by Vanda
“Al, stop. You’re not in love with me. I know you think you are, but you’re not. Women can’t fall in love with each other. God created women to fall in love with men so they can get married and have children. What you feel is a perversion. It’s not real, and I don’t want you to tell me about it. Oh, Al, don’t look so sad. I don’t like to see you look like that.”
“But, Jule, I—”
“We can still have fun, can’t we? Until you get married.”
“Married?”
She pulled me into her and wrapped an arm around me. “Well, you don’t want to be an old maid, do you? Maybe I can think of some nice boy to introduce you to.”
Chapter Fifty
Christmas Eve, 1943
“Just a few more steps to go,” Aggie said when they were a flight away from our door.
“Hey, Dickie, Merry Christmas,” I yelled down to him.
He leaned heavily on the bannister and grinned up at me. Aggie walked close at his side waiting as he navigated each step. It looked like exhausting work.
Finally, he made it to our landing. I held the door open as he hobbled inside with Aggie behind him hanging on to the back of his coat in case he toppled over. He suddenly stopped in the center of the room, frozen like a statue.
“Dickie?” Aggie said.
He was staring at the Christmas tree. The evening sun had already melted into night and the blackout curtains were pulled down. I’d turned on the tree lights before Aggie and Dickie arrived so the tree was bright with color.
“It’s—it’s ….” Dickie struggled to get the words out. His eyelids were rimmed in tears. “I’ve never ….” The tears slid down his cheeks. “Beautiful,” he gulped out. He didn’t even seem to notice that the tree was silver. For Criminy’s sake, who ever heard of a silver tree?
“Honey, it’s okay,” Aggie said, rubbing his back. “Why don’t you sit down here?” She guided him to the couch and helped him out of his coat. Even though it looked like he might have gained back a few pounds, his uniform hung on him like an old sack. “Al and me have been cooking all morning,” Aggie told him, “so I hope you’re hungry.”
“Mostly it’s Aggie that’s been cooking. You know me Dickie. All thumbs in the kitchen. ”
“But not too hungry.” Aggie laughed. “The turkey may be a little, well … small, but it was all we could get. Uh, you know.”
“It’ll be fine, honey.”
“So …” Aggie sat in the chair opposite Dickie. “Nice night. Isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” I said, sitting in another chair, leaving Dickie alone on the couch. “Cold, but not too cold.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s right.” Aggie agreed. “Cold, but not too cold.”
Dickie nodded, and we fell into a silence, the kind where you think somebody ought to be saying something, but no one is so you smile a lot, wishing you were any other place but where you are.
“You know, Dickie,” Aggie said, trying to cut into our silence. “There’s a new club that just opened up a few blocks from here. When I walked by, I saw a tiny poster near the entrance that said the club was ‘Gay’. Why don’t we all go tonight?”
“Uh, Ag, I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” I said.
“Why not? We could all use a little cheering up. I haven’t felt gay in months.”
“That’s good.” I was enjoying my own private joke.
“Huh?” Aggie asked.
“Because of me,” Dickie said. “You haven’t felt gay because of me.”
I restrained myself from saying, “Don’t worry, Dickie, you could never make Aggie feel gay.”
“No, darling,” Aggie said. “It’s the weather. I always get gloomy in the winter. What do you say, Dickie, Al? Let’s go out tonight and be gay.”
I wished she would stop repeating that word. “Uh, Ag,” I said. “I really don’t think—”
“I don’t feel strong enough, sweetheart,” Dickie said, saving the day.
“Oh, sure. That’s okay, honey.”
We fell into another one of those too silent silences, listening to our own breathing and the ticking of the clock on the wall.
“Well!” Aggie said on a gust of air. “How ’bout some champagne?”
“Sounds good,” Dickie said.
Aggie bounced into the kitchen leaving me alone with him. We stared at each other with goofy smiles. It was like we were strangers who had just met, like all the years going back to elementary school had never happened.
“So, Dickie, how ya doin’?” I asked.
“Good.” He looked down at his hands.
“It’s nice you could come for Christmas Eve.”
“Yeah.”
“So how do you like the new hospital?”
“Fine.”
“Aggie and me put up the Christmas tree together.”
“Aggie told me.”
“That’s good.” I looked around the room wondering when Aggie was coming back. I walked over to the tree and lifted the black shade a little so I could see the moon. I wondered if Juliana was somewhere looking at the moon now, too.
“Too bad your folks couldn’t come.” I turned back to Dickie.
“They’re coming New Year’s. They’re going to my sister’s for Christmas. It’s hard for her to travel from Philadelphia with the new baby.”
“That’s right, you’re an uncle now.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s nice you’ll have Aggie’s parents coming tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yeah,” Dickie said.
“Yeah,” I said. I hoped Dickie would start a topic soon, but he just stared at his hands.
“Hey, Aggie, what are you doing to that champagne?” I called. “Stomping on the grapes yourself?”
“I’m collecting drippings off the turkey so I can get it to the butcher tomorrow early. He’s opening for a few hours to exchange fat for a couple pounds of extra meat. I’ll be done soon. Put the radio on. Let’s have some Christmas music.”
Bing Crosby was singing “White Christmas” when I put the radio on.
Aggie entered with the glasses. “So here we—”
“Shut up, dammit!” Dickie shouted. “Listen to this!”
We stopped and listened, Aggie frozen in the center of the room holding the tray of three glasses of champagne and me frozen to my seat. Dickie didn’t move a muscle while the song played. “White Christmas” can be a long song when you’re not allowed to move.
“Ya know,” Dickie said when the song finally ended, “last Christmas was the first time I heard that song. Some guys were singing it, and one guy was playing a concertina. We were docked just outside the Solomon Islands, wondering if we’d be around for another Christmas. That song, it was kinda like hope. It made me think of coming home and having Christmas with Aggie and you, Al, and my folks and Aggie’s folks and my sister’s new family and the war being over. But it’s not over. This war’ll never be over for me. Why didn’t they just shoot off my goddamn legs?”
Our silence echoed against the walls, and fear took hold of me. I wanted to say something that would make everything right again, turn it back to the way it used to be, but what could that something be?
Tears rolled down Aggie’s face as she stood there holding the tray.
“Well, you saving that champagne for a better-looking guy?” Dickie asked with a grin.
“There couldn’t be a better looking guy,” she said, handing him his glass and giving him a peck on the cheek. “Here. For you, Al.”
“To the very best New Year ever,” Dickie said. “Merry Christmas, gals.”
Later that night, Dickie wanted to go to a midnight church service. Aggie went to the First Presbyterian Church on Fifth Avenue between 11th and 12th while Dickie was away. She said it brought her comfort. So we went there.
It wasn’t far from our apartment, but we took a cab to make it easier on Dickie. When we got there, people milled about waiting to go in. Women in fur coats and fancy hats entered a
church much bigger than the one we grew up in, many of them on the arms of soldiers and sailors. Dickie wasn’t the only serviceman walking slowly. A few of them were on crutches. One guy they rolled in was bandaged on a gurney. Dickie touched the guy’s shoulder and said, “Hey, buddy.” The guy nodded like they spoke their own language. A woman who was probably the guy’s mother stood beside the gurney. She took one of Dickie’s hands into her two gloved hands and held it awhile like she was praying over it. Then she said, “God bless you, sir.” Dickie didn’t get embarrassed at all.
The sky was a cold, silky black, speckled with stars. A light snow fell as we entered the church. People stepped aside so Dickie could get in where it was warm. They shook his hand and thanked him. “God bless you, sir,” came from every direction.
I found myself wondering where Danny was. Was anyone shaking his hand, thanking him , blessing him ? He should’ve been with us that night, but no one even spoke his name.
Chapter Fifty-One
New Year’s Eve, 1943
Aggie had wanted to meet Norbert. Yes, now, my divorced older-man beau had a name, and Aggie wanted to meet him on New Year’s Eve when he picked me up at the apartment. When I told her I was meeting him at his apartment, she was shocked. She was worried about my reputation. Imagine Aggie worrying about my reputation. She only calmed down when I told her the reason he couldn’t pick me up was ’cause his two children were staying with him for the holidays, and he couldn’t leave them alone. This was getting complicated. Aggie made me promise she’d get to meet him the next time we went out.
After I put everything on in the bathroom, I wrapped myself in a long coat that I got from the Salvation Army for this very purpose. Aggie thought the coat was definitely wrong for a date with an older divorced man with two children, and she wanted to see my dress. I dashed out, saying, “Sorry, no time” ’cause underneath I had on my tie, jacket, and pants with the zipper in the front.
I wasn’t scared as I walked across the courtyard past the cement bench and the tree. I wasn’t scared at all. Not one bit. Then I stepped outside the gate. Juliana’s warnings whooshed over me and I crouched down, afraid for even the lampposts to see me. I crept onto Sixth Avenue and hurried toward the light at Tenth. Cold air whizzed up my coat and bit at my rear. When the light changed, I dashed across. On the other side of the street, I pulled my coat tighter around me checking that no one was lurking behind a telephone pole. The wind howled all the way down Tenth catching pieces of litter and throwing them into the air. Some guys, too young to be men in the army but too old to be boys, leaned against a wrought iron fence in front of a brownstone drinking beer and rattling New Year’s Eve noisemakers. My heartbeat sped up. Could they tell what I was wearing under my coat? Should I walk by them slowly, pretending I didn’t have a care? Or should I run?
I walked toward them—you have to pass by dogs slowly, I remembered—and whistled. That should convince them I’m out for a stroll and not wearing something against the law. Only I wasn’t very good at whistling and the sound came out “thoo, thoo.” As I got closer to where they stood, I heard their deep voices laughing. They shook their tin noisemakers, and I quickened my pace, hurrying to get across Fifth but got stopped by the passing traffic.
I heard their feet shuffling behind me. They were following me! I waited for the cars to pass. I could hear their breathing; they were getting closer. I’ve got to get across this dang street. The wind picked up and tossed the bottom of my coat up toward my thighs.
“No!” I think I yelled out loud as I pulled the coat back into place. They must’ve seen what I was wearing. I dashed across the avenue. A car horn beeped at me, but I kept going. I had to make it to Juliana’s before those boys grabbed me and beat me up like Shirl. Or did that other thing. My legs grew weary, the coat too heavy for my shoulders. I had to keep going. I heard their feet hitting the pavement behind me. A policeman! Up ahead. I could run to him and he would … arrest me. I was on my own. Finally, with the air pounding through my lungs, I made it to Juliana’s stoop and rang the bell.
I looked down the block for the guys. A runaway garbage pail bounced and banged across the street and a few tree branches scraped the sky. Aileen let me in.
When I got to the landing outside the upstairs parlor, I heard a horn and a sax playing a swing version of “Jingle Bells.” I hesitantly walked through the archway and there she stood.
“Juliana,” I said, my whole body charged, ready to throw my arms around her.
“Hello,” she said with a warm smile that melted right there in the foyer.
“Who’s this?” A man in an army uniform asked, putting his arm around her waist.
“This is Alice. Alice, this is my husband, Richard.”
“Oh?” My voice must’ve gone up an octave. “Your husband. How nice.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Alice.” Richard said.
He was a little chubby and looked to be about thirty-five years old with a slightly receding hairline. Juliana was too beautiful to be standing next to him in her long, black, velvet dress with the halter top. A silver necklace sparkled on her décolletage, her skin—there was so much of it, bare shoulders, bare back—was lightly tanned.
“Let me take your coat,” Richard said, coming toward me.
“No!” I practically screamed, holding my coat tighter around me. “Uh, cold. I get cold easy.”
“Oh,” Richard said, squinting like he was trying to make sense of my reaction .
“Richard, dear, why don’t you find out what our guests are having to drink? Alice and I will go into the kitchenette and get the cheese spreads.”
“Sure thing,” he said. Juliana and I dashed into the kitchenette.
“What happened?” I asked.
“He got an unexpected leave.” She put on her apron. “He just showed up a few days ago without warning.”
“He has a way of doing that, doesn’t he?”
“He wanted some of his friends over to celebrate the holiday, so I had to cancel the other.” She looked at my face. “Well, he is fighting a war.”
“Mrs. Styles,” a fortyish, Negro woman said. She wore the same black dress with a lacy apron that Aileen wore. “The vegetable pies are just about finished, ma’am. Aileen and I were going to put out the fine silver on the side table.”
“Yes, that’s good, and, Deborah, get Peter to help you put the small Wedgewood plates with the gold filigree on that table too. Oh, and make sure Peter also takes around another platter of the liver pâté.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Deborah said as she hurried off.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked.
“I wanted to see you.” She pulled on the icebox door.
“But I can’t stay.”
“Why not?” She took out a covered dish and placed it on the counter.
“I’m wearing the pants and the tie.”
“Oh, Al, how could you? Outside in those clothes? It’s dangerous.”
“I wasn’t scared.”
“Well, you should’ve been. Don’t ever do that again. Let me see it.”
“Deborah or somebody isn’t going to come in here?”
“No, the help’s downstairs right now. Let me see.”
“The help? That sounds so odd to me.”
“Hurry. Open your coat.”
When I opened my coat, her eyes ran the length of my body making me feel deliciously naked in front of her.
“Phew,” she said. “Do I ever love a woman in a tie. Men in ties—dull—but a woman? Sheer delight. This is hard, not being allowed to touch you.”
“Look, I’ll go down the stairs quick. No one will even notice me.”
“No. Stay. I bought you a dress in Florida. “
“You were in Florida?”
“Didn’t you notice my tan?”
“I did. You bought me a dress?”
“It’s a little something I thought would look good on you.” She opened the icebox again and took out another covered dish
. “Not as good as that suit, but you know.”
“You bought me a dress in Florida? Wow.”
“Don’t start.” She vigorously stirred whatever was in that bowl.
“But a dress. You had to think about me and then you had to pick something out and— ”
She stopped stirring. “It’s just a dress.”
“Is it a Christmas present?”
“No. It’s a dress.”
“If it’s not a gift, I’ll have to pay you for it.”
“Okay, it’s a gift.”
“You got me a gift in Florida. You had to think of me. That has to mean you feel—”
“Go put it on. It’s in my bedroom closet.”
“Your bedroom, not the master bedroom.”
“That’s right. It’s the strawberry colored one, and the only one that would fit you. There’s a half-slip in my drawer that should be your size and you can pick out a pair of shoes to go with it. And you’d better put on some lipstick. Look on my dresser. Are you wearing leg makeup?”
“I have it on from work, but I didn’t freshen it up. But, Juliana, I still can’t stay. I don’t have an escort.”
“There are a few soldiers here without dates. I’ll introduce you to someone.”
I sighed, not at all comfortable with this. “Okay.” I started to leave the kitchenette when Juliana touched my shoulder.
“Let me see your tie again.”
I opened my coat. She put her hand on the tie and spread her fingers over my chest. “I love feeling your breasts under a tie.” She slid one of her fingers inside my shirt, and then with a thumb and a finger she unbuttoned one button.
“Juliana, we can’t.”
She grabbed a handful of shirt and pulled me toward her and kissed me. I was burning, but I pulled away. “Juliana,” I whispered. “This is way too dangerous even for you. Your husband?”
She sighed letting go of me and leaned on the counter as she bit into a cracker. “You look so good. I wish this cracker were you. Hurry. Change.”
Johnny, Juliana’s accompanist, played the piano and sang. People leaned on the piano singing with him.