The Second Wave

by Jean Copeland

  Alice blushed. “Mare,” she said in a singsong voice. “I’m getting in the shower now.”

  “Fine, but when you’re dressed and ready, we’re going for brunch. You can’t just cut me off like this. It’s cruel.”

  “It’s a cruel world we live in,” Alice drawled over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom.

  Chapter Six

  Standing by her threat, later that morning Mary Ellen had taken Alice to a cozy café across from the Branford green specializing in the most sophisticated breakfast and lunch offerings a townie from the Connecticut shoreline could ask for. At the moment, its charm was lost on Alice, who was picking at her tomato, avocado, and goat-cheese omelet.

  “Have you given any more thought to moving back?” Mary Ellen asked.

  “Mare, please.” Alice sliced off a piece of her omelet with her fork.

  “What do you mean, Mare, please? Is it so unreasonable to want my sister home again?”

  “I told you I’d think about it, and I am. But right now, I have something else weighing rather heavily on my mind.”

  “Any news?”

  Shaking her head, Alice ate another small bite of her omelet and then leaned back in her chair. “What if she doesn’t wake up?”

  “Honey, you can’t think like that. She will.”

  Alice smirked. “That’s what I keep telling her daughter—and with that exact same artificial conviction.”

  Mary Ellen sipped her cranberry juice. “All right. The woman’s had a stroke. Maybe she’ll never wake up. But it’s only been a few days. Give it a full week before you have her in a permanent vegetative state.”

  “You’re right,” she said, glumly nibbling the corner of her wheat toast.

  “Let’s talk about something a little brighter, huh? Like your scandalous little field trip to Hartford.”

  No matter what the dilemma, Mary Ellen always knew how to get her to smile.

  June 1977

  As the afternoon sun baked Alice and everyone else in attendance in Bushnell Park, she smiled watching Leslie proudly wave her Equal Pay is the Only Way picket sign and join the chorus of women and men chanting various “Ratify the ERA now” slogans. What a contrast to the woman who was about to quit a job she enjoyed to return to the drudgery of being a housewife.

  “This is so exciting,” Leslie said as she and Alice caught up to Cynthia, Kathy, and Dolores.

  “What we’re doing is so important, Leslie,” Cynthia said. “We’re carrying the torch lit by the original suffragists in the first wave. We can’t let their struggles be in vain.”

  Leslie bowed her head in reverence.

  “We’re making a real difference,” Kathy added.

  “I don’t know about that,” Alice said as she chewed at the cuticle skin on her middle finger. Four heads whipped toward her in astonishment.

  “What do you mean?” Kathy said.

  “We’re protesting in a state that’s already ratified the ERA,” Alice said, “and sweating our asses off in the process.”

  Kathy scowled at her. “Sorry we’re making your mascara run, doll face.”

  “Yes, this is largely ceremonial, Alice,” Cynthia said. “But we’re here standing in solidarity with the movement. That’s what’s important.”

  “Yeah, Alice,” Dolores chimed in sternly. “It’s the support for the other states that counts.” She leaned closer to Alice. “And frankly, I’d rather be here than down South in this heat picketing for women’s rights. We’d probably end up abducted by the banjo players from Deliverance.”

  Alice and Dolores shared a private laugh.

  “Well, I think it’s great,” Leslie said. “I love being a part of this. Wasn’t Governor Grasso’s speech so inspiring?”

  “Far-out,” Kathy said. “Connecticut’s first female governor. It still gives me chills.”

  “She’s married with kids and was still able to accomplish this,” Alice said, her gaze falling on Leslie.

  “Her kids are grown,” Leslie fired back.

  A breeze kicked up and blew her hair all out of place, and it took Alice’s breath away. Standing beside her, their perspiring arms touching, Alice had to force herself to stop gazing at her.

  “I wish I could’ve brought Rebecca,” Leslie said.

  “Why didn’t you?” Dolores asked. “My daughters are milling around here somewhere, probably scoping out hippie dudes.”

  “She’s only seven,” Leslie said. “Besides, my husband took the kids to see some science-fiction movie. Star Wars, I think it’s called.”

  She’d heard Leslie say “my husband” a hundred times, but lately, each time she uttered the phrase, it felt like an icepick jabbed into her ear.

  “So if we do our activism jobs rights,” Alice said, “by the time Rebecca is our age, equal pay for equal work will be a reality.”

  Everyone voiced boisterous agreement.

  “Surely, even the federal government will have come to its senses by then,” Dolores added.

  “If not,” Cynthia said, “it’ll fall on us to incite the next revolution.”

  They all cheered and raised the empowerment fist in unison.

  On the bus-ride home from the Hartford rally, Alice and Leslie absently leaned against each other in their seats as the school bus chugged along the entrance ramp to Interstate 91. They were tired, sticky, and full of burgers and beer from dinner at a nearby pub, but Alice couldn’t remember feeling more alive inside.

  Unable to stand the strain on her left eye from stealing so many sideways glances at Leslie, Alice turned to her. “Today was fun, wasn’t it?”

  Leslie tilted her head toward Alice and smiled. “I’ll say. What a memorable day. It was worth the argument.” She looked as though she’d let a secret slip.

  “What argument?”

  “No, it’s nothing.” Leslie turned toward the window across the aisle.

  “Did you have a fight with Bill about going today?”

  “No, well, I wouldn’t call it a fight.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Just a little disagreement. He was uncomfortable about me going to any political rally—at first, I mean. I’m afraid he doesn’t really get feminism, but I explained to him what the rally was about, and then he was okay with it.”

  “What’s he afraid of?”

  “He’s not afraid of anything. He was just curious about why I wanted to go.”

  Alice’s stomach knotted with anger at Bill. “You’re a woman. You have a daughter. Why wouldn’t you want to go?”

  “He’s fine,” Leslie said. “I think he was a little uneasy when I first told him about our crochet meetings.”

  “Uneasy about what?”

  “That maybe I wasn’t happy being married anymore.”

  “Wow, talk about jumping to conclusions. I hope he’s not going to try to talk you out of crocheting with us next.”

  “No, no, he knows I love it.”

  “We love having you. You’ve brought a wonderful new dynamic to the group.”

  “I’m so grateful to you girls. I’ve become so much more aware of the issues since I started coming.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same if you stopped. It’s going to be strange enough adjusting to work without you.”

  “Really? That’s so sweet, Alice.”

  “Sweet? I felt like a big baby right after I said it.”

  Leslie nudged her in the side with her elbow. “Aww, you’re not a baby. You’re just being honest about how you feel.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry I made such a big deal about it the other day when you told me. I’m going to miss you like hell, but I support whatever you need to do.”

  Leslie’s eyes melted into a smile. “Thank you for that, Alice.”

  Alice looked away, suddenly bashful.

  “You know, I enjoy doing the job,” Leslie said, “but if the truth be known, you’re the reason I enjoyed going to work so much. Even though we haven’t known each other all that lo
ng, I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

  “Me, too. I feel like I can talk to you about anything or nothing at all. I’ve had girlfriends for years I don’t feel this comfortable with.”

  “Then it’s divine intervention that I got hired at First American. We were meant to become bosom buddies.”

  Alice smirked and glanced at her own breasts, then at Leslie’s. “Wow. That’s pretty big. If God wants us to become best friends, then we better get right on it.”

  Leslie slapped her hand on top of Alice’s as it rested on the seat between them. “We already are, you goof.”

  “We are?” Alice teased.

  “Absolutely.”

  Alice held Leslie’s hand and didn’t let it go. Neither did Leslie.

  *

  Alice’s phone began vibrating their table with a call from Rebecca. She looked at Mary Ellen as her heart sank. Rebecca had never called her before. They’d always communicated through text message. Something must be wrong with Leslie. She leapt up from the table and answered the call outside on the sidewalk.

  “Hello? Rebecca? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, Alice. Mom’s awake,” she said, practically screeching.

  “Thank God,” Alice said as tears spilled down her cheeks. “How is she? What’s she doing?”

  “She seems okay, but they won’t know for sure until they’re done evaluating her. The doctor’s in with her now. I have to get back in there with my brother, but I just wanted you to know.”

  “Thanks, thank you for calling,” she said, exhaling into the phone. “Text me when it’s okay for me to visit.”

  “You got it.”

  Alice ended the call and went back in the café, relief in full bloom on her face.

  “What was that all about?” Mary Ellen asked.

  “Leslie woke up.”

  Mary Ellen grabbed her hand. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Her daughter’s going to text me when I can go to see her.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Of course I am. I have no idea what to expect.”

  “About what condition she’ll be in?”

  “That and how she’s going to react seeing me for the first time in twenty-five years. What if she doesn’t remember me?”

  Mary Ellen wrung her hands in excitement. “This is just like in An Affair to Remember when Deborah Kerr is supposed to meet Cary Grant at the Empire State building, but she has that accident, and then he thinks she doesn’t love him anymore.”

  Alice contemplated the analogy for a moment. “It’s not like that at all.”

  “I mean because you’re star-crossed lovers.” Mary Ellen’s eyes dazzled with optimism. “This may be your chance to get back together.”

  “Are you nuts?” Alice said and then remembered how her heart had dreamed of crazier things once.

  “I don’t see what’s so nuts about it.”

  “For starters, I don’t even think she’s a lesbian. Her daughter said she was still dating men after her divorce.”

  “She was a lesbian for you once. I’m sure she could be one again.”

  “Mare, that’s not why I came here.”

  “No? Then why did you come?”

  “Her daughter asked me to. And you know what else? Maureen’s only been gone a year. I’m not ready to pursue any romantic interludes. I’m still in mourning.”

  “You mean to say you wouldn’t jump at another chance with your first true love?”

  Alice shook her head in despair. “You ought to try watching something besides the Hallmark Channel once in a while.”

  Mary Ellen indicated Alice’s plate piled with toast, hash browns, and half an omelet. “C’mon, finish your breakfast so we can go home and get you ready for your trip to the hospital.”

  “Get me ready? I’m not going to the homecoming dance, Mare. I have to wait until Rebecca texts me, and who knows when that will be? Her family is there, and the doctors are probably running all kinds of tests.”

  “Fabulous. Now we’ll have plenty of time to shop for a new outfit for you.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning Alice’s eyes opened as the rising sun crept over them. She inventoried her surroundings in Mary Ellen’s guest room, the former bedroom of her nephew, needing a moment to remember where she was and decipher reality from what she had dreamt last night. The text Rebecca sent as Alice was getting ready for bed had put her off sleep like she’d downed a pot of dark-roast coffee. It must’ve been three a.m. by the time she finally drifted off. She picked up her cell phone on the nightstand and checked to make sure Rebecca’s text wasn’t part of the dream sequence.

  Can u come see Mom tomorrow, late a.m.? Can’t wait 4 her to see you!!!

  It wasn’t a dream. Alice’s stomach tumbled as a tentative smile stretched across her face. She sat up in bed and hugged her knees to her chest, trying to imagine what it was going to feel like seeing Leslie again. If the butterflies were any indication, it would feel like it did last night in her dream of their first kiss. She leaned against the headboard and closed her eyes, recalling the day that everything had changed for them.

  Late July 1977

  Although Leslie’s workday at First American ended at three o’clock, on her last day she hung around the office awaiting the cocktail-hour sendoff at Finnegan’s her coworkers had planned for her at five.

  Curiously antsy all day, Alice busied herself clearing out all the tedious tasks she’d let pile up in her “in” tray since the beginning of the week. A strange onslaught of emotion percolated in her gut as Leslie flitted around the office dusting plastic ferns and making the in-house insurance agents fresh cups of coffee. When Leslie began cleaning out her desk, packing picture frames of her family, her candy dish, and an African-violet plant neatly into a cardboard box, Alice couldn’t watch. She scuttled over to the bank of file cabinets across the large open office with a pile of paperwork.

  When she’d completed her packing, Leslie approached her. “Why don’t you let me do that? I’ve finished all my other work.”

  Alice shook her head.

  “Mr. Dickerson put a file and letter draft on your desk,” Leslie said. “He probably wants it done before you punch out for the weekend.” She reached for the stack of files Alice had on the cabinets.

  “Don’t.” Alice slapped a possessive hand on the papers, not looking up from the open drawer.

  Leslie checked her surroundings. “Alice, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine,” she said softly, sliding her pile down with her to the next cabinet.

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  Alice took a breath, choking back the hazard of a breakdown. “I can’t talk about it now, Leslie. Please, just let me do this.”

  “Okay.” Leslie bowed her head and walked away.

  Once the mountain of files had vanished into the drawers, Alice collected her keys from her desk and headed to Mr. Engle’s executive washroom, a privilege she was granted whenever he wasn’t in the office. She locked the door behind her, leaned forward against the vanity, and wept silently into her hand until the fear of being overwhelmed by her feelings stopped her convulsions. She surveyed her red eyes and swollen lips, and splashed cold water at them.

  “Alice, open the door.” Leslie’s voice was accompanied by a gentle, persistent knocking.

  Surprised that Leslie had found her, she opened the door and let her in.

  “Honey, what is the matter?” Leslie pressed her hands against Alice’s cheeks.

  Alice draped her in a hug and cried silently on her shoulder.

  “Alice, talk to me,” Leslie said, stroking the back of her hair. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s troubling you.”

  “Aren’t you sad that you’re leaving?” Alice said, still clutching her.

  “Yes, I am.” Leslie held Alice’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “If you must know, I had myself a good, long cry in the shower this morning.”

/>   Alice reached for the box of tissues on the counter. “I must be losing my mind.”

  “Why? For getting emotional? You’re allowed. Is it that time of the month?”

  “I’m not usually an emotional person, Les,” Alice said. “I really feel sad that I won’t see you every day anymore. You’ve really become my closest friend over this last year.”

  “I feel the same way, Alice. I’ve enjoyed earning my own money and the independence of working here, but your friendship has been the best thing to come out of this. I don’t want to lose it because I’m leaving. We’ll still be friends, won’t we?”

  Adrift in the sweet vulnerability in Leslie’s eyes, Alice kissed her on the lips, a lingering kiss that electrified her from her hair follicles to the tips of her toenails.

  Surprisingly, Leslie didn’t recoil. When Alice finally pulled away, Leslie opened her eyes and calmly asked, “What was that all about?”

  Alice scratched at the back of her head in embarrassment. “Um, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not that way, you know, like Kathy, but I don’t know. I just wanted to.” Her hand trembled as she lifted it from the counter.

  Leslie blotted Alice’s lipstick off her lips with a tissue. “I suppose that’s a stupid question to ask someone who’s just kissed you.”

  “I’m sorry, Leslie. I don’t know what else to say, except that it won’t happen again.”

  Leslie reached into her purse and pulled out her compact. She stared straight ahead and powdered her nose in the mirror in an almost robotic fashion.

  “Leslie?” Alice said, picking at her fingernails. “Say something.”

  Leslie looked at her through the mirror’s reflection. “I’m afraid to.”

  “I promise I’ll never do that again,” Alice said with increasing agitation.

  “That’s not what I’m afraid of,” she said, rummaging through her purse.

  “Then what?”

  “I liked it,” she whispered.

  “Leslie,” Alice whispered back and kissed her again. Her emotions tumbled down in an avalanche of passion. What the hell was happening? She was kissing another woman, and she was enjoying it. She’d heard this sort of thing went on at swingers’ parties. She’d even seen it at Studio 54 on a visit once with friends in New York City. As mod and forward-thinking as she’d considered herself, she’d never thought of playing an active part in the sexual revolution, and certainly not this part.