Rafferty Street

by Lee Lynch

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “I wasn’t recruiting Lorelei, but I was a magnet. If I hadn’t been gay, maybe she wouldn’t have felt that way about me. So I get to thinking that the queer inside is to blame. With that kind of thinking, next thing you know I’ll be writing my senator to oppose lifting the military ban, right? Silence doesn’t buy safety—or sanity.”

  Jo’s pert haircut was a bit shorter than usual, Annie noticed, though just long enough to escape any hint of dykeliness. Geez, she ought to introduce Jo to Giulia. What a great closeted couple they’d have made, if Giulia hadn’t gone off and got engaged to that nice old man. Did Jo practice that deeply apologetic look in her eyes to use at work?

  “I tried, Annie. I threatened to quit United Way if they dared influence any members to discriminate. That held them at bay for a while. I even considered coming out to stop them. It’s gotten your job back, but who does that help?” Jo looked so distressed that Annie’s annoyance dissipated. “What do I do, Annie? I want to fight this and I’m terrified right down to my toes.”

  Annie moved to hold Jo, to smooth her brow, but words were all she dared. “You know what made Bertrand Russell tick?”

  “What?” asked Jo.

  “He said it was a longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for mankind that were his governing passions.”

  “Yes,” said Jo with a sad-eyed nod. “We are pitiful, aren’t we, with our big dramas and our heartrendingly simple needs. It’s not as if I couldn’t get another job somewhere.”

  Annie drew back. “It never occurred to me that I could keep my job and you could lose yours.” She went to the window, her hands jammed into her pockets so hard she felt her chinos tug on her hips. The breeze had not kept its promise and the near dark was, if anything, more oppressive than the day had been. “This hatefulness is everywhere. Germans killing refugees. Bosnia’s ethnic cleansing. Apartheid. Isn’t preaching fear of a group of people how it starts?”

  “And we’re in a little microcosm here. My uncle warned me when I came back to Morton River. He said that a good businessperson always saves her first dollar and her first words. I’ve got the dollar, and there are a lot of first words I’ve had to swallow to pass.”

  Annie smiled out the window. Rafferty Street looked very peaceful from here, where there were only Nan’s flowers and the Santiagos’ neat cottage next door.

  Annie turned. “In other words, don’t come out for yourself or anyone else, no matter how much you want to? Don’t stand up for what’s right because if they don’t hurt you they’ll hurt the ones you love?”

  Jo looked up. “I want to shout it in their faces, Annie. But I know that some people can’t listen to reason when they’re dealing with homosexuality. Coming out to them won’t change their minds about gay people; it would only change their minds about me.”

  As much as Annie didn’t want to believe it, her own choice was swiftly becoming one of limiting the damage.

  Jo reached a tentative hand to Toothpick, who watched her every move. Toothpick stood, stretched mightily and ambled to the other end of the bed. “I really have been considering moving,” said Jo.

  “I thought the Valley was home.”

  “It was always a choice between Morton River and New York. Now I’m wondering about other cities. Chicago?” Her face was pained.

  Annie couldn’t help but wonder, if they were together, would she move to Chicago with Jo?

  “Verne Prinz is from Chicago,” Jo said in a small voice. “Her family has holdings in one of the big Midwestern banks.”

  Annie laid an arm across her stomach, trying not to bend from the sudden cramping. “And she’s going to get you a job?”

  “She’d introduce me around. Morton River has gotten too small for her too since your incident stirred up the rednecks.”

  Annie stared out the window, stifling a sarcastic remark about it all being worth it to run that creep out of town. “Jo, have you been staying away because you’re afraid to be seen with me, or because you’re seeing Verne?”

  Jo was behind her, but Annie could hear her catch her breath. “You’re a wonderful woman, Annie. You deserve a partner as courageous and colorful as yourself.”

  She turned and caught the look of relief on Jo’s face. “But that partner isn’t you.”

  Jo didn’t look away. “I think you’re right, Annie. I like you so much. You pried me from my rut and I’ll always be grateful to you for that. This is a corny thing to ask, but I’d hate to lose you as a friend.”

  “You mean like go-to-the-movies and long-walks-in-the-park friends? Or do you mean see-ya-around-friends?”

  “Don’t be that way, Annie,” Jo replied, looking away. “Some kind of friends. We can see what develops.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  The silence in the room went unbroken for an intolerably long moment.

  “I guess it would be better if I left now. I’ll call you,” Jo said.

  She hesitated, looking at Annie, seemed about to say more, then was gone.

  Annie checked her heart for breakage, but found only a trace of disappointment. What a cold fish Jo had turned out to be.

  Jo had done her best, that was clear. She’d stuck her neck out, but scared herself right out of Annie’s arms.

  Annie lay down next to Toothpick. The cat purred.

  “It’s a good thing it’s Chantal you like,” she said, burying her face in fur.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There was no remedy for pain better than the thump of ball against bat and the cheers of softball fans. As Annie and Cece Green warmed up, late May game smells were on every breeze—mowed fields, coconut-scented sun screen, an anticipation of hot dogs and popcorn. It was one of those promising days when summer became more than a memory. Annie settled the lavender-brimmed team hat, its crown white and pin striped, squarely on her head.

  Peg limped onto the slightly soggy field to gather them all together just as Maddy came careening up on her lavender bike. Maddy leapt off, slid her glove from the handlebar, let the bike fall by the makeshift dugout, and jogged over to the team. “First base-woman reporting for duty, cap’n!” In her team T-shirt, she looked like the least political lesbian on earth.

  Annie and Cece tossed a ball back and forth. Hope Valerie did leg stretching exercises as Peg, who had taken over when Dusty decided not to coach this year, gave a pep talk. It was the first season for Paris. New to softball, she’d quit the team twice in tears of frustration but was back again, sporting an Amazon rain forest T-shirt. Annie missed Lorelei’s sweaty excited face.

  “We can beat these Rockettes, team!” said Peg with her professional optimism. The diner team had won just the one game all season. “You don’t want a bunch of straight girls pushing you around.”

  “If it’d only stop raining so we could have a dry field to play on,” complained Paris, scraping mud off her sweat pants.

  “This gay-bashing shit’s got us all down, Peg,” Hope mumbled.

  Why?” asked the unruffled Peg, zipping her immaculate lavender windbreaker. Even on the ball field the crease in Peg’s slacks wouldn’t relax. “Straights are just saying aloud what most of them have always felt. Nothing’s really changed except both sides are talking. Too bad it’s not to each other.”

  “They ought to mind their own shit,” Cece complained, wiping sweat from her face. “I can’t sleep nights, worrying what they’ll pull next. I tell you, if one of them messes with me, I’m pleading justifiable homicide.”

  Everyone, not just Annie, was jazzed about the post-game strategy meeting scheduled at Rafferty Street. She wondered if Jo would come after their last visit.

  “Check it out,” Cece told her. “That’s Kurt’s kid.”

  Annie laughed aloud. “If that gum-chewing, glove-smacking teenager in a bulldyke crouch doesn’t grow up queer; it’ll be a major feat of mind-control. Is she really a Norwood?”

  “Ruth Norwood. Her pals call he
r Babe.”

  “Babe. A good old dyke name. Too bad she’s too butch for you, Maddy. You’d bring her out in a Morton River minute.”

  “I know her from school. She’s got this deal with her parents: they let her play ball, she goes to church. But Mom has to escort her to every game.”

  Cece slapped a knee and laughed. “Look at Mrs. Kurt over there, fussing with Babe’s ponytail so no one thinks she’s walking around with short hair. Oh, Mama’s gonna save her from the lezzies, yes she is, Lawd Almighty!”

  Chantal was on the grass with her daughter and granddaughter. Her daughter Merry was a soft-looking bashful young woman whose life was focused on her baby. Her relationship with Annie consisted of shy smiles.

  Except for some crude anti-lesbian comments from teenaged boys, the first innings were routine. Mrs. Kurt hovered over her sulky teenager like the diner team would swallow the kid whole. To Annie’s relief, Kurt himself wasn’t around. Probably home writing this week’s anti-gay sermon. Small town life, she marveled, was full of strange bedfellows, yet Mrs. Kurt still hadn’t figured out that Annie worked at Medipak.

  Annie had tried to reach Judy to find out when to give notice at Medipak, but, she was still out sick.

  In the sixth inning, a Rockette made a hit to the second baseman. Babe, on first, bolted toward second. Annie ran for all she was worth. The second baseman tossed the ball to her. Annie leapt to tag Babe, then gave a whoop of elation. Chantal went crazy cheering. Annie grinned over at her, proud.

  If there had been some dykes around that hadn’t known about the possibility of her and Chantal, they knew now. But, hell, who needed Jo Barker’s closet with Chantal wearing her heart on her sleeve? It gave Annie a rich, warm feeling, like a taste of butterscotch pudding before it cooled.

  “She was safe!” she heard from the batter’s mound. It was the Rockettes’s coach, his face in the umpire’s, disputing Annie’s out. The ump was agreeing. Peg stepped in to protest.

  Annie looked back to where she’d made the tag. “No way!” she shouted at them.

  The hitter glared at Annie from her coach’s side. Annie glowered back in heart-pumping rage.

  Babe sprang at Annie. “Cheat!”

  “Hey!” Annie said when the kid gave her a two-handed push that almost knocked her off her feet. “What’d I do?”

  “Messed up, that’s what.”

  She hated this. Anger made her cry. It took all her will to choke out some too-civil words. “Uh-uh. Sorry, you’re mistaken.”

  “You think you’re good enough to get me out? You’re so over the hill you probably can’t see a base.” The kid pushed her with one arm.

  The umpire finally stepped between them.

  Still swallowing tears Annie yelled over the ump’s shoulder, “What’s with you? This is a game. G-a-m-e. Comprendez? Take it easy.”

  “Leave my daughter alone!” screeched Mrs. Kurt, coming at them full speed.

  Oh no, thought Annie. Instant replay. She was beyond crying. “Excuse me? Babe here starts pushing on me and I should leave her alone? I don’t think so.”

  “Her name’s Ruth. And you stay away from her.”

  She knew she should back down, walk away, toss the hot potato back in the woman’s lap before she got burnt, but she lost it. Her ears rang; her eyes seemed to cloud over. Her knees shook and she wanted nothing less than to have a bat in her hands.

  “Fuck off, bitch. I was minding my own business when your little darling came at me. Maybe if you didn’t keep her on a leash she wouldn’t froth at the mouth.”

  “How dare you! Ruth, go to your bench.”

  The umpire was trying to get a word in, but Mrs. Norwood kept moving in front of him.

  “No!” said Babe, “This is between me and her. I hate these sneaky queers.”

  “Ah, Babe,” Annie pleaded. “Don’t you see why you’re so mad? Look in a mirror.”

  “Ruth! Do as I say!”

  Babe slouched back to the bench, and the umpire, Peg and the Rockettes’ coach reached Annie before Mrs. Kurt could start in.

  The umpire told Annie, “Sorry, I should have called her safe. The sun was in my eyes.”

  She was stunned. “Peg! Say something! My best play since coming to the Valley shot to hell?”

  “Ump’s call, Heaphy. I don’t agree, but he’s not backing down.”

  “Crap.” She threw her glove to the ground. “I don’t get it. I put my all into my work, into the game, and what happens?”

  The umpire said, “I may throw the both of you out for fighting.”

  Annie couldn’t stop. “That was a wrong call, buddy. Why’re you letting these people tell you your job? Are they queer-baiting us, Peg? And what about the Babe over there? I have a little complaint. Like about her coming up to me and shoving me around.”

  “Coach?” asked the umpire.

  “That true?” the coach called to the bench.

  Babe spit out her gum like a wad of chewing tobacco. “What of it?”

  “It’s true,” the Rockettes’s coach admitted.

  “She’s grounded for the rest of the game then,” the umpire ruled. “She was safe, but she’s on the bench. Okay?”

  Peg agreed. “Let’s play ball, Heaphy. Keep up the good work.”

  Annie retreated to her position shaking.

  For all her questions, it was clear what was happening, all too clear. Babe Norwood was a baby dyke in torment, scared of what she felt inside, but more afraid of hellfire, damnation and her parents. By pushing Annie, she’d been pushing away the queer inside.

  The next batter walked and then Cece, who’d had a screaming match with three Rockettes during the conflict, missed a ground ball. It was all downhill from there. When the game was over, the score was 4 to 3 for the Rockettes. That rotten call had made all the difference, both to the score and morale of the diner team.

  Dusty ambled over from the stands. “That was a great catch, Heaphy. Peg, you’re doing a fine job with these gals. You’ll have the team in such great shape we’ll waltz into the championships next year. We’ll take our revenge fair and square.”

  “With you at the helm,” Peg said, laying a hand on Dusty’s shoulder.

  “Maybe,” said Dusty, “just maybe.”

  Annie looked more closely at Dusty. The woman was almost smiling.

  “Okay, Reilly,” she said, steering her away from the others. “What’s going on? Did you run the art teacher out on a rail?”

  “Heaphy, I don’t know what’s happening, but life’s gotten a little easier.”

  “That’s a switch. Every other queer in town has the heebie-jeebies.”

  “To tell you the truth, I think these hard times are helping.”

  “I’m glad it’s doing somebody some good.”

  “No, really. It’s taken my mind off Elly. I think it’s shaking her up a little bit too.” Dusty’s smile seeped out even more.

  Annie felt the great damp patches on her T-shirt. She felt her anger draining. It really was only a game. “Come on, Reilly, tell me the rest.”

  “I can’t explain it. That night at her art show—when those protesters came in I was going to let her stew in her own juices. Let that poor excuse for an artist get her out of that mess. But something snapped. Elly’s my—my whatever, just like I’m hers, complete with art and overwork and temporary insanity. Not,” Dusty added, a stern look in her eye, “that I condone her shenanigans.”

  “Has anything changed?”

  “Apparently, along with all the time her highness Verne the Great is spending with your old pal Jo, she’s talking about breaking her contract and high-tailing it to a more civilized place. She can’t hack life shoulder to shoulder with the bad guys, Heaphy. This doesn’t exactly impress El. I mean, the cur’s not gone yet, but a woman can dream, can’t she?”

  “Hey, Verne out of town could create more complications than someone you can keep your eye on. Especially, Jo or not, if she’s managed to pack Elly’s heart in her soft-sid
ed suitcase.”

  But Dusty’s confidence was back. “Okay, I know. It wouldn’t really solve anything. But between that and Ireland—I haven’t dared broach a trip yet—what if she says no? But I’m doing my research and when the moment’s right I’ll pop the question.”

  Chantal had joined them. “I’m jealous. You wouldn’t have to wait for the right moment to ask me.”

  “Me neither,” agreed Dusty with a chuckle. “Those names that always sounded like poetry to me—Dublin, Limerick, Tipperary—I want to rent a car and see them all.”

  The spring twilight lingered. At the bleachers crows cawed over spilled potato chips. Dusty’s news had buoyed Annie.

  Mario Genero, Maddy’s sixtyish brother-in-law-to-be, helped Giulia into a car as spotlessly white as his shoes. Annie had the urge to ask Mario to hang out until they were safely in their cars. She’d noticed, these days, that the players seemed reluctant to leave the field until their opponents had packed up and gone. Then, in a subdued knot, they’d hasten to their vehicles.

  Tonight was different. Before she’d finished making plans with Chantal the whole team was headed for the street and their cars, as if, despite their worries, they felt more powerful because the meeting lay ahead. Not her. She wished they could play another game, then another. She wished life were one unending spring softball game.

  With a mixture of admiration and exasperation, she watched Babe Norwood swagger next to her mother. The Babe had an athlete’s thick thighs and muscled calves. She dwarfed her mother not so much in height as in brawn. That was going to be one powerful woman, whichever way she landed.

  “I’ll run Merry and the baby home, then come over,” Chantal decided.

  “Fuckers!” came a cry from the street side of the field. “Honky fuckers!”

  Annie and Chantal ran toward Cece’s voice at the same moment. Cece was pounding on the ruined seat of her bike.

  “You’re dead meat!” Cece shouted into the street, “You think I won’t kill you pale-ass breeders?”

  Annie swallowed bile. “Cece—” she said, laying a hand on her arm. “I can’t believe we didn’t hear anything.”