The Second Wave

by Jean Copeland

  “Are you turning into a vampire in your old age?” Mary Ellen shuffled toward the door and lowered the bamboo blind. “I was about to come in and put a mirror under your nose.”

  “We’re full of jokes this morning,” Alice said and sipped her coffee. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “I’m sorry. It must be so difficult seeing your friend like that.” Mary Ellen sat on the stool across from her. “Any changes?”

  “Not yet. Not that I know of anyway.”

  “Are you going to the hospital today?”

  “I’m planning on it, but I’ve been there three days in a row. Her family’s going to call security on the crazy old bat that keeps appearing at their mother’s bedside. Like the grim reaper.” She picked at her unkempt hair. “I think I even look like him this morning.”

  Mary Ellen flung her hand away and fixed the out-of-place hairs. “Her daughter contacted you. You came all the way from Boston to see her. I’m sure they appreciate it.”

  Alice shrugged.

  Mary Ellen placed her hand over Alice’s. “Familiar territory, huh?”

  “Unfortunately. I pray the outcome is different for Leslie than it was for Maureen.”

  Mary Ellen nodded. “Hey, can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Since when do you ask my permission?”

  “I don’t know. You always seem so awkward whenever I ask you questions that have to do with you being a lesbian.”

  “I’m not awkward about it,” Alice said, but her cheeks felt like they were turning the color of her pomegranate yogurt. “Your questions were always inappropriately personal.”

  Mary Ellen sucked her teeth. “We’re sisters. I would’ve answered any probing questions about me and Dave if you asked.”

  Alice grimaced. “Do you mind? I’m trying to eat.”

  “Did you know Dave doesn’t even need Viagra?”

  “Gross.” Alice got up with her yogurt and newspaper, and walked out to the patio table.

  Mary Ellen followed her outside.

  After a moment of scanning the front page, Alice looked up. “What do you want?”

  “The real story about you and your friend Leslie.”

  “What are you talking about? We were friends from work.” Alice lifted the paper up to her face.

  “Almost forty years ago. Must’ve been one hell of a friendship for you to come all the way down from Boston and visit her every day when she’s not even conscious.”

  “I’m here visiting you and Dave.”

  Mary Ellen eyed her. “For someone who spent the better part of her life lying to everyone, you’ve never gotten very good at it. This woman obviously means a great deal to you.”

  Alice sighed and dropped the paper into her lap. “She does. I used to be in love with her, many, many years ago. Okay? Can I finish my breakfast in peace now?”

  “I knew it,” Mary Ellen said, sinking into a chair across from her. “Did she know?”

  Alice found an article about the nutritional benefits of eating free-range chickens, mistakenly believing she’d actually be able to read it.

  “Was she married at the time? Did you two have an affair?”

  By her third attempt at reading the first sentence in the article, Alice lost her patience. “Can’t you see I don’t want to talk about this?”

  “I’m sorry,” Mary Ellen said in a pout. “Jesus Christ, I’m just excited to have my sister back for a while. You’d think I was asking you for a loan.” She swept her empty coffee mug off the table and stormed off into the kitchen.

  “Mare,” Alice shouted. She got up and followed her in. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s just that, this is hard for me to discuss with you.”

  “Why? You told me about Maureen. Why is this different?”

  “Because it is. I don’t want you to think negatively of me.”

  “I thought we settled this when you came out. There isn’t anything you could do that would change how I feel about you. You’re my big sister.”

  “We had an affair, and she was married at the time,” Alice blurted, her fists balled up with tension.

  Mary Ellen was quiet for a moment.

  “I had an affair with a married woman, Mare. How do you feel about your big sister now?”

  “Sad.” Mary Ellen’s eyes brimmed with sympathy. “I feel sad for you.”

  “What for?”

  “I can only assume it didn’t work out.”

  “No, it didn’t, but I certainly don’t want or deserve your pity. I knew she was married, but it didn’t stop me. It didn’t stop her either.”

  “I’m not pitying you. I mean, did you set out to fall in love with her? Did you intend to have an affair?”

  “No,” Alice insisted. “I didn’t even know I was a lesbian. It all came out of nowhere. I was in love with her before I even knew what was happening.”

  “Now it finally makes sense.”

  “What does?”

  “Your nervous breakdown.”

  “I didn’t have a nervous breakdown.”

  “It was something. You were so depressed for a year that I didn’t know what you’d do. Don’t you remember having these conversations about how worried I was about you? God, why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “Mare, it was the late seventies. We grew up going to church every Sunday. I’m the godmother of your son. How could I have told you any of it?”

  “I don’t know, but I wish you had.” Mary Ellen draped Alice in a hug from behind.

  Alice held on to her sister’s arms, leaning her cheek on them for a moment.

  Mary Ellen led her to the kitchen table. “So how did something like that ever get started?”

  “We’re really going to have this conversation?”

  Mary Ellen rested her chin in her palm. “I certainly hope so.”

  Alice smiled at her sixty-seven-year-old “kid” sister. Why hadn’t she come and stayed with her sooner?

  “Quit stalling,” Mary Ellen said, slapping the table.

  “Mare, I have no clue how it got started. All I know for sure is when,” she said, checking her mind’s eye. “June of 1977. I knew something was brewing the night of our crochet get-together, right before the ERA rally in Hartford.”

  “I might’ve known,” she said, teasing. “Leave it to a group of staunch feminists to turn a woman into a lesbian.”

  Alice mocked her with an exaggerated laugh. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

  “Yes, yes. ERA rally, Hartford in ’77. Go.”

  June 1977

  Friday night, Alice rushed back and forth between the kitchen and living room of her small Cape Cod across from the beach in West Haven. With patchouli incense lit, she arranged the fondue pot filled with Swiss-cheese chunks on her square coffee table, piling pillows around it for her guests to sit on. She felt particularly edgy for some reason. They’d all taken turns hosting their club meetings, so hostess duties were nothing new. The only explanation she found for her wired nerves was Leslie. But why? Leslie had been there a couple of times before when it was Alice’s turn to host and always found something to compliment her on, whether it was her decor style or featured hors d’oeuvres.

  Spotting an album jacket creeping out slightly from the otherwise flush row of records, she lurched to the credenza containing her stereo system and corrected the faux pas. The sound of a car door shutting summoned her to the door.

  “Bella,” Alice said after swinging the door open.

  “Betty,” Leslie replied excitedly.

  They exchanged light kisses on the cheeks as Leslie entered with a tray of brownies.

  “Don’t shut the door,” Leslie said. “The girls are right behind me.”

  Looking over Leslie’s shoulder, Alice felt a twinge of disappointment when she saw that Dolores, Cynthia, and Kathy had also arrived five minutes early and were at the curb getting their things out of Cynthia’s car.

  “Your perfume smells so nice,” Alice said. “Is it n
ew?”

  “Yes, it’s Coty Wild Musk. Pretty, huh?”

  “Very.” Alice deserted the rest of her company walking up the sidewalk to follow Leslie’s intoxicating scent into the living room. Realizing what she’d done, she returned to greet them as they filed in with wine bottles and bags of crochet supplies.

  Once they all settled around the table with cocktails, snacks, and Kathy’s small wooden trinket box that doubled as a joint case, Cynthia wasted no time in convening the meeting.

  “Okay, sisters, as you know, next Saturday is the big ERA rally in Hartford,” she said. “Governor Grasso is confirmed to speak, and I heard Senator Ribicoff might also be there. Bus transportation’s been arranged, and it’s leaving out of North Haven at eight a.m. sharp.”

  “Let’s all meet at the diner off 91 for breakfast,” Alice said. “I’ll bring a thermos of mimosas for the ride.”

  “That sounds fabulous,” Dolores said. “Leslie, you’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

  Leslie, the only one actually crocheting, looked up from what appeared to be the front panel of a child’s lavender vest. “Uh, I’ll have to check with my husband first. Sometimes he does side jobs on Saturdays with my brother-in-law.”

  “Here’s a talking point you may want to try when you check with him,” Cynthia said. “If the ERA passes and women start earning the same pay for doing the same jobs as men, your husband probably wouldn’t need to take side jobs on Saturdays anymore.”

  “Well, he doesn’t do it every Saturday, and it’s mostly to help out his brother. But I’ll definitely try to make it.”

  Alice caught the furtive glances between Kathy and Cynthia. “Ladies, she’s got young kids. Your kids are older or grown,” she said, looking at Cynthia and Dolores. “She can’t just run off any time the notion strikes her.”

  “Why not? It seems like her husband can,” Kathy said. “And she’s not just running off because she feels like it. Equality is the most important women’s issue of our time.”

  “My sister-in-law says that if the ERA passes, women could be drafted into the army, and maybe even lose alimony rights,” Leslie said.

  “Your sister-in-law is an idiot,” Kathy replied. “There is no more draft. They ended it four years ago.”

  “Take it easy, Kathy,” Alice said with a scowl.

  “Ladies, in-fighting is the last thing our cause needs.” Cynthia stuffed an onion-dip-covered broccoli floret into her mouth. “Remember what Lincoln said about a house divided.”

  Kathy lit up a joint from her little wooden box. “All I’m saying is why does the entire burden of child care always have to fall on the mother? It takes two to make them. Shouldn’t it take two to raise them?”

  “Bill helps a lot,” Leslie said. “He loves spending time with them.”

  “Don’t mind her,” Alice said. “She’ll simmer down after a couple more hits.” Then to Kathy, “C’mon, stop bogarting that.”

  Dolores reached over the coffee table, her fork aimed at the fondue pot. “I’m sure Leslie will be on that bus with us if it’s at all possible. Look, I’m as dedicated a feminist as the next broad, but if my grown-up kids needed me, I’d drop everything for them in a minute.”

  “Same with me,” Cynthia added. “We need to dispel the myth that feminism seeks to downplay the roles of wives and motherhood.”

  “That’s right.” Dolores said, twirling a chunk of bread in liquefied cheese. “Being a mom has been my most important and rewarding job. It’s also made me want to eat my ex-husband’s service revolver at times, but I still wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  “Not even the job of president of the United States?” Kathy said with a wink.

  The ladies laughed at the absurdity and awesomeness of the thought.

  “President?” Alice threw a pretzel at Kathy. “Someone get that joint away from her. It’s obvious she’s already high out of her mind.”

  Kathy sucked at the roach and passed it on to Cynthia. “Let’s not forget those aren’t the only roles women were born to have. I don’t have any kids, but I’m very fulfilled as an educator.”

  “Hey, making sure the dodge balls are properly inflated is a vital part of the American education system.” Alice mugged at her own joke and nudged Kathy over into a mound of pillows.

  “You don’t have to convince us of that, Kathy,” Cynthia said. “We’re all on the same side.”

  “We all know there’s a lot of work still to be done,” Dolores said, “but we’ll accomplish it one step at a time. And Saturday we rally for the ratification of the ERA.”

  The ladies all raised their cocktail glasses and cheered.

  After Cynthia and her carload drove off, Leslie and Alice began clearing the wreckage of empty glasses and dishes from the coffee table and surrounding end tables.

  “Thanks for staying to help, but it’s getting late. I can take it from here.”

  “I don’t mind.” Leslie’s face seemed cut from stone as she covered the leftover cheddar-cheese plate and onion dip with plastic wrap. “I bet you’ll have to soak that fondue pot overnight.”

  Alice picked up the crusty pot, scraping it with her fingernail. “I wonder if Swiss cheese is a main ingredient in Krazy Glue.”

  Leslie’s tepid response aroused Alice’s suspicion. “Hey, is everything all right?”

  Everything in Leslie’s posture said no. “I have to give my two-week notice on Monday.”

  “What?” Alice heard her clearly, but a single syllable was all she could manage after having the wind knocked out of her.

  “I’m sorry,” Leslie said as her eyes dimmed.

  “I don’t understand. I thought the part-time hours were working out.”

  “They were while the kids were in school. They’ve been out for a week now, and it’s just been too much for my mother-in-law.”

  “Isn’t there anyone else who could babysit?”

  “My parents work. I mean, I could always hire a babysitter until three each day, but for what it would cost, it’d just be easier for me to stay home with them.”

  “Is your husband making you do this?” It took every ounce of reason for Alice to contain the resentment flaming up from her gut.

  “Well, no, he’s not making me, but we’ve talked about it, and I’m afraid he’s right. It doesn’t make sense to pay strangers to be with them when I can.”

  “But you like working. Didn’t you tell him that? It makes you happy.”

  “Yes, he knows.”

  “He can’t just order you around like you’re his daughter.”

  “He’s not,” Leslie said, seeming resigned to an undesirable fate. “I can’t make a decision like this without considering his feelings or what’s best for all of us. We’ve talked about other possible solutions, but we keep coming back to this one.”

  “Of course. It’s easier to control you when you’re home, stuck in the kitchen.”

  “Alice.” Leslie glared at her.

  A rush of panic heated Alice’s face the moment the words came out of her mouth. “I’m sorry, Leslie. I didn’t mean that.”

  Leslie turned away from Alice, resting her hands on the counter.

  “Boy, I think all Kathy’s feminist propaganda is really getting to me,” Alice said in a jovial tone as she moved closer to her.

  “It’s okay,” Leslie said as she turned around. “I’m sick about it, too, but there’s nothing I can do. The condition that I agreed to before going back to work was that I would do it as long as it didn’t interfere with the family.”

  “I understand, but it’s so unfair to you,” Alice said, yet her sympathies were focused entirely on herself at the moment.

  “I’m trying not to look at it that way. One of us has to quit, Alice, and it can’t be Bill with me earning as little as I do in the typing pool. I know Bill. If I was the one who made the money we lived on, he’d quit and stay home with the kids.”

  Alice stewed quietly at Leslie’s readiness to defend her husban
d as though she were the enemy. “You seem like you’re okay with quitting.” She hated herself for sounding so whiny.

  “Of course I’m not okay with it.” Leslie’s chin dimpled as she fought back tears. “I love taking coffee breaks and having lunch with you every day. I also like the responsibility of my daily duties at work, but I just don’t have a solid-enough reason to fight Bill on it any longer.”

  Alice deferred to the floor tiles, fresh out of will.

  Leslie moved closer and took Alice’s hands in hers. “Alice, please understand. It’s not what I want, but I have to admit I’ve felt a bit guilty about leaving the kids ever since I started. We still have the crochet club. That doesn’t have to change.”

  “Not until Bill decides that’s getting in the way of your family, too.” Alice worked her hands free and turned toward the window above the sink. The neighbor kids had left their makeshift bicycle ramp made of warped plywood over a milk delivery bin lifted off someone’s porch in their driveway. If they were her kids, how would she feel about having to sacrifice the kinds of things Leslie had to? The very idea appalled her.

  She sensed Leslie still behind her.

  “Alice, is something besides my leaving bothering you?”

  Leslie’s perfume wafted into Alice’s face as she stood before her, almost pinning her against the sink. She expected an answer but not the one confronting her at that moment. She was in love with Leslie. Deep, searing, shameful, terrifying love.

  “No, no, nothing,” Alice mumbled, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m tired and a little high. I just need to go to bed. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

  “Well, okay.” Leslie seemed unconvinced. “Call me tomorrow.”

  Alice agreed and followed Leslie to the foyer, anxious for her to go so she could breathe again. She closed the door, leaned against it, and shut her eyes to lessen the spinning in her head.

  *

  Mary Ellen sat at the kitchen table with her jaw hanging open. “I can’t believe all this was going on, and I had no idea. Sounds like once you fell, you fell hard.”

  Alice gave a noncommittal shrug.

  “So, when do we get to the juicy stuff? When did you kiss? When did you go to bed with her?”