Unexpected Gifts

by Mallery, S. R.

  We went about our business, nodding, smiling, but inside, always praying for the good word. When it came at last, how the Senate had narrowly squeaked by the amendment, we cautiously cheered. It was all boiling down to Tennessee and obtaining a three-quarters U.S. state legislative passage. Not an easy task in such an Anti-state. For days, there came little communication and with it being held in August, the heat became a definite factor. No one could think, much less act expeditiously.

  Reports from Carrie Chapman Catt began to leak out. Apparently, outside men had suddenly arrived on the scene, buying votes by promising liquor to Tennessee lawmakers, keeping them up drinking the entire night before a vote, and telling them how they should mark their ballots for the good of their country.

  But no one in their right mind would have thought Harry Burn, one of the youngest legislators on record, would have actually listened to his mother's plea for womanhood and take such a courageous stand. Even after the passage, outside the building, surrounded by ecstatic women, furious men, and curious reporters, he knew his life would never be the same:

  “I (had) an opportunity such as seldom comes to a mortal man, to free seventeen million women from political slavery.”

  When we heard that the 19th Amendment had actually passed, we all partook in real champagne that night, laughing, joking, patting ourselves on our backs, with countless hip-hip-hoorays. The morning papers—from the U.S. throughout the entire world—displayed a now famous Alice on the second story of the National Woman's Party head-quarters, rolling down her tri-toned banner upon which she had painstakingly embroidered each state's ratification. The Interviewee-of-the-Month, the articles talked about how she was participating in endless rounds of parties and celebrations, many of which probably lasted well into many an early dawn.

  “What's up with Alice today?” Corlie asked me one morning.

  “Why, I don't really know,” I replied, content with reading other articles.

  Chapter 17: Calm Down, Why Don't 'Cha?

  Petra was insistent. Getting fed wasn't nearly enough, she had to have her Love ‘Em Ups, but that was just as well. It gave Sonia a chance to sit on the sofa, one hand on the remote, the other, stroking a purring cat. Leaning back, she closed her eyes, deep breathed, and tried to slow her brain. Just let decisions come to me, she ruminated. Let me sort through them.

  It worked. Before she knew it, a decision had floated into her brain.

  That night, Mike's dressing room was a total disaster. All the trendy outfits he had purchased recently were strewn tornado-fashion across every conceivable surface. The hanging plant she had brought to add organic warmth and texture, limp and neglected. He didn't look so hot, either. His normally beautiful, shiny hair drooped as much as his plant, his intense eyes glazed. Still, he rose up from his couch and gave her a half hug.

  “Didn't think I'd see you tonight, Babe.”

  “Well, I wasn't going to come, but I need to talk to you about something,” she answered.

  “What?”

  “You wanna tell me why a groupie ended up with a lock of your hair and Ned's lighter?”

  For a split second, she could see his pupils dilating. He recovered fast. “There's nothing to tell, Babe.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, you see, it was Steve's fault. I was already so wasted from the champagne he had gotten for us, you know, that night we were celebrating from having done such a huge gig? Well, anyway, by the time I got home, there was this girl hanging out by my front door. He must have given her my address, the dog. She insisted on coming in with me, and frankly, I was three sheets to the wind, but I swear, we did nothing, Babe. Nothing. All I know is, in the morning, I woke up alone and a lock of my hair missing. At that point, I didn't even realize Ned's lighter was gone.”

  He got up and came to her, pulling her into his arms. “I told Steve never to do that again, because I'm taken,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

  “Then why did the girl say she had done it with you?”

  He chuckled. “Show biz, Babe. Groupies and their bragging rights. They'll say anything.” He was cupping her breasts as they sank down onto the couch.

  When the phone rang Saturday afternoon, Sonia almost hoped it was Harry and Martha canceling their excursion to the Weylan household. Instead it was Shannon, bursting at the seams with excitement. Will had all the evidence he needed, she reported, and would be moving ahead as planned in his quest to free Pete.

  The doorbell rang. “That's wonderful, Shannon. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  Inside the door, Martha bubbled over. “Oh…Sonia, what…a…lovely place!” She clapped her hands, Harry stayed watchful. She kept exclaiming how envious she was of Sonia's independence, how adorable Petra was, and what was this object or that one as she circle-wheeled the living room, bumping into furniture and saying, “Oops!”

  Petra was in Seventh Heaven. The second Harry sat on the couch, she jumped on his lap, rubbing his chest and listening to his manly baby-talk. In turn, he knuckled her face, stimulating all her sensors and throwing her into a frenzy of pleasure. How lovely, Sonia thought, trying not to think of Mike's indifference.

  A gracious Lily met them at the door, obviously touched by Martha's infectious grin and lightly stroking Harry's arm. Just outside the living room, she pulled Sonia up short. “I hid the rum,” she whispered, then introduced Martha to Sam.

  Reeled over to a quiet Sam, Martha extended her hand. He was polite, but as they shook hands, his resentment resonated like a tomb. Turning to her mother, Sonia was wishing with all her heart she had never brought them together, when Harry came to the rescue.

  “Hello, Mr. Weylan. My name's Harry Rappaport. So nice to finally meet you.”

  “You look familiar. How long have you been going with my daughter?”

  There was an awkward pause. “Ah, Dad, I think you're thinking of Mike. That's who I'm seeing now. This is my friend, Harry.”

  Sam stayed silent while the rest of them jabbered away like old friends, but after fifteen minutes, Sonia grew restless. She looked at her mother. “Mom, do you think you, Harry, and I could do Our Thing? Anyway, I want to return Adriana's diaries.”

  “Oh, yes! The Thing. That sounds good, doesn't it Harry?” Lily grinned.

  He nodded, quickly catching on to the conspiracy. A slow minute after the three of them had left the room. Martha turned to Sam. “I guess it's just us,” she said.

  “Two gimps in a room,” he mumbled.

  “Excuse me? What's a gimp?”

  “Oh, nothing…Well, people like you and me. You know—handicapped.”

  Martha thought for a couple of seconds before answering. “You…know…Mr. Weylan…I've…I've…always…been…handicapped…and…so what?”

  “So what? Are you living in La-La Land?” He started wondering where the hell his rum was.

  “No…I'm not. I…I….happen…to think…I'm a…I'm a…major…realist, actually!”

  “Oh, come on, Martha!” he snarled. “I mean, we're both out there in the world in our special chairs, right? With everyone else walking around, getting to do things we'll never be able to do, and there's nothing we can do to change that. Ever.”

  She contemplated him closely, then drew a deep breath. “You know…,” she said softly, sitting up straight. “Let me…tell…you…a…a…little…story…”

  When she wasn't looking, he rolled his eyes.

  “When…I…was a…child…I was…in the…hospital…a…a lot. I…mean, a…a lot.” She paused, seeing if he would react; he just stared at her.

  “Anyway…I…was…there…for…phy…physical therapy…but…many…children…had…had…ah…leukemia…and…when…. I…would…return…for…another…ah…treatment…some…of…those…kids….had…gone….dead…friends of…mine…” She watched him examining his lap.

  “Mr. Weylan, I…just figured…I was…one of…the…the lucky ones…you know?”

  Cupping his chin in his right palm, he
nodded, blinking twice.

  She leaned back in her chair. “Mr. Weylan…”

  “Call me Sam,” he said.

  The attic seemed brighter, cozier than ever, the dark shadows not as nerve-wracking, the cobwebs casting delicate fan patterns. The last time she and Lily were upstairs, Sonia had been slightly unnerved until they dug into the trunk, but tonight, from the start, it all felt different.

  Lily was having a ball showing off all the trinkets, souvenirs, and memories. Although each box seemed to take forever to explain, Harry didn't seem to mind at all.

  “And was this banner done in Washington, D.C.?” he wanted to know.

  Lily shook her head. “California, where my great aunt Adriana went on-the-road, campaigning for Women's Suffrage.”

  “This is quite remarkable. You do realize how valuable this all is.”

  “Oh, we're not selling anything,” Lily exclaimed.

  “Of course not. I just meant valuable for the family. I wish my family had something like this.” He looked nostalgic enough that Lily stroked his back. Glancing over his right shoulder at her, he winked.

  He stood back, watching the mother and daughter team chatter about Tony and Daria, Peter and Rose, about Adriana and her incredible journey Into The Light, Sadie, Bimmy, and Leroy.

  “Harry, you might very well be interested in Sam's letters from Vietnam to me and my letters to him from New York.” Lily suddenly commented.

  “I might. You know, my dad was there, too. Whew! It's hot in here, isn't it?”

  “That's because the heater is over there, in the corner,” Sonia pointed, observing him take off his flannel shirt.

  Asking Harry to help her dig further, Lily started clucking about coffee stains left on Sam's letters from Sonia. As the two of them leaned over the trunk, Sonia was surprised at how long she stared at Harry's arms and back muscles working under his T-shirt, remembering how Daria had checked out Indian Joe.

  “Here are Sam's letters, “Lily was explaining to Harry, busy opening up another box. “And here are a few from his good friend Billy R. Billy R. was this guy who helped Sonia's dad so much over in Vietnam and also afterwards, when he came back to the States so…” she paused while she handed the letters to him.

  Harry was staring down at Billy R.'s envelopes in his hands.

  “Which ones would you like to read first, Harry?” Lily asked.

  He paused a beat, then shrugged slightly. “Sam's letters, I guess,” exchanging the few letters for the larger, rubber-banded pile. Tuning out the women's quarrel about whether or not to read these documents while drinking beverages, he opened the top envelope.

  He had only finished one when he examined his watch. “You know, this has been great, but I really think I should get Martha home. She gets so tired…”

  The two women turned towards him, surprised. “Oh, well, yes of course,” Lily responded and started placing the material back into the trunk.

  “Wait, Mom, what about the next group of writings and souvenirs?”

  Lily took a peek at Harry. “Ah, let's do that another time. Martha has to go.”

  Returning downstairs, Lily and Sonia kept prattling on about their history while Harry, down in front, seemed distant. Until they reached the last step. Still babbling, Sonia missed the second to last step and reeling forward, catapulted towards Harry who turned around just in time. Her arms draped around his neck, she could feel his heart beating hard, and without thinking she automatically planted a kiss on his mouth. When she jerked away, Lily was chuckling.

  “Sorry about that,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes.

  “No problem,” he answered without cracking a smile.

  Back in the den, they found Martha and Sam knee-to-knee, engaged in a serious conversation.

  Harry was firm. “Time to go, Martha.”

  She turned towards him in her chair and nodded. Her half-closed eyes indicated she had had enough, but Harry obviously aimed to do one more thing before they left. He strode over to Sam and graciously stuck out his hand.

  “So nice to meet you, Mr. Weylan. I hope you and Martha had as good a time as I did.”

  Sam looked sideways up at him and nodded. Exhausted himself, he didn't take his hand.

  “Call him, Sam,” Lily encouraged.

  Sam nodded at Harry. “Sure, why not?” But his dulled eyes read I-don't-give-a-shit.

  “Really nice to meet you, Sam,” Harry said and left it at that. He grabbed the back of Martha's chair and started wheeling her towards the door. “You coming, Sonia?” he asked.

  Sonia nodded, going over to the other side of the room to say good-bye to her father. “Dad, hope you had a good time. Did you?” He raised his head and pulled her towards him to whisper in her ear, “Don't bring her back.” Sonia stood up, startled. Then furious. But contemplating his eyes, she stopped. She wasn't seeing annoyance or anger in them, just confusion.

  The return trip was slightly uncomfortable. Martha looked totally depleted by the time they reached her house; Harry, overly subdued. As the car pulled up, her mother came flying out, shaking her head and asking Harry what the blazes he thought he was doing. Harry ended up apologizing, but not before Martha hugged him hard and in a loud voice announced, “This…this was…a wonderful…wonderful…day. Bye, Sonia…bye…Harry. I love…you both…”

  After the front door slammed, Harry ambled back to the car, opened the driver seat side, and slid in. “I guess I'm in the doghouse with her mom, but I'm really happy she had such a good time. How ‘bout you? Did you have a good time?”

  Sonia leaned back in the front seat and closed her eyes. “Would you like to come over to my place for a while?” She could hear his breath intake and opened her eyes. “I mean it, Harry. Do—do you want to?”

  His eyes never looked so dark and she could only imagine the thoughts sifting through his brain. “Okay,” he muttered, and switched on the ignition.

  It was like manna from Heaven. Halloween candy for a kid. Petra couldn't get enough of Harry. The second he sat down on the couch, she practically attacked him with purrs and rubs. Sonia had to laugh, never remembering anyone getting this much affection from her. She went to her fridge and opening the door asked, “White wine okay for you?”

  “Sure,” was his measured answer as he kept stroking Petra's fur, releasing wisps of cat hair and dander everywhere.

  Back on the couch, Sonia gently removed Petra from her new love, and sat close to Harry. He said nothing, just watched until her thigh was touching his. “Why the sudden interest? Where's Mike?”

  “I don't know, tonight I don't care,” she answered, taking two big swigs of her drink before placing the half empty glass on the coffee table. She was feeling all those familiar twinges in her body and she knew, once they were there, there would be nothing to stop her from going full steam ahead. She crossed one leg over his, and went in for his mouth, her lips parted, her eyes closing.

  He stopped her. “Wait. Wait. Let's do it my way.”

  “What?”

  He started to caress her hands, fingertip-by-fingertip. She sat still, annoyed, frustrated, yet fascinated. When she tried to reach for his groin, he pushed her hand away, muttering, “Not yet. Not yet.” What the hell was going on? she wondered.

  Pulling off both his shirts and unbuttoning her blouse, he moved on to her arms and shoulders. His kisses were like flutters, gentle, sensuous, totally unlike any of her previous lovers. He let her touch him now, but it was obvious his rhythm was slow, and picking up on his cue, she followed his style, enjoying every part of his body, not just the genital areas. More clothes were being shed and as each item was removed, the flesh underneath became a target of more strokes, stronger kisses. Soon, her entire body felt as if it were on fire, as if she were being swept up in something far greater than herself.

  By the time they moved to the bed, she was in a fog of desire, unable to differentiate any one sensation, just feeling wave upon wave of pleasure and when Harry finally entered her, i
t didn't feel like her usual, urgent drive towards release, simply a long-awaited explosion from everything that had been.

  Afterwards, she fully expected to be lying awake next to a sleeping man, but instead, he surrounded her with his arms, his legs, his warm breath on her neck as they talked for hours.

  “Harry?”

  “Umm?”

  “I have a confession.” In the dark, she could feel him pull back.

  “What's your confession?” His voice edged slightly.

  “You know all those case studies we've been reading, about the covert ping-pong ruminations in people's heads?”

  “Uh-huh,” he yawned.

  “Well, that's me. Every waking hour of the day if I'm not occupied, my mind is like a tiny racket ball court, with the ball bouncing around, never ending unless I do another activity.”

  “Does it make you miserable?”

  “A little scared, like a person wondering if they're going insane, you know?”

  “Remember when we first met in the group and you told Mark off about solutions to this problem not having to do with drugs? Well, you could look into those. I'll help you look into those behavioral solutions.”

  She half-smiled, half-yawned. “You remember when I said that?”

  He hugged her closer. “I do. I also remember when I first met you, you were nonstop tapping and over-organizing your papers.” He sleepily indicated her messy work area.

  They both laughed.

  For once, she entered sleep first, a deep unconsciousness filled with Adriana choosing Alice Paul over Sarah Braunstein, then switching back again to Sarah, then Daria and Joe. Waking up well after ten a.m. the next morning and staring at the rumpled, indented pillow where Harry's head had been three hours before, she had to admit her body felt rested beyond belief. Satiated was the word that kept coming to mind, but her confused, overactive mind was another thing all together.