by Vanda
“Do you want me to go down on you?” she whispered.
“What’s that?”
She slid her fingers between my legs. “Do you want me to kiss you here?”
“No.” I was horrified.
“You needn’t get so indignant about it,” she laughed. She got on her knees and ran her tongue around my belly. “Just try it.” She put a pillow under my rear. “If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”
She ran her tongue and her fingers down my hips.
“Juliana, I don’t think—”
“Concentrate. Someday I’m going to want you to do this for me.”
“But—”
She tickled my stomach so, of course, I became helpless. She laughed, watching me flail around, then moved down to the inside of my thighs. “Open your legs. I won’t hurt you. I just want to get at your clit.”
“My what?”
“Your clitoris?”
“You mean that thing down there has a name?”
“Yes,” she laughed again. “There are all sorts of lovely names for things down here.”
She kneeled between my legs, and I felt her tongue on that place, and my mind said, no, this is sooo wrong, but my body—well, my body didn’t agree and then when she pushed a couple of her fingers up into that other place I thought was just for men and moved them back and forth, things happened, oh boy, did they happen, and then I fell back to sleep.
When I awoke again, light poured in from the window, and the smell of coffee filled the room. Juliana wasn’t there. I stretched, yawned, and pictured eating a lazy breakfast with her in the downstairs kitchen. Juliana hurried into the bedroom in a navy-blue dress and a hat with a small veil in front. She rummaged through one of her dresser drawers. “What are you looking for?” I asked.
“My missal.”
“Your what?”
“It’s kind of a prayer book but more. There.” She took out a small black book and dropped it in her purse.
“You’re about the last person I’d expect to have a prayer book.”
“Why? I pray.” She took a rosary from another drawer, kissed it, and put it in her purse. “Do you think these earrings look dignified enough?”
“Dignified enough for what? Where are you going?”
“Church. Oh, dear, look at the time.” She rushed from the room. I grabbed my robe and ran after her.
“Church? After what we’ve been—”
“I’ll go to confession next Saturday.”
“Confession? You’re gonna tell some guy what we did?”
“Not ‘some guy’. A priest.”
“You’re gonna tell a priest that ?”
“Well, not the details. Have to go.” She grabbed her coat from the couch. “Be sure to turn the tree lights off, and slam the door. Meet me back here tonight at seven. You can help me with my guests.”
“What guests? ”
She dashed into the hallway and started down the stairs. I ran to the landing after her.
“Jule!”
“On the coffee table. The details.” Her heels clicked down the last of the steps toward the front door.
Chapter Forty-Five
“Where were you last night?” Aggie asked me later that evening. We were decorating our tree while the Philharmonic played Christmas carols on the radio.
“You know I work at the Canteen. You got a silver Christmas tree? Whoever heard of a silver tree?”
“It’s artistic. What’s the point of a fake green tree? That just looks fake, but a silver one looks modern. That’s what the lady at Bloomies said.”
“Hand me that box of ornaments.”
“Be careful with these. I borrowed them from my mother. They’re old, imported from Germany. Did you read the reviews of Mexican Hayride ?”
I opened the box and carefully lifted out one of the red and gold fragile Christmas balls. “Yeah.”
“I could’ve been in that if it weren’t for ….” She turned her head so I wouldn’t see the tears. “Last night you weren’t just at the Canteen. You didn’t get home till morning. You’re seeing a man, aren’t you?”
“No.” I hung a glass Santa on one of the branches.
“Come on, why else would you be out all night?”
“Visiting a friend.”
“Is he in the service? Put these smaller ones toward the top.” She handed me a colorful box. “You don’t have to be so careful with these. I got them at Woolworths.”
“I’ll give you money toward them.”
“No need.”
“Yes, there is. You’re not working and Dickie’s sailor salary can’t be much.”
“Quit reminding me of how awful our lives are.”
“I didn’t mean to do that. ”
“You’re doing that ’cause you don’t wanna tell me about your mystery fella. I thought I was your best friend.”
“You are. It’s just—”
“Is he married?” she whispered.
“No. But, maybe, sorta.”
“How can he be sorta …? He’s divorced!”
“Okay.”
“You’re seeing a divorced man. How sophisticated. Is he an older man? He must be if he’s not in the service.”
“Well, uh—how’s Dickie doing these days?”
“An admiral or a corporal or some big shot came to the hospital and pinned a purple heart on his pajama top. He told Dickie he was a hero.”
“Dickie must’ve been awful proud. And you, too.”
“When the guy left Dickie told me to unpin the thing and stick it in the drawer. He hasn’t looked at it since.”
“It must be hard for him.”
“And me. I don’t know what to say to him. Last week when I was in his room and we were talking—” She stopped and looked away.
“What?”
“Promise you won’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t. What happened?”
“Number two came out of him onto his pajamas. He kept talking ’cause he didn’t know it. When he saw me staring at it, he shouted, ‘Get out! Get out!’ I ran out of there. I know I was sposed to say it was okay, and I didn’t mind, but I did. It wasn’t okay.”
I put my arms around her, and she cried into my shoulder.
“Our lives are never gonna be the way we planned in high school. Are they?”
“I don’t think so.”
I was already an hour and a half late for Juliana’s party. She was probably furious with me ’cause I hadn’t come to help her. I wanted to rush into the night, away from all the horror of Aggie and Dickie’s lives, but how could I leave Aggie in this state. I didn’t know war was gonna be like this. It wasn’t glamorous or heroic. It was ugly and disgusting and humiliating.
“And now on top of everything,” Aggie wiped her face with a handkerchief, “they’re transferring him to a hospital in Staten Island.”
“That’s terrific. You won’t have to keep making that long trip to DC. It’ll be easier for you to get a job.”
“I spose. Remember how funny he used to be? And silly. Remember when he wore that silly tuxedo to the club?”
“Yeah.”
“He used to make me laugh all the time. Not anymore. I should be able to help him, but I don’t know what to do.” She put a dancing reindeer on the tree. “He’ll probably never dance again. ”
“No. Dancing is life to Dickie.”
“How can he dance on a stage with that thing hanging from him? What if BM comes out of him in public?”
She sniffed back some tears and pushed her handkerchief into the pocket of her dress. “You’re gonna be here for Christmas, aren’t ya?”
“Here? I don’t know. I figured you’d be spending Christmas at the VA with Dickie or with your family in Huntington.”
“The doctors said once Dickie gets settled at Halloran—that’s the VA hospital in Staten Island—he could spend a couple days outside the hospital. It’s like a test.”
“That’s gotta mean he really is getting bet
ter. I wouldn’t think you’d want me here. Don’t you want some privacy with him?”
“No! His guts are gonna be hanging out. I haven’t looked at it yet. When the nurse comes in to clean it, I always leave. It smells. I try not to notice when I visit, but I can’t help it. What if BM comes out again like last time? I just couldn’t be with him, you know, in that way. It’s too soon. Do you think I’m awful?”
“No.”
“It’s probably too soon for him, too. So if you were here there’d be less pressure on him to—you know.”
I looked at my watch. “Geez, I gotta go.” I pulled on my coat.
“That’s two nights in a row you’re gonna leave me alone.”
“Golly, Ag, I’m sorry. Do you want me stay with you tonight?” There was no way I was going to stay home, but I thought I should ask and hope she said the right thing.
“No. I’m okay. But that guy of yours must be something. Have a good time.”
Just as I was about to dash out the door, Aggie said, “Hey! I got an idea. Invite him to Christmas here.”
“Who?”
“Your fella. We could make a big Christmas dinner and—”
“Let’s talk about it later. I’m late already.”
“Sure. But I want all the details when you get back. I’m an old married lady. I gotta get my thrills secondhand. Hey! Why isn’t he picking you up?”
Chapter Forty-Six
I was surrounded by women— women in dresses, in suits and ties, in army uniforms, in navy uniforms. All of them “those kinds of women.” I was so terrified I could barely breathe.
Juliana’s note said she was having a few friends over, but there were lots more than a few, and she didn’t say they’d be those kind. She’d moved the piano into the parlor near the Christmas tree. Extra chairs from other rooms were now in this room and there was a long table with snacks.
I shook knowing I was surrounded by child mashing, hypnotizing, drug-addicted murderers. What could I possibly talk to them about? What did those kinds of women talk about? I only knew they were dangerous. I frantically scanned the room for Juliana, but I couldn’t find her. She’d left me alone in a roomful of those kind.
“Hi,” a young woman’s voice said to my back.
“What?” I swung around, my fists raised, ready to defend myself.
“Have you tried the Piquant Puffs?” she asked.
“The what?” I lowered my fists.
“The Piquant Puffs. Mildred made them. She made them from one of those sugarless recipes in Good Housekeeping .”
“She reads Good Housekeeping? My grandma used to read that.”
“Mildred’s quite the little homemaker.”
“She is?”
“Look at all the nibbles Juliana put out. Even with rationing she manages to have a nice spread. My name’s Priscilla.” She extended her hand. She wore a pink dress with a bow in her hair. “What’s yours?”
“Alice.” My hand shook as I extended it to her.
“So Juliana is your”—she winked—“special friend, you lucky dog. ”
“No! We’re not like that.”
“I heard different. Oh, there’s my honey. Have to go.” Priscilla hurried to meet her friend who just entered wearing a WAC uniform.
I saw Juliana bending over the piano talking to her accompanist, Johnny, who wore an army uniform. Her hair was on top of her head in some kind of twist. She wore a royal-blue sleeveless gown that hugged her curves to the knees and then became loose and flowing down to the floor. It was obviously not new. Who could get a dress with that much material these days? I felt a little funny seeing her dressed in such an old style in front of everyone. This war was wearing down even Juliana. Johnny’s wife, Dolores, sat nearby on the couch watching them and looking like she’d already had a little too much of the rum punch.
The two men who worked in Juliana’s act came in, one in an army uniform, the other in a blue suit.
“Juliana,” the one in the army uniform said, his hips swaying as he approached her. “Darling, what a smashing idea having us all over like this. What a relief not to have to cover up who we really are for the jams.” He carried a casserole in one hand while his other hand danced in the air. “Warren and I will do you proud tonight.” He kissed her on the cheek.
“I’m not the least bit worried, Riley,” Juliana said.”
“Oh, here, Warren and I brought you a covered dish. Noodles and sauce. Warren made the sauce.”
“Thank you,” Juliana said. “But you shouldn’t have used your stamps on my little do.”
“Warren and I wanted to. Did I tell you Warren made the sauce? Delicately seasoned.” He kissed his fingers.
“Stop acting gay,” Warren, in the blue suit, said, deepening his voice a few octaves.
“Well, if one can’t act gay at Juliana’s, I’d like to know where one can act gay, sweetie. Unless it’s in the army.” He giggled and patted the side of Warren’s face.
“Can you believe they took him and rejected me for flat feet?” Warren said. “Well, I’m going to work.” He marched over to the piano like he was going to beat it up.
“I love it when he acts butch,” Riley said. “He’s not very good at it, but he tries, the dear.”
“You can put your dish on that table and make yourself a plate,” Juliana said. “I had to make everything with margarine so I don’t know how it’ll taste.”
“Well, that is what we’re fighting for,” Riley said.
“The right to eat real butter?”
They both laughed, and Riley swished his way over to the long table to put his dish down .
I sat on a wooden chair in the corner feeling like I didn’t belong. Juliana looked up from the music and walked in my direction. I stood up to greet her, but sat down again when I saw that her smile wasn’t for me; it was for the handsome young man leaning against the wall near the kitchenette smoking a cigarette. He had a shock of black hair combed back from his forehead, and he wore a navy-blue suit with a tie that was tacked in place by a gold clip. It matched the square cufflinks that peered out of his jacket sleeves. His eyes were glued on Juliana as she made her way over to him. He blew out a stream of smoke as his eyes ran over her body. Juliana looked completely undisturbed by his mental undressing.
I watched them, wishing I could hear. Johnny played lively tunes in the background while Riley and Warren harmonized with each other.
Two women sat down next to me. “Hi, I’m Frances, and this is Thelma.”
I wished they’d go away so I could pay attention to Juliana and that man.
“Isn’t Andy dreamy?” Frances said.
“Who?”
“Andy.” She pointed at the young man who was now smiling at some joke Juliana must’ve said. He even had dimples.
“So what advice do you have for Thelma? She’s new at this,” she whispered, “if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“But I heard you’ve been with Juliana which means you must be very experienced.”
The young man, Andy, took his cigarette out of his mouth and slipped it into Juliana’s mouth. Without touching it Juliana took a few puffs and let Andy pull the cigarette from her mouth, putting it back into his own. He breathed the smoke in deeply as if he were breathing in Juliana.
“I see you’re as fascinated by Andy as everyone else,” Shirl said from behind me.
“Do you know him?” I asked. “Juliana seems to know him really well.”
“She does.” Shirl sat down on my other side. “Only Andy isn’t a ‘him’; Andy’s a ‘her.’“
“No.”
“Yes. Sometimes a person like Andy is called a he-she.”
“That man over there can’t be a girl. Look at him.”
“Shsh. It’s not polite to be so shocked. But believe me Juliana would not be over there if Andy were a true ‘him.’“
“She really likes him, uh, her, doesn’t she? Were they once—you know?”
Watching Juliana and Andy flirt, I mumbled, “How can I compete with that?”
“Look, hon,” Shirl said, “if you want to keep Juliana’s friendship you can’t hang your heart on your sleeve. Now, I need to go enjoy this party. You should too, and stop watching what’s going on over there.”
Juliana and Andy seemed to be talking to each other with their eyes. I should just go over there, and—and what? I looked down at my hands; they were wrapped into two fists.
“So you never made a strong bond with your mother, either?” Frances said.
“Well, I spose not, but—Juliana tell you that?”
“No. My analyst.”
“How does your analyst know about my mother?”
“He doesn’t, silly. He knows that not having a strong bond with our mothers is what makes us the way we are. None of us had that bond.”
I looked out into the sea of women talking, laughing, kissing, and I wondered if everyone in the room couldn’t get along with their mothers. But I wasn’t like them . I was a jam.
Thelma, Frances’s friend, came over and whispered. “Andy’s packing, isn’t she?”
Frances covered her mouth and giggled a yes.
“Packing what?” I asked.
Their giggles became guffaws and they ran with their hands over their mouths into the hallway.
Johnny suddenly pounded on the keys. Riley clinked a spoon against a glass. “Everyone sit down,” he said.
Johnny growled, “Are you ready Juliana? I have to get back to base.”
Juliana glided across the room to the piano. “Sorry, dear.”
“Yeah.” He grumbled and took a sip from his rum punch. Juliana leaned back against the piano. “I want to thank everyone for coming, and I promise not to bore you with the whole act.”
