[Iris and Lily 01.0 - 03.0] The Complete Series

by Angela Scipioni

  “You dropped them on your way out,” Lily said.

  “Thanks,” Iris said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. They were burning so badly, she wished she could pop out her contact lenses right then and there.

  “Don’t let her get to you, Iris. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  “No one ever means anything, do they? But they all still manage to make me feel guilty.”

  “I know, same here.” Lily looked over her shoulder, then back at Iris. She reached a hand under her shirt, and pulled out a piece of rolled up clothing. “Here, take this,” she said, laying it on Iris’s lap.

  Iris ran her fingers over the fine rosebud fabric, fingered the tiny buttons, the dainty ruffles and cuffs. “It’s your favorite blouse,” she said. “The one you wore for your audition.”

  “With my luck, it won’t be getting out of here any time soon on my back, so I figure maybe it would like to go to Italy with you.”

  Iris wished her insides would stop quivering. “Thanks, Lily.”

  “What is it they say? Bon voyage?” Lily tugged at the gum in her mouth with her thumb and forefinger, stretched it out is if she were pulling taffy, then twirled it around her finger, like a ribbon around a maypole.

  “I’ll see you when I get back.” Iris started the engine, threw it into reverse, and backed out, too blinded by the tears fogging up her contacts to notice the aluminum garbage can, which the car crashed into and sent rolling noisily down the driveway.

  “Don’t worry,” Lily shouted, waving her away. “I’ll get it.”

  Iris shrugged apologetically, and waved back. As she approached the main road, she looked in her rear view mirror, and saw Lily dragging the trash can back up the driveway.

  From: Iris Capotosti

  To: Lily Capotosti

  Sent: Fri, August 13, 2010 at 7:12 AM

  Subject: Before you say anything

  Good morning, Lily,

  Every time we exchange chapters, I am always so anxious to read what you send me, but last night I forced myself to go to bed without reading your next chapter. I learned pretty early on in this experiment of ours that going to bed on a full brain has the same effect on me as drinking a pot of Dad’s drip coffee used to. But even though I didn’t read, I kept waking up and wondering whether you had read my chapter, and what kind of memories it must have brought back to you.

  Before you say anything, I want to tell you that the day I came home from Buffalo was one of the worst I can remember from that entire year – and there were plenty to choose from. You didn’t have the monopoly on those, believe me. I still remember how excited I was about completing that first year of college. It gave me a feeling of accomplishment I had never experienced before – definitely a notch or two up from baking a lemon pie piled high with a meringue that doesn’t weep or crack. But just like with the pie, no one really even notices unless you botch it.

  I had been hoping to celebrate with you, in some little way. You know me and my imagination. But reality slammed into me the moment I walked into that empty bedroom. I had never slept alone in my entire life. After rooming with that bore Emma, I’d really been looking forward to some late night chats in bed with you. The disappointment and loneliness I felt were crushing - and that was before I was treated to Mom’s welcome home speech.

  But what upset me most were the feelings of guilt. Guilt for having left you to run things in that house. Guilt for having successfully completed my year of college, when you still didn’t know where you would be going. Guilt for spending money on a trip to Italy, while you worked at Burger King.

  How I wish it could have been you and me getting ready for that trip, instead of Auntie Rosa and me. Every summer I see college kids traipsing all over the country, and they don’t even seem interested in half the places they visit. As if they’d already seen and done it all. Ah, we would have had the time of our lives, you and I.

  But I had to go, Lily, even without you. Buffalo was never far enough away. I needed to burst through those clouds on a 747.

  Still, I carried that image of you lugging that garbage can up the driveway with me the whole time. And the rosebud blouse, too. Thanks for that.

  I hope you are sleeping better than I did last night.

  Love,

  Iris

  From: Lily Capotosti

  To: Iris Capotosti

  Sent: Fri, August 13, 2010 at 10:00 AM

  Subject: I don’t want to hurt you, but...

  Iris:

  I’m so glad that things worked out so that you could have a good night’s sleep, but now I am left here to face a day full of work and responsibilities, and with the added pleasure of processing not only your chapter, but this email as well.

  All my life, I’ve heard that from people, you know? “I don’t want to hurt you but...”, “I don’t want to leave you, but...” “I don’t want to burden you, but...” but - but - BUT - they always do.

  Do people think that by telling me how much they don’t want to hurt, burden, or abandon me before they actually DO hurt, burden, or abandon me that they are then somehow absolved? Adding that little disclaimer BEFORE following through on it with action only makes it worse, because then I become stripped of my delusion that they were just being thoughtless, or ignorant, and that they weren’t knowingly offending me.

  So please don’t tell me how sorry you are for me, or how much you wished you hadn’t hurt or abandoned me, because that only enrages me, really. I would much rather hear that you knew exactly what you were doing and you chose to do it anyway. You did what was best for you, regardless of what the effect was on me. Don’t we all do that, despite the pains we take to cloak ourselves in sensitivity and consideration? We do - we all do. Mom did, Dad did, Auntie Rosa did. James did. Dolores did. You did. I did. I do, you do.

  Just once back then, I would have liked to hear someone say, “But I just can’t do that to Lily,” and then come knock on my door, and sit down with me and talk to me and set me on a different trajectory. Stop me from making the choices whose ramifications have rippled out farther than even my imagination could fly.

  I am sorry you came home to an empty house that summer, but at least you didn’t have to stay. Besides, even if I had been there, I wouldn’t have been there.

  Love,

  Lily

  32. Lily

  The 2001 Club was named after the discotheque in the film, Saturday Night Fever. Lily had asked James to take her to see the film when he was home at Christmas but he claimed that it wasn’t the kind of movie a boy should take a girl to see. He went with his friends, and Lily could think of few things more pathetic than going to the movies alone, so she decided to wait until she and Iris could go together. Lily hoped it would be soon.

  James would be coming home for the summer too, but Lily didn’t expect to see him. She resolved that he would have to call her if he wanted to see her, and she was fairly certain he wasn’t about to make such an ambitious commitment as calling her on the phone. When he went away to Houghton College - just a week before Iris had left for Buffalo - Lily had given him ten envelopes stuffed with blank note paper. Each envelope was stamped and pre-addressed to her. All he had to do was jot down a few lines and drop the note into the mailbox. He hadn’t written once. He never told her that he loved her again, he never invited her up to see his dorm. Lily entertained the idea of breaking up with him when he returned to school after Christmas break, but then realized that they had never officially been going steady in the first place, so breaking up was sort of beside the point. Her New Year’s resolution had been to resist the temptation to initiate contact with him, in favor of maintaining what little dignity she had left.

  Lily dropped her Burger King uniform into the laundry basket. There was no time for a shower, so she spritzed her hair with White Shoulders cologne, which Grandma Whitacre had sent her, pulled on a pair of jeans, a
nd grabbed the paisley blouse she’d worn to her audition from its hanger. Not exactly disco-wear, but it was the best she could do on such short notice. If she got into Purchase, it would surely be dubbed her favorite blouse. If she didn’t get in, she would certainly never wear it again after tonight.

  Cecelia and Danny were standing outside the club waiting for her.

  “C’mon, c’mon!” Danny cried. “The dance contest is just getting started!”

  He escorted her past the guy at the door who winked at Lily as they slipped by.

  “What do you want to drink?” Cecelia shouted, trying to be heard above the music.

  “I don’t know,” said Lily. “Just a Coke, I guess.”

  “No way!” said Cecelia. “You gotta learn to relax a little, Lily. Loosen up!”

  “What are you having?”

  “Whiskey sours,” said Cecelia, extending her glass to Lily. Lily took a sip and winced.

  “It’s too bitter!” Lily turned toward the bartender. “Really, just a Coke for me.”

  Cecelia placed two dollars on the bar. “And add a little rum to that,” she said to the bartender.

  “This is really good,” said Lily, sipping the beverage through the tiny red straw.

  Cecelia grabbed her by the hand. “Let’s find a place upfront to watch. I’ve heard some of these guys are pretty amazing - like John Travolta!”

  The cold glass in Lily’s hand offered relief from the hot smoke-filled room, with people pressing in on all sides, and music playing so loud you could hardly hear yourself think. But the Coke was helping.

  A wall of people surrounded the dance floor. Cecelia masterfully weaved her way through the crowd, with Lily in tow. “Scuse me - Scuse me!” Cecelia shouted until finally they arrived at a spot right at the front. The house music stopped, leaving only the deafening buzz of conversation and anticipation. Translucent floor tiles marked the dance floor, which was lit up from below, sending shafts of red, blue, purple, and green light onto the first couple as they struck a pose center stage.

  “OK, everyone,” announced the DJ. “Please give a warm Club 2001 welcome to our next couple, Joseph and Monica!”

  The crowd cheered as strains of “Staying Alive” filled the room. Monica wore a red and white satin dress and Joseph was dressed in high-waisted white pants, a red satin shirt, and a white vest.

  “Check out that coolie!” shouted Cecelia, adding a “Whooo!” as Joseph pulsated his hips back and forth in time with his partner’s own gyrations. The couple moved in perfect synchronization, twirling and gliding from one end of the dance floor to the other, drawing cheers from the crowd each time they executed a spin or a lift. Lily sipped on her drink, mesmerized by the sensual movements and shocked at the way her own body responded in watching. Her arousal intensified each time the dancers passed by. The draft created in their wake brushed up against Lily, penetrating the thin layer of paisley, caressing her breasts, causing her to inhale sharply, anxiously awaiting their next passage. She would love to be able to dance like that girl. With that guy. To have a boy like that lead her and guide her and tease her and hold her. Yet they were from another world. They were from this disco world of rayon wrap-around skirts and glitter eye shadow and high heels. They were sexy and sophisticated and Lily felt silly standing there in her Hush Puppies, drinking a Coke through a straw.

  As the song neared its end, Joseph and Monica each took a place at opposite diagonal corners of the dance floor. With a deep breath, Monica ran across the floor, and launched into a swan dive in the air, landing against her partner’s body, his arms catching and encircling her at her knees. With her body pressed firmly against his, he lowered her to the floor, inch by inch by inch. Lily watched as first her navel was at his eye level, then her breasts, her chest heaving and beaded with sweat. Finally, they came face to face, their lips parted, but not touching the other’s. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he placed his hand on the back of her head. As her feet touched lightly down onto the floor, she raised her arms overhead and came into a backbend. He bent forward, releasing her head toward the ground as the music ended.

  “Let’s have a big hand for Joseph and Monica!” called the DJ. “And join us right back here in fifteen minutes as Tony and Tina try to top that!”

  The crowd erupted into applause. With nowhere to place her drink, Lily stood and stared, breathless, as Joseph and Monica joined hands at the center of the dance floor and took a deep bow together. When they raised themselves back up, Lily’s eyes locked with Joseph’s as they shared in the stunned recognition that just a couple hours earlier, she had absolutely sold him a hamburger, an order of onion rings, and a chocolate milkshake.

  This Joseph - whose every move for the past five minutes had sent shocks of electricity through her, whose tight pants and loose hips had inspired the sexual fantasies that were still suspended in Lily’s mind - was the same Joe that she had so cavalierly dismissed at Burger King. This charismatic and beloved king of the dance floor had called her “cutie” and flirted with her. For reasons that she didn’t quite understand but that felt somewhat like embarrassment, Lily turned, fought her way through the crowd, and headed for the door, stopping by the bar on her way out to return her glass and place a dollar bill on the counter.

  Before she could lift her hand from the bar, another one - thicker and broader than her own, a hand with short burly fingers, a hand wrapped in skin that was reddened and chapped, the way Lily’s father’s would become after a Rochester winter spent shoveling snow and spreading salt along the long driveway on Chestnut Crest - came to rest upon hers.

  “Mrs. Munster!” he called. “You sure do move fast for a zombie.”

  “Oh - hi,” said Lily, trying to feign surprise at finding him standing there, his breath still heavy from the grande finale and his satin shirt soaked through with perspiration.

  Joe grabbed a cocktail napkin from the bar and wiped his brow. “So - what did you think?”

  “What did I think?” Lily knew what he was asking, but she could find neither the language nor the nerve to reply. Anything she could say would only make her seem more childish and naïve than she was sure she already did.

  “Yeah - about my performance there... you saw me, right?”

  “Yes,” said Lily. “How could I miss you? You were great. Really great.”

  “I will take that as a big compliment, coming from a nice girl like you.”

  “What makes you so sure I’m nice?”

  “Cause. I never seen you in here before.” Joe raised his hand to summon the bartender. “And that means one of two things - either you’re too young to be here and somebody snuck you in, or you’re old enough to be here, but you got better things to do on Friday night besides standin’ around, gettin’ wasted and watchin’ the same people compete in the same dance contest every week.”

  The bartender nodded toward Joe. “Hey - Mike!” Joe called. “Gimme a seven-n-seven, wouldja? Oh - and a -” he turned to Lily. “What are you drinking?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said. “I don’t really drink... I just had a Coke. At least that’s what I think it was.”

  “Let’s get you something fancier than that, huh?” Turning back to the bartender, Joe said, “How about a Kahlua and cream for Lily Munster here?” Joe pulled up a barstool and offered it to Lily. “Uh-oh,” he said, “I have the feeling you’re not crazy about that new nickname, am I right?”

  “Not really,” replied Lily with a smile. “But I can’t stay anyway, I really have to get going.” She stepped her foot onto the crossbar of the stool and raised herself up into it.

  “OK, OK,” said Joe. “You’re right - you are way too pretty for a nickname like that. You’re more like a Lily of the Valley.”

  Lily giggled. “That’s what my family calls me.”

  “Well then, it’s settled, Miss Lily of the Valley. And what, may I ask, is your last name?”

  “Capotosti.”

  “Capotosti?! Madonna - you’re a
paesan?”

  “Yes, actually,” said Lily. “My grandparents came here from Italy.”

  “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Joe winked and handed her what looked like a small glass of milk. He raised his glass and Lily followed suit. “To Italia!”

  “To Italia!” echoed Lily. She took a sip of the drink and said, “Wow - this is really good - what’s in it?’

  “Magic,” said Joe.

  Lily blushed and cast her eyes down at her lap. Joe was soon surrounded by an assortment of young men slapping him on the back and young women hugging and kissing him, offering their congratulations. Lily nervously sipped on her drink, trying to cover over her sense of self-consciousness, which she was certain was evident to everyone who passed. By the time the small crowd around Joe dissipated, Lily was sucking on the ice cubes from the bottom of her glass, intent on getting every last drop.

  “Whoa - slow down, there,” Joe said with a chuckle.

  Lily raised her eyebrows and put her hand to her lips, aware that she had drained her glass too quickly, knowing she should care, but didn’t.

  “Now,” said Joe. “We dance.” He stood up and took Lily by the hand.

  A rush of panic shot through Lily’s body. “Oh, no!” she shouted, pulling her hand back. “I don’t know how to dance.”

  “Sure you do,” said Joe. “Everyone knows how to dance.”