by Sarah Dreher
Shelby glanced toward the dining room windows, hoping she had gotten there first.
She hadn't. Libby was seated at a table, having a drink with a man Shelby'd never seen before. Probably a stranger to Libby, too. She was fond of having drinks with men she'd never met. She didn't pick them up, exactly. She met them and charmed them and went on her way. It was a harmless pastime, feeding her ego.
Shelby opened the car door. Her heart banged in her chest.
"Remember," Fran said, "I'm right across the street. Come over there when you've finished, no matter how it goes. And don't do anything rash."
"Right." She closed the car door and started up the walk. Only a few more yards... She could barely move her legs. Libby and the man were laughing together.
"Shelby!"
Fran ran toward her. She grabbed Shelby's arm. "Back in the car.”
"What's the matter?"
"Get in the car!" She shoved Shelby into the front seat and ran around to her side. The motor was still running. She slammed the car into gear and took off spewing gravel.
She saw Libby turn toward the window. She started to get up.
Shelby gripped the armrest for balance. "What's happening?"
Fran didn't answer. She skidded around one corner, then another.
"Where are we going?"
"Out of here."
They were in open country. The dirt road ambled between fields of corn. Dried stalks stood out against the moon. Fran slowed the car, stopped. The breeze they'd made rustled the corn. Dust settled, red in the rear lights of the car.
Fran's hands gripped the steering wheel. "I know that man," she said.
"What man?"
"The man with your mother. At the inn. Jesus, Shelby, you could be in real trouble."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Fran took a deep breath and turned to face her. "He spoke at an orientation session at the Health Service. He's a psychiatrist. From Harvard. He runs a ward in one of the mental hospitals and claims to specialize in 'curing' homosexuality."
She still didn't get it. "I don't understand."
"Your mother set up this dinner with you so she could have you committed to a hospital. That's why she was so agreeable."
"A mental hospital?"
"That's right."
“Why?”
"To get you cured." Fran ran her hand through her hair. “I know it sounds crazy, but it's happened to friends of mine. It happens all the time. This guy's particular method is electroshock.”
“My mother's trying to do that? To me?"
"Apparently."
"But she'd die of embarrassment if! went in a mental hospital."
“He's discreet," Fran said. "I guess she considers it worth the risk."
It was beginning to sink in. It made her feel all twisted inside. "What am I going to do?"
"You can't go home tonight, that's for sure. They're probably looking for you now. We can't go to a motel. Your mother knows my car. If we're both gone, they'll probably call the cops. I have to get back there and see what's happening."
"But what can I do?" she asked again, helpless.
"I have one idea," Fran said. "You won't like it."
"What?"
Fran started the motor and pulled away without speaking. She found a paved road, and turned toward the lights of West Sayer. There was a phone booth next to a bank at the corner of the state highway. She stopped the car and got out.
"What are we doing?" Shelby asked.
Fran motioned her from the car and into the phone booth. She put in a dime and dialed a number and handed the phone to Shelby.
"What's going on?" Shelby asked.
Fran walked away.
"Hello?" She recognized the voice on the other end. She started to hang up, but realized Fran was right.
"Jean? It's Shelby. I'm in trouble."
She heard Jean's quick intake of breath. "Where are you?"
"In the phone booth outside the First Bank on Route 12."
“Are you all right?”
"For now. I need somewhere to hide."
"Should I come for you, or can you get here?"
"I could get there..." She hesitated to say it, but she had to. "...but they might recognize Fran's car."
"Sounds intriguing."
"I'll explain when I see you."
"OK," Jean said. "Be there in ten minutes."
"We're parked behind the bank. You can't see us from the road."
"Got it. Hey, Shelby, I'm really, really sorry about the other day."
"So am I," Shelby said.
"We'll talk. See you soon." Jean hung up.
Shelby leaned against the side of the phone booth, weak with relief.
She went around back to the car.
"Well?" Fran asked.
"She's on her way."
"I knew it."
She slipped into the passenger seat. "How?"
"I know Jean, and I know you. That snit couldn't last." Fran looked very pleased with herself.
"There's no need to be smug," Shelby said, slapping her playfully on the arm.
"There is, too."
She edged closer to Fran and leaned against her shoulder. "I'm getting more and more people involved in this."
"It's a worthy cause. Now, be quiet. We don't want to attract attention."
Shelby thought of the turn her life had taken. One day she was doing almost everything right, and less than a week later she was running from her mother who wanted to lock her up in a mental hospital. It was like the plot for a B movie. But it was real, and it was her life. If she had any doubts, the fear burning in her stomach assured her.
This must be how you get ulcers, she thought.
It wasn't safe to go to her apartment. Libby could easily track her down there. And at work? Would that be safe? What the hell was she going to do next?
The lights from Jean's car swept the parking lot. Fran blinked hers and Jean parked beside them. She got out and leaned in Fran's window. "What's happening?"
Fran explained as succinctly as she could. "She needs to find a place to hide out for a couple of days, until we figure out what to do."
"No problem. I have plenty of room. How about you?"
"Someone has to watch the house. We can't be missing together. I'll keep my head down and play dumb."
"What if they try to take you?" Jean asked.
"A woman I hardly know and a man I never met? Hell, I'll call the cops."
Jean leaned across to her. "How's it going, Shel?"
“OK."
"She's not OK," Fran corrected her. "A lot has happened. She has to sort it out."
Jean laughed. "I know how she feels."
Fran took Shelby's hand. "Trouble's her middle name," she said to Jean.
"Don't I know it." Jean's voice was warm and slightly teasing. "I'm glad it's you daring her, not me."
Shelby recognized that for what it was, Jean's attempt at apologizing to Fran and trying to make things easy. She felt enormously grateful.
"Go with her now," Fran said to Shelby. "I'll bring you some things in the morning. We need to plan what to do next."
She got out of the car, glad someone else was making the decisions. She stood by Jean and watched Fran's car disappear into the darkness.
Jean slipped an arm around her. "Welcome back," she said.
Chapter Twenty-One
Shelby stumbled into the living room next morning to find Fran already there, sharing coffee and a box of doughnuts with Jean. She yawned and said, "You should have called me," and rummaged through the plates and napkins and wrappers until she found a vanilla creme-filled.
"You needed sleep," Jean said.
Fran waved her away. "Make us another pot of coffee. And would you please try not to leak powdered sugar over everything?"
Shelby grumbled and went to the kitchen.
"Here's how it looks to us," Fran said as she came back in with the coffee, considerably more alert but wishing she were still
asleep and not anxious.
"Uh," she said.
"We can't stay here. In the area. They were outside your apartment all night. They won't give up. We have to go somewhere your mother won't find us. Take as much as we need and start over. Leave your car and everything. That'll give us a little headway. It'll take them a few days to realize you've really gone."
"Go somewhere?"
"Give me your apartment keys," Jean picked up, "and I'll make it look as if you're around. Leave a light on occasionally, take in the mail. Maybe even burn something on the stove to fool the upstairs neighbors."
"Won't work," Fran said. "She never burns food. Do it in my place."
Shelby's head was spinning. Just pick up and go? "Wait a minute. Can we slow down here?"
"After you find out where you're settling," Jean told her, "I'll close your apartment, and sell whatever you want me to sell. You'll need the money at first. I'll keep the rest of your stuff until you decide what to do with it."
"Better give Jean power of attorney so she won't get arrested. And take all your money out of the bank. I'll do the same. We can arrange all that tomorrow. Personally, I think California's a good destination. Things are looser there, it's easier to get lost in the crowd. But we can decide that when we're ready. We'll drive across the country, and if we find a place we really like, we'll stop."
"No." Shelby said frantically. "This is my life you're talking about."
"That's right," Fran said. "It's your life and your mother wants it. One does not, under any circumstances, screw around with vampires."
"I have to change my whole way of thinking. About everything. You're asking me to do something that's never even occurred to me."
"I know that," Fran said earnestly. "But we do have to get out of here. You can think while we're driving. I'm sorry. I know it's hard, but..."
"Damn right it's hard. This could be a mistake."
Fran came over close and knelt beside her. "Look, nothing's written in stone here. If you decide it's not right for you—no matter where we are—I swear I'll get you back here. You can tell them I took you away at gun point."
She knew Fran was right, but it seemed unreal. It was like being jerked off your feet when you least expect it. It was...
"We have to do this," Fran said urgently. "It's really, really serious."
Shelby looked down into Fran's face, so open, so frightened.
She touched her. "I do see your point. I just... It's a big thing."
"It'll be OK," Fran said. "I promise."
"OK," Jean said efficiently. "Monday we'll go to the lawyer's and the bank. Then I'll go into the office and see if I can scrounge up a decent letter of reference for you. Think Charlotte's all right?"
Shelby nodded. "She seems pretty sympathetic, but I don't know about this... this… lesbian stuff."
"What's the matter?" Fran said with a grin. "Can't you say the word?" “
The matter is," Shelby answered huffily, "you two have had a lot more sugar and caffeine than I have, and you're enjoying this entirely too much." She swallowed some coffee. "In the first place, who says I have to leave? And who says you have to get involved in it?"
"Well," Fran said, "we've cussed it and discussed it, and it seems like the only way for you. You can't stay in Bass Falls or West Sayer, Libby'd be on you like a flock of buzzards. Things are looking rocky at your job—plus it would keep you stuck here—so maybe it's time to move on."
"Your mother wants to lock you up," Jean continued. "You aren't engaged any more. And your friends have turned against you. What would you stay for?"
"I don't know." Shelby rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. "It seems so extreme."
"Don't talk to me about extreme," Jean said. "You're engaged to be married, you break the engagement, and less than a week later you're sleeping with a woman. Unless you started that before."
"Not me," Fran said, raising one hand as if taking a Girl Scout oath. "I'm not a slut."
"Yeah, but..."
"The fact of the matter is," Fran said seriously, "you really don't have a choice. Trust me, I've met women who've been locked up in those places. They don't come out intact. One woman I know was lobotomized. And Herr Doktor that your mother was sharing a drink with isn't exactly against that as a 'treatment modality.' "
"I've never done anything like this. Running away..."
"At your age," Jean said, "you're overdue. Come on, you've been upright and uptight all your life. Time to spread your wings."
Shelby looked at Fran. "You shouldn't have to uproot your life for me."
"It would be my absolute pleasure." The sun touched her head. Her hair shimmered. Her eyes were bright. Her smile penetrated the deepest shadows.
"OK," Shelby said. "Let's do it. But let's do it before I have a chance to think any more."
* * *
She changed into the shirt and slacks Fran had brought. They spent most of the day making plans. When Fran brought out the road maps, she began to get excited. She'd always wanted to see the country. To drive across the plains and deserts and mountains. To go places she'd only read about. To see how other people lived. Sometimes her fantasies had taken the form of a bus trip to nowhere, stopping in small towns with coffee joints and laundromats along the way. Sometimes she'd thought about strapping on a knapsack and heading west along the railroad tracks.
She hadn't had those daydreams for a long time. She was glad to see them again. "My knapsack," she said to Fran, who was making a list of things to pack. "And my jackknife, and sleeping bag."
"Good idea. We might end up sleeping under tables in rest areas."
She could tell Fran was serious, and that made her even more excited. Going On the Road, like Kerouac and Steinbeck. To whatever they liked, whatever drew their interest. They could wander down dirt roads if they thought there might be something at the end. If they saw a place marked in little red letters on the tourist map, they could go there and see what it was. They could scavenge for nuts in pecan groves. And hang out at lunch counters where the locals dropped in at noon to gossip.
"One thing to remember," Fran said, "if anyone asks, we're sisters or school teachers. People don't seem surprised at sisters and school teachers traveling together without male company."
"You mean like nuns?"
"It's OK to say you're nuns," Jean said, "but don't get in the habit."
Fran rolled her eyes.
By evening they'd converted their escape into lists and plans. Jean went out and brought in buckets of Chinese food. They debated going to a movie. Jean suggested The Children's Hour. They threatened to strangle her. Fran said she'd better get back to the apartment house. She had a lot of packing to do under cover of darkness. When she got home, she called to tell them things seemed all right, there were no signs of forced entry.
Shelby realized they were treating this like a game. It was a good way to beat back fear. It was also a good way to get careless.
”What do you really think?" she asked Jean when they were both in pajamas.
"I think this is something you have to do," she said sadly. "But I'll miss you terribly."
"Me, too. You've been an awfully good friend to me, and I just... well, I just plain like you."
Jean was silent for a moment. Traffic going by on the street made a sound like wind in pines. "To tell you the truth," she said, "I love you." She glanced up quickly. "Not in the way you're in love with Fran. And she is with you." She smiled. "Brother has she got it bad. But I just… I don't know, you're part of my heart and you always will be."
"I feel the same about you," Shelby said.
"I'm sorry for the way I acted when you told me. I was confused."
"I understand that."
"I was afraid it would make you different. That you wouldn't be the Shelby I knew. It would be like you'd died, and someone who looks like you had taken your place."
"And I thought it had happened to you."
Jean rested her head on Shelby's
shoulder. Shelby slipped an arm around her.
"It's going to be awfully lonely with you gone," Jean said.
"It'll be lonely for me, too, without you."
"Maybe some day I'll bust out of here and track you down."
"You'll always know where I am," Shelby said.
"That'll be unique. I don't always know where I am." Jean sat up. "If we don't stop this, I'll never be able to let you go. I'll fling myself in front of your car."
"Yeah. We have a lot of hard things to do tomorrow. I guess we should go to bed."
"I guess we should."
But they sat there for another hour, holding hands in silence.
The next day went like clockwork. Jean went to work early, and tracked down Charlotte May, who said she would not only write a letter of reference, but would go one better. Then she turned enigmatic and told Jean to check with her at the end of the day.
Shelby met Jean at the bank. Together they tracked down a lawyer who wasn't busy, and drew up a power of attorney for Jean.
Jean went back to the office.
Fran called and said Libby'd been snooping around, and had even dared to confront Fran in her apartment. Fran pretended not to have any idea what Libby was talking about.
"I think she drank some of your scotch," she said. "She sure smelled like it."
"Delightful," Shelby said. "I'll be ready to go by six. How about you?"
"Fine with me. I'll pick you up then."
"Fran, do you feel as if we're living in Nazi Germany?"
"We are," Fran said.
Jean came back with a glowing letter of recommendation from Charlotte, and one from Spurl. Shelby looked at it, puzzled. "How did you get this?"
"You won't believe it. Charlotte went to Myers, who wrote it and stuck it in with a bunch of letters Spurl was supposed to sign. He always does that without looking."
"Miss Myers did that?"
Jean nodded. "Charlotte said to tell you there's more to Grace Myers than meets the eye."
She couldn't keep herself from shrieking. "My God, Miss Myers? And I'll bet Charlotte is, too."
"Sure looked that way to me." Jean grinned. There was a knock on the door. Shelby's stomach sank.
"Time to go," Fran said. "Ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be." She picked up her papers.