The Off Season

by Amy Hoffman

  The Boatslip deck was busier than a tea dance on a Saturday in July, with people spilling over onto the beach in front of it, the whole area jammed with what seemed like the town’s entire off-season population, chatting, yelling, waving signs and streamers and balloons. A woman was pushing through the crowd gathering up the balloons. “Don’t you know these kill the fish? They get stuck in their little throats.” A small child began to cry, and she handed him a lollipop. He stared at it.

  “All that sugar!” his mother exclaimed. “How dare you give that to my kid! He doesn’t even know what it is.” She pried the lollipop from his fist, and he shrieked. People turned to look at them with disapproval. “This is her fault, not mine,” the mother tried to explain, as the balloon lady wandered back into the crowd.

  Swimmers with their wet suits pulled up to the waist, sleeves flapping around their thighs, were lined up at a long registration table, filling out forms. Some were using the back of an obliging friend as a writing surface, and I realized one of the pairs was Broony and Baby. Baby was facing away from me, but Broony, bent over with her hands on her knees, already completely encased in black, her raspberry forelock showing from under her wet suit’s tight hood, turned her head and grinned at me. I stared back at her.

  Tony tapped me on the shoulder. “Had to go all the way back to my place,” she said. “Come on, let’s do a ribbon.” She pointed to a desk next to the registration table, where a crush of swimmers and spectators, including Miss Ruby, was writing with sharpie markers on colored ribbons and pinning them to a sort of clothesline stretched over the deck. “AIDS memorial,” Tony explained. “We write messages to the people we’ve lost.” She pushed in next to Miss Ruby, who was filling out a lavender ribbon.

  Tony looked over her shoulder. “Who’re you writing to?”

  Miss Ruby shook her head wordlessly.

  “Old flame,” Tony explained to me. “Rube’s a sensitive soul, doesn’t get over things like we do.” The woman staffing the table had an array of ribbons draped over her arm, and Tony handed her a few dollars. The woman peeled off two ribbons and gave them to Tony, and Tony passed one to me. “My treat,” she said and began writing on hers. “Hey, Ruby, I’m writing mine to Cara too,” she said.

  Miss Ruby smiled at her. “Thanks, darlin’, I appreciate it.”

  Tony turned to me. “Poor kid. Seemed like one day they were out dancing and partying, and the next she’d passed. A blessing, I guess. So they say.” She patted Miss Ruby on the back and then gave her a long kiss that seemed more than simply comforting—wow, I thought. Of course they were close, but they had their history, and I had never seen any public or even private displays of that level of affection. I couldn’t mull it over just then, though, because I had to do something with the ribbon Tony had handed me. I had no one to memorialize. Or at least, no one I knew well. I had been an artist in New York—how had I escaped serious bereavement? There had been a teaching colleague; a guy I had gone to art school with; a neighbor across the hall, single, with a dedicated cadre of caretaker-friends who had trooped in and out at all hours. I remembered Roger’s legendary boyfriend, Paul Wong. “I’m sorry we never met, Paul,” I wrote and pinned my ribbon to the line.

  “Good girl,” said Tony. She picked up the posters Miss Ruby had laid on the ground while she was working on her ribbon and ushered us away from the table and down to the beach. The swimmers were lining up to board the boats that would ferry them to Long Point.

  “Quick! Take this!” yelled Tony, shoving one of my posters at me.

  Miss Ruby was already waving hers above her head. “Yoohoo! Yoohoo! Baby!” She turned to me and exclaimed, “There she is! See? Up there with Brunhilde from the coffee shop! Put up your poster, Nora!”

  I flapped it above my head, and I thought I saw Baby wave at me, although at that distance I couldn’t be sure.

  Tony put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. “Baby! Over here! You go, girl!” She explained, “This is great. We never have someone we know actually swimming, do we, Rube?

  “Nope, we usually just cheer whoever’s winning the race.”

  “Baby says it’s not a race,” I said. “It’s for fun.”

  “Hold up your sign! Hold up your sign!” said Miss Ruby.

  I waved it around again, and this time I was sure I saw Baby blow me a kiss. Then Broony did too. “Ick,” I said.

  There was a new commotion on the beach, and a line of queens in running shorts and pink sequined camisoles jogged to the front of the crowd. They capered around waving pink-and-white pompoms, then coalesced into an attempt at a kickline. Since they varied widely in flexibility and rhythmic competence, the effect was not so much Rockettes-like synchrony as every man for himself. A lesbian in a drum major’s uniform cartwheeled across the sand in front of them to impressed applause from both the spectators and the cheerleaders, and the boat carrying the swimmers slowly pulled away from the beach to whistles and cheers. The flotilla paddled madly after it.

  Later, after the Swim was all over, Baby told me what had happened between her and Broony on the boat, since it explained certain things. Apparently their night together had been a success, and they were enjoying cuddling together in the afterglow—at least, to the extent that their wet suits would allow.

  Then Broony said, “I saw your girl Nora the other day.”

  “Well, sure,” said Baby. “She’s around.”

  “On our Green Teddy patio.”

  “Her and half the town,” said Baby, leaning away from her. “Hey, what’s this all about, Broon-Broon? Don’t start getting all possessive on me; I thought you said you weren’t the type.”

  “She doesn’t tell you these things? She was with a boy and that cute black girl she used to go with!”

  “Her ex. They’re trying to be friends. You know how that is.”

  “Maybe for you friendly American dykes. For myself, I can’t get used to this. She is two-timing you for sure.” Broony tried to slide back into Baby’s arms, but Baby stood and walked out to the bow, where she leaned over the railing and watched Long Point Light get bigger and bigger as the boat drew close to shore.

  With a loud, shaking groan, the boat’s engine shut off, its vibrations suddenly quiet, and the crew began ushering the swimmers down the gangplank and into the shallow water. When they had all been unloaded and lined up, one of the organizers called through a bullhorn: “On your marks! Get set! Go swimmers!” The paddlers in the flotilla cheered, and the swimmers began splashing back toward town, Baby among them, concentrating on the coordination of her strokes and her breathing and not looking around to see if Broony was with her.

  Back where I was, at the Boatslip, a DJ started up some music, and the cheerleaders began dancing to the thumping beat. Surrounded by a crush of fans, the Hat Sisters, a couple of burly, mustachioed queens, made their entrance. They had created their usual towering headgear, crowned, for this occasion, with models of Long Point Light. Cameras clicked and snapped. The memorial ribbons fluttered in the breeze. Those who had thought to bring field glasses scanned the harbor, watching for the first swimmers to come in, as others crowded around them. “See anyone yet?”

  “Can I take a look?”

  Reverend Patsy led a group of congregants to the front of the crowd, where the cheerleaders made way for them. The DJ lowered the music. Patsy raised her arms, and the UU church choir—Margot in with the baritones—began to perform their unique arrangement of the 1960s hit “C’mon Let’s Swim.” The lyrics took on new meaning for the day, and I clapped along as the choir sang the chorus: “Do what you wanna, do like you wish / C’mon Baby now and swim like a fish!”

  When the choir finished their version, the DJ cued up the original. The Hat Sisters did a dignified switch of the hips from side to side in time to the music while making breaststroke motions with their arms, and the cheerleaders, jumping up and down, encouraged the crowd in a wilder version of the dance. Miss Ruby grabbed my hands and Tony’s, and we did the swi
m together in our own small circle until the song ended. Panting, Miss Ruby said, “Boy, do I remember that one.” Tony nodded.

  I could imagine what she meant. Junior high school slumber parties, giggly girls teaching each other the new dance steps and then—O heaven! O hell!—kissing practice, first with folded bed pillows and then with each other, as you, Future Lesbian of America, rolled away and pretended to have fallen asleep.

  A spectator with binoculars pointed out the lead swimmer, making his way around the boats anchored in the harbor, and the crowd began to whistle and yell encouragement. Reaching the shallows, he stood shakily, ripped off his bright green bathing cap, and whirled it in the air. The music paused so the announcer could call out his name, and his friends ran out of the crowd to embrace him and wrap him in towels.

  After that we became aware of another swimmer splashing around the moorings, and soon the harbor was dotted with scattered pairs of stroking arms. The announcer called the name of the first woman to come in. It wasn’t Broony. She wasn’t even second or third.

  When I spotted Baby’s yellow daisy bathing cap bobbing in the midst of a cluster of neon green ones, I ran down the beach, and as she staggered onto the sand I caught her in my arms. Oblivious to her clammy wet suit, I hugged her to me. “You did it!” I said. “You’re fantastic!”

  Baby smiled. “So glad you’re here to catch me,” she said, extricating herself from my arms to wave her cap above her head. “Cold, though.” Her teeth were chattering.

  I took her hand and led her toward the Boatslip deck. “Let’s get you signed in and warmed up,” I said, and she nodded. A volunteer checked off her name and sent her over to the rescue squad, which had set up inside on the dance floor. One EMT wrapped her in a foil space blanket and another handed her a Styrofoam cup of tea. She seemed somehow softer and more pliant than usual, from exhaustion, perhaps, or her mild hypothermia, and I put my arm around her shoulder in the crinkly blanket.

  “So there’s Broony,” she said, pointing at a row of cots. “I wondered what happened to her.”

  “Weren’t you swimming together?”

  “We got separated,” said Baby.

  Feeling magnanimous, since Baby was leaning on me at the moment, I said, “I hope she’s okay. Do you want to go over and talk to her, see what happened?”

  “I guess so,” she said. “Although I’m sure she’s fine.”

  Broony raised her head from the cot. Her lips were as pale as her blonde hair, and even her pink forelock seemed to have faded. “I am not fine,” she said and collapsed back down. “I have the seekrankheit, mal de la mer, whatever you want to call it.”

  “Seasick?” said Baby. “From swimming? After all that practicing?”

  “It can happen,” said Broony. “This nurse here said it can come upon one suddenly, even if never before. A girl in a rowboat picked me up. It is very humiliating, Baby, for you to see me like this. Maybe at least you can tell Nora to go away now.”

  But Baby seemed indifferent. “Sorry you’re feeling under the weather, Broon-Broon,” she said. “But it’ll pass, you know. Now that you’re out of the water.”

  “The world is still spinning,” Broony whimpered, reaching for Baby’s hand.

  Baby ignored her. “You just need to rest.” Turning to me, she said, “Let’s go and watch the other swimmers coming in.”

  I followed her onto the deck, and we leaned on the railing over the harbor. I looked at her. “That was cold,” I said. “Even I felt bad for her.”

  “This is between her and me, sweetheart,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. She said something, going over on the boat. Trying to make me jealous. She’s getting a little too serious, you know?”

  “Not like me,” I said. “Skipping carefree through the flowers.”

  “You’re different,” said Baby.

  “I am?” I said. Inside, I was celebrating. Broony was a loser. The laurel wreath adorned my head; the gold medal hung from my neck. Although I had always denied having a competitive streak, I wanted to jump up and down and thrust my fists in the air and shout woo-hoo! Yes! Baby wanted me, and I didn’t care anymore about finding my friends Miss Ruby and Tony so we could warn people about water pollution with our posters; or looking around for Janelle, to see if she had come out for the swim and to find out what she thought of our demonstration; or congratulating Reverend Patsy on the choir performance; or chatting with Margot—or anything, really, except following Baby out of the Boatslip and down Commercial Street to her storefront, where she had already posted a note on the door saying she was closed for the Swim, and past the display cases, and at last into her bedroom overlooking the harbor, where the last few swimmers were straggling in. Baby stripped off her wet suit and pulled down the blankets on the bed; patting the place next to her, she said, “Didn’t I tell you I would devote myself to you?”

  Climbing in beside her, I said, “You did. You absolutely did.”

  Underneath it all I felt uncomfortable with my victory, although not enough to renounce it. Baby had revealed a side of herself that I hadn’t seen as clearly before, although I suppose I had always known it was there. She had been not just cold but almost ruthless, in protecting her be-here-now flirtatiousness.

  If I was a cad—and I had no doubt that I was, forsaking Janelle, rejoicing at Broony’s downfall—so was Baby.

  Eyes Open

  What happened to you?” asked Miss Ruby when I appeared back at our cottage late the next morning. I guess I looked somewhat disheveled. She was standing at the stove in our little kitchen, and observing her, I realized how much she had changed since we had first met. She hardly used her scooter at all anymore—mostly she saved it for trips to the Stop & Shop, and then only if she had a lot of bags to carry. She was no longer shapeless but rather impressively stout. “Want coffee?” she offered. “I just got back too, from Tony’s. I’m making Sunday brunch!” She said it like she had invented the concept.

  “Sure. What are we having?”

  “Whatever I could scrounge up from the fridge. Cheese sandwiches. I cut off the moldy part. And pickles.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I was hoping for something like French toast.”

  “No eggs.” She handed me a mug of coffee and a sandwich on a plate, and I followed her into the living room. She settled into her chair, and I into mine across from her. “This is the life!” she said. “Sunday brunch! So where’d you go, anyway? Tony and me saw Baby at the finish line, and then you two disappeared before we put up our signs.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I should’ve been there with you.”

  “Never mind, we went ahead without you. And your Janelle saw us and came over to help. We had the extra sign because you weren’t there, so she took that one. We didn’t have a sign for her friend Mick—”

  “Mi’Kay.”

  “That’s it. That one’s a long cool drink of water.”

  Miss Ruby too! The woman captivated everyone she encountered. “So I’ve been told.”

  “So she helped explain when people came over to ask us what was going on, talking about the water pollution, and how women are getting sick because of the chemicals. Her and Janelle really bonded with Tony—pulling up their shirts and comparing scars. So I invited them to dinner next week.”

  “What did Janelle think of that?” My triumph with Baby was starting to wear off, and I was deflating, bumping to a landing on the ground. I began to truly regret that I hadn’t stuck around, after all our planning, and had missed all these interesting developments.

  “She said she and Mick would love to come, Nora. She’s very polite.”

  “Charming.”

  “That’s it,” said Miss Ruby. “Charming.”

  I remembered what that felt like, to be charmed by Janelle. “Hey,” I said, to change the subject. “What’s the story with you and Tony?”

  “No story,” she said, but I could see she knew exactly what I was talking about. That kiss. “She just noticed I was feeling sad.”<
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  “Oh, come on, you can tell me, of all people. I live here, remember?”

  “Well,” said Miss Ruby, color rising up her neck and into her cheeks.

  “You’re turning that Miss Ruby red! Say no more, then.”

  “No, I’ll tell you. It’s a little complicated. We used to go together.”

  “I know, Tony said so. When I was drawing her.”

  “Yeah, but did she tell you why we broke up? About her coming home every night roaring drunk and throwing me around? She might be little but she’s strong. Or maybe that was the drink.”

  “She did tell me. But she said all that was a long time ago!”

  “Not long enough. I still get nervous around her sometimes, for no real reason. It’s like a flashback.” She shook her head, as though to clear it. “I’m a peaceful person! I come from a peaceful home—that wasn’t something I ever thought would happen in my life. It. Was. Horrible.” Miss Ruby banged her fist three times on the arm of her chair in time with her words. “After a while I hated myself—”

  “—But why? You weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  “Oh no? I threw a few good punches myself after a while. Couldn’t take all that from her just lying down.” She shook her head again. “You must not have ever been in that situation, Nora. It’s what happens. You hate yourself, you hate her, you hate everything. Feeling that way—it’s worse than the physical pain, even. Everybody was telling me to throw her out, and finally I did. I told her to get away from me. Even though she was sick, running down to Hyannis practically every day for treatments, and I could see she was a mess—heartless is what that was.”

  “But what else could you have done?”

  “Yeah, well, there must’ve been something. She was always promising to reform, but I couldn’t trust her. I thought I’d never trust her again.” She gave a short laugh. “I probably shouldn’t.”

  “She’s different now, though, isn’t she?” I said. “I mean, I can’t imagine her getting violent.”

  Miss Ruby didn’t say anything for a moment. “I know, I know, me neither. But I couldn’t before! It’s there, that experience. She’s been trying to make up for it ever since. But I’ll always hold back. So we’re on, we’re off. Right now, we’re on. We’ll probably go like that until we’re too old to remember it all. Sometimes—I wish for that day.