Sisters of the Road

by Barbara Wilson

  Trish seemed younger than when I’d seen her last. She wore no makeup and her hair was washed and bouncy on her shoulders. Instead of her tight jeans and white leather jacket she had on a skirt and a blouse with a Peter Pan collar. She looked entirely defeated and didn’t seem to want to meet my eyes.

  “Remember me?” I tried to joke.

  “Yeah,” she said sullenly and stared at her shoes; they were new too—low pumps with bows. Judy’s idea of teen fashion.

  For the first time it struck me that I knew Trish much better than she knew me. Ever since she’d left my apartment I’d done little but follow her. I’d met her parents, Wayne, Karl, her street friends, Beth. I’d read her diary and snooped into the hotel room she’d shared with Rosalie. I’d told the police about her and I’d told Art she was in Portland. And suddenly I wasn’t sure how I could justify any of this, much less use it now.

  If you want them to trust you, be trustworthy, Joe at the drop-in center had told me. That wasn’t going to be easy.

  Beth took control immediately. She hugged Trish and said matter-of-factly, “Glad to see you girl. Glad you’re all right.” Then she turned to Art, authoritative in her big coat. “Is there someplace we can speak privately?”

  He hesitated and looked at Trish and me. “The kitchen, I guess.”

  When they were gone I said quickly, “I did tell your father you were in Portland, Trish. I’m sorry. I’ve been looking for you for a week and I’ve been—so frightened that something had happened to you.”

  “Nothing has happened to me,” she muttered.

  “Why did you leave my apartment, did someone take you here?”

  “I just felt like leaving, I just felt like getting out of Seattle.” For the first time she raised her head and her expression was challenging. “It’s a free country, isn’t it?”

  “Look,” I said a little desperately. “I’ve met Wayne. I know about you and Wayne and Rosalie. I know about Karl. Was it one of them, Wayne or Karl, who brought you here?”

  Something flickered in her eyes. Fear? Or anger?

  “I don’t want to talk about Wayne with you. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I would!”

  She was stubbornly silent. I heard voices in the kitchen: Art’s eager explanations, Beth’s noncommittal reassurances. I wondered what she was telling him.

  “Why don’t you want to talk about Wayne?” I persisted, in what I hoped was a calmer tone. “Are you afraid of him, afraid hell hurt you if you say anything?”

  Again that strange flicker in her eyes. But she said obstinately, “Wayne wouldn’t hurt me. He loves me.”

  She wanted to believe it still. “If he loves you so much why didn’t he want you to stop being a prostitute? Rosalie got out of the life, didn’t she? And she wanted you to stop too. Is that what made Wayne mad?”

  “Rosalie,” she said. She closed her eyes. “Just leave me alone, will you?”

  “Why did Wayne have Rosalie’s fake ID? And why is Wayne afraid of Karl?” I heard the voices in the kitchen pause, as if they’d come to some agreement. “I’m only trying to help you, Trish.”

  “Oh sure,” she said. “Big help, telling Art you thought I was in Portland. How do you think I felt when some guy stopped and I got in and saw it was my fucking father?” She stared at me with eyes full of hate and desperation. “Well, I’m not staying here, if that’s what any of you think. And you and Beth can go fuck yourselves. I’m not telling you anything. There’s nothing to tell anyway.”

  I couldn’t let it go. “What about Rob? It couldn’t have been him, could it?”

  “Rob?” She gritted her teeth like an animal at bay. “You’ve been talking to him too? Jesus Christ.”

  Art and Beth came back into the living room in time for Art to hear her take his savior’s name in vain. He flinched and then said heartily, “Well, have you two been having a nice talk?”

  Beth looked from Trish to me, saying gently, “I think it’s best if you stay here for a day or two longer, Trish. We’ll get things straightened out as soon as we can.”

  Trish didn’t bother to look at her.

  Art came over and patted his daughter clumsily on the shoulder. She stiffened but he ignored it. “I was thinking that before the movie maybe we should all go out to dinner tonight, Patti. You and me and Judy and the kids. You like fish and chips I seem to remember.”

  “I want to go with Beth and Pam.” She suddenly panicked and lunged away from him, towards us.

  I wanted to grab her and make a run for it, and afterwards I wished I had. “I’ll call you,” I said instead. “I’ll come visit you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t bother,” she said.

  35

  BETH AND I RETURNED to Janis’ to wait for her. It was good to be inside. The bright cold weather had snapped, and a windy rainstorm swirled over the city like an upside-down Jacuzzi.

  “It’s strange to be here again,” said Beth, reclining on the couch with her pink bedroom slippers up. “I spent so many weekends here during the fall.” She pulled out her Carltons and lit one, sucking greedily. “This is the first time Janis ever let me smoke in her house.” But she didn’t look particularly pleased. I was beginning to realize that underneath Beth’s calm exterior she was just as tightly wound up as Janis, perhaps even more so, for Janis at least expelled her nervous energy in activity and Beth didn’t move a muscle she didn’t have to.

  I told her that Trish hadn’t given me any answers, but that I still had hopes I might get something out of her tomorrow. “If I can just make her trust me.”

  Beth shook her head. “I feel pretty shitty leaving her with her father, even though I can’t think quite what else to do at the moment. At some point I’m going to have to make a report or tell somebody and then it’s going to be the same old legal rigamarole. A group home may not want her with her history of running and I hate to turn her back to the foster care system. But I’ll have to do something. Her father doesn’t have a legal right to keep her. Her mother had custody and gave it up to the state. He wants to get her back, he says, but if she doesn’t want to stay with him, and obviously she doesn’t, he’ll probably lose. I wish to hell she was eighteen, I wish she knew what the fuck she was doing with her life… And I still can’t believe I never suspected she was an incest survivor. It makes me wonder why I’m in counseling at all, if I can be that blind.”

  “Why are you? In counseling, I mean.”

  “As opposed to what—in the legal profession?” Beth smiled tiredly, rubbing her freckled temples. “Don’t you know the counseling profession is full of people like me? People who’ve been there—as incest survivors, addicts, battered wives, you name it—and want to help. Plenty of times I’ve wondered if that’s healthy. I mean, look at me.” She pointed to her fluffy pink slippers. “Am I a good role model? But I was down and out myself and I understand what the street’s about. Though I’ve sometimes wondered if social work is just a way of staying in contact with what I know best and the crowd of people I know best.”

  “Was that a problem, with you and Janis?”

  Beth thought about it. “Of course that was part of it. But there were other things. For all her organization and decided opinions Janis is a pretty open person. She doesn’t dream of hiding herself from a person she’s close to. And I do. Sometimes I tell people I was an unwed mother, sometimes I say I’m a recovering alcoholic, but when I’ve said that I usually don’t say any more. I can open up once in a while to kids, strangely enough, but not really to lovers—not really to anyone at all.”

  She lit another Carlton and didn’t meet my eyes. “It would take—I don’t know what it would take—to make me open up. And that’s what Janis wanted, that’s what she expected. Frankly, I was terrified.”

  “But she still loves you.”

  “She loves the person she thinks I am. Not the real Beth. Nobody could ever love the real Beth.” She heard herself and laughed, rather glumly. “See why I make such a good counselor?
My issues are the same.”

  I didn’t think Janis had made a mistake. I thought she was right in reaching out to the qualities Beth had in such abundance—strength, good humor, generosity, solidity—even if Beth couldn’t always see them herself. But I didn’t say anything more. I was opposed to matchmaking, especially the second time around. Besides, I was attracted to Beth myself.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  I told her about Hadley. How she’d loved and left me. “She said she was a rescuer and I didn’t need her help.”

  “And you just let that go? You didn’t think that maybe she was finally doing something good for herself by choosing you?”

  I was dumbfounded. It rarely occurred to me to challenge Hadley’s perception of herself or me. “I suppose,” I said slowly, “I can pursue someone a little bit in the beginning and I can say no to people who pursue me, but I never feel I can change someone’s mind about me. I guess I usually feel that they know what they want and I just have to accept it.”

  “Sometimes that’s sensible, sometimes that’s too passive.” I could see Beth felt more comfortable in the role of advisor. She leaned forward with a therapeutic look in her eye. “What would happen if you went to Houston? You came to Portland, after all. What would happen if you said—like you as much said to Trish, ‘I can’t forget you, Hadley. I won’t let you go so easily.’?”

  “I’d feel like I was in a bad movie.”

  “But you could write her or call her, couldn’t you? Find out how she’s doing, keep in touch?”

  “Yes…” I felt the conversation was going the wrong way and tried to steer it back. “Are you involved with anyone new?”

  Beth didn’t pick up on my hint. “I’m giving myself a rest for awhile. Janis was plenty.”

  In spite of her urging me to pursue Hadley and not take no for an answer, I didn’t think Beth would respond if I tried the same approach on her. Or it may have been that underneath I didn’t think she was really finished with Janis. I didn’t think they were finished with each other.

  Janis rushed in at six, precisely as promised, with two big bags of groceries. Even knowing her as little as I did, I could tell she was in an anxious state of euphoria.

  “I’m going to make Veal Florentine,” she announced. “And eggplant.”

  “Do you need any help?” I asked.

  “No, no.” She was all efficiency, brushing her hair behind her ears, mentally putting on an apron. She had hardly looked at Beth.

  “Don’t be silly, of course you do. We’ll pound the veal or something—I know vegetarians have tender sensibilities—and well keep you company.” Beth lowered her pink slippers to the floor and shuffled after her into the kitchen. “We promise not to get involved with the sauce.”

  “That’d be… that’d be nice then,” Janis said. “I mean about the veal. I mean—I’d like the company.”

  That night at dinner I watched Janis and Beth maneuver around and towards each other. At first it seemed hopeless—when Janis would open up and reveal something, Beth would automatically withdraw. Then Janis would go quiet and Beth would worry and try to make up for it by drawing Janis out. Then the whole cycle would begin again.

  In between we ate Janis’ delicious dinner and made small talk about innocent subjects, like Central America and Reaganomics, issues we could all agree on.

  I thought it was going to be a long evening but gradually, almost imperceptibly, it began to get better. More laughter, more enthusiasm, more honesty. The two of them stopped trying so hard, stopped worrying about offending each other and started to enjoy themselves.

  I enjoyed myself too, when I wasn’t thinking about Trish, or, increasingly, about Hadley. Had I given up too easily? Was it useless? I thought of her long legs and plain face, her Texas twang and turquoise eyes, and a remembrance of her sweetness came over me so strongly that I could have almost eaten it instead of the cheesecake for dessert.

  Eventually I became so preoccupied that I forgot to pay attention to Janis and Beth and it was a slight shock to me when I came to and heard them discussing Trish.

  “You can’t tell me she’s in love with that pimp of hers,” Janis was saying, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “That’s not love, it’s emotional slavery.”

  “I’ve been in love like that,” said Beth. “It’s not healthy, but it is love.”

  “With whom?” Janis demanded.

  “With—a guy—once.” Beth shut up and then the words came bursting out, brokenly, “You wouldn’t understand that kind of masochistic—self-destructive—behavior.”

  “Why don’t you let me try? Why the fuck won’t you ever let me try?” Janis said, standing up.

  Beth stood up too, then started stacking the dishes and moving towards the kitchen.

  “You’re not planning to drive back to Seattle now, are you?” Janis panicked and ran after her.

  Beth looked at her, opened her mouth and then closed it again and shook her head.

  The emotional tension in the air made its own electrical field. I was afraid that if I stood up too I’d be electrocuted.

  They slept together that night. I know, I heard them.

  And I can tell you, it made me feel as lonely as hell.

  36

  WHEN I WOKE UP the next morning Beth was already gone and Janis was halfway out the door. Dressed in a gray tweed pants suit with a blue striped cravat at her neck, she was her professional, efficient self, and betrayed no signs of passion.

  “I’ll come by for you at two this afternoon. We’ll go visit Trish,” she threw over her shoulder crisply, adding, “You can tell Art I’m her lawyer if he makes any fuss.”

  I lay on my back for a while and the terrier came over and licked my hand. She stared at me in a woefully friendly way that made me long for Ernesto’s indifference.

  It’s worth a try, I thought, and before I could wake up enough to decide I was doing the wrong thing, I got the Houston operator to give me Hadley’s father’s phone number.

  “Hi, it’s Pam.”

  “Pam! Pam!” she gulped and burst out happily, “It’s great to hear your voice.”

  I saw her so vividly that for a moment I could hardly speak. Then I managed to get a few sentences out. “I just wanted to check out your Texas accent. How’re you doing? How’s your dad?”

  “Oh—the same, pretty much. He doesn’t drink anymore, that’s the only good thing. One half his body’s paralyzed and he can barely talk. Still his charming self though. How are you—what’s happening?”

  Before I knew it I was telling her about Trish and Rosalie, the murder and the search. It felt good to talk; but somehow it only made me miss her more. She should have been with me through all this.

  “You don’t just sit around, do you?” she whistled. “And all this time I’ve just been imagining you at the print shop, churning out the latest political poster.”

  “You do think about me sometimes then?”

  She paused. “I think about you a lot. I like you, Pam.”

  “You said you liked me when you walked away, too.”

  “I know… I’ve often thought of that. But I felt I had to do it at the time. It was all so quick… and you scared me somehow. I thought I’d disappoint you.”

  “Disappoint me—how?”

  “I thought that when you really got to know me… well, it’s silly, isn’t it? I wasn’t very happy without you when it came down to it. Have you missed me?”

  I thought of my loneliness at living alone, my brief affairs and failures to connect. I thought of meeting Trish and how that had changed me, had made me start caring again for somebody besides myself.

  “I wouldn’t go through it again. But I’ve learned a lot. Nothing like what I expected when I became a lesbian. I thought it was going to be like one of those lesbian Harlequin romances. A little confusion and then the happy ending, souls and bodies merging into Sapphic oneness. We had the happy ending first, then the confusion.”

&
nbsp; She laughed and I could almost see the way one side of her mouth turned up, the way her turquoise eyes closed. “I’m planning to come back to Seattle in February. What do you think? Are you going to be around?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Very much around.”

  The day picked up after that. I made myself some breakfast, took the dog for a walk and found it in my heart to wish Beth and Janis well.

  Then I called Detective Logan again. No, he wasn’t there. No, she didn’t know if he’d talked to Karl yet. Yes, they had my number in Portland. Yes, he’d call me if anything came up.

  I tried to tell myself that the police had it under control and that I shouldn’t worry. Logan would probably get more out of Wayne or Karl than I could, if they were in Seattle. And if they weren’t? If one of them was in Portland looking for Trish? I tried not to think about it, nor what would happen if I were all wrong and it was somebody else, somebody like Rob for instance, looking for her.

  I decided to call the Hemmings’ house just to reassure myself. No answer. From the hosiery department Melanie told me that Rob was out looking for work today. He wouldn’t be back until late.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Because I think your husband is a murderer? It was impossible, I couldn’t tell her that.

  “I just wanted to ask him something,” I said evasively. Then I told her I was in Portland and that Trish was at her father’s.

  “Oh,” she said, struggling not to care.

  “… I know about what happened when she was young, Melanie. And so does Trish.”

  “I blame myself,” she said finally. “I never told her about her father. I didn’t think she’d remember. And he’s changed. He’s different now, I guess. But I should have told her. I just didn’t know how.”

  It was the first time I’d heard Melanie take any responsibility for what had happened to Trish and it gave me a little hope.

  In fact, I was feeling quite hopeful when I put down the phone. I started thinking about Hadley again and about Trish when this was all over. Maybe she could work part-time at Best Printing. I wouldn’t push her to go back to school, but I’d give her books to read. Beth had said it could take years to get off the streets, but I’d help her find a way. I wouldn’t even care if she didn’t become a radical feminist.