In Her Day (3 page)

“Verne’s right. Stop stopping yourself. Love is the wild card of existence.”

“No deal.” Carole held on.

“Confess, you’re a bit bewitched,” Adele pressed.

“You two are starting to act like old maids. I thought matchmaking was how older women spun out their remaining years. Next thing I know you’ll ask me for a finder’s fee.”

Adele and LaVerne laughed. Carole was trying to be morally indignant but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“Besides, since when is beauty the basis for love?”

“Now did you hear that come out of my mouth? All I said was, uh, Verne, what did I say?”

“Love is life’s ace? Honey, don’t do this to me. I haven’t got total recall.”

“And all these years I thought you hung on every word. Oh, I am so crushed.” Adele stabbed a piece of broccoli and mournfully shoved it in her mouth. This posture lasted for all of two seconds. “I remember
what I was saying. All I was saying was that people do notice each other physically.”

“Right,” the other two answered.

“Who knows when and whom we’ll love but we try to find out first on the basis of physical attraction.”

“I don’t recall this philosophical note.” Carole put her head on her hand.

“Neither do I but it popped into my head.”

“That and thirty-three other things simultaneously.” LaVerne squeezed Adele’s knee.

“Actually, I’ve given this matter a little thought myself on those cold nights when I’m curled up in bed with the cats. A nasty strain of Puritanism lurks in most of us, I suspect. If there was one thing the Puritans couldn’t stand it was a celebration of the body and beauty. So if we get attracted initially on the basis of looks we feel guilty about it or try to cover it up with the old business about ‘she’s beautiful inside and out.’ ”

“Wasn’t it Mencken who said, ‘Puritanism is the nagging suspicion that someone, somewhere, is having fun?’ ” Adele laughed.

“What a good quote. I’ll pass that on to BonBon and Creampuff. Have either of you talked to them lately?” LaVerne asked.

“No, why?” Carole was puzzled.

“I spoke with Bon on the phone the other day. For some reason she was recalling the days of her stripper youth and she said when she first met Creampuff she noticed the curve of her neck. That’s rather sexy. She also added that Creampuff had a sweet smile so she figured she was a lovely woman.”

“I started this whole thing, didn’t I?” Adele paused. “I wish to hell people would stop feeling guilty about everything and anything. I am so tired of people
feeling guilty for sexuality or lack of it. I almost feel guilty for not feeling guilty!”

“Guilt is a Jewish invention improved upon by Christians for the last two thousand years,” Carole mentioned.

Ilse nervously watched the three women as they ate their dessert and chattered among themselves. All the times she urged her friends to be aggressive were coming back to haunt her. She wanted to ask Carole out and if she didn’t do it soon she might never see her again.

I can’t walk up there and ask her in front of her friends, she thought to herself. I mean, what if she says no. Besides I can’t put her on the spot like that. I wish she’d go to the bathroom then I could ask her on the way back. She probably has a bladder of cast iron. There’s got to be some way to do this without making a total ass out of myself.

LaVerne got up to visit the can. Ilse figured one less observer was better than two so she gathered her courage, put her hands in her apron pockets so she couldn’t wring them and walked over.

“Excuse me.” Christ, all I say in front of this woman is
excuse me
.

They both looked up and Adele knew what was coming if Carole didn’t. “I hope this isn’t goodbye after we all just met.”

Ilse stifled an impulse to hug Adele. “In fact, that’s why I came over. I hope I get to see you again. I—uh—Carole, if you’d care to have a drink with me I think I could get off work early since the big rush is over. I … I mean if you’re not in a hurry or anything.” Ilse decided she had made a total ass out of herself. Maybe the kitchen would blow up and a flying pot would end this misery.

“I’d enjoy that. Why don’t you go see if it’s all right?”

“For sure!” Ilse, stunned by success, searched for Dolores.

“Are you satisfied, you Cheshire cat?” Carole leaned over and pinched Adele’s forefinger.

“Are you satisfied?” Adele couldn’t help but laugh at her.

“You never let me get away with anything, do you? Yes, I’m satisfied. It’s about time I let something happen. Anyway, after such a fateful meeting how could I refuse?”

LaVerne plopped down. “Some political soul inscribed on the wall, ‘Peas with honor.’ How perfect for a restaurant.”

“Want to hear something else that’s perfect? Ilse asked Carole to go out with her.”

“No! That kid has guts.”

“We both have to get up early tomorrow so how about if we go back home and you solo? You don’t mind?” Adele asked Carole.

“No. I’ll talk to you tomorrow and let you know how things turn out.”

Settling in at the small table in a corner, Ilse looked at Carole then looked away. “May I ask you a question?”

My age, Carole thought.

“Are you in the women’s movement?”

“What?” Carole’s amazement showed.

“I mean are you in a group or do you read about it or anything?”

“That’s the second time today the subject came up. Do I look like an Amazon?”

“No, you look intelligent,” came the swift reply.

“Thank you. No, I’m not in any organization. I’m not a very political person. Although I am glad some women are working for things that will benefit all of
us, you know, like equal pay for equal work. But other than that I don’t find that anyone represents my interests. I’m sure there’s a great deal I don’t know. I have only a surface understanding but as I said before, I’m not a very political person. I take it you are?”

“I’m in the movement, yes.” Ilse smiled. “I can give you some together articles if you’ll read them.”

Suddenly Carole felt like a student but she didn’t let her ego get in the way. “I’ll read them.”

“I’m a revolutionary feminist. I don’t want you to think I’m one of those people who only wants a piece of the capitalist pie. We can build a whole new society, a cooperative society rather than a competitive one. That viewpoint is never represented in the pig media, you know?”

“I’m always afraid there will be enough revolutionaries to halt reform but not enough of you to make a revolution.”

“I thought you said you weren’t political?”

“I’m not but I do have eyes. Anyway, in America the word revolutionary is used to sell pantyhose.”

Ilse laughed in spite of herself. Was Carole witty or making fun of her? Ilse spent the last two years of her life “in struggle” and while she learned a lot she lost more: her sense of humor. Carole’s obvious irreverence awakened that sense of humor and it seemed heady, even dangerous. She stared at the older woman and tried to come to grips with her physical presence.

The first thing anyone noticed about Carole was her height. She was six feet tall depending on the day. Once people recovered from that they observed her head. Thick, brown, medium length hair was brushed back revealing heavy silver over each temple. The silver was offset by small gold earrings. Her nose was long, straight, with delicate nostrils. Her
forehead was high. Very English, thought Ilse, or perhaps high Irish. Her cheekbones were sharp and prominent, the jaw firm, the mouth sensuous, full. Deep creases surrounded her mouth and her eyes showed marked laugh lines. She exuded a self-confidence that, together with her physical being, made her compelling.

“Would you like to dance?” Ilse decided to table the political discussion.

“If we decide who leads before we get out there?”

“You, you’re taller.”

As it was a weeknight the women’s bar was only half full when they arrived and there was room on the dance floor. Carole hadn’t danced in a long time and the body contact hit her. She hadn’t done anything in a long time. Ilse rested one arm around her neck and the other around her waist drawing them tightly together. Temples throbbing, Carole couldn’t look down at the younger woman or she knew she’d kiss her. The irony of the situation didn’t escape her. She’d never kissed a woman in a bar in her life, much less the first time she met someone.

Ilse didn’t look up or try to converse until the song started to fade. Then she turned her face up, the faint light revealing eyes of such a light, pure hazel they were practically clear. Without one more word of internal monologue Carole bent over and kissed her. It was one of the few times in her life since age twelve that she acted like a true animal. The freedom was intoxicating.

“My god, what would Emily Post think?” she said.

“Emily’d think you were one hell of a kisser.” Ilse tossed her hair out of the way, put both hands on Carole’s face and returned the kiss. Barry White boomed in the background and they danced one more.

“Will you go to bed with me?”

Carole was shocked. No one, woman or man, ever said such a thing in so short a time. It took months for people to get around to that question and no one dared ask it directly. They tried to sneak up on you usually on the path of a common interest.

No charades before the procession into the bedroom, this is a new generation, she thought.

Ilse, seeing her hesitate, quickly added, “I didn’t mean to make you uptight. I thought it would be a beautiful thing to do. I don’t want you to feel hassled.”

“I admit I’m not used to such a direct and fast approach but you can ask me that anytime you like. However, tonight’s not a good night because I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow night?”

Carole decided not to think, “All right.”

“If you want to pick me up at work that’s okay, or I could meet you somewhere. Oh wait, I forgot, a singer is coming into the restaurant tomorrow night so I have to stay until she’s done. You might dig her.”

“It isn’t that electric screeching, is it?”

“No. The woman uses a regular guitar.”

“What time does she go on?”

“Around ten.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.” She stood up to leave.

“Right, unless the revolution starts tomorrow I’ll be there.”

“Ilse, I think the revolution already started.” Carole smiled and kissed her goodnight.

Adele called Carole after her first class the next day. “Well?”

“Well what, you relentless old gossip?”

“I’m parched for news. What happened last night?”

“We talked and danced a bit.”

“And?”

“And I came home alone because I had to teach this morning. Honest to god, Adele, I thought we left these conversations back in our twenties.”

“Harrumph. BonBon, Creampuff, and I have them all the time, my dear. Anyway, Verne and I made a bet and I lost, dammit.”

“You’re terrible.”

“No, I’m not. What’s so bad about putting a few coins on the optimism of the flesh? Besides, people don’t court anymore so I thought maybe that young lady just pulled you right into bed, honey.”

“She did ask.”

“Maybe I can win half the bet.”

“That’ll be a first. Not with LaVerne you won’t.”

“Ain’t that the beautiful truth! That woman pinches a nickel until the Indian rides the buffalo.”

“I’d be willing to bet people are more emotional about money than they are about sex.”

“Amen. They tell you more about themselves when they spend a dollar than when they spend the night with you.”

“Which reminds me, you might be able to recoup some of your losses if you bet on tonight.”

“Carole, you amaze me.”

“Darlin’, I amaze myself.”

“When in Rome, etc.”

“Something like that. Since I’ve never done anything like this, at least not in such a short time span, I figured I ought to try it. Aren’t you the one who always says, ‘Progress lies in the direction you haven’t been?’ ”

“Yes, but I never said the direction was horizontal.”

“You devil, talk to you later. Give Verne a kiss and damn don’t you be telling BonBon Yvonne and
Creampuff Louise what I’m about. Those two will have it all over town.”

“I told Bon yesterday that with all the information she has, she could get rich overnight.”

“Blackmail?”

“Hell no, she can start a special service for lonely women, Dial-a-Dyke.”

“Mary, Mother of God.” Carole howled.

“She can use it too. Bon and Creampuff aren’t prejudiced.”

“Adele, you are one of a kind. Now I am hanging up this phone or I won’t be able to get a thing done the rest of the day. Bye, love.”

Carole showed up around ten-twenty but Ilse was convinced fifteen minutes after ten that she’d never see her again. When Carole did walk in, the place was so packed Ilse couldn’t get over to her so she waved and tried to not look too excited.

Listening to the singer, Maxine Feldman, Carole surveyed the room. The crowd with few exceptions was under thirty and downwardly mobile. It was wall-to-wall workshirts with embroidery to relieve the monotonous blue. Little, enameled, five-pointed, purple stars stood out on caps and shirts. Carole noticed Ilse wore one on her left sleeve, over her bicep. Maxine displayed one on the bib of her overalls. They were pretty but Carole had no idea what they meant.

So many of these people tried to look unattractive and that disturbed Carole. A few of them even looked dirty. Poor as she and her family were in the Depression, they were always clean. If her mother came back from the grave and saw some of these people it’d kill her all over again. Perhaps it wasn’t that the
women tried to look ugly. Maybe they just didn’t care. Carole checked them out again.

A few look like you could plant seeds on them, she noted, but the group isn’t all that bad. Maybe it’s a fad like bobby sox and Dad’s shirt was in the forties. And saddle shoes. I remember I had a pair with black saddles and then brown ones came in. Gawd. Still these people do look in uniform. I guess we did too but you can’t see yourself at that age. I wonder if wearing a purple star and patched pants is like being a Franciscan and taking a vow of poverty?