“Ilse, isn’t it funny how we can criticize each other face to face—and that’s a breakthrough—but it’s still hard to praise each other?”
“Never thought of it.”
“I’d like to tell you to your face that I think you have a fine mind. Who knows if we’ll find all the answers but you ask the deep questions, the questions that are underneath so many of our unconsidered actions or beliefs. I’m really glad we’re together. Whenever women like Olive bum me out I remind myself if it weren’t for the movement I’d never have met people like you.”
Ilse held her hand, “Thank you. I—I’m glad you’re here too.”
“Maybe it’s because I turned twenty-five last month, a quarter of a century. Sounds so old. I’ve been alive for that long? But I’m realizing this is a life’s work, this movement. I will fight this fight for as long as I live. That hadn’t dawned on me before. I feel a new seriousness. I feel that my life is measurable. I don’t know if that makes sense but when I was in high school and even college I had a vague notion that my life was infinite. Thought I could paint and travel and sing and read and do anything. I don’t feel that way anymore. My life is now definite and finite. I’ve chosen the thing I’m going to do and suddenly all the muddle cleared away. It’s peaceful. Now there’s a contradiction: here I’ve decided to spend my life fighting and it’s given me peace.”
“No, it sounds right. I know what you’re saying. I don’t think I have as clear a sense of my job yet as you do. I mean, I know I’ll be in the movement for the rest of my life too but you’re so talented. You could organize anything from building a battleship to a tea party on the White House lawn—for lesbians. You amaze me how you can pull people and materials together. I can organize but not as good as you.”
“That’s because you don’t suffer fools gladly.”
“Well, if you mean Olive, no.”
“No. Olive is malignant. I mean you expect every one to be as intelligent as you are. You’re not patient. When you work with people you have to accept their limitations as well as their gifts.”
“Now I feel guilty.”
“Don’t feel guilty. Wasn’t it you tonight who said we can’t level people, we have to use our talents where they do the most good? So you’re a fair organizer. There are better people than you at that. But you’ve got a fearless questioning mind. So think. Anyway, you don’t have to make a decision on the bus.”
“Better not. Here’s our stop. I’ll walk you home.”
“Thanks. Hey, are you still seeing Carole?”
“Yeah, I was supposed to go up there tonight but the meeting ran so late. I forgot to call her too.”
“Want to call from my place?”
“No thanks. I’m only two minutes away from you anyway. I’ll call her when I get home and give her a full report.”
“I thought you said she wasn’t interested in politics.”
“Not the way we are. Like you said, I judged her by my standards but compared to other nonmovement people she’s pretty aware.”
“She’s striking. If she went out speaking people would join the movement just to get to know her.” Alice laughed.
“I’ll have to tell her that.”
“Sounds as though things are good between you.”
“I guess. She pisses me off sometimes. I mean, I guess I do want her in the movement. Her attitude of being above it all bothers me but she does give me emotional support. Age makes a difference. Things that upset me don’t phase her. Flat, you know? Her perspective is different. She’s seen more, at least more of the everyday world.”
“We need that. A lot of the older women are reformists which doesn’t do us a hell of a lot of good.”
“Yeah, I know. Too bad those older lesbians are still in that goddamned closet.”
“You’d think they’d choke on the hangers by now.” Alice laughed.
“Mind if I borrow that line?”
“Nah, what’s mine is yours. Thanks for walking me home.”
Ilse walked the short two blocks to her house. Worn by the meeting, she walked slower than usual even though she wanted to call Carole.
The narcotic media, it desensitizes people to violence. Why didn’t I say that at the meeting? We’re surrounded by crime, violence, and nostalgia. For some reason she couldn’t discover, some lost connection, she remembered a conversation she had with Adele the last time the four of them were together. She wanted to know why Adele studied such cruel people as the Aztecs. Adele told her that she wasn’t an Aztec scholar, her field was the classic age of the Maya, but she had a passing knowledge of Aztec life.
“Why do you think they were so cruel?” Adele asked her back.
“Because they practiced human sacrifice. Not just one a year but lots of sacrifice.”
Adele answered her, “And you think we don’t?”
What stood out in her mind was Adele’s explanation about why they had such rituals. It wasn’t that the Aztec gods were especially hateful. They were hungry. All life is hungry. The destruction of living things is the drum beat of life. Death fed life. If there wasn’t constant death then the life of the gods grew weak and how can a culture stand when its gods die? They fed their gods and then they communed to take some of the gods’ strength into themselves.
Vito’s hungry meows erased the Aztecs from her mind. She fed the cat and called Carole.
“Hello.”
“Hi, I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”
“Ilse, where are you?”
“I’m home. The meeting ran late and I’m wiped out. We finally had the blow-out with Olive. She wanted the Village Rag to do an article on us. Can you imagine?”
“Sure,” Carole said. “They could title it, ‘Orphans of the Norm.’ ”
“Jesus Christ, Carole, after tonight that’s not funny. She was screeching at me that I’m an elitist and why do we need a media policy. Alice and I thought we needed more than a media policy …” Ilse’s voice wobbled a bit. She’d used herself up tonight. She couldn’t string her thoughts together any more. She wanted sympathy from Carole, some recognition that she’d fought the good fight. Carole’s crack was far from supplying the balm she was looking for. Now she was angry, bone weary, and babbling.
“Ilse, spare me your stream of consciousness and get to the point. Are you coming up or staying home?”
“Everything is stream of consciousness including the Post Office!” Ilse hung up.
The next day Carole called Ilse from her office and apologized. Ilse apologized in return.
Thursday morning at eight-fifteen Dutton was out with his dog, as usual, prancing. As Carole walked behind the pair for a few moments she noticed the dog had a piece of string hanging out of its ass. Getting side by side with the misogynist Carole awarded him her most dazzling smile.
“Mr. Dutton there’s a foreign object protruding from your dog’s anus.”
Dutton’s eyes popped then zoomed down to his dog’s behind where sure enough a grimy string dangled. Carole left him doubled over his ageing companion trying to lovingly extract the string. Each time he’d give it a pull the dog would yelp and turn a circle. She laughed all the way down to 57th Street where she caught the bus each morning she taught classes. This is going to be a good day, she thought.
Riley, cheery as usual, jerked and jolted her up to the seventh floor. As the door opened she noticed Fred wasn’t peering from behind his desk. She reached into her mail box, pulled out all the junk mail and her phone messages. BonBon called. Important, read the scrawl. Adele called. Return call immediately. Ilse called. Urgent.
“Adele, what’s wrong?”
“Have you seen the Village Rag?”
“Of course not. I refuse to read that drivel.”
“Well, there’s a vicious article in it signed by Olive Holloway. Most of the article smears Ilse from one side of Manhattan to another.”
“What? Poor Ilse, I’d better call her.”
“Wait, Carole. That’s not
all. This Olive creature doesn’t name you by surname but she implies that Ilse is being kept by—and I quote—’A well-heeled art historian by the name of Carole who teaches in one of the city’s more prestigious universities.’ How many women art historians are there at Columbia, C.C.N.Y., and N.Y.U. who are named Carole? If I ever find this child I am going to hit her up side the head. Are you all right? Do you want me to cancel class and come down there? If there’s going to be a fight over your job I want to be there.”
“No, Adele, no. Fowler wouldn’t dare. I have tenure and I’d like to see him invoke a morals clause on me. I never gave Ilse anything other than dinner and cab fare. Christ, what kind of nut is this Olive?” Carole was more shaken than she sounded.
“A pure case of sour grapes, it sounds like. The people who ought to be punished are the Rag people for printing anything so irresponsible.”
“Listen, Adele. Let me come on over tonight or maybe Ilse and I will both come over if you think it’s all right with LaVerne. I want to call Ilse right now. She must be frantic.”
“Of course. You’re family, don’t ask permission, honey. And ring me if anything goes wrong, you hear?”
“Thanks, Adele. Dell—I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Carole put down the receiver, collected herself, and dialed Ilse.
“Sweetheart?”
“Oh, Carole, Carole, I’m so sorry. I hope you don’t think this had anything to do with me. I mean I mentioned you once or twice but never to this woman. She picked it up. Oh please, I hope you don’t think this is my fault. I mean, I want you to come out but not like this.”
“Ilse, it’s all right. It’ll take more than a snide implication in pulp to get me in serious trouble here. You’re the one. Adele told me most of the article is a broadside aimed at you.” Carole hoped what she said was true more than she believed it.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. We called the A.C.L.U. to find out if we have legal recourse. I’m going up there this afternoon to talk to the women in the women’s rights division. Olive Holloway is going to get smashed.”
“Would you like a bit of advice?”
“Now you sound like my mother.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Mothers have a habit of proving right except you don’t find that out until you’re the age your mother was when she gave you the advice.”
“Okay, you’re probably more rational now than I am anyway.”
“Forget this. Don’t even bother to sue.”
“Give up without a fight, never.”
“Let me finish. The world is full of Olives. You’ll frazzle yourself responding to them. And if you do want to get even with her remember revenge is a dish best served cold. So wait. Maybe by waiting you’ll come to understand she isn’t worth a reaction from you. Besides the ultimate revenge is your own success. Ignore her and set about your own business. That goes for your entire group.”
“Not the group. The least we can do is write a short, noninflammatory letter to the editor. And maybe get a few journalists on our side to call them.”
“Perhaps. That’s something for you and your group to decide but do listen to me about yourself.”
“Yes, ma’m.”
“Adele is concerned for you too. Want to go over there tonight with me and we can have supper together?”
“I’d love to. You know I dig Adele and LaVerne but the group will have to meet tonight to decide what we should do. If I get out before two in the morning I’ll call to see if you’re back home and maybe come on up. Okay?”
“Okay.”
As she hung up the phone she heard the elevator door slam and Freddie Fowler whistling. He walked down the corridor to her office, stuck his head in, and chirped, “May I come in?”
“Certainly.”
As he took a seat opposite her Carole noticed he had the Village Rag tucked under his arm.
“Allow me to close the door, Carole.” His voice dropped.
“Fred, I thought you were more subtle than that.”
Fred’s lips twitched. Carole threw him off balance no matter what he said or did. “Carole, I’ve read the most disturbing article in the Village Rag today and I came directly to you. I want you to know you can confide in me with your, ah, problem. After all, we are in the arts and we’re accustomed to this.”
“To what, Fred?”
He hedged. “Have you read the article?” God forbid the word should escape his lips.
“Let’s just say it’s been called to my attention.”
“I want you to know that, even if this malicious accusation is true, you and I can work things out. We value you here.”
“Value me? My reputation enhances a lackluster department. Lay it on the line, Chief.”
“Please, there’s no call to get hostile. I recognize you must be under a strain.”
“Why? Have I reached the age where roommates begin to look suspicious?”
“Now, Carole, I have suspected for some time now that you, that you, perhaps had a different lifestyle than most people.”
“Really, I have no idea how most people live. Too broad a subject for me.”
“Come on, we’ve known each other for years. You can tell me your secret. I’ve told you it won’t affect my regard for you—whether you’re keeping this girl or not.”
“Possession of a secret is no guarantee of its truth,” Carole snapped.
“Well, I didn’t mean to suggest that I doubt your word.”
“Fred, I am not keeping any ‘girl’ as you call her. Try woman next time.”
Confused, Fred blushed. He wasn’t exactly sure why that word was offensive but then he considered himself above such semantic trivia. “I’m terribly sorry. I should have known better.”
“What fascinates me is that you won’t use the word.”
“What word?”
“Lesbian.”
Fred’s whole body twitched this time. “Uh, it’s such an indelicate word. And as you pointed out I have no real reason to even think such a thing. Carole, I’m terribly sorry.”
“You should be. For thinking I’m keeping some woman without any evidence other than a slanderous article in a disreputable weekly.”
“I hope this little misunderstanding won’t affect your regard for me. We’ve always had such a good working relationship.”
“What makes you think I have any regard for you, you pompous ass? You twitter about the department, despotically improving our lot. You sit in your office like a fly rubbing its front feet together every time that elevator door opens and a woman walks out. You’ve tried to hit on me so many times if I had a nickel for each one I’d be rich by now. And furthermore, Fred Fowler, you’re so aggressively banal that any time spent with you is dreary—totally dreary.”
Immobilized by the torrent, Fred perched in his seat afraid to move even his eyeballs.
“Cat got your tongue, Freddie?”
“You, you’re a man-hater. I knew it. I always knew it. No warmth from you. Bitch Dyke.” He foamed at the mouth.
“Darling, I haven’t the energy to hate men. I’m neutral. You’re a minor irritation. Don’t let your foolish ego blow you up to anything more than what you are, a variety of winged irritant, a fly.”
“Castrator.”
“You have to be willing to get close to men in order to castrate them. I can’t be bothered.”
“I could have you fired. Homosexuality has yet to be condoned by this university.”
“Prove it, Fred. Prove I’m a homosexual.”
At this he faltered. “You are.”
“Yes, I am. I love women. I have always loved women and I always will and it has next to nothing to do with weaklings like you.”
“You said it. You said it. Now I’ve got you.”
“Try it. You lose me and you lose the only professor of international rank you’ve got. And what’s more, Fred, what does the name Sheila Dzuby mean to you? Or Nan Schonenfeld? Priss Berenson? Oh, the list could
go on for ages. You have an unerring instinct for young women whose grade averages need a transfusion, you fastidious vulture. You’re in no-man’s land. Nan came to me in tears last semester over you. Sheila wanted to report you to the president. You push your luck and see what happens when the sweet young things you’ve seduced step forward and blow the whistle.”
Ashen-faced, Fred rose. His hands trembled and a thin bead of sweat shone on his upper lip. “Why don’t we forget this whole unfortunate incident?”
“Fine with me. But one small thing: if I ever hear of you pressuring a student again I’ll kick you so hard you’ll wear your balls for earrings.”
He gulped and slipped out the door. The confrontation shook her too but she didn’t know it until Fred left the room.
Even though that slimy creep has been put in his place doesn’t mean this thing is over. Who knows how many other people in the department read it? Well, I don’t have to worry about Roger; he and Bob Kenin are gay. That leaves four. I might as well be brave about this and get the whole damn thing over with. She went to the tiny office kitchen, took a coke out of the refrigerator, then walked back and knocked on Marcia Gahagan’s door. Besides Roger and Bob, Marcia was the only other professor in the department she cared about.
“Come on in.”
“Marcia …”
“Sit down, Carole. I heard the whole thing. You forget our offices are next to each other. I’m glad you finally nailed the bastard.”
Tears came into Carole’s eyes. She didn’t want to cry but Marcia’s hearty response was so needed and so unexpected. Marcia got out of her seat and gave Carole a kleenex.
“Thanks. Lord, I surprise myself. If anyone had told me I’d react the way I did to Fred then come in here and cry I’d have told her she was crazy. I don’t know. Something snapped.”
“Carole. For the record, I’ve known you were a lesbian for a long time and that’s your business. There were times when we’d give parties and when I’d ask you I wanted to say, ‘Bring your friend,’ but I didn’t and I’m sorry I didn’t. It’s silly to be awkward about these things when we’re adults. Please forgive me for not being a friend to you a long time ago.”
In Her Day Page 11