Swearing Off Stars

by Danielle Wong

  “More joe!” called the older man in the back booth.

  “One sec, Morris,” she called back, and returned her gaze to me. “You should come out with me tonight.”

  “Come out with you?”

  “We can go to this nightclub on Fifty-Seventh. You’ll like it there, trust me.”

  “I’m not really that sort of girl,” I said honestly.

  “C’mon,” she urged. “Tell you what. If you really hate it that much, your coffee is on me next week.”

  I couldn’t help but crack another smile. “Okay, Rebecca. I’ll go out with you tonight.”

  “Call me Beck.” She grinned before leaving to pour Morris another cup.

  I spent that evening frantically searching through the mediocre rack of clothes in my tiny closet. Robbie came in mid-breakdown and failed to stifle a laugh. I shot him a particularly angry look, which just made him laugh harder.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Nothing that concerns you,” I snapped.

  “It actually does concern me. I mean, look at you.” He chuckled.

  I glanced in the bedroom mirror and saw myself sitting miserably in a heap of unfashionable outfits.

  “Also,” he added, “you’re raiding my apartment.”

  “Our apartment,” I corrected him.

  “Our apartment.” He grinned.

  Just then, an ugly yellow scarf fell from the top shelf onto my head, sending us both into a laughing fit.

  “You’re too funny, you know that?” Robbie laughed.

  After our heart-to-heart at Oxford, Robbie and I managed to salvage a pretty decent friendship. We didn’t talk for several months, but reconnected after I moved into the city. He showed me around and even offered up a place to stay, which I didn’t accept until my landlord abruptly ended my lease in the middle of my first academic year at NYU.

  Robbie and I still got along well and liked a lot of the same things. He loved exploring New York and seeing shows on the weekends. We never really talked about our previous relationship, or Scarlett, for that matter. Us living together was strictly platonic, and he knew that.

  “What are you doing anyway?” he asked.

  “It’s this girl I’m meeting tonight, Beck.”

  A knowing expression took over his face.

  “Not like that, Robbie. We just met!”

  He raised a thick eyebrow.

  “Look, we’re going to a speakeasy. I need something to wear but all I have are old dresses and frumpy sweaters.”

  “Hmm.” He looked around the room. “There’s got to be something in this pile of—”

  “Garbage?”

  We both laughed again.

  I met Beck at the diner several hours later. She wore the same uniform; her long red braid trailed the majority of her spine. The café was empty aside from a few lonely customers, as usual. She looked up from the register and waved when she saw me, her amber eyes twinkling in the low light.

  She poured her last cup of coffee and punched out, then grabbed a purple purse and hurried outside to meet me.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting!”

  She gave me a quick hug, and I smelled fresh coffee on her skin.

  “Not at all.” I smiled.

  “You look nice,” she said.

  I’d decided on a maroon dress I’d found at the bottom of my closet.

  “Thanks,” I said, hoping I was dressed appropriately. I still didn’t know exactly where we were going.

  We walked down the street as dusk gave way to darkness. Twenty blocks later, Beck pointed to a rundown building across the way. “That’s it!” she squealed.

  “That’s where we’re going?”

  “It is!”

  I looked back to see Beck taking off her uniform in the middle of the street. I was opening my mouth in objection, and then I saw the strappy silver dress she was wearing underneath. I cracked a smile as she untied her braid and shook out her mane of waist-length auburn hair.

  She leaned down to grab a pair of black heels out of her bag.

  “Clever,” I thought out loud.

  She stuffed the uniform into her bag and smiled. “How else?”

  We opened a large door and walked into an empty lobby of sorts. It was dim and musty, with no more than an old flickering overhead light.

  “Don’t worry,” Beck said, seeing my confused expression. “There’s the elevator.”

  We descended two stories before arriving at our destination with a jolt. The cage doors opened to reveal a smoky room filled with golden lighting and loud blues music. It made my heart beat faster as I stepped out of the elevator and followed Beck’s lead. Something bright caught my eye—a large crimson sign. Mae’s Underground, it said. As we walked farther into the room, a group of scarcely dressed dancers came into focus. Their bodies moved to the music as a few lights flashed overhead.

  “This is it,” Beck whispered.

  She nudged me toward a small stage occupied by a blond singer wearing tight pin curls and a red dress. The petite woman belted tunes twice her size as the band behind her struggled to keep up. I looked at the sweaty drummer and wondered where he worked during the day.

  The singer winked at Beck before she steered me away and over to a shiny countertop.

  “What’ll you have?” she asked over the music.

  “What?” I shouted.

  “Never mind,” she said, laughing.

  I turned back to face the dance floor. It was filled with women and men, singles and couples. I couldn’t tell how old everyone was under the dim lighting. I guessed about my age or slightly older.

  “Here you go,” Beck said as she placed a beer in my hand.

  I stared at the cold bottle until its condensation made my palms wet. We were in the middle of prohibition, and I’d never been to a speakeasy before. The experience was equally strange and exciting.

  I thanked her and took my first swig. The bitter liquid ran down my throat as I listened to the end of the song. It reminded me of the parties at Oxford and drinking too much with Scarlett.

  “Thanks ya’ll,” the petite blonde projected loudly. Her distinct southern accent surprised me. “The band and I are thrilled to be here. We’re yours for the rest of the night!”

  Cheers and drunken applause filled the foggy room, and it wasn’t long before another song took over. This one was slower, with a smoother rhythm.

  “Dance with me.” Beck reached for my hand smoothly.

  I set my empty beer on the counter, and without hesitation let her lead me into the center of the mass of sweaty bodies on the dance floor. But I couldn’t keep the anxiety off my face.

  “Just be free,” she said, smiling at my apprehension.

  I watched her glide around gracefully, like a beautifully wild ballerina. She hummed as she danced. Surprised and a bit embarrassed, I glanced around at the other couples—no one was dancing like Beck, but no one was watching her either.

  I finally gave in and started moving the way she did. Her almond eyes and chiseled face were mesmerizing as we danced to the next song. When it slowed down, she reached for my hand again.

  “Beck,” I said in a warning tone as she put her hands around my waist, and I looked nervously around the room once again—only to realize that nobody cared. Everyone was solely focused on the person or people they were with. It was like we were invisible, in the best way possible. Before long, we were swaying to the singer’s addictive, velvety voice.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” Beck asked when we finally stepped off the dance floor.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

  She took my hand and led me past the shiny bar, behind the club’s stage. Suddenly we were in a hidden pocket devoid of smoke and sound—a disorienting change of atmosphere.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, looking into my eyes.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of Mae’s Underground. It reminded me of somewhere I’d been before, only a happier, flashier, a
nd more intense version.

  “It’s like a secret,” I said.

  Beck smiled slightly and reached into a hidden pocket in the wall behind the stage. She pulled out a skinny cigarette and a single, unused match. I watched as the orange flame illuminated her warm eyes and lit her cigarette.

  “Do you like secrets?” She puckered her cherry lips and blew out the flame.

  “I’m not sure,” I said honestly. The silence continued to shock my ears.

  “You’re different,” she said. “Different than most people.”

  I locked hazy eyes with her and shrugged my shoulders. We both knew what she meant.

  “Yes,” I finally answered. “Are you?”

  Beck took a long drag of her thin cigarette. I watched patiently as she blew clouds of smoke into the dark underground air.

  “Of course, Lia,” she said playfully. “Why else do you think I asked you out tonight?”

  She offered me the cigarette, but I shook my head. We stood in silence as she finished smoking.

  “That’s not all I do, you know,” she said.

  I looked at her expectantly.

  “I mean I do more than just working at that diner.”

  “Yes?” I smiled.

  “I write,” she said quietly. “Poetry.”

  She reminded me of someone I’d met before . . . only happier, freer, and less complicated.

  Chapter 21

  New York, May 1923

  After Mae’s Underground, Beck and I went to several other private dancehalls and secret clubs. It was one thrilling experience after another with her. Unlike Scarlett, she was wild and fierce in her openness. Between the two of us, I was the nervous one. Her boldness and confidence were striking.

  Beck was twenty-five, two years my senior. She had grown up on a farm in Wisconsin and moved to New York the day she turned eighteen. She never really spoke about her family; the most she would tell me was that she didn’t want to rehash the past.

  Between my strained relationship with my mother and Beck’s estrangement from her family, we didn’t see many relatives. My mom disapproved of almost every decision I made. Our never-ending fights took a toll on me after Scarlett, and I simply didn’t have the energy or motivation to argue anymore. Our relationship deteriorated into a tacit understanding—an agreement that we wouldn’t talk to each other beyond quick exchanges in public. These fake pleasantries allowed my mother to save face in front of diners and houseguests.

  I actually still got along quite well with my dad, but it didn’t matter. In fact, I barely went home after moving to the city. The only people Beck and I spent much time with were Robbie and his girlfriend, Vanessa. In a way, those three became my family during my time in New York.

  Ness was nice but not saccharine-sweet. She was good for Robbie, especially when he started talking about enlisting in the military. He told us that he wanted to honor Ben’s death in some way. He wouldn’t listen to what Beck or I had to say, but he sure listened to Ness. She urged him to reconsider and transfer banks instead. He moved into management and quickly forgot about the military.

  When things got serious between Robbie and Ness, she moved into our Greenwich Village apartment. The arrangement was fine for a while, but the three of us were cramped, to say the least. I vacated the apartment during my last semester and went to live with Beck.

  Still, our foursome tried to maintain regular get-togethers. We went on a lot of double dates and even took weekend trips together. Student life gave me the flexibility to work odd hours at the campus library and go on impromptu adventures with Beck.

  ROBBIE and Ness were vacationing in Connecticut for the weekend, so we rented a beach cottage. Although we lived together, Beck and I had never really been alone. Her roommate Laura was always home, aside from the one time she left us by ourselves for the night. But on that potential-filled evening, we ended up getting drunk on cheap wine and falling asleep early.

  Although our closest friends were more than accepting of us, we knew the rest of the city wouldn’t exactly understand our relationship, so we mostly just told people that we were best friends living together until we each got married. Even Beck’s poet buddies didn’t all know the truth.

  The beach weekend would be our first real chance to be ourselves, away from the chaos of New York City. We stepped off the empty train car and walked to the cottage we’d rented. It was right on the border between street and sand. We un-packed our bags and spent the entire day strolling along the ocean.

  As nightfall obscured the salty waves, I took Beck’s hand and led her back to the cottage. We kissed fervently for what felt like hours before falling into bed. Tangled in sheets and damp clothes, we fumbled around before finding our way.

  Beck was gentler than I’d imagined, somehow softer and more sensual. Still nervous as ever, I tried to relish the fact that I wasn’t a virgin this time around. I ran my fingers through her long mermaid hair as she kissed every salty inch of my pale skin. That night, for the first time, I slept soundly next to the woman I’d come to love.

  AS graduation neared, I struggled to formulate a post-college plan. I’d taken all of the necessary classes and excelled in most of them. But there I was, unsure of what I actually wanted to do for a living. Women had few options for actual careers besides staying home and raising children. Unless you were a performer like Scarlett, the job choices were usually teacher, secretary, or nurse. We won the right to vote in 1920, and that came with a lot more professional possibility—I hoped that even more careers would open up for women in the coming years.

  Beck still worked at the diner, but she actively pursued poetry during her time off. I went to almost all of her readings, at little cafés near our apartment and studios across the city. Her enthusiasm for the craft inspired me. Sometimes her spirit reminded me of Scarlett’s, but I immediately tried to shrug off the thought each time it occurred to me. Since starting my job at the campus library, I’d become very interested in reading and writing. But I was convinced that most writing positions were reserved for men during that time.

  Now that I was about to graduate, I wondered what would come next for Beck and me. Daydreaming had gotten me into trouble once before, but I couldn’t help it. Beck was my confidant, my lover, and my reason for staying in the city. I couldn’t really imagine life without her by my side.

  “AMELIA Cole,” called the announcer behind the podium.

  I stumbled awkwardly across the stage. I looked out into the crowd and saw hundreds of faces, some smiling and others indifferent. Beck, Robbie, and Ness waved from a few rows back, which made me beam as I shook the dean’s hand. I glanced back into the audience and saw another set of waving hands. To my shock and disappointment, they belonged to my parents.

  The reception following our ceremony was filled with proud spouses and supportive families. I moved through the crowd to find Beck, but ran into Robbie along the way.

  “Did you know my parents were coming?” I asked him quickly.

  “Course not,” he said, hugging me. “But congrats, Lia! Can you believe it?”

  I didn’t have time to answer before Ness surprised me with a tight hug. “We’re so, so proud of you.”

  They stood side by side, looking like the perfect American couple. I wondered when they would finally get married and start a family. I could see that future written on their faces.

  “Lia, honey!” called my mom’s unmistakable voice.

  I flashed a look at Robbie and whirled around.

  “Mom, hi.” I forced a smile.

  My father trailed behind her, sweating in the New York heat.

  I hugged them both before offering a pathetic explanation for why I hadn’t invited them to the ceremony personally.

  “We had to call the department ourselves, Amelia!” my mom complained. I guess our little standoff didn’t leave room for missed graduation ceremonies. I’d forgotten that my parents even had a telephone—Beck and I still hadn’t purchased one for our apartment.


  I opened my mouth to respond as Beck emerged from the crowd. She flounced toward us, wavy red locks falling around her waist.

  Conflicting thoughts raced through my head as we embraced, and I pulled away quickly, worried about what my parents would think.

  “Mom, Dad. This is . . . my friend, Rebecca Hart.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” they said simultaneously, and each shook her hand.

  As I looked at Beck’s disappointed face, the moment turned into one giant flashback. I’d complained for months about Scarlett keeping us a secret, and now I was doing the exact same thing to Beck. I couldn’t even tell my own parents the truth. Beck had every right to be upset. I was the Scarlett to her Lia.

  Unfortunately, the remainder of our day was tainted by that critical moment. My parents took us all out for an early dinner, which mainly consisted of them encouraging me to move back home. I sweated bullets the whole time, wondering if Beck was going to blow my cover. She didn’t, of course. But as my parents left, she was cold to me in a subtle way unnoticeable to anyone but me. We slept on separate sides of our shared bed that night, each wondering what the other was thinking.

  LATER that week, Robbie called me out on my behavior at the ceremony.

  “I think you really hurt Beck’s feelings,” he told me over coffee.

  “What was I supposed to do? I had no idea they were coming!”

  “She’s your girlfriend, Lia.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “They would disown me.”

  “You should be proud of your relationship . . . or at least be honest about it.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I countered. “You and Ness are perfect for each other.”

  “I can’t wait to marry her,” he said smiling.

  Relieved that I’d distracted him from the topic at hand, I opened my mouth to ask when he was finally going to propose. But he got right back on course before I could ask.