It was no longer a question of proceeding with caution, of "learning how." The whole night passed like an ecstatic dream, punctuated with a few dead-asleep time-outs, when they were both too exhausted to move, even to make themselves comfortable.
Beebo had only a vague idea of what she was doing, beyond the overwhelming fact that she was making ardent love to Paula. She seemed to have no mind at all, or need of one. She was aware only that Paula was beautiful, she was warmly loving, and she was there in Beebo's arms: fragrant and soft and auburn-topped as a bouquet of tiger lilies.
Beebo couldn't let her go. And when fatigue forced her to stop she would pull Paula close and stroke her, her heavy breath stirring Paula's glowing hair, and think about all the girls she had wanted and been denied. She was making up, this night, for every last one of them.
Delphine paused in her reading. An early morning trip to Woolworth's had afforded her the opportunity to not only return the swimsuit she had decided against, but also to slip in, among her sundries, a novel. In truth the toiletries were a rouse. She walked the aisles of the drugstore with a small hand basket, passing more than once in front of the dime novels. Certain that it was more than common for a woman to peruse the pulp fiction for suitable summer distraction, her preoccupation with the display was of so singular a focus she could not help feeling exposed simply in her wandering. The empty basket on her arm exposed the fullness of her thoughts. She turned up the bath aisle.
Some shampoo she slipped into her bin and then some shaving soap. She pretended to be making a decision about talcum powder, lingering in false contemplation before returning the bottle to the shelf and turning back around. Moving slowly, she cut her eyes sideways, hoping to glimpse the cover art now burned on her brain. Upon her first pass, she narrowed down a few prospects, then meandered to the pharmacy grabbing a small bottle of aspirin before returning back. She lingered in front of the rack, eyes searching for the burnt orange background, but none of the hues was just right. Except maybe that one, she mused. She looked left, then right, grateful that even in a 24 hour town the pre-dawn hours afforded one a modicum of solitude while shopping. She reached for a book that might have been the one. It was not. She returned it to its place and walked the aisles, adding white cotton bobby socks and a hairbrush to her basket.
The next time she returned to the rack, she allowed herself to examine more than one title. The art was all so amusingly campy. Women crouched over one another, hungrily. Trapped by their forbidden love. Looming predatory gazes. Innocent housewives. Strange loved stripped them of all decency. Women dancing with abandon. Was she a depraved animal or a confused woman yearning for experience? She smiled at each one of these caricatures and their captions, wondering how these women might be written. What they thought or felt.
"Can I help you find something particular?" the woman from the prescription counter asked; Delphine started and immediately dropped the copy of This Can't be Love.
"I'm fine," Delphine bent to pick up the book and hastily returned it to the shelf, "I'm sorry, you startled me."
"Looking for a little light reading?" The woman wore a name placard that read Ms. Jones. "Or something to spark up the evening." She winked.
"I…." Delphine stumbled. "I couldn't sleep last night." The woman looked her up and down and then smiled.
"It happens." she offered. "Especially in this town."
"Oui," Delphine echoed the sentiment, "Excuse me," she said and gathered her things to leave.
"Beebo Brinker." The woman stated simply, after Delphine turned on her heel to disappear. "If you're looking for a happy ending. If not, any of the ones you picked up will do."
Delphine froze. She turned slowly back to face the woman. She was tall and thin. Her hair was rolled neatly at the sides and back, professional, but not elegantly so. Her square jawline made her features a bit mannish. She wore mascara perhaps, and some rouge and a red lipstick that seemed out of place on her lips. Delphine wondered if perhaps this woman was a homosexual.
"Beebo…?" Delphine's voice trailed off in question.
"Brinker." She said and came around the counter. She walked directly to the rack and lifted a book out. She handed it to Delphine. The cover was decidedly different than the others, muted, brown. A solitary figure dressed in an olive jacket and flat shoes, held a wicker suitcase under a secluded street sign. "Lost, lonely, boyishly appealing…" The tags left doubt that the book engaged the sort of content she was curious about, until she noticed the street names. One was illegible the other clear as day. Whoever this Beebo Brinker was she stood at the intersection of somewhere and Gay St. The subtlety won Delphine over. That, and of course, the promise of a happy ending. She thanked Ms. Jones for her guidance and slipped the volume into her basket. She paid for her items, avoiding eye contact with the clerk– a fact that annoyed her but that she seemed unable to alter– and then beat a hasty retreat back to the Riverside.
The final words she read hit her hard. "She would stop and think about all the girls she had wanted and been denied. She was making up, this night, for every last one of them,". Beebo Brinker, a farm girl who knew little of life or herself (except that she was in some tangible way different from the other girls) discovers love in the arms of a beautiful starlet, and in doing so finds herself. There was enough of Cosima in the main character and enough of her own experience in the story to inspire a craving for Cosima that was both emotional and visceral. She ached. She rose. She returned to the bed where she had left her beloved sleeping.
They had stayed up late –very late– talking and her intention had been to allow Cosima as much rest as her body would take. She hoped slipping back into bed and wrapping herself around the other woman would not wake her, but Cosima stirred with the shifting of weight on the mattress.
Mmmmm, she moaned. "Good morning." Delphine settled her body into the spaces where they both fit together, wrapping an arm around Cosima's torso and breathing in the smell of her hair.
"Good Morning, mon amour." Delphine whispered. "Now," she cooed, "go back to sleep." Cosima chuckled and then acquiesced.
"Okay." she mumbled. They shifted slightly, the weight of their bodies settling into the mattress and pillows. It wasn't long before the rhythm of Cosima's breath became regular and deep. Delphine felt herself skirting the edge of sleep as well, but she could not quite descend into the depths of somnolence. She contented herself with the curious half dreams and memories of the previous night that bridged the gap between her conscious and unconscious mind.
Cosima, who had been completely taken aback by Delphine's enthusiastic, if emotional greeting, reached out.
"Hey, wait whoa. No. Delphine, why are you apologizing?!" She took the woman's head, which had been cast downward, between her hands and pulled their eyes level. "Delphine, I was a total ass." She wiped the wet stains from the other woman's cheeks. "Just ask Siobhan."
"No. No you weren't." Delphine shook her head in vehement protest. "You were trying to show me you loved me," she sobbed, "and I acted like you were trying to injure or insult me."
"Well. First, thank you for seeing that." Cosima offered. "And sure, I thought I was showing you love, but I did it in a desperate and selfish way. You were right. To tell Siobhan before you, to even risk that you'd hear my plans from anyone but me… well, I kind of set myself up for that."
"No, no. It was fine." Delphine interjected, "It is your life. You can do what you feel is best for you, and it is not my place to tell you what that is."
"But you made some really good points Delphine." Cosima insisted. "It's a huge decision and it impacts us both." There was a brief pause in the conversation, and Cosima became instantly uneasy that the presumption that had driven her disclosure to Siobhan might still stain her words now. "…or at least I hoped it would." Delphine took Cosima's hand and led her to the couch. They sat on the edge of the settee, turned knee to knee; Delphine kept Cosima's hands in hers and stroking the back of it with her thumb.
"Of course, of course it would." She assured Cosima. "And I let you think I didn't want it." Cosima squeezed her hand
"Delphine, it doesn't matter."
"But it does." Delphine insisted. "I hurt you I think. You were so angry."
"Yeah, I was." Cosima admitted. "And I know I hurt you too."
"When you said I didn't love you." Delphine confessed. "It frightened me to think you believed that."
"Yeah well, I really shouldn't talk when I am angry."
"Perhaps neither of us should." Delphine offered.
"So are we ok?" Cosima inquired. Delphine nodded, a tear welling in her eye.
"Oui." she managed through the thickness in her throat.
"Good," Cosima said standing. She lead Delphine toward the bedroom. "And we can talk about this more when ever you want."
"Ok," she acknowledged Cosima's offer, "but not now." She sniffed.
"Oh, I'm in no hurry." Cosima agreed. "Well, not for that at least." She winked at Delphine as she brought their bodies closer together. "But I would very much like to kiss you. Would that be alright?"
Delphine smiled through the last of her tears and answered wordlessly, with the gentle pressure of her lips.