by Robin Talley
Abby wished talking to her parents was still that easy.
She clicked back into Women of the Twilight Realm. There was another scene she wanted to reread.
Elaine’s palm was slick with perspiration as she held the phone to her ear.
“I’m terribly sorry.” She hoped Wayne couldn’t hear the tremble in her voice. “But I’ve decided I can’t accept the ring. I’m not the right girl for you, Wayne. You deserve someone who makes you happy, and I know now that I’ll never be that girl.”
Wayne didn’t respond. Not at first. All Elaine could hear was his breathing, slow and heavy on the other end of the line.
She wished she could’ve talked to him in person. Instead, the long-distance call ticked on as Paula clattered pans in the kitchen behind her, the smell of steaks wafting into the corner of the living room where Elaine crouched over the phone.
When Wayne finally spoke, there was fury in his voice. “It’s that girl, isn’t it? That one with the short hair who was in your apartment when I came to New York. I knew she was a queer as soon as I laid eyes on her. I could kill her for doing this to my girl.”
Elaine’s breath caught.
At home, Wayne was always smiling. In school, he had always been the first to crack a joke, and the first to laugh at someone else’s.
Elaine had never heard him sound this way. She’d never had reason to fear him.
“It isn’t like that at all, Wayne, you must know that.”
“The hell it isn’t. I saw the way she looked at you. Listen to me, sugar, you’re just a kid. You don’t know the first thing about what you want. We’ve got to get you away from that—that damn bull dyke, so you can get back to being yourself again. Look, go to Grand Central and get on the first train headed north. I’ll meet you at the station and we’ll sort this all out.”
“Is everything all right, Elaine?” Suddenly Paula was standing in the doorway, her lean figure outlined against the low light from the bedroom.
“Is that her?” Wayne’s voice rose. “Are you with her right now?”
“No.” Elaine wasn’t sure who she was answering.
“Hang up,” Paula said. Elaine shook her head.
“Put her on the phone,” Wayne ordered. “I want to tell that queer what’s coming to her.”
Paula strode forward, her hand outstretched, as though she’d heard what Wayne had said.
“No!” Elaine jerked the receiver away. Paula stopped halfway across the room, holding up her hands.
“You get on that train, sugar,” Wayne growled, his voice clear even as Elaine held the receiver over her head. “I’ll be waiting at the station at ten.”
The line disconnected. A moment later, the dial tone began to hum.
Elaine stared at Paula, the dead phone still in her hand. She couldn’t decipher Paula’s expression.
“He wants you to go back to Hanover?” Paula’s tone was carefully neutral.
“Yes.” Elaine set the phone back on the table. The click of the receiver settling into its cradle was impossibly loud in the silent apartment.
“He thinks I’ve corrupted you.”
Elaine couldn’t be sure how much Paula had heard, but there was no use denying it. “Yes.”
Paula folded her arms across her chest. “Well?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going?”
Elaine stared at her. “You can’t be serious. I told you, I’ll never go back to Hanover as long as I live.”
“I remember. But I didn’t hear you tell him no.”
It was the third time she’d read that scene, and Abby still wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Wayne was being horrible, that much was clear, but Paula was almost as bad with the way she ordered Elaine around. As though she was the one in charge of their relationship.
Or was she only trying to help? Why didn’t Elaine say, straight off, that she wasn’t going back? If you loved someone, weren’t you supposed to think about what they wanted before you thought about what you wanted?
Well. Come to think of it, Abby hadn’t always thought about Linh before she thought about herself.
She wondered what Marian Love had been getting at when she wrote the scene that way. Had she ever loved someone like Paula, who always had to be in charge of everything? Or maybe Marian Love’s girlfriend had been more like Elaine—so worried about what everyone else thought that she could never let herself move forward.
Unless one of the characters was based on Marian Love herself. If that was the case, it had to be Paula. Paula was the strong one. Marian Love must have been incredibly strong herself to have written her so well.
But even Paula wasn’t perfect. She made mistakes. Like when she wrote that letter—the one that led to Elaine’s parents finding out she was queer, once Wayne got his dirty hands on it. Though Elaine made plenty of mistakes of her own.
That was why Abby liked them so much. They both messed up, but they knew they’d messed up. Most of all, she loved that they tried to fix it when they did.
Fiction was so much better than reality. In real life, no one cared when they messed up, and they never bothered to do anything about it. They just pretended they hadn’t done anything wrong in the first place.
A sudden knock on the door made Abby jump. It must be Mom, coming to see why she’d been in the bathroom so long.
“I’m fine,” Abby called. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Footsteps padded away from the door, but Abby ignored them and slid down onto the bathroom floor. She dove back into the pages, until her whole world was Paula and Elaine and Greenwich Village, and nothing else mattered.
6
Saturday, July 2, 1955
“This time next week, I can do the driving.” Marie’s eyes sparkled as she faced Janet across the taxi’s wide leather back seat. A transit strike had gone into effect, shutting down every bus and streetcar in the city right in time for the girls’ Saturday outing. “I still can’t believe Dad’s letting me have the Buick.”
“I can’t believe it, either.” Janet grinned. “Is he getting a new car for himself?”
“Yes, something splashy, I’m sure. The newest Chevrolet, most likely. You know my father—he always needs to make an impression, especially now that he’s gunning so hard for this promotion. The Buick’s too old and worn down to help him there.”
“Well, at least it means you get a car all your own!”
“As soon as it’s back from the shop.” Marie smiled and swept a hand toward the open window and the quiet suburban roads they were driving past. “Though I suppose it wouldn’t have done me much good today, since you still won’t tell me where we’re going!”
Janet laughed and bounced in her seat. “I told you, it’s a surprise.”
“Well, I can see we’ve crossed the border into Maryland. It would only be fair to give me some hint as to why we’re going so far out.”
Janet only grinned again. “I promise, you’ll love it.”
Marie glanced down at her unlit cigarette and smiled. Janet couldn’t recall her ever smoking before. Still, the cigarette, combined with her lovely matching gray skirt and blouse, made her look impossibly refined. Particularly next to Janet, who had to keep wiping off her sweaty fingers on her slacks.
Janet slipped a hand into her purse, tracing the fold in Dolores Wood’s letter with her finger. The effect was strangely calming.
She’d asked the driver to keep their destination a secret before Marie had climbed into the taxi, but they were headed to a shopping district in Maryland. In the suburbs, they’d be far enough from home that they wouldn’t risk being seen by anyone they knew. Silver Spring held several drugstores and even a bus station, and Janet couldn’t wait to search them all for more books of “Lesbiana.”
She tried to imagine the look on Marie’s face when s
he found out there were other girls like them. That there were even books about them—and that Janet was going to write one.
She’d wanted to bring along her copy of A Love So Strange to show Marie, but the glue had grown so weak that pages fell out every time she touched it. It wouldn’t withstand being carried in her purse. Besides, it would’ve been terribly embarrassing if Marie had noticed that the book automatically fell open to those scenes—the ones Janet had read so many times.
So Janet had brought the letters instead. Dolores Wood’s, and the publisher’s, too. She’d show them to Marie, and then they’d go from store to store looking for more books. Janet hoped to read as many as she could.
And later, they could celebrate once more. Marie’s parents, and Janet’s, too, would be dining at the club this evening. There was some sort of party to honor a new ambassador, with dancing late into the night, which meant Marie’s house would be empty when the girls returned.
Janet and Marie could finally be alone, properly alone, for the first time since that night at Meaker’s. Perhaps tonight, the two of them could pick up where they’d left off.
Of course, they couldn’t discuss any of that with the taxi driver only feet away.
“Tell me more about your job,” Janet asked instead.
Marie beamed. After three days at the State Department, her nervousness had vanished and she was full of stories about her amusing coworkers and her demanding-but-fair boss, Mr. Harris.
“I hope you can come and meet everyone soon.” Finally seeming to notice her unlit cigarette, Marie reached into her purse and withdrew the matchbook she’d taken from Meaker’s. Her fingers moved hesitantly as she struck a flame. “Everyone’s so funny, and they’re all so kind to me, even though I’m the new girl. The work isn’t nearly as difficult as I’d expected, either. There aren’t many documents for me to type yet, so I have plenty of time to organize my things. Of course, that’s partly because my security clearance still hasn’t been finalized. It should come soon enough, but it’s a nuisance having to wait.”
Marie placed the cigarette carefully between her lips. A moment later, she turned away and coughed into her hand.
“Did you start smoking in secretarial school?” Janet asked.
“Oh, I smoked once or twice there, I suppose, but I fell off after that.” Marie tapped the cigarette out the cracked-open window. “I decided to take it up again. To fit in at work, you know.”
“I’m sure you already fit in beautifully. You fit beautifully everywhere.”
Marie blushed and looked down, and Janet had a sudden, daft compulsion to reach across the seat and take her hand. It was the kind of thing Paula might do. But this taxi certainly wasn’t Penny’s Corner.
“I have something to show you.” Janet drew the letters from her purse before she could change her mind and passed them to Marie. She kept the envelope for herself. It still felt warm against her palm.
Marie smiled, but there was some confusion on her face as her eyes dropped to Dolores’s letter. Janet watched her eyes travel along each line.
Her forehead creased. “What does this mean, about a pseudonym?”
“Oh, I think she was mistaken. I signed my real name when I wrote to her, but I suppose she thinks ‘Janet Jones’ is so simple I must’ve made it up!”
Marie glanced up toward the driver. “You wrote to her?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, I should’ve mentioned that. You see, I found a book she’d written—it’s a marvelous book, I’ll show it to you as soon as I can—and I wrote to her, and—”
“Why is she talking about fortitude?” Marie’s forehead crease deepened. “What type of books does she write?”
“Ah—” Janet glanced up again at the driver, too. Perhaps she should’ve waited until they’d left the taxi to share these letters with Marie.
“What’s this about bus tickets?” Marie’s voice had grown tight. Janet could see her measuring her words. “Have you met this Mrs. Wood before?”
“Well, no, but you must understand—”
Marie pushed the letter aside and reached for the typewritten page from Bannon Press. Janet had a sudden wish to pull it back before Marie could read it. She should’ve explained first.
“What is this?” Marie dropped the letter and pushed it backward across her lap after only a few seconds. Terror passed over her face. “Janet, what kind of people are these?”
The driver’s eyes flicked toward them in the rearview mirror.
“I’m sorry.” Janet hoped Marie hadn’t noticed the driver’s new interest. “I should’ve explained. You see, I—”
“Did you...” Marie pushed the letters toward Janet, then flipped them over until only the blank sides were visible. When she spoke again her cheeks were flushed, her voice a fragment of a whisper. “Did you tell someone about—about what happened?”
“No, no, of course not.” Janet tried to match Marie’s low tone. Even in her urgency to reassure her, she couldn’t help but note that this was the first time the two of them had spoken about the fact that something had happened between them that night. “I would never, I promise.”
“Then how did—why—” Marie was still staring down at the letters as though one might scoot back across the seat and bite her. Janet took the papers, folded them carefully and tucked them back into her purse.
“I wrote to Miss Wood weeks ago.” Janet spoke quickly. “Her book changed everything for me. When I read it, I realized there’s more to the world than I ever knew. Plus, I want to be a writer—you know that’s always been my dream.”
“Of course.” The worry faded slightly from Marie’s eyes. “You’re planning to study journalism.”
“Well, I was. I thought journalism was the only sort of writing I could do, until I found Miss Wood’s book. When you read it, you’ll see. There are other people out there, people like—”
Janet cut herself off. The driver’s eyes were fixed on the road in front of him, but there was no doubt he was listening to every word they said.
“Oh?” Marie’s face was crimson, her voice high. She’d begun watching the driver, too. “Why, I’m sure I don’t know what you could possibly mean by that.”
Janet began to feel slightly sick.
“I—” She didn’t know what to say. “That is, I—oh...”
She couldn’t cry. Not here. Not with Marie beside her, looking strangely calm as she tossed her cigarette butt out the window.
“All right,” Marie murmured after a moment. The taxi had pulled up alongside the address Janet had given the driver, a Peoples Drug store on Georgia Avenue. Streams of shoppers filled the sidewalks, but Janet couldn’t imagine going shopping after this.
Marie carefully drew out another cigarette and struck a match, keeping her eyes fixed on the flame instead of on Janet.
“All right, then,” Marie said again. “All right. We’re here. I’ll pay the fare, sir.”
“I can pay it,” Janet said, fumbling in her purse, but Marie had already passed a dollar into the front of the taxi.
“Let’s go inside.” Marie drew in a long stream of smoke as she waited for her change. Her fingers were steady, but her voice shook. “Perhaps one of these stores will be air-conditioned. It would be nice to get away from all these crowds. Do you ever feel as if everyone in the entire world is staring right at you?”
Janet watched Marie exhale, smoke blowing through the crack in the window.
The two girls’ eyes met. Marie’s swift smile was so warm, so open—and it was focused solely on Janet. As though it could never be meant for anyone in the world but her.
Something passed between them. A sudden, silent understanding.
Marie wanted to get away from the driver, and the crowds. She wanted it to be just the two of them, where they could talk frankly, without worrying about everyone else.
It sh
ould be this way between Elaine and Paula in the second chapter, too, Janet realized. I can’t let myself forget this feeling. I have to write it exactly this way.
“I understand precisely,” she told Marie.
“Let’s go, then.”
They didn’t speak again until they were safely inside Peoples. Janet wanted to describe every thought churning through her, but she wanted to enjoy the quiet anticipation between them, too.
It turned out the store wasn’t air-conditioned, but the broad, bright aisles still felt cool and quiet after the taxi. Only a few customers were examining the merchandise or seated at the soda fountain at the front of the store. A pair of young children darted about near the cash registers while their parents sat at the counter sipping coffee.
Janet drifted toward the racks of paperback books and magazines that ran along the back wall, even though she didn’t have much hope of finding a book like A Love So Strange here. She’d already checked the paperback racks at the Peoples in Georgetown, and they didn’t seem to carry that sort of fiction. They’d probably have better luck at another store, but Peoples was a familiar place to start.
“Is this why we’re here?” Marie stared at the racks of magazines, her arms folded across her chest. She spoke in a low whisper. “To find books full of witchcraft and murder, like your letter said?”
“No, no, they aren’t all like that.” Janet kept her voice low, too, as she swiveled a wire rack. All the covers here featured men, often with pretty girls in the background. None of these would be the books they wanted. “The one I read was entirely different. It’s about a girl, Betty. She’s a perfectly normal girl at first, until she’s out on a date with her fellow one night and they go into a bar for a quick drink. They realize too late that it’s one of those bars, and Betty catches the eye of an older girl. Then she goes back to the same bar later, without the man, and—”
“Shh.” Marie looked over her shoulder, but there was no one nearby. “What do you mean, those bars?”
“Oh, you know.” Janet tried to soften her voice even further. “They have those, in New York. Maybe other cities, too. Special bars, for girls like us.”