The men rose swiftly to their feet, Pat looking tall and handsome in a perfectly fitting tux and Peg’s father nearly spilling his rob roy in an overflow of filial pride. “There’s a fine-looking filly, hey, Pat?” her father exclaimed with a jocular nudge.
“A thoroughbred,” said Pat seriously.
“Pat,” purred Peg’s mother, patting the sofa cushion beside her, “come sit here by me while Rob warms up the sedan.”
“I drove here in the family station wagon,” said Pat. “And I hope you’ll trust me to drive Peg to the Frolic and back. I’ve had my license for over a year, and no violations.”
Peg noted with pride the dignified way Pat made his request. She did so hope Daddy would consent. “What do you think, Helen?” he said genially as he freshened his drink.
“Pat looks like a fine young man,” Peg’s mother said, gazing at him with frank admiration. “I expect to see this young lady back by midnight! No excuses now!”
Peg’s father shook hands vigorously with Pat, wincing a little at the strength of his grip. “All that mucking,” thought Peg knowingly.
“You were wonderful,” Peg declared with delight as the door closed behind them. “I could tell my parents liked you. Especially Mother.” Pat opened the passenger door of the paneled station wagon for Peg, and then went around to the driver’s side. With practiced ease he put the car into gear. As they pulled out of the driveway, Peg said, “I’ve been wanting to ask you something, Pat. What was it you were trying to tell me yesterday?”
“Later Peg, later,” said Pat, taking her hand in his right hand and steering with his left. “I don’t want anything to spoil this night.” Pat gave Peg’s hand a squeeze, and added in an undertone Peg could scarcely hear, “One night of happiness is worth years of pain and suffering.”
Peg decided to ignore Pat’s mysterious addendum, and boldly, she squeezed Pat’s hand in return. Before she knew it, they were at the country club. Inside, they checked Pat’s overcoat and Peg’s velvet wrap with a charming brunette, one of the Junior Miss volunteers. Peg was glad now that she had done her volunteer stint helping with decorations and could enjoy an evening of uninterrupted pleasure. They entered the ballroom, transformed into a tiny alpine village by the hard work of the decorating committee. With a smile, Pat held out his arms and swept Peg onto the floor to a lilting waltz. As they whirled between papier-mâché Alps, under glittering festoons of cuckoo clocks, Peg was oblivious to the admiring and envious glances that followed them, her eyes only on Pat. When the dance ended, they applauded enthusiastically, and then strolled to a table shaped like a giant wheel of Swiss cheese, with a vivacious blonde standing in one of the holes, serving punch.
At a tap on her shoulder, Peg turned to see Marjorie, in a strapless formal of scotch-plaid taffeta, beaming with false cordiality. “Peg! You look divine!” she gushed. In a stage whisper clearly meant to be heard, she added, “Introduce me to your handsome escort!” Peg made the introduction reluctantly. “Marjorie, I’d like you to meet my friend Pat Kowalski. Marjorie Briarcliffe, a classmate of mine.” “How do you do,” said Pat, taking the hand Marjorie extended. Doreen hurried up too, in lime green. Peg was edged away from Pat as he was caught up in a gale of vivacious chatter and laughter. She couldn’t hear what they were saying as a crowd of boys gathered around her eagerly.
“Want to give this one a whirl?” asked Biff, Marjorie’s date and the star halfback of Chatham Day. Peg couldn’t help but feel a thrill of triumph when she caught Carol staring open-mouthed and Fred looking Peg up and down as if seeing her for the first time. Biff was waiting for an answer, but Peg realized that, flattered as she was, she didn’t want to dance with anyone but Pat!
As if in answer to her thoughts, Pat appeared at Peg’s side. “Sorry, big fella,” he said pleasantly, “this is our dance.” As he swept Peg away once more, she heard Biff complaining, “What’s he got that I don’t?”
Jealously, Pat kept Peg to himself all evening. When Carol’s date, Fred, was quick enough to claim her at the beginning of a dance, Pat selected one of the perennial wallflowers, leaving Carol fuming. And when Fred tried to get too familiar, Pat appeared instantly, cutting in.
Finally they stopped to catch their breath on one of the rustic benches. “If only Garbo were here!” Peg exclaimed.
“Speaking of Garbo, Mrs. Huntley and I have a little surprise for you,” Pat said with a special smile. “We’ve decided that you’ll be the one to show Garbo—if that’s okay with you, that is.”
“Oh yes,” Peg breathed. She turned and looked at the dance floor, wondering if anyone there could be happier than she was at this moment. There were Chet and Doreen, laughing by the punch bowl. And Fred, struggling to pull Carol closer as they danced. She spotted Mr. Carter, the club’s golf pro, wearing the same festive lederhosen as the other chaperones. “Why, look,” she said, pointing. “There’s Marlene with Pete Davis. Doesn’t he go to Consolidated too?”
Abruptly Pat stood up, pulling Peg to her feet. “Let’s go out on the terrace and get some fresh air,” he said. Peg followed him obediently. She guessed it had been rude of her to have pointed so blatantly. Outside they stopped by the box hedge and gazed at the twinkling stars.
“Oh dear!” she said. “Soon we’ll have to go. It’s past eleven, isn’t it?”
“Yes, you’re right, we’ll have to go pretty soon,” Pat replied with an echoing sigh.
“Well,” said Peg, trying to cheer herself, “there will be other nights.” When Pat didn’t say anything, she asked hesitantly, “Won’t there?”
“Yes, I guess so,” said Pat, forcing a smile, “but never another night like this.” After a moment he shook off the mysterious sorrow that always seemed to shadow him. “Why, you’re shivering.” Taking off his dinner jacket, he wrapped it around Peg and pulled her close. Peg gazed into his somber gray eyes, and then their lips touched. Their kiss was everything Peg had always known it would be, and as they leaned into the box hedge, the leaves quivered with sympathetic passion. Suddenly, they heard voices nearby breaking into their romantic idyll.
“I knew ‘he’ looked familiar!” a boy’s voice exclaimed. “That’s no ‘he’! That’s Patty Kowalski—she’s in my biology class at Consolidated!”
In a daze, Peg backed away from Pat, whose face had drained of all color. A murmur broke from the crowd of boys and girls gathering around Pete Wilson, as Pat and Peg emerged from the shelter of the box hedge. Biff and Marjorie, Chet and Doreen, Carol and Fred were all there. The boys stepped forward. “I think you’d better beat it, chum,” said Biff threateningly. “We don’t go for these Havertown kind of pranks in Chatham!”
“A rumble!” thought Peg, horrified. Desperately, she tried to recall an article about ju-jitsu she had read in the National Geographic. But before anyone had a chance to start anything, Miss Maney, the jovial phys ed teacher and one of the Frolic’s chaperones, came hurrying over.
“What’s going on here, kids?” Miss Maney boomed. A chorus of voices answered her, “That boy’s a girl!” “Peg brought another girl to the Frolic!” Miss Maney quickly realized she’d better put the lid on this potential country club scandal, and she grasped Pat’s arm. “I’ll escort you to your car,” she said, not unkindly. “And we’ll discuss this prank of yours.” Pat turned and looked pleadingly at Peg as Miss Maney led her away. Peg stared back, still dumbstruck. Her thoughts were in a whirl, but the one thing that stood out clearly was that Pat, the person she had most trusted and loved, had deceived her. The other boys and girls began to drift away, stealing curious glances at Peg, who stood like a stone on the terrace.
“Come along, Peg, Fred and I will take you home,” Carol said pityingly.
“Come on, Peg, there’s always room for a threesome in my car,” added Fred with a leer, as Carol flashed him an angry look.
“I’ll take a taxi,” Peg choked out. Blindly she fled across the terrace, Carol’s reply floating after her. “That’s what comes of dating out of
your class!”
Once at home, safe in her room, Peg wept, for the beautiful friendship which now must cease to be, and for Pat’s betrayal, which turned her most precious memories into ashes. She wept as she removed the midnight blue formal and cold-creamed her face, clad in her nightgown and quilted bathrobe. When at last it seemed she must have drained herself dry of tears, she went down to the kitchen to get a snack. What with her nervous anticipation earlier—it seemed eons ago to Peg—she hadn’t had much supper. She fixed herself a liverwurst sandwich and poured a big glass of milk. Her tears welled up again as she remembered sharing a potted meat sandwich with Pat at the stable. Why, oh why hadn’t Pat told her the truth? Why hadn’t she trusted Peg?
At the sound of a soft footfall, Peg turned. Her Uncle Roger was standing in the doorway, his handsome face creased with concern. “Now, now, what’s all this about?” he said, sitting down next to her. “Didn’t your date go well?”
“I had a wonderful time,” Peg sobbed, “but then I found out that Pat’s a girl!”
“My, that must have been a shock!” said Uncle Roger. “How did you find out?”
Peg told him the story of the evening, and Uncle Roger listened intently.
“Why didn’t she tell me?” Peg asked Uncle Roger. “Why did she have to lie to me that way?”
Uncle Roger patted her consolingly. “Don’t be too hard on her, Peg. She probably didn’t mean to deceive you. She had to disguise herself as a boy to get the job at the stables, and that meant fooling everyone, you included.” Uncle Roger gave Peg a quick history of cross-dressing from the Ancients through Shakespeare and the modern age, then concluded, “I think, Peg, that Pat really does care for you. She took you to the dance, despite the risk, because she thought it would make you happy.”
As Peg thought over Uncle Roger’s words, her indignation subsided. What Pat must have been going through all those times that she’d been chattering away about her own petty problems! The liverwurst sandwich forgotten on her plate, Peg cried anew, this time tears of remorse.
“I’ve been so selfish!” she sobbed. “What can I do to make it up to Pat?”
Uncle Roger chuckled, a low warm sound. “Why don’t you ask her? Remember, you’re both having lunch with me at the country club tomorrow. And I’ll be very hurt if I’m stood up!” He pulled a handkerchief from his dressing-gown pocket and handed it to Peg. “Wipe your eyes now, and get some sleep.”
But Peg lay in her snug bed a long time before sleep came, unable to forget the pleading look in Pat’s gray eyes as Miss Maney led her away.
Peg’s thoughts were so busy with Pat that she didn’t realize that she might have other problems until she walked into the breakfast nook the next morning, where Carol and Johnny were having waffles, while their mother sipped a cup of coffee. Johnny exclaimed immediately, “Peggy’s got a girlfriend, Peggy’s got a girlfriend!”
“Stop that at once, Johnny!” Mrs. Gardner commanded. “If you’re finished with your waffles, you may go outside and play baseball, or some other healthy sport.”
Groaning, Johnny complied, letting the back door clatter noisily behind him.
“I must say I’m disappointed in you, Peg,” said Mrs. Gardner, addressing Peg rather severely. “Della! Waffles for Peg!” she called toward the kitchen, then continued, “That was quite an extraordinary prank your friend pulled.”
Peg morosely drenched the waffles Della brought with butter and syrup. “I suppose Carol told you all about it,” she said.
Her mother leaned forward. “Did you know Pat was a girl, Peg?”
Carol snorted, “Of course she knew!”
“No, I didn’t know!” cried Peg. “But now that I do, I don’t care! Pat’s still the swellest person I’ve ever known! And he’s—she’s much more of a gentleman than Fred.”
“That’s a lie!” Carol said, the fury in her voice belying her words. Mrs. Gardner looked from one face to the other. “Run into the yard and pick some flowers for luncheon, Carol. You know Roger loves those yummy autumnal arrangements of yours. I want to talk to Peg alone.”
Unwillingly Carol left the breakfast nook, closing the back door carefully behind her.
“Now, what’s this about Fred?” said Peg’s mother.
As Peg described Fred’s lecherous manner, her mother grew flushed, her eyes gleaming, as she listened avidly. “Shocking, shocking—why, the very idea,” she murmured. “I’ll have Carol ask him over to the house, and I’ll have a talk with him.”
“I don’t want to see him!” Peg said in disgust.
“You won’t have to, dear.” Mrs. Gardner patted Peg reassuringly. “I’ll choose a time when no one else is around.”
Uncle Roger came into the breakfast nook still clad in his maroon and gold striped silk dressing gown, yawning widely. “Oh, this country air!” he exclaimed. “Makes me sleep like a horse!”
“I think the figure of speech is ‘eat like a horse.’ ” His sister laughed. “Shall I have Della warm up some waffles?”
“No, thanks, I’ll just have a cup of coffee. Must watch my waistline. Speaking of horses”—Uncle Roger turned to Peg—“I’ll pick you and Pat up at the stables at noon.”
“I don’t know if this—this Patricia is the kind of friend we want Peg associating with,” Mrs. Gardner began.
“Oh, now, Helen, the girls haven’t done any harm,” Uncle Roger protested.
“And I have to confess that I’d be relieved if my little girl put off dating boys for just a bit longer,” added Mr. Gardner as he entered the kitchen, one of Della’s famous Bloody Marys in hand.
“I suppose Father knows best,” Mrs. Gardner relented with a smile. “I must speak to Carol now, arrange for a tête-à-tête with Fred.”
As she left, Uncle Roger shook his finger at Peg. “And don’t you have a tête-à-tête as well? Scat!”
Peg biked to the stables a trifle more slowly than usual. She longed to see Pat, yet she also dreaded the encounter. As she biked under the wooden sign, she saw Mrs. Huntley striding toward the little office.
“Mrs. Huntley!” she called. “Is Pat here?”
“Yes, Peg, she’s here. She’s in Garbo’s stall, saying goodbye.”
“Goodbye!” gasped Peg. “You’re not—you’re not going to fire her just because she’s a girl!”
“Girl or not, she’s the best stableboy I’ve ever had,” Mrs. Huntley replied. “Pat’s quitting. I’m not sure why.” Continuing into the office, she said over her shoulder, “Maybe you can figure it out.”
Peg sped into the stables and, like a homing pigeon, flew to Garbo’s stall. Pat was there, her face buried in Garbo’s neck. “Pat, you can’t quit!” Peg exclaimed. Pat jerked around and Peg’s eyes widened. Now she understood that sore spot on Pat’s chest. With an effort, she pulled her eyes back to Pat’s face and continued. “You’re the best stable—stable something this place has ever had!”
“What are you doing here?” he—no, she—demanded.
“I came to find you,” said Peg. “My uncle’s taking us to lunch at the country club, remember?”
“I thought you’d never want to talk to me again,” Pat muttered, turning away.
“Oh, Pat, don’t be silly.” Peg’s voice shook. “I feel terrible about last night. I was such a dope. I’d feel the same way about you if you were a girl or a boy or . . . or a horse!”
“I was going to quit because I knew coming to the stables would only remind me of you—” She turned toward Peg, her gray eyes full of unshed tears. Peg stared back, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, with an anxious whicker, Garbo nudged Pat toward the lanky redhead. Then Pat’s arms were around Peg, and when their lips met, Peg knew that everything was all right again.
“Pat.” Mrs. Huntley’s jovial voice broke into their tender interlude. “There are stalls to be mucked out—that is,” she added, peering into the stall with a smile, “if you are still working here!”
“Yes, ma’am!” exclaimed Pat, and they all la
ughed together. Peg helped Pat clean stalls and the morning flew by. When Uncle Roger telegraphed his approval of Pat with winks and nods as he drove them to the country club, Peg thought she couldn’t contain any more happiness. Luncheon was gay, with Uncle Roger telling funny stories of his adventures in Hong Kong over the Caesar salads and roast beef. As the meat plates were cleared away, Uncle Roger questioned Pat about her ambition to be a veterinarian. “My roommate, Bruce, knows some people at Cornell,” said Uncle Roger. “Maybe you and Peg should come to the city for a weekend sometime, and we could arrange a chat. How would you like that?”
Peg met Pat’s glance, each filled with delight. “That sounds lovely, Uncle Roger!” cried Peg. “When you’re a vet, Pat, you can tend to the horses in my stable!”
“Wonderful idea,” approved Uncle Roger. “Ah,” he said as three plates of floating island were set flaming before them, “now this is something like it!”
PASTURES OF PASSION
Squ-e-e-e-al! Oreola woke up with a start as the automobile came to a sudden stop. She peered through the dust-covered window and saw that Pa and Uncle Jo-Jo had already gotten out and were looking under the hood of the old Model-T. “Might be a piece of tumbleweed got kinda twisted ‘round the rear axle agin’, like in Sweetwater,” she heard Uncle Jo-Jo suggest. Pa said nothing. He just sighed and got down on his hands and knees to crawl under the jalopy.
“Orie, I’m going to see if your pa needs help. You keep an eye on the young’uns,” said Oreola’s mother, struggling out from under a pile of bedding in the front seat. The whole car was stuffed so full of their belongings, the clothing, farm-tools, and the bits of furniture they’d been able to take from the farm in Oklahoma after the bank foreclosed, that there was hardly any room for Ma, Pa, Uncle Jo-Jo, the five Budd children, and Grandma Jennie.
Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories Page 7