“Stop being a baby, and let’s go. You need to get Rindy that Belle Starr doll at Frankenberg’s before they’re all gone.”
Carol looked at Abby incredulously. “Where did you come up with that name? It’s Bright Betsy. Who’s going to name a doll after a notorious Wild West outlaw?”
“Belle Starr, Bright Betsy, close enough for me. By the way, did you know that she probably wasn’t an outlaw; it was the men in her life that were up to no good and she got lumped in with the lot of them. Just goes to show you…I always thought Belle Watling should have a doll named after her.”
“Belle Watling, the Atlanta Madam from Gone with the Wind? Abigail, honestly.”
“Did you know the actress who played that role, Ona Munson, is a lesbian who has had affairs with Greta Garbo, Tallulah Bankhead, and others; including Mercedes de Acosta, who had affairs with Greta, Tallulah, Isadora Duncan, Marlene Dietrich, and on and on. Hollywood was a veritable carousel of lovers back in the day and still is. Word is that Kate Hepburn plays for both teams…hmmm…, I can’t even finish that thought. Can you imagine her with all that dominant energy.”
“Where do you come up with this kind of information? How do you know these things?”
“Well, for one thing I’m not in a lavender marriage that keeps me chained to the hinterlands of New Jersey suburbia.”
Abby knew immediately she’d gone too far. She hated it when she did that with anyone but she was devastated when she did it to Carol. Her best friend was going through a vindictive divorce with a snarling, resentful husband who vacillated between whining for reconciliation and threatening mass destruction. The last thing Carol needed was more grief from her. Seemed like she was always apologizing for something she’d said about Harge or his parents. He was despicable with his manipulations and his parents were the epitome of frigid haughtiness of the worst kind. Abby felt a chill as she thought about the few times she’d had to endure their company. She didn’t want to go through another remorseful mea culpa and tarnish their day so she decided to cut her losses and change the subject.
“I’m going stir crazy with cabin fever. The snow and ice and godawful cold are seriously cramping my style. I need to get out of New Jersey and into the city, civilization, Scotty’s, people, women.”
“Abby, you act like you’ve been snowbound for weeks without human contact. It’s been four days since the six inches fell. Not exactly a Donner party situation.”
“But Carol, my needs. You’re dismissing the voracious nature of my needs. I’ve had a bit of a dry spell lately and this blizzard has extended it beyond my tolerance.”
Carol looked at her friend’s pitiful, pleading face and burst out with a sarcastic laugh. “You want to talk about dry spells? Let me see, how does nothing sound to you? Absolutely nothing for months since I’ve had the omnipresence of Hargess Aird watching my every move.
“Before we separated, he was almost incognito, always a business meeting, always a golf game, always a cocktail party, always his parents, always something keeping him from home. Now, he’s Mister Got to be Checking In, making sure the plumbing is okay in this frigid weather, picking up his mail even though most of his goes to his office, or whatever his latest flimsy excuse is. I swear I can feel his eyes on me whenever I go anywhere. So, don’t talk to me about a dry spell.”
Carol sighed the weariness of one who’s lived through months of covert harassment and frustrating loneliness. She was constantly having to negotiate with Harge for time with Rindy and fielding Rindy’s tearful questions about the family’s living arrangements. How was she supposed to handle a sad five-year-old’s questions whose answers were too complicated for herself to sort out. But Abby was here now, offering her an escape of sorts, so she was going to take advantage of the reprieve.
“I do need to get that doll. If we leave now, we can get into the city after the morning traffic rush, get the doll, have lunch at Scotty’s, and be home before Rindy’s kindergarten lets out.”
“That’s my girl. Now, go tell the housekeeper/warden that you’ve gotten a ‘good behavior’ release for the day and let’s roll.”
“Careful, don’t let Florence hear you. I swear she’s behind every door or perched like a gargoyle on high furniture watching my every move and listening to every conversation. I think she has a direct line to Harge’s office so she can give minute by minute reports on me.”
“All the more reason to get out of here. Get your purse and coat because we’re hitting the road, baby.”
“Is the top going to be down?”
Abby threw her head back and laughed. “You know it, babe. We’re going to ride in style. Just kidding. It’s too cold, even for me.”
Brring! Brring! Brring! Therese reached an arm out from under the covers. Turning off the infernally obnoxious alarm on her clock was the only thing that could make her venture outside the delicious warmth of her many layers of blankets. It was so cold in her apartment that every morning she expected to wake to a layer of ice encrusting all of her furnishings. The super had released the valves on the radiators, but not all the way. This allowed for just enough heat to say he was accommodating his tenants but not enough to live without sweaters and somedays even a coat.
Therese wrapped herself in a blanket and got up to light the pilot on the oven, leaving the door open to spread what heat she could, and started the kettle for coffee. Just as she was finishing brushing her teeth, she heard the familiar sound of Richard throwing pebbles at her window. Why couldn’t he come to the door and buzz her like everyone else? Who was she, Tom Sawyer waiting for Huck Finn’s signal so they could escape on an adventure?
She opened the window and looked down on the man-child propping up his bicycle while standing on the chalk artistry of the neighborhood children.
“I like your scribbles.” Anything to bolster his piteous need for artistic affirmation.
“Yeah, I’ve been busy. I don’t know how you do it.”
“What?”
“You look like a million bucks first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
And so it went with the tired regularity of an old couple, she fed his ego with some inane comment and he gave her a worn out compliment that had all the sincerity of a two dollar bill.
There were so many things about Richard that felt immature: his braggadocious nature about any of his modest talents, his certainty of great accomplishments someday with no visible effort in sight for getting there, or his way of making plans for them without considering she might have an idea or preference.
“Terry, I figure I’ve got enough saved now to buy those tickets for the ship sailing to Europe. Just think about it, Terry, Paris. I’ll really be able to get serious about my painting there. It’s like art is in the air. Imagine going to the Louver and the museum of Dorsey anytime we want.”
“Louvre and Musee D’Orsay.”
“What?”
“It’s the Louvre and Musee D’Orsay.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said…never mind.”
“Well, whatever. Just remember I’m the artist and you like to take pictures, so even if I can’t speak French yet, I’ll know how to appreciate what I’m looking at when we’re in those museums. With my eye for beauty, I can even help you with what pictures to take for your scrapbook when we go for walks around the city. See we’re a perfect match.”
“You’re going to tell me what pictures to take?”
“I didn’t mean tell you like dictating, more like giving you good ideas. You know, framing, lighting, the kinds of things I know about from my classes. If any of your photographs ever do get sold, you wouldn’t have to give me any credit. I’d just be happy for you.”
Therese looked at his face smiling at her like a benevolent Apollo bestowing his gifts with a helping of self-congratulation. She wondered why she had stayed with him as long as she had. Surely there was something better than this caricature of a relationship.
Somehow, Richard was certain about everything. He knew someday he would be a great artist; he knew they were going to marry, and he knew his place in the grand scheme of men doing and having what they wanted. His certainty was her hesitation.
She knew she wanted to be a photographer but how did one go about doing that? She liked the freedom and independence of being on her own but wasn’t she supposed to marry someday? She wanted more than anything to travel but not with Richard. Where did she fit?
Carol and Abby rode the crowded elevator up to the fifth-floor toy department. Customers began shuffling to get a head start out the doors as soon as the lift man announced the arrival and the doors opened. Anxious parents poured out in a rush to claim whatever Susie or Jimmy had to have. Carol thought it was atrocious behavior but Abby, being a little more in touch with her primitive side, enjoyed the hectic rough and tumble of the crowd. They cleared the elbow-to-elbow overflow and stood at the entrance to the cornucopia of toys, childhood delights and the explosion of Christmas filling every available space. Neither moved, both seemed entranced by the sight.
“Abby, will you look at that.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m looking.”
“Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“No, Carol, I can honestly say I haven’t.”
“It’s perfect. So, miniature.”
“She is a wee thing.”
“Such gorgeous details that all fit just so.”
“She is put together just the way I like them.”
“See how it moves so smoothly with the hills and valleys.”
“She’s a well-oiled machine alright. I’m loving the hills and valleys.”
“What do you think, should I take a chance on Rindy liking it?”
“Who cares if Rindy likes her.”
Carol turned to Abby and said, “Because it would be for Rindy.”
“You mean like a nanny? And why do you keep calling her an ‘it’?”
“Why are you calling it a ‘her’? I never thought of train sets as feminine.”
“Train set? I’m talking about her.” And with that, Abby pointed across the crowded room at Therese Belivet.
Miss Wells, Therese’s supervisor and guardian of Frankenberg’s sacred rules and guidelines, had admonished Therese into wearing the Santa hat that the management had bestowed in a paltry show of Christmas generosity. The itchy, cheap fabric was enough of a trial without thinking about the prospect of how ridiculous it looked, but uniformity and compliance were the oil that kept the behemoth machinery of Frankenberg’s running smoothly. Therese was well aware that she was nothing more than a temporary fix to a holiday staffing shortage. She was filling a space in the toy department that countless other New Yorkers looking for short-term work could do. This job was nothing more than rent and food, a time and sustenance filler so she could wander the boroughs of New York City and take pictures.
Mornings like these, Richard and his droning, freezing on the back of a bicycle to go to a job she tolerated, giving her day over to the whims of Miss Wells, no prospects in sight for a future other than Richard’s version, the bleakness of it all was stultifying and depressing.
She had gone through her busy work of making sure all the dolls were displayed to perfection while waiting for their new mommies. There was nothing more to do but stand behind the counter and wait. That’s when she spotted two women who didn’t look like anyone else in the store. The shorter one with brown hair, wearing tartan plaid slacks and a bolero style jacket, was looking at her and saying something to the other. Therese turned her eyes to the other woman. “Other” may have been the perfect description because she wasn’t like anyone Therese had ever seen before.
Tall, blond, perfection. Even across the cavernous room’s distance, Therese saw features that captivated her and caught her breath. Golden hair, porcelain skin, red lips, and eyes that defied a color label, all crowned a statuesque body draped in a full-length chestnut fur coat. The ‘other’ turned her way when the companion pointed directly at Therese.
“Abby, it’s rude to point. Stop that.”
“Look at her, Carol. Santa put me on his Nice List and is giving me what I want. It’s a Christmas miracle!”
“Highly unlikely on all counts, my dear. Besides, Santa doesn’t give people for gifts.” Carol was doing her best to retort without letting Abby see what was happening to her, mostly because she didn’t know what was happening. One minute she was engrossed in a beautiful train set complete with a miniature village and people, the next she was engrossed and taken in by a stranger’s look.
A silly Santa hat sat atop exquisite features and a petite figure of otherworld loveliness. Carol’s heart seized for a second, then she needed to tell herself to breathe.
“We’re definitely going to her counter to get Rindy’s doll. Watch and learn from a master, my friend. I’m bringing my A game to this little sugar plum fairy. She won’t know what hit her.”
Carol grabbed Abby’s arm. “Wait.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“No, I just feel funny about combining Christmas shopping with steamrolling a clerk with your nefarious intentions. Let’s go to another counter.”
Carol was scrambling to sound reasonable when all the while her mind was racing and her body was going through some kind of cataclysmic revolt of its own. What was happening to her? She’d never had this reaction to another woman. Interest? Of course. Downright lust? On occasion. This was in another sphere of attraction. This was so alien to her that she briefly wondered for her sanity.
Carol realized she’d been quiet for an indeterminate amount of time and needed to rejoin Abby in the present reality of Frankenberg’s toy department. She looked back at Abby and saw that her friend was confused with her aberrant moment.
“Carol, I’m kidding, mostly. I’m not a boar when it comes to approaching a woman. I have some well-honed sensitivities, because, you know, I’m a woman. Nothing worse than a heavy hand of entitlement when the subtle art of enticement is so much more effective and respectful. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now, let’s go get Rindy a doll.”
Abby slipped her arm through Carol’s elbow as they walked toward their destination. She wasn’t sure but she thought she noticed Carol slowing down as they approached the counter and the fay beauty waiting for them.
Therese had been completely engrossed in watching the two women talk to each other. It didn’t look like they were arguing but there did seem to be some kind of conundrum radiating between them. Her view was interrupted when a mother with her toddler stepped in front of her and asked about the nearest rest room. She answered as quickly as possible to send them on their way. They left and she looked to see the two women walking toward her. She didn’t know whether to bolt for the stock room or stay and somehow endure the onslaught of turmoil she felt coming her way.
Abby laid her clasped hands on the glass counter and looked Therese directly in the eye with a smile that could melt butter. “We’re looking for a Bright Betsy doll for my friend’s daughter.”
Therese looked at Carol, “Bright Betsy, yes she cries and wets herself.”
Abby was going to be true to her word to Carol and behave herself, but she was also not going to allow the young woman’s attention to wander. She leaned in slightly and said, “What will they think of next? It all seems a little too real for me. There’ll be plenty of crying and wet diapers in Rindy’s future. Why start so early with one of the least desirable aspects of motherhood?”
Therese gave Abby a brief nod of acknowledgement then turned back to look at Carol. “Rindy. Is that your daughter?”
“Yes, I have a picture of her.” Carol got the photo out of her purse and handed it to Therese.
“She looks like you, around the eyes.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. I’m sorry but we don’t have any Bright Betsy’s in stock. We have other dolls I could show you.”
“What did you want when you were this age?”
“Me? I wanted a train set.”
“Like the one at the entrance?”
Therese nodded.
“Do you know much about train sets?”
“I do actually.” Therese’s enthusiasm and ardor for the encased fantasy setting overwhelmed whatever perplexion this woman was stirring in her. “The one we have is a new limited-edition model with only 5,000 sets made. Its hand built and hand painted.”
Abby watched them getting lost in a tiny universe of two and knew she was out of luck for any kind of reprieve from her current dry spell. Abby sighed out a low okay and muttered something about might as well have a cigarette and watch the show. Carol and Therese’s hearing registered something but neither one gave a fig or a farthing and never took their eyes off of each other.
The repeated clicks of Abby’s recalcitrant lighter penetrated Therese’s distraction. “I’m sorry, smoking isn’t allowed on the sales floor.”
“Well, of all the…” The beginning of Abby’s mini diatribe was cut short by a look of warning from Carol. She plastered a saccharine smile on her face and in forced cheeriness came up with a barely plausible reason to move on. “I’m going to go over there,” pointing at the farthest display of Red Ryder BB guns, “and see if I can start my nephew on the path of mayhem and possible loss of an eye.”
Abby gathered her purse and gloves, then with a dramatic toss of her scarf around her neck, she was gone.
Therese watched Abby’s departure with the looming horror that she had insulted a customer. She knew Miss Wells’ sensitive antennae were always up and quivering in anticipation of protecting Frankenberg’s reputation. Therese quickly looked around for the ever-vigilant supervisor and then turned back to Carol. Looking at Carol’s face felt like she had been gone for a long time from a home she’d never known. And now, she was back. The comfort made no sense but she was going to luxuriate in it while she could.
“Did I offend your friend?”
“You needn’t worry about Abby. She’s off on another adventure and we are already lost to her imaginations of what’s next.”
Therese cocked her head slightly and gave Carol a furrowed look of curiosity.
“Now, let’s talk about this train you know so much about.”
Therese’s smile completely changed her appearance from a beautifully serious young woman into a gorgeous ingenue with dimples and sparkling emerald eyes. Her face glowed as if lit from within and her voice lifted a notch or two in her excitement. Carol knew in that moment that somehow, someway, she wanted to spend the rest of her days looking at that face.
“I could have it delivered to you in time for Christmas. I can even arrange to have it set up so your daughter would wake to it whistling around the track on Christmas morning.”
Carol was so captivated by Therese’s smile and enthusiasm that she blurted out, “Well, that’s that. Sold.”
The accumulating effect of Carol was mesmerizing Therese into just standing and staring at her. Therese’s mild stupor was interrupted by Carol’s query, “Shall I pay now?”
Therese fumbled through giving Carol the order slip to complete. She watched as Carol’s perfectly manicured hand filled in her name and address for payment and delivery. She imagined reaching out to gently cover that hand. She imagined looking into Carol’s eyes to convey without words, because they would be so inadequate, the rush of what her heart and mind were trying to make sense of. But then Carol began rambling about Christmas and presents and dry turkeys. It didn’t matter a whit because it all meant she was staying at Therese’s counter longer.
Finally, there was nothing more to say so they exchanged “Merry Christmas” and Carol left. Therese watched intently as she walked away, then Carol turned with a wink and a gesture toward her head, “I like the hat.” That was it. She was gone.
“I saw that.”
“What?”
“The turn flirt.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t even with me, Carol. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Carol gave Abby an enigmatic smile and a little shoulder bump as they left Frankenberg’s.
“I did something else.”
“What? Tell me, tell me.”
“I left my gloves.”
Abby looked at Carol with genuine admiration. “Stellar move, my friend. Stellar.”
That night Therese sat at her small kitchenette table staring at the gloves. Richard was lying, flopped and flaccid after being manually satisfied, snoring away on her bed. She looked at him and then back at Carol’s gloves. They were artifacts from two different galaxies. She knew she could no longer dwell in his but had no idea how to enter Carol’s.
She picked up the gloves and turned them over in her hands. They were the softest, smoothest leather she had ever felt. They were opulent and sumptuous. They spoke of money and refined taste. They spoke of wealth that was taken for granted. Carol probably had others just like these in different colors to match other coats and jackets.
Therese thought of how off putting and distancing these gloves could be but instead they felt intimate and carried a little bit of teasing. Carol wore these next to her skin. These gloves had the privilege of being as close as possible to Carol. Therese wondered what it must feel like to have Carol nestle in close. She gently slid a hand into a glove and then the other. She looked to make sure Richard hadn’t roused. This was her moment. The last thing she wanted was his clueless interference.
Therese brought her gloved hands to her face, first to inhale Carol’s scent, then to caress her cheeks. Somehow, it felt natural to act out this imagined intimacy. Her usual self-consciousness when revealing anything below her placid surface was missing. She relished the feeling of being with Carol.
She laid the gloves on the table and patted them with her hands. She was certain Carol had left them on purpose. These were her invitation. Carol was asking, “Would you?” Therese found an envelope large enough to contain the gloves. She would return them with her implied, “Yes.”
She wrapped her coat around her pajamas and went downstairs to the mailbox across the street. She opened the slot and dropped the envelope in for the gloves to begin their journey back to Carol. The solid clunk of the slot cover as she closed it seemed like an ending and a beginning. She looked up at her apartment window where Richard lay sleeping in ignorance. He would never understand. How could he when she was following a long dormant instinct that he would see as something to talk her out of, or worse, shame her for.
She didn’t know yet what her leaving would look like but she knew for certain she was already gone. And she knew just as certainly that Carol was waiting.