by Lee Lynch
The poet read, “Each having tried/ in her own way to overthrow/ the rule of men over women . . .” and Annie Heaphy realized why Judy Grahn was reading in the women’s center. Then she read, “She has taken a woman lover/ whatever shall we do . . .” and Annie wished Vicky were there to hear her own experience. She read, “She goes as far/ as woman can go . . .” and Annie felt great excitement and fear inside herself, wanted to shout out her own ambitions. Finally she read, “. . . the common woman is as common as the best of bread/ and will rise/ and will become strong—I swear it to you on my own head/ I swear it to you on my common / woman’s head” and the reading was over.
Annie Heaphy slumped against Peg, still staring at the poet. “Now I know why women scream at their idols in a concert,” she whispered.
“She’s really great, Heaphy,” Peg replied.
“I can’t move.”
“Do you want to?”
“Not as long as she’s here.”
“I don’t think she’d like us drooling over her, Heaph.”
“Why not? She’s human.”
“Yes, but I think she gives these readings to move us beyond where we are. To inspire us to do something meaningful ourselves.”
“Like what?”
“Building bridges. Killing men. Writing poems. Whatever it takes.”
“Making love?”
“With women. Fixing cars. Teaching girls to move with confidence and to play with skill.”
“I never thought of that, Peg. That’s exactly what you do. You teach younger women to be stronger, to do something with their bodies besides have babies.” Peg looked proud. “What do I do?”
“Something mostly men do.”
“What good is it?”
“Other women see they can.”
“Is that enough?”
Peg bent her head to look more closely at Annie. “That’s up to you.”
“What else can I do?” Annie asked, discouraged at her lack of anything to offer. She became aware of Rosemary and Claudia talking beside her and looked their way.
Rosemary looked up. “We were just wondering how we could ever contribute to the movement as much as that woman has.”
Annie and Peg laughed. “That’s just what we were feeling.”
“We decided not to let her accomplishments discourage us. After all, we’re just starting,” Rosemary explained.
“Rosie, I want to go meet her,” Claudia whispered, tugging at Rosemary’s arm.
“Want to come?” Rosemary asked Peg and Annie.
Annie sank deeper into the couch. “No way,” she said.
“Come on, Annie,” Peg urged. “You’re just saying hello.”
“Maybe you’re just saying hello. I’m thinking about getting another beer. Shall I get one for you?”
“Sure.”
“Me too,” called Claudia as they moved away. Annie suddenly felt herself anchorless once more in the roomful of women. Dungarees and long skirts moved in changing circles around the poet. Annie stood and walked to the room where the beer was kept in a trash barrel filled with ice. She took three as another woman rummaged at the bottom of the barrel for more. “Not much left. We must be heavy drinkers, huh?” she observed to Annie.
Tossing her tab in the trash, Annie answered, “Yeah. More than usual?”
“More people than usual,” the woman answered. “We have these gatherings once a month or so and this is the biggest yet.”
Annie studied the short, curly-haired woman. She wore wire-rimmed glasses like Victoria’s. “I think Judy Grahn brought most of us.”
“I never thought we’d get this many women out to hear a lesbian.”
“I guess she’s pretty well known. Besides, she talks about women, not just lesbians.”
“Yes, I identified with a lot of the things she had to say.”
Annie was surprised that this woman did not consider herself a lesbian because she looked as if she would fit in at the bar. She smiled to herself. No wonder they’re fighting so hard, she thought, they’re just on the edge of coming out. “It must be really hard for women to come out in the movement,” she said aloud, mischievously. “When I did, it was alone, just me and one other woman, and we kind of didn’t have to face it because we were so isolated. We could think it was just us, or just temporary. Then we were able to get used to it and weren’t so afraid anymore. We kind of eased into it.”
“Do you think women will come out in the movement?” the little feminist asked, obviously concerned.
“I hope so,” Annie answered, knowing she was probably upsetting her but feeling almost as if the woman was asking to be pushed. She retreated with her beers saying that her friends were waiting. “So did you meet her?” Annie asked when she rejoined her group.
“Yes,” Claudia answered. “She’s really comfortable.” She winked at Annie, “And sexy.”
“Claudia!” Rosemary chided her.
“Well she is!”
Peg put her hand on top of Claudia’s head. “She’s right, Rosemary,” she laughed. “Can’t poets be sexy?”
“It’s not that she’s a poet, but that she’s a woman,” Rosemary answered, looking concerned. “If we start responding to women on a sexual basis only, aren’t we acting like men? The next thing is to ask her out for a drink and then take her home with you.”
Claudia looked ashamed of herself, but Peg defended her still. “Look, Rosemary, I’m not much of a thinker, but you’re being too narrow here. Surely what we want is to see women as more than sexual, not to erase that part of ourselves altogether.”
“Maybe that’s the difference between old gay and new,” Annie contributed. “That we’re so used to seeing each other sexually, those of us who have been living in the bars for years.”
“Seeing each other sexually and in many other ways aping the male,” Rosemary accused.
“Whoa,” Peg said, stooping as if to stop a fight on the gym floor, laying her hands on Rosemary and Annie’s shoulders. “I think you’re both right. Yes, Rosemary, we do still do a lot of stuff the way we learned it from men. We sleep around irresponsibly sometimes, we drink a lot, we only want ‘attractive’ women, and we talk about women’s bodies sometimes in a sexist way. We need to change a lot. At the same time sexuality is part of our lives and we don’t want to lose it, or lose our ability to identify the sexual aspects of each other. Old gay women do that all too well while new lesbians are exploring new ways to relate to women. And here we are talking about it. Isn’t this exciting?”
Rosemary and Annie still would not meet one another’s eyes, but Rosemary turned to Claudia. “I’m sorry, Claudia, it’s something I’m still very confused about. I criticized you because I don’t know how to respond to attractive women.”
Claudia’s cheeks took back their color and she watched Peg pull Rosemary toward Annie. “Hey, you two. We have a movement to build. Let’s not lose each other in the first round,” Peg cautioned laughingly.
“Okay, okay,” Annie said and reached to shake Rosemary’s hand.
“No. This way,” Rosemary demonstrated, wrapping her thumb around Annie’s.
“Hey, that’s neat,” Annie said. “How did you do it? What does it mean?”
“This is the revolutionary handshake,” Rosemary showed her, her hostility leaving.
“Almost as good as a pinky ring,” laughed Peg.
Claudia asked, “A pinky ring?”
“Sure,” Peg answered, holding hers up and gesturing to include Annie. “Gay people have worn them for years to communicate to each other that we’re gay. The first school where I student-taught there was this older teacher named Gert. Wow did she look like an old-fashioned diesel dyke.”
“Diesel dyke?” asked Claudia and Rosemary together.
“You know,” Peg said, pretending to slick back her hair and bowing her legs.
“Goodness,” said Rosemary. “I didn’t know such types really existed.”
“Well, they do,” Annie answered in
a hostile voice.
“I’m not criticizing, just ignorant, Annie.”
Annie grinned and pulled her cap lower over her face.
“Anyway, you two,” Peg chided them, “this Gert was something else and of course I worshipped the ground she walked on. I attached myself to her. Wanted to learn everything she had to teach, shot baskets like her, set up her equipment—you name it, I did it for that woman. But all that time I couldn’t figure for the life of me if she was out or not, you know? She looked it and acted it, but she never talked about it. So one day almost the last day of my assignment I went into the office to ask what equipment we’d need for that day. No one was there but Gert and she was standing leaning against a desk in a way that looked to me like a butch coming on to a femme. ‘Shit,’ I said to myself, ‘this is it.’
“‘Morning, Gert,’ I said.
“‘Hi, kid,’ she answered. That’s what she called me. I stood there grinning, foolish, not knowing what to do. She wasn’t in her gym clothes, I finally noticed, but wearing street casual clothes, chinos, a plaid, short-sleeved shirt. And then I saw it: bold and beautiful, a ruby pinky ring in a lot of gold. She saw me look at it and grinned back.
“‘Just stopping to get some papers,’ she said. She had the day off. Had it off and came in, I know, only to show me her real self, to answer my question, but to do it in a way that made it clear she wanted to keep her two lives separate.” Peg looked at Rosemary and Claudia. “That’s one way we used to communicate. And still do, a lot of us.”
“You’re still wearing your ring,” Claudia noted. She turned to Rosemary excitedly. “I want one!”
“To me, this ring,” Peg made a fist and displayed it again, “is a symbol of who I really am. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wearing a pinky ring. I’m proud of it and I like having underground connections, a symbol that speaks to other people who may not be out themselves.” The others were silent while Peg went on thoughtfully. “I’m really glad there’s a woman’s movement and that now I can move more freely more places and with more women. But I’m not going to forget how they kept us down because I think it can happen again, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “And I’m going to be ready by keeping our symbols alive. A lot of these women can just bow right out when it gets tough. Hide their real selves behind men. I’m never going to do that.”
Rosemary looked awed. “So you feel a big difference between new and old gay women.”
“Not a big difference. And not one that I want to separate us. But, damn, you can see for yourself that I sure feel a lot different than most of the women in the movement. A few of you came out here. In New York there’s a lot more, but still, I don’t hear any of you being gay first and feminists second.”
“I’m not sure I want to be,” Rosemary said. “And I’m not saying you should. Or even that I should. I’m just telling you how strong it is in me.”
“I see.”
“Sorry to get all heavy on you.”
“That’s fine, Peg, it really is,” Rosemary assured her. “I want to learn all this and to understand how our parts can construct a whole.”
“It ain’t fine with me,” Annie joked. “The beer’s all gone and the women are starting to leave. Not that one necessarily precedes the other.”
“So you want to go, Heaphy?”
“You’re reading my mind, Peglet.”
“Want to come to the bar with us, Rose? Claudia?” Annie glared at her, but Rosemary answered, “Of course. We thought you’d never ask.”
“Wait, then,” Annie said. “Is there a phone here I can use?”
“Over there.”
“I’m going to call Vicky. See if I can tempt her away from her books by telling her you guys are coming.”
“Good!” Claudia said as Annie picked up the phone. Her head was spinning from the night’s excitement. She wanted the comfort of her lover. “I need you,” she whispered when she heard Victoria’s voice. “The poet is beautiful, but the politics are over my head. I’m losing ground fast. And Rosemary and Claudia are coming to the bar with us.”
“Anne, you’re so strong you’ll never lose ground,” Victoria soothed her. “However, I’m awfully bored.”
“Does that mean you’ll come?”
“It means I’ve been waiting here hoping that you’d call.”
“Hallelujah!” Annie yelled.
Claudia ran up to Annie and grabbed her arm. “Tell her Judy Grahn’s going to the bar too!”
“With us?” Annie asked, star-struck.
“Well, to the same bar.”
“Vicky, you there? Okay, you can still get to feast your eyes on this marvelous dyke. If you promise not to run off with her.”
“Silly, I haven’t even run off with you yet. I’m certainly not thinking of doing it with anyone else.”
“That’s good. Because her lover’s here too and I hear she knows karate. Shall I pick you up on the way?”
“Are we going to Marcy’s?”
“Yes, ma’am. Put on your dancing shoes.”
“I can’t wait. I love you.”
“I love you, Vicky. And I miss you.”
“I’m so glad. I missed you too. Now stop talking and come get me.”
Annie hung up, hitched up her jeans and tried to stop grinning before turning to face Peg and Annie’s friends. “Guess she’s coming,” Peg said.
“You know me too well.”
“Rosemary and Claude are waiting upstairs. They wanted to escort the poet out.”
“Claude, huh? Got your eyes on her?”
“Isn’t she cute?”
“Not hardly your type.”
“I’m getting a lot less picky,” Peg laughed. “And a lot more needy. But I wouldn’t mess up Rosemary’s head. She needs Claudia too badly. Anybody who could love Rosemary must be a saint. And I wouldn’t know what to do with a saint.”
“You sure wouldn’t,” Annie joked, watching the sadness in Peg’s face. “You’ll meet your girl soon, Peg. But what are we going to talk to these women about tonight? And how will Turkey and Eleanor and Dusty fit in?”
“We’ll dance them to death if things get too bad.”
“Oh, man, can you see it? Rosemary dancing?”
“Now don’t be cruel.”
Annie flashed a weary look at Peg as they went through the door to find Rosemary and Claudia.
“Over here,” Rosemary called. She and Claudia were speaking with two other women.
“Listen,” Claudia motioned to them excitedly. “Can I tell them?” she asked the other women. They looked at each other and nodded, then took each other’s hands. “They just came out last night!”
The women looked at the ground, embarrassed. One shrugged. In the dark they glowed in the light jackets and jeans, their long hair touching between them. Peg and Annie exchanged glances. “Welcome,” said Peg, bowing.
Annie shifted her weight from one foot to the other and tipped her cap to them. “That’s great,” she smiled.
“They’re going to come, okay? They have a car. They want to celebrate.”
“Actually, Judy Grahn’s reading was our celebration,” said one. “I’m Jean.”
“And I’m Faye.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Claudia apologized. “This is Peg and this is Annie Heaphy.”
“Sure,” said Peg. “Please join us. We’d like to share your celebration.”
“We’ve got to get moving,” Annie prompted them. “Vicky’s waiting.”
“Victoria?” asked Faye.
“Victoria Locke?” Jean said at the same time. The new lovers looked at each other.
“Isn’t it a small world?” laughed Peg.
Faye looked pleased. “I knew she’d changed, but I didn’t realize that this was why.”
“How did she change?” Annie asked.
Faye and Jean looked at one another again. “She’s gotten friendlier,” Jean said. “More open, more relaxed. She smiles, walks down the hall in pajamas. Little t
hings like that. We liked her before, of course, but she was so unapproachable, so wrapped up in her poetry and studying.”
Annie smiled proudly. Peg tapped her in the arm with her fist. “You’ve changed, too, Heaphy. She’s been a softening agent for you as much as you have for her.”
“Let’s go,” Annie said, scowling in embarrassment.
Rosemary and Claudia climbed into Annie’s back seat and they drove a few blocks to pick up Victoria. She squeezed in the back with them. There was no parking near Marcy’s so Annie dropped everyone but Victoria outside. The others went in to get a booth while Annie parked. Victoria stayed in the back seat and sprawled as much as she could across it.
“What are you doing back there, Queen?”
“Feeling sexy.”
Annie had stopped to parallel park and looked over her shoulder into the back seat. “So you are,” she agreed when she saw Victoria lying, hands under her head, shirt open halfway down her chest. She felt a rush of desire. “How the hell do you expect me to concentrate on parking this damn car?”
“Oh, Anne, I couldn’t concentrate tonight,” Victoria complained, sitting up. “All I could think about was making love. Is that because it’s new to me? Or am I abnormal?”
Annie smiled gently as she got into the back seat with Victoria. She did not stop smiling as she opened two more buttons of Victoria’s shirt to brush a breast with her lips. “You are a perfectly normal, healthy woman. A little kooky maybe, luring me into the back seat like this in a nice, quiet neighborhood where we could get arrested, but otherwise normal.” She ran her cool hands up and down Victoria’s back until Victoria laid her head on Annie’s shoulder. “And you’re powerfully sexy, woman.”
“I wrote you a poem,” Victoria interrupted, leaning against the back of the seat, her long hair covering her breasts. She put her glasses back on and pulled it from her jeans pocket. “It’s not finished,” she apologized, handing it to Annie. “But I thought since you were listening to poetry tonight you might like to read some about you.”