Last Night at the Telegraph Club(77)

“I don’t know about this one,” Shirley was saying. “I think it’s a little too . . . flashy, you know?”

Mary giggled, and Flora did too.

“What do you think, Lily?” Shirley asked.

Lily swallowed. “You’re probably right. Maybe try the two-piece one?”

Shirley nodded. “Yes. Mary, can you help me out of this?”

And then the dress was coming off again as she raised her arms and Mary pulled it up, up over her head. Lily dropped her eyes to the floor, where she saw Shirley’s stockinged feet on the ground. The black seams had twisted off the center of her calves, but she did not volunteer to help straighten them.

Walking home from Union Square later that day, Lily wondered if she’d run into Paula again—or maybe Claire, or even Sal. She realized, with a jolt, that the city must be peppered with women who frequented the Telegraph or similar clubs; women who watched performers like Tommy Andrews, made friends with each other, made girlfriends of each other. At each intersection she cast skittish glances at the women waiting for the light to change, wondering if she was one of them too, or her, or her.





35





Finally, it was the first Monday back at school after Christmas break. Lily had been inordinately nervous about seeing Kath again, but when the moment arrived—there she was, standing at her locker in an ordinary-looking skirt and blouse—it was disappointingly anticlimactic. The hallway was full of rushing students and teachers, and the fluorescent lights shined bright overhead, erasing the tiniest possibility of romance.

Then Kath met her eyes from ten feet away, and a blush colored her face, and Lily’s skin went hot as she remembered the way Kath had held her in the shadows of that alley.

They couldn’t talk about it in school, of course, except in the most coded of ways. When Kath greeted her, she asked, “Are you . . . all right?”

There were a thousand questions hidden within those words. Lily clutched her books close to her chest as if to cage herself behind them, and answered, “Yes. I’m fine. How are you?”

A smile flickered onto Kath’s face, and her eyes darted behind Lily for a moment. Lily knew that Shirley was back there somewhere, and Kath seemed to swallow her smile before she said somewhat formally, “I’m fine also.”

They had to separate then. “I’ll see you in class,” Lily said.

Kath nodded, and at the last possible moment, she turned away.



* * *



—



After school, they walked home together, but it was nothing like the way it used to be. Lily was extraordinarily conscious of every time they touched: Kath’s elbow brushing hers as they left Galileo; the back of Lily’s hand grazing Kath’s hip when they stopped at an intersection. She was even more aware of the undulating space between them, like an invisible barrier that could not be crossed—not in public.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Lily said nervously. “About what happened.”

Kath glanced at her shyly. “I can’t either. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Lily glanced around to double-check that no one was in hearing range. “How long—how long have you known about . . . the way you are?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve always known I was . . . different. It didn’t seem like a surprise when I figured it out.”

They crossed Polk Street on Chestnut, heading for the stairs up Russian Hill. It was cold today; the air was damp and the wind constantly tugged at Lily’s hair.

“What about you?” Kath asked. “How long have you known?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe a long time, in some ways. But not very long for real. Not—not until you.” Lily glanced sidelong at Kath.

“I’m glad I could help,” she said, smiling.

Lily laughed, and then shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was the wind or Kath’s smile that did it. “Do you remember that day in Senior Goals when you said it wasn’t strange that I wanted to go to the moon?”

“I remember.”

“I think that was the first day I really noticed you.”

“Took you that long?” Kath teased her.

“Maybe I’m a late bloomer,” Lily said tartly. “Why, when did you notice me?”

Kath shot her a grin. “You really want to know?”

“Yes!”

“Well . . . last year, you helped me with a geometry proof. You probably don’t remember. You do this thing where you . . .” Kath trailed off, looking a little shy.

“What? What do I do?”

“You chew on your lip when you do a difficult math problem,” Kath said. “It’s cute.”

Lily’s face went red, and she laughed. “I’d better stop that in college, or no one will take me seriously.”

When they reached the stairs they started up side by side, and sometimes as they climbed they bumped against each other, accidentally on purpose. Lily’s arm against Kath’s; their hands knocking gently together; their fingers almost linking.

Right before they reached the top, Kath said very softly, “I want to kiss you again.”

A jolt went through Lily—she had to stop to catch her breath—and Kath stopped too, and they turned to look at each other. The wind had gone still, and Kath’s hair was blown sideways across her forehead as if someone had tousled it with their fingers. Lily could look at Kath forever, but looking was not enough. She wanted nothing more than to touch Kath, but the space between them seemed to buzz warningly. They were on top of Russian Hill now, on top of the city itself, completely exposed.