Clio crinkled her nose in distaste. “Well, I’ll be no help to you there,” she said. “Love confounded me, really.”
Gerri, the Clio expert, had never mentioned anyone but Flora, so I assumed that was who she meant. “Miss Haynes?” I asked after a pause.
“The most baffling woman who ever lived,” she said. “She could be a loving creature for one week or maybe even one year, but in the end you couldn’t count on it. There were others.”
“For you?”
“No!” she said, but then took her time and explained. “Of course, there were others before and after. But not while we were together, even though I could have had plenty of lovers, women and men. I was good-looking in my day, Miss Bliss. Man Ray called me ‘a fine specimen of a woman.’”
My silence was the wrong response, and she clicked her tongue at me again. “The illustrious photographer?” Clio lifted herself slowly from her chair and pulled down a heavy volume on a bookshelf. She dropped it in my lap so I could note the cover, Photographs by Man Ray, then flipped it open to a bookmarked page. The photo of her was exquisite, a seated portrait in a rakish fedora and silk blouse seductively open to the third button, a strand of pearls circling her neck. The caption read “Clio Hartt, Paris, 1929.”
“I could have had him if I wanted,” she said.
“Wow,” I said, more to the photo than to the idea that she might have slept with a famous photographer— and a man, no less. I rifled through the pages of photos— James Joyce, Gertrude Stein, Pablo Picasso, and Flora Haynes herself, in a tie and a haircut so short she would have fit right into my own circle of friends. Transfixed, I held Flora’s dark eyes for a minute before I said, “So, he asked you to sleep with him?”
“Not in so many words,” Clio said. “But you come to understand these things.” She paused then added, almost as an after-thought, “Besides, he’d already had Flora, and there’s nothing a man likes as much as a matched set.”
The words were iced with bitterness, and I offered the volume back to her. “I’m sorry. I know something about betrayal.”
“Yes,” Clio said, her eyes fastened on mine, “I expect you do.” She refused the book and told me to keep it. “I’ve seen it more times than I care to. Besides, it might be worth something someday, and I don’t have much else of value to give you.”
She was still standing, and I wasn’t sure if I’d been dismissed. I was loath to return to my empty apartment, so I asked if she’d connected with her brother.
“I spoke to his wife,” she said, the lines in her face deepening. “It seems I’ll soon be the only Threatt left.”
“I am so sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“Cancer. He’s in a home for people with terminal diseases.”
“Hospice?”
“Yes, that’s it. I talked to him not six months ago, and he was fine, really.” Her voice cracked. “He’s the baby of the family. It should be me.”
“Don’t say that,” I protested. “You’re still in tip-top shape.”
She smiled at me sideways, the subtle flirt in her popping out. “You do flatter me, Miss Bliss.”
We stood facing each other for a moment in silence, and because I couldn’t think of anything else to say at such a poignant moment, I gathered up my coat to leave. I was embarrassed to have intruded on her grief just because a woman I’d kissed was not who I hoped she was. Still, Clio and I had shared that fine sandwich. For a few minutes at least, my visit had perked her up.
“Do you need me tomorrow?” I asked at the door. “Or should I come by on Saturday instead?” The questions seemed to overwhelm her, and I said I’d call the next day to check on her.
I was at the end of the hallway, getting ready to descend the steps, when I heard her call out to me. “Miss Bliss! Oh, Miss Bliss!” The tone was urgent, almost like the first phone call I’d received, when she had fancied she was in imminent danger.
Sprinting back to her door, I expected her to say she was having heart palpitations or something worse, and I steeled myself to leap into action. But when I reached her, her eyes were sparkling with their intense blueness.
“I have the most wonderful idea! We will go together!”
“Go . . . together?” I said. “Where, Miss Hartt?”
“Why, home, of course.”
• • •
My family was expecting me to visit in a month for Christmas— I’d promised as much when I sidestepped Thanksgiving— but I’d made no airline reservations and the thought of skipping a second holiday had briefly crossed my mind.
Now Clio wanted me to accompany her so she could see her brother one last time. His wife said she wasn’t sure how many pages were left on his calendar, but the doctors had estimated a few months at most. Christmas would be the perfect time, Clio said.
Considering how new I was to my job, I told her I doubted Bea would be amenable to my taking more than just the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth off. “So many new clients.” “Manuscripts up the wazoo.” The excuses rolled off my tongue like prayers from a preacher. In fact, I’d heard from Gerri that the publishing industry pretty much shut down in December, especially the closer it got to the end of the month, so Bea likely wouldn’t fuss about a few additional days.
“I will call Bea myself,” Clio said. “We’ll take the train. A sleeper compartment for each of us. I do so love trains.”
The thought of a long train ride with Clio gave me considerable pause, but she expressed a strong aversion to planes. When pressed, it turned out she had never flown and saw no reason to start at her advanced age.
“How did you get back and forth to Paris?” I asked— a naive question I realized when Clio clicked her tongue.
“Young people. Only interested in newfangled things, really.” As if she knew any young people but me, and as if the Wright Brothers had launched their flying machine just last month. “Flora and I sailed on the Majestic, of course. Why would we rattle around in a little tin can when a floating hotel was available?”
I walked home in the dark, pondering a trip back. Having to assist Clio could offer me an out from some of the most heterosexually focused family festivities, those times when the Blisses would gather to coo over the youngsters being adorable, and when the grilling from aunts and sisters and cousins would commence: “Any fellas up there in New York, Livvie?” Like the only thing stopping me from marrying was that I was picky and North Carolina men didn’t meet my high standards. Focusing on Clio would also keep me occupied so I wasn’t even tempted to look up Hallie, whose phone number I still knew by heart.
Hallie! Thea had bounced her right out of my mind, but now she was back, along with my deep shame at how I’d behaved after our final fight. I’d said vicious things, but so had she. I’d never admitted to anyone that I’d phone-stalked her, calling her office nearly every day, sometimes several times in a row, hanging up as she answered. “I know it’s you, Liv!” she screamed into the line one day.
And Thea! I wondered briefly if she’d been thinking about me, if she’d called, maybe left a message while I was at Clio’s. As I turned the corner onto Fifteenth Street, I got my answer: Even from down the block, I recognized the petite frame sitting on the stoop next to mine. My heart picked up a beat, but my tone stayed icy.
“If you’re looking for me, you’ve got the wrong building.”
Her mouth flopped open as she watched me sprint up the steps of my building.
“I was only here one time,” she explained, then added quickly, “when Barb hosted the salon. How was I supposed to remember? These buildings are twins.” Frustration thickened her voice.
It was true: With their heavy stone facades carved with gargoyles, the turn of the century apartment buildings were mirror images of each other, separated by a narrow airshaft. When I’d first moved in, I had occasionally made the same mistake as Thea, but only when it was dark and I was drunk. Still, I didn’t give Thea the satisfaction of affirming her confusion.
“So
what are you doing here, Thea?”
“I tried to go after you, but you disappeared. And then I tried calling from a phone booth, and when I finally found one that worked I got the machine. Ate up all my dimes. So I called my cousin and begged off supper and walked over here, and I’ve been sitting on this fool stoop for who knows how long. Where were you?”
“Why?” I snapped. “What’s it to you?”
“Stop being a child,” she snapped right back. “You ran off and didn’t even let me explain.”
“What’s to explain? You’re still seeing your ex. That’s your prerogative. End of story.”
“I am not seeing my ex,” she said, exasperated. “I was helping her out. She invited me to this party a week ago, and I had nothing going on but my cousin’s so I agreed. She said she didn’t want to go alone. And you and me . . . we weren’t happening. I had no idea her agency was throwing the thing.”
“Not the agency,” I corrected. “Ramona. One of the agents.”
“Don’t be nitpicky.”
“I mean, when the agency throws a party—”
“I get it, Livvie.” She turned away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her tone as crisp as a schoolteacher’s.
“And why didn’t her girlfriend go with her?” I said.
“I’m not sure.” Thea’s eyes drifted down to her feet as if she was fiddling with the truth. “They might be having problems. Or something.”
“Or something.” I flashed a smug smile, which she caught. “You must think I’m a real hick.”
“Why?”
“Hallie was always telling me her husband didn’t understand her, and that they were ‘having problems.’ It’s how she’d reel me in after she’d thrown me back. And if you want to be reeled . . . well, then.” I shrugged. “I spent months being reeled back in.”
She pulled the collar of her peacoat up around her ears and stuffed her hands into her pockets. “It’s freezing. Can I come in?”
“I’m not sure what there is to talk about,” I said. “I don’t have any claims on you. We flirted. We kissed once. If you’re secretly hoping to get back together with Diane, it’s none of my business. Just don’t expect me to watch it.” Hurt flapped in my chest as I tried to stay calm and steady. I didn’t know if Thea could hear the crack in my voice as I finished my statement.
“Livvie. Please, just let me come in.”
And there was my name again, but this time it was as supple as a flannel shirt. I finished my ascent to the front door and nodded toward her to follow me in.
“Five minutes,” I said. But in the foyer, I seized her hand and led her up to the fourth-floor landing where we kissed for the second time. She pressed me up against the wall and slipped a skillful hand between my legs.
“Wait,” I said in a husky voice. “Inside.”
“Here?”
“No. I mean. Let’s go inside,” I managed to say.
At the apartment door, I cursed the sticky lock that was acting up again. “Holy crap, Jesús!”
“Is that some guy you know,” Thea said, laughing, “or you practicing praying in Spanish?”
On my third try, she slid the keys out of my hand, pulled the doorknob firmly toward her, and turned the key in the lock like a pro. “Little trick I picked up,” she said. “Works every time.” Thea had other tricks that worked equally well, and I learned a few of them that night.
Chapter 17
“Well, it’s about time,” Gerri said.
We had laid claim to our favorite booth in Mi Chinita, toward the rear of the skinny diner.
“You mean you knew?”
“That Thea was interested in you? I lived with her for a month, remember?” Gerri munched her eggroll, then pointed the bitten end at me for emphasis. “Now you, I wasn’t so sure about. Thea kept asking me to get a read on you, but you’ve got this hard shell when it comes to matters of the heart.”
That explained why questions and comments about Thea had peppered my conversations with Gerri, like “Isn’t Thea smart?” and “Thea’s looking for someone to go to the Dykes Against Racism benefit.”
“I mean, Thea thought she was just going to have to jump your bones to get you to understand.”
“And that she did,” I said, blushing at the memory of her mouth traveling the length of my body.
“Stop right there. I’m horny as hell, and I just can’t take it anymore.” Gerri mopped up a pool of duck sauce with her eggroll. She professed to not liking sweets, but always ordered extra of the sticky condiment. “So, where’d you leave it? Are you two together now or what?”
“We didn’t talk about it.” Which was kind of true— we hadn’t discussed “us” outright as we lingered all day Friday in my loft bed, only getting up to use the bathroom or order food. On Saturday, Thea suggested a couple’s shower— my first ever, and an experience that left me, literally, cold. After bagels I asked her to stick around one more night, but her boundary wall went up. “Let’s not rush this,” she said, with a light peck on the mouth.
“Well, I for one hope you are,” Gerri said, forking up some of my fried rice. She was eating more than usual, and her face looked a bit fuller. “Together, I mean. I will personally help unload the U-Haul.”
We talked about her Thanksgiving, how she’d gotten all the expected questions about her split with Renee, which she parried like a pro. She told me a vividly funny story about her younger brothers rolling around on the floor after dinner, moaning with the ache of bloated bellies. “Little pigs,” she concluded with a snort.
But it felt like she had another story to tell. She alternated between looking at me furtively and then averting her eyes.
“What?” I asked finally.
“What what?”
“You look like there’s something else you want to say.”
She exhaled deeply, like she was deflating. “Yeah, now that you mention it, this thing did happen. Late that night. When I was watching TV. You’re not gonna believe it. Renee called.”
I put my fork down and listened. “What did she want?”
“To talk,” Gerri said, a bashful smile forming at the corners of her mouth. “About us.”
I had it from Barb’s own mouth that she’d gone to Westchester with Renee, but I’d kept it from Gerri, trying to spare her. Now I couldn’t hold it in.
“You know she was with Barb, right?” I said, as evenly and slowly as I could. “That Barb went with her to Chappaqua?”
Gerri’s face clouded. “I think you’re wrong about that, Liv. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“Look, you knew things about Thea because you lived with her, right? Well, I know things about Barb for the same reason. I didn’t tell you because I knew it would hurt you.”
“You don’t know this,” she insisted. “I know Renee, and I’m telling you Barb was not there.” Her tone was almost pleading, like she could insist her way into making me believe it, too.
I held up my hands in truce. “Whatever you say.”
“No, it’s not ‘whatever I say.’ It’s what fucking happened.” The imploring tone shifted to a fierceness Gerri had never directed at me before. Her muscles strained as she leaned in toward me, waiting for my acquiescence.
“Okay, okay. I must have gotten it wrong.”
Her shoulders and neck relaxed then, but the space between us widened. I was debating whether to leave when Gerri hopped to her feet, waving to someone who had just come through the front door.
I felt Renee’s hand on my shoulder before I heard her distinctive purr. “You two,” she said. “With all the restaurants in this city, this dive is still your favorite.”
• • •
Bea called out to me as I passed her office hauling a shopping bag full of coffee, sugar, and half-and-half for the kitchenette. “Can I drop these off first?” I asked.
“This won’t take a minute,” she said. But then she motioned me into a chair, which suggested a longer conversation, and I plopped the grocery bag on
to the floor.
“This trip to North Carolina,” she began. “Will it help Clio write?”
“Is that what she told you?”
“No, she told me it was to see her dying brother. But she’s asked me to give you a week off from work to accompany her, and I don’t see what the connection is. And who takes a train all the way to North Carolina anyway when a plane gets you there in a couple of hours?”
“She’s never been on a plane.”
Bea’s lips twisted into a frown. “New experiences help you flex the writing muscles.”
I nodded, worrying that she would expect me to convey that to one of the foremost Modernist writers.
“What I need to know, Livvie . . . in your opinion, will the trip help her write?”
I shrugged. “She says she doesn’t really remember North Carolina. That she can’t see it. Plus, it’s been decades, and a lot has changed.”
Bea removed her glasses and tapped them against her desk blotter. It clearly wasn’t the definitive answer she was looking for.
“This has gotten out of hand,” she said.
“This—?”
“I never intended for you to be her full-time assistant! I would have had to hire two of you so there’d be someone running the office. And I haven’t even seen a single story from her, not one in what— three months? I need to know these demands for your time are going to amount to something. I care about Clio, but she could easily hire one of those nurse-type helper-ish . . . people.” Bea, who was so adept with words, was surprisingly undone by the word for an attendant. She put her glasses back on and gave me a hard stare through them. “Can you get me the story she just wrote? That might help me see the value of all this.”
“She won’t let it out of the apartment.”
“What if she spills something on it? Or loses it? I can just see that happening! Christ!” Her extreme reaction didn’t add up; it was like something was simmering in her, just below the surface.
“I think any request to see it might be better coming from you,” I said. “And so would the part about us taking a plane because it flexes the muscles.” I was careful to phrase my suggestion lightly, aware that I was telling my boss what her own job was. So I was flummoxed when Bea’s eyes watered over, like I’d hurt her feelings.
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