by Malinda Lo
She couldn’t even think it. She had to leave. She needed to go home.
Lily began to skirt the edge of the living room, going around the dancing couples, and caught Kath’s eye on the way. Kath rose from the couch immediately, nearly spilling her drink. She righted it just in time and set it on the table, heading toward Lily to meet her at the bench where everyone’s coats made a multicolored pile.
“What’s wrong?” Kath asked.
“I have to go,” Lily said at the same time.
“Did something happen?”
“I just need to go home,” Lily insisted. She glanced down at her wristwatch, which enabled her to look away from Kath. “It’s three o’clock already.”
“All right. I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You can’t walk back alone.”
“I don’t want you to go out of your way.”
“It’s not.”
“You really don’t have to bother,” Lily said as she dug through the coats.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
One of the coats—a blue wool peacoat—tumbled to the floor, and several others cascaded down after it. “I’m fine,” Lily said, bending over to grab the fallen coats. She was mortified by her encounter with Tommy, but she wasn’t about to tell anyone what had happened—especially not Kath. “If you want to come with me, then come with me. I just can’t stay here anymore.”
It was awkward after that, but Kath wouldn’t let her walk home alone. Kath helped her find their coats, which were near the bottom, and when Lily dislodged hers at last, an envelope fluttered down to the floor. She bent over to pick it up; it was addressed to someone named Theresa Scafani. She shoved it back into the pile. Kath had pulled Lana away from a group of dancers to say good night. Lily wished she hadn’t done that, but now here she was, beaming at them with her face flushed from dancing.
“Thank you for coming,” Lana said, and reached out and took Lily’s hand in hers.
“Thank you for inviting me—us,” Lily said.
“You’ll be safe heading home?”
“Yes, we’ll go together,” Kath said.
“Good. Be careful, girls.”
As Lana went back to the dancing, Lily saw Tommy emerge from the kitchen, a cigarette in her mouth and a cocktail glass in one hand. Tommy’s eyes met Lily’s, and a little smile passed over Tommy’s face—that same flirtatious smile from the bedroom—and Lily turned away and headed for the door.
She went so quickly that Kath had to rush after her. “What’s gotten into you?” she asked as Lily plunged out onto the street.
“I’m just tired.” Lily crossed her arms against the foggy chill and began to walk away from Lana and Tommy’s building.
Kath tugged at her elbow. “That’s the wrong way.”
Lily stopped and looked up. She was walking directly toward Coit Tower, which was still illuminated in the dark. She glanced around in confusion and realized she had no idea where she was.
“It’s this way.” Kath gestured in the opposite direction.
They went back past Lana and Tommy’s building. The living room window was curtained, but through the cracks Lily saw light and movement, and the faint sound of music leaked out into the night. At the end of the block, Lily saw the street sign—Castle Street—right before they turned steeply downhill. They hadn’t gone much farther before Kath reached for her arm and said, “Wait—wait.”
Lily felt Kath’s hand slide down her arm and lodge around her wrist, then around her fingers, pulling her to a halt.
“What happened?” Kath asked. “I know something happened.”
The streetlight was behind Kath, so Lily couldn’t see her face clearly, but she could hear the concern in her voice and, beneath that, the hurt that Lily wouldn’t tell her what it was. Lily wasn’t sure she understood it herself, this combination of burning embarrassment and outright fear. Those strange women at the party seemed to see her much more clearly than she saw herself, and it was disorienting—as if her body were not her own, but capable of acting without the conscious direction of her mind, which was screaming at her to let go of Kath’s hand, to go home as fast as she could, to crawl into her bed and pull the covers over her head and forget about this entire night, forget about Tommy Andrews and the Telegraph Club and all those women who looked at her and saw that she and Kath were . . . what?
“Did Tommy do something?” Kath asked, her voice hardening.
“She thinks I’m a child,” Lily said, the words bursting from her mouth before she could stop them. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m so stupid.”
“No,” Kath said, stepping closer to her, still holding Lily’s hand. “You’re not stupid. Do you . . . do you have feelings for her?” Kath whispered.
“For Tommy?” Lily wanted to laugh, but she had started to cry and her laughter came out of her in a choked sob. “No, I have feelings for you.” Her words came out too loud—they seemed to reverberate in the empty street, and she forced her voice into a whisper as she said, “Everybody can tell. Even Tommy! I’m so stupid. So stupid.”
Kath exhaled in a startled burst.
“I have to go home,” Lily insisted, trying to pull away, but Kath wouldn’t let her go.
“Wait,” Kath said. “Please.” She glanced around nervously. The steep street was deserted, but the lights and noises of the city seemed to rise up in warning: a car engine rumbled and streetlights flickered and down the block, a lamp burned in a bay window.
Kath pulled Lily toward the edge of the sidewalk and into the shadow of a building. There was a narrow opening there, an alleyway, and Kath tugged her inside, past the reach of light from the main street. The buildings on either side shot up several stories toward the night sky, their windows all black. All sound seemed to be swallowed up here, leaving the two of them in a velvety, dark quiet.
“I wasn’t sure you felt that way,” Kath said, and came closer to Lily. “I mean, I hoped.”
Lily’s heart raced at that word and what it implied. “Really?” Her embarrassment at her own obliviousness was abruptly replaced by astonishment. It made her reel—the speed of this, the way her feelings rushed in, pushing one emotion out and shoving in another. “I thought—I thought you were just being nice to me, I mean, you can’t possibly—I’m so stupid! Don’t you want someone like—like Rhonda?”
“Rhonda?” Kath sounded dumbfounded. “No, why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. Because at least she knows things. I don’t—I don’t understand the way this works.”
Kath let out another breath, a hint of laughter. “I don’t either. I just know—”
She didn’t finish her sentence, but she took another step toward Lily, closing the space between them. Lily could feel the warmth of Kath’s body radiating off her, could smell the traces of cigarette smoke and beer on her breath, along with a new fragrance she didn’t recognize, something clean and bright. It made Lily’s skin tingle.
“Lily,” Kath said softly.
“Don’t say anything,” Lily whispered. She felt as if speaking would ruin everything—then they’d have to put a name to this feeling between them, this rapidly growing heat and longing that made the sliver of air between their bodies charged with electricity. She could swear she felt the air humming.
She had never noticed before that she and Kath were the same height. If she leaned forward just a little bit, her nose would graze Kath’s, and then they were touching noses gently, practically nuzzling each other, and it was funny and startling, and Lily giggled nervously while Kath let go of her hand and, deliberately, touched Lily’s waist. The feel of Kath’s hands sliding around her body silenced her laughter. She stopped breathing, and Kath’s mouth touched hers, feeling its way in the dark. Her lips were cool and dry at first, but quickly, so quickly, they bloomed into warmt
h and softness. Her body was close against hers, the shape of her like a shock, her breasts and her hips and her hip bones against her, her hands pulling her closer, closer.
Lily had not known, had never imagined, how a first kiss could turn so swiftly into a second, and a third, and then a continual opening and pressing and touching, the tip of her tongue against Kath’s, the warmth of her mouth and the way that warmth reached all the way through her body and raised an indescribable ache between her legs. She had to push herself closer to Kath; that was the only thought in her mind. She put her hands on Kath and slid them beneath her jacket and clutched her back, and there was an awkward fumbling as they moved in the dark alleyway together, seeking something to press against, until the wall of the building was at Lily’s back and she could pull Kath into her.
She didn’t know how long they kissed—not long enough—but at one point Kath drew back to take a breath, and Lily opened her eyes and saw to her right the dim glow of the street beyond their dark alley. She realized with a start what she was doing and where she was doing it and whom she was doing it with, and she knew she should feel ashamed, but all she felt was the heaving of Kath’s chest against hers, and the tenderness of her lips where Kath had kissed her.
33
I don’t know why you’re bothering with an evening gown at all,” Lily said, flipping through an issue of Seventeen. “The competition only requires a cheongsam. When will you even have time to change?”
She, Shirley, and Flora were gathered around the table at the back of Flora’s father’s shop, waiting for Mary, who was late. They were supposed to go to Union Square to shop for Shirley’s dress for Miss Chinatown, and Lily did not want to go. She wished she was with Kath instead, and if that wasn’t possible, she’d rather shut herself in her bedroom alone, and remember. (The sensation of Kath’s mouth against hers, her hands on her waist.)
“It’s so that I stand out,” Shirley said. “I’m not going to give my speech in a cheongsam. I’ll wear that for the main portion of the pageant but I don’t want to be like the other girls during the speech part. I want to show that I’m American, too.”
Lily was only half listening; she had landed on a column at the front of the magazine titled “A Look at Tomorrow: The Challenge of the Planets.” To her surprise, it was written by Arthur C. Clarke and was about the problems of outer-space travel.
“Give me that,” Flora said, reaching for the magazine.
“Wait, I’m reading—”
Flora gave Lily a reproachful look—Lily thought Flora hadn’t yet accepted that Shirley had welcomed her back into their group of friends—and pulled the magazine out of Lily’s hands, flipping to a story on evening gowns. “This would be beautiful on you,” Flora said, pointing to the photograph of a white tulle ball gown.
Shirley frowned at the small print. “Why does it cost so much?”
“We can alter something to look like that,” Flora assured her.
“Where’s Mary?” Shirley wondered, glancing toward the front of the shop. “We can’t go without her. She knows about tailoring.”
“I’ll go see if she’s coming,” Lily volunteered. She left the back room and went out into the main shop area, passing shelves displaying vases and statues, blue-and-white porcelain and boxes of silk fans. There were a few customers in the store, but it was still relatively early on Sunday and so it was mostly empty. She opened the front door and peered out into the rainy morning, hoping to see Mary coming down the sidewalk, but she didn’t see her.
Reluctantly she went back inside, but rather than rejoining Shirley and Flora, she wandered through the aisles of the store, delaying the moment when she’d be forced to have constructive opinions, again, on dresses. Flora’s father’s shop held an assortment of art pieces and tourist tchotchkes; there was always something funny or interesting to discover. When she had been younger, at Christmas time he would allow her to pick out a small toy from a display in the back, and now she found herself winding her way to that same corner. The rotating rack was still there, and Lily spun it slowly, examining the toys. There were matchbox-size cars painted garishly red and yellow, and baby dolls with eyes that rolled open when they were picked up. There were small boxes of jacks and dice that rattled when she handled them, and a row of green toy soldiers. And on the bottom shelf of the last side of the rack was a row of miniature jet airplanes, with plastic cockpit bubbles through which the helmeted heads of tiny pilots were visible. Lily picked one up, delighted; the plane was painted silver and white, with the United States flag on the tail, and black wheels that really spun were attached to the bottom.
The toy planes made her think of Kath. It had been three days—well, three mornings—since they had parted on the dark corner of Columbus and Broadway. They had hugged each other quickly, and Lily realized then and there that they’d never be able to kiss goodbye in public. (A tightening in her chest as she reluctantly turned away.)
They hadn’t seen or telephoned each other since then, but that wasn’t unusual. Lily still didn’t know Kath’s address or phone number. They only saw each other at school—or on the nights they went to the Telegraph Club. In retrospect, it seemed so obvious that their friendship had always carried the added weight of something that neither of them was equipped to address openly. It was easier and safer to pretend that their friendship was merely a casual one. But the time for pretending was over, and Lily was painfully aware of the responsibility that came with admitting how they felt about each other. It was risky to share this secret.
Lily turned the airplane over in her hands. On the bottom of the plane a sticker read made in japan. She ran the edge of her fingernail beneath it, and it lifted off so easily, as if it had barely been there to begin with. But a sticky residue remained, a trace of the plane’s hidden origin.
She heard Shirley and Flora break into laughter at the back of the shop. She put the airplane back on the shelf and went to rejoin her friends, walking past an American woman in a camel-colored coat who was examining a display of marked-down jade figurines.
“Excuse me,” the woman said, “can you help me with these?”
“I don’t work here,” Lily said.
The woman was middle-aged and wore horn-rimmed glasses through which she gazed short-temperedly at Lily. “Can you find someone who does?”
Taken aback, Lily said, “Of course.” She went to find Flora’s father, who was behind the jewelry case on the other side of the store, taking an inventory of unsold Christmas items. “Mr. Soo, there’s a lady over there who wants someone to help her,” Lily said.
Mr. Soo looked over the top of his black-framed glasses at Lily. “Where?”
She pointed, and he huffed and went off to find her. Lily paused for a moment in front of the Christmas leftovers, her gaze drawn to the wall behind the jewelry case. It was a notice board where advertisements for Chinatown events were posted: a hodgepodge of Cathay Orchestra concerts and YWCA charity raffles and Christmas potlucks for the needy. On the right side was a poster that Lily couldn’t remember seeing before, emblazoned with a large dark headline: pledge of loyalty. She went around the jewelry counter so she could read what was printed below:
1. We Chinese-American citizens pledge our loyalty to the United States.
2. We support the nationalist government of free China and her great leader, President Chiang Kai-shek.
3. We support the United Nations charter and the efforts made by the United Nations troops who are fighting for a united, free and independent Korea.
4. The Chinese communists are the stooges of Soviet Russia. Those who are invading Korea are the Chinese communists, not the Chinese, peace-loving people of free China.
The paper was slightly yellowed, and by the thumbtack holes in it, Lily realized it must have been hanging there for some time, hidden beneath other posters. The bottom third of it was mostly obscured by an ad for a New Year’s Eve concert.
Curious, she unpinned the concert ad, and beneath it she read: “Pledged by patriotic members of the Chinese YMCA and YWCA, 1951.”
She had been in junior high school then. It was only a few years ago, but it felt much longer, as if she had been an entirely different person than she was now. She barely knew Kath then, and only as one of the few girls in her math class. She hadn’t yet secretly skimmed that book in the back of Thrifty Drugs. She hadn’t yet gone to the Telegraph Club or Lana and Tommy’s apartment—or stopped on the way home in a dark alley and kissed a girl. (The way her body had fit against Kath’s; the exquisite ache it had caused.)
Behind her the shop door opened, the bell jingling, and she heard Mary’s voice. “Shirley? I’m sorry I’m late!”
Lily spun around, irrationally certain that someone had read her mind, but she was quite alone. There was Mary hurrying through the store, her hair windblown and the umbrella she was carrying damp from rain, and there were Shirley and Flora emerging from the back room, pulling on their coats. Lily had to force herself to go meet them, tamping down the hot, panicky feeling that bubbled inside her, as if something sordid might spill out of her against her will.
“What took you so long?” Shirley asked Mary.
“My brother was sick this morning, and my parents— Oh, forget about it,” Mary said. “Let’s just go!”
34
Shirley pulled a dress out from an overstuffed rack in the juniors section of Macy’s bargain basement. “This is the one,” she declared. Lily came over from the rack nearby as Shirley held it against herself. “What do you think?”
It was two pieces, instead of one: a pale blue halter-neck blouse tucked into a matching full skirt, and accented by a wide darker blue belt. “It’s pretty,” Lily said, “but I thought you wanted a strapless dress?”
