The Second Wave

by Jean Copeland

  “Speak for yourself,” Alice said. “I came in second in a ‘Do the Hustle’ contest at Studio 54 in seventy-nine.”

  “Impressive,” Leslie said. “I stand corrected.”

  “Here we are.” Alice pulled into Cynthia’s driveway, then turned off the ignition and glanced around. Everything was different—the house was sided gray, bushes plucked from the front of the house, a small garden of marigolds in the center of the front lawn. “Thirty-eight years,” she said.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  They exchanged smiles, and as was becoming the custom, Alice looped her arm through Leslie’s and escorted her up the sidewalk.

  *

  Alice, Leslie, and Kathy sat around Cynthia’s round glass coffee table snacking on dip, flax-seed crackers, and chardonnay.

  “Cynthia, this spinach dip is fantastic,” Kathy said.

  “So is the wine,” Alice said. “Does anyone remember how to crochet?”

  “I do,” Leslie said. “Once I learned it, I never gave it up.” She took the hook and yarn from Alice. “I’m slower at it now, thanks to you-know-what.”

  “Les, they know you had a stroke,” Alice said. “I’d like to think we’ve all outgrown our secrets.”

  Kathy raised her wineglass. “It’s nice to be able to talk about Gretchen now the way everyone else talks about their significant others.”

  “Sure, now that all ours are dead, rub it in our faces,” Cynthia said.

  Alice snorted into her wineglass. “It’s sad but true. However, I completely get it, Kath. I could enjoy boring all of you for hours about how wonderful Maureen was.”

  Leslie’s head sprang up from her crochet square with a curious expression. Was it sincere interest or a nip of jealousy?

  “I’ll listen to anyone’s stories,” Kathy said. “It’s just wonderful that we can all share them now. That’s true liberation.”

  Everyone nodded, and someone threw in a “right-on.”

  “Every woman has an important story to tell,” Cynthia said. “Thanks, Kathy. I think you’ve just given us our discussion topic.” She stared into space pensively. “Women finally finding their voices,” she said as though announcing the title of a documentary.

  “I’ve heard of that,” Alice said seriously. “Isn’t the subtitle, ‘Women who become old and bitchy enough to finally speak up for themselves’?”

  Kathy and Leslie laughed.

  “Leave it to you, Alice,” Cynthia said. “You’re cracking jokes, but older women are devalued by our society—a culture that rewards women for their looks and obedience and scorns them when they no longer care about being sexy for men or competitive with other women.”

  Leslie returned to her careful work of hooking yarn. “If you told me back in the seventies we’d be complaining about the same issues into the next century, I never would’ve believed you. Why haven’t things changed?”

  “This is getting really heavy, sisters,” Kathy said. “Don’t we have anything stronger than wine?”

  Every head jerked toward Alice.

  “What are you looking at me for? I gave it up over twenty years ago.”

  “Say what?” Kathy said.

  “When I turned fifty, I adopted a cleaner way of living,” Alice said.

  “I’ll be right back,” Cynthia said.

  “Weed is organic,” Kathy said. “You can’t get any cleaner or more natural than that.”

  Alice pulled a face. “Then why didn’t you bring any?”

  “Gretchen won’t let me keep it in the house,” Kathy said, defeated. “She’s a retired army sergeant and informed me long ago she wasn’t going to cohabitate with any kind of radical hippie pothead.”

  Alice and Leslie laughed with her.

  “You’re a kept woman,” Alice said.

  Kathy smirked, seemingly unmoved by their teasing. “I’m a woman who waited until I was in my early fifties to meet the woman of my dreams. You better believe I’ll do anything to make her happy.”

  “Aww,” Leslie gushed.

  “Now where were we?” Cynthia said, sitting down slowly, clutching a silver cigarette case. “C’mon, kiddies, gather ’round.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Medical marijuana,” Cynthia said, clearly excited and proud to display a fatty. “I got a card, and I gotta say the government grows some grade-A stuff.”

  The others cheered and shrieked with laughter. After everyone took a hit, they got back to business.

  “Leslie made a powerful observation before,” Cynthia said, exhaling.

  “I did?” Leslie said.

  “This must be primo,” Alice said, nudging Leslie in the arm.

  “Yes,” Cynthia said. “You said forty years ago, you never would’ve imagined we’d still be facing the same issues women faced when we were young. Why do you think that is?”

  “The Amazon women’s secret plot to wipe out all men was unsuccessful?” Alice said, passing the joint to her left.

  “We need more lesbians?” Kathy said. “No offense, girls,” she added, regarding Cynthia and Leslie.

  Cynthia threw up her hands. “Okay, so we’re just going to sit here getting high and making jokes.”

  “We could be doing worse things,” Alice said.

  “As in pushing up daisies like Dolores.”

  They all bowed their heads for a moment.

  “To our fallen sister.” Cynthia raised her wineglass in Dolores’ memory and observed a moment of silence.

  “I’m a lesbian,” Leslie said out of nowhere.

  Alice choked and rubbed out a stream of smoke burning her eyes as Cynthia and Kathy glanced at each other.

  “Well, right-on,” Kathy finally said, clinking her wineglass against Leslie’s.

  “Thank you for sharing, Les,” Cynthia said with a reassuring smile. “That must’ve felt so freeing to say.”

  Leslie smiled. “It did.”

  “And I’m assuming by the beet-red blush on Alice’s face,” Cynthia said, “that she had something to do with you figuring it out.”

  “Um, getting back to Cynthia’s relevant topic,” Alice said, “aren’t you all sick of movies that pair up craggy old men with beautiful young girls? Why isn’t it ever the other way around?”

  Cynthia and Kathy were perched on the edge of their throw pillows, clearly anticipating further elaboration from Leslie.

  Against all hope, Alice persevered. “And why are respected female news anchors replaced at the first sign of a wrinkle, but the men practically have to die of old age right there at the news desk before they get the boot?”

  “Alice, who cares?” Kathy said. “You were saying, Leslie?”

  Leslie put down the hook and yarn, and sipped her wine. “Okay, um, yes, I discovered I was a lesbian after I realized I was in love with Alice.”

  “I knew it,” Kathy shouted, leaping to her knees off her pillow. “I knew it.” She quickly sat down again, rubbing her backside. “For the love of Christ, there goes my sciatica.”

  Alice passed Kathy the second joint after a puff.

  “This certainly explains a lot,” Cynthia said. She leaned on her side as if settling in for a campfire story. “Were you two actually involved?”

  “Of course they were,” Kathy said. “It was so obvious.”

  “When? You were still married to Bill, right?” Cynthia asked.

  “Cynthia, let’s not make Leslie uncomfortable, okay?” Alice said. “You know now, so let’s just let it go.”

  “No, it’s okay, Alice,” Leslie said with a reassuring touch of her hand. “Yes, I was with Bill at the time. I’m not at all proud to admit that I was unfaithful to him, but I was. Alice made me feel like nobody else ever has, and in my ignorance of such things, I handled the situation poorly, hurting both her and my husband. I still don’t know how to make things right by either of them.”

  “I can’t speak for your ex,” Kathy said, “but judging by Alice’s expression, I’d say it’s happening for her
right now.”

  When Leslie turned to look at her, Alice swept her up in a hug so tight, she nearly pulled her off her pillow.

  Cynthia wiped the tears under her eyes. “You broads just killed my friggin’ buzz.”

  Kathy wiped her eyes, too. “No problem, Cynth. You got a prescription for it.” She ambled to her feet and over to the stereo.

  “Is that why you moved back to Connecticut?” Cynthia asked. “To be with Leslie?”

  “Uh, we’re not together,” Alice said. “Just good friends.”

  “Yes, best friends,” Leslie added.

  “Frampton Comes Alive,” Kathy said. She loaded up the CD, and “Baby, I Love Your Way” filled the room. “Come on, let’s dance.” She gave Cynthia her hand, and they began slow-dancing—smiling and hooting.

  Alice looked at Leslie, her eyes asking the question.

  “I’m sure it’s excellent therapy,” Leslie said.

  Alice helped Leslie to her feet. At first they danced like eighth-graders keeping enough distance so the fabric of their shirts didn’t touch. Soon Frampton’s voice had them holding each other close, swaying in a slow, sexy rhythm.

  When the song ended, they all sat down and enjoyed the rest of the evening—sharing, debating, eating, drinking, smoking, and strategizing to take over the world.

  “I could stay all night,” Kathy said, “but the missus expects me home at a decent hour.”

  “I had the best time, ladies,” Cynthia said. “Too bad we couldn’t solve the world’s problems, too.”

  “It’s a lucky thing we’re all back together,” Leslie said, “so we can keep working on them.”

  Alice surveyed their smiling faces. “I’ve got the time.”

  *

  The ride home to Leslie’s was more like a journey to the surreal. They’d been alone many times in recent days, but that night, the mood was at last like the full-moon sky, light and uncomplicated. After touching briefly on Leslie’s impromptu coming-out party, they reflected on other profound revelations of the evening.

  “Tonight reminded me how important friendship is,” Leslie said, “especially at our age.”

  “Nothing compares to good old-fashioned conversation with like-minded women,” Alice said. “That was one of the best aspects of the movement. We truly understood about being on each other’s side.”

  “Sometimes it seems like women don’t care much about solidarity anymore.”

  “Unfortunately, it seems like that a lot.”

  “Then it looks like our clique reunited at exactly the right time,” Leslie said with a smile.

  Alice secretly swooned at Leslie’s timeless allure. When she pulled into the driveway, she found herself mesmerized by Leslie’s profile.

  “Would you like to come in for coffee or tea?” Leslie asked when Alice hadn’t turned off her ignition. “If it’s too late, I understand.”

  “What? No,” Alice stammered. “It’s not too late for me. I’m retired.”

  “Me, too.” Leslie grinned. “Hashtag: senior-citizen life.”

  Alice laughed as they walked into Leslie’s townhouse. “How do you know about hashtags?”

  “I have three grandkids. Billy’s twins force me to make an account on every social-media site that comes out.”

  “That’s adorable,” Alice said, then added with a flirty drawl, “I should look you up on Facebook.”

  “Yes, you should,” Leslie replied in kind.

  As Leslie washed her hands at the kitchen sink, Alice stealthily checked out her rear end, still respectably round and firm for a woman on the cusp of seventy. God bless Leslie’s yoga teacher.

  “What would you like to drink? Tea or coffee?”

  “Actually, just a glass of cold water,” Alice said. “I forgot about the cotton mouth.”

  “Awful, isn’t it? But the weed was so good. I should ask my doctor for a prescription.”

  Leslie’s mischievous grin put Alice away. How the hell was she supposed to pull off this just-friends business with that dimpled cheek mesmerizing her like a siren luring ancient mariners to their rocky demise?

  Alice took the water bottles from Leslie, and they walked arm in arm to the couch. Leslie turned on her television to the seventies cable music station.

  “This is nice.” Alice slipped off her shoes and stretched her legs on the coffee table. “You mind?”

  “Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Say, curious thing—you took your cane into Cynthia’s house but didn’t use it all night.”

  “I told you I’m not relying on it anymore. My balance is almost back to normal.”

  Alice narrowed her eyes at her. “Then why are you still holding onto my arm whenever we walk somewhere together?”

  “Oops,” Leslie said, feigning contrition. “You always could see right through me.” She surprised Alice further by resting her head on Alice’s shoulder.

  If there was ever a more clear-cut moment to get up and flee in panic of falling irretrievably back in love with Leslie, that was it.

  “You and Rebecca,” Leslie added.

  “What about her? Did she catch you cheating on your rehab exercises or something?”

  Leslie shook her head. “I’d never cheat on my exercises. They’re making me stronger.”

  Alice gestured expectantly. “What are we, playing Twenty Questions?”

  “Boy, are you impatient in your old age,” Leslie said, teasing her.

  “And you’re terrible at being just friends.”

  “What are you talking about?” She batted her lashes innocently.

  “You’re flirting with me. You can’t flirt with your friends.”

  Leslie was failing badly at her attempt not to smile. “I’m not flirting. I’m just trying to get you to guess about Rebecca.”

  “What, that she guessed you’re a lesbian?”

  Leslie nodded proudly.

  Alice rolled her eyes. “That’s not news. The first day I met her, she told me she suspected you might be.”

  “Well, now she knows for sure.”

  “How the heck did that come up in conversation?”

  “She was telling me a little about her and Sage’s sessions with the therapist. I told her I was glad they were trying to work it out, but I advised her to think twice before she stayed in a marriage for the sake of the kids.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I love Jake with all my heart and want the best for him, but if I think of my daughter experiencing the kind of heartache I went through, I might as well lie down and die right now.”

  Alice gushed, awed by Leslie’s capacity to love.

  “Thankfully, Rebecca truly loves Sage, and they both seem fully committed to fixing what went wrong.”

  “I’m happy to hear that,” Alice said. “Your daughter’s an amazing woman—but knowing her mother as I do, that’s not at all surprising.”

  Leslie’s expression turned grave. “Alice, I can’t be your friend.”

  “Wait,” Alice said, broadsided. “After all that talk in the car, you don’t want to be friends anymore?”

  “No, I want to, but Rebecca also said that unless I wanted to lose you again, I better tell you how I really feel—that I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

  Alice’s water bottle slid out of her hands and bounced off the floor.

  “I can’t lose you again, baby.” Leslie leaned toward her.

  Their sensual kiss was a potion, a mystical balm that erased time and fear, cured sickness and aging.

  They sat quietly for a moment, their fingers entwined, heads resting together.

  “By the way,” Leslie said. “Thanks for the ending to my poem.”

  “The one about unfinished business?”

  Leslie nodded.

  “Seems like it’s finished now,” Alice said as she caressed Leslie’s arm.

  “As far as I’m concerned, it is.”

  They exchanged another kiss, a sweet gift they promised the
y’d give to each other from that moment on.

  About the Author

  Jean Copeland is an English teacher and author from Connecticut. Taking a chance on a second career in her thirties, she graduated summa cum laude from Southern Connecticut State University with a BS in English education and an MS in English/creative writing.

  Jean’s debut novel, The Revelation of Beatrice Darby, won a 2016 Alice B Readers Lavender Certificate and a 2016 Golden Crown Literary Society award for debut author. She’s also had numerous personal essays and short fiction published in print and online.

  After a fulfilling year watching her students discover their talents in creative writing and poetry, Jean enjoys summer decompression through writing in coffee shops, beach bumming, and winery hopping with her lady. Organ donation and shelter animal adoption are causes dear to her heart. Visit Jean at www.jeancopeland.wordpress.com

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  Camp Rewind by Meghan O’Brien. A summer camp for grown-ups becomes the site of an unlikely romance between a shy, introverted divorcee and one of the Internet’s most infamous cultural critics—who attends undercover. (978-1-62639-793-4)

  Cross Purposes by Gina L. Dartt. In pursuit of a lost Acadian treasure, three women must not only work out the clues, but also the complicated tangle of emotion and attraction developing between them. (978-1-62639-713-2)

  Imperfect Truth by C.A. Popovich. Can an imperfect truth stand in the way of love? (978-1-62639-787-3)

  Life in Death by M. Ullrich. Sometimes the devastating end is your only chance for a new beginning. (978-1-62639-773-6)

  Love on Liberty by MJ Williamz. Hearts collide when politics clash. (978-1-62639-639-5)

  Serious Potential by Maggie Cummings. Pro golfer Tracy Allen plans to forget her ex during a visit to Bay West, a lesbian condo community in NYC, but when she meets Dr. Jennifer Betsy, she gets more than she bargained for. (978-1-62639-633-3)

  Taste by Kris Bryant. Accomplished chef Taryn has walked away from her promising career in the city’s top restaurant to devote her life to her five-year-old daughter and is content until Ki Blake comes along. (978-1-62639-718-7)