Pulp

by Robin Talley

  The first piece of typing paper took a few seconds to catch flame, but after that it was easy to feed in the next page, and the next. Soon she was striking more matches, burning entire chapters at a time.

  The words vanished quickly, the pages blackening into tiny crumbs, until they turned to dust. Fragments drifted out the window and floated away on the soft, warm breeze.

  The sight of it was mesmerizing. As she watched the blackened pieces of her manuscript drift toward the river, Janet said a silent farewell to Paula and Elaine and everything that made up their world.

  None of it had been real anyway. Janet had been living out a childish fantasy, writing about imaginary girls. It was no different from playing with paper dolls.

  Except that this time, Janet’s play had put those she cared about at risk. It may have already destroyed the one she cared about the most.

  Tears flowed down Janet’s cheeks as she watched the last chapter start to smolder.

  The handwritten pages she’d written in those first few days were still in the trunk. Janet would need to burn those next. If the FBI searched the house, they’d be just as incriminating as the typed manuscript. She had to get rid of the letters from Bannon Press and from Miss Wood, too.

  And she really ought to burn A Deviant Woman. It would serve as evidence of her immorality as easily as her own writing, and anyway, it shouldn’t be hard to part with it. After all, she’d already lost A Love So Strange, and she’d read that one so many times she’d nearly memorized it.

  Last year she’d read a book of Dad’s—not one of his usual classics, but a science fiction paperback, one she’d had to sneak off the bottom shelf and read in secret in her bedroom. It took place in a strange, futuristic world. At the end, one character said that everyone who read a book even once would always carry that book inside them.

  That story had been all about book burning, now that Janet thought about it. Fahrenheit 451, it was called. It was named after the temperature where paper caught fire.

  Janet had lost A Love So Strange, but it lived on inside her. She would remember it, and all of this, forever. Even without the actual printed words and thin, bent pages.

  Janet brushed the ashes from her hands and knelt, reaching back into the trunk and withdrawing the rest of her things. The gold bikini on the cover of A Deviant Woman was as eye-catching as ever. Even though the novel’s characters had never made it to the beach, Janet could imagine them playing in the surf together.

  Maybe Paula and Elaine could take a beach trip in some future chapter of Alone No Longer. Elaine might wear a bikini, though not as skimpy as the one on the Deviant Woman cover, and Paula would wear something more conservative. Even so, the sight of her in it would make Elaine—

  No. Janet had to stop herself from thinking this way. Elaine and Paula were no more than dust. Janet could forget them just as easily as she’d made them up.

  A door opened and closed on the floor below, distant under the sound of the fan. One of her parents must have woken up. There was no reason they’d come up to the attic—most likely they were simply headed to the bathroom on the second floor—but all the same, Janet ought to move quickly.

  As she scooped up the book and papers, the envelope from Bannon Press toppled off the stack, spilling its contents over the floor. Janet sighed and set everything else back down.

  First was the letter from Nathan Levy’s office. Janet wanted to rip it up, but she knew now that it would be easier to burn if she left the paper whole. Behind it was the letter from Miss Wood—that one would be more difficult to destroy. Beneath it, she spotted two smaller slips of paper.

  The bus tickets. Janet had forgotten.

  Miss Wood had thought well enough of Janet’s letter to buy these for her. It was such a kind gesture. What a shame they’d go unused.

  Well, perhaps Janet should take the tickets down to the bus station and try to sell them. At least then she’d have a few extra dollars to buy school clothes. But no—she shouldn’t do anything that might attract the attention of the police.

  The footsteps came again. Closer this time.

  Too close.

  Janet sprang up from the floor, scrambling to grab the scattered papers and fling them back into the trunk, but the door opened behind her before she could finish.

  “I thought I heard you up here, girl.” Grandma stood in the doorway in her dressing gown, her silhouette barely visible in the dim light. She glanced around the room, taking in the fan, the matches, the papers piled in the trunk and scattered over the floor. Her only reaction was a slight shake of her head. Her lips set into a grim line, and her eyes locked on Janet.

  Grandma shut the door behind her. “I’m not going to beat around the bush with you. I’ve prayed about this, all night and all day I’ve prayed, and the Lord has shown me what I have to do. It’s what’s right for this family, and it’s what’s right for you, even if you don’t see that now. Your parents need to know, girl.”

  Janet blinked up at her. Some strange, useless corner of her mind had taken possession of her senses, it seemed, and told her that if she didn’t say anything—if she didn’t acknowledge her grandmother’s words—this wouldn’t be real.

  Grandma would vanish from the doorway. The past minute would be erased from their lives.

  But as Janet climbed to her feet, still blinking, still waiting, the grim line of Grandma’s lips somehow turned even grimmer.

  There would be no erasing this.

  “You’ve got nothing to say?” Grandma pursed her lips.

  Only one question mattered. “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Before breakfast.” Grandma gave another slight shake of her head. “This has already waited too long. It’s clear you won’t listen to me, so your father’s going to have to be the one to put a stop to it before things get even worse. I only hope it doesn’t break George’s heart forever when I tell him the truth.”

  Janet swallowed. Maybe they’d send her to St. Elizabeths. Or maybe it would be someplace worse.

  “I considered not coming up here to tell you, but you’ve always been a good girl.” Grandma folded her arms across her chest. “I thought it best you have some time to ready yourself, so you’d know better than to deny it. And there’s no use in that, of course. I heard what I heard last night.”

  “Thank you,” Janet heard herself say, over the ringing in her ears.

  Grandma nodded. Gratitude accepted.

  She left the attic without another word, leaving Janet alone with her ashes and her papers and her trembling hands.

  She probably still ought to burn the rest. If the FBI found her to be a security risk, Janet’s family knowing wouldn’t change that.

  She gazed down into the trunk. The bus tickets were on top of the pile, fluttering in the breeze from the fan.

  A thought slowly crept into Janet’s mind.

  What time did her parents wake up, usually, on Saturdays? Seven or so?

  Surely there would be a bus leaving earlier than that.

  She pictured it. Climbing those steps by herself with a small brown case in her hand. Watching Washington pass by her window, and then the countryside, as she traveled north through Maryland and into New Jersey.

  In a few short hours, the Manhattan skyline would be spread out before her.

  Her parents would have no idea where she’d gone. Even the FBI wouldn’t think to look for her there.

  She glanced at Miss Wood’s letter again. “You’ll find me most evenings at the Sheldon Lounge on West Fourth and Charles Streets.”

  Janet could see it all so clearly. A dark, smoky bar, with Dolores Wood sitting right up front with some equally glamorous girl. The Sam to her Betty.

  They were probably there right now. Spending their Friday night in that exotic, foreign land. While Janet sat in her lonely home, with nothing that was truly hers bu
t a closetful of high-necked dresses and a handful of matches, ready to destroy all the evidence of who she really was.

  If Janet were at the Sheldon Lounge, she could walk up to Miss Wood and her friends and shake their hands. They’d be drinking something glamorous—champagne cocktails, perhaps—and Janet could sit at the bar, sip a drink of her own and be surrounded by girls just like her.

  Well, what was stopping her?

  Young people moved to New York every day. The books were full of their stories. Girls who left behind everything they’d known and found new jobs and new friends. Who started new lives, all their own.

  There was nothing for Janet here. Marie wouldn’t speak to her. Her family would never want to see her again once they knew the truth. The nickels and dimes she made shuttling burgers at the Soda Shoppe could just as easily be dimes and quarters made flipping pancakes at a Midtown diner.

  In New York, Janet wouldn’t have to lie. She’d keep to herself at her job, of course, but when she went out at night, she’d be with other lesbians. They’d all be social deviants, but perhaps together they could form a team of sorts. Maybe they could even fight back against the rules that cast them out.

  She’d pack all the money she’d saved that summer. Miss Wood might know a place where Janet could stay for a few nights, or maybe she could find a cheap hotel until she’d earned enough to afford an apartment. Writing was a foolish dream—it had brought her nothing but heartache, and it was obvious Janet didn’t have the fortitude for it, whatever Miss Wood had said—but surely she could find some reliable income. Maybe she could even work in an office instead of a restaurant. She’d gotten a lot of typing practice in that summer, and she was skilled at making carbon copies now.

  Her parents might be troubled at first by her disappearance, but there was no use writing them a note. Grandma would deliver the news once Janet was safely gone, and after that Mom and Dad wouldn’t question why she’d left. In fact, they’d be relieved to have her gone. She was sparing them the pain of having to look at her now that they knew the truth. Plus, a daughter who’d left home would certainly look better to any of her father’s enemies than a daughter who was known to be immoral.

  She would still be on the rolls for college, she supposed, but her parents would withdraw her soon enough. Besides, did Janet really need more theology classes with Sister Josephine, or essays about the fall of Constantinople? No, the time had come to live her real life, far from home, where there would be no more risk of hurting anyone she loved.

  She still needed to pass on Carol’s message to Marie, but she could do that tomorrow morning. She’d write a note, seal it carefully and slip it into the Eastwoods’ mailbox on her way to the bus station.

  Then she’d forget about Marie. That was what Marie wanted, after all. Janet would banish her from her mind and disappear into the wilds of Greenwich Village.

  For the first time in days, Janet smiled without being forced. She brushed the sweaty hair out of her face, gathered up the scraps from her trunk and went downstairs to pack.

  17

  Wednesday, October 18, 2017

  Abby turned up the sound on her headphones until Nicki Minaj was shouting in her ears. It had been the coldest day of the school year so far, and she shivered in her cotton shift dress as she slumped against the car door. Wisconsin Avenue rolled past, a blur of fast-casual restaurants, expensive grocery stores and trendy furniture boutiques. Only the occasional siren or shouting pedestrian broke up the monotony.

  She drank in the sights and sounds as though she’d never encountered them before. Whatever it took to avoid making eye contact with Dad. He kept glancing in her direction as he drove, one hand resting on the steering wheel and the other tapping out an anxious rhythm on his knee.

  Abby was determined to think about something that wasn’t this car ride. Linh, she should think about Linh. They’d barely spoken to each other since Saturday, when they’d met up in the Philly train station to come home. The train didn’t have any empty seats together, so they’d sat separately, only speaking when Linh stopped to ask if Abby wanted anything from the café car. Abby shook her head, Linh nodded, and that was as close as they’d come to a conversation.

  Which was fine. Not talking was easier than talking, most of the time. Even so, Abby hadn’t counted on how lonely school would be this week without Linh.

  None of their other friends knew what was going on, which was both good and bad. Vanessa had asked once after chemistry if she and Linh were avoiding each other, but Abby had only shrugged, and Vanessa took the hint and backed off. Vanessa was good about stuff like that.

  But something had shifted between Linh and Abby on the train Saturday morning. Or maybe it had already shifted, and it took until the train ride for Abby to notice.

  Either way, she knew she had to do something. She cared about Linh too much to let this weirdness go on between them forever. But thinking about anything clearly enough to make an actual plan was basically impossible. Especially today.

  It was Wednesday. The day Mom was coming back into town. The day Dad had said they’d all need to “talk.”

  Abby had tried desperately to avoid this moment. Dad had told her he’d pick her up as soon as her after-school lit mag meeting ended, so she’d left the meeting twenty minutes early, thinking she could walk to the library and hide there for the rest of the afternoon. When she reached the school parking lot, though, Dad’s car was already idling by the curb, as though he’d known exactly what she had in mind.

  For a microsecond Abby thought about going back into the school and hiding in a janitor’s closet or something—eventually Dad would give up and drive away, right?—but by the time she’d thought it through he’d already spotted her and started waving.

  So Abby had squared her shoulders and marched toward the car. She fought to keep her expression neutral as she climbed in. She wasn’t a kid anymore. Her parents didn’t need to know they were getting to her.

  So when Dad tried to say something to her, Abby put on her headphones and ordered her brain to shut down.

  It didn’t obey.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been impossible to focus all day. They’d had a pop quiz in French, but she’d dashed off a quick paragraph about Madame Bovary’s place in the history of Romanticism instead of the full page Monsieur De Jourlet had requested, then spent the rest of the period trying to brainstorm ideas for what should happen next to Gladys and Henrietta. She was ready to write the novel’s climax, setting the characters’ futures into motion. The problem was, she still had no idea how to actually do that.

  Dad turned onto their street. Abby’s stomach lurched. She needed to dive back into her blessedly fictional world, whether or not her brain was functioning.

  She was determined to give Henrietta and Gladys their happy ending. It was just that so many terrible things had happened. Gladys had lost her job, and Henrietta’s parents had disowned her, and their best friend had been murdered. Even knowing there was a secret lesbian paradise waiting for them in Vermont, Abby couldn’t imagine Gladys and Henrietta living happily ever after the way Paula and Elaine had.

  Of course—Paula and Elaine. That was her answer. They were who she should be thinking about. Paula and Elaine were a much better distraction than her stupid first draft.

  So Abby shut her eyes tight and thought about Women of the Twilight Realm as their car pulled up in front of the house. She summoned her mental image of the two women on that painted cover. She imagined them kissing, whispering sweet words, holding each other close. Promising each other that no matter what happened, everything would always be all right.

  The car door swung open beside her. Abby kept her eyes shut, but she could sense her father’s presence on the sidewalk.

  She wished he’d yell at her. Tell her she was being difficult. She was being difficult, and the fact that he wouldn’t acknowledge it
made her want to be that much more difficult. She wanted to keep pushing and pushing until this spell that had been cast over their house finally dissolved and life could go back to normal.

  “All right, sweetie,” Dad said, his fingers still beating out that nervous rhythm against his hip. “Time to go in.”

  What would he do if she didn’t get out of the car? He’d never pull her out, would he? Or would he bring Mom and Ethan out here so they could have this conversation on the sidewalk for all their neighbors to watch?

  That thought was enough to make Abby pull out her headphones, grab her backpack and climb onto the curb. Dad shut the car door and pressed the button on his keys to lock it. The abbreviated beep of the car alarm was so sharp and sudden it brought tears to Abby’s eyes.

  God, hold it together. She took in a long, uneven breath.

  Dad unlocked the front door while Abby trudged up the stairs behind him. She could see Mom coming toward them through the glass.

  So it was true. Both her parents were in the same house, at the same time. It could only mean the world was about to end.

  Abby clenched her fists around her backpack straps, stepped inside and stared up at the high ceiling. Maybe Gladys and Henrietta could have one last sex scene before the end of the book. It would need to be dramatic, of course—endings of books were always dramatic. Gladys and Henrietta would need to have a major fight about something, then rise above their disagreements and get back together. Abby just had to think of something good for them to fight over.

  She followed Dad through the foyer, her heart pounding so hard she could barely hear anything else.

  “Hello, Abby.” Mom came forward, her arms outstretched for a hug. Behind her, Ethan lay facedown on the couch, his face hidden in a pillow.

  Abby didn’t say anything, and she didn’t hug her mother back. After a few seconds, Mom released her grip. She smiled, even though Abby stayed stone-faced. Just like Dad, though, Mom didn’t seem bothered by it.