by Lynn Ames
I am so tired, and tomorrow is my first day at work, so I’ll sign off now. How I wish you were here to share my days and nights, darling.
Your girl,
Claudia
Jessie whistled in appreciation. “A costume designer? That must’ve been the perfect job for you, Claude, and I bet you were great at it.” Jessie recalled their shopping excursion in Palm Springs and how Claudia had looked in that gown. She sure had a sense for fashion…
September 6, 1950
My Dearest Darling Jess,
I’m sitting here with my feet up. Boy, do they ache! I spent most of the day measuring, cutting, and running from place to place. My goodness, who knew it would be so exhausting?
Alas, there were no star sightings. I got stuck fitting over sixty extras for a single scene. It was insane. And these actors. They think they’re God’s gift to women. Three of them asked me on dates (of course, I said no, darling), and another patted my behind. Rest assured, I gave him a piece of my mind.
In the end, I survived the day, but I’m not so sure this is the right place for me. I’ll give it a little more time before I make up my mind but don’t let anyone tell you this is a glamorous life.
Speaking of glamorous, our little girl is turning into the belle of the ball. After only two days in school, she already has an invitation to play at a classmate’s house. I’m inclined to accept, since I do so want Natalie to socialize and make friends. As I know you know, being an only child isn’t easy. So tomorrow, she’ll go over to Frieda’s house to play with her dolls. Oh, to be a little girl again, with no obligations or worries.
Still, I wouldn’t trade my life for anything. If I did, then I never would have met you. No matter what else is true, darling, that will always, always, be the highlight of my life. I try not to think about how long it’s been since last I saw you, kissed you, held you. When I do, the longing is nearly unbearable. See? Here I go.
I love you, sugar, with every fiber of my being. When I lie in my bed at night, I imagine that you are holding me in your arms, and I go to sleep with a smile on my face. And so it will be tonight.
All my love, your girl,
Claudia
Jessie closed her eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose. Sometimes, that would help stave off a headache. She was having more and more of those these days.
She easily could picture Claudia sitting at the dining room table in her stockings with her feet on a chair, drinking a tall glass of lemonade. The tip of her tongue would brush her upper lip as she concentrated on putting the words on the paper. Or Claudia lying in bed…
It had been sixty-seven years since the last time Jessie saw Claudia, the last time she held her, the last time they made love. The longing was almost as acute today as it had been all those years ago. What she wouldn’t give to hold her Claude one more time…
April 13, 1960
My Dearest Darling Jess,
Today, as you know, is our sweet Natalie’s sixteenth birthday. I’m laughing at myself because it would be impossible for you to know when her birthday is, since I haven’t sent any of these letters. Still, sometimes it feels so much like you’re here with us I forget that I’m really only writing so that I can feel close to you. Pretty pathetic, huh?
Here I am, thirty-eight years old, and I pine for you today as much as I did when we were youngsters back in Sweetwater. You are, and will always be, my one and only, darling. My friends have never understood why I always turn down requests for dates. They all have husbands (and, in one case I’m pretty sure, a girlfriend). They can’t know what it feels like to be consumed by love for someone I can only have in my dreams.
What about you, sugar? Is there someone special in your life? The very thought of it makes my knees turn to rubber and my heart pound out of my chest in rebellion. I harbor no illusions that I’m your one and only after so much time, especially since you probably believe I married Matt.
Sorry, I got the paper wet again. Sometimes I just can’t help myself. Where was I? Oh, I started by talking about Natalie. I’ll go back to that, since that’s a safe topic.
Sweet sixteen. She’s a wonder, Jess. I really think you’d like her a lot. Of course, you’d love her because she’s our daughter. But more than that, she’s an outstanding person. You’d be so proud. She’s at the very top of her class—smart as a whip. And she’s a good girl. She doesn’t get into trouble like so many other kids her age. Oh, she goes out to the drive-in every now and again with her friends. But she spends more time preparing for her debate team matches and doing chemistry experiments that I can’t begin to understand.
For her sixteenth birthday, she wanted me to take her up flying. Can you imagine? Says she wants to be a pilot like you and me. She recites back to me the stories I told her as a small child of our adventures in the sky at Avenger Field. I’ve tried to tell her that in real life it’s not romantic to have your engines cut out midflight, but she ignores me.
“If it was good enough for you and Jessie, it’s good enough for me.”
“Things were different back then.”
“Right. The planes are safer nowadays.”
“You’re maddening, child, and you’re wearing me out.”
“Then we can go?”
“I didn’t say that. Jess and I, we had a lot of hours as experienced pilots before we ever got to Sweetwater. And still, it was a dangerous business. Women lost their lives.”
“But not you. You crash-landed twice and hardly suffered a scratch.”
“I was very lucky.”
“You were very good. And from what you’ve always told me, Jessie was even better.”
“She was, but if Jessie was here right now she’d lock you in your room and forbid you to come out until you gave up on this silly notion.”
“It wasn’t silly for you two. So is it only silly because I’m the one who wants to do it?”
“Of course not.”
“You fly every day.”
“That’s work.”
“So am I supposed to worry every time you go up?”
“No, Natalie. I’m an experienced pilot.”
“You’ve never been afraid to let me fly with you before.”
“That’s because I’m the one at the controls.”
“You always say the Cessna 172 is a good, safe, sturdy plane.”
“It is.”
“Then it should be perfect for you to teach me on it.”
“You are incorrigible and relentless, you know that? Why can’t you be like normal girls your age and want me to take you to a rock ’n roll concert or something?”
“Elvis is a dream. If you were going to take me to one of his concerts, I might consider it…”
“And pigs can fly if you think I can get us a ticket to that.”
“You have all these connections. You fly these big Hollywood stars and rock ’n roll geniuses from gig to gig and home again. Surely you could lean on one of the—”
“Absolutely not, young lady. How many times have I told you that’s not permitted? I’m nothing more than a chauffeur in the air.”
“So you keep telling me. I never get to meet anyone famous. You make costumes for them, you fly them around, and everything, and I never get to even shake their hands.” Natalie crossed her arms and pouted.
“You are so underprivileged, child. Poor baby. I’m such an awful mother. Natalie, honey, have I ever missed your bedtime? Ever?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea what it takes for me to be home in time to make you dinner most nights? Or to kiss you goodnight before bed? Or to help you with your homework? Or to drive you and your friends to the drive-in or the hamburger joint?”
“I know. I’m sorry, Mama. I always tell you, you work too hard.” Natalie gave her mother a hug. “Now, will you give me that flying lesson?”
As you might have guessed, sugar, I can’t deny our girl anything. So, this afternoon I took her up in the Cessna 172. Teaching her to fly brought
so many memories of Sweetwater and Vegas flooding back. I didn’t think I could handle it emotionally, but I managed not to cry until I got her safely down and I was alone. It should have been you taking her up, not me. She’s special, Jess, and darn it all, she has an uncanny aptitude for flying. As I said, you’d be proud of her.
I miss you so much it hurts, darling.
Your girl,
Claudia
So Claudia had gone back to flying, after all. And not just any flying, either. She was pilot to the stars. “Good for you, Claude. They were in excellent hands.”
Jessie re-read the first few paragraphs of the letter.
What about you, sugar? Is there someone special in your life?
Jessie sadly shook her head. By April 1960, she was living in a small apartment in lower Manhattan…
“Come back to bed, tiger.” The naked woman lay sprawled across Jessie’s bed, half tangled in the sheets.
“It’s time for you to go home.”
“But I just got here a little while ago.”
Jessie paraded naked back in from the kitchen, scooped up the woman’s clothes, and thrust them at her. “Get out.”
The woman pouted and batted her eyelashes.
“Doesn’t work with me. Put on your clothes or I’ll send you out the door ‘as is’.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Do you really want to test me?” Jessie had a hangover to beat the band, and all she wanted to do was change the sheets, take a shower, and go to sleep. “I’m going to count to three…”
“Okay, okay already. Sheesh.” The woman sat up, making no effort to hide her glorious body. “Are you sure, tiger? I could go one more round for you.” She made a point of looking Jessie up and down.
Jessie folded her arms menacingly over her chest. “One.”
The woman stood up slowly and hunted for her lace panties. “I get the point.” In the middle of getting dressed, she paused. “Why’d you bring me here, anyway?”
Jessie shrugged. “You said you wanted to know what it was like to have intercourse with a woman. You practically begged me for it. I was just fulfilling your fantasy.”
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” The woman narrowed her eyes. “What makes you think that satisfied my itch?”
Jessie laughed harshly. “It might have been the three orgasms you had, or the screams for more, or your nails on my back urging me on…” Jessie examined her non-existent cuticles. “Or it might have been you telling me it was never this good with your husband.”
The woman had the grace to blush. She hurriedly put on the rest of her clothes. “Are you even going to tell me your name? Don’t you even want to know mine?”
“No.” Jessie escorted the woman to the door.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance for an encore another time?”
“No.” Jessie opened the door.
“Here’s your hat, where’s your hurry.” The woman sighed. “Well, it was nice while it lasted, tiger.” She patted Jessie on the cheek and disappeared down the stairs.
When she was gone, Jessie closed and bolted the door, then leaned heavily against it. Every time this happened, she promised herself it would be the last time. What was wrong with her anyway?
She shoved away from the door and strode over to the bed, where she gathered the sheets and threw them in the laundry basket.
In the shower, Jessie let the scalding hot water wash away her shame. She leaned her forearm against the tiles and rested her head on it. The tears flowed freely, as they always did after sex.
Thoughts of Claudia, tightly locked away during these interludes, flooded to the surface, bringing Jessie to her knees. “Oh, Claude, I’m so glad you can’t see me now, can’t see what I’ve become.”
Most of the women Jessie took to bed were married to wealthy and powerful men. They considered her something exotic and forbidden, and that added to their excitement. She never approached them—they always seemed to find her. In truth, she considered herself little more than a conduit to satisfy these women’s curiosity and to relieve their boredom.
It wasn’t about love. Jessie was careful to avoid any possibility of bedding someone with whom she might be tempted to have more than one night or afternoon of pleasure. Love was an emotion that was reserved solely and exclusively for Claudia. There was no room in her heart for anyone else.
Alone in the shower, Jessie allowed herself to mourn all that she had lost. She stood up again and leaned her forehead against the cool tiles. Her fingers found her nipples, then her belly, then her center. She called up a treasured memory of making love with Claudia, and let her imagination take over. It was Claudia pinching her nipples, Claudia running her hand downward, Claudia’s mouth on her clit, Claudia’s fingers inside her.
Jessie gasped and shuddered. These were the only times she let her guard down—the only times she allowed the real Jessie to emerge, still quiet, shy, and unsure of herself.
As the ghost of Claudia brought her to orgasm, Jessie affirmed, “Now and always, my love. It’s only ever been you, as it will always be.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The moon was rising outside the hotel window, and Jessie was starting to tire. So many years remained between her and Claudia, and the day was slipping away too quickly. For reasons she didn’t fully understand, she was determined to bring herself current on Claudia’s life before she left Washington. Natalie hadn’t said she needed the letters back, but Jessie figured she should have them for posterity. She thought about that.
If Natalie read the letters, then she would know that Claudia and Jessie were lovers. Jessie considered. In this day and age, that wasn’t such a big deal, was it? But back then… And how would Natalie feel, knowing her mother was a lesbian?
In the conversation at the ceremony, Natalie alluded to the fact that she knew Claudia was in love with Jessie. But that was different than having written proof, wasn’t it?
Jessie glanced at the bedside clock. She was wasting valuable time debating with herself. She should keep reading and decide what to do about the letters when she was done.
November 22, 1963
My Dearest Darling Jess,
I’m crying as I write this. Our beloved president is dead. What is this world coming to? Everyone wandered around the set in a state of disbelief as word spread. Eventually, we were all sent home.
In order to distract myself from this dreadful news, I’ll tell you that I received a letter today from our brilliant daughter, Natalie. She is having a grand time at Stanford University, learning lots and making more friends than she knows what to do with. Tuition is expensive—$1,000! But, if it helps her to have a better life than I had, I’ll gladly take a third or fourth job to make it happen for her.
I’ve forbidden her from becoming a pilot, so now she’s set her sights on medicine. Our little girl wants to be a doctor, Jess. I never would’ve envisioned that such a thing was possible for a woman. A nurse, yes, but a doctor? I’m so proud, my buttons are going to burst.
Are you watching Walter Cronkite report on the television, wherever you are? I wish you were here to hold me, sugar, and tell me everything will be all right. Poor Jackie looks positively beside herself. Who can blame her?
I love you, now and always.
Your girl,
Claudia
Jessie folded the letter. Who didn’t remember where they were when President Kennedy was shot? It was mid-afternoon in New York, and Jessie was sitting in her favorite chair watching As the World Turns. The soap opera was a guilty pleasure. When Walter Cronkite broke into the program with the news that Kennedy had been shot and then again a little later confirming his death, Jessie cried.
Thinking about it even so many years later still made her eyes well up. “No time for that now, old sod. Get on with it.”
June 21, 1969
My Dearest Darling Jess,
Dr. Natalie Amanda Turner. It has a lovely ring to it, don’t you agree? Natalie blushes eve
ry time I introduce her as my daughter, the doctor. She constantly reminds me that she still has residencies to do, but as I say to her, “Your diploma says you’re a doctor of medicine. Who am I to argue with that?”
Eventually she relents, if only to shut me up. I am visiting her right now. She wanted me to meet her new boyfriend, so I just finished having dinner with them. He seems like a nice enough boy, though I’m not sure any boy would be good enough for our daughter in my eyes. I know, I know, I’m biased. In any event, I continue to marvel at how the tumultuous times haven’t seemed to faze Natalie a bit. Perhaps it’s because she always has her head in a book, but with all the hullabaloo at Berkeley and on other campuses, I should think she’d be more affected. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.
How about you, my love? Are you in the thick of things or sitting out the strife tucked away in the mountains somewhere? All this talk of “free love” and protesting against the war. Can you imagine if our generation had done this? I can’t. Maybe I’m just getting old.
I’ll tell you this, darling. I’m not too old to remember making sweet love to you and I wish more than anything that I could do that again. I miss you still.
Your faithful girl,
Claudia
The summer of 1969. It was one of those periods that defined Jessie’s life, and she had no trouble at all recalling what was going on for her. Sitting out the strife? “Not exactly, Claude. If you only knew…”
“Hey good-looking. What’s the action tonight?” A tall, leggy blonde leaned against the bar and gave Jessie the once over.
“It’s summer in Greenwich Village, it’s hot and humid, and the cops are out hunting for fays. Nothing new to report.”
“Same old, same old. Got a light?”
Jessie reached into the pocket of her new jeans. She didn’t smoke, but she always carried a lighter to accommodate the ladies. “Here you go.”