Juliana Read online

“Why would I trust you ?”

  “Point well taken. Okay, kid, here’s the straight dope. I want to help you because …” A stream of smoke came out with his words. “Maybe I feel a tad, just a tad, mind you, but a tad guilty about Danny. But I definitely was not his first.”

  “Let’s not start that again. How do I get in touch with her so I can see her? Do I have to go stand in line somewhere again?”

  “There is no line to stand in right now. She’s not working. I take it she didn’t give you her phone number.”

  “No.”

  “Very few people have that. It takes a while to earn Juliana’s phone number. This could be a problem.”

  “Don’t you have it?”

  “Of course, but I’m not giving it to you . She’d have my head.”

  “But you could call her for me.”

  “Juliana would not want to hear from me. Shirl has it. She could set this up. If she will.” He studied me more closely pointing at me with his cigarette in the holder. “The hair. We must do something about that hair.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  December, 1941

  Two and a half weeks later, I stood on Juliana’s stoop wearing my Macy’s slacks, Tommie’s shirt, and Max’s Japanese blue silk tie hidden under my navy blue wool coat. Under my wide-brimmed hat with the phony flowers my hair was cut short. Max got one of his friends to come to his house to cut my hair. I was scared. I’d worn my hair to my shoulders since I was three. When the man finished I was even more afraid to look at myself in the mirror than usual. Max tousled my hair.

  “I didn’t think it was possible, kid, but you look more feminine as a boy than you do as a girl.” He slowly turned me to face the mirror; I slammed my eyes shut, but I finally had to open them and you know what I saw? Me. I really saw me.

  “You’re going to drive Juliana right out of her panties,” Max said. “I wish I could be there to see it.”

  “I’m glad you won’t be.”

  I had the beard dream again during the week. I thought it might be a sign to call the whole thing off.

  So, there I stood on Juliana’s porch waiting for her to open the door. I’d changed my clothes at Max’s apartment before I headed for Juliana’s house ’cause Aggie was in our apartment having supper with Dickie, and I didn’t want to explain why I was dressed like a boy.

  My legs were shaking. What if she hates how I look? Max promised she wouldn’t, but he probably wants to humiliate me.

  Juliana opened the door. “Come in.” She wore a pale-green, taffeta dress with a pleated skirt.

  I stepped inside and stared at her. Around her neck was a necklace with little green painted squares dangling from a gold chain; a pair of small gold earrings decorated her earlobes. Her lips were painted a deep red.

  “Yes?” she asked in response to my staring. “Oh. My necklace?” I wasn’t staring at the necklace. She picked up one of the little squares between her fingers and moved closer to me. “You see each one has a slightly different tiny painting on it. They’re hand painted on ceramic tiles. A French Viscount gave it to my mother decades ago. He was very much in love with her.”

  Juliana was so close to me that her perfume was putting me in a spell, and if I looked, I could’ve seen down her dress, which I really wanted to do, so I stepped back and looked up at the ceiling.

  As she took my coat, she saw what I was wearing and smiled. I hoped she wasn’t about to fall down laughing.

  “Well, look at you,” she said. “I love the tie! And those trousers . Oh, but Al, it’s so dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Going outside like that. Don’t do it again.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I love it, but don’t do it again. Are you going to give me your hat?”

  I held my breath and took my hat off.

  “More surprises. I like it.” She ran a hand through my hair and I almost fell over. “Dinner’s just about ready,” she said. “How about an aperitif to start?”

  “A what?”

  “Something to stimulate the appetite. I have Condrieu.”

  “Well, uh, that’s good.”

  “It’s a nice white wine.”

  “Wine comes in white, too?”

  “In France it does.” She smiled broadly at me. “I have a few bottles from the last time I was there, before … well, you know, before what’s happening there now. I set up a little table for us in the downstairs parlor. You go in. I’ll hang your coat in the hall closet and get our wine. I made finnan haddie. I hope that’s all right.”

  “It sounds terrific. What is it?”

  “Fish. It’s Friday.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Friday? Fish?”

  “Huh? Oh . You’re Catholic.”

  “Yes. Aren’t you?”

  “No. People in my neighborhood make fun of Catholics.”

  “Really?”

  “I didn’t mean that. I just don’t think I ever met a Catholic close-up before.”

  “Well, now you have.” She did a little curtsey. “Actually, I thought you were Catholic too ’cause of the Saint Joan speech.”

  “Why would Saint Joan make you think that? ”

  “She was Catholic, you know.”

  “Yeah, but that’s only ’cause she came along before there were very many Protestants; otherwise, she could’ve—”

  “That’s highly unlikely. She heard spiritual voices. Protestants don’t believe in spiritual voices.”

  “We can believe in anything we want to,” I said, ferociously.

  “If you can believe in anything you want, why have a religion? Don’t answer that.” She took a breath. “Do you want to spend the evening fighting a holy war or would you rather have that wine?”

  “Sure. I got a little carried away. It doesn’t matter that you’re Catholic.”

  “I’m sure your religion means as much to you as mine does to me so perhaps religion is one topic we should stay away from. How about that wine?”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  She slipped out of the room and I took a deep breath. My father would be furious if he knew I was eating fish on Friday with a Catholic. They try to convert you, and they can’t think for themselves, and the priests talk mumbo jumbo, and they’re all bad people. I wasn’t sure why they were bad. I’d never thought about it before. But Juliana—she wasn’t bad. On the far end table, next to the couch, there was a little painted statue of the Virgin Mary. That was bad. I knew I should go, but ….

  I turned around to see the table Juliana had prepared with its lacy white tablecloth and two china plates with gold around the edges. The small Turkish teacups on glass saucers stood next to them not far from the shiny silverware and the white linen napkins. In the center of the table, there were four daisies in a crystal vase. My mother would’ve loved this table setting. Mom dreamed of having nice things. Juliana had gone to a lot of trouble for this dinner. For me.

  I stood at the picture window looking out at the street when she came back with two glasses of wine. “I hope you like it. Oops, just a minute. Don’t drink it yet.”

  She went around the room turning off the lights and lighting candles.

  “That’s better. Shall we have a toast?” She raised her glass and I followed. “To our new friendship.”

  “That’s nice,” I said. “Yes. Our friendship.”

  “Let’s get the food,” she said after we finished our first glass of wine. “It’s downstairs.”

  “Downstairs? Then what’s that kitchen upstairs for?”

  “Convenience. The one downstairs is the real kitchen.”

  We dashed down the back stairs.

  “This is your kitchen?” It was huge, with white walls and a white linoleum floor. I noticed a small crucifix hanging above the sink. Crucifixes are practically a sin in my religion.

  “You have a Bendix Washer.” I ran to look at it. “This is so modern. I’ve never known anyone who actually owned one. Everyone I know stil
l uses the wringer machines.”

  “This is much easier for the girls.”

  “The girls? Oh, you mean your servants. Can you really put the clothes in dry, stick in the soap, push a button and it washes, rinses, and rings them out without you ever having to do anything more than push that button?

  “That’s about it.”

  “My mother says automatic washers are a fad.”

  “Maybe she’s right. We’ll see in time, won’t we?”

  “I guess, but you really own one.” I ran my hand over the top of it. “Hey, what’s that gate over there?” When I ran to inspect the wrought iron gate, I saw that it led outside.

  “The servants’ entrance,” Juliana said. “Help me get the food on this.” She tugged on a rope and a round wooden tray came from the ceiling.

  “What’s this?” I asked, loading covered dishes onto the tray.

  “A dumbwaiter. It sends the food up to the parlor so we don’t have to carry it.”

  When we finished piling on the food, I pulled on the rope and it all went right through the ceiling. Upstairs, our food was waiting in the far corner of the parlor.

  “I’ll make up your plate,” Juliana said. “Why don’t you turn on the radio? Something soft.”

  I turned on the radio, moving the dial past swing and news, not sure what she meant by soft.

  “There,” she said. “Chopin.”

  We sat opposite each other, and I watched everything she did. Before coming, I’d studied Aggie’s copy of Emily Post’s Etiquette , but I didn’t have time to read much. I only got as far as asparagus, and Emily Post said it was okay to pick that up with your fingers. My mother would’ve hit me in the head if I did that. I was glad Juliana wasn’t serving asparagus. Still, I was nervous I’d make some awful manners mistake. When Juliana put her napkin on her lap, I put my napkin on my lap. When she picked up her knife and fork I picked up mine.

  “Have you seen any good plays lately?” she asked, cutting off a piece of fish and holding it on her fork waiting for me to talk.

  I couldn’t concentrate on what she was doing and talk at the same time, and there was a cactus-like looking food sitting on my plate that I had no idea how to eat. “Plays? Let me see,” I said, staring at the cactus thing.

  “I hope you like artichokes,” she said.

  “Oh, sure.” Artichoke? The next chapter!

  “You can dip it in this butter sauce.” She pointed. “You were about to tell me about a play you saw. I hardly ever get to see theater with my schedule. But when I do get time, what would you recommend?” She put the small piece of fish on her fork into her mouth; I put a small piece of fish into my mouth .

  “Jeepers,” I exclaimed. “That’s good.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “No, it’s not just that I like it. I have never tasted anything this good in my whole entire life. On the level, Juliana, you have got to be the best cook in the whole entire world.” I put another piece of fish into my mouth not worrying how I did it.

  “My goodness, I’ve never gotten a compliment that glowing before. There’s something fulfilling about feeding people. I get that from my mother. She had frequent dinner parties and was known in her circle as quite the gourmet cook. Try your artichoke. I hope it’s not overcooked.”

  I stared down at it, and then back up at her. She was watching me with an eager face, like she couldn’t wait to see me eat it and be ecstatically happy.

  “I’m saving it.”

  “For what?”

  “I just wanted …. Tell me about you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I don’t know. It seems like you know about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”

  “Let me see. I was born in Bath, which is in Great Britain, but my mother was an American, so I’m an American citizen.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I think so.”

  “Why was your mother in Great Britain?”

  “That’s where my father was. My father’s British. He’s employed by the government.”

  “But you don’t have an English accent.”

  “My mother and father separated when I was ten. Mother and I frequently traveled back and forth between France and the States.”

  “How long ago did you start being a cabaret singer?”

  “Some time ago. Would you like more wine?”

  “No, thanks. Did it take a long time to get successful?”

  “I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m successful.”

  “But, people line up outside your door after you sing.”

  “And look where I’m singing. Second-rate dives, saloons, and unknown supper clubs. Next month I have a booking in Buffalo. Buffalo! That’s not successful, Al.”

  “Café Society isn’t second rate, or a dive, or unknown.”

  “It’s still not the top, and they only held me over a week. And some of those reviews …. Can we stop talking about this?”

  “Sure. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset.” She smiled pleasantly. “Try your artichoke.”

  I stared down at that green thing and took a bite of my fish.

  “I bet it’s wonderful.” I wondered if it was one of those foods, like asparagus, that I was sposed eat with my fingers. I thought maybe I should take a chance, pick the thing up, and take a big bite out of the center of it; or maybe I should cut it in half with my knife. Would that be more genteel?

  “Is something wrong?” Juliana asked.

  “No. It’s just uh ….” I sighed. “I have no idea how to eat this thing.”

  She laughed. “I’ll show you. Watch.” She pulled a leaf from the artichoke and dipped it in the butter. “Open your mouth.”

  I did and she put the green petal on my tongue. “Close your mouth around it, but hold onto it with your teeth. Pretend your kissing someone.” I closed my mouth around it like she said. “And now slowly we pull it out.” She pulled the leaf from my mouth so slowly it tickled my lips. And I felt it between my legs, which I thought must be very odd.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “That was wonderful. Let me do it to you.” I reached over to her plate and tugged a petal from her artichoke and dipped it in the butter. “Now you open your mouth.”

  I placed the petal on her tongue and pulled it from her lips. “Wow, you look so gorgeous when you do that,” I said.

  She smiled. “Let’s do it again. But this time pretend you’re kissing me.” I felt my face color and my body shiver as she said the words.

  I fed her another and she fed me another, and me, and she, and she, and me ….

  “Let’s have dessert upstairs,” Juliana whispered, grabbing the wine.

  I snatched the glasses and raced her to the top of the steps. I headed for the upstairs parlor where we’d been last time.

  “The bedroom is over here,” she said from behind me.

  I turned. “The bedroom?”

  “This way.” She winked and led me toward a room not far from the parlor. She went in, but I stopped at the threshold, looking down at the molding that separated outside from inside.

  “There’s a wonderful view of the city from this window.” She stood on the opposite wall. “Why don’t you come in and see?”

  “Okay,” I said, a thickness rising in my throat. I took one wooden step into the room.

  She came over to me and put her hands on my shoulders.

  “You look terrified, Al. Nothing is going to happen in here that you don’t want to happen so relax. Come look at my view.”

  I walked over the thick rug to the window. It was the largest bedroom with the largest bed I’d ever seen. Aggie’s and my room seemed like a closet compared to this. As I reached the window, the city in its bright lights and colors rose up to meet my eyes.

  Juliana stood behind me massaging my shoulders.

  “So many people out there, and I don’t know any of them,” I said. “When you see strang
ers walking down the street or like now, those people out there, those people behind all those lights—do you ever wonder who they are, what they think about, where they’re going, what’s important to them, who’s important to them? Do you ever do that?”

  “No. I think I’m far too selfish for that. I’m afraid I’m more likely to be wondering who’s watching me .”

  I turned to face her. “Everyone watches you.”

  Then I kissed her. All on my own. I didn’t wait for her to do it first. I did it ’cause I wanted to. Or maybe it was the tie. And we stood there kissing.

  She broke away to say, “I think we should close these.” She drew the drapes over the window. “Come here, you.” She loosened the tie from my neck and slid it off, throwing it somewhere. “Come.” She pulled me toward the bed. “Sit.”

  I looked down at the bed and at the red and white circles of the bedspread. “Well, I guess I ….”

  Her hands moved down my shirt, over my breasts; she gave me a light push, and I plopped onto the bed. She kissed my neck as she started to unbutton my blouse.

  “Uh, Juliana,” I began. “I want, uh …”

  “Yes?”

  “Uh … my throat is so dry I can hardly talk.”

  “Have some wine.” She poured it into my glass and I drank most of it down.

  “What do you want, country girl?”

  My eyes focused on those red and white circles. “Well, I—”

  “I promise you won’t shock or embarrass me. Tell me.”

  Outlining a red circle with my finger, I said “I—I’ve never seen … you. And I’d like to.”

  “Seen me? I’m right here. Oh. You mean my body.”

  I nodded my head yes without looking at her.

  “What part of my body do you want to see?”

  I looked up. “Jeepers, don’t make me say it.”

  “I’m going to take a wild guess. My breasts?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh? You want me to strip for you.”

  “No! Oh, gosh, no, I didn’t mean ….”

  She laughed. “It’s all right.” She stood, unbuttoning her dress and stepped out of it. After pulling her slip up over her head she sat back down on the bed and turned my head to face her. “Watch me.”