in what had happened since yesterday morning while Lilly listened attentively with an’ occasional searching look at his eyes. He was a little surprised that she was not more upset at the charges the detectives had made or the fact that he would have to leave soon after Christmas to attend the divorce proceedings. She seemed to have an unshakable aplomb, an attitude of serious attention to all these matters, but one that also said that she considered them of less importance than did the rest of the world.
“You know,” Lilly said, looking at him thoughtfully, “it might not be as serious as all that. Your wife may just be telling you that she feels hurt and neglected.”
“You don’t send out detectives and subpoenas and judges just because a guy doesn’t bring home flowers every night,” Bo said morosely.
“Well, she certainly shouldn’t have involved those people,” she said. “But I’ll bet if you call her on the phone she would listen.”
“Yeah, I thought about that, but I don’t know if I want to talk to her now.” Bo felt bad saying that, but it was true.
“So maybe what’s happening is something you really want?”
“What? A divorce? Hell, no.” Bo sat there watching the Charles River as they crossed the bridge, thinking that at home there might be ice in the river already.
“Are you feeling well now, Bo?” Lilly said softly.
“Sure,” he smiled over at her. “It’s like all that pain never happened at all. I think sometimes it’s going to be pretty hard to make people believe that I was that sick when now I’m all cured.”
“You’ll have to get along with that, I suppose,” Lilly said. “They will say it was all in your mind, or that you had something that only looked like cancer and wasn’t You have to be accepting of their way of looking at it.”
“That’s something else,” Bo said, and paused white the trolley bell clanged a number of times. “If you and, and Her, can cure a thing like that, why you could set up clinics all over and save the lives of thousands of people.” He had not thought through what he was saying but went on anyway. “And think of the money you could make. Why, you could really make it big, besides saving all those lives.”
He was surprised by the look on her face. She seemed almost sad for the first time since he had known her. He felt instantly guilty that he had mentioned such a thing, but puzzled too. Why wouldn’t it work?
“Bo, it’s not the same for everybody,” she said slowly. “And I’m afraid a lot of times it wouldn’t work out as well as it did in your case.”
“What d’ya mean?” he asked, wanting to take that sad look from her face and not knowing how. “Look what you did for me. I was dying, really dying, and you saved my life. I know how sick I was. Why, look at me now. I’ve lost so much weight I look like somebody else, and I feel different, and I’m not eating all that junk anymore, and I feel, I feel like …” He stopped, wondering just what it was that he wanted to express. He did feel different. He felt like a new person, a really alive person. And before he had felt… what?
“You know,” he said with new animation, “before, you know, when I was so sick, I felt like an old man.” He grinned and put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “And I’m not an old man at all. I’m only forty-five—be forty-six next month—but that’s not old.”
He was rewarded by her face losing the sadness and a smile beginning. She reached up suddenly, grabbed his head and pulled it down and kissed him quickly on the lips.
“You’re a young man,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Because you can be whatever you really want to be.”
Bo felt as though he had received knighthood. Her lips sent a glow through him so pleasurable that he felt goose-flesh all over his body. He grinned broadly and felt like dancing. What a good day it was, by golly, a good day.
They held hands on the street going from one department store to another. Bo advised her on jewelry, what was a good piece and what was only cheap casting, pointing out well-set stones and that some costume jewelry looked better than the real thing because it was made with care. And when she was off looking for some napkin rings for a woman friend at work, Bo bought a gold-filled ring with an opal, a tiny one, but as beautiful and fiery as any he had ever seen and set with exquisite care in a ring that must have been made by someone who loved precious metals. It was a great buy, but it took most of his going-home money, and he thought, well, so I have to hitchhike if Mary Louise wont send any money, the hell with all that.
“You’re invited to Christmas dinner, of course,” Lilly said to him as they were standing in a packed elevator.
“I don’t even know your folks,” he said, feeling his stomach go fluttery.
“They know about you, though,” she said as they got off at another floor. “They know you’ve been very ill and have to watch your diet, and they know you’re away from home.”
“I’d like to get them something, but . he said, wondering what sort of people he’d have to deal with.
“Sure, now look, Daniel loves chess, but he can only play at home because he just has the big pieces Polly got for him years ago. Now there are little travel sets that he would enjoy. He could take it to work with him.”
Bo watched Lilly’s face while she rattled off gifts for Daniel and Polly, the older couple she called her “folks.” She had told him that she had met them a year before and they had taken her in.
“Polly has everything possible in her kitchen, so she might like something to read, or hankies, or a set of playing cards.”
Bo was trying to remember and make up his mind at the same time. He was unsettled at the thought of meeting Lilly’s people, but it was exciting, too. He had to keep reminding himself that he was probably not much younger than them, that he was not going to meet his best .giro’s parents but a nice couple who were good friends of .ms good friend.
It was dark and snowing again when they finished and climbed aboard the trolley to get back to Malden. They had agreed to go to Bo’s room to wrap the packages and. eat some cheese and crackers and apples they had picked up. Bo was tired. He usually hated shopping, especially Christmas shopping, when everybody you knew already had everything they needed and you knew that you, and all of them too, were just out spending money because it was the Lord’s birthday. But he had really been interested today, taking such care with everything, arguing with clerks about quality like a housewife, laughing with Lilly about the toys she got for the kids who lived in the other half of her building.
Lilly showed him how to tie a decorative bow and how to make even clumsy packages look neat. He had never cared for wrapping, either, but now he found that it was fun, too.
“I think I must have been a real wet blanket at Christmas,” Bo said, sitting amid the paper scraps eating cheese,
“Why, you’re full of Christmas spirit, Bo,” Lilly said.
She was making curls of ribbon with the edge of a scissors.
“Usually about this time of year I am full of it,” he said, grinning. “Old Panther Sweat, mainly. But now I’m happy as a bug in a rug and don’t even feel like a drink. In fact, the thought of it kind of turns my stomach.”
“That’s a smart stomach you’ve got, then,” she said. •There, now, isn’t that professional?”
“You’re just great, Lilly.” Bo looked at her, feeling a lump in his throat. “You really are Christmas.”
She put the package down and walked on her knees over to him, put her arms around his neck and leaned back to look at him.
“You’re going to love Dan and Polly,” she said, her eyes bright.
“I think I—” He stopped. He had almost said he loved her, and he wanted to say it yet, but he knew he shouldn’t say that. It shouldn’t be that kind of thing, but he felt it was. She was close to him and smelled so good, and she was looking into his eyes in a funny way. He put his arms around her waist and put a little pressure on her. She responded so easily it felt as though she was part of him. Their kiss was long and slow and very sweet
“Jeez,” Bo said, bis breath catching in his chest. “I’m shaking like a little kid,” and he laughed a little.
“Bo, I feel very close to you now,” Lilly said, looking into his eyes, her head on his shoulder, arms around his neck. “You are becoming a part of my life.”
“I don’t feel really alive unless you’re around,” he said, his breath still catching in his throat. “I want to say all kinds of love things to you, but I think it*s not right. I mean.. .”
“Don’t think about that,” she said. And she very deliberately kissed him on the lips again. He felt her small hands on his back, moving in little movements, the fingers spreading and releasing, and he felt her body coming in closer and pressing against his, and then it was no use thinking about anything. He really kissed her this time.
As they lay down on the bed, he started to say something about bow he was afraid of doing something wrong to her, but she smiled so sweetly, touching his lips with one finger, that he stopped. He didn’t say a word about anything outside the room for a long time after that.
She is so wonderful, Bo was thinking as they slowly got to know each other there in the dim light on the hotel bed. The traffic noises outside had almost stopped now, and it seemed they might be entirely alone in the world on this night before Christmas, the snow on the streets and in the dim trees and on the rooftops here in the eastern United States. Maybe the rest of the world would let them alone after all, he thought, feeling her smooth hands on his chest. A tingling sensation spread from wherever she touched, and he very gently ran his hand over the line of her hips, shaking with excitement but calm at the same time.
“Oh, Lilly,” he said in a husky voice, “you’re so beautiful.”
She looked at him, and her face had a depth in it that he had never seen before, as if she were young and yet very old, very much aware of exactly what he meant.
“Don’t you know that you are beautiful, too?” she said. “Now I want you to undress me.”
He believed for a long time afterward that he was in a dream. Time did not pass, but appeared and disappeared as it did in dreams. He imagined they were somewhere out of time and space while they caressed each other and kissed and sometimes even laughed softly. It was a long time, he thought, but no time had passed at all, and then it got very intense, with passion rising up in both of them so that they became entangled, their bodies loving each other, hands working to touch die tenderest and the hardest places, their breathing coalescing and separating, eyes shut or widened with joy.
Bo had sometimes had trouble with sex in the past, sometimes thinking Mary Louise was unhappy with the way he did it. And there had been times when he couldn’t do it at all or when he wanted it too fast and he was afraid of making her upset He worried about performing, as if he were called upon to make a perfect brooch or incise a perfect inscription on each occasion. He thought of it as something like the necessities of a jewelry job, which made it like work. But when he thought about this night afterward, which he did over and over again, he remembered no time that he was uncomfortable or worried or even feeling such a thing was possible. Lilly seemed to fit in with his own emotions so well that there was never any sense of being on trial as there had sometimes been with his wife. He didn’t think of performing at all. In fact, he thought later, he probably didn’t think at all.
