The Second Wave

by Jean Copeland

“Did you stay in touch with her all this time?” Kathy asked with what Alice detected was a note of suspicion in her voice.

  “Who, Leslie?”

  “Who else are we talking about?”

  “After I moved to Boston, it was challenging to stay in contact with everyone,” Alice said.

  “I’m surprised. You became so much closer to her than the rest of us.”

  Alice glared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” Kathy said. “It’s just an observation.”

  Cynthia chuckled. “Dolores once said you and Leslie acted like an old married couple.”

  “So that’s what you all did when we weren’t there?” Alice spat. “Talked about us behind our backs?”

  “You two were there the night Dolores said that,” Kathy said. “It was the night the abortion discussion got really weird. At first we thought you’d brought a stash of bunk weed, but then we remembered you always supplied primo stuff.”

  The wine, the summer heat, and Kathy’s line of cross-examination had Alice’s head in a whirl. She was a sip or two away from telling her to piss off with her nosy insinuations, but instead she licked her dry lips and said, “It was a touchy subject that made Leslie emotional.”

  “You were both pretty emotional that night,” Cynthia said. “I only remember because the tension between you two was palpable. Dolores’s comment wasn’t meant as a dig. It was more to ease the uncomfortable vibe in the room.”

  “What exactly do you two want to know?” Alice turned a searing gaze on Kathy, as if protecting Leslie was her sworn duty. “By the way, Kath, when did you finally find your way out of the closet?”

  “Look at me,” Kathy said, spreading out her arms. “Does a jet need the word ‘airplane’ scrawled across it for you to know what it is?”

  Cynthia almost sprayed her wine across the table, and Alice fought cracking a smile out of principle.

  “I don’t know why you’re getting your Depends in such a bunch,” Kathy said. “You’ve been out for years, too. We’re your friends. We’re just wondering if there was anything between you and Leslie you want to share with us now.”

  Yes, Alice had wanted to share it with her friends. She’d stopped lying about her personal life so long ago that remembering how to do it now required some finesse. And since spending time with Leslie had unearthed the relics of complicated feelings she’d buried long ago, she could use some objective opinions. But would confiding in her friends a part of her own history mean she was betraying Leslie?

  “Thanks, ladies,” Alice said, placing a hand on each of theirs. “I appreciate your concern, but the three of us are here together right now. Let’s enjoy the present before this becomes another part of our pasts we’ll never get back.”

  “Oh, please, is this what we’ve become?” Cynthia drawled. “We used to exchange profound insights on one of the most influential social movements in American history. Now we’re spouting catchphrases from corny greeting cards.”

  Kathy and Alice laughed.

  “Really?” Alice said. “You think my words of wisdom are good enough for greeting cards?”

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t go around bragging about that,” Cynthia said.

  Kathy leaned back, stretching her legs to the chair across from her. “This is the life. I gotta bring Gretchen here.”

  “I hope you’ll come around more often now, Alice,” Cynthia said. “I’m sorry we hadn’t heard about Maureen. We would’ve come to the service.”

  Alice gazed out at the haze the sun cast over the winery’s landscape. “It’s my fault,” she said. “When Maureen got sick and then started failing, I isolated myself from everyone, my family, too.” A smile suddenly brightened her face. “It’s good to be back.”

  Kathy raised her glass again. “Here’s to the second wave of the Second Wave.”

  After they clinked glasses, Cynthia’s eyes widened with enthusiasm. “We have to have a reunion meeting one night with Leslie—crocheting, hors d’oeuvres, the works.”

  “The works?” Alice asked out the corner of her mouth.

  “The works,” Kathy replied with a mischievous grin.

  “Hmm, what will our feminist topic be now?” Cynthia said, already contemplating it.

  “You ask that like things have changed so radically for women in the last forty years,” Alice said. “How about how Republicans are still trying to climb into our uteruses?”

  “How about the Equal Pay Act?” Kathy said. “Can you believe that fucking thing still hasn’t passed?”

  They shook their heads in collective despair.

  “It’s like Simone de Beauvoir wrote back in 1950,” Cynthia said. “‘Women are the other,’ and the codes of law were set up against us. Unbelievably, it hasn’t changed much.”

  “That’s unbelievably depressing,” Kathy said.

  “It is,” Cynthia added, “but we’re also closer than we’ve ever been to electing a female president.”

  “Super,” Alice said, refilling everyone’s glass. “When she gets elected and realizes she’s making only seventy-eight percent of the last president’s salary, maybe an executive order will settle it once and for all.”

  They toasted again.

  “I can’t wait for our next meeting,” Cynthia said, and her smile spoke for everyone.

  As Alice drove home to Mary Ellen’s later that afternoon, her mind wandered back to the night Kathy and Cynthia had mentioned, the night she and Leslie had almost blown their cover in Cynthia’s bathroom.

  October 1977

  Alice stood in the kitchen rolling joints as an early autumn breeze ruffled the curtains over the sink. She licked the edge of the paper and twisted it between her thumb and forefinger, realizing she was looking forward to the first hit a little too much. Several weeks of not speaking with Leslie was wearing on her, and time, apparently, had her low on the waiting list for wound healing. Now she had to muster the stamina to fake being fine around the girls—no way that was happening straight. She held up the last of her creations and twirled it around, admiring its tightness, symmetry, and all-around craftsmanship.

  “Alice, hurry up with the party favors,” Kathy called out from the living room.

  Suddenly, their voices rose to an excited pitch. At first Alice assumed they were cheering in anticipation of her handmade accoutrements, but when she walked in the room, the girls were taking turns hugging Leslie, who’d just made a late and surprise arrival.

  Alice gritted her teeth, simultaneously compelled to jump into her arms and bolt out the back door before Leslie spotted her.

  “Hi, Alice,” Leslie said, her blue eyes speaking words only Alice could comprehend.

  She exhaled and forced a smile. What a buzzkill. Good thing she wasn’t buzzed yet. She sat down across from her and sparked up a doobie.

  Her strange aloofness and eagerness to smoke were too obvious to pass unnoticed.

  “Jeez, tough day, Alice?” Cynthia asked and sipped her wine.

  “Yes, you might say that.” Alice fought the urge to look at Leslie, her throat burning from the billow of smoke she’d sucked down.

  “Well, then, let’s get down to business,” Dolores said as she unwrapped a platter of Spam, tomato, and cheese squares.

  “It was my turn to pick,” Cynthia said, exhaling smoke. “So I went for a real hot-button issue, but it needs to be addressed.”

  “Let me guess,” Dolores said with a grimace. “Abortion.”

  Cynthia glowered at her. “I’m sorry. I know this is an unpleasant topic and one we’d like to avoid, but it’s a crucial issue that speaks to women’s basic civil rights.”

  “Right,” Kathy said, sipping her beer. “The right to choose what happens to my own body.”

  “If you ask me,” Dolores said, “abortion is just another social construction that helps men avoid responsibility. Think about it—no shotgun wedding, no eighteen-year financial commitment, and best of all, they’re not the ones who have
to have the god-awful procedure.”

  Alice leaned into Dolores’s face and stared for a moment. “Whoa. You just blew my mind with that one, Lucretia.”

  Dolores nudged her into a pile of pillows. “You dope. You’re stoned.”

  “I’ll say she is.” Leslie’s glare and the bite in her voice were a clear response to the freeze-out Alice had been giving her since she’d arrived.

  “Wasn’t this argument settled four years ago with Roe versus Wade?” Alice said and reclined against a pile of pillows as the herb worked its magic.

  “Only in the sense that women don’t have to die getting back-alley, illegal abortions anymore,” Cynthia said. “But women in most states still have to face the indignity of having to justify why they need one. And there are still restrictions in place that create a real financial burden on the woman, like having to travel to another state to have one.”

  “Leslie, you’re awfully quiet on this,” Dolores said.

  She looked around like she was afraid to answer. Finally, she took a deep breath. “I don’t believe in abortion.”

  “None of us believe in abortion,” Alice said softly. “This is a civil-rights issue.”

  “What about the baby’s civil rights?”

  “You mean the fetus?” Kathy asked. “A fetus depends solely on the woman to grow into a baby, and if that woman isn’t ready or is incapable of handling it, she should have the final say.”

  “She could put the baby up for adoption,” Leslie said.

  Cynthia poured another glass of wine. “And have to live with the knowledge that her child is out there in the world, hopefully being taken care of properly and not hating her for giving it away.”

  “Do you want women to revert back to being mutilated by unqualified quacks who’ll do anything for money?” Kathy said.

  “I don’t want anyone or anything to be mutilated,” Leslie said, visibly upset. “Excuse me for a minute. I have to use the bathroom.”

  Alice’s eyes trailed Leslie until she disappeared around the corner. She then glared at them. “Smooth move, Kathy.”

  “What?” Kathy protested. “Are we a feminist group or a bunch of Mormons?”

  “We’re friends first,” Alice said and looked at Dolores. “Why didn’t you open your mouth? You’re on her side.”

  Dolores raised her palms helplessly.

  “Look, I have kids, too,” Cynthia said, “but I had them with a loving husband. This is about reproductive freedom. Do you know how many women end up stuck in situations with the wrong guy because they can’t handle the financial burden alone?”

  “They could always kill them for their life insurance,” Alice drawled.

  “Here’s a unique idea—women shouldn’t sleep with the wrong men,” Dolores added.

  “What the Christ is wrong with you two?” Cynthia barked. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

  “Seriously,” Kathy said. “Alice, can’t you ever contribute anything besides sarcasm to these discussions?”

  “This is getting way too heavy,” Alice said, standing up. “I’m gonna go check on Leslie.”

  She meandered over to the bathroom and tapped on the door. “Les? Leslie?”

  A muffled “what” came through the door.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No,” Leslie said through sniffles.

  Alice jiggled the locked doorknob. “Will you let me in?” she said gently.

  After a moment, she heard the click of the door unlocking and walked in to find Leslie sitting on the toilet lid wiping her face with a wad of toilet paper. She crouched in front of her, resting her hands on Leslie’s knees. “Hey, Bella, don’t take this so hard. It’s just a philosophical exchange of ideas. We’re all either high or drunk or both every time we have them.”

  “That’s not why I’m crying, you dummy,” Leslie said. “You’re ignoring me tonight, like you can’t stand looking at me.”

  “I can’t,” Alice said, wiping some of Leslie’s tears with her thumb. “One look at you and it kills me. Reminds me how desperately I love you and can’t have you.”

  “I miss you,” Leslie said as she cried softly.

  “I miss you, too, baby.” Alice pulled her off the toilet onto the floor where they sat and cried onto each other’s shoulders.

  “I want to be with you, Alice.” She kissed her with wet, salty lips.

  “God, I want that, too,” she whispered, pecking her gently, sensually. “Leave Bill and be with me.”

  Leslie’s tears smeared across Alice’s cheeks, but she had no answer. She just clutched Alice tighter and devoured her in a kiss.

  “Are you ladies okay in there?” Cynthia asked through the door.

  Alice wiped her face, remembering she hadn’t locked the door behind her. “Yes, fine. Be right out.”

  “Are you sure?” Cynthia asked.

  “Yes,” Alice snapped. “We’ll be right there.”

  They scrambled to their feet, dried their tears, and took a moment to pull themselves together.

  “I can’t stand not seeing you, not talking to you,” Leslie whispered.

  “But you said being together was too hard.”

  “It is, Alice, but not being with you is torture. Please don’t leave me.” She embraced her again, clinging so tightly she was shaking.

  “I won’t, baby,” Alice said in her ear. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise,” Alice said, trying to dislodge herself from Leslie’s grip. “We better get back out there before they move the meeting in here.”

  Leslie’s hands slid over Alice’s hips and groped at her ass. “I wish we could sneak out and go to your house.”

  “Holy shit, me, too.” Alice pressed her lips on Leslie’s, pushed her against the sink, and ground her hips into her.

  A fist pounded on the door. “What the hell are you doing in there, wiping each other?” Kathy bellowed. “Come on. This beer is going right through me.”

  Leslie pushed Alice away, causing her to stumble against the door. Alice opened it and found Kathy’s eyes scrutinizing them.

  “Now I know what you were doing,” she said, nodding.

  “We weren’t doing anything,” Alice said.

  “Come on, it’s obvious. Have you two looked in the mirror?”

  Alice and Leslie examined each other in a near panic.

  “So who puked and who held her hair back?” Kathy asked.

  They both grumbled with nervous laughter.

  “Can’t put anything over on you, Kath,” Alice said, patting her on the shoulder.

  After the controversial klatch broke at the usual time, Alice and Leslie stood chitchatting over the roof of Alice’s car in Cynthia’s driveway. When Kathy and Dolores finally drove away, the tone of the conversation shifted.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go home,” Alice said.

  “I don’t want to,” Leslie said.

  “I wonder if there’s a diner around here,” Alice said, then added, “Or a cheap motel.”

  Leslie’s eyebrow shot up as she fondled her car keys in her hand. “I’ll settle for either as long as I don’t have to say good-bye to you yet.”

  Alice consulted her wristwatch. “Follow me off exit sixteen. We’ll stop at whichever we come to first.”

  Leslie’s headlights were steady in her rearview mirror on the highway all the way to the exit. Alice took a left off the ramp and drove for about a mile before spotting the orange neon sign of a 24-hour diner. She pulled into the parking lot and drove all the way to the back of the lot bordered by a wooded area. Leslie pulled in a few spaces away from her and waited for Alice to walk over to her.

  “C’mere for a minute,” Alice said, leaning against her car door, eyeing her as though she were a prisoner about to have a conjugal visit.

  Leslie walked to her, her smile inching wider as she got closer. “Aren’t we going in?”

  “Get in my car,” Alice said. “If I have to s
tare at your lips another moment and not kiss them, I’m certain I’ll die.”

  Leslie scurried around the car and jumped into the passenger seat, and Alice wasted none of their precious time before laying a sensual kiss on her.

  “What if someone sees us?” Leslie whispered.

  “It’s late,” a kiss; “it’s dark,” another kiss, “and I don’t care,” a deeper kiss that settled the protest.

  Leslie didn’t seem too concerned either as she slid under Alice on the smooth vinyl, bench-style front seat.

  Alice cradled Leslie’s head in her hands and kissed her like fire racing through a barn, pressing her body into Leslie’s as though they could melt and then fuse into one. What she wouldn’t do to make time stop in this moment when they were the only two people in the world.

  She worked at the clasp of Leslie’s bra, anticipating resistance, but Leslie moaned softly and arched her back to accommodate her fingers. Unbuttoned, unhooked, and uninhibited, they made love feverishly as headlights flashed intermittently through the fogged-up windows. Somewhere in Alice’s distant mind lurked the fear of being discovered by the fuzz or worse, a group of hoodlums, but her body and heart were so consumed in Leslie’s softness and the ravenous response of her body that common sense hadn’t stood a chance.

  Afterward, they sat up sweaty and disheveled, their skin an exotic mixture of perfumes and pheromones. Alice ran her fingers through her damp hair, shaken by the intensity between them, the high she felt whenever she was in Leslie’s arms.

  Leslie had rolled down the car window and was fanning herself with the cool but stagnant night air. “You make me crazy, Alice,” she said quietly, with resignation.

  “I know it makes you uncomfortable when I say this, but I’m in love with you. Completely.” Alice stared into the blackness beyond the wall of pine trees. “You’re an addiction. You’re unhealthy for me and can get me in all sorts of trouble, but I can’t resist you when you’re in front of me.”

  “And what about when I’m not?”

  Alice turned and looked at her face, so beautiful in the glow from a distant parking-lot light. “Then I’m jonesin’ for you like a fiend.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Leslie said.