“Yeah, but they were sweet in a square, old-fashioned way.”
“I suppose but I can’t stand it when people get all moonie about each other.”
“That’s because you’ve never been in love. You haven’t got a heart, Faysie, only a pericardium.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, I’m only teasing you. I can’t stand all that romantic crap either especially when they play footsie under the table. Gawd. But everybody does it, straight or gay. It turns me off—maybe I’m not either one.”
“Even if I fall in love I’m not degenerating into that diddleshit.” Faye looked out her window over the dark river and then turned to me. “Have you ever thought about doing it with a woman?”
“Thought about it! Faye, I wasn’t kidding when I told Eunice I was gay before college.”
“Molly, you shit! All this time we’ve been roommates and you never told me that.”
“You never asked.”
“People don’t think of those things to ask. You are really a hot shit. So besides Frank at Phi Delt you’ve been going out with girls. I can’t believe you, you are too fucking much.”
“No, sorry to disappoint you, but I haven’t been dating anyone but Frank the fullback.”
“Well, I am pissed you didn’t tell me. Here we go through my abortion, I tell you everything and you don’t tell me this one thing about yourself. Come to think of it, you don’t talk about yourself much anyway. What other secrets are you hiding, Mata Hari?”
“Faye, it’s not like this big thing that I keep locked up inside. There wasn’t any reason to tell you. Besides my mind is occupied with a lot of other things than the fact that I’ve slept with some girls.”
“You’re a hot shit. I know you’ve slept with men but women. I am truly impressed.”
“Why don’t you shut up so I can go to sleep?”
Faye collapsed on her bed with a huffed noise. I beat my pillow so part of it would be flat. I can’t stand overweight pillows.
“Molly.”
“What, Goddammit.”
“Let’s fuck.”
“Faye, you crack me up.”
“That’s my line and I’m serious. Come on.”
“No, period.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story. My experiences with non-lesbians who want to sleep with me have been gross.”
“How can you be a non-lesbian and sleep with another woman?”
“Beats me, but the last girl I slept with had it all figured out in her twisted brain.”
“Now that I’m dying of curiosity and insulted by your refusal you’d better tell me about these non-lesbians before I swallow my tongue and turn purple in the face. If you don’t, I’ll scream and tell Mother you tried to rape me.”
Faye faked a noiseless scream. I immediately told her my tale of woe.
“That was a raw deal. After that, I’d go celibate.”
“I did.”
“Break it. Come over here and sleep with me. I promise not to be a non-lesbian.”
“Your sense of humor overwhelms me.”
Faye jumped out of bed, threw the covers off me and declared, “If you won’t come over to me I’ll come over to you. Now I am Goddamned, fucking serious. Move your ass over.” She plopped down next to me, “Now what do I do? I never did this before?”
“Faye, I can see this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”
“You and Humphrey Bogart. Molly, I do want to make love.” She hugged me and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Okay, so maybe part of it is curiosity but another part of it is that I have more fun with you than anyone else in the whole fucking world. I probably love you more than anybody. This is the way it should be, you know, a lover who is a friend and not that moonie crap.” She gave me a long, soft kiss. She was serious. In times like this, intellectual analysis does no damn good so I swept away thoughts of the aftermath and kissed her neck, her shoulders, and returned to her mouth.
The rest of that semester we spent in bed, emerging only to go to class and to eat. Faye made her grades because it was the only way we could be together, and she stopped drinking because she found something that was more fun. Chi Omega began to think Faye had died and gone to heaven. Tri Delta resorted to sending me urgent notices in the mail. We were eighteen, in love, and didn’t know the world existed—but it knew we existed.
Not until February did I notice that people on our hall weren’t speaking to us anymore. Conversations stopped when one or both of us would amble down the brown halls. Faye concluded they all had chronic laryngitis and decided she’d cure it. She hooked up a Mickey Mouse Club record to the ugly brick bell tower that rang class changes. Then she announced to our dorm neighbors that at three-thirty the true nature of the university would be revealed via the bell tower. As soon as the record blared across the campus Dot and Karen ran in from next door to giggle at Faye’s success. Just as quickly they turned on their heels to walk out when Faye bluntly asked, “How come you two don’t talk to us anymore?”
Terror crossed Dot’s face and she told a half truth. “Because you stay in your room all the time.”
“Bullshit,” Faye countered.
“There’s got to be another reason,” I added.
Karen, angered at our bad manners in being so direct, spat at us gracefully. “You two are together so much it looks like you’re lesbians.”
I thought Faye was going to heave her chemistry book at Karen, her white face was so red. I looked Karen right in the face and said calmly, “We are.”
Karen reeled back as though she were slapped with a soggy dishrag. “You’re sick and you don’t belong in a place like this with all these girls around.”
Faye was now on her feet moving toward Karen, and Dot, the picture of courage, was at the door fumbling with the knob. Faye shifted into overdrive and roared her engine, “Why, Karen, are you afraid I might sleep with you? Are you afraid I might sneak over in the middle of the night and attack you?” Faye was laughing by this time and Karen was petrified. “Karen, if you were the last woman on earth, I’d go back to men—you’re a simpering, pimply-faced cretin.” Karen ran out the room and Faye howled, “Did you see her face? What an insipid asswipe that creature is!”
“Faye, we’re in for it now. She’s gonna run right to the resident counselor and we are gonna be in real fucking trouble. They’ll probably throw us out.”
“Let them. Who the hell wants to rot in this institution of miseducation?”
“I do. It’s my one chance to get out of the boondocks. I’ve got to get my degree.”
“We’ll go to a private school.”
“You can go to a private school. I can’t even pay for my own food, Goddammit.”
“Look, my old man will pay my way and we can work part time to pay your way. Shit I wish he’d give you the money. I don’t give a rat’s ass about my degree. But that’s out of the question. Anyway, he wants me to stay in school, so he’ll send bonuses to encourage me and we can get along with that plus a little work.”
“I think it’s going to be harder than that, Faye, but I hope you’re right.”
One half-hour after Faye insulted Karen’s nonexistent sexuality, she was called to the resident counselor’s office while I was sent to the dean of women, Miss Marne. This creature was a heiferlike, red-haired woman who had been a major in the Army Corps back in World War II. She liked to quote her military experiences as proof that women could make it. I walked into her House & Garden office with all the painted plaques on the wall. She probably had one up there as proof of her femininity too. She smiled broadly and shook my hand vigorously.
“Sit down, won’t you, Miss Bolt? Have a cigarette?”
“No thank you, I don’t smoke.”
“Wise of you. Now, let’s get down to business. I called you here because of the unfortunate incident in your dormitory. Would you care to explain that to me?”
“No.”
“Miss Bolt, t
his is a very serious matter and I want to help you. It will be much easier if you cooperate.” She ran her hand over the glass cover on her maplewood desk and smiled reassuringly. “Molly, may I call you that?” I nodded. What the hell do I care what she calls me? “I’ve been going over your record and you’re one of our most outstanding students—an honors scholar, tennis team, freshman representative, Tri-Delta—you’re a go-getter, as we say. Ha, ha. I think you’re the kind of young woman who will want to work out this problem that you have and I want to help you work it out. A person like you could go far in this world.” She lowered her voice confidentially. “I know it’s been hard for you, your birth and well, you simply didn’t have the advantages of other girls. That’s why I admire the way you’ve risen above your circumstances. Now tell me about this difficulty you have in relating to girls and your roommate.”
“Dean Marne, I don’t have any problem relating to girls and I’m in love with my roommate. She makes me happy.”
Her scraggly red eyebrows with the brown pencil glaring through shot up. “Is this relationship with Faye Raider of an, uh—intimate nature?”
“We fuck, if that’s what you’re after.”
I think her womb collapsed on that one. Sputtering, she pressed forward. “Don’t you find that somewhat of an aberration? Doesn’t this disturb you, my dear? After all, it’s not normal.”
“I know it’s not normal for people in this world to be happy, and I’m happy.”
“H-m-m. Perhaps there are things hidden in your past, secrets in your unconscious that keep you from having a healthy relationship with members of the opposite sex. I think with some hard work on your part and professional assistance, you can uncover these blocks and find the way to a deeper, more meaningful relationship with a man.” She took a breath and smiled that administrative smile. “Haven’t you ever thought about children, Molly?”
“No.”
This time she couldn’t hide her shock. “I see. Well dear, I have arranged for you to see one of our psychiatrists here three times a week and of course, you’ll see me once a week. I want you to know I’m in there rooting for you to get through this phase you’re in. I want you to know I’m your friend.”
If I had had a blow torch, I’d have turned it on her smiling face until it was as red as her hair. I didn’t have one in my purse, so I did the next best thing. “Dean Marne, why are you pushing me so hard to be a mother and all that rot when you aren’t even married?”
She squirmed in her seat and avoided my gaze. I had broken the code and put her on the spot. “We’re here to discuss you, not me. I had plenty of opportunities. I decided a career was more important to me than being a homemaker. Many ambitious women were forced into that choice in my day.”
“You know what I think? I think you’re as much a lesbian as I am. You’re a goddamn fucking closet fairy, that’s what you are. I know you’ve been living with Miss Stiles of the English Department for the last fifteen years. You’re running this whole number on me to make yourself look good. Hell, at least I’m honest about what I am.”
Yes, her face was red, inflamed. She slammed her fist so hard on the desk that the glass covering with all the papers pushed under it broke and she cut her meaty hand. “Young lady, you are going directly to the psychiatrist. You are obviously a hostile, destructive personality and need supervision. What a way to talk to me when I’m trying to help you. You’re farther gone than I thought.”
The noise attracted her secretaries and Dean Marne dialed the university hospital. I was escorted to the looney ward by two campus policemen. The nurse took my fingerprints. I suppose they run them under a microscope to see if there are any diseased bacteria on them. Then I was led to a bare room with a cot in it and stripped of all my clothing. I was put in a nifty gown that would have made even Marilyn Monroe look whipped. The door was shut and they turned the key. The flourescent lights hurt my eyes and their humming was driving me as nuts as the treatment I had received. Hours later Dr. Demiral, a Turkish psychiatrist, ame in to talk to me. He asked me if I was disturbed. I told him that I sure was disturbed now and I wanted out of this place. He told me to calm myself, and within a few days I’d be out. Until that time I was being observed for my own good. It was a matter of procedure, nothing personal. Those next days I beat out Bette Davis for acting awards. I was calm and cheerful. I pretended I was delighted to see Dr. Demiral’s greasy, bearded face. We talked about my childhood, about Dean Marne, and about my simmering hatreds that I had repressed. It was very simple. Whatever they say, you look serious, attentive, and say “yes” or, “I hadn’t thought of that.” I invented horrendous stories to ground my fury in the past. It’s also very important to make up dreams. They love dreams. I used to lie awake nights thinking up dreams. It was exhausting. Within the week, I was released to return to the relative tranquility of Broward Hall.
I stopped at my mailbox, which had two letters in it. One was written in Faye’s handwriting and one had a silver, blue, and gold edging around it which meant it was from my beloved sisters at Tri-Delta. I opened that one first. It was official and had the crescent seal on the paper. I was dropped from the sorority and they were sure I’d understand. Everyone hoped I’d get better. I ran up the stairs, opened the door, and found all Faye’s things gone. I sat down on the lonesome bed and read Faye’s letter.
Dear Sweet Lover Molly,
The resident counselor told me my father is coming to pick me up and I’m to pack everything. Daddy is apparently close to a heart attack over this whole thing because as soon as I got out of my disgusting discussion with the R.C. I called home and Mums answered the phone. She sounded as though she had swallowed a razor blade. She said I’d better have an explanation for all this because Dad’s ready to put me in the funny farm to “straighten me out.” God, Molly, they’re all crazy. My own parents want to lock me up. Mother was crying and said she’d get the best doctors there were for her little girl and what did she do wrong. Vomit! I think we won’t see each other. They’ll keep me away and you’re locked up in the hospital. I feel like I’m underwater. I’d run away by myself but I can’t seem to move and sounds roll in and out of my head like waves. I think I won’t surface until I see you. It looks like I won’t see you soon. If they put me away maybe I’ll never see you. Molly, get out of here. Get out and don’t try to find me. There’s no time for us now. Everything is stacked against us. Listen to me. I may be underwater but I can see some things. Get out of here. Run. You’re the stronger of the two of us. Go to a big city. It ought to be a little better there. Be free. I love you.
Faye
P.S. $20 is all I had left in my account. It’s in your top drawer with all the underpants. I left an old bottle of Jack Daniels there too. Drink a toast to me and then fly away.
Between a white pair of underpants and a red pair was the twenty dollars. Underneath the whole pile was the Jack Daniels. I drank Faye her toast, then walked down the hall with all the doors closing like clockwork and poured the rest of the bottle down the drain.
The next day in my mailbox was a letter from the scholarship committee informing me that my scholarships could not be renewed for “moral reasons” although my academic record was “superb.”
Nesting in the back of my closet with the palmetto bugs was my Girls’ State suitcase. I pulled it out and filled it, sat on it to close it. I left my books in my room except for my English book, left my term papers and football programs and my last scrap of innocence. I closed the door forever on idealism and the essential goodness of human nature, and I walked to the Greyhound bus station by the same path that I had taken on my arrival.
Mother was sitting in her green stuffed rocking chair when I walked through the door. “You can turn around and walk right out. I know everything that went on up there, the dean of women called me up. You just turn your ass around and get out.”
“Mom, you only know what they told you.”
“I know you let your ass run away with your head,
that’s what I know. A queer, I raised a queer, that’s what I know. You’re lower than them dirty fruit pickers in the groves, you know that?”
“Mom, you don’t understand anything. Why don’t you let me tell my side of it?”
“I don’t want to hear nothing you can say. You always were a bad one. You never obeyed nobody’s rules—mine, the school’s, and now you go defying God’s rules. Go on and get outa here. I don’t want you. Why the hell you even bother to come back here?”
“Because you’re the only family I got. Where else am I gonna go?”
“That’s your problem, smart-pants. You’ll have no friends and you got no family. Let’s see how far you get, you little snot-nose. You thought you’d go to college and be better than me. You thought you’d go mix with the rich. And you still think you’re dandy, don’t you? Even being a stinking queer don’t shake you none. I can see conceit writ all over your face. Well, I hope live to see the day you put your tail between your legs. I’ll laugh right in your face.”
“Then you’d better live to see me dead.” I picked up my suitcase by the door and walked out into the cool night air. I had $14.61 in my jeans, that’s what was left over from Faye’s money and the remains of mine after the bus ticket. That wouldn’t get me half to New York City. And that’s where I was going. There are so many queers in New York that one more wouldn’t rock the boat.
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