by Robin Talley
“You’re here,” Marie whispered. “Good. I need to tell you something.”
“Of course.” Janet stepped back, holding the door wide. She longed to reach out a hand to touch Marie, but something made her hesitate. “Please, come in.”
Marie stumbled as she stepped inside, and Janet noticed for the first time that one of her high heels had broken off, as though she’d run all the way from Foggy Bottom.
“Where can we talk?” Marie was still whispering as Janet shut the door behind her, even though it must’ve been obvious they were alone in the darkened house.
Janet spread out her hands. “Here. My father’s at work, and I can’t imagine from the look of this place that Mom will be home anytime soon.”
“The neighbors, though...” Marie glanced from side to side at the thin brick walls. “Let’s go to the attic.”
“The attic?” Janet swallowed. The last time she’d been in the attic, she’d burned the remains of her manuscript and listened to Grandma speak what might’ve been her final words. “Can’t we stay down here? There’s something I need to tell you, too. Several things, in fact.”
“No, we can’t.” Marie pushed past her toward the staircase, still cradling that fragile cardboard box. Janet had no choice but to follow.
When they reached the second floor, Marie wasn’t certain how to reach the attic and Janet was forced to take the lead. As they climbed the rickety stairs, the clack of Marie’s single high heel on the wooden steps behind her brought forth an ache of memories. It was all Janet could do not to reach back and grasp Marie’s fingers with her own.
By tomorrow, if everything went as she prayed it would, they’d no longer have to think about the risk of being heard or seen, not indoors. Starting tomorrow, Janet and Marie could be their true selves. Together.
When they reached the impossibly stuffy attic room Janet went straight to the windows and threw them open, then switched on the fan to cover the sound of their voices. When she turned back, Marie was setting her little box down on the table and eyeing the dusty typewriter beside it.
All summer, this room had been about fiction. Fantasy. Now, though, at the sight of Marie—the real, live girl who’d swept Janet off her feet—all she wanted to do was close the distance between them and take Marie into her arms.
There was something else she should do first, though.
“Have you heard anything about my grandmother?” Janet had to ask, even if she didn’t want to know the answer.
“You haven’t heard?”
“I’ve been in New York until today.”
Marie’s damp eyes widened. “Oh, I see. Well, Mom told me your grandmother’s still in the hospital. She’s awake, but she’s very weak. The doctors hope she’ll be able to return home, in time.”
Janet nodded. She was grateful, immensely grateful. But this meant she’d need to make absolutely certain she was gone before her parents returned.
She had to withdraw from this family forever. It was the only way any of them would be able to go on.
“I have good news.” Janet felt around for the package, only just realizing she’d left it on the entry table. “The publisher sent back my manuscript. The FBI couldn’t have seen it after all. We’re safe at last.”
Marie reached into her cardboard box, pulled out a cigarette packet and slit the cellophane wrapper. She didn’t look as relieved as Janet had expected. “Safe,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
Janet longed to take Marie’s hand. She longed to kiss her.
Most of all, she longed to tell Marie everything she felt for her. Yet some unspoken tension between them pulled her back.
“The men at your office will have no reason to think you’re guilty of anything.” Janet’s hands trembled as she stared into Marie’s watery brown eyes. “Even if they did, we can fight back. If they tried to fire you, we could appeal it. I went to the library in New York and read all about it. There’s a process built into the government personnel system for exactly this purpose—unjust termination. All we have to do is fill out the right forms. Except...” Janet took in a long breath, steadying herself before she said the words that mattered most. “Marie, you should quit your job in any case, and come to New York with me instead.”
Marie didn’t answer. Instead, she walked over to gaze out the window. Her silence was unnerving.
“You’ll love the city.” Janet was talking faster, the words spilling out, trying to fill the emptiness between them. She hadn’t thought Marie would agree right away, but she’d expected her to say something. “There are so many people like us. You wouldn’t believe it.”
Marie just went on staring out the window. “Like us?”
“You know.” The memory of her nights with Claire and Flo and her other new friends surged bright and vivid in Janet’s mind. “Other girls. There’s a place called the Sheldon Lounge. I hadn’t even been certain such places were real, but they are, and it’s glorious, Marie. I’ll introduce you to the girls, and we can—”
“No.” Marie turned around so fast Janet flinched. “I can’t go anywhere like that.”
“I understand that you’re worried, but no one would know us there. All you have to do is quit your job, and we can—”
“I quit.” Marie thrust a careless arm behind her toward the cardboard box on the table. “Those are my things.”
“You already quit? Today?” Janet felt a surge of joy, though it was tempered by the tears still visible in Marie’s eyes. “Well—that’s good, isn’t it? You won’t have to worry about them finding out anymore.”
“They did find out.” Marie shook her head. “Or if they haven’t yet, they would’ve soon enough.”
“I—I don’t understand.” Janet wrung her hands. She hated feeling so lost.
“They called me into this tiny room.” Marie shifted her gaze away from Janet’s to stare out the window once more. There was a fierce gleam in her eyes. “There were three men sitting across the table from me. They made me take an oath, and then they asked if I’d ever had contact with...” She stopped.
“With me?” Janet understood, now, why Marie had been crying. She suddenly wanted to cry herself.
“No.” Marie turned back, an unlit cigarette clenched between her fingers. Behind her, the golden afternoon sunlight shone brilliantly through the attic window. “With any—homosexuals.”
“Oh, no.” Janet couldn’t contain her shudder.
“They said the news about Mr. Harris cast suspicion on me. Then they said another typist in our department, a girl I’d been seen with in the cafeteria—Bertha’s her name—had confessed that she’d gone to meetings. I told them I didn’t know anything about that, that I’d barely even spoken to Bertha, but they didn’t believe me.”
“What meetings?” Janet had never heard of lesbians going to meetings.
“You know. Meetings.”
Marie emphasized the word until Janet understood.
She’d heard Dad talk about “meetings” in that tone before. She’d heard Senator McCarthy do it, too, on television.
Bertha wasn’t a lesbian. She was a Communist.
“Is she actually...” Janet couldn’t say the word out loud.
Marie threw a hand up into the air. “Oh, what does it matter?”
It matters a lot, Janet thought, but she knew what Marie meant. “Well—but then, you should be safe. Bertha must’ve been the typist they were after, not you.”
“That wasn’t all they said.” Marie turned her gaze to the floor. “They also said they’d had reports that my—that my voice was too low. That I didn’t talk like a normal girl.”
“Your voice?” Janet was more lost than ever. “Your voice is beautiful. It isn’t low, it’s perfectly normal—”
Even as she spoke, Janet heard the absurdity of her words.
The State De
partment had received reports that Marie’s voice was too low? What could that possibly have to do with anything? Who would have told them that, and why would the government investigate such “reports”?
Janet tried to imagine how it would have felt to sit in that narrow room, hearing those questions. How Marie must have tried so hard not to flinch. How she would’ve done anything to keep from crying where the men interrogating her could see.
But she’d endured it, somehow. Marie was stronger than Janet had ever realized.
“They already knew the truth. Whether because someone saw us, or because they tapped my phone, or something else—I’m certain they knew.” Marie finally met her eyes. Janet could see the blame there. Or maybe it was simply sadness. “No one’s safe. Carol was there, too. I saw her when I was going in, and I spoke to her later, outside, when I was leaving with my things. She was leaving with a box of her own, and she wanted to make sure I hadn’t given them her name. She’s worried about something happening to Mitch’s job at the hospital.”
Janet’s hand flew to her mouth. Carol had thought she was safe. That was what she’d said.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.
“Do you think Mitch will be all right?” she whispered.
“It seems she is for now, at least. I promised Carol I hadn’t said anything about her, and she said she didn’t give them my name, either. She thinks it all comes down to that fellow she used to work with in the cafeteria, but I’m not so sure. It could’ve been anyone. They asked me for names, again and again, of anyone I knew to be homosexual, or anyone I even suspected, until I finally told them I’d quit. After that they had no choice but to let me leave.”
Janet took a half step toward her. The urge to reach out was more than she could bear. “I’m so sorry, Marie.”
“I’m only praying that since I quit, rather than being fired, no one else will find out what happened.” Marie jerked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Still, as far as I can tell it doesn’t matter what you say or don’t say. There’s nothing they don’t know.”
A sob began to form in Janet’s throat.
“They can’t do this.” Janet wished she were still a child so she could stomp her foot. “Not to you, not to Carol, not to anyone. Not even that man from the cafeteria, whether he gave them names or not. It isn’t right!”
“Of course they can do it.” Marie met Janet’s eyes again. “You heard what Carol said. This has been going on for years.”
“No! They can’t fire every single person who’s like us!” Janet pictured all those girls at the Sheldon. So many more than she’d ever imagined.
If they worked together, there must be some way they could fight back. Surely things couldn’t go on this way forever.
“Yes, they can.” Marie shook her head softly. “Filling out some appeal form isn’t going to change anything. This has gone way too far for that.”
“You have to at least try.” Janet shook her head, too. Giving up in the face of such horror was too awful to contemplate. “Even if they don’t grant the appeal, we can look for other people in the same situation. We can start with Mitch and Carol and their friends. We can all go to the White House and take the appeal forms to the president himself. The sorts of demonstrations my grandmother used to be part of aren’t really done anymore, but perhaps we could call that Post columnist who wrote about Senator Hunt’s son, and—”
“I can’t talk to a newspaper.” Marie brushed at her eye, the unlit cigarette still hanging from her hand. She stepped closer, until she was so near Janet could see through her thin layer of streaked makeup to the warm, golden skin beneath. “Not if I ever want to live a normal life.”
Janet stared at her. “What normal life?”
“Harold’s given me his pin.” Marie fingered the brooch on her collar. It was gold, with tiny stones around the edges and strange markings carved into its center. Her words were coming out more smoothly now. She was using her secretary voice. “I’d been thinking of moving to Hanover in the fall. That’s where Dartmouth is, you know.”
“New Hampshire.”
“Yes.” Marie still wouldn’t look at her. “Now I suppose I’ll have to go up for certain. Harold’s mother—she’s very kind, you’d like her—she knows of a family there who’s looking for a nanny. I can live with them for the time being, until Harold and I make our plans.”
“Don’t do this.” Janet wanted to tear the brooch from Marie’s collar. To toss it out the window into the same breeze that had claimed her blackened pages. “There’s another choice. You already left your job—there’s nothing to tie us here any longer. If we start driving now, we’ll be in New York in time to make it to the Sheldon before it closes. We can start a whole new life.”
“That kind of life isn’t for me, Janet.”
Marie’s eyes had lost their blazing look. Janet knew she was speaking the truth.
She thought again of the faceless man she’d once imagined herself marrying. She could barely envision that future anymore. She’d thought it must be the same for Marie.
She’d been wrong.
Janet’s legs felt wobbly. She dropped down onto the stiff wooden trunk, in the same spot where she’d crouched when she struck her first match the week before. Marie moved toward her, her heel thumping on the splintered wood.
“Being with you was a dream.” Marie knelt in front of her. Janet forced herself to breathe. In, out. In, out. “It was a perfect dream. The best I’ve ever had. But it could never have been more.”
Marie was talking as though there was no discussion to be had. As though it had always been over and done, even before it had truly started.
Janet scrubbed at the tears in her eyes. They hadn’t been careful enough. She hadn’t been careful enough.
There had to be something she could do to help. Some way she could ensure Marie’s safety.
“I can only pray that whatever they’ve found won’t follow me to Hanover.” Marie turned her gaze back to the cigarette still clutched in her hand. “If Harold’s family found out, they’d want nothing to do with me. And as for my family, my parents—this might be my only chance.”
“Will you be happy there?” Janet whispered, then added—perhaps more importantly—“Do you love him?”
“It isn’t about that.” Marie barked out a humorless laugh. “There’s more to life than silly, childish notions of romance.”
Janet choked. Was that all she was to Marie?
“That’s just it.” Janet stuttered on the words. “You and me—we make each other happy. That can be enough. Maybe the rest of the world doesn’t understand, but if we can only get away—”
“You talk about the rest of the world as though it’s some small thing.” Marie’s shoulders quivered. “I can’t give up everything. My family, my life—my future. I don’t want to spend my days lying to everyone.”
Janet nodded, slowly.
She’d been lying all summer. She’d hated it, but she’d wanted to be her true self. If that meant lying, well, that was the price she’d pay until lying was no longer necessary.
If this were one of the books Claire had given her, Janet would have the perfect words for this moment. She’d know exactly how to make Marie understand what they had to do.
But this wasn’t a book. This was Marie, carefully wiping the makeup stains from her face and straightening out her pretty blue suit.
The brooch on her collar caught Janet’s eye. Harold had marked Marie as his property, and she’d let him. She’d welcomed it.
They all had to give up something. That was the unspoken truth of all those girls she’d met in New York. It was the truth for Elaine and Paula, too, but sacrifices were easier in fiction.
It took so much courage to do what Marie was doing. To leave everything she cared about, everything she’d dreamed of, behind. To set out on a new, entirely un
familiar life.
“But you can’t ever tell anyone about any of this.” Marie’s voice had grown heavy and serious. “That’s why I came straight here from the office. I need you to promise me, Janet. As long as you live, you must never tell anyone.”
“Never,” Janet promised. A new plan began to bloom in her mind. “I’ll get another bus back to New York, tonight. I should have enough money saved for a ticket. That way, if anyone comes trying to find out more about you, I’ll be long gone.”
Marie sucked in a breath. “For how long?”
“For good.” Janet looked away. The fear in Marie’s eyes was almost more than she could bear. “I never would’ve come back at all if it hadn’t been for you. There’s nothing else for me here. Even if my parents don’t send me to St. Elizabeths, they’ll never let me truly live.”
Marie held her gaze for a long moment. She didn’t try to argue, and Janet was more grateful for that than she could ever say.
Marie knew her better than anyone. And after today, they’d never see each other again.
“I can’t let anyone—not you, and not my parents, either—get in trouble because of me.” Janet thought quickly. “I’ll tell that publisher to forget he ever heard my name. Although, come to think of it, that may not be enough—he could still write to me here again. Maybe I could find a way to make him believe I’ve left here forever. Or even...perhaps I could make him think I’ve died.”
“Died?” Marie’s face colored. “Janet, please, don’t—”
“I think I have to—it’s the safest way. Besides, it’ll only be a story.” A light had switched on in Janet’s mind. The pieces of the plan fell together neatly as she spoke. “If Mr. Levy thinks I’m dead, he’ll have his secretary record that in his files, and the investigators won’t be able to trace me. There’ll be nothing to connect a dead girl with a common name in some old file to you. Besides, you’ll be hundreds of miles away in any case.”