by Joan Ellis
"We can have the furniture picked up tomorrow. This is a small town, Sis—not like when we were living in Chicago. We can fly in Thursday, give ourselves the long weekend to get settled," he wound up with a chuckle of satisfaction.
"Okay dear," Elaine masked her annoyance. "Let me know what flight you're taking, and I'll be at the apartment to welcome you." And his bride, she thought with a rush of insecurity. Someone who'd be one in the city, who'd probably want to foist herself on Elaine. Lord, it could be wretched! Then she membered what Eric had said about the poetry-writing kick his wife was on. Nothing she loathed more than pseudo-artists and phoney intellectuals.
Elaine heard herself making the perfunctory inquires about Kathy, Eric's wife, and the proper replies to his few moments of chit-chat. With a sigh of relief, she put the phone back into place. "Hi, are you finished for the day?" Terry's small face suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"Yes!" Elaine's head shot up in surprise. They'd made such a point of barely knowing each other here in the office.
"It's all right, darling," Terry reassured her with that smile of a tiny tot eager to please. "Not a soul left on the floor except us."
"It's better not, though," Elaine reiterated casually, reaching into a drawer for her purse and gloves. Better not take any chances that might jeopardize this fearfully-wonderful relationship, her mind echoed cautiously.
"Shall we eat at home or out?" Terry perched on the desk while Elaine slid into her suit jacket.
"Out," Elaine decided, her mind racing along on the routine errands she'd have to attend to for Eric and his wife. The gas and electricity to be turned on, arrangements to alert the super about the furniture arrival, a woman to come in and clean the place. "Oh yes, I have to stop by and pick up the lease and sign some sort of affidavit they're demanding since Eric'll be moving in before he has a chance to sign it."
"You mean they're holding you responsible?" Terry demanded indignantly.
"You don't have to worry, Eric won't run out. He's the quiet, dependable type, always determined to do the right thing."
"You don't make him sound very likeable," Terry decided curiously.
"Didn't I?" Elaine stared in astonishment. "I've always adored Eric. He's six years younger than me, and I suppose he had some sort of thing about having to try to keep up with me in everything. A funny sort of competition, you know," she fumbled, not saying what she wanted to at all. "He's really a brilliant character. Only twenty-six and with a job like his!"
Terry laughed delightedly. "You're a riot as the proud sister.”
"Why?"
"It's just that I can't see you with a brother," Terry admitted frankly. "I can't see you in a family circle at all."
"I didn't just grow," Elaine's eyes twinkled. "I had the routine mother and father." Her eyes lost the twinkle now. "Maybe not routine, but a father and mother."
Terry did most of the talking in the cab downtown, waiting outside while Elaine went into the real-estate office for the necessary papers about the apartment. Five minutes later she was back in the taxi, leaning forward to give the driver the address of a quiet restaurant on West Eleventh.
"Let's go somewhere different," Terry decided impulsively. "It isn't far from here."
"All right," Elaine gave in. Terry could be such a child sometimes. She was rather surprised, though, that she would know a place down in the Village. She'd only been in New York a short while.
The instant Elaine pushed open the door that lead to the basement restaurant called "Maria's", she was aware of an inner sense of wary alertness.
"It won't be too crowded this early," Terry chattered animatedly as they walked past the cashier towards the beckoning "Maria".
"That's good." Elaine's eyes were accustoming themselves to the ultimate in subdued lighting the place affected.
"Not too many sightseers, either," Terry murmured with a smile of anticipation. "You'll like it."
Elaine thought, for a brief moment, that this was just another Village eating spot, with the typical wine bottles with candles, fishnet drapes, paintings that adorned every available hanging space. Here and there she noticed couples who looked as though they were out "seeing the Village", bright-eyed girls with scornful males. Then, with stunning clarity, the whole picture changed for Elaine.
At first, she'd thought "Maria" was a woman wearing velvet pants and a satin blouse. Now, as "Maria" hovered over them, the truth was blatantly clear. "Maria" showed the first faint signs of needing a shave. The lipstick, the mascara, the exotic turban, like the shocking pink velvet pants and the orange blouse, declared the feminine instincts and desires that masked a male body.
Her body tense, shoulders hunched tightly, Elaine gripped the table with her hands, while her eyes darted about the room, confirming her suspicions. Mostly, the dining couples were paired by sex. Two girls together, two fellows. Most of the girls in slacks and shirts, or full-swinging skirts with high-necked sweaters. The fellows displaying varying degrees of daring, some of them going the whole hog, with wildly-striped slacks, mad shirts, all the make-up offered by the cosmetic manufacturers. Elaine felt physically sick. Terry had brought her to a gay hangout!
"I haven't been here more than once or twice," Terry said carefully, her eyes taking in Elaine's insecurity.
"You should have told me," Elaine said jerkily.
"The food's good." Terry's knee sought Elaine's under the table, and one hand reached to cover hers. "And we can relax," she added with a show of bravado. "You need to relax."
"I've never been in a place like this," Elaine managed quietly. "Not here in New York." She had to be honest—she'd traveled the rounds of gay bars in Acapulco and San Francisco and Miami. Never however, in a city where she might, by some horrible accident, bump into someone who might know her. There'd been one frightening near-encounter, in 'Frisco four years ago. She'd been in a bar with a girl who'd picked her up in another bar, and suddenly in the next booth she'd seen Len Woodson. Len Woodson. Len was an account executive in a competitive agency, with a wife and kids in a mid-Manhattan duplex. Only here he was with a fairy pal who couldn't keep his hands off Len. She'd excused herself incoherently and dashed off. Never in a million years would she have guessed Len wasn't straight! It taught her a lesson—if you're going to be smart, be smart all the way.
"You won't find anybody here from Fleet and Comstock," Terry intruded softly, and for the first time, Elaine realized with a start, Terry seemed sure of herself. More the wise frankly-initiated habituée of a place like "Maria's" than the wide-eyed half-child she'd always appeared to Elaine.
"Terry, I've tried to explain the importance of being discreet," Elaine started off, self-conscious in the presence of Terry's frankness.
"Darling Terry, where have you been?"
Elaine glanced up with a start as the handsome dark-haired chap in Madison Avenue tweeds descended upon them, reaching for Terry and kissing her noisily.
"Stephie, how wonderful," Terry beamed. "Elaine, this is Stephen Carr, one of the first people I met in New York. This is Elaine," she adroitly avoided last name identification.
"Hello, dear." Stephie was candidly scrutinizing her now. "Isn't this one a doll?"
"You're so conservative today," Terry giggled. "Business?"
"Yes," Stephie sighed. "Fred likes me to make a pretense of working for a living, you know. I'm doing a series of photographs for some cold-nosed New England pal of his tonight. Can you imagine if I showed up in drag?"
Elaine listened apprehensively to the high-pitched small talk that occupied the other two for the next few minutes. If it weren't for the touch of eyebrow pencil, the slightest blend of lipstick, Stephen Carr could have passed as a normal Madison Avenue junior executive, on his way up.
"Oh, I took Fritzi a present today," Stephie remembered exuberantly. "Fritzi's the bartender in a gay bar up in the Forties," he explained for Elaine's benefit, while she writhed with the agony of his presence. "I stole this new hat Fred's sister bought
for herself over in Bendel's—the maddest thing you ever saw. Of course, it looks much better on Fritzi than on the old girl!"
Elaine struggled through the dinner, painfully conscious of her surroundings. How she detested these noisy, ostentatious queers! Why must they advertise to the world? Where were the sensitive introspective, fearful ones like herself? People who knew and understood and didn't condemn.
"I'm sorry I brought you here," Terry said finally. "It was a mistake, wasn't it?"
"We'll forget about it." Elaine allowed one hand to caress the slender leg that reached out towards hers.
"Let's go home," Terry coaxed urgently, her eyes bright with anticipation now. "Let's go home and I'll make you forget all about this!"
* * *
Elaine roamed through the apartment she'd rented for Eric and his wife, encased now in nervousness at meeting them. She glanced at her watch. Their plane was due to have arrived over an hour ago. They should be here any minute. It was more than three years since she'd seen Eric—during those agonizing days at the hospital while their father lay dying.
Her father, who'd so desperately wanted her to be a boy. He was well in his forties when she'd been born, and their mother not far behind. He was so afraid there'd be only Elaine. No son for him. Almost from the very beginning he'd treated her like a son, she thought, churning with the old frustration. When Eric was born, six years later, it made little difference. He'd been so delicate until he'd hit his teens. It was Elaine who played tennis and golf with the old man, Elaine who went on fishing trips with him, shared his confidence. Elaine, who should have been a boy!
Eric knew nothing, she'd kept telling herself for years, yet somehow his keen knowing way of looking at her could make her squirm with discomfort. Could he have seen through her disguise, as Terry had? No, this was ridiculous, she wouldn't cherish such idiotic ideas! She reached for a cigarette, lit it, picked up the bottle of champagne she'd bought as a token of welcome for Eric and Kathy. To keep busy, not to think, that was the urgent matter at hand. Then the doorbell rang, sharp and decisive. They were here.
"Hi ya, Sis!" Eric grabbed her warmly, kissed her, then held her at arm's length for inspection. "You look terrific," he commented approvingly. "What do you think, Kathy?"
"I think she's lovely." Kathy smiled with a simple honest warmth that won Elaine instantly.
"Well, come on and see your apartment," Elaine drew her sister-in-law into the living room with pleased surprise. Eric had done well for himself, she guessed instinctively. He needed someone like this—unaffected, warm, with her feet on the ground.
"I don't know about you two," Eric announced, "but I'm starving."
"Why don't we eat right here?" Kathy decided, her eyes darting to Elaine for support. "We can run down and pick up cold cuts at the delicatessen. We have champagne!" she waved to the bottle.
"You stay here and get acquainted with Elaine," Eric ordered, taking his tall, slim body to the door with rapid strides reminiscent of his sister's.
"Don't get lost," Elaine warned. "We want to eat tonight." With a start she remembered her original plan to have a drink with the incoming couple, a short conversation of welcome, and then up the West Side to the brownstone where Terry was waiting. She'd have to figure out a way to phone Terry if this threatened to become a long evening.
"Eric's talked so much about you." Kathy sat on one end of the sofa, tucking her slender legs beneath her.
"Has he?" Somehow, Elaine was surprised. "I hope it wasn't all bad." Such banal conversation, but it gave her a chance to inspect her brother's wife. A slender, dark-haired girl, built somehow like Terry yet with a striking difference. Kathy had wide intense eyes that seemed to question with bright interest, a full sensitive mouth, the classic oval face. Yet it wasn't this that gave her an indefinable air of beauty—it was something inside. Here was a girl who'd understand many things, Elaine thought turbulently, then grasped hold of herself. She must give herself away to no one. No one at all!
"Eric says you have a marvelous job," Kathy went on avidly. "It sounds absolutely fascinating."
"Not really." For the first time in years she was giving voice to the secret doubts that had gnawed at her at recurrent intervals. "Commercial junk, that for some insane reason pays off well. After a while, you forget anything else."
"You mean there's nothing creative about designing a package for a new lipstick or a bra or girdle?" Kathy smiled whimsically.
"Oh, it's creative, in one respect," Elaine allowed herself a brittle laugh. "It creates the means for my very charming apartment, clothes I couldn't otherwise afford, vacations."
"But it isn't enough, is it?" From Kathy it didn't sound phoney or pseudo-intellectual.
"It has to be," Elaine said calmly. "I'm not good enough for anything else."
"I thought you'd be the one who'd defy commercialism, who'd throw conventions to the winds." Kathy perked her head to one side, inspecting Elaine.
"What on earth gave you that idea?" Elaine felt herself caught up in alarm.
"Eric, the way he talked. Eric's sweet and wonderful, and I love him madly, but he needs success, financial reward. He has to know he's making good or it drives him to distraction."
"And I'm different?" she countered, her mind chasing back. Eric, with his maddening sense of competition with her. Competition for their father's love, for worldly approval. Why did he have to drive himself that way?
"You're strong," Kathy guessed intuitively. "I knew it even before I met you, from Eric. You have the strength to fight for what you want. Even if you never made it, you'd have the victory of having done it your way."
"You're a strange gal," Elaine teased, yet she knew Kathy accepted this as approval. "Wonder if Eric knows how lucky he is?"
They switched to casual talk then—about the city, the apartment building, the neighborhood—each satisfied in having made a friend in the other. It was a comfortable feeling, Elaine thought—she could relax with Kathy. So few people gave her that sense of not having to keep the barriers tightly locked.
Then Eric was in the apartment again, and they made a gay party-like thing of preparing the spread he'd brought up.
"Old Elaine didn't fail us, did she?" He pulled Kathy close to him now. "An apartment right in the Village, the way you wanted."
"I told you," Elaine laughed, "the Village is changing since the old days. The luxury apartments, like this one, are moving in all over—the actors and artists and writers are being shoved off into cold-water flats on the East Side."
"There’ll be enough left, though," Kathy insisted determinedly. "So much I want to see."
"Maybe you can persuade Elaine to leave off that career pursuing and show you around," Eric shot a mocking smile at his sister, and again she felt that penetrating insight that seemed to know more than it revealed.
"Oh, Eric, Elaine's squandered enough of her time on us. Finding this apartment, arranging everything!" Kathy glanced fondly from her husband to her sister-in-law.
"The trouble with Elaine," Eric was opening the champagne now, "she's so all-fired concerned about that career, she forgets about having fun. You ought to get married, Sis," he poured the champagne with a flourish. "Nothing like it!"
"Now, Eric," Elaine tightened inside. This was an almost-forgotten obsession of Eric's—to get her married off. "He's been going on like that for years."
"I hate to see you going to waste!" He shook his head in good-natured disapproval. "An attractive babe like you—you could have been married a hundred times if you didn't play so hard to get."
"Eric, shut up!" Elaine said it with a smile, but the peremptoriness underneath caught Kathy's attention.
"Eric, stop riding her," she protested gently, sipping at her own champagne with cautious watchfulness. Elaine knew Kathy sensed the unspoken peculiar antagonism between herself and Eric.
Eric was going fullspeed now—Elaine knew when he was bursting with high spirits like this nothing could stop him. She clutched her cha
mpagne glass, wanting to throw it in his face, yet understanding he did this only because he was driven. He couldn't accept the fact that he was as good as his sister in their father's eyes, even though the old man had been dead three years. He took this means of lashing back at her, gaining some release for himself.
"For a time I thought there was hope for old Elaine," Eric chuckled mockingly, but his eyes rested on his sister with honest affection. "Remember that crazy year when you tore off to Paris? I'd just started high school."
"I remember," Elaine said briefly. But she didn't want to remember! She hadn't let herself dwell on that for years.
"Elaine's sold out to old devil Success now," a trace of envy sneaked into his voice, "but she had the makings of a first-rate painter. Dad nearly burst with pride when she won some prize over there in Paris. Then suddenly, she gave it up and came back home. Never could understand it, Sis." His face probed keenly again, the mockery gone. "I figured, though, it must have had something to do with one of those crazy Left Bank love affairs. Mother went over to visit her, and lo and behold, they returned to Chicago together. Mother was bursting with the conviction she'd persuaded Elaine to be practical, to give up this starving artist bit, the art for art's sake deal. I never bought that, though."
"It was simple." Elaine compelled herself to meet Eric's eyes, though somehow she couldn't face Kathy's. "I realized I wasn't good enough to be great. In-betweens didn't interest me."
"You owed yourself the chance," Kathy insisted intensely.
"Now we've done enough talking about me," Elaine inspected Kathy with determined curiosity. "Let me hear all about Kathy now."
But while Kathy talked, lightly, brimming over with the joy of her marriage, Elaine's mind shot back. Thirteen years ago it was. She'd gone to Paris completely enraptured with Tomorrow, sure of herself, what she'd do with her life. The bare necessities of life would be enough, so long as she could work. Then she'd met Alex and the world had seemed too perfect. Alex—short for Alexandra—was an art student too, and the two of them moved into an attic studio together, sharing everything. They couldn't afford models, so they posed for each other. It'd been so easy, almost without realizing each new step, to fall into that relationship that people back home, in their circle, talked about only in whispers. Alex was warm, lovable, intelligent, and she adored Elaine.
