I looked at them for a moment. They played house pretty well.
Dot ran her hand down my arm and stopped a moment. “You okay, Jerry?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine.”
“Good.”
She turned back down the driveway, toward the front of the house. “I think I’ll cook you a nice juicy steak tonight,” she said over her shoulder. I knew she was talking to Cliff, but my church compulsion told me to say, Sounds great! Thanks! But I held my tongue, not wanting to sound snotty.
“Thanks again, boys. I’m going to say hi to Barbara now,” she continued as she disappeared around to the front of the house.
Cliff reached down and grabbed a beer. Neither one of us said anything for a moment.
“Well,” I whispered. “For a couple of gay guys, I’d say we married pretty well, wouldn’t you?”
“I’ll tell you—”
“Oh shit! Barbara!” I ran toward the front of the house. I’m going to go and say hi to Barbara, I thought. That’s what Dot had said.
“Whatsa’ matter?” said Cliff.
“Hold on!” I yelled back to him as I ran down the driveway. I flung open the front door of what to the outside world was Cliff and Dot’s domain. “Dot!” I hissed, wanting to yell.
I ran to the spare bedroom and caught her just in time. She was just about to go through the closet to other side. “Wait,” I said grabbing her wrist and guiding her out of the room.
“Barbara has a neighbor over,” I whispered to her.
It was a close call, and obviously we had a few things to work out. Ultimately we decided on a peg system. I drilled two small holes in each side of our passageway door. If the peg was in the top hole it meant enter and if it was in the bottom hole it meant stay out. Sometimes I feel like a secret agent.
Other things we needed to do was to be aware of pulling down the blinds and closing curtains, so if neighbors happen to glance in the windows, it didn’t look like we entered from one side of the duplex and magically appeared on the other side.
Then there was the odd ritual where I might visit with Cliff on “his side”, say “goodnight old buddy, old pal” at the front door, go back to other side through Barbara and “my” front door, only to go through the passageway back to “Cliff’s side” for the night. And, of course, the next morning I’d go back through the passageway again back to “my” side to be with my “wife,” Barbara, where I could then exit out “my” front door and go to work.
It was a little complicated, but we all got used to this smoke and mirrors routine pretty quickly. Besides, it’s easier when you’re all in it together. And anyway, there’s not a situation out there that doesn’t have its good points and bad. It was all a matter of protecting a way of life. And from that standpoint it was certainly better than what we had before.
Barbara Penczecho
I had to admit this whole set up worked out better than I had hoped. A woman should be able to live with the woman she loves. And the fellas should be able to, too. Too bad the circumstances in order to make that happen had to be so crazy. But it had also been fun, to say the least. And an adjustment. Like, for example, I was now known as Barbara Ripley. No court changes—I have just made the change through consistent usage, which is completely legal.
Boy, was the gang at work surprised when I came in one day with a ring on my finger and a new name after my weekend “elopement.” “I didn’t even know you were going with anyone.” I got that one a lot. One secretary even said to me, “To tell you the truth, I always kind of had the feeling you were never really very interested in men.” At least she said it quietly and privately. But still, I found her comment to be a little familiar—even though it was right on the money. It also made me feel a little self-conscious. I never felt bad about being a lesbian. I mean, not really. But her comment made me wonder about how people see me. Now that I was “married”, I suppose it was kind of nice to be off of everyone’s wondering list anyway—even though I never knew I had made the list in the first place.
My boss, Mr. Mayfield, congratulated me with a wide grin, and we chatted a little. Finally, as he made his exit, he lifted up his pointer finger and told me not to forget our agreement. I smiled and told him not to worry.
When I had first gotten hired at Dixon, Mayfield, and Parks, Mr. Mayfield was a little hesitant about hiring a female attorney, so I promised him, on my honor, that I would not have any children for at least ten years. I can only hope that Jerry is not too upset about the whole thing, but dammit, a deal’s a deal.
I could not believe that a whole month had gone by since we had moved into our little duplex. I was solidly in the pink. It was Saturday morning. The sun was shining, and I had just taken out the pots and pans and stuff for our weekend breakfast with the boys.
Since Dot gets home earlier than I do, she usually makes dinner for the two of us during the week, and I have been doing the cooking for the four of us on the weekend. But even so, I do like someone to talk to sometimes when I’m in the kitchen.
Earlier, Dot had brought me the morning paper, as always. I pointed to my cheek. “Hit me.” She gave me a kiss, told me how the Dodgers had made out, but after that, just disappeared.
I found her in the living room staring out the window, smiling.
“Dot.”
“Huh?”
“Didn’t you hear me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess not.”
“I have been calling you. What are you doing?”
“Oh, nothing. Just watching some kids play next door,” she said, still smiling as she turned toward me. I smiled back. I never got tired of seeing her beautiful face. Then she glanced back out the window. “They’re so cute. Aren’t they?”
“Sure,” I said. But I was really looking at her.
Dot reached out and put her arms around me as we walked toward the kitchen.
“I just was thinking about my mom,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I never would have suspected it, but my mother is actually happy for me. I mean about my moving out. The last time I spoke to her, she told me how proud she was of me, and how she thought it was a good idea for me to live on my own.”
“Wow, that is refreshing.”
“Yes, it really is. After years of stifling me so much, I never thought she’d feel this way. It’s very nice.”
I felt happy for Dot. I know her mother can be tough to take, and I think Dot got to the point where she really did not want to live at home anymore, so this was good news. I also felt a little something else. I guess it was jealousy. I really miss my mother. And, of course, my father. My whole family. Sometimes I think about it, and it kills me. It should not be this way, but I guess it is.
I was afraid my eyes were going to swell up from crying, but the tears didn’t last long enough, I guess. A quick flash flood. Before I knew it, Dot and I were laughing and talking, and breakfast was ready.
Dot gave the boys our “ready” knock while I set the table. I few moments later Jerry came over.
“Where is Cliff?” I asked.
Jerry looked disappointed and shrugged like he was trying not to look down in the mouth. “I guess he’s not coming this time. He told me last night.”
“Why not?” we asked.
“He says he doesn’t like when things like this become a routine. Makes him feel obligated.” Jerry looked embarrassed.
I took a deep breath and wiped my hands on my apron. I then headed for the second bedroom. The passageway. I felt like my father. Like he was about to kick down some door and drag my brother to the dinner table. I could hear him weaving a tapestry of obscenities in my mind, smoke coming out of his ears.
Jerry ran alongside me. “Barbara, listen. I don’t think it’s personal, really, Barb.” Dot was not far behind him.
By the time I reached Cliff, he was o
n the phone. I exhaled loudly. I thought about how my father would have grabbed the phone right out of Cliff’s hand and would have blindly thrown it into the next room; probably rip the cord out of the wall in the process. The idea did occur to me, but fortunately a moment later Cliff hung up.
“I’m guessing by the look in your eye, Barb, that my presence is, shall we say, uh, strongly expected?”
“Breakfast has already been cooked, Clifford Lonigan. Scrambled, fried, flipped, diced, chopped, and brewed. And besides, we are supposed to—”
He was calm and disarming.
“All right, all right, you win. Put those veins back in your forehead where they belong,” he said, grinning. “I’m right behind you, sweetheart.”
I looked at him askance and shook my head. How can you have a decent argument with a guy who acts in such a fashion?
It was such a nice day, we decided to eat outside in the backyard. I have really gotten spoiled out here. The weather is almost always nice. Of course, I can do without all the smog.
As usual, everyone seemed to enjoy his breakfast, and we were all in a good mood. Cliff was a little quiet, but he gets like that on occasion.
“Well, I had a wonderful dream last night,” said Dot.
“What was it about?” asked Jerry.
Dot smiled and stretched. “I don’t remember.”
We all laughed at this.
But Dot was serious. “No, really. You know how sometimes it seems your life—I mean your dreams and your sleep—go too fast? It’s as if you can’t really enjoy your dreams until you wake up, and then, when you do, you have this almost instant nostalgia for them. But by then you’re awake, so it’s over. I don’t know.”
“This kid’s deep,” said Cliff, yawning.
“I thought what she said was really very nice,” I said, even though I was not completely sure what she meant.
“Sure it was nice, but kick the tires a little. What did it mean?” asked Cliff.
I did not know what I was going to say until the words left my mouth, but I started talking anyway. “She means that sometimes dreams are nicer than reality.”
Cliff smiled and yawned at the same time.
“Well, what did you dream last night, Cliff?” I asked.
“I didn’t dream anything. I think the sandman was asleep on the job last night. How’s that for irony?”
This surprised me. “But you’re such a happy-go-lucky guy. I picture you sleeping like a baby full of bathtub gin.”
“He has insomnia a lot,” said Jerry. I noticed this seemed to agitate Cliff just a little bit. I think he liked attention but at the same time he hated it.
We continued jawing for a while, and as we finished breakfast, we ended up sitting under the avocado tree. The shade was wonderful, but even better was the way I was curled up with my head in Dot’s lap. She stroked my hair gently while I caressed her smooth legs. I felt completely relaxed and satisfied. I thought about Dot’s dream. Maybe sometimes reality is as nice as a dream.
I guess I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was the sound of Dot’s voice.
“Do you know what would be really fun? We should have a party right here at the house!”
It seemed to hit her just like that. Or maybe it felt that way because I had been sleeping. But anyway, her excitement woke me up.
“That sounds like fun,” I said.
Cliff was game, too. “Why not? I’d pull up a chair for that.”
The only one of us who seemed a little reluctant was Jerry, but he was not going to put up much of a fight since we all seemed on board. But why shouldn’t we have a party? Wasn’t that part of the point of the duplex? To do things our way; live the way we wanted? “Yeah sure, that’d be good,” Jerry said, realizing he was outnumbered. I think he likes his domesticity, which I can see. We have talked about it before. Now that he has Cliff, I think he likes the idea of staying home with him most of the time. Besides, due to his history with some bad experiences, the public stuff worries him, I think.
“Hey, you know I was thinking,” Jerry said after a minute or two of us all discussing the party. I could feel the brakes about to be pumped. “Why don’t we save the party for Halloween? That way if some guests get a little out of hand, well, it’ll all make more sense on Halloween, with the crazy get-ups people might wear and such.”
It was not a bad point, but the fact is Halloween was months away and Jerry was quickly overruled. The party was on.
Jerry Ripley
“Wow, look at the tits on her!” That was the first thing I heard at the party when I walked in from the bedroom. It was interesting hearing that comment from a woman. And it set the stage for me. It was going to be that kind of party. Definitely different from the occasional barbecue or cocktail party my parents used to throw.
It was decided that the party would be held at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Clifford Lonigan. Well, the residence isn’t very large obviously, so we all agreed that each one of us would invite no more than four “couples,” making for a group of about thirty-six, including us, depending on who could make it. This would be a pretty snug fit to the outside world unfamiliar with our “Grand Ruse,” as Cliff liked to call our duplex situation. With our passageway, things wouldn’t necessarily be so sardine-like, as the party would naturally be split between the two houses. Well, thank God for the passageway, as it quickly became obvious that there were far more people than we had originally planned on. I guess the word had spread a little.
To be honest, the whole thing made me terribly nervous. I’d heard of private parties in people’s homes being targeted for busts, and every time the doorbell rang, a little shiver ran up my back and settled in my stomach. I admit it, it was not the right attitude to have at a party, that’s for sure.
Cliff, of course, had the opposite attitude, greeting most of our guests with, “Hi, I’m Cliff—the one you’ve heard so much about.”
Barbara and Dot also seemed perfectly relaxed. I was not sure if that made things better or worse for me. Ideally, this would have made me feel relieved, but I guess it made me second-guess myself and wonder what was wrong with me.
“Have a drink,” a partygoer called, Midget Max, said to me as he danced around the room. So I did. But at the same time, I decided to pace myself and take it slow in that department. I realized that I just didn’t trust myself on alcohol. I didn’t want to wake up tomorrow with my picture in the papers running through the streets in my underwear screaming tomorrow’s headline, “I’m gay! And I don’t care who knows it!”
Even “Eggshell” Charlie—so nicknamed by Barbara because he made everyone nervous—was completely at ease. “Say, this is some set-up,” he said, grinning widely as he came through the passageway with a drink in each hand. I couldn’t help noticing his wedding ring. “We should do this every week!”
Every week? I thought. One bust, and this all goes away. Gone.
Eventually I got tired of being a wet blanket, if only in my mind, and I finally got a little more loose. I wish I could take the credit, but I suppose the credit has to go to Pabst Blue Ribbon. Though I did keep it under control. And I suppose that’s when the party got more interesting for me. With Cliff off circulating without me, I sort of put myself in the role of fly on the wall, chit-chatting at times but mainly observing and listening. There were enough people, and they were certainly lively enough that I don’t think it ever looked like I was eavesdropping.
One of the first conversations I overheard was between two older women who were probably in their fifties. One of them worked with Barb at her office. She was a secretary there, and she had the most interesting way of talking. Very sophisticated. Kind of Katherine Hepburn-like. Her name was Agnes, and when I heard that, I had remembered Barb telling me about her and how they had lunch together every day. Agnes had been married very briefly when she was a girl and be
came a widow as a teenager. I remember Barb had told me that she had kept her married name as a kind of cover. The woman Agnes was talking to seemed a little on the meek side, but they appeared to be getting along extremely well. Agnes had her in stitches, which was fun to watch. I’ve always liked to see people having a good time. I was just about to move on when I saw Barbara heading my way. She was not alone.
“Here she is,” said Barb, nodding toward Agnes while leading a young man with her over to my general area. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn’t a man after all. Barb introduced me to the woman who really did look just like a man in dress and mannerisms. Even her voice could have passed for a man’s. “Mike was looking for you, Agnes.”
I immediately became part of this little discussion. Or at least I was visibly standing there next to it. It seemed that “Mike” had been living for years with police harassment over the fact that she impersonates men, and Agnes and Barb had tried to help her. Mike projected an interesting mix of confidence and sadness. She was funny too, calling herself “Mike the Dyke” and at one point she said, “Man, I’m so gay, I can’t even think straight.” But she definitely had her problems, mainly with the police.
Mike told us about her last hearing and how some cops were sitting behind her whispering mean things; warning her to stay away from their wives. One said, “Mike, you know, if you put on a dress and shaved your mustache you wouldn’t be half-bad.” And then the cop sitting next to him said, “Nah, if she put on a dress, she’d have to shave her back, too.”
“Oh,” said Agnes. “That L.A.P.D. Sometimes they just behave like one big gang.”
The good news is that Mike passed the penal codes—stating that masquerading wasn’t illegal—onto her lawyer who used them in her defense and has not been sent to jail for months now. The bad news is, the harassments continued. And in a way that’s hard to fight. Since the cops know where she works, which is at a place over on La Brea, grooming dogs, the cop who has that regular beat makes it a point to walk by the business and knock on the window abruptly with his billy club. Then he tips his hat, while “accidentally” flipping his middle finger, probably so he could claim he was just being friendly. Just doing his job. In the meantime, with the sudden rapping on the window, Mike’s jumping up with scissors in her hand, putting the dogs and her job at risk. “Good thing I’m not an eye surgeon,” she managed to half-joke.
The Duplex Page 10
