After Doreen died, all of their photos together had made Val feel sad and depressed. With the exception of one that she especially loved and kept framed by her bed, she had taken all of them down and put them in storage. She couldn’t bear to burn or discard them, but she didn’t want to look at them either.
So, compared to her friends’ houses, Val’s Eureka home was Spartan. However, under a magnet on the refrigerator there was one other photograph—Valerie and Gina on Sweet Dreams. Every time Val opened the refrigerator door she saw that photograph. She loved that picture. It had been such a beautiful day on the ocean and the photo recorded one of the nicest times she had had since moving to Eureka.
Now, however, it was bittersweet. Every time she looked at Gina’s face, Valerie knew that she had gone and would probably never return to the North Coast. She should take the picture down, she knew.
One morning, she actually reached for the photograph to put it away—then withdrew her hand because somehow she just couldn’t let the image disappear.
Chapter Twelve
While she waited for an interview with the human resources director at California State University at San Francisco, Gina used the next two weeks to learn as much as she could about the City. She left her Beetle in Mrs. Han’s garage and rode local buses. She passed through every neighborhood she could, noting the character and architecture of each. She never ceased to be amazed at how different San Francisco was from any other place she had ever been. She realized that, for her, ‘Frisco must be the most beautiful city in the world.
Gina explored the Castro District, often mentioned in the media as the historic home, or hangout, for many homosexuals. While San Francisco’s large gay and lesbian population was scattered throughout the area’s numerous neighborhoods, the Castro had been the site of some of the most famous events involving homosexuals, including massive and colorful Gay Pride parades and demonstrations. When Gina rode in and out of The Castro, she saw all kinds of people on the street, many of whom appeared rather extreme for her own taste. It seemed as if they wanted to be as shocking as they possibly could, sporting spiky dyed hair, Kabuki-style make-up, black leather, or chains. The clientele at the Purple Priscilla paled by comparison. However, she knew enough to understand that not all gays and lesbians were quite that radical. Most were invisible, looking just like everyone else. Perhaps that was less true in San Francisco—which, by reputation, was more “out” than anywhere else in the United States. But her gradually developing “gaydar” was allowing her to recognize several less obvious women she was sure were lesbian, even if they didn’t announce that fact loudly to the world.
At the bookstore in North Beach, Mrs. Sanchez allowed Gina to borrow several used books as long as she handled them with care and returned them in saleable condition. On her coffee breaks and at home, she read about San Francisco and its history, politics, architecture, and culture. She devoured Armistad Maupin’s Tales of the City. She read about gay businessman Harvey Milk and then watched the DVD Milk, based on his life. After she watched Milk, it occurred to Gina that Valerie had lived here while he was running for public office and when he was assassinated. This gave her some perspective on what Val had experienced in life, compared to what Gina had known—and had not. She wondered, briefly and with a slight pang, if she was going to the same places, doing the same things, and walking the same streets that Valerie had once walked. Her stomach momentarily turned flip-flops at the thought.
The day of her appointment with the human resources director at CSUSF finally arrived. Gina had scoped out the campus earlier and planned to get there by bus. She hoped she wouldn’t sweat too much. ‘Frisco could be very humid on a fall afternoon, and also at times very warm. By nightfall it would probably be cold and foggy, but afternoons held a particular challenge. Gina found she really had to layer, starting well covered with a jacket in the morning, stripping down to shirtsleeves in the afternoon, and covering up again by early evening.
The HR director, Mrs. Contreras, was very pleasant to Gina when they met, perhaps because Gina had been referred by Dr. Weiss. But she was not particularly hopeful, shaking her head. “I do not see anything that would suit your situation in the near future,” she admitted.
“We have many English literature classes at all levels,” she explained, “but we also have numerous available instructors out of English departments in the Bay Area. When we have an opening, we can find an English teacher with a master’s degree and with several years of experience for less money than we would have to pay you with your Ph.D. and no teaching experience. We have a pay scale and we can’t pay you any less than your degree would warrant.”
Mrs. Contreras did provide her with an employment application “for our file” and referred her to the HR director at City College. Gina thanked her for her time and courtesy and then went through the hoops once again.
Gina lay in bed, covers pulled up around her, and considered what it meant to her to be in San Francisco. After her initial excitement at just “being” in the City and starting to explore it, she was feeling rather lonely, especially on evenings like this one. This was such a large place and everything she did seemed to be a major struggle. Tucson had seemed large, at least by comparison with her Illinois farm town. But, in retrospect, Tucson had been an easy place to live. Life had been very casual. Gina had rented an apartment in a small neighborhood, and her days had revolved around that part of town—first graduate school and then her therapy. The latter had offered a ready-made support system. She didn’t have that support anymore and San Francisco, although fascinating, could also be totally frustrating. She had met people, especially at the bookstore, but she didn’t have any real friends or even anyone to chat with yet. City life was intense and hurried—everyone rushing to work and back, or out to dinner, or some other activity. People pushed by each other but never connected. Gina realized she was feeling quite alone.
This evening she had been leafing through piles of local newspapers and other literature on the gay and lesbian scene. Sometimes, when she felt totally overwhelmed, she gave herself pep talks. “It’s not going to happen overnight,” she said aloud. “Look at what you’ve accomplished in a few short weeks.”
Right now it was too hard, so she pulled out her computer and worked for a while on a short story, a romantic tale set in Eureka. What she was writing made her laugh at herself for a moment. And then it made her think of “the gang” back there. She moved to her e-mail to see what she had received since she last checked. Her friends in Eureka had been doing a good job of keeping her up to date on their lives and activities. She hadn’t heard anything from Valerie yet, but Josie told her that Val was fine and working a lot in her studio. The group still met for their weekend poker games and everyone was doing well. Rick wrote her funny letters about life at the movie theater. A couple of times when Gina read his letters, she would laugh at his graphically descriptive anecdotes and then start to cry.
There were no new messages tonight. Feeling down, Gina realized that she really missed her friends—especially Valerie. She so wished Val would write but understood why she didn’t. There wasn’t any future in staying connected, just an opportunity for hurt.
Three weeks passed before Gina’s appointment with the assistant director of human resources at San Francisco City College. The college’s main campus was a long way from where she lived, but she figured out a transit routing and managed to keep the appointment. This time she spoke with a young man of Eurasian descent, a Dr. Kheo. At first he shook his head, but then he brightened. “I’ve got one idea. It would be handy if you had foreign language skills—Spanish, Japanese, Chinese, or Vietnamese—but we teach a lot of ESL classes here, and having a second language yourself isn’t an official requirement.”
At Gina’s perplexed look, he quickly explained, “ESL, English as a second language. I know this isn’t what you wanted when you were taking all those beautiful English literature courses, but it is a way to get started. We hire teac
hing assistants in some of these classes. We admittedly appreciate bilingual or even multi-lingual instructors who can handle some of the languages that come through the door, but the classes themselves are taught totally in English. It’s not much, compared to your life dream, but why don’t you attend one of our classes, see how you feel about it, and then let me know. I may be able to set you up as an assistant. Do that for a semester and we’ll see where we go from there.”
Although scared to death, Gina was excited at this prospect. She took the information on the ESL classes—there were many spread out throughout the neighborhood college campuses—and set aside an evening to attend a class.
Valerie went outside to pick up the mail. Among the various advertisements and requests for money from charities she found a postcard from Gina. She stood for a moment studying the card, for it felt familiar but strange at the same time. Val had never really noticed Gina’s handwriting, even though the two had shared the house for nearly a year. Absorbing it now for the first time, she realized that she liked Gina’s script: open letters, a slight slant, a bit of extra curl that was artistic, yet basically quite legible. Yes, it looked like Gina. Naïve but creative, inexperienced but intelligent. Reading the message on the card, which told of Gina’s first adventures in San Francisco, forced Valerie’s heart to skip a few beats and then brought a pang of sadness. She missed the City, she missed Gina—much as she did not want to admit it—and getting this card brought a flood of past memories into her mind.
She shoved the postcard back in the pile of mail and went into the house. Reminiscing would only bring pain, she sighed. Yes, it was definitely time to find a new roomer. Gina was truly gone. Val promised herself that she would call the women’s center that day and place an ad.
Later that morning, her phone rang. It was Lanie, as she might have expected.
“Hi, Val!” Lanie was in an enthusiastic mood. “I’m surprised to catch you at home this morning. I called the photo studio and Lyn said you weren’t in today.”
“Yes,” Valerie replied. “I’m struggling to finish a painting I promised for this week. You know I don’t do much commissioned work—it’s a real challenge for me. I took the morning off to try to make some progress.”
“I got an e-mail message from Gina last night. Have you heard from her?” Lanie asked.
“Uh, huh. Got a postcard from her this morning. She sounds happy and busy.” Valerie tried to keep her own feelings at bay.
“She told me that she misses us and Eureka,” Lanie noted.
“She’ll get over it.” There was a touch of bitterness in Val’s voice.
“Mmmm,” Lanie observed, “you sound like you miss her, too.”
“I’ll get over it.” Valerie now felt annoyed. “Look, Lanie, I’ve got to get back to work—okay?”
Lanie chuckled. “All right, I’ll get off the phone. But it’s so unlike you to be grouchy.”
“Later.” Val wasn’t about to discuss her mood.
“Well, bye,” Lanie said. “It will get better, believe me.”
Now disgusted with Lanie’s cheerfulness, Val hung up the phone and went back to her work. But she was not in the mood. Damn, she said to herself. It was definitely time to call the women’s center. She needed to get a roomer, and soon. The empty house was getting to her. That’s all that it is, she told herself, just the empty house.
Yet the moment she put that into words she knew it wasn’t exactly true. Ever since Gina had driven away in that terrible old Beetle, Valerie had repeatedly played their last conversation in her mind. Gina had tried to open a door, to build something between them, and Val had slammed it shut. She had believed at the time that she had done the right thing, but had she? Maybe she should have offered Gina some hope—that she’d come visit her after she got settled there or that someday she might consider moving back to San Francisco. Yet the very thought of the City caused her breath to catch, and a sharp pain stabbed her in the gut. She didn’t want to go back—not to visit, not to move back, not for anything. And financially, even if in the long run she could sell more paintings there, the cost of living in the Bay Area would be a major stumbling block. Having downsized her life to move to Eureka, it would be very difficult for Val to make the journey back the other way.
Well, she admitted, if San Francisco might be right for Gina, it wasn’t right for her. So there could never be anything between them. Better to have let Gina go, without any hope, leaving her free to explore her new world on her own. In time Gina would find new friends and hopefully in time a lover, and she would forget. So would Valerie, eventually, forget—at least she thought so.
Gina arrived in the ESL classroom several minutes before the beginning of the session. The classroom was decorated in city grunge—hospital green walls, linoleum floors, barred windows that didn’t open, and an outdated window air-conditioning unit that made more racket than it offered anything like cool or breathable air.
She spoke to the instructor, a wild-haired young Asian man whose pockmarked face was nearly consumed by the thickest glasses Gina had ever seen. When she explained why she was there, he smiled indulgently and pointed to a seat in the front row. She assumed he meant that she should sit there to listen to the class, so she seated herself.
The students trickled in, speaking to each other in various languages. They were of all ages and every nationality imaginable. At first glance, the only thing they seemed to have in common was a seriousness of purpose. They quieted down as they took their seats, opened their notebooks, and looked expectantly at the instructor. Without urging, they gave him their full attention when he started to speak.
The session was a challenge for Gina to follow. The instructor spoke in highly accented American English. Each student spoke in his or her own brand of accented English. During the first half hour Gina could hardly understand a word. Gradually she attuned her ears to these unusual sounds and began to pick up a few words here and there. She could see immediately that grammar was definitely fractured. Vocabulary was so limited that confusion reigned. But the textbook was clearly structured. Gina could see that the lesson plan could eventually give the students a sufficient working knowledge of English that they could participate in regular English-speaking classes. But the patience that it would take to get them there! Patience, she thought, on the part of both student and instructor.
She noted that there were heavy homework assignments and that students were graded regularly. This obviously allowed them keep track of their progress and helped maintain structure within the class. Miss too many assignments, score too low on the assignments, and you were out. The teaching assistants, she could see, were there to help answer individual questions, do a little tutoring when possible, and grade papers between classes.
At the end of the session Gina thanked the instructor for allowing her to attend the class and left the building. She pulled her jacket tight against the chilly, damp night air and walked to the bus stop, where she caught a city bus back to North Beach. She did a lot of thinking on the way home. Teaching, or helping to teach this type of class, would be a real challenge for her and very draining. She had not studied English literature to deal with foreign-born students who didn’t understand the language or have an appreciation for English or American history and literature. This was another world entirely. She couldn’t help but wonder if entering it would take her down a new and different path or be a step toward the original goal she had chosen when she started graduate school.
In the middle of that night, Gina awakened abruptly. She was bathed in sweat and her heart was pounding wildly. She had just been dreaming that she was in Eureka, walking along the beach with Valerie and Sam. They were laughing and enjoying each other’s company on a beautiful sunny day when suddenly Gina felt her body tingling. In an impulse too strong to resist, she turned toward Val, reached out and grabbed her, and kissed her intensely and deeply. Valerie relaxed into her embrace and responded to it. At that point Gina woke up instantly.
> She lay there for a long time immersed in this dream, which came on the heels of her visit to the ESL class. One explanation for the dream was that her mind was looking for a way out of the difficulties she would face learning to be an effective assistant in one of these classes. If it’s too hard here in San Francisco, escape to something more familiar and comforting in Eureka. Right, she mumbled to herself.
But there were other possibilities. What if she was connecting with something deep inside her that should not be ignored? Something that dealt with Val and her feelings for her.
As she often did when confused, Gina turned on the light beside her bed and grabbed a notebook that she kept nearby. Her therapist had encouraged her to keep a journal of her thoughts and feelings, since therapy wouldn’t always be available to her. And although she had questions about Dr. Reitman’s therapeutic approach, she had to admit that writing in her journal was often very useful. Gina opened to a blank page and made a list of her most important goals in life: satisfying career, financial responsibility, meaningful relationships, adventure and travel, and good health. But which one was—or should be—number one? Which one was truly the most important to her?
She spent a few moments mulling over her list and realized that there was no way she could come to a conclusion this night. She honestly didn’t know what was most important. But by writing down her ideas, she would not forget them. With a deep sigh, she settled back down in bed and gradually drifted off to sleep.
At the beginning of the spring semester at City College, Gina felt both scared and excited after being hired to work as an assistant for an ESL class that met on Tuesday and Thursday evenings from 6:30 to 9:30 p.m. She had Tuesdays off at the bookstore, but she worked there on Thursdays. It would be difficult to eat and make bus connections in time for the class.
North Coast: A Contemporary Love Story Page 20
