Beebo Brinker Chronicles 4 - Journey To A Woman Read Online Free Page A

There were two gifts in the center of the table, one from the Ayerses and one from the Purvises. Vega ignored them.
    "I've been teaching my girls how to walk,” she told them. “To rock and roll records. Are you familiar with Elvis Presley?"
    "Polly's got a crush on him,” Beth said. “I think he's godawful myself."
    "You're wrong,” Vega said. “He's very useful. Especially with a gang of teen-age girls. You put one of his records on and suddenly you've got—cooperation.” She emphasized the word and smiled. “They walk around the studio like so many duchesses—just what I want. I used to play Bing Crosby for them but all it got me was a slouch and a lot of behind-the-hands giggling. Now I play crap and suddenly they're ladies.” She turned to Cleve. “Explain that to me, brother,” she said. “You know all about ladies."
    Cleve ran a finger over his moustache in the wrong direction. “Simple,” he said. “You have one rule: treat a bitch like a duchess and a duchess like a bitch. Never fails."
    "What has that got to do with Elvis Presley?"
    "You didn't ask me about Elvis Presley."
    "Cleve, are you drunk?” Vega said. “It's against the family rules. You can't be. We never get drunk,” she explained to Beth and Charlie. “Limber, but never drunk."
    "You're right.” Cleve ordered another round and when the drinks came he stood up and Beth saw that he really was pretty high. “A toast,” he remarked, “to my charming sister, who is thirty-nine years old today. For the fifth time.” He glanced down at her and Vega smiled seraphically at the ceiling. “Her company is charming,” Cleve went on, while heads turned to grin at him from across the room, “her face is beautiful, her manners are perfect. Thank God I don't have to live with her. Vega, darling, stand up and take a bow."
    Vega stood up with a lovely smile and told him tenderly, “Go to hell.” They both sat down and drank to that while Jean laughed anxiously.
    'They're always like that,” Jean said. “It strikes me so funny."
    Beth wanted to put a gag on her. Jean only wanted to make it seem friendly, teasing. Everybody in the Everglades had heard her husband and his sister. She wanted them all to know it wasn't serious.
    But Beth liked to think they really hated each other, for some weird romantic reason. It gave an edge to the scene that excited her.
    They ordered their meal and Vega, as always, ordered with them. Beth wondered why she bothered. Maybe it was just to give the men an extra helping. Maybe it was to ease her conscience about her drinking. At least if she had a plate of food in front of her she could always eat; she had a choice. If she didn't order anything her only choice would be to drink, and the people with her would take it for granted she was a lush. That would never do, even when she was with her own friends, her own family, who knew the truth anyway. It just didn't go well with her elegant exterior, her control.
    So she ordered food, and ate one bite. It was a sort of ritual that comforted her and shut up the worriers in the party who tried to force French fries or buttered squash down her. When they had all finished she could divide her meal among the men unobtrusively.
    Beth yearned to ask Vega how old she really was, but she didn't dare. She wondered at her own curiosity. Everything about Vega seemed valuable and interesting that evening. The glamorous clothes, the strange feud with Cleve, the dramatic entrance, the illnesses, the modeling.
    I wonder how she'd like being a suburban housewife, she mused, and almost laughed aloud. Vega, with kids. Vega, doing dishes. Vega, with—God forbid—a husband! On some women all the feminine ornaments and virtues only look out of place. Those women seem complete in themselves, and so it was with Vega. Beth couldn't imagine her, sleek and tall and with a hint of ferocity beneath her civilized veneer, being domesticated by any man. There was something icily virginal beneath