The Duplex

by Lucky Stevens

  “Of course I forgive you, Dot. There’s nothing to forgive.” I held her even closer. I hoped I wasn’t hurting her because at that moment I didn’t want to let go.

  I felt her body get smaller as she exhaled. “I love you, Jerry.”

  “I love you, too, Dot,” I said. Then she kissed me on the cheek.

  Cliff Lonigan

  The other night, the three of us—Dot, Jerry and me—decided to get a little loose and do some drinking in that all-American monument to vigorous exercise and imbibing: the bowling alley. Barbara, the career girl that she is, was unavailable, trying out various schemes on how she might slip her feminine thumb, no doubt, on the scales of justice, undetected. But of course, I’m just stirring things up. I’d say the same to her face. And I have. She’s a good egg, that Barbara, and I love her madly.

  Hollywood Bowl was the backdrop to our little night of debauchery, and it was as good a place to drink as any. Bowling isn’t exactly my idea of a sport, but like the Good Book says, ‘What the hell.’ If tossing a couple of coconuts down a greasy hallway helps folks feel a little more cheery, who am I to fart in their rose garden?

  In any event, I was damn glad to be there. We’ve been working all week on an ad for the Get-up-and-Go! cat food brand at work. If the smell doesn’t kill you, the jingle we’ve come up with just may.

  Now Jerry takes his bowling a lot more seriously than his drinking. Me, I’m another card in the deck, and I’ll admit he had me beat by a few pins, but mine was a sociable victory, a forget-your- troubles victory. A get your demons in a headlock and knee them in the kumquats kind of victory.

  But I guess the reality, if I had to admit it, is that I don’t like to—well, let’s just say, I like to win, and being one of those guys in a grey flannel suit, I guess you could say that my bowling handicap is that I was drinking a lot more than Jerry would ever be capable of.

  Now Dot’s the kind of girl who’s always game for a good time, and the night, as far as she went, started off aces. “Cute” comes to mind. There she was with two men, sans Barbara, and she fit right in, just about matching me, if I remember, on the number of beer bottles drained. And her bowling was okay, for a girl, I mean. Nothing to pen a postcard home about, but decent. That is, until she seemed to completely lose interest in the game, allowing the kids in the lane over, to distract her. Too bad. She had nice form and looked like she could have been okay.

  But that was only the beginning, and it was a good thing I had gotten a good start on my drinking on the lanes. I say that because everything was going pretty well until we hit the car. After that, things kind of nosedived when Dot brought up this story of these two dyke teachers she worked with at school. I mean, it was kind of depressing. Don’t get me wrong. I feel for these two old spinsters. It’s pretty tough luck, but they’ll bounce back. They really rolled the dice doing that at school—not exactly using their heads. Anyway, the whole thing kind of let the air out of the tires, which would have been fine by me. Jerry was giving me the eye, so turning in early wouldn’t have been so bad either.

  Then the tale turned back again, and the next thing we all knew we were mixing drinks back at the house and ordering Chinese food for delivery. That last bit led to a funny joke told by Jerry. He can be a real card when you least expect it. Of course, he’s also the kind of guy who takes things much too serious. Maybe if he drank something harder than just beer, it would help.

  But the biggest thing that stood out that night was Dot. She was—oh, man—driving all over the map. She was snappy one minute and dancing up a storm the next. A regular rollercoaster, brother. And she turned on the waterworks like I had never seen from her. Then came the show. Right down to her matching set—bra and panties, I mean. Now I’ve been to those kind of shows before. I mean, my cousin dragged me to a couple back in Cincinnati, but this was different. She was a real tiger, and she came right into the audience, like a 3-D picture, determined to get her claws into one of us. And I hate to say such things about such a sweet girl, but she wasn’t especially particular either, first going after me, and then Jerry. It was a real hair-raiser, the whole experience. If I wasn’t gay, I’d—well, I like girls, too, of course. I go for both. But still, being with someone and all, she’s pretty much off limits anyhow.

  Uh, anyway, after that, the phone rang, and it was Barbara, and that brought Dot back down to earth in a hurry. The house lights were back on. The waterworks started up again. Dot got dressed. Show’s over.

  But she was upset. That’s for sure. Poor kid. She ended up apologizing to Jerry and me. A lot. I told her to forget it. Spirits can do funny things to a person.

  After the curtain closed on our little shindig, me and Jerry went back to our place. Him through the closet, and me, with Dot, out the back door. This was done on Jerry’s insistence, even though it must have been eleven by then, and odds were good the neighbors were asleep already. Dot entered through the back door of the boys’ side with me, said a quick goodnight, and immediately headed back to her side through the passageway—the Duplex Shuffle. Me and Jerry hit the sheets after that, hard. When it was over, we both fell asleep right away, as far as I remember.

  I woke up the next morning to the sound of knocking at the front door. Not a great way to wake up on a Saturday morning after a night of drinking. Actually, the knocking came from next door—the girls’ side. Without looking behind me, I swatted the back of my hand toward Jerry’s side of the bed but hit nothing but mattress.

  A few minutes later, Jerry came back in the room and closed the door. He looked a little shaken up.

  “What’s the matter, kid?” I said. “Mr. Kenilworth next door hear you fart or something?”

  “It’s Kenworth. No, it’s that guy Mitchell at the front door.”

  “Who the hell’s that?”

  “Mr. Mitchell. Bob Mitchell. I never told you about him?”

  I shrugged. My head was still throbbing from last night.

  “Oh, he came around once before. He has one of those restrictive covenants he wants me to sign. You know, to keep Negroes out of the neighborhood. I looked out the curtain, on the girls’ side—so Dot wouldn’t have to deal with it—and figured I’d pretend no one was home, but it seemed like he saw me. By that time it was too late, and I had to open the door.”

  I looked at the clock. It was about ten after ten. Nevertheless, I still felt like sleeping.

  “So, I told Mr. Mitchell my wife and I weren’t feeling well, and that this wasn’t a good time.”

  “Yeah? Did that do the trick?”

  “Sort of. He was a little pushier than last time. He said it would only take five seconds. Which it probably would. I wish I had looked out a different curtain.”

  “Well, next time simply tell him you have a homosexual right through a busted-out passageway on the other half of this duplex trying to sleep off a night of drinking, dancing, crying and deviant sex. He seems like the type that would understand.”

  Then we heard knocking at our front door. Jerry and I looked at each other and couldn’t help laughing. It was, I dunno, like that jerk’s ears were burning, so he decided to pound on our door to talk to us about it or something.

  “It’s him,” Jerry whispered. He looked so dramatic, it made me laugh even harder. But just for a second. Then I switched gears.

  “Here, I’ll take care of this,” I said, feigning anger. Jerry’s eyes widened. I pulled back the covers, got up and began walking toward the bedroom door completely in the buff and making sure I was swinging for emphasis. Jerry burst out laughing, but I could tell he was trying to stifle it a little as if the guy on the porch could hear. Carrying it all the way, I fought back a smile and reached for the doorknob and flung the door open. Jerry stood there with his mouth open before grabbing my arm.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. He seemed thrilled and horrified at the same time. But mainly horrified and trying
to figure out if I was serious or not.

  “Well, you can’t answer the door, Jerry. You’re supposed to live next door, remember?”

  Mitchell knocked again, and I took a few steps into the hallway. “Coming!” I called out, not too loud but it was loud enough for Jerry.

  “Shh! What’re you doing?” said Jerry, trying to shove me back in the bedroom.

  Well, the next thing I knew, we had each other in headlocks, and we’re rolling around on the floor, me completely naked.

  I cracked first, I think. I just couldn’t hold in my laughter any longer. And Jerry wasn’t far behind when he realized it was all just a big joke.

  “Well, this better lead to something because I’m laying naked on a wood floor with a splitting headache,” I finally said. He looked at me, out of breath. “I’m not letting you up until you agree,” I added, panting like a dehydrated mutt myself. He nodded his head, and I helped him up, slapping his rump roast as we reentered the bedroom. Thanks, Mr. Mitchell.

  The last thing I remembered after our little morning romp was Jerry laying his head on my chest, the two of us relaxing to the rhythms of our in-sync breathing. After that I must have dozed off. Why not? A man works hard all week, nothing wrong with being a bum for the morning.

  The next thing I knew, the sun hit my face, and I finally woke up. To the smell of bacon, eggs, toast and black coffee, which happened to be parked right under my nose.

  It was all the scheming of Jerry. This was not the first time he’s done the whole breakfast in bed bit. No, he can be pretty domestic, and I have to admit, it’s pretty nice. And as I ate, Jerry slipped off his shoes and joined me in bed. He pulled out the Herald and we got our kicks just reading the paper and making snide remarks at anything and everything.

  All that took up the better part of the morning. After that me and Jerry decided it was time to get a few things done around the house. We mowed the lawn—our side and the girls’—and other yard work, did a couple of repairs and washed our cars. When we were about done, we decided to see if the girls needed us to do anything for them. We figured Barb still wasn’t home from last night because we didn’t see her car.

  So Jerry gave their back door a rap as I did some final touches on my bumper. What a beautiful ride.

  “There was no answer,” Jerry reported. Strange, since Dot’s car was there. Of course, I’d been hanging around in bed all day, so who knew what was going on?

  A couple of sandwiches later, I decided to take off. Jerry had errands to run and some work to take care of and said he wouldn’t be back too late. I decided to head over to UCLA. There were always ball games going on, and I never had any trouble joining one or two. As I was driving the Chevy down my side of the driveway, I noticed Barb pulling into the driveway on her side. We gave each other a quick wave. These goddamn lawyers. They really pile on the hours.

  Life is full of surprises. Me and Jerry had a swell time last night bowling, and today in bed was certainly fun—and I don’t just mean the rolling around—but it’s amazing how quick things can change.

  The bedroom door flung open pretty fast. It was Jerry. He had a book in his hand, and from the position I was in I could see that he was smiling. An instant later, the smile had dissolved.

  “You son of a BITCH!” he shouted, as the book he was holding went sailing in my direction. Opening up, it fluttered like a drunken bird, ending with a scream as its hard cover tore a piece of flesh from David’s naked back.

  Dot Johnson

  I cannot remember feeling worse in my whole life, and I knew it was going to get worse still. My stomach was so tied up in knots, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My whole body felt like it had been hollowed out, like that first horrid feeling one gets just at that moment when a rollercoaster car begins its descent. And as you hurtle downward, you wait anxiously for a change in direction. But unlike that rollercoaster, I was stuck. Stuck in freefall, waiting for a relief that just wasn’t coming. Plummeting downward, yet suspended somehow by my own uneasiness.

  I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I didn’t know what to do with my feet or my mouth. The only thing I could do was pace and smoke and wring my hands, trying to drive the feeling away. I refused to drink anything. No, I was not going to take the coward’s way out. My mind was made up. I thought about doing it by phone, or by writing a letter. But I never actually considered it. Not really.

  A few times I tried looking at Life, but it was hopeless. In one article I had begun reading, “The whole reason behind…”, at least six times before I concluded I was never going to finish the sentence, let alone have the concentration to understand it. No, the only thing that had any hope of making this better at all was Barbara. But she still wasn’t home yet.

  It doesn’t happen too often, but occasionally her workload or a specific case just takes over her life. There are simply not enough hours in the day to do the work. You can see why law firms are so reluctant to hire women. I would think the challenges would be immense for a married woman and virtually impossible for a woman with children.

  It felt strange not to at least call her. But I couldn’t. I was too afraid of breaking down on the phone and then having Barbara rush home in a panic. That was not to say that she hadn’t called me. At least I think she had. The phone had rung four times since I had gotten out of bed that morning, and I was sure that at least a few of those times it had been Barbara. Of course, I don’t know for sure since I hadn’t answered any of the incoming calls. Barbara, I’m sure, figured I was out. Out of my mind was more like it.

  It was getting to be late. Early afternoon. About one or so. I toyed with the idea of seeing a movie, but it was still too early. The theater would be filled with kids at this hour. Maybe a nice walk to the park. I told myself to calm down. I need to learn patience, I know. Sometimes I feel like a kid.

  The knock was not particularly sharp or sudden, but nevertheless it did make me jump. It came from the back door, and it only took me a second to realize that it must be the boys. For the first time since moving in, I ignored them. I’m sure they realized I was home. My car was there, after all, and with the passageway door, they may have even heard me walking around. I know I can sometimes faintly hear footfalls coming from their side.

  A short time later, Barbara pulled into the driveway, drove all the way up, and parked near the garage. Finally. Within a minute, she entered through the back door. I made my way toward the kitchen. We hadn’t seen each other since Thursday morning, and we embraced and kissed with passion. I was both dreading and anxiously waiting for this moment. We sounded like a couple of excited hens fluttering about, both of us smiling and gabbing, the moment made so much sweeter by the presence of the other. It made me realize how much Barbara brought out in me. How she made me feel like something bigger than what I am on my own. But my heart was breaking.

  As we made our way to the living room, we continued talking and doting on each other. It was at that moment that I started to shake, and I felt my heart begin to beat to the point where it was impossible to ignore. I wondered if Barbara had picked up on anything. And then, all at once, her smile faded, and a quizzical look spread across her face.

  “You going somewhere?” she asked.

  Without looking, I, of course, knew exactly what she was talking about.

  There, sitting by the couch, on the floor, sat two large suitcases. They were there for two reasons, I suppose. The first was that I needed something to cling to; something visual. Something to give me resolve that this was it. I was not sitting on the fence waiting—begging—to be talked out of anything. I knew how good Barbara was with words. I needed to have one foot out the door.

  The second reason for the suitcases was that I had to have a starting point. Something to get the ball rolling so I didn’t have to go from a blank page to the Gettysburg Address all at once. “You going somewhere?” she had asked. Now I would have to take
it from there.

  My first instinct was to be longwinded; preface what it was I wanted to say. Beat around the bush if you want to know the truth. I looked into Barbara’s eyes and immediately decided against that approach. So I removed my ever-so-cautious toe from the water and jumped in.

  “Barbara, we’ve always been honest with each other, so I’m not going to drag this out. This whole thing is no good. The duplex, our lifestyle, everything. I just can’t do it anymore. I want out. I need a chance to have a normal life. To be like everyone else.” I tried to sound matter of fact; to be strong. I’m not sure if that was the best approach or not, but it seemed necessary to try to appear that way. I was very much aware of how I was coming across and knew that at least on the inside I was failing miserably.

  Barbara shook her head. She put her palms upward and opened her mouth, but nothing was coming out. She took a quick glance around and started rummaging through her purse. “To be like everyone else? This is the saddest thing I have ever heard.” She found her cigarettes and lit one. Then she extended her arm, offering me one, which I accepted.

  Her comment hurt me. The way she said it, it did sound sad. As if I was a robot with no mind of its own.

  “I don’t think it’s sad at all, Barbara. There’s not only one way to live your life, after all. I want to have a baby if you want the truth. I want to be a mother.”

  “A baby? This is something you have never talked about before. What is this sudden interest in babies? I don’t understand this.”

  “Barbara, a woman only has so much time—obviously. And I’m not getting any younger.”

  “You are twenty-four years old, Dot! Besides, there is more to life than having babies.”

  “I don’t know, Barbara. I guess the price of going on like this is just too high for me. I’ve just realized that I would be too sad going through life without ever having children.”

  Barbara shook her head and scoffed. I could see the wheels turning inside her brain.