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

her sophistication that made Beth doubt whether Vega had ever given herself to a man.
    Vega opened Beth's birthday gift to her while the rest of them ate. “How did you know?” she said, so quietly that Beth almost missed it.
    "It's only a book,” Beth murmured.
    "You picked it out yourself. I've been wanting to read it, too."
    It was such a personal exchange, almost intimate, that Beth was taken aback. Vega treated the book like a private present from Beth—as if Charlie, who after all paid for it and wrote his name on the card with his wife's, had nothing whatever to do with it.
    Beth found herself oddly drawn to this lovely, rather secretive woman; to the warmth of her voice and the way she spoke. Vega articulated carefully, conserving the small quota of air in her one remaining lung. And yet her voice carried. She had turned the handicap into an asset, learning to develop and project her voice with the skill of a musician. It was pleasant to hear her talk, and she arranged her breathing so artfully that one was never aware that it was a chore, or that her very life's breath came to her in half doses.
    At the end of the evening the three women went to the powder room together. Beth found herself impatient with Jean, wanting her out of the way.
    What for? she thought, amused at herself. And still her impatience persisted. She stood next to Vega at the mirror while Jean leaned against the wall and waited for them to finish with their makeup. Beth wanted to say something, something memorable and witty and complimentary to Vega, but her mind was too busy admiring the woman. She only stared at Vega's large brown eyes and parted lips and puzzled over her.
    "You know,” said Vega, startling her, “you should model. You have a good figure for it."
    Beth was nonplussed. When could Vega have studied her figure? But Vega was adept at observing people without seeming to. She had seen the restlessness in Beth, just as she had seen the ardent mouth and purple eyes and short brown curls, without apparently even looking at her. Now she turned to appraise her.
    "I speak purely as a professional,” she said, her mouth showing a humorous twist at the corners. She gazed frankly at Beth now, up and down, stem to stem. “Turn around,” she said.
    Beth said, “Vega, I could never model. I'm too old."
    "Nobody's too old. Except my mother, and she was born fifty years b.c. You have nice hips, Beth."
    The remark, so casual, sent an unwelcome tremor through Beth, who tried to shrug it off. “I'm thirty,” she said. “Who wants to show their clothes on a thirty-year-old when they could show them on a teen-ager?"
    "You'd be surprised,” Vega said. “Me, for one.” Beth stared at her. “Oh, not my own clothes. Only a scarecrow like me can squeak into those. I mean I like the way a woman your age wears her clothes, and so do the men who hire them. They have something no teen-ager has."
    "A woman my age?” Beth repeated dolefully.
    Vega laughed. “You still look like a college girl, Beth. You aren't, of course, let's face it. But you look it."
    Beth gave her a wry grin. “I don't know the first thing about modeling, Vega,” she said.
    "I'll teach you."
    Beth was secretly pleased, very pleased. But she wasn't thinking of the makeup tricks, or the poise she might acquire. She was thinking, in spite of herself, of the pleasure of spending some time in Vega's company. She had never been able to bring herself to form a lot of friendships with women. It was not possible for her to be friendly with them, curiously enough, just as it is rarely possible for a man to be friendly with women. Beth had known Jean Purvis for years now and knew her well, but they were still only acquaintances, not friends. And Jean, though she regretted it, understood this, and had given up long ago trying to pull Beth closer to her.
    "I don't know if I could afford it—” Beth began, but Vega interrupted her.
    "It's free, darling,” she said, with an injured