The Duplex

by Lucky Stevens

  “Hey, I make the decision who is invited to my parties, not you. And you are not on the list, so shove off,” she said.

  The other woman looked beet red and was looking around nervously as she was becoming aware of the gathering crowd. “It was just an innocent comment. Can you please just keep your voice down?”

  Barbara was angry but seemed confident. I could imagine what she must be like in court. “Look sweetheart, the volume of my voice is immaterial because this is my house, and you are cutting out anyways. Amscray.” Barbara pointed.

  The woman sighed and turned toward the front door.

  “No, no,” said Barbara. “Through the passageway. You entered through the Lonigan’s side and you make your exit through the Lonigan’s side.”

  Another woman, who must have been her girlfriend, quietly joined her, followed by two more girls. After she was halfway to the passageway, Martha, the large Negro woman I had been dancing with called out to the ejected woman, “Honey, it’s snowing down south.” A few of the ladies snickered as the woman looked down and pulled her dress down to cover her slip.

  When she finally made it to the hallway, the two Negro women who were present, and several other ladies, looked at Barbara and began applauding. I started applauding too, and so did Dot who was standing right near Barbara. Then Dot hopped up and embraced her tightly. I wasn’t completely clear on what had happened, but judging from the context and the murmuring I heard around me, it seemed that the woman had made some kind of prejudiced comment and Barbara, being the kind of person she is, wouldn’t put up with it.

  I’m not sure exactly when the hi-fi had been turned down during that whole confrontation, but the music was definitely off at that point. Barbara gestured to someone to turn it back on, and a moment later, the party was back in full swing.

  “The iceman cometh,” I said as I handed Dot the bucket. Who cares about ice?, I figured she was thinking after what just took place a few minutes earlier.

  But she chuckled at my little joke and gave me a hug. She told me the woman who was kicked out had made some cracks about Negroes—how they didn’t belong here and should stay with their own kind. And how if they were going to be at this party, they should make themselves useful by washing the dishes. Then she shook her head.

  “Can you do me one more favor?” Dot said. Her glum mood had changed.

  “Sure.” I realized that it had been a long time now, and I wondered what Cliff was up to.

  “Barbara was wondering if you could you empty the garbage can in the kitchen?”

  “I would love to,” I said, putting both hands over my heart.

  Dot touched my face and gave it a pat. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’d ask my husband, but I’m sure he’s passed out by now.”

  I grabbed the garbage can from the girls’ kitchen and made my way toward the service porch. I was just about to open their back door when it hit me. What am I doing? I always try to be so careful. The party is supposed to be next door, so how can I be exiting the girls’ back door? Living here can be like a chess game, I thought to myself. Well, maybe I decided to leave the party early. After all, as far as all my neighbors know, I live on the “girls’” side with Barbara. As far as anyone in the back houses know, I left the party and came home through my own front door. Maybe I was being ridiculous, but I always vowed to play it safe. This arrangement is too important to foul things up by getting sloppy or lazy.

  I sighed to myself but figured I better do it the right way, so I went back to the boys’ side the long way--through the house. It was much faster this time because a few of the guests had already left, in addition to those who had been tossed out by Barbara. Ha-ha. Also, with a garbage can in my hands, people seemed to jump out of my way like I was on official party business or something.

  By the time I was back in our kitchen, Cliff was gone. He had probably gotten a second wind and was somewhere drinking and telling stories. I would have to check on him later.

  I exited our back service porch with the garbage can in tow. We kept the street cans behind the garage. I turned on my heels to look at the back of both houses as I walked across the lawn. With the shades drawn, it was perfect. I realized that no one in the houses that surrounded us could see a thing. Oh, maybe the occasional shadow or two against the window shades, but that was about it. And the music may have been a little loud, but it wasn’t too bad. Besides it was Saturday night and only around eleven-thirty. Who could beef about a little noise?

  I was almost to the rear of the garage when I took one more look at the back of our little duplex. I felt a sense of pride. We had beaten the system, and we were living the way we wanted. I turned the corner to the rear of the garage, and that’s when it all fell apart at the seams. There on the ground were two men, guests from the party, half-naked and having sex. I almost dropped the can of trash which would surely have gotten my neighbors’ attention. But it was too late. As I frantically looked around, I saw above me, in the window of our neighbor’s two-story house, Mr. and Mrs. Kenworth. They had an unobstructed view and had seen it all.

  Thinking fast, and in a panic, I pretended not to see the Kenworths. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?!” I shouted, making sure I could be heard. “Get out of here!” Then I kicked over a trash can and whispered to the two men, “Get dressed fast and get out of here!”

  After that, I stormed away from them, heading for the house and yelling over my shoulder, “I’m calling the police!” It was then that I pretended to notice the Kenworths. I called up to them, putting my hands up like I was confused. “Can you believe this? I’m sorry you had to see that, Mrs. Kenworth.” Then the two men went whizzing by me, and before I could say, boo, they had jumped the gate to the front fence and were gone. I waved my hand at them in anger. “Get out of here, you perverts!” I shouted after them. “I’m calling the police! Faggots!” Then I continued talking up to the Kenworths. “Oh, sorry about my language, Mrs. Kenworth. Here my friend is having a party and…I-I don’t know. I guess we’re going to have to raise the fences around here is what. This is incredible.”

  Mrs. Kenworth put her hand to her mouth and sort of swiveled away as she slowly moved from the window. But Mr. Kenworth stayed put, just looking down at me. I was starting to feel a little queer like I wasn’t really sure if the conversation was over or not. Hell, what conversation? He still hadn’t said anything. I glanced over at our kitchen window. I saw a face looking back at me that quickly disappeared behind the curtain. I figured the music was loud enough that I guess not too many people had heard anything.

  “Well, I guess we’ll just try to forget all this,” I said, shrugging, trying to avoid direct eye contact with Mr. Kenworth. I put my hands in my pockets and began to drag my feet toward the house. Then, as if I couldn’t resist, I took one last look up and it was a picture that stayed in my head like a flash from camera. Pursed lips. Dead eyes and a head that couldn’t seem to stop shaking back and forth. The party was over.

  Cliff Lonigan

  Boy, I gotta tell you, that party last night was a corker. It was my kind of bash. And a real full house, too. Unfortunately, I don’t think Jerry had such a great time. When he woke up this morning, he seemed to really have a lot of problems. Me, I only had one—my hangover. Big deal. I’ve had my share of those. But Jerry, phew. His cage was really rattled. He was worried about the Negroes at the party because they may have drawn too much attention. Same with the queens and the dykes who really butched it up. And the number of people there really upset him as well. Now that, that really took us all off guard. But the topper of course was the sex in the backyard. I told him he worries too much, but I’m not sure if he really got it or not.

  “You okay?” I asked Jerry as we got dressed for our weekly Saturday breakfast with the girls.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Yeah.” I was unconvinced.

  Jerry put his head
down and sighed. “What’s the point of having this duplex if we’re going to have men over who are dressed like women, women who are dressed like men, and Negroes who stand out like sore thumbs in this neighborhood? We might as well be a gay bar. The sign on our house could read, The Fruitbowl. Free parking, no cover charge.”

  “I like it. Free parking in the rear’d be even more on the money. Look kid, as far as our neighbors are concerned, we’re just two nice all-American, god-fearing normal couples who live next to each other in a nice middle-class duplex. No one’s wise to anything.”

  Jerry gestured with his head. “The Kenworths. Next door. If only they hadn’t been home.”

  “Ech, the Kenworths. They have all the charm of J. Edgar Hoover and the combined brains of Howdy Doody.”

  “Yeah, well, they still have a phone, don’t they?”

  “If the government was rationing worry, you’d be way over your quota, kid. Take it easy. No one can prove a thing. ‘A couple of deviants must have hopped our fence, officer. And then they hopped on each other. What is this world coming to?’ Come on, let’s go.”

  Jerry got that look in his eye like he wanted a hug. I don’t really mind so much, it’s just that his hugs are so long. I mean, if it leads to something, great. But after a while, I feel like I’m trapped in a phonebooth or something.

  Sure enough, he wanted a hug alright. I had to finally goose him to get him to let go already.

  Then he went his way—through the closet and out the back door, and I went out my way—the back door of the Lonigans, Mr. and Mrs., that is.

  Mrs. Lonigan, who we affectionately call Dot, was already out there, setting up breakfast on the patio table.

  “I thought I heard you out here, darling,” I said for the benefit of our nosy neighbors, the Kenworths. The Kenworths. Scoff. Sounds like an electric clothes dryer. And they pack roughly the same amount of hot air. And personality.

  The girls have this little routine worked out. Every weekend, Dot, who, of course, wakes up next door on the Mr. and Mrs. Ripley side of the house, gets dressed and goes through the closet passageway to the Mr. and Mrs. Lonigan side where she exits through our back door and then goes around and enters through the Ripley’s back door so she and Barbara can make breakfast together and then walk back out the back door of the Ripley’s where our two heroic couples pow-wow for breakfast on the backyard patio. Sounds like a Marx Brothers picture but I guess we’ve gotten used to it.

  Anyway, we all sat down and chit-chatted awhile, mainly about the party. Dot was putting on the finishing touches and making quick dashes back and forth to the kitchen.

  “I don’t want to alarm you, Dot,” I whispered. “I’m not sure if you noticed or not, but there seemed to be an inordinate number of homosexuals at last night’s party. And I don’t know how they got in, but I intend to find out.”

  She smiled and then turned serious. “Jerry, did you tell Cliff about how some of those awful women were treating those Negroes last night?”

  “No. He didn’t provide me with any colorful commentary on that matter whatsoever,” I answered, cutting out Jerry’s middleman status.

  Dot raised an eyebrow and flashed me a mild scowl, spiked with a little amusement. “Cliff. You’re terrible.” Then she swatted me with a dishrag and turned on her heels to head back to the kitchen.

  “What happened to that sweet non-violent girl I married?” I said.

  She chuckled. “Well, Clifford, if you want to know the truth—”

  “Say, don’t you know a rhetorical question when you hear one?” I said.

  She started to open her mouth, but I cut her off again. “Uh-uh, that one was rhetorical, too.”

  She helped me finish the sentence this time, and we both grinned at each other as she headed toward the house.

  “Love, honor, and obey, dollface,” I added.

  “You need any help, Dot?” asked Jerry. I could tell he was antsy. Dot told him to just relax. She’d take care of everything.

  “Where’s Barb?” I called to Dot.

  “Straightening up. You know Barb. She likes everything a certain way. And some of last night’s party-goers had different ideas.”

  I noticed Jerry kept glancing up at the Kenworth house.

  “Yeah, she’ll make some man a great little wife someday,” I answered.

  Then I got a kind of “shut up” look from both of them and realized I may have said that a little too loudly.

  After Dot was gone, Jerry told me about the Negro girls at the party and how Barbara had kicked a few of her needlers out.

  “I just hope those girls who were kicked out don’t hold a grudge,” said Jerry.

  “Well, so what if they do? I could not let them get by with that crap.” It was Barbara. And Dot was right behind her, both carrying the last of the food. “If Jackie Robinson can play in Ebbets Field, that woman can dance in my house.”

  Jerry rubbed his forehead with his hands. “I know. I know. You’re right. We just have the perfect situation going here and…I don’t know. Let’s just eat. Everything looks delicious.”

  The girls sat down, and we all started eating. As usual, everything was great.

  “So, what percentage of the alcohol was drunk last night?” I asked.

  “All of it,” said Barbara.

  “Barbara, that makes 100%.” I shook my head. “I really thought you understood math better than that. And not to belabor the point, but 100% really is one of the easiest percentages to calculate.”

  She smirked and put a cup of coffee down in front of me. “Here you go, Cliff. Why don’t you drink 100% of your coffee and shut the hell up.”

  All of us laughed. I love how Barbara can give it back to me.

  I then proceeded to knock over the coffee cup as I gestured toward Dot.

  Barbara grimaced. “Here. Leave it to me,” she said as she grabbed a dish rag and wiped up the spill.

  I snapped my fingers and then pointed at her. “Bull in a china shop.”

  She looked at me.

  “That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Yes, that was certainly one of my thoughts. Among others. Congratulations.”

  I smiled. “I knew it.” When she was done wiping up, I added, “Can I have some more coffee, please?”

  She grinned and kept it frozen on her face. “No. Absolutely not.”

  I assumed she was kidding. But I never did get any more coffee.

  “What do you have there, Barb?” asked Jerry. He was referring to some rolled up paper in Barb’s apron.

  “Oh, somebody must have left this behind last night,” said Barb, holding it up. It was a magazine called ONE. And the cover read, ‘Homosexual Marriage?’

  I snapped my fingers. “I’ll bet it was the Kenworths. We can return it to them after breakfast.” I noticed that Jerry had been looking toward their house, and I couldn’t resist. Jerry turned a little red, prompting me to punch him in the arm. “Lighten up, kid.” He blocked the tail end of my punch and chuckled.

  “It is an interesting idea, don’t you think?” Barbara continued. “Personally, I say, why not? We are no different from straight people. I mean, not fundamentally. Certainly no better or worse.”

  It was quiet for a moment.

  “Well I-uh, I’m not sure I agree with you, Barbara.” It was Jerry.

  “Ooh, their first fight as man and wife,” I said, rubbing my hands together. Dot gave me a look. “Well, kind of ironic, don’t you think? I mean considering the topic and all.”

  “Go ahead, Jerry,” said Dot. “I’d like to hear your thoughts about this.”

  “Well, I guess I never really tried to put it into words, but I don’t know, it just seems to me that homosexuality just can’t be the ideal. I’m not saying we should be punished or anything, but look, it’s like having p
oor hearing or walking with a cane. It’s not something to hold up as a model situation.”

  Barbara looked offended. This was something new. Most things roll off her back. “What are you saying, Jerry? That being gay is like being some kind of cripple or having a disease?”

  “No. Well yeah, some people say so. Psychiatrists, for one.”

  “Well to hell with them. What do you say, Jerry? What is your opinion?”

  The gloves were starting to come off, which was a little unusual for this group.

  “Alright please, let’s all just take it easy. Everyone here is entitled to his opinion, after all. And there is more than one way to see this,” said Dot.

  Barbara exhaled and nodded her head. “Sorry, Jerry. Dot is right. Go on. Please.”

  “Thank you. Well…yeah, maybe it is a disease. I don’t know. The experts say yes. But one thing I do believe is that it is not the ideal. It’s not the standard.” Jerry stood up and started pacing as he talked. Barbara looked a little peeved but seemed determined to hear him out.

  “Let’s think about marriage. Why does society have marriage? It was created, it seems to me, to have a civilizing effect on man—mankind, I mean. People. And it’s specifically good for children. Marriage has a stabilizing effect on society. And let’s face it, we’re different. I’m not really sure what marriage means if gay people can do it. Would homosexuals be allowed to adopt children? If the answer is yes, then I think that it would be bad for children and the stability of society. If the answer is no, then society would not be treating them the same as regular married couples. Do we treat expectant mothers the same way that we treat expectant fathers, in the name of fairness? Of course not. And this basically is my point. Of course, we are not going to be treated exactly the same. We’re different, and the majority of us are willing to accept that. That’s part of the price we pay. The price for being who we are. And one of those prices is that we do not have the ability to have children—I mean with our partners. Our partners of choice.”

  And then Jerry sat down.

  “Well, I think Jerry made some good points,” Dot said. “I have to be honest, until I saw that magazine cover just a few moments ago, homosexual marriage is not something I ever even thought of, so I’m just going to figure things out as I open my mouth. If that’s all right.”