by Joan Ellis
Phyl unlocked the door to the new place, counting on its charm to help melt away the wall between them.
"Isn't it lovely, Eve? Everything the way you planned it." Eve had excellent taste, Phyl thought pridefully—she had planned the whole apartment.
"Phyl, you shouldn't have come for me," Eve began, but Phyl hushed her.
"Let's forget everything," she whispered, taking Eve by the hand and walking with her into the bedroom. "Darling, you look so tired."
"Phyl, I'm sorry. I'm so terribly sorry." Suddenly, the dam broke and she sobbed against Phyl's shoulder.
Phyl gently lowered her against the pillow, took off her shoes. Her fingers reached for the buttons down the front of the soft cotton they'd shopped for together. Slowly, she warned herself—tenderness was essential now, more than ever. She pulled the dress away from Eve's shoulders, then allowed a hand to slide behind to find the hook of her bra. The bra slid down and Phyl's face replaced it, rubbing gently against the full whiteness. Her mouth rained soft kisses while her hands pulled the dress down the slender hips, the full thighs, and then her mouth followed the path of her hands.
Phyl felt excitement tearing through her, but she mustn't rush this. So much depended on this time. Her mouth and her hands and her body worked to arouse the small body of Eye, and then Phyl couldn't stand this delay. She'd love Eve as a man would—as Doug would. The thought chased traitorously through her mind as she lowered her body upon Eve's, writhing with her, fighting to arouse her, impatient to fill her as Doug might have done.
And then it was over, and Eve lay there, eyes shut tight, her face drawn in lines of wretchedness.
"It doesn't mean anything, does it?" Incredulity gripped Phyl. Eve had submitted—nothing more.
"Phyl, I tried to tell you." It was a tortured whisper.
"You don't want it to mean anything," Phyl lashed out. "You want it to be the other way!"
"Yes," Eve conceded, "because it can be for me."
"Where does that leave me?" Phyl flung about in impotent rage. "All of a sudden Phyl is no good—other women, but not Phyl!" She hadn't meant to say that, and she could have killed herself when she saw Eve's stricken face. "It's Doug, isn't it?" she forced herself to ask more gently.
"That's right." Eve reached for the sheet to cover herself, and it was like erecting a permanent wall between them.
"What are you going to do about Doug?"
"What is there to do?" Eve was taken aback by the sudden question.
"He's in love with you." What was she doing, Phyl demanded in horror? She wasn't the type to throw away something so tremendously important in her life. Her way should be to fight.
"He hates me," Eve said dully.
"He may tell himself that, but no man suffers the way he's been suffering out of hate."
"He won't listen to me. He wouldn't let me say a word." But already Eve's mind was rushing ahead... hoping. "Phyl, I've always been weak, afraid. Dare I try this time?"
"That's up to you, Eve." Swiftly Phyl occupied herself with dressing. "I have to run over to the hospital on an errand," she manufactured. "I'll be back later." She faced the fact that she couldn't stand here and watch Eve decide. She couldn't watch her one last hope dissolve, knowing she was the catalyst responsible. "You'd better stay here tonight," Phyl said finally. "There are two bedrooms."
* * *
Eve stood before the door, her hand poised to ring the bell. Her throat was tight, her stomach in knots. Could she stand seeing him look at her that way again? Could she make him listen to her?
"Hi," a surprised voice caught her unawares, and she swung about in shock. "Are you looking for Doug or me?" Pete Henderson grinned good-humoredly.
"Doug," Eve said, wanting to run. "I'm Eve Slater." Had they talked about her together? How much did he know? This was Pete, the roommate, of course.
"Look," Pete said guardedly, "I forgot something at the drugstore. I'd better dash back before they close." He sent her a curious smile, then hurried back up the three steps onto the sidewalk.
Eve pushed the bell, willing herself the strength to see this through. Doug must be home—she could see an edge of light through the blinds. If anything good were ever destined to happen to her, she prayed silently, let it happen now.
"Eve." Doug stood in the doorway, his face a blend of hunger and amazement and sickening recall.
"May I come in?" she heard herself say, as though it were a stranger talking.
"Why?" he said harshly, but he stepped aside to let her enter.
"Doug, everything you think is true. I can't deny it—I wouldn't try. But haven't you ever done something wrong because you couldn't see any other way at the time?" Her eyes searched his averted face.
"Doug, don't you know how to forgive?" She moved closer. "You said you loved me—I believed you—"
"I loved what I thought was you," Doug burst out tensely. "I looked at you and saw sweetness and innocence and beauty."
"I told you I had been married. I didn't tell you what a nightmare Joe made it for me. Four years of that, Doug! Was it so strange for me to make my kind of mistake? Doug, you're a doctor—you must have seen things like this happen to other women. I was confused and worn out and weak. Doug, I made a horrible mistake—but now I know it was a mistake!” Her eyes clung to his, pleading with him to understand, while inside a faint excitement grew in her that she might be breaking through to him.
"For how long, Evie?" he asked wearily. "Until Phyl calls you back? Until another woman comes along who appeals to you more than I do?" He forced himself to talk calmly.
"Never again, Doug, if I have you to help me. I can't go back alone, but I can with you. Doug, do I mean that much to you?"
"Oh, Eve!" His voice broke as he pulled her close. "What a hell this has been!"
"Darling, help me," she said softly, clinging to him. "Help me and we'll make it."
* * *
Phyl walked into the empty apartment with a sense of dread. For a little while Eve had been there, but she was frightened for what was to come. If Doug repulsed her, Eve could be irreparably hurt. If he were big enough to give her another chance, then Phyl had cut her own throat. But at least, Eve would know about Doug. Phyl comforted herself with the thought. Until she knew, there could be nothing for Phyl and her.
The phone rang with a jarring intrusion. Phyl reached out for it with one strong, capable hand.
“Yes?"
"Everything is all right, Phyl," Eve's voice came softly to her. "We'll be married in Connecticut, because of the Reno divorce."
"Eve, I want you to be happy," Phyl reassured her, then swiftly hung up. She couldn't say, "Evie, I'm glad," because that was blatantly untrue.
Her body dragging with weariness, Phyl walked into the bedroom, ignoring that other empty bedroom that was a jeering mockery. It was over and done with—she ordered herself to accept that. For a little while she'd held happiness in her arms.
Phyl tossed off her clothes and slipped nude between the sheets, remembering painfully. Would there ever be someone like Eve again? Could she ever share this bed again, and laugh tenderly with someone about the phony empty bedroom across the hall? Could she ever believe again, Phyl asked herself wonderingly.
The phone rang again, and for one wild instant Phyl's hopes leapt high.
"Yes?" She hung expectantly, awaiting the other voice.
"A call for you, Dr. Talbert," the voice said pleasantly. "Mrs. Madeline Allen. Better call her right away—she sounded awful nervous."
"Thank you," Phyl said quietly, reaching into the night-table drawer for the duplicate phone book she kept there for occasions like this. "I'll get right back to her."
~ ~ ~
AFTERWORD
A new revolution was underway at the start of the 1940s in America—a paperback revolution that would change the way publishers would produce and distribute books and how people would purchase and read them.
In 1939 a new publishing company—Pocket Books—
stormed onto the scene with the publication of its first paperbound book. These books were cheaply produced and, with a price of twenty-five cents on their light cardboard covers, affordable for the average American.
Prior to the introduction of the mass-market paperback, as it would come to be known, the literary landscape in America was quite different than what it is today. Reading was primarily a leisure-time pursuit of the wealthy and educated. Hardcover books were expensive and hard to find, so purchasing books was a luxury only the rich living in major metropolitan areas could afford. There simply weren’t many bookstores across the country, and only gift shops and stationary stores carried a few popular novels at a time.
The Pocket Books were priced to sell, however, and sell is what they did… in numbers never before seen. Availability also had a great effect on sales, in large part due to a bold and innovative distribution model that made Pocket Books available in drugstores, newsstands, bus and train stations, and cigar shops. The American public could not get enough of them, and before long the publishing industry began to take notice of Pocket Book’s astonishing success.
Traditional publishers, salivating at the opportunity to cash in on the phenomenal success of the new paperback revolution, soon launched their own paperback ventures. Pocket Books was joined by Avon in 1941, Popular Library in 1942, and Dell in 1943. The popular genres reflected the tastes of Americans during World War II—mysteries, thrillers, and “hardboiled detective” stories were all the rage.
Like many of the early paperback publishers, Dell relied on previously published material for its early books, releasing “complete and unabridged” reprints under different titles by established authors. Within a couple of years it was focused exclusively on mysteries, identifiable by the Dell logo on the cover—a small keyhole with an eye looking through it. Many of the Dell mysteries also featured a colored map on the back cover representing the various locations pertaining to the story’s crime. These “mapback” editions became extremely popular and by 1945, Dell was publishing four new books a month.
The new paperback industry was faced with some difficult challenges during World War II. In particular, the War Board’s Paper Limitation order placed serious restrictions and rations on the use of paper. Publishers began to worry whether they would have enough paper to satisfy both the civilian and military appetite for paperbacks. Manpower shortages and transportation difficulties were also proving to be difficult challenges. In response, some publishers—Pocket Books, for instance—reduced their publication schedules and reset their books in smaller type thereby reducing the number of pages per book. Others simply rejected longer books in favor of shorter ones.
In the end, World War II proved to be a boon to the emerging paperback industry. During the war, a landmark agreement was reached with the government in which paperbound books would be produced at a very low price for distribution to service men and women overseas. These books—Armed Services Editions, as they were called—were often passed from one soldier or sailor to another, being read and re-read over and over again until they literally fell apart. Their stories of home helped ease the soldier’s loneliness and homesickness, and they could be easily carried in uniform pockets and read anywhere—in fox holes, barracks, transport planes, etc. Of course, once the war was over millions of veterans returned home with an insatiable appetite for reading. They were hooked, and their passion for reading these books helped launch a period of unprecedented growth in the paperback industry.
The reading tastes of these veterans were directly reflected in the popularity of certain genres at the turn of the decade. In the mid- to late 1940s, mysteries, romance, thrillers, and hardboiled detective stories seemed to sell better. In the early 1950s new genres—science fiction, westerns, gay and lesbian, juvenile delinquent and “sleaze”, for instance—gained in popularity as readers were presented with stories never before seen in print. Publishers also came to realize that sex would sell books… lots of books. In a competitive frenzy for readers, they ditched their conservative and straightforward cover images for alluring covers that frequently featured a sexy woman in some form of undress, along with a suggestive tag line that promised stories of sex and violence within the covers. Before long, books with sensational covers had completely taken over the paperback racks and cash registers. To this day, the cover art of these vintage paperback books are just as sought after as the books themselves were sixty years ago.
Science fiction titles reflected the uncertain times during which they were written. The Cold War was just beginning, the threat of nuclear annihilation was on everyone’s mind, governments in Eastern Europe were falling to Communists, and Senator Joseph McCarthy was looking for “un-American activities” everywhere in the United States. Many science fiction stories in the early days of the paperback revolution were little more than soap operas or westerns set in space—good guys taking on bad guys while rescuing damsels in distress—that were short stories taken from the pulp magazines. In 1952, however, Ballantine Books changed all that by becoming the first paperback publisher to release novel-length science fiction stories that were sophisticated, intelligent and thematically serious. In 1953, Ballantine Book No. 41 was released—Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451—and the paperback’s science fiction genre launched like a rocket heading to Venus.
The popularity of this new genre wasn’t lost on new paperback publisher, Ace Books, which became known primarily for its publication of sci-fi titles. Not content with publishing one science fiction novel at a time, Ace came up with an interesting gimmick—the double novel. Priced at thirty-five cents, the “Ace Double” featured two paperback novels bound back-to-back with the back cover appearing upside-down in the racks. The stories contained within these “double” paperbacks were novellas or long short stories, rather than novels, but the reading public didn’t care—they loved getting two books for the price of one! The format also worked to the advantage of Ace Books, as they were able to combine the work of an unknown (and, therefore, less expensive) writer with that of a prominent and popular author. As a result, the careers of more than a few aspiring science fiction writers were launched via the innovative “Ace Double.”
Science fiction would not be the only genre with titles flying off the shelves in the early 1950s, however. And, it is unlikely that even Gold Medal Books knew, in 1950, just how successful its first lesbian-themed paperback original novel—Women’s Barracks—would be. Written by Tereska Torres, and based on her experiences in London with the French Resistance movement during World War II, the book was not intended to launch an entire lesbian genre—it was a story about women during wartime, some of whom happened to be romantically involved with other women. The story simply resonated with men and women alike—both straight and gay—and by the end of 1950 had sold more than a million copies for Gold Medal.
Women’s Barracks also caught the attention of the government, unfortunately, and was singled out by the Gathings Committee as an example of how the paperback industry was subverting the morals of America. The threat of fines and incarceration made the paperback industry skittish about publishing anything that could be considered “indecent” and before long, a sort of self-censorship was in full swing. Many stories featuring characters that lived their lives outside the rules of the prevailing morality of the times soon became dark and punishing, as there could be no happy endings for those who defied convention. Still, the lesbian titles were enormously popular and soon paperback publishers—beginning with Gold Medal—realized sales would skyrocket if they moved from reprints to “paperback originals.”
This move toward of the publication of original fiction by paperback companies created an immediate and strong demand for writers and provided unprecedented opportunities for women writers in particular. While it is true that some of the lesbian titles during the 1950s were written by men using female pseudonyms, a good number were written by women, many of whom were lesbians themselves. And although they were still required to writ
e within the prescribed moral guidelines set by their editors, quite a few were able to portray the lesbian lives of their characters with a significant degree of honesty and compassion.
For lesbians across the country, especially those living isolated lives in small towns, these books provided a sense of community they never knew existed… a connection to women who experienced the same longings, feelings and fears as they did—the powerful knowledge that they were not alone. With the birth of the lesbian-themed pulp novel, women who loved women could finally see themselves—their experiences and their lives—represented within the pages of a book. They finally had a literature they could call their own.
We are excited to make these wonderful paperback stories… these pulp novels, as they have come to be known, available in ebook format to new generations of readers. We present them in their original form, with very little modification, so as to preserve the tone and atmosphere of the time period. In fact, much of the language—the slang, the colloquialisms, the lingo, even the spellings of some words—appear as they were written fifty or sixty years ago. We hope you will enjoy this nostalgic look back at a period in American history when dames were dangerous, tough-guys were deadly and dolls were downright delicious.
—Kathryn James, Editor