Last Night at the Telegraph Club(95)

“Did they—do they still not like it?”

“Oh, they’re coming around. It helps that Russ married a lovely woman and they have a beautiful little boy now. They’re still working their way around to me. At least they write to me now. For several years they didn’t.”

“They write to you—you mean they’re not here?” Lily asked.

“No, in Detroit. That’s where I grew up. I moved here when I was seventeen because I heard San Francisco was friendly to people like me. Russ said our parents were afraid I’d become destitute and end up working the streets.” Lana spoke dryly, but when she reached for the cigarettes again there was a touch of nervousness to her movements. “They’re happy I have a steady job now. Maybe if I looked like Tommy, they’d give up on me, but they keep hoping I’ll meet the right man. My mother tried to set me up on a date last week with a banker here who’s the cousin of one of her bridge partners. They won’t give up.”

Lily looked down at her coffee. “My mother said there are no homosexuals in our family.”

“Maybe there aren’t, but there might be a lesbian.”

It was a terrible joke, but it seemed so painfully funny to Lily in that moment. To think that she was sitting in Tommy Andrews’s girlfriend’s living room, hearing her life story! And then the reality of her predicament came crashing back down, and it wasn’t funny anymore. Here she was, in a near-stranger’s home, with nowhere to go.

The expression on her face must have been plain as day, because Lana gave her a sympathetic look and said, “You’ll be all right.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Lily said. The words came out, embarrassingly, like a plea for help, and Lana said nothing in return, only took a deep drag from her cigarette and considered her, giving her that same look from when Lily first arrived. But now Lily thought it was more as if Lana were trying to determine what to do with her: as if she were an unexpected package that had at first been interesting, but was rapidly turning into a burden.

The doorbell rang, and Lana straightened up. “That must be Claire. I forgot she was coming. Hang on.”

Lana went to the door, and Lily set her half-finished coffee on the table, getting up. A moment later, Claire came in bearing a brown paper sack with a wine bottle tucked under her arm.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” Claire said. “The deli took forever.”

“It’s all right, and look, we have a surprise guest.” Lana took the wine and the paper sack, nodding in Lily’s direction.

“Hello!” Claire exclaimed. “Lily, right?” She unwound the scarf from her hair. Lily had never before noticed that it was quite red, and her face was scattered with light brown freckles.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Lily said, gathering up the blanket to fold it. “I can go now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Claire tugged off her rain boots and removed her coat. “The sandwiches are huge—you should join us.”

Lily protested again, but weakly. The next few minutes were filled with the mundane tasks of taking the food and wine into the dining room, turning on the lights, bringing out plates and cutlery and glasses. Claire opened the wine and poured three glasses full, not even asking if Lily wanted one, and Lana unwrapped the two sandwiches on a cutting board. They were indeed huge. Claire had bought them at an Italian deli and said there was salami and mortadella and fontina and something else she couldn’t remember, all piled onto chewy sourdough bread spread with grainy mustard and layered with pickles. Lana cut each large sandwich into three smaller ones, and brought out a bag of potato chips from the kitchen and a pile of napkins from the antique sideboard. By the time the three of them sat down at the table, Lily felt almost normal again, rather than an interloper at someone’s private party. Claire claimed Lana’s attention now, and they spoke in shorthand like old friends, which meant Lily didn’t understand a good part of their conversation and could eat her sandwich without having to say much.

“. . . even Sandy called me about it,” Lana said between bites.

“Sandy! My goodness, I thought she was long gone,” Claire said.

“No, just moved down to San Jose.”

“She’s still carrying a torch, I guess.”

“Maybe. But not a big enough one to offer to help. She just wants the gossip. Parker called me too.”

“Well, that’s good. Can he do anything?”

“He’s going to meet me tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll have some ideas.”

Claire took a sip of her wine, and when she replaced her glass on the table she turned to Lily, who was almost finished with her sandwich. “So, what brought you here tonight?”

“She might not want to talk about it,” Lana said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Claire said. “Did I put my foot in my mouth?”

“No, it’s fine,” Lily said. Haltingly she explained what had happened, while Claire watched her with growing sympathy.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Claire said. “Last night was rough for a lot of us, it seems.” She reached out and squeezed Lily’s hand.

The touch seemed to release all her worry for Kath, which had been held at bay since she arrived at Lana’s. “I have to find Kath,” she said. “How can I find out where she is?”