“No, thank you,” Shirley said. She caught sight of Lily standing outside, behind Paula, and added, “Lily, come in with us—I need all of your advice on this.”
Paula silently stepped aside for her, and in that moment Lily understood that Paula wasn’t going to say anything to suggest that she knew her, and Lily wasn’t going to say anything, either. The invisible walls of their two different worlds would slide right back in place, and they would return to their separate lives without comment. As Lily squeezed into the dressing room, she saw Paula escaping back into the bargain basement without a backward glance.
The encounter had left Lily feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, as if her most intimate secrets could be exposed at any moment, and the tiny room provided nowhere to hide. The four of them barely fit inside, and Lily had to stand with her back against the door. Shirley was undressing and handing each article of her clothing to Flora to hold carefully. It was Mary’s job, apparently, to help Shirley put on the dresses, which meant Lily didn’t know why she was there at all, because the only thing she could do was watch.
She and Shirley had undressed in front of each other countless times before in changing rooms or bedrooms, and there had never been anything lewd about it. Lily had sometimes been selfconscious about her body, but Shirley had always been very matter-of-fact, openly comparing their measurements as they grew up and excitedly sharing every new development with Lily—the first bra she bought, the first period she got. In fact, the first time Lily got her period, over a year after Shirley started, she’d asked Shirley how to use a sanitary napkin. Her mother had given her the supplies, but Lily hadn’t understood her instructions, and it was less embarrassing to ask Shirley how to manage the pins and gauze and belt. Shirley had knelt before her on the floor of her bathroom and practically put her hand between Lily’s legs to show her. It had been awkward but also exciting, because it meant that Lily had finally caught up with her friend.
All of this meant that Lily shouldn’t be selfconscious to see Shirley undressed. She knew what Shirley’s body looked like, and it didn’t attract her. But now she was aware of bodies—their physicality, their possibility—in a way she hadn’t been before. (Kath’s body pressed against her, taut and soft all at once.)
She couldn’t look at Shirley until she had the dress on. And then she couldn’t help but notice the soft rise of Shirley’s breasts over the cups of the bodice; the way they shifted when she twisted back and forth, trying to see every angle in the mirror. The back of the dress dipped low, revealing Shirley’s bra; she’d have to get a different one if she wore that dress. It also revealed the naked expanse of her back, the bones of her spine like a map for someone’s fingers. (The feel of Kath’s back beneath her hands, through the fabric of her shirt; how she’d wanted to touch her bare skin.)
“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.”