by Malinda Lo
Flora came over with an armful of wraps. “You have to try it on. It’s very Hollywood.”
Shirley glanced around. “It’s my size. Where are the dressing rooms?”
The vast windowless space was crowded with bargain hunters drifting from giant bins of marked-down sweaters to spinning racks of dresses in odd sizes. Lily couldn’t see the dressing rooms anywhere, but she did see a Macy’s employee folding blouses at one of the nearby bins.
Shirley saw her too, and said, “Lily, will you go ask that woman?”
Lily knew Shirley was sending her because she didn’t want to go herself and risk facing an unfriendly salesgirl; they often seemed to doubt that any Chinese had the money to pay. Lily didn’t want to go either, but she wanted to argue with Shirley even less, so she straightened her shoulders and approached the woman.
“Excuse me, miss, where are the dressing rooms?” Lily asked politely.
The woman turned toward her. “They’re on the far side. Let me take you—”
Lily froze in surprise, because it was Paula. Not Paula the way she had looked at the Telegraph Club, in her blazer and slacks, but Paula nonetheless. Her short hair was done in a feminine style now, and she wore a tan shirtdress along with her Macy’s smock and identifying name tag, which read miss webster. Lily knew that Paula recognized her too, because she saw it in Paula’s slight widening of her eyes, which was followed almost instantly by a shuttering of her expression—as if she had drawn on a mask. The idea that Paula from the Telegraph Club had a job as a Macy’s salesgirl was astonishing. Was Lily supposed to acknowledge that she knew Paula? And if she did, would Paula acknowledge that she knew Lily? Lily was immediately certain that it was dangerous for them to do so. The midnight world in which they had met did not belong here in the brightly lit public afternoon.
She and Paula looked at each other for what felt like a very long moment, but was probably no more than a few seconds. Then Paula dropped her gaze to the blouse she was folding and said formally, “Let me take you to the dressing room.”
“It’s not for me. It’s for—” Lily gestured to Shirley, who was still standing behind her at the rack with Mary and Flora.
Paula nodded. She finished folding the blouse and headed over to Shirley, not even looking at Lily. “Do you need a dressing room, miss?”
“Yes,” Shirley said. “Where is it?”
“Please follow me,” Paula said.
Shirley, Flora, and Mary followed Paula across the floor, and Lily trailed after them nervously. She began to worry that Paula would say something, that she would ask about Kath or why they had left the party so abruptly. She hung back a little when they reached the dressing room, allowing her friends to go in ahead of her. It wasn’t as nice as the dressing room in the junior miss department. This one had no carpet on the floor, and the mirrors were smaller and chipped in the corners.
“May I help you with anything else?” Paula asked, after Shirley had been installed in her small dressing room.
“No, thank you,” Shirley said. She caught sight of Lily standing outside, behind Paula, and added, “Lily, come in with us—I need all of your advice on this.”
Paula silently stepped aside for her, and in that moment Lily understood that Paula wasn’t going to say anything to suggest that she knew her, and Lily wasn’t going to say anything, either. The invisible walls of their two different worlds would slide right back in place, and they would return to their separate lives without comment. As Lily squeezed into the dressing room, she saw Paula escaping back into the bargain basement without a backward glance.
The encounter had left Lily feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, as if her most intimate secrets could be exposed at any moment, and the tiny room provided nowhere to hide. The four of them barely fit inside, and Lily had to stand with her back against the door. Shirley was undressing and handing each article of her clothing to Flora to hold carefully. It was Mary’s job, apparently, to help Shirley put on the dresses, which meant Lily didn’t know why she was there at all, because the only thing she could do was watch.
She and Shirley had undressed in front of each other countless times before in changing rooms or bedrooms, and there had never been anything lewd about it. Lily had sometimes been self-conscious about her body, but Shirley had always been very matter-of-fact, openly comparing their measurements as they grew up and excitedly sharing every new development with Lily—the first bra she bought, the first period she got. In fact, the first time Lily got her period, over a year after Shirley started, she’d asked Shirley how to use a sanitary napkin. Her mother had given her the supplies, but Lily hadn’t understood her instructions, and it was less embarrassing to ask Shirley how to manage the pins and gauze and belt. Shirley had knelt before her on the floor of her bathroom and practically put her hand between Lily’s legs to show her. It had been awkward but also exciting, because it meant that Lily had finally caught up with her friend.
All of this meant that Lily shouldn’t be self-conscious to see Shirley undressed. She knew what Shirley’s body looked like, and it didn’t attract her. But now she was aware of bodies—their physicality, their possibility—in a way she hadn’t been before. (Kath’s body pressed against her, taut and soft all at once.)
She couldn’t look at Shirley until she had the dress on. And then she couldn’t help but notice the soft rise of Shirley’s breasts over the cups of the bodice; the way they shifted when she twisted back and forth, trying to see every angle in the mirror. The back of the dress dipped low, revealing Shirley’s bra; she’d have to get a different one if she wore that dress. It also revealed the naked expanse of her back, the bones of her spine like a map for someone’s fingers. (The feel of Kath’s back beneath her hands, through the fabric of her shirt; how she’d wanted to touch her bare skin.)
“I don’t know about this one,” Shirley was saying. “I think it’s a little too . . . flashy, you know?”
Mary giggled, and Flora did too.
“What do you think, Lily?” Shirley asked.
Lily swallowed. “You’re probably right. Maybe try the two-piece one?”
Shirley nodded. “Yes. Mary, can you help me out of this?”
And then the dress was coming off again as she raised her arms and Mary pulled it up, up over her head. Lily dropped her eyes to the floor, where she saw Shirley’s stockinged feet on the ground. The black seams had twisted off the center of her calves, but she did not volunteer to help straighten them.
Walking home from Union Square later that day, Lily wondered if she’d run into Paula again—or maybe Claire, or even Sal. She realized, with a jolt, that the city must be peppered with women who frequented the Telegraph or similar clubs; women who watched performers like Tommy Andrews, made friends with each other, made girlfriends of each other. At each intersection she cast skittish glances at the women waiting for the light to change, wondering if she was one of them too, or her, or her.
35
Finally, it was the first Monday back at school after Christmas break. Lily had been inordinately nervous about seeing Kath again, but when the moment arrived—there she was, standing at her locker in an ordinary-looking skirt and blouse—it was disappointingly anticlimactic. The hallway was full of rushing students and teachers, and the fluorescent lights shined bright overhead, erasing the tiniest possibility of romance.
Then Kath met her eyes from ten feet away, and a blush colored her face, and Lily’s skin went hot as she remembered the way Kath had held her in the shadows of that alley.
They couldn’t talk about it in school, of course, except in the most coded of ways. When Kath greeted her, she asked, “Are you . . . all right?”
There were a thousand questions hidden within those words. Lily clutched her books close to her chest as if to cage herself behind them, and answered, “Yes. I’m fine. How are you?”
A smile flickered onto Kath’s face, a
nd her eyes darted behind Lily for a moment. Lily knew that Shirley was back there somewhere, and Kath seemed to swallow her smile before she said somewhat formally, “I’m fine also.”
They had to separate then. “I’ll see you in class,” Lily said.
Kath nodded, and at the last possible moment, she turned away.
* * *
—
After school, they walked home together, but it was nothing like the way it used to be. Lily was extraordinarily conscious of every time they touched: Kath’s elbow brushing hers as they left Galileo; the back of Lily’s hand grazing Kath’s hip when they stopped at an intersection. She was even more aware of the undulating space between them, like an invisible barrier that could not be crossed—not in public.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Lily said nervously. “About what happened.”
Kath glanced at her shyly. “I can’t either. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Lily glanced around to double-check that no one was in hearing range. “How long—how long have you known about . . . the way you are?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve always known I was . . . different. It didn’t seem like a surprise when I figured it out.”
They crossed Polk Street on Chestnut, heading for the stairs up Russian Hill. It was cold today; the air was damp and the wind constantly tugged at Lily’s hair.
“What about you?” Kath asked. “How long have you known?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a long time, in some ways. But not very long for real. Not—not until you.” Lily glanced sidelong at Kath.
“I’m glad I could help,” she said, smiling.
Lily laughed, and then shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was the wind or Kath’s smile that did it. “Do you remember that day in Senior Goals when you said it wasn’t strange that I wanted to go to the moon?”
“I remember.”
“I think that was the first day I really noticed you.”
“Took you that long?” Kath teased her.
“Maybe I’m a late bloomer,” Lily said tartly. “Why, when did you notice me?”
Kath shot her a grin. “You really want to know?”
“Yes!”
“Well . . . last year, you helped me with a geometry proof. You probably don’t remember. You do this thing where you . . .” Kath trailed off, looking a little shy.
“What? What do I do?”
“You chew on your lip when you do a difficult math problem,” Kath said. “It’s cute.”
Lily’s face went red, and she laughed. “I’d better stop that in college, or no one will take me seriously.”
When they reached the stairs they started up side by side, and sometimes as they climbed they bumped against each other, accidentally on purpose. Lily’s arm against Kath’s; their hands knocking gently together; their fingers almost linking.
Right before they reached the top, Kath said very softly, “I want to kiss you again.”
A jolt went through Lily—she had to stop to catch her breath—and Kath stopped too, and they turned to look at each other. The wind had gone still, and Kath’s hair was blown sideways across her forehead as if someone had tousled it with their fingers. Lily could look at Kath forever, but looking was not enough. She wanted nothing more than to touch Kath, but the space between them seemed to buzz warningly. They were on top of Russian Hill now, on top of the city itself, completely exposed.
“Where?” Lily asked. “Where can we go?”
* * *
—
The last stall in the girls’ bathroom on the second floor had a full-length door, but every girl knew about it and tried to use that stall when she was on her period. There was a shadowy corner under the stairs to the gym by the locker rooms, but anyone could walk past and see them. And then Lily remembered the home-economics storage closet on the third floor, which had a key that Lily knew about from her time on the dance committee.
Several days passed before Lily was able to get the key. Preparations for the Miss Chinatown contest were ramping up (there were barely three weeks to go), and after school Lily had to help sell raffle tickets at the Chinese Hospital, or at Flora’s father’s store, or at the Eastern Pearl. Figuring out a way to evade Shirley’s various demands felt like running an obstacle course, but Lily was afraid to deny her too openly and raise her suspicions.
Finally, on Thursday after school, Lily met Kath outside the home economics kitchen, where she pulled the key off the pegboard over the sink, and then led the way to the unmarked door down the hall. Lily checked to make sure that the hallway was deserted before she unlocked the closet, and then she and Kath quickly ducked in, pulling the door shut behind them.
It was cramped and dusty and hard to see. The only light came from the crack beneath the door, and Lily immediately bumped into a stack of metal bowls that made an awful racket. “Sorry!” Lily whispered.
“Careful.” Kath reached for her hand to pull her away from the bowls, and it was the first time they had really touched since that night in the alley.
Lily suddenly felt strangely shy. Kath was so close. She couldn’t see much beyond the dim outline of Kath’s head and shoulders. The storage closet smelled faintly of pineapple juice, and Lily heard the sounds of the school in the background. Distant doors slammed shut; voices rose and fell indistinctly; footsteps came briskly down the hall toward them and then, thankfully, went past. The closet didn’t lock from the inside, of course; anyone could open the door and find them. She was conscious of her own hand becoming slippery in Kath’s.
“Are you okay?” Kath whispered. “You seem . . . tense.”
“No, I . . .” Tense was not the right word. Terrified, maybe.
Almost a week had passed since their first kiss, which had been so surprising that it almost felt accidental. Today was no accident. They had planned to meet here, in this closet, to keep this secret. They knew what could happen if they were discovered; Jean had shown them.
For one awful moment Lily wanted to flee. She could open the door right now—she could say this was all a mistake—she could feel the relief waiting for her out in the hallway, and perhaps Kath sensed this because she asked, “Are you changing your mind?”
Her voice was thin and vulnerable, and it made Lily ashamed. “No,” she whispered, and she took a step closer to Kath. Her mouth was almost touching her own; she could feel the heat of her breath on her lips. She could smell the fragrance of Kath’s skin; it raised goose bumps on her arms. She gently pulled her hand from Kath’s and deliberately, lightly, placed her hands around Kath’s neck as if they were about to dance. She heard the inhale and exhale of Kath’s breath in the darkness, and then Kath slid her hands around Lily’s waist and leaned forward to kiss her.
It felt different this time—weighted. They were making this choice together, and Lily felt the seriousness with which Kath touched her. Her mouth questioned her with each kiss: Is this what you want? And Lily tried to say yes in the way she pulled Kath close to her, the way she caressed the fine soft hairs on the nape of Kath’s neck, the way she pressed her breasts against Kath’s body.
Yes.
36
On Friday, Kath pulled Lily aside after math class, her fingers briefly—electrically—curling around Lily’s arm. As students rushed past them in the hallway, Kath said, “Miss Weiland is taking the G.A.A. bowling next Wednesday.”
“You want to go bowling again?” Lily said, surprised.
“No. Her classroom will be empty.” Kath glanced behind Lily and leaned slightly closer so that she could whisper. “Meet me there on Wednesday? Fifteen minutes after school. The door locks.”
* * *
—
On Saturday, Shirley called Lily at home.
“Are you still going to the hospital to sell raffle tickets today?” Shirley asked.
“Yes, why?”
Shirley sighed heavily. “You don’t need to bother. One of the other Miss Chinatown contestants convinced some of the Six Companies’ board members to buy thousands of them all at once. I’m not going to beat her.”
“What? That’s not fair,” Lily said.
“Flora said I’d win with my speech,” Shirley said gloomily.
Lily doubted that, but she wasn’t about to make Shirley feel even worse. “It’s going to be fine,” Lily said, trying to sound positive. “I could still go to the hospital—maybe Papa will help me get the hospital board to buy a bunch.”
“Two thousand?” Shirley said doubtfully.
Lily winced. “Maybe not that many. But you never know. Do you want to come with me?”
“No, I can’t. Thank you for what you’ve been doing, really, but I’m not going to win by selling tickets.”
After Lily hung up, she lingered for a minute on the landing, wondering whether she should call Kath. Her afternoon was free now that she didn’t have to go to the hospital for Shirley. Before she could lose her nerve, she went back to her room to retrieve her math notebook, where Kath had written down her telephone number a few days ago. Lily had done the same in Kath’s notebook, but neither of them had called the other yet.
She ran back to the telephone and dialed with nervous fingers. Each rotation of the dial seemed to take forever, but at last she heard the call go through and begin to ring. She imagined the telephone in Kath’s house coming to life, but it rang and rang, and nobody answered. Finally Lily hung up.
“Who were you calling?”
Lily started, and turned to face her mother in the kitchen doorway. “Just a friend—Mary,” Lily said, and instantly wished she hadn’t said a name.
“Are you still going out to sell raffle tickets this afternoon?” her mother asked.
“Yes,” Lily lied.
“Will you stop by Dupont Market for me on your way back? I need some ginger and your father needs more coffee.”