Juliana

by Vanda

Slag banged on the door. “Hey, open up.”

  Through the door I could hear people singing “One Life to Live” from Lady in the Dark .

  A blond boy, about fifteen or so, with no shirt on wearing feathers in his hair and a grass skirt, opened the door.

  “Hi,” he grinned at me. “My name’s Tommie. That’s Tommie with an i and an e , not a y . Y is so boring, don’t you think?”

  “Well—”

  “Oh, Slaggie, you are such a sweetie.” Tommie with an ie jumped up and down, squealing and took the package. “Look, everybody.” He kissed Slag on the cheek. “How’d you ever find a place to buy beer today ?

  “I have my sources,” Slag said.

  “But really, Timothy. Beer?” Max said from across the room. “How low class. I have the very best wine. Italian and French.”

  “Maxie,” Slag spread his arms wide. “Low class is me. That’s why you love me.” He walked over to Max and kissed him on the lips.

  “Keep that up, dear,” Max said, “and you can bring anything you want in here. Except that .” He pointed at me. “What are you doing here?” Max wore a shirt decorated with red and silver sequins and a scarf around his neck.

  “Didn’t you invite her?” Slag asked. “I found her outside, and I thought ….”

  Max walked over to me. “Are you sure you’re ready to be one of us?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re going to find out exactly what that means soon enough, but for now keep your fucking mouth shut. There are careers at stake here.”

  My body shook with the sound of that word.

  “Oh, Max, don’t be vulgar,” a man—no I think he, she was a woman said. “She’s just a kid. Leave her alone.” He, I mean she, was a big woman, smoking a cigar. She wore a suit and a tie with her hair cut short and slicked back something like my father’s .

  “Hi, honey,” she said, putting her hand out. “I’m Shirl. If Max gives you a hard time, which he is physically incapable of doing for a woman—”

  “Hey, Shirl, I was married—for about two minutes, but I doubt there were any beaux in your past.”

  “Don’t listen to him, honey. If you have any trouble with anything , you just call ol’ Shirl.” She flicked the ash from her cigar into that clay ashtray that looked like it’d been made by a child. “We gotta take care of our baby butches.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Ya hear that, Max?” Shirl said. “I got my eye on you so you treat this cute little bull dagger right or you’ll answer to me.”

  “No! I’m not a ….” No one was listening.

  Later, I found out that Shirl was a secret investor in a number of Broadway shows. An angel they called her. She came from a family with money. To keep Shirl quiet and away from them, the family gave her a large allowance, which she had made even larger with her wise investments and an occasional good bet on a horse. She was a major investor in Morning Memories, which had been a big hit last season and had returned this season after the summer break. The Times , Herald , Post, and Sun had all loved it.

  “I can’t wait to see it,” I told Shirl.

  “Here take my card. Call my office. They’ll arrange for a couple of complimentary tickets. Bring your girlfriend. You have one yet?”

  “Yeah. Uh, what …?”

  “By the way, what’s your name?”

  “Alice Huffman.”

  “Al,” Max corrected, speaking over Shirl’s shoulder. “Her name is Al . Isn’t it? Al . That tell you anything, Shirl?”

  “Oh, do be quiet,” she shot back at him

  “And she’s interested in Juliana,” Max told her.

  “Aw, no, kid.” She shook her head. “Is this your first time out of the gate?”

  “She’s brand-spanking-new as a baby’s behind,” Max said.

  “Listen, sweetie, I can introduce you to some nice girls. Pretty, too.”

  “I don’t want to meet any, uh, girls. I’m not like that,” I assured her.

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Oh.” How do I get out of this? “Well, like … I’m not, uh ….”

  “Like me?” Shirl asked.

  “Well—”

  “You can say it, honey. Yes, I’m a bull dagger, an invert, a sapphist, and even a lesbian.”

  She said that word. That “les” word. That’s worse than even the “H-O” word.

  “Whatever you want to call me. I’m not ashamed of it. If I were, I certainly wouldn’t walk around the city looking like this.” She flicked an ash into the ashtray .

  I glanced around the room. Near the window, next to the naked statue that had the philodendron crawling over its thing, were two girls in long gowns kissing. Max went over and moved them away from the statue, saying, “Not in front of the window girls. I do have to live here.”

  A few men were harmonizing to Broadway show tunes around the piano. One of them wore mascara and a bow in his hair. The boy in the feathers and grass skirt, Tommie with an ie , was flitting about the room pretending he was Tinker Bell, and throwing invisible fairy dust on everyone, and here I was talking to a woman who looked like my father when he went to church on Sundays. Such a strange world I’d just stumbled into!

  “Oh, I didn’t mean anything. It’s just that I have a fella,” I told the woman.

  “Do you? Then what’s this about Juliana?” She looked at Max who was standing close by drinking beer out of a can.

  “I slept with her fella.”

  “Oh, Max, you’ve got to stop doing that,” Shirl moaned. “You’ve probably shocked this young girl into frigidity.”

  “I only sleep with the beaux who want to sleep with me.”

  “You pursued him,” I said louder than I expected to. “You went after him as soon as you saw him in Chumley’s. You didn’t give him a chance.”

  “Oh, do pipe down, and conduct yourself like a lady,” Max said. “You can’t possibly be under the delusion that I was his first.”

  “You were.” My rage bubbled up. “You hypnotized him. If it hadn’t been for you, he and I would still be together. You’re a vile—vile—”

  I was about to lunge at him when Shirl grabbed me back.

  “Easy, honey.” She nudged me away from Max. ”You don’t want to do that. We already know he’s vile.”

  “Thanks a lot, Shirl,” Max said.

  “Stay over there on your own side, and leave this poor girl alone. So that boy’s not your beau anymore?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean that I’m—”

  “Of course not. Look, kid, I love Juliana like a sister or a daughter, even, and I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t do for her, but I still think you should look elsewhere. She can be murder on straight girls. But I do have to go.” She moved toward the door.

  “She gave me a bouquet of violets once.”

  “Did she?” She shook her head, moving back toward me. “Our dear Juliana, always the romantic. Sometimes, she’s worse than my Mercy.”

  “What does it mean? Violets.”

  “It comes from a play that opened on Broadway in twenty-six, The Captive. I was only a little older than you are now when I saw it. And Juliana was much too young to have to have seen it at all. But nowadays, some of the younger girls nowadays are giving each other violets in memory of that dear play. And using them to seduce each other. In the play, a woman gives another woman a bouquet of violets. It’s a signal of affection between them. At the end of the play, the woman who receives the violets leaves her husband so she can be with the woman who sent the violets. The play was closed down after being a hit for seventeen weeks. The actors were all arrested, even Basil Rathbone. Imagine arresting Sherlock Holmes? But of course, Sherlock Holmes hadn’t been filmed yet, but still Basil Rathbone? All because Mayor Jimmy Walker judged the play to be immoral. As if he knew anything about morality, cavorting around the city with his dancehall girls and his extortion schemes. He had to resign during his second term, you know.” She shr
ugged her shoulders. “There was nothing immoral about that play. Even Brooks Atkinson at the Times liked it despite calling the relationship between the two women twisted and psychopathic. It was a sensitive portrayal of how some women come to feel about each other. And while it was open it was hit. Standing room only. I was so proud.” She sighed. “We haven’t had a play like that since. And don’t get me started on The Children’s Hour in thirty-five. A travesty. Imagine a woman killing herself because she’s fallen in love with another woman. Virginia,” she called as Virginia Sales walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray of sandwiches.

  Virginia wore a clinging white sequined dress with a scoop neck.

  “Virginia, can you help me out here? Mercy’s getting home from her parents soon, and I want to spend a little Thanksgiving with her so I have to leave. Wrap your arms around this one. Problems with her beau. You know about that.”

  Shirl took the tray out of Virginia’s hands and slid me over to her. Virginia put her arms awkwardly around me like it was the last thing she wanted to do.

  “Uh, that’s okay,” I said, pulling away. “I’m fine.”

  “You talk to Virginia. You’ll learn a lot. She’s a straight girl, too. I have to go.”

  “Say hi to Mercy for me,” Virginia said. “I heard her father is ill.”

  “Very. Mercy’s worried. But of course, they won’t let me into their home, so I can’t be with her. You know the story. I’m off.” All two hundred pounds or so of Shirl bounced out the door with ease.

  “Hi, Virginia,” I said. “Remember we met in the summer?”

  “I remember,” Virginia said, pulling a cigarette from her gold cigarette case. “What’s this about you and Juliana?” She placed the cigarette in her mouth and bent over to light it with the table lighter perched on the coffee table. She took a puff from the cigarette, leaving lipstick behind on the end paper. “You’re interested in her?”

  “Well, she’s very talented and seems like a nice person so—”

  “She’s not. And there is something you should know.”

  “What?”

  Max came over and took Virginia’s arm. “Come dear. Tommie’s going to sing.” He directed her to the center of the room.

  Tommie wiggled his feathers and grass skirt as he sang “Jenny,” another song I recognized from Lady in the Dark while Max played the piano. He untied Max’s scarf, slid it off him, and flicked the scarf in the air as he shimmied around the apartment.

  People sat on the couch, the chairs, the floor laughing. I probably laughed the hardest. Tommie was so funny dancing around like a girl.

  After Tommie, other people sang. I found out that some of them there were in the chorus of Lady in the Dark. I couldn’t believe I was in the same room with them.

  Two producers were there, too, and a few night club owners. Clifton Webb and his mother ran out the door as soon as I got there. Mr. Webb opened on Broadway earlier in the month in Blithe Spirit. Just before he left, I heard him tell Max he should be more careful about who he let come to his parties. I think he meant me.

  The room got smoky with cigarettes and some of the cigarettes smelled different than what I was used to. Nicer really. We all sat around talking about the state of the theater and whether it would last, and we sang Broadway show tunes while Max played. And we drank. A lot. Wine and mixed drinks. It turned out to be the best Thanksgiving I ever had. The ache for Danny was still lying in my stomach, but it was nice to not feel it for a while.

  As the night got darker and we got drunker, guests kissed each other good-bye and wandered into the street to catch cabs or walk to subways. The man with a bow in his hair gave it to a woman wearing a tie. She gave him the tie. He put it around his neck while she put the bow in her hair. They grabbed their coats and walked out holding hands, a happily married couple.

  “I’m going to try and catch a few minutes with mother before she goes to bed,” I heard Virginia say to Max while he walked her to the door.

  “You sure you don’t need me to go home with you to smooth things over?” Max asked her as he helped her into her fox stole.

  “You’re the last person who could smooth things over with Mother, but I love you for the thought.” She kissed him on the cheek.

  “Let me see about the car.” Max poked his head out the door. “Yes. It’s there.” He took Virginia’s arm and wrapped it around his own as he escorted her up the steps.

  “You’re being nice to me tonight,” Virginia said. “Is that simply because I came over to help you feed your friends?”

  He patted her hand that was still on his arm. “You know it is, plus I’ve been drinking quite a lot.” He opened the car door and she slid into the backseat. They talked through the open window, Max leaning on the car.

  “One more,” I heard Virginia say, sounding a little desperate. Max leaned over and she kissed him on the lips. He broke away quickly.

  “Well, ol’ girl, you get home safe, and thanks for helping tonight.” He slapped the side of the car like he was slapping Virginia in the rear, and the car took off.

  Then it was just Max and me. I stood by the door with my coat on, still unbuttoned. I was a little tipsy. No, I was a lot tipsy, or I never would’ve stayed asking my questions. “Max?”

  “Yes?” he said, piling up some dirty dishes on a tray.

  “I hardly know her, but whenever I see her I lose my mind. I know I should run away, but I can’t.”

  “That’s called sexual attraction, honey. It’s very nice. But be careful. It can burn you bad. Believe me, I know.”

  Max took the tray of dirty dishes into the kitchen.

  “Do you think I’m addicted?” I called into him.

  “To what?” he called back.

  “To you know. Doing that with her. She did well, uh, things to me; it was only one time, but I think about it a lot. Then I feel like I want her to do things to me again. My friend says this sorta thing is like an addiction to reefer. Did you ever see the movie, Reefer Madness ?”

  “No.”

  “My church showed it, and it told all about—”

  Max leaned against the wall. “This friend wouldn’t by any chance be Aggie Wright?”

  “Yeah, that’s who.”

  “Well then, of course, you must listen to her. She’s a veritable font of wisdom and knowledge.” Max started emptying ashtrays into a paper bag. “If you’re going to be here, would you mind at least giving me a hand.”

  “Sure.” I picked up empty beer cans and other unknown creepy things that had fallen to the floor.

  “Tell me. You said Juliana did ‘things’ to you. Didn’t you do any ‘things’ to her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sat down on the couch. “Did you touch her, or whatever you girls …?” Max’s face turned bright red. He lit a cigarette and pushed it into the holder.

  “You’re blushing.”

  “I most certainly am not.”

  “You are. You’re embarrassed. I woulda thought that was impossible for you.”

  “It is. But I am right now, shall we say, out of my element, far from my particular area of expertise. I know nothing of women.”

  “You know about Juliana.”

  “That’s because she and I are cut from the same cloth.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re both passionate, oversexed, greedy, desperate, and self-destructive. We use people for our own ends and we’re selfish.”

  “That’s not Juliana at all.”

  “And I suppose you think you actually know her.”

  “Well, better than you if you think those terrible things about her.”

  “And you really didn’t do anything to or for her? Sexually? ”

  “No. I didn’t think it would be polite.”

  “Polite?” He shook his head. “This is sex we’re talking about, honey, not a formal dinner party. Sex is when you get naked and do shameful things to each other that you would never want anyone to
know about, but you love every minute of it. Sex is dirty, and any attempt to clean it up just makes it boring.” He blew out a long stream of smoke. “Do you want to keep her interested in you?”

  “Yeah,” I said softly. “But don’t tell anyone.”

  “Juliana’s not easy to hang onto. But there is one thing you can do that I can help you with.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You can do something about …” He waved his cigarette at me. “That.”

  “What?”

  “Well, look at you. That dress. Those shoulder pads are too big. They make you look like a linebacker and, as much as that image may excite me, it will do nothing for Juliana. And those saddle shoes ….”

  I tried to hold back the tears, but they overflowed my eyes.

  “Aw, no, don’t do that. I told you I’m no good at this. Here take my handkerchief. Go talk to Shirl.”

  “I’m not crying ’cause of what you said. I’m crying ’cause I know you’re right, but I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Now , we’ve hit my area of expertise. This I can help you with.”

  “How?”

  “First you need to dress like yourself instead of trying to dress the way everyone else says you should. Do you still have those slacks we bought at Macy’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The next time you see Juliana, wear them. And let’s see. Just a minute.”

  Max bolted from the room and came back with a white shirt. He tossed it at me. “This should almost fit you. It’s Tommie’s. He’s small.”

  “But it’s a man’s shirt.”

  “Wear it and Juliana will love you. At least for the night.”

  “Won’t Tommie miss it?”

  “I won it from him in a game of strip poker. Oh, don’t look so shocked. It’s eerie. And this.”

  He threw a navy-blue tie at me. “I want that back. It’s Japanese silk, imported.”

  “A tie. That’s gonna make her like me? Are you trying to make me look silly?”

  “No, honey, I don’t need to do that. Go out and buy yourself a pair of argyle socks and some penny loafers.”

  “How do I know you’re not telling me to dress this way so she won’t like me?”

  “Trust me; this’ll work. ”