Maxie Mainwaring, Lesbian Dilettante

by Monica Nolan

  “Maxie Mainwaring, at last! This is Mrs. Spindle-Janska.” A rich mezzo-soprano voice filled her ears, and at once Maxie felt calmer. It was a voice that promised to heal old wounds, soothe away minor irritations, and open up broader vistas. “Permit me to skip the polite preliminaries. I know from studying your PPA that such niceties are not necessary with you. Tell me, have you been experiencing difficulty arriving at your office at the appointed hour?”

  “Why, yes!” Maxie was flabbergasted at the career guru’s prescience.

  “Midnight for some is noon for others,” Mrs. Spindle-Janska remarked. Her voice alone made Maxie feel so much better she didn’t even try to guess what the intuitive woman meant.

  “Truth to tell, I’m in trouble about it today,” Maxie admitted.

  “Ah.” Even the monosyllable was expressive, redolent of wisdom. “I want very much to meet you, Maxie. Until that time, remember this: Some birds nest in trees, while others cling to the sides of cliffs, and still others seek out decaying logs on the forest floor. Do we condemn some and praise others?”

  “I guess not,” said Maxie. “I know more about bugs than birds.”

  “How interesting.” Mrs. Spindle-Janska’s melodious voice faded away and was replaced by Miss Watkins, who wanted to schedule an appointment for that very afternoon.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” began Maxie, feeling more harried than ever. An ominous, sizzling sound penetrated her consciousness. “Miss Watkins, I have to go—the coffee’s overflowing!”

  Hanging up the phone, Maxie rushed to the kitchen. In her eagerness for extra energy she’d added too much coffee. The grounds had overflowed into the pot. She peered at the sludge in despair. If she could filter it somehow—

  Lucille found her five minutes later, trying to strain the coffee through a dishcloth. “This is no time for chemistry experiments,” she hissed. “Larry Lathrop is here, and Hal wants his coffee!”

  Snatching the pot from Maxie, she poured a cup and added cream and sugar.

  “No, don’t—” Maxie tried to warn her, but Lucille yanked her along and they arrived at the outer office an instant before Larry and Hal entered, laughing heartily.

  Maxie gazed at the famous profile. Even Technicolor had never done the crooner’s deep tan justice. Larry Lathrop’s skin had the patina of an old suitcase. Automatically she extended a hand as Hal introduced her to the teen idol. Larry took it, and the next thing Maxie knew, she was cuddled uncomfortably in the crook of the crooner’s arm.

  “So you’re the little girl who makes me look so smart!” He turned to Hal. “And she’s gorgeous too! Hal, you old son of a gun, how do you get any work done with all these distracting females around?”

  “We’re the ones doing all the work,” said Maxie, wriggling out of Larry’s embrace. She had to keep Hal away from the cup of coffee Lucille was holding!

  Larry laughed again. “Well, I’m here to learn how it’s done. Where can we roll up our sleeves and get down to business?”

  “You can use the conference room, Larry,” said Hal. “Maxie will show you the latest column.” Maxie watched helplessly as Lucille handed him the horrible brew.

  Maxie led Larry to the conference room, wondering what form Hal’s wrath would take. “I hope you can read my handwriting, Mr. Lathrop,” she said, putting the Lovelorn file on the table.

  “Call me Larry,” said the leathery-skinned crooner. “No need to be in such a hurry—let’s get acquainted first.”

  Just as Larry attempted to embrace the exhausted assistant, Maxie heard the distant cry of rage that meant Hal had tasted the tainted coffee. Perhaps it was the sudden sound that lent extra energy to her rebuff of the singer’s amorous overture. In any event, Maxie’s firm push turned into a powerful punch that sent the star reeling. “I’m not that kind of girl,” she started to say primly, then changed it to, “You’re dripping blood all over your shirt!”

  Larry whipped out a handkerchief and held it to his gushing nose. “I think you broke it, you boob!” he howled.

  Hal appeared in the door, glowering, with a white-faced Lucille right behind him. At the sight of the injured teen idol, he, too, turned pale.

  “You—broke—Larry Lathrop’s—nose?” Hal looked from Larry to Maxie, his horror at the destruction of Larry’s classic profile writ large on his face. He pointed a finger at the door. “Out!”

  Chapter 25

  Breakup!

  Maxie left the Polish building scarcely an hour after she’d arrived, carrying a cardboard box of odds and ends from her desk in addition to her overnight case. She really should have gone back to the Arms and to bed, Maxie reflected as she waved down a cab. Her effort to be a model employee hadn’t been rewarded!

  Maxie leaned against the seat with a sigh. Was it lack of sleep that made her feel so indifferent to her lost livelihood? Or did this odd sense of relief mean that magazine publishing wasn’t her field? She had enjoyed being Hal’s assistant, but it took so much time, and she had so many other interests she wanted to pursue! Besides, she preferred not to be pawed. If that was part of working at Polish, someone else was welcome to it!

  She looked out the window as the office buildings of downtown Bay City flashed by. Where would she work next? Maxie realized all at once that it wasn’t the indifference of exhaustion but a certain self-confidence that kept her from taking this latest job loss so hard. She knew now she could support herself. There were plenty more jobs out there for her to land and lose.

  She heard again Mrs. Spindle-Janska’s soothing, hypnotic voice that said without words that there was no need to worry. Phantasms of jobs beckoned the tired girl in infinite variety. Maybe Kathy could find her a position in law enforcement, once she straightened out the business about her FBI file. Or why not public relations? It was unfortunate Larry Lathrop wouldn’t hire her, because Maxie knew just how to spin that broken nose. Or why not use her family connections and manage the milk production at Sunshine Dairy? She certainly preferred giving orders to taking them. She could find and fire that thug who’d threatened her!

  I’m getting loopy with lack of sleep, Maxie decided as her thoughts meandered to the art of milking cows and whether it would be a valuable skill to have. She overtipped the driver, hoisted her belongings, and headed toward the elevator, which had finally been fixed.

  “Have you seen Kath—Kitty?” she asked her downstairs neighbor Kay, who was coming out of the lounge.

  “She went out a little while ago,” Kay reported. “Said she was going to the library.”

  Library, ha! thought Maxie as she pressed the button for the elevator.

  The fifth floor was deserted, and Maxie shed her thoroughly crushed seersucker shirtwaist and ran herself a bath. It was nice to be home in the middle of the afternoon and have the shared bathroom to herself.

  A night job would be nice, she thought, as she wiped the steam off the mirror and combed her hair. A schedule that lets me sleep in.

  Back in her room, Maxie lay down and closed her eyes. It was almost worth it, the long night, the coffee disaster, breaking Larry’s nose and losing her job, for the ineffable sense of well-being that stole over her as she finally relaxed and put her cares aside. The late afternoon sun slanted in the windows, and drowsiness crept over her like a big eiderdown being gently pulled up and tucked under her chin. Maxie slept.

  She had no idea how much time had passed when her eyes opened. Someone was sobbing somewhere, heartrending sobs. There was a jumbled buzz of voices—comforting, remonstrative—but the sobbing kept on. Maxie sat up in bed. Footsteps hurried by outside her door. She threw off her covers and got up. When she opened the door, she saw Dolly and Janet huddled in Lois’s doorway across the hall.

  “What’s going on?” she asked anxiously. “Did something happen to Netta?”

  “She sent Lois a telegram telling her not to come,” Janet turned to report. “Netta says she’s found someone new!”

  Maxie reeled back in shock. “Not Netta!�
��

  Lois and Netta had been the model of domesticity for five years, and Netta herself had always been so upright and honorable that Maxie had sometimes found her uncomfortable company. There must be some mistake.

  Maxie crossed the hall. Inside the room Lois was sitting on the side of her bed, shoulders bowed and shaking. Phyllis sat next to her, patting her hand, and Pamela was kneeling at her feet. “There, there,” said Phyllis helplessly, while Pamela begged, “Don’t take on so!”

  “I was just—checking off—my—trip-to-do list!” sobbed Lois.

  “Netta’s no good!” Pamela looked like she wanted to wring the absent school-teacher’s neck.

  “Don’t say that!” contradicted Lois. Maxie could have told the misguided sportswear buyer that it was too soon to start excoriating the ex.

  “No one who would leave you in the lurch like this is worth your tears!”

  Maxie made her way through the crowd. “Lois, I’m awfully sorry!”

  She nudged Phyllis, who surrendered her place with an expression of relief. Maxie sat down. “What happened? What did Netta say?” She looked over Lois’s shoulder at Dolly in the doorway and mouthed, whiskey. Dolly nodded and disappeared.

  “Just this,” sobbed Lois, handing Maxie a crumpled piece of paper. Maxie smoothed out the telegram.

  VACATION OFF STOP NO REASON TO COME STOP THERE’S SOMEONE ELSE STOP SINCERELY SORRY STOP NETTA

  “She doesn’t offer much of an explanation, does she?” Maxie took the tumbler from Dolly and urged Lois to take a sip. The office manager’s sobs turned to sputters.

  Phyllis pointed out, “Maybe Netta didn’t have the money to pay for a longer message. She did say ‘sincerely,’ though—and that’s not strictly necessary.”

  “This is not the time to pinch pennies!” Maxie declared. She turned back to her snuffling friend. “Lois, you have to call Netta and make her explain this cryptic message!”

  “I don’t have a number for her!” Lois wailed.

  “When has the lack of a phone number stopped you?” Maxie scolded, giving Lois a gentle shake. “If your boss, Mrs. Pierson, wanted to talk to Netta, you’d find a way!”

  “I could call the Progressive School Alliance,” Lois said in a watery voice. “Or I’d try the training center they stopped at on the way south.” She wiped her eyes. “If all else fails, I have a friend at the phone company. . . .” She stood up. “Maybe this is all a misunderstanding!”

  “Don’t forget to make it person-to-person,” Phyllis reminded the jilted girl as she hurried downstairs to the phone.

  “That should keep her distracted for a little while,” Maxie said.

  “Good work, Maxie,” Janet approved.

  “I’m afraid she’s fooling herself with the idea that this is all a misunderstanding,” Pamela said soberly. “She’s in for some sorrow.”

  Maxie yawned. “We’ll help her through it.”

  Pamela seemed to really see her girlfriend for the first time. “What are you doing in your nightgown?”

  “I was taking a nap,” Maxie hedged. She crossed the hall and climbed back into bed. Pamela followed her. Maxie wished she would go away and let her sleep. She just wasn’t in the mood for Pamela’s comments on her latest job woes or her girlfriend’s patented mix of sympathy and scolding.

  “You changed into your nightgown to take a nap?” persisted Pamela.

  Maxie decided she might as well get it over with. “The truth is, I was fired—”

  “Oh, Maxie!” Pamela’s mournful tone turned Maxie’s name into a dirge.

  Maxie held up a hand. “It wasn’t my fault! Larry Lathrop made a pass at me, and I punched him in the nose.” She couldn’t help giggling as she remembered Larry’s shock.

  “Oh, Maxie!” Pamela repeated, this time with indignation. “That tone-deaf lech! I wish he had two noses, so I could break the other one!”

  Maxie made a clean breast of it, while Pamela was feeling wrathful on her behalf. “Hal wasn’t happy with my attendance record. I didn’t realize he’d be keeping track like some schoolteacher! What difference does it make, anyway, so long as you get your work done?”

  Maxie remembered her unfinished Lovelorn column. Well, I would have finished it, if I hadn’t been thrown out, she told herself.

  “Of course it isn’t fair you were fired—but this does prove my point about punctuality!” Pamela was struggling to keep her disapproval out of her voice, Maxie could tell. The ex-magazine assistant lay back in bed.

  “And then there was the coffee,” she continued, suddenly not caring what Pamela thought. “I was trying to strain it when Lucille came in—” Laughter bubbled up again as she remembered the expression on Lucille’s face.

  “Can’t you be serious?” Pamela demanded. “Unemployment is no joke!”

  “Well, crying into my pillow’s hardly going to help,” objected Maxie. Pamela was pursuing her own train of thought.

  “What you never seem to understand is that a girl in business has to be perfection plus if she wants to get ahead. Otherwise they pass you over for promotion. Look at Lois—”

  “You look at Lois,” interrupted Maxie rudely. She didn’t want to be perfection plus, and she was tired of pussyfooting around Pamela to avoid offending her persnickety girlfriend. In fact, she was itching for a fight! She sat up in bed. “Or would you rather look at June?”

  Pamela drew back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Maxie quoted from Stella’s roman à clef. ‘The affair between the lanky redhead and the pert brunette started in December, and burned with the warmth of a Christmas candle.’ That would be you and June last year, wouldn’t it?”

  Pamela colored. “I suppose Stella has been gossiping. Listen, I’m sorry. It was Christmas, and you were in Acapulco. Weren’t we broken up, anyway?”

  The cavalier attitude made Maxie even madder. “Gee, now I feel all better!” she said sarcastically. “Can’t you even pretend to feel regret? At least I made an effort to sound sincere in similar circumstances!”

  “You want credit for sounding sincere?” Pamela was incredulous. “You’ve been playing at love for so long you don’t even know what it means to be serious!”

  “I can’t believe you are criticizing me, when you’re the one who’s in the wrong!” sputtered Maxie. “You can’t keep pretending to be a paragon of perfection when I know all about your heavy petting with Louise and your pass at Sally, I mean Stella!”

  And then the two girls were going at each other, tooth and nail. The restraints were down; the efforts to make allowances were over. Pamela and Maxie unleashed all the pent-up resentments, grudges, and petty irritations of the past weeks in a torrent of insults.

  Pamela told Maxie she was and would always be a lazy rich girl with lax morals, and illustrated with a cutting comment about the careless way she washed dishes. Maxie called Pamela a narrow-minded party pooper who didn’t know how to have fun and hogged all the covers. Pamela said she was sick of hearing Maxie chatter about a new career every week, and that she’d been right in the first place—Maxie had no stick-to-it-iveness. Maxie said spending so much time with Pamela had made her feel as stifled as if she’d been buried alive. Pamela snorted that “stifled” was a good one, since she’d known all along that Maxie had only renewed the relationship because Pamela’s apartment had air-conditioning—which proved her point that Maxie was unethical, amoral, and probably unstable.

  “You’ve ruined my nap, but you aren’t going to ruin my life!” Maxie shouted. “I won’t let myself be limited by your provincial principles! We’re through!”

  “That goes double!” Pamela retorted. “I don’t know why I’ve put up with your temper and tantrums all this time! I should have given you the heave-ho years ago!”

  “It wouldn’t have been soon enough. . . .” The words echoed in the empty room. Pamela had slammed out. In the sudden stillness Maxie could hear her own pulse pounding in her ears, like surf beating the shore. She unclenched her fists
, wishing the blowout had taken place at Pamela’s. Then she could have had the last word before storming out!

  She certainly wasn’t sleepy anymore. Maxie shed her nightgown and pulled on a pair of scarlet slacks and an off-the-shoulder, ruffled blouse. She felt as reckless as a sailor landing on shore. The ties that bound her to Pamela were broken, and other girls were fair game!

  She picked up her purse and flung open the door. Janet, Dolly, and Phyllis all jumped. Maxie realized that they must have heard every word. Neither she nor Pamela had bothered to lower their voices.

  “Pamela seemed in an awful hurry when she left,” Janet began diplomatically.

  “We’re through.” As she repeated the words she’d hurled at Pamela in anger, Maxie realized they were true. She felt a little dizzy at the idea. “This time for real.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Phyllis. “You’ve been together so long—and broken up so often—”

  “We were like oil and vinegar,” said Maxie. “We tried to emulsify ourselves into some kind of salad dressing, but we never really mixed. And now we both know it.”

  Her friends were silent. There was nothing more to be said.

  But as she was hurrying down the stairs Janet caught up with her. “Just a moment, Maxie.”

  Maxie turned impatiently. “What?” She didn’t want any advice just then about not doing anything impulsive.

  “I want to talk to you—about the Nyberg Trust.”

  Maxie slowed down. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” she assured Janet as they descended the stairs together. “Your plan worked. Mumsy got the windup about Great-aunt Alta’s illness being exposed, and she’s going to give me my allowance again. You can drop the legal stuff.”

  “I think she might have got the windup about more than Aunt Alta,” Janet told the heiress. “I’ve heard some alarming rumors that your trust’s portfolio has been shifted from bonds to riskier investments. I don’t like it—I can’t help wondering what your mother is up to!”