Maxie Mainwaring, Lesbian Dilettante Page 2

  The ex-deb wandered back to the living room and leaned on the windowsill, contemplating the city skyline and enjoying the faint breeze that wafted from Lake Washington—so much more pleasant than the stifling rooms at the Magdalena Arms. Surely Pamela wouldn’t mind supporting her until she came into the trust her grandmother had left her? She’d pay Pamela back, eventually—every penny!

  Maxie sat on the couch again and emptied the contents of her pocketbook onto the coffee table. Lipstick, compact, an old stained handkerchief—was that coffee or blood?—a comb, her reporter’s notebook, three matchbooks, her cigarette case, some loose change and two singles. She counted the change. Two dimes, a nickel, and two pennies. $2.27. Goodness, that was barely enough for the veal plate at Luigi’s! Maxie turned her pocketbook upside down and shook it. Another penny fell out. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken that taxi from the Women’s Club to Pamela’s.

  There were other ways she could contribute—cooking, for example. Maxie jumped up again and went to the kitchen to dig out the fondue pot. But after she read the recipe book and looked through Pamela’s cupboards and the contents of her refrigerator, Maxie realized that Pamela was missing several key ingredients, including the necessary quantity of cheese.

  Undiscouraged, Maxie decided she’d mix some drinks and have them ready for Pamela when she came home from a hard day at work. Maybe she could rustle up a tray of tasty cocktail tidbits as well.

  Shaking the silver cocktail shaker with a practiced hand, Maxie imagined herself comparing prices at the A&P, or making Pam bacon and eggs in the morning and then sending her off to work with a good-bye kiss. Of course, Pam got up awfully early and Maxie was used to sleeping in. But she was sure they’d adjust.

  Maxie sampled the contents of the shaker. Just right! She tied a gay, red-flowered apron around her waist, and admired the picture she made in the mirror. Now for some delicious hors d’oeuvres; she could set out some olives, or maybe Ritz crackers with that bit of cheese she’d seen. Rummaging in Pamela’s pantry she found a painted tin tray. Perfect!

  When Pam came in at five-thirty, Maxie was on her second shaker, her feet were up on the coffee table, and Chubby Checker was on the stereo. She was poring over a fashion spread in the latest issue of Vogue, trying to decide between the raw silk shift and the cotton playsuit in the mad flower print.

  “Pam!” Maxie jumped up and aimed a kiss at Pamela’s mouth. “I made you a drink!”

  Pam looked hot and tired. She dropped her big handbag to the floor and kicked off her shoes. “I see you made yourself one too,” she observed, surveying the coffee table. “Did you finish the crackers?”

  Maxie looked at the tray and was surprised to see the plate of crackers was only a plate of crumbs. Had she eaten them all? And they’d looked so nice with the blue cheese spread and pimento on top!

  “I’ll go get some more.” She hurried to the kitchen while Pamela headed for her bedroom to change. “Why are you wearing that apron?” her voice floated back.

  Oh dear. She had finished the crackers. Maxie opened the refrigerator and peered hopefully inside. Deviled eggs would be nice, but didn’t you have to hardboil the eggs first?

  Pamela appeared behind her in a sleeveless blouse and bermudas. “What’s the fondue set doing out?” she asked a little crossly as she made herself a ham sandwich. Maxie hastened to put the copper pots away, and followed Pamela back to the living room. The record had come to an end, and the needle was making a knocking noise. Maxie switched it off, while Pamela poured herself a drink and sipped. “Needs ice,” she grunted.

  Maxie hurried back to the kitchen again, and returned carrying the silver ice bucket.

  “No need to make a big production,” Pamela said sourly.

  “You’re welcome!” Maxie untied her apron and threw it on a chair, thinking the job of happy homemaker was underpaid. She definitely would not be getting up early to make Pam her bacon and eggs!

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Pam sighed. “Evelyn had all us junior buyers checking inventory in our departments all afternoon, and this hot weather makes me cross as a bear! Who expected a heat wave in May?”

  “You ought to get some air-conditioning.” Maxie plopped down on the couch and fanned herself with the fashion magazine. “Then this place would be perfect!”

  “And pay for it how?” Pamela’s question was tart. “Unlike you, I have a budget I need to stick to.” She took a gulp of her drink and rattled the ice in the glass impatiently.

  Maxie was silent. She wondered if they would quarrel about money when they lived together, as so many young couples seemed to do. The two girls had drastically different approaches to money management. Maxie never kept track of her spending, while Pamela quoted her budget as if it were a federal law and not some notations in a notebook. Her stock response, whenever Maxie suggested a weekend away or a spontaneous purchase, was always an impatient “Money doesn’t grow on trees” followed by, “You just don’t understand.”

  But Maxie did understand. She knew Pamela’s sad story by heart: how her dreams of going to college had crashed around her ears after her mother discovered her necking with Carol Claver in the family Ford one night. How she’d left her hometown of Walnut Grove and boarded a bus to the big city with only a high school diploma in her suitcase and a weeping girlfriend on the seat next to her. How she and Carol had gotten a room at the Y, surviving on cold soup and sleeping on a narrow cot while they looked for work. How Carol had fallen for a uniform and joined the WACs to be with her new crush, leaving Pamela an apology pinned to the pillowcase of the bed they’d shared. How Pam had struggled on, burdened now with a broken heart and the full rent for the little room.

  Maxie suspected Pamela was secretly proud of her suffering. Surely she could have heated that soup somehow? Anyway, the story had a happy ending: Pamela was no longer a scared teenager renting a room at the YMCA, but a self-confident merchandiser with her own apartment. Couldn’t she begin to relax and live a little?

  “I guess you had a hard day too.” Pamela’s voice broke in on Maxie’s ruminations. “How was the tea? Did you manage to keep your mother happy?”

  “Well, I wanted to talk to you about that.” Maxie felt a little anxious. “Mumsy got so upset with me she cut off my allowance! She said she’d only support me if I moved back to the Manse. So you see”—she spread her hands helplessly—“I haven’t a sou, and I’m not sure how I’ll survive!”

  Pamela put down her drink. “What? She was serious?” At Maxie’s nod, she rose and paced the room, thinking hard for the space of a few seconds. “Why, that’s blackmail!” She sat next to Maxie and took her girlfriend’s hand. “Maxie,” she said solemnly, “you simply have to move in with me!”

  Relief flooded Maxie. This was the Pamela she depended on—decisive, determined, and ready to defy the world. How could she have criticized, even in her head, her wonderful girlfriend? “If you say so,” she said adoringly.

  Pamela picked up her purse and pulled out her memorandum book, all business now. “How much money do you have in your account?” she asked Maxie.

  “I’m not sure,” Maxie told her, not wanting to admit that she was overdrawn. Pam frowned, obviously disapproving of Maxie’s feckless ways, but said nothing. “All I know for certain is that I have two dollars and twenty-eight cents in my pocketbook.” Maxie added blithely, “Enough for a couple rounds at Francine’s!”

  “You’d better stay away from Francine’s until your financial position is a little more solid,” Pamela advised, making some notes. Maxie listened meekly. Of course she’d been kidding about Francine’s. She’d spend the $2.28 on something more practical, like groceries.

  “I figure I can save us lots of money, cooking dinner and doing the shopping and things,” she told Pam eagerly.

  Pamela looked dubious. “Better concentrate on getting a job,” she advised.

  Her homemaking effort had been a dud, Maxie gathered, feeling disappointed. Pam thought aloud, “I wonder if there�
�s anything in Grunemans packing department? That’s one place that takes unskilled girls.”

  The packing department! Maxie had seen the windowless room in Grunemans basement where young, uneducated girls sat at a table wrapping packages for mail and C.O.D. orders. She was shocked that Pamela would think of such a place for her. “I’m not completely unskilled,” she said with some heat. “I’ve gone to secretarial school.”

  “You never finished it,” Pamela reminded her.

  “I’ve taught!”

  “One spring quarter at that crazy progressive kindergarten.”

  “What about my stage-managing experience?”

  “Summer stock at Loon Lake,” discounted Pamela. “Do you know how competitive theater is?” Her face darkened. “And you only did it because you had a thing for the girl doing lights.”

  Maxie had forgotten that her stint doing summer stock was a sensitive topic. Now Pam snapped, “Next you’ll bring up your job helping Ramona roll reefer cigarettes! Don’t leave that off your resume!” The young merchandiser stopped, took a deep breath, and spoke more calmly. “Face it, Maxie, you’re a dabbler, a dilettante. You have lots of enthusiasm, but no real experience.”

  Offended, Maxie improvised, “I was planning to ask Mamie about a job at the newspaper. Maybe they have an opening for a reporter!”

  “Ask by all means.” A patronizing smile played around Pamela’s lips. “But don’t expect your own byline right off the bat. Everyone has to start at the bottom—including you.”

  “You needn’t sound so pleased,” Maxie told the self-made girl tartly, and was rewarded by the expression of embarrassment on Pamela’s face.

  “I’m not, honey, really, I’m not.” Pamela put an arm around Maxie. “I think the whole situation’s a rotten shame. I’m just glad you’re finally going to move in, and that I’m going to be able to help you a little bit, instead of the other way around.”

  “You never let me help you half as much as I wanted to.” Maxie leaned her face into Pamela’s soft bosom. “When I get the money Grandma Nyberg left me, I’m going to buy us an air conditioner!”

  “Okay,” Pam laughed. “I guess I can wait the ten years until you’re thirty-five and come into your inheritance.” They sat there for a minute, arms around each other. Maxie nuzzled into Pamela’s neck, running her lips along Pam’s firm jaw. Pam’s arms tightened. “You never said what it was that ticked off your mother. Did you light a cigarette in front of Mrs. Lund?”

  Maxie froze in Pam’s arms, and Pam felt it. The temperature, which had been heating up, suddenly cooled. Pam drew back so she could look at Maxie. “Or was it something else?”

  The ex-deb had practically forgotten about Elaine and the kiss that caused the mother-daughter quarrel—how could she explain the situation to her loyal girlfriend, without Pamela leaping to the wrong conclusions?

  She essayed an airy little laugh. “No, not smoking—well, I was smoking, but I was in the powder room, and it was the craziest thing. Mumsy and Mrs. Lund happened to walk in just as I happened to be getting acquainted with Elaine Ellman—you know, the bicycle heiress? Her cousin Sookie was at Miss Gratton’s with me. Anyway, Mumsy completely misinterpreted our friendliness—”

  Maxie knew her breezy approach had failed when Pamela disentangled herself from her girlfriend’s arms. A tide of red was rising from the neckline of her blouse, staining her cheeks scarlet. Maxie quailed inwardly. Pamela didn’t exhibit it very often, but she had a redhead’s temper.

  “Friendliness?” Pam spat at her. “Friendliness?” It was amazing how she made the innocent word sound like a slur.

  “Now don’t you go misinterpreting too—” Maxie’s attempt to stem the storm sunk like a stove-in ship.

  “You and your wandering eye!” blasted Pamela. “Last month it was the cigarette girl at Club Lucky, the month before, that co-ed who wandered into Francine’s by accident—”

  “All right, I kissed Elaine,” Maxie admitted. “One little peck! But only because she kept flashing that diamond engagement ring in my face and then making remarks about my reputation—”

  “So you had to add another notch to your belt! You’re like that duchess, Maxie; you like whatever you look at, and your looks go everywhere!”

  Maxie regretted, now, those romantic evenings they’d spent reading poetry to each other in the early days of their affair. But Pamela was ranting on.

  “I’m tired of playing second fiddle to some sorority girl just so you can prove she’s as queer as you are! I’m through waiting around for you to come out of the powder rooms of Bay City, always wondering if your lipstick will be smeared! If we’re going to live together, I expect to see some real changes in your behavior, no more empty promises . . .”

  Looking at Pamela as the angry words tumbled out of her mouth, the disinherited heiress had a sudden sense of déjà vu. Why, it was her mother’s ultimatum all over again! A sudden anger seized Maxie. Why was everyone trying to mold her into some model girl they had in their heads? Was she really so awful as she was?

  She jumped up from the couch, unable to play the penitent any longer. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea for me to move in with you after all,” she told Pamela hotly. “I might as well move in with Mumsy! Both of you treat me like a juvenile delinquent who needs constant supervision. I’m twenty-five years old, and I’ve been managing on my own for quite a few years, thank you very much!”

  “Managing!” Pamela practically frothed with fury. “On an allowance from your parents! You have no idea what it takes to survive on your own in this world. You think you can waltz into the Sentinel tomorrow and become a columnist or a reporter—”

  “I don’t think any such thing!”

  “—when you have no skills, no particular aptitude for writing, no experience doing anything but drinking, shopping, and chasing girls!”

  Maxie flinched as if she’d been slapped. “So that’s what you really think of me!” Jerkily she collected her pocketbook, her hat, and her gloves. “A dipsomaniac dimwit! A social parasite! Well, thank you very much for your honest opinon!”

  “Maxie, stop.” Pamela laid a placating hand on her arm, and Maxie shook it off. “Maxie, please, stop. You know you’re as bright as anything, I’m sure there’s loads of things you can do. I’m just saying you have to be realistic—” The older girl broke off abruptly. “Why am I apologizing? You’re the one who’s been cruising the powder room!”

  “No one’s asking you to apologize.” Maxie tried to brush past her hot-tempered girlfriend, who stood between her and the door, but Pamela grabbed her arm.

  “Fine, leave,” she said, as she held on to Maxie. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll have cooled down enough to listen to reason. But here—” She dropped Maxie’s arm and extracted a five-dollar bill from her bag. “I still want to help out.”

  Maxie just glared at Pamela as the redheaded career girl held out the money.

  “Don’t be a fool, Maxie! You know you need it!”

  Maxie was more enraged than she’d ever been in her life. Snatching the bill, she struck back at Pamela where she knew it would hurt the old penny-pincher the most. She ripped the bill in half and let the pieces float to the ground. Stepping over them, she walked to the door through Pamela’s stunned silence.

  “Fine!” Pamela came to life as Maxie exited. “You’re on your own!” And the door slammed shut behind her.

  Chapter 3

  Maxie Drowns Her Sorrows

  Ten blocks from Pamela’s, Maxie’s boiling rage had settled to an angry simmer. She was glad she wouldn’t be keeping house for that cranky, critical career girl, glad! Her feet hurt, and she longed to flag down a passing cab, but she was determined to prove she could economize as well as tightwad Pam. With the money she saved, she’d buy a couple beers at Francine’s.

  Leaning on a stoop, she slipped off one coffee-colored pump and wiggled her cramped toes, then set off again, footsore, but full of resolve. Hadn’t her great-grandfather Mainwaring
trekked into the wilderness of Loon Lake with only his rifle and his wits? And he’d made a fortune in timber, then wheat, and finally dairy. Surely his descendant could conquer her own little slice of Bay City!

  But by the time Maxie limped down the block toward the Magdalena Arms, the only territory she wanted to conquer was a cool bath and a colder drink. Her hairdo, the Fairweather Flounce she’d gotten at the House of Henri, was flat and matted, her linen two-piece was sweat-stained, and she had a blister on her left heel. Not only had her bouffant lost its bounce, but her spirits had fallen lower then the Magadalena Arms basement. She didn’t want to make her fortune in the wilderness of Bay City. She just wanted to wake up and find that this whole day had been a bad dream.

  But as she approached the Arms, her steps slowed. Mrs. DeWitt might be hanging around the entrance hall, and she was sure to ask Maxie about the rest of her rent for May. Her elderly landlady never seemed to mind that Maxie seldom paid on time and sometimes not in full—but she had a sixth sense that told her when Maxie was due to receive her allowance, and she magically materialized the minute Maxie had money in her pocket.

  While Maxie tried to decide the best way of slipping past her landlady, a petite, tanned brunette in an orange-flowered cotton dress came out of the building. She didn’t even notice Maxie standing there, so intent was she on the letter she read as she slowly descended the steps.

  “Hey, Lois,” Maxie called. “Psst, Lois!”

  Lois Lenz, Maxie’s neighbor on the fifth floor, looked up with a lost air. Maxie saw that her friend’s eyes were red and puffy, as if she’d been crying.

  “Why, Lois!” Maxie hurried toward the forlorn girl, forgetting her aching feet. “What’s the trouble?”

  “It’s Netta,” Lois choked out. “She left today!”

  “Oh, Lois.” Maxie put a consoling arm around the now sobbing former secretary. “She’ll be back. It’s just for the summer.”