Rainbow Gap

by Lee Lynch

  “Someday we’ll have a peace march around here. I’ll join in and help end war forever.”

  “Where’s your priorities? These guys are risking their lives to protect us, Berry. You know the Commies don’t believe in religion. And they can take away our business and jobs and put us to work in the fields.”

  “You’re afraid?”

  “You bet I am. Especially the way I look. Especially who I love. They’d as soon kill a girl like me as squash one of your precious bugs.”

  Berry reached to Jaudon with both hands. “Let’s not fight about fighting. There’s got to be a better way than going to war.”

  “I agree, but that’s what we’ve got.” She was too churned up. It helped holding Berry’s hands.

  “The world’s not a safe place, Jaudon. Can we be each other’s safety?”

  Berry was such an innocent sometimes. As if it was possible to win against such powerful forces. Her girl needed caretaking. Jaudon pulled her tight against herself.

  Chapter Seven

  “Yoo-hoo,” Rigo called as he came through the door. “Everyone decent? We have com-pany.”

  Bat was long gone. Berry and Jaudon were in the kitchen, cleaning the shelves of the unfinished white cedar cabinets. Rigo hugged them both. With a lordly gesture, he presented his prize.

  “This is Larissa Hand. I brought her home because she doesn’t know one gay gal out in the sticks and she lives down the road from you a couple of miles.”

  “Call me Lari.” It sounded more of a command than a cordial overture.

  Toby, as a rule too lazy to move for any reason, took one look at Lari and left the room. Zefer never moved her eyes from Lari. Muddy slept on; her muzzle was white, she was failing. It wouldn’t be long.

  “Lari, this is Jaudon Vicker and Berry Garland.”

  Lari examined the two of them. “Berry Garland? Did your mother name you Berry on purpose?”

  “She said an angel told her what to name me.” She counted on her name being unique enough for Ma to find her.

  Jaudon said, “I love how Southern it sounds.” So this, she thought, was another example of who they were, who gay girls were.

  Berry gave her a warning glance she took to mean, Be nice, and said, “Well, look at you. You’d have to stand up twice to cast a shadow.”

  Jaudon was jarred by Lari’s abrasive manner and strange speech. She folded her arms. “You from up north?”

  Lari was medium height, skinny, slow footed, soft voiced, and had the narrowed red-rimmed eyes of someone on alert all night and day. She smelled of cigarettes. Her black jeans and long-sleeved black shirt matched black straight hair cut in a straight line across her midback. She wore gray eyeliner and her ears were pierced. The peace sign on her shirt was gray.

  Jaudon looked from Lari to Berry. As Berry had matured, she’d developed a heart-shaped face with wide-set eyes. Jaudon found her ten thousand times prettier than Lari, but, to her shock, a part of her responded to Lari’s rebel girl look. She wanted to growl or howl or carry Lari into a cave.

  Rigo sounded proud of his find. “Lari’s been kicked out of more schools in Minnesota than I’ve gone to in my life.”

  Lari looked at her boots, black and pointed under the tapered jeans. Her hands were in her pockets; a black leather jacket hung from her elbow. She nodded, an angry pride showing in the set of her shoulders, the squinting eyes. “They’re making me live with my religion-happy great-aunt in her gated senior trailer park and go to college here. I’m supposed to be her caretaker.” She pulled cigarettes out of a pocket.

  Berry didn’t know why she had her hackles up. She was almost too quick to stop Lari. “I don’t do well with the smoke or the smell.”

  Lari glowered at her, but stuck the cigarette behind her ear.

  Rigo said, “Lari goes to Cloud Christian too.”

  “They picked it because it was founded by a Minnesota native on Christian principles. I’m sick of the freaking cold anyway. I’m not going back north.”

  Berry laid eyes on Lari’s black-painted fingernails. What sort of girl was this? She might be in a Halloween costume or from a monster movie. Her glasses were old-fashioned: round and gold-rimmed. Even Gran wore more stylish frames. Lari swayed as she stood, the smile on her lips close to a sneer, red-rimmed eyes unfocused. She told herself not to judge Lari, but she knew she didn’t trust the woman at all.

  Jaudon was curious and eager to study Lari, despite her attitude and strange as she looked. “Aren’t you hot in those clothes?”

  “Hey, it’s how I dress.” Lari looked Jaudon up and down, from her short hair to Bat’s torn olive T-shirt, to her baggy, below the knee shorts, her leg hair, white gym socks and sneakers. “You ought to know, Magilla Gorilla.”

  At first, Jaudon wanted to drop through the floor. A second later, she was ready to clout the woman on her thin-lipped mouth. Berry and Rigo stared at Lari.

  “The college is threatening to expel me if I don’t dress like the rest of you.” Lari gave a snort of laughter. “The last thing I want to be is Southern respectable. You’re all but segregated for one thing. I was revolted by the shacks and outhouses and tattered laundry hanging on clotheslines as I traveled south.”

  Jaudon held her fists at the ready, fingernails pressed into the heels of her hands. Magilla Gorilla. This woman didn’t care whose heart she trampled on. She was in the business of showing the world how mad she was at everyone and everything. Was she angry because she was different? Was it because she didn’t have a Berry of her own? She better keep her hands off Berry.

  Behind Lari, Rigo said, “We’re working on it. At least the public schools are sort of integrated.”

  “That’s why private schools are so popular down here.”

  “We’re not that bad, not how they are in the Deep South,” Jaudon said, apologetic.

  Jaudon, Berry saw, was a puppy dog, nodding her head in agreement, yet at the same time teeth bared, ready to lunge. Lari was about as open as a folded jackknife, while Jaudon, when not under attack, was good-natured and eager to please and be liked, above all at the store. At the same time, Jaudon turned challenging to the point of truculence in a heartbeat. Today she appeared to find a hasty forgiveness for this stubborn piece of work who was slapping at a mosquito on her cheek as she surveyed their primitive homestead.

  “Your family’s into their colors,” said Lari. Both chairs Momma left behind flaunted cushions of faded green bark cloth with a yellow pineapple pattern, the edges stiffened with age. Rigo gestured to the windows. The closed curtains were thick nubby cotton to keep out the heat. Huge bubblegum-pink hibiscus and green palm fronds, small mango-colored parrots, and brown sticks of bamboo lay against their blue-gray background. On the shady side of the house where the curtains were open, the neighbors’ peacock, displaying, walked by. The room was bright, while the squeaky ceiling fan and curtains kept the sun from overheating the room.

  Berry winced at the ongoing sounds of a Batson uncle in Gran’s bathroom, hammering and cursing as he installed a green-tinted jalousie window Gran found at a flea market. No doubt Lari believed they were all Crackers, and they certainly were.

  Jaudon, gesturing and pointing, went off with Lari to give her a tour and the history of the house.

  Berry lit a tarnished brass floor lamp, white swan end-table lamps, and settled on the long orange Sears sofa. Rigo chose one of the colorful rattan chairs. Between them was the coffee table that had served as a scratching post for several generations of kittens.

  When they sat, Zefer lay at Rigo’s feet, panting, and continued to eye Lari. Berry picked up her knitting.

  “What are you making?” asked Rigo.

  “A new afghan for Gran.”

  “You don’t mind sharing with your grandmother? I mean, honestly.”

  “Her room is on the other side of the house, Rigo. Besides, she knows about us.”

  “Well, yeah. But knowing and hearing are two altogether different experiences in close quarter
s.”

  “Don’t be such a worrywart. Gran doesn’t hear as well as she used to.”

  “God, my dad would outright disown me. Mom was in showbiz so long she’d be surprised if I turned out straight.”

  “You found out about yourself because you were around show people?”

  “Kinda sorta, Berry. The men had eyes for one another and I was their pet, or their communal son, because I did my homework at the theater. Or didn’t do it. I knew about options a lot earlier than other kids. I knew I wasn’t alone.”

  She saw Lari and an animated Jaudon through the window, out toward the road, where Lari was smoking. “She talks fast, doesn’t she? Should we be more like her?”

  “Berry, you and your woman are without a doubt marvelous as you are. Gay girls come in scores of varieties. You should join me at the bar sometime. I’ll show you.”

  “We don’t drink,” Berry said.

  “You can have Cokes. And dance.”

  “I never learned to dance to rock ’n’ roll.”

  “One of your church’s rules?”

  “They threatened dancing would lead to worse sins.”

  “Such as being gay?”

  She laughed and clapped her hands. “They were right.”

  “I say it’s time for you to learn to rock and roll along with your thing for ballroom music. ”

  Berry kept her doubts to herself and wanted to end the conversation. “I’ll talk with Jaudon about it.”

  Rigo followed her back to the kitchen. “Why not come with me? You’re already sinners.”

  “Oh, you, stop. You know we’re not.” She opened one of the cabinets to get the fixings for sweet tea, remembered the canister was empty, and hunted through everything on the counter before she found a new supply atop the refrigerator. She boiled the water as she listened to Rigo tell tales of bar life.

  Jaudon led Lari back in. Lari played with some wallpaper curling along its seams and sat at the table, stretching out her legs. She took a sip of the tea and made a face.

  “How about ice water?” Jaudon asked, popping up to get some.

  Rigo poured Lari’s tea into his own emptied glass. “Jaudon, I’m trying to persuade your girlfriend to come to the gay bar.”

  “At least the bar’s integrated,” said Lari. She traced the yellow butterflies and red skeeter hawks printed on her placemat. “Gay people are so much more advanced than the rest of the world.”

  Jaudon immediately rejected the idea. “A gay bar? When hell freezes over. They’d run us out of college so fast you’d think we weren’t white people.”

  Rigo scoffed at her words. “They haven’t caught me and I spend half my life there. Plus I’m only half-white.”

  “They haven’t caught on yet, Rigo. Besides, I might bump into a customer.”

  “The customer would be yours for life, hon,” said Rigo. “Do you have no inkling how famished gay people are for the companionship of our own kind? If we find a store or a restaurant where we can be comfortable, we flock to it, like swallows to a buggy pond.”

  Jaudon gave a quick sidelong glance at Berry. “Uh-oh, I feel hell getting frosty. I know that rascally look of yours. We have to go, don’t we?”

  “I wouldn’t want to risk my scholarships.” Berry looked at Lari. “If we did go, would I need to get gussied up?”

  “Not in your Sunday school clothes.” Lari’s tone was quick and scornful. She gestured to her own outfit. “I’m always ready.”

  Rigo was wearing his hair longer than ever. He indicated his pristine white shorts and fitted polo shirt. “It’s come as you are, kids, if you dare to join us. Guaranteed, there’s no question you’ll blend in.”

  Chapter Eight

  It took them until September to agree to meet Rigo at the bar. Jaudon drove, but a glance at Berry’s tight lips and knitted brow confirmed the persistence of her concern.

  “We don’t have to go, Berry. I’ll turn around anytime you want.” She sorely wished Berry would tell her to go home.

  “It’s not just what we’re doing, Jaudon. You know I hate going out in the van after dark. It’s hard to see animals crossing the road.”

  Jaudon ticked her bright lights on wherever possible and drove in moderation. She was used to Berry’s night vigilance, but tonight suspected the bar boosted her concern.

  The nights had been cool all that week and her headlights picked out an occasional tree with a headdress of yellow leaves or a purplish-red Japanese maple starting to go orange. A fog of baking smells from the Wonder Bread factory passed all too soon. They met Rigo and Lari by a school in St. Petersburg.

  She parked with great care—it wouldn’t do to get a ticket tonight. They checked to be certain every door and window was shut up tight. It would be worse to have the van stolen over here.

  When she hugged Rigo hello, Berry hung on to him a little too long.

  He said, “It’s okay, hon. Your Uncle Rigo’s here for you. Would I let anything bad happen to my favorite couple?”

  “You think anyone would actually steal your rust bucket?” Lari said from where she leaned on the schoolyard fence, one hand hanging from a chain link, her gloomy smirk in place. Berry wondered if Lari thought everyone was beneath her, that she was some omniscient being practicing the Zen she professed to believe in.

  “It’s safer to park at a distance,” Rigo said as they left for the bar. Jaudon wore white ducks and a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt, looking, to Berry, more than ever like a sailor boy on shore leave. Berry was dressed in coral-colored clam diggers with earrings to match and a gray V-neck top. She wore the Coty brand pink lipstick she favored.

  Berry knew that alcohol had taken hold of her mother and father young. Pops Vicker drank beer at ball games, but didn’t keep it in the house otherwise. She wanted no part of it, yet she and Jaudon needed a place to belong. Where better than a hidden gathering place filled with kindred spirits?

  They hurried without words along the dark uneven sidewalks. Though half closed for the night, patches of fleabane—small white-petaled, egg-yolk weeds—bloomed like floodlights in neglected yards and vacant land.

  Jaudon longed to take Berry’s hand, both to protect her and to bolster herself. At the sight of a small neon beer bottle sign, she increased her distance from Berry. It didn’t make sense to her, sneaking around to have fun, but she followed Rigo into a small room in an old factory building partially converted to a tavern where two old guys slumped over a bar and a row of three booths sat empty. This was it? This was the big bad gay bar they feared?

  There was a rhythmic pounding beneath their feet, but there was no music in the barroom. Rigo went to a door. A small wooden panel opened at ear level. Rigo whispered and the door opened. The hefty Afro-American man minding the door gestured to the staircase.

  They’d brought their birth certificates, but no one questioned their ages. Digging them out made Berry think about why Gran, and not Ma and Pa, had hers. It couldn’t be they never planned to fly her to them, could it? She told herself not to be silly. Gran said they’d adored their baby girl and she’d adored them. On a motorcycle you needed to leave all those official scraps of paper behind was all.

  They went inside a bare-bones room tarted up with streamers and beer signs and packed with women and men of different ages, sizes, and colors. Most were dancing to the loud jukebox.

  Every eye appeared to Jaudon to be, briefly, on the newcomers, some twice, as if making sure they were a same-sex couple and Jaudon was not a man.

  Berry observed this too. She whispered to Jaudon, “There are dopes everywhere.”

  Jaudon was disappointed—she was expecting to feel welcomed.

  Rigo got Jaudon and Berry colas; Lari came back with a long-necked bottle of beer. They passed through the ebb and flow of the crowd into a corner of the room, where they huddled together. Lari lit a cigarette, one of dozens smoldering around them. Berry coughed. A very tall man in makeup came over and kissed Rigo on the cheek and motioned to a young man who sh
ook their hands solemnly as they yelled their names over the music. Berry looked at Jaudon, but Jaudon didn’t seem to recognize Jimmy Neal Skaggs, grown into a big-eared giant of a boy with hair in a monk’s tonsure and a blunt nose. Nor did Jimmy Neal give any sign of recognition when he saw Berry, but he was first-year nursing and she was second so they shared no classes.

  Jaudon caught Berry’s eyes to telegraph her incredible relief at the sight of a whole room of people like them, despite the initial stares. Okay, she wasn’t ever going to be womanly, but her differences fled at the sight of women their age or in their thirties and forties—even a couple who looked to be Gran’s age—holding one another, sneaking a kiss here and there, sitting in groups the same as real couples out in the rest of the world. She looked on enchanted, smiling, and at last belonging somewhere besides the tree house.

  Lari pushed and pulled her onto the dance floor and left Berry to hold their drinks. “You come across too happy. I’m going to make you dance in this mob.”

  Confused, looking back at Berry, Jaudon at first let herself be led across the sticky floor between the dancing couples. She balked. She should have asked Berry for this first public dance. What a backwoods numbskull. Maybe she could learn rock ’n’ roll steps and teach them to Berry.

  She watched Lari, who danced like a Halloween skeleton jouncing in a breeze. Jaudon shrugged her shoulders and leaned left, leaned right, jiggled her arms as if trying to amuse Berry. She repeated the moves over and over, in time to the music.

  Berry covered a smile—Jaudon looked like one of those wooden stick men that flapped its limbs when a string was pulled. From the intent watching look on her face she could tell Jaudon was serious about studying how to dance to this music, but she was much smoother alone, at home, dancing to their swing records.

  Berry stared at the two grown men as they danced in each other’s arms. Although Jimmy Neal towered over him, Rigo held him tight and led him to the theme from Valley of the Dolls. Rigo gave Berry a wave with his fingers as he passed. Distracted, she lost sight of Jaudon for a minute. Her heart pounded as it had when Eddie Dill went under. Hell took a lot of shapes, and losing Jaudon Vicker would be one.