Back Talk, page 16
“What the hell does that mean?” Jessie said. She handed Hilton the cornbread stuffing. Hilton plopped some on Anne’s plate.
Anne couldn’t decide if Hilton was trying to distract her from the subject at hand or if she was truly concerned about her caloric intake.
“It means my great-grandmother was a suffragette and an ardent lesbian. My grandmother was raised as a lesbian and so was my mother, who in turn educated me.”
“But what about the biological angle?” Anne asked. She took a bite of stuffing.
“There were always helpful men, lesbian-identified men who 143
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were willing to supply the necessary ingredient.” Veronica shrugged.
“Oh, my, your family sounds like modern-day Amazons,” Anne said.
“Precisely, and we’re extremely proud of our family tree and hope to continue the tradition,” Veronica said. She stared intently at Jessie.
“Would I make a good father?” Jessie asked.
Anne stifled a laugh. She noticed Hilton and Liz both had their mouths open. Veronica appeared not to notice. Jessie gave them a dirty look.
“With proper training and guidance you’ll make an outstanding parent,” Veronica said, patting her hand reassuringly.
Anne cut her turkey and took a bite. It was delicious. They all grew quiet as they ate dinner. Anne had two glasses of wine, cooed over Veronica’s homemade biscuits and generally enjoyed her dinner. Her earlier dinner became a distant memory. Hilton kept shoving food at her until she adamantly refused.
“All right then,” Hilton said. “Let’s finish this up and get the poker game going.”
“I’ve been saving my change all week,” Anne said.
“Do you know how?” Hilton asked. She got up and pulled a box of cigars out of one of the hutches that lined the ornate dining room.
“Never played it before in my life,” Anne said, making sure to keep a straight face.
Hilton smiled. “Watch this one, everybody. We may have a master bluffer in our midst.”
They cleared the dining room table and then retired to the library, where one corner of the room had been converted for poker, right down to the green felt-covered octagonal table.
“Did Jessie decorate this room too?” Anne asked. The library was carpeted in a dark burgundy Berber and the rest of the room was filled with heavy oak end tables and brown leather chairs along with two couches. It looked like something out of a high-class 144
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men’s club. Amber cut-glass crystal ashtrays sat on all the end tables, and the heavy club-footed coffee table that separated the two couches contained leather-bound books on fox hunting, English gardens, and Roman architecture.
“She did,” Hilton said. She lit a cigar and handed it to Anne.
“Wow!” Anne said. She sucked slowly on the cigar.
“I saw the whole thing in this home and garden magazine on English country style and I copied it, right down to the books. I call it the Man Room.”
Melissa plopped down in one of the chairs. “This rocks.”
“Thanks.”
“I think she should take interior design classes,” Veronica said.
“Let the games begin,” Hilton said. She pulled out a fresh pack of cards and they all took their places at the table to try their luck.
Anne couldn’t help thinking this was the most fun she’d had on a holiday. Perhaps being an abomination and a social pariah wasn’t going to be that bad at all. She liked Hilton’s friends and there never seemed to be a dull moment. Victoria Anne Counterman was just going to have to get over it. Anne sucked her cigar and studied her cards.
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Chapter Thirteen
One week after Thanksgiving Anne stood staring in the full-length mirror in the bedroom. She had just finished showering.
Today was her fortieth birthday and she was surveying the damage.
She kind of wished this year her birthday had fallen on a Friday or Saturday night so she could party and then start the weekend. She decided she didn’t look so bad for someone her age. Her breasts were still perky, her arms had muscle tone and her stomach wasn’t puffy like a lot of her married-with-kids friends. She ran her hand down her stomach and toward her groin, wondering what it would be like to have a woman touch her, or more specifically, to have Hilton touch her. Was it greedy or stupid to think that she could have two great loves in her lifetime? She had loved Gerald so deeply that at one point she couldn’t have imagined her life without him in it, but now her feelings for Hilton ran deep as well. Did this mean that love was transferable, that all the joy and pain of what you thought was your one great love could occur again? It was this part that frightened her.
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She got dressed, having decided on her charcoal gray wool pantsuit with a black silk blouse. It was one of her favorite winter outfits. It was a typical cold rainy day, so she wouldn’t be too warmly dressed. She tried not to think about bad gag gifts and black balloons, to be followed by a lunch date with her parents.
She hoped Victoria would abstain from discussing Gerald. She didn’t want another fight like on Thanksgiving. Birthdays were serious. They were meant to be points of reference and reflection on what a person was doing with her life and where her life could go in the future. She knew this birthday was one of bifurcation, the quintessential fork in the road. This next year of her life would determine more things about her life than any others and she didn’t want edible underwear and tacky comments on aging to shroud its importance. If she was changing sides of the sexual preference fence she needed to face it with seriousness she had yet to know.
When she got to the office Ed met her at the door with a card.
“Just a little something to get you through the day,” he said. He winked at her and left her to her day. In the studio she found a dozen red roses and the place filled with helium balloons. Not one of them was black.
Hilton, Dave, Veronica—even Liz and Jessie, who had obviously taken the morning off from school—all sang “Happy Birthday.” Jessie inhaled some helium and sang the final verse in a Chipmunk-style crescendo.
Lillian walked in and looked around. “What’s this?” she asked suspiciously.
“It’s Anne’s birthday,” Hilton said.
“Earth Day, what a stupid holiday. Nothing but a bunch of kooks trying to take our money. The whole group of them are nothing but a bunch of leftover Commie bastards. I dated one once. Horrible man—didn’t bathe, didn’t shave,” Lillian muttered.
On the way to the control room she snagged a cup of sparkling cider and eyed the angel food cake that Veronica had made.
“What is she talking about?” Hilton asked Anne.
“Environmentalists. She hates them. It has something to do 147
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with the Alaskan Pipeline, mating caribou and an Eskimo,” Anne replied in Chipmunk talk. Jessie had given her a quick lesson on how to inhale just enough to get through a couple sentences. Anne wondered if she’d spend her lunch hour with the helium tank.
That would really irritate her mother.
Hilton laughed. “Happy birthday.” She gave her a hug.
“I suppose you’re the one responsible for this little soiree?”
Anne whispered in her ear.
“I had a lot of help.”
Dave did the honors. “So, we all chipped in and got you a little something.” He handed her a small box wrapped in silver paper with a red bow.
Flattered, Anne opened it. People didn’t usually do things like this for her. She was always the one who arranged parties and sent flowers. It felt kind of odd and yet special to be on the receiving end. Inside the box was an iPod. “Hey, this is neat.” She stuck an ear bud in.
“You can scroll down like this,” Hilton said, showing her how.
“Dave downloaded all your favorite bumper music, you know, the whole song.”
Jessie handed her another box. “This is from the girls at the house.”
Anne tried not blush at the pleasant surprise. She opened it to find an electronic key locator. “You didn’t.”
“I’ve never known anyone that loses their car keys so much.
Here, hand them over and we’ll see if this thing works,” Jessie said, holding out her hand.
Anne frisked her pockets. She couldn’t find them.
“Are you serious?” Hilton said. She started to laugh.
Veronica picked them up off the reception desk counter. “Here they are.”
Anne laughed. “Okay, I guess I really do need one.”
“Let’s have cake,” Jessie suggested.
“Is that all she ever thinks about?” Anne asked. She took the 148
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knife from Veronica and cut the cake. There were no candles and she thought that was tasteful.
“No, there’s one other thing,” Hilton replied.
Veronica blushed at the implication.
Anne handed Jessie the first piece. “Veronica, this looks stunning.”
“Thank you. It’s one of my specialties.”
“Wait until you taste it. She let me sample the filling. I didn’t know cherries could taste like that,” Jessie said.
“Jessie, you better watch your backside if you keep hanging out with Veronica,” Hilton said.
“Not with the gym and our extracurricular activities,” Jessie said.
“We’re taking a cycle spinning class together. You wouldn’t believe the amount of calories you can burn pedaling your brains out,” Veronica said.
“Yeah, and in our class you get to watch reruns of the L Word.
On the big-screen television no less,” Jessie added.
Liz rolled her eyes, “As we were saying—her stomach and her nether regions.”
“Nether regions?” Jessie asked.
Liz pointed to her crotch.
“Oh, that.”
They all laughed.
Anne centered that day’s radio show around the best and worst birthdays. Why not? she reasoned. There were some poignant stories from the callers—the romantic balloon ride to getting dumped on your birthday. After the show Anne’s parents came by to take her to a late lunch. Later on she and Hilton were going to Gerald’s for dinner.
“Hilton, I want you to meet my parents,” Anne said, drawing her near.
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Hilton shook hands with both of them.
Victoria eyed her intently. “Hilton, you look familiar. What’s your last name?”
“It’s probably from the billboard all over town that advertises the cast of the radio program,” Anne said.
“No, I don’t think so,” Victoria said, her eyes narrowing.
“It’s Withers isn’t it?” her father said innocently.
Anne gave him a look that he obviously didn’t get. She wanted to keep Hilton’s identity quiet for a little while until some things had ironed themselves out.
“Hilton Withers. Aren’t you Senator Percy Withers estranged, lesbian, heiress daughter?”
“Yeah, that’d be me.”
“Funny, Gerald didn’t mention that,” Victoria said.
Anne smiled at her. That’s because he’s too polite. I don’t introduce you as my control-freak, psychotic, tactless mother even though that’s what you are. “It probably slipped his mind,” she said sweetly.
“Why doesn’t Hilton come to lunch with us?” Malcolm said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m already taxing her for dinner tonight with the boys,” Anne said.
Hilton looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“You know, let me go to the restroom and then we’ll go,” Anne said.
Anne left and Malcolm said to Hilton, “I really like what you’ve done with the Web site. I think it definitely enhances the program.
This new trend, it’s very spot on.”
“Thank you, Mr. Counterman.”
“Call me Malcolm.” He winked at her. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of you.”
“All right, Malcolm.”
“I think the Web cam is changing the face of radio. It’s like the new formatting style of FM; they’re using the train-wreck method of running all kinds of music together.”
“You know a lot about radio.”
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“I love it as a medium, and of course I listen because of Anne’s show. But it has to evolve in order to keep vibrant.”
“Like in the early eighties when everyone thought MTV would kill radio. Instead some songs made it big because the video was so good,” Hilton said.
“Precisely,” Malcolm said, beaming at her.
Victoria was still staring at her like she was an alien. Her cell phone rang. She pulled it off her belt. “Excuse me,” she said as she turned away.
It was Anne. “I don’t want you to think I didn’t want you to come to lunch. It’s just my mother.”
“You worry too much. Everything will be fine.”
“Okay, I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Great. You know, I’m looking forward to this.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Are you always this weird on your birthday?”
“Yes, be kind to me.”
Hilton laughed. She couldn’t wait for tonight. She had an extra-special present for Anne and she wanted to meet Gerald. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person Anne had loved.
Anne came by promptly at six. She had changed from her charcoal gray suit to linen pants and a yellow cashmere V-necked sweater. Hilton had decided after much contemplation on black leather pants and a white silk shirt that Liz had kindly ironed for her.
“You look nice,” Anne said.
“I wouldn’t want Gerald to think you were hanging out with a slob,” Hilton said, grabbing her coat and checking her breast pocket for Anne’s present. She picked up the two bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon that she’d chosen earlier and placed in the foyer.
“Is Shannon going to be okay with this?” Anne asked as they made their way to the car.
“Yeah, she’s hanging out with the girls. They’re going to watch 151
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this movie called Good Boy. It’s about a boy and a dog that’s from outer space. Jessie is into appropriate movies when she baby-sits. I think Shannon is just really interested in the huge hambone I got her.”
“Great, thanks for doing this. I’m not sure I’d go if it wasn’t for you.” Anne started the Chevy Avalanche. She was about to drive off when Hilton stopped her.
“Wait, I want to give you something.”
“Another present?” Anne said, raising her eyebrow.
“This is a me-to-you kind of present.” Hilton avoided her gaze as she handed her the box.
“What’s this?”
“Open it and see.” This time Hilton looked at her. She wanted to kiss her and whisper, “I love you—okay, I admit it, I love you,”
but she knew she’d do neither. She took a deep breath and smiled.
“I hope you like it.”
“Hilton, it’s beautiful.” Anne pulled the ladies Rolex watch out of the plush jewelry box. “And very expensive.”
“I’m an heiress, remember.” Hilton had spent a solid week searching jewelry stores for the ultimate one. She’d finally decided on a thin gold band with an oyster-shell face and a small diamond inset at twelve o’clock.
Anne slipped it on her wrist and then held it out to admire it.
“You know, sometimes I actually forget. Wow, this is awesome.”
“It looks good on you.”
“How’d you know I’ve always wanted one?”
“All lesbians have the ability to read secret desires. It comes with the territory.” She was teasing but wished it was true. She wanted to peek in Anne’s brain and search the place that held her desires, shuffle around a bit and find one with her name on it, like rummaging through the sale rack and locating the one treasure it contained.
Anne furrowed her brow. “You’re joking, right?”
“Why? Are you hiding something?”
“Other than a secret desire for a Rolex?”
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“Yes.”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
She wrapped her arms around Hilton and held her. “Thank you.”
A hundred erotic images raced through Hilton’s brain but caution ultimately won out, screaming in panic, “Be careful, be careful, don’t mess this up.” It was like there were yellow caution signs everywhere telling her to let Anne lead the way.
When they got to Gerald and Philip’s immaculate and tasteful house, Hilton whispered, “He really is a fag.” The yellow bungalow had a large front porch complete with a swing. The yard was well cared for and terra-cotta pots lined the stairs up to the porch.
They contained topiary plants.
“I know,” Anne said. She handed Gerald her leather coat and white scarf.
Philip came to greet them. His blond hair was spiky on top and his high cheekbones and thin nose all contributed to his good looks. He was wearing a blue-and-white twill apron over khaki slacks and a dark blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“Hilton, it’s been so long. You look great. Gerald was surprised I knew you. I told him, ‘How many dykes do you know named Hilton who makes money from pickles.’”
“Uh, yeah, that’d be me. Philip, I haven’t seen you in ages.” She hadn’t equated Anne’s description of him with the grad student she’d met during one of the Queer Nation protests. She’d liked him. He seemed sweet and intelligent.
He gave her a big hug. Anne looked quizzically at Hilton.
“No, all gay people do not all know each other,” Hilton said.
“She’s teaching me things,” Anne said.
