Toothpick House

by Lee Lynch

  Victoria was a small round being, almost fetal, being shot into space. She floated, allowing herself the weightlessness of imagination. Soon she tired of floating, though, and wanted a way to attach herself somewhere. Arms detached from her round form, stretched to objects hurtling by. She winced at the pain she felt at attachment, before her body accustomed itself to the greater speed. Then she was straddling the amorphous object, entering it, walking in it, part of it. It felt familiar enough to her to be her own self, then became her own form. She began to turn, to look for a direction, and felt the ecstasy of choice, the confused excitement of options. She felt drawn to one path and walked it, her vision suddenly disintegrating into Dorothy on the yellow brick road. When she opened her eyes she was laughing quietly, amused by the last image, still full of the empowering feelings of the earlier ones. There she was again in the window. A woman crazed with happiness, inside another woman smiling back at her, beside another woman whose yellow head rose next to her own and smiled too.

  “What are you laughing about?” Annie asked sleepily.

  “It just came out.”

  “Did I say something funny in my sleep?”

  “Not that I heard. I might have been a little asleep myself.”

  Annie sat all the way up. “Oh—I didn’t mean to nod off. We were going to talk about our futures. But what a dream I had,” she said, beginning to remember it. “Wow.”

  “Tell me,” Victoria said, leaning back, interested. Perhaps their dreams were connected.

  Annie yawned and shook her head, taking back her hat. “Everyone was there. In my house. You and me, our families. Peg and Turkey, Eleanor and Dusty, Rosemary and Claudia, all our other friends and women I haven’t seen for years. Even Natalie was there.” Victoria felt a pang of jealousy. “It seems to me they were there for a party. Funny, I never gave a party there. But there was all this noise and a lot of lights, a roar which could have been the water and could have been the train I guess. But in the dream it was a combination of the ocean and foghorns and the noise of all these people having a good time.

  “You and I are standing outside, holding hands, proud of the party we made because everyone was happy. As we stand there the wind gets stronger and I watch your hair flying around your face. But we’re too happy to go inside, just want to stand there and enjoy what we’ve done. We were so awfully happy that we’d made all of them so happy. And that we were so content with each other. That happiness and the feeling of giving something to all those people was so much a part of our love. It seemed to make us love each other more as well as love all of them more. We felt like we were on top of the world.”

  Annie took Victoria’s hand and squeezed it progressively tighter as she talked. “But the wind was getting really strong. Without talking to each other we somehow agreed that we should go back to the house and blow out the candles and shut some windows or the party would turn to chaos with everything blowing around.” Annie was quiet for a moment, shaking her head again in concern. Victoria felt anxious about the outcome of the dream. The train, hurtling through the darkness toward their future, seemed suddenly fragile and vulnerable. Anything could happen: a trainwreck, some crazy hijacker, a gang of toughs with guns. They were so unprotected in the world.

  Annie went on, finally. “We tried to make it back to the house. We’re walking against the wind, really struggling against it to walk even a step forward. Your hair is everywhere. My hat blows off. I start to go back for it, but you stop me, afraid I’ll be blown right into the water. You tell me it’s more important to get to our friends before they’re hurt. We made so little progress.” Annie seemed too moved to speak for a moment, then continued. “The wind got so strong we could barely hold our ground, much less go on. The foghorns sounded over and over as if in warning. Then the tide came up in a great swirling wave off to our right. It curled around us and swept over the house, as if it was really the toothpick house you call it. All the toothpicks and all the people were carried away by it. The noise of the party was now screams. And you and I just stood there, rooted to the ground, watching, listening to the foghorns’ mourning wail. It was awful.

  “Then, from behind us, comes this other wave. I know we are doomed and I turn to say goodbye to you, but you just smile and take both my hands in yours. When the wave comes we hold tight to each other and I realize that the others had not been screaming, but shouting with joy. This wave was not destructive, but a transporter, taking us somewhere we wanted and needed to go. We were so pleased. You seemed then to have known it all the time. We went with the flow of the water and swirled in it, facing each other, spinning, still holding hands, like we did after that first time we made love. We went around and around and I felt an incredible transcendent joy like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Like an orgasm, only an emotional orgasm that just opened my mind. I felt like everything could come in and all that went out would be calm, peaceful and good. You were still smiling and not talking. See, if I look at you now,” Annie said, turning to Victoria, “you’ll look the same way.”

  They gazed at each other for a long time. “Where did we land?” Victoria finally asked.

  “I don’t remember. I think I dreamed it, too, but I don’t remember where it was. Damn,” Annie said, annoyed. “But the important thing is what I felt. And how you felt too. What do you think it all means?”

  “I don’t know much about dreams. Maybe Claudia would be able to explain it. I think it was at least partially sexual, but sexual in a way that has to do with overall fulfillment. You felt very good about what was going on in your life. I’m happy about the dream whatever it meant.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was with you when you were so happy.”

  Annie leaned over to kiss Victoria. “Won’t you come home with me tonight and we’ll see what kind of wave we can create ourselves?” she whispered.

  “How can I resist?” Victoria replied, kissing Annie again and slipping one hand between her legs.

  “Station stop New Haven,” the conductor bawled in the aisle. Victoria moved away from Annie, but they allowed their eyes to remain connected. As if words would say no more, they stayed like that until the train stopped, then rose as one to go home.

  * * * * *

  Graduation was over. Victoria’s parents took her to dinner and left immediately for New York. After a quick call to Annie, who’d left the ceremony to wait for her at Peg and Turkey’s apartment, Victoria changed and rushed downstairs. Annie pulled up as she reached the street and they sped off to the bar.

  Victoria and Annie walked into Marcy’s and saw Turkey before them resplendent in a white tuxedo. She hoisted a mug of beer in the air and everyone in the bar began to sing. For She’s a Jolly Good Woman. Victoria pretended to leave in embarrassment before she turned back, blushing, and let Annie lead her to the several tables where their friends had assembled. Congratulations descended on Victoria from everywhere. A few moments later Rosemary entered with Claudia bouncing by her side. Turkey climbed on a chair to get the bar’s attention and they sang again. Marcy kissed all three of them with her glossy lipstick. “This is the first time we graduated Yalies in here!” she boasted. Rudy scurried to kiss them all.

  “This is a great improvement over celebrating with my parents,” Victoria exclaimed, turning to Rosemary. She gasped. “You cut your hair off!” Rosemary beamed proudly.

  “Isn’t it great?” asked Claudia.

  “My goodness. It does alter you.” Rosemary pulled her glasses off and modeled the cut which had been simply a cropping of the braid so that her brown hair fell lankly to her neck instead of her hips. The front was parted in the middle as it had always been. Most significant was the way it seemed to alter Rosemary’s stance and face. Her features were not pulled back by tight braiding. Her chin seemed to have risen upward on its own rather than be thrust forward. Her shirt did not so much fall down her thin body as sit loosely on it, emphasizing her squared shoulders. She stood tall and, putting her
glasses back on, seemed to have become more self-assured than belligerent. Everyone was staring at her.

  Turkey called for drinks for all of them and held one of Rosemary’s arms up when they came. “To the true graduate. Welcome to the gay world,” she shouted with a sweep of her white top hat. “Now I’m gonna present the first annual Marcy’s Awards!” The group cheered her. As the drinks arrived, she motioned for them to be brought to her and arranged them neatly, by size places, on the table in front of her. She looked up, waving a small crumpled napkin in front of her.

  “Our first is called the Avis award. It’s for the woman-in-love who tried hardest to get her girl!” Her friends were quiet while Turkey ripped the napkin as if she were opening an envelope. “I could have called this one,” she winked. “And the winner is, Elly!”

  They all cheered and laughed, while Eleanor, enjoying the attention, threw her arms around Dusty and then proudly presented herself to Turkey who handed her a drink. “This ain’t my drink!” Eleanor protested.

  “Shut up and take it, kid. This is a once in a lifetime honor!”

  The group laughed, then quieted for the next prize. “This one,” Turkey announced, holding up what was left of the napkin, “is for Most Promising Intellectual! We call it that because the winner has to promise to stop being an intellectual and come down to earth!”

  They were all looking at Rosemary and Victoria who were in turn looking down at the floor. “The winner,” and Turkey ripped the napkin in half again, “is Rosie-baby!” Claudia had to push the embarrassed Rosemary toward Turkey.

  “Speech! Speech!” cried Peg.

  Rosemary couldn’t pass up such a chance. She held up her drink as if it actually was a trophy. “I was brought up by intellectuals, to be an intellectual, so I don’t know how easily I can change. . . . But I can promise you that as a dyke, I’m not going to be like any intellectual you ever saw before!” Victoria led the applause for Rosemary’s speech.

  Turkey raised her arms for silence. She took off her hat and pressed it to her heart. Her face grew serious. “Now for the highest honor Marcy’s bar can bestow. It’s our Escape Award, for the Greatest Escape of the year.” She paused to build suspense and replace her hat. “This year’s award,” she went on in a voice quivering with emotion, “goes to the kid who escaped the worst prison of all: the prison of a cowardly heart.” She wiped an imaginary tear with her napkin. “This woman has stopped running from what scared her, has stopped playing the fickle Casanova, has found the lady of her dreams and given her heart away. This woman . . . ,” and Turkey lifted the last shred of napkin in the air, tore its corner the best she could, and announced, “is our own improper Bostonian, our beach-squatter, our reformed drunk and beloved: Annie Heaphy!”

  Annie was bright red and shoved her hat practically to her nose, but the group pushed her forward. Turkey handed her a drink, shook her hand and raised their arms, saying, “The champ!” Annie, half smiling, hurried back to Victoria’s side, began to drink, but remembered what Turkey had said about her and set it down. Victoria hugged her.

  “The rest of these here awards go to the losers!” Turkey yelled, grabbing one for herself.

  “To the losers!” Peg toasted and they all, except Annie, joined her as she drank.

  Someone played the juke box then and the group moved to the dance floor.

  Eleanor grabbed Annie and led her to the floor. Annie looked around and found Dusty, big and awkward, dancing with the newly shorn Rosemary. Claudia looked dreamily toward Annie as she danced in Peg’s arms. Victoria was with Turkey, allowing her once dignified self to play at dancing a minuet. “What a night, huh, Annie?” Eleanor called her attention back to herself.

  “We won’t forget it for a long time,” Annie smiled. “How are you doing, Elly?”

  “Dusty and me are about to get married,” Eleanor whispered proudly.

  “Married! Why?” Annie asked, realizing too late that she was criticizing her old friend. “I’m glad for you. I hope you’re going to be really happy. When are you going to do it?”

  “As soon as she leaves the woman she’s still living with.”

  “You mean she’s been seeing you while she’s been living with someone else?”

  “Yeah. That’s where she used to disappear to. But she really loves me. And that woman is a bitch.”

  “Does the other woman know what’s going on?” Annie asked, unable to stop from feeling horrified that Eleanor would participate in treachery like this.

  “Yes and no. She knows something is up, but they haven’t had it out.” Eleanor frowned, hurt. “You’ve gone all moral on me now with your new friends.”

  “I’m sorry,” Annie said as the music stopped. She was disturbed and sad and felt a need, which she held in check, to get back to her drink. “I’m so involved now in seeing how women are getting hurt every minute of the day: financially, physically, in every possible way by men, that I hate to see women hurt each other. But I shouldn’t put you down.”

  “She is a real bitch.”

  “Did Dusty always think that way?”

  “Of course not, but the dame has changed. They used to have a good time. In the last three years she doesn’t even want to go out.”

  “The last three years! How long have they been together?”

  “Seventeen years.”

  Annie felt Eleanor’s answer like a blow in the pit of her stomach. Was there no safety in life? Would she leave Vicky after seventeen years? Annie pledged never to let herself drift so far from Victoria that their separation could sneak up on them like this poor woman’s would. “Do the others know yet?”

  “We’re going to announce it after tonight. The wedding will be in about a month. Will you stand up for me?”

  “Do I get to kiss the bride?” Annie teased, running her hand across Eleanor’s cheek.

  Eleanor smiled tenderly at her friend. “If I’m still alive. Dusty’s going to tell her when she gets home tonight. I’ll wait in the car in case there’s any trouble.”

  “If there is, Elly, and you need help, please call.”

  “Okay, Annie, thanks. I appreciate that. And don’t worry about me. Dusty will never do that to me. I’ll never give her cause to.”

  “I hope not, El. And I hope I’m not capable of it either. I guess that’s what affects me so much, knowing how careless I used to be of other women’s feelings.”

  “I know,” Eleanor said significantly.

  Annie looked properly ashamed. “Hey,” she reminded Eleanor, “we never stopped being friends.”

  “What are you two looking so serious about?” Turkey asked, pushing them back toward the group.

  “I just wanted you to be the first to know,” Eleanor whispered before she rejoined Dusty with a passionate kiss.

  “What did she want you to know first?” Victoria asked Annie, slipping an arm under hers.

  “Don’t ask. It’s too sad.” But Victoria was concerned and Annie told her about Dusty and Eleanor and how upset it made her.

  “Anne, Anne, it’s not us,” Victoria comforted her. “I’ll never leave you.” She stepped closer to Annie and held her tightly. When a slow dance began they moved slightly to it.

  “I tried to tell Elly about women hurting each other. Like we’ve got better things to do with our energy.”

  “But we can’t always control the circumstances,” Victoria said.

  “I know that, Vicky, but that’s a man’s game, using women and abandoning them, whatever petty rationalizations you give.”

  “Do you think if Dusty and Eleanor had been in the women’s movement they would have decided differently?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe there’s a good reason. But at least the ‘other woman’ would know what was happening to her. That’s enough of that, though,” Annie said abruptly. “This is your night and I’m not going to upset you anymore. I hope we’ll always know what we want from each other, even if we can’t figure out what we want to do with our lives.”
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br />   Victoria nodded. “Let’s talk to everyone now and get their ideas about plans for the future.”

  “I brought the list of ideas we wrote,” Annie said, searching her pockets. “Want to share that?”

  “It can’t hurt, my handsome prince.”

  “I couldn’t help but overhear that,” said Rosemary, disengaging herself from a conversation with Faye as Annie and Victoria sat beside them. “I’m thinking of doing a paper called, Patriarchy in Our Language: Calling Each Other Names. We really don’t have good female endearments. What should we call a woman who is princelike?”

  “I see you’ve started drinking,” Victoria teased her wordy friend.

  “No, I’m drinking club soda. I’m not all that impressed with alcohol. I don’t want to get my highs confused and I’m very high on life right now. And I’m very serious about our endearments.”

  “That sounds like a paper I’d do,” Victoria said.

  “I got the impression you didn’t want to do any more papers.”

  Victoria looked at Annie. “That’s something we want to talk about.”

  “What do you want to talk about?” Turkey asked, reappearing to put her arms around Rosemary and kiss her loudly on the cheek. “Your hair is really neat, Rosie,” she said. “Unlike mine, which has never known a neat day in its life.” She stopped to think. “No, I take it back. Once I stole my dad’s Vitalis and tried it out on my hair.” She ran her hand down its sloped back. “It didn’t help much,” she admitted sheepishly. “It just sort of dripped smelly, greasy stuff and took a week to go away.” They joined her infectious laughter.

  “We want to talk about our future, Turk. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “Skinny,” Turkey laughed again.

  “Come on, you Turkey, get serious,” Eleanor prodded her with a fist as she sat down. “I’ve decided I want my own little place where I can be the cook and the boss. Let somebody else waitress,” she said, leaning back onto Dusty’s broad shoulder.