DESPERATE TIMES, DESPERATE SENSUALITY
To My Sweet Girl,
Oh, Bess. I'm so incredibly unhappy.
I didn't want to write letters like this to you. I wanted to write you about all the fun we're having and the places we're seeing. I wanted you to live vicariously through me, to have something to look forward to when someday I can marry you and show you the world. I wanted my letters to be happy and lively. I didn't want you to worry an ounce about me.
But I don't think I can take it anymore, Bess. I feel like I've been away from you for an eternity. This act, this carnival thing, it just doesn't feel the same as it did before. It doesn't hold the same meaning anymore. Before, the three of us were just bachelors, wild and free and ready to take on whatever was thrown at us. We didn't care. We smoked, we drank, we partied, we put on shows. But none of that is appealing anymore. I was anxious to come on this tour so I could capture the essence of who I used to be again, a person that I'd missed for so long. But the truth is, I don't think the person that I used to be is the person that I was meant to be. And I think that when I met you, I finally learned the person I was MEANT to be. And I can't be that person if I'm fifteen hundred miles away from you.
The person I was meant to be in this life, Bessie, is YOURS. I was put on this earth to find you and love you and hold you and marry you and, well, while I can love you from anywhere on this entire planet, I can't very well do the other things. I can't hold you and I can't be there for you and I can't hear your sweet voice. I can't be your man from where I am and it's tearing me apart. I don't want to be here. I just don't want to be here anymore and I swear to you, Bessie, on everything that is holy, this is it. This is the end of my career. Because for you, Bessie, I know I'd give it all up. If you're not here by my side, it doesn't even matter. I will never, for the rest of my life, do another single thing without you. I can't bear it. My heart, my mind, body, and soul just can't take it.
And with that, I've been doing some thinking. When I come home, we're going to have a discussion. Because the only way I can see you going to school and following your dreams and for us not to have to go through this again is if I pick up and move to Oklahoma City. Now I know this may seem selfish, as we've discussed in the past that I am to stay in Tulsa and prepare a home for us for when you graduate but, baby, the truth is, home is wherever you are. I'm going to take care of you and I want to make you happy, but I really don't care where we live. Home is in each other's arms. And I know you, Bessie, I know without a shadow of a doubt that you agree with me. So we'll talk about it when I come home. I promise you, no matter what, we will never be apart again. I'm never gonna let you go.
Tomorrow morning we're about to board the ferry back to the main island of New York, so I suppose I should try to get some shut eye. What I want to do is drive straight out of New York as soon as the ferry docks, but I know my brothers would pound me before we even made it out of the city. My heart just isn't in it anymore and this week can't go by fast enough.
That's all for now, my love. I hope you're sleeping well tonight. I'll dream of you.
Your love forever,
Zac
The ride back to Tulsa was long and quiet. The judge had stopped several times for water breaks and to let Scout stretch, and one other time for lunch, but once they finally turned onto the country, dirt road that would take them home to their farmhouse, Bessie was elated. All she wanted to do was go upstairs and curl up in her bed for a long, quiet nap.
Bessie was exhausted. She was mentally exhausted, physically exhausted, and emotionally exhausted. She wished she could sleep the entire week away until Zac returned. She wanted to forget that her night at the college had ever happened. She wanted to forget having cake and enjoyable conversation with Robert Clayton and she wanted to forget her failed attempt at sneaking back into the dormitory. Mostly, she wanted to forget about college altogether. After all, if she wasn't going to college, there wouldn't have been a reason for her father to consider her a disappointment, would there?
That night after dinner, Bessie's grandmother had come to her room with a plate of blackberry cobbler and a glass of warm milk. There, Bessie had finally confessed her sins to her with shame and, to Bessie's surprise, the old woman had merely thrown her head back and laughed. "But, Grandmother. Aren't you disappointed in me?"
"Child," she'd said. "I committed far worse sins by sneaking around with your grandfather in church. At least you weren't in the lord's house like we were, be thankful for that!"
Bessie knew her grandmother had only been trying to make her feel better. And in some small way it was a comfort to know that her grandmother wasn't disappointed in her. However, her father still was and he was the one that Bessie had to see on a daily basis.
Once in her room back in Tulsa, she had deposited her unpacked suitcase by her wardrobe and stretched herself out on her bed. She didn't even have the energy to remove her shoes or her stockings and she found herself dozing off in no time at all. Her sleep was deep and it was dreamless and she had no idea how long she'd been out when she was awakened by the gentle shaking of her shoulder by her father's hand.
"Bess," he said softly as he shook her. "Bess, you missed supper."
She struggled to open her eyes, partially because she wanted to keep sleeping, but her heart sank in her chest as her eyes fell on the darkness beyond her window. She began to squint her eyes against the low lamplight by her bed, no doubt turned on by her father, and she sucked in a breath through her nose as she stretched out her body and rolled over, collapsing her arm over her chest and turning her head to look up at her father.
He reached over and rested the back of his hand against her forehead. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"
"I'm fine," she replied groggily as she sat up and smoothed out her dress. "I must have just been very tired."
"I see." Then he offered her a stack of envelopes. "Found a few letters for you in the mailbox."
She didn't grab at them with her normal voracity. What would have been the point? She didn't want to read them in front of her father, anyway, and he showed no signs of moving anytime soon. So she thanked him and she sat them on the table next to her bed.
"Bessie, I wanted to talk about, um..." The judge cleared his throat uncomfortably. "About what you overheard at your grandparents' house."
Finally, her face fell and her eyes landed on her hands as she fidgeted with them in her lap.
"I just want you to know that you're...you're not a disappointment to me," he said gently.
The tears welled up in her eyes at his words and she was powerless to hold them back. "But you said I was," she sniffed. "You said that you were ashamed to have me as a daughter."
"I was upset. I was reacting in the moment--"
"You had an hour and a half 'in the moment' on the ride back to Oklahoma City!" She argued. "You didn't say a word, you had time to think. And in an hour and a half you decided that I was a disgrace to the family!"
The judge took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and wiped his palms on his pants. "When I was at Yale, I was suspended for an entire semester. It was my senior year. I had to graduate an entire semester after the rest of my class to make up for it."
Bessie's eyes widened with shock as she wiped her eyes. "Really?"
"Yes," he nodded solemnly. "Really. But I suggest you keep it between us, I never told your mother about it. I was afraid she wouldn't marry me if she knew. I stayed at a friend's apartment nearby and wrote her letters filled with his school stories--not my own."
"So...an entire semester of your relationship with Mama was a lie?"
"No," he clarified. "Not the way I felt about her. Just...you know, things about my studies and such. I was so ashamed of myself, Bess. I just couldn't disappoint her."
"What did you do?"
The judge sighed. "Like I said, it was senior year. I felt like I'd been in school for my entire life and I was a young man. Sometimes a young man can be as educated as they come and still be merely a young man. School was wrapping up and it was close to graduation and a few of the fellas and I were looking to relieve some pent up tension. So...we chose to play a prank on the dean...and we all went in and ordered a fake skeleton and rigged it up above the dean's bed. A couple of us operated the pulleys and you could hear him wailing bloody murder and we had made it just to the edge of the yard, about to jump the hedges, when the porch lights came on and he caught us. So we were suspended. For being out past curfew, breaking and entering, you get the idea. Some of the same shenanigans that you got yourself into the other night."
Bessie's eyes darted around at the cover on her bed. "Well...then it wasn't very fair of you to say the things you said about me, was it?"
"No," he admitted. "It wasn't. But I want you to know that I only said them out of fear. I didn't expect that sort of thing out of you, I thought you were...better than I was when I was in school." He let out a breath. "Look. I can't stop you from any inevitable shenanigans you might find yourself getting into when you go off to school. I know that. But as a parent, you want more for your child. And sometimes we get angry and say things we don't mean when we feel like we've failed as a parent--or that maybe you've inherited one of our not-so-loveable qualities. Okay? But you are not a disgrace and I am not ashamed of you. I love you. Always know that."
"I love you, too, Daddy," she replied in a small voice. "You haven't failed as a parent. I couldn't have asked for better parents. And--and I know I wasn't very fair to you sometimes when we quarreled at the beginning of the summer and--well, sometimes even the children get angry and say things they don't mean to their parents."
"Ah, but you're not a child anymore."
"No. But I'll always be your little girl."
The judge smiled an nudged her jaw with his index knuckle. "That, you will be, my love. I apologize for saying the things that I said. Do you accept my apology?"
"Yes," she nodded. "And I apologize for misbehaving the way I did. It wasn't very ladylike, was it?"
"Well...maybe not in the grand scheme of things. But as far as ladies go, I have a feeling your mother's response to this whole ordeal would have been to make sure you don't get caught the next time."
Bessie laughed shyly, the crimson rising to her cheeks. "That sounds a lot like Grandmother's reaction."
"Oh, so you told her?" He smiled with amusement. "Doesn't surprise me that she'd say that. After all, the way she met my old dad was more or less an abomination."
"But look how long they've been married," she replied with stars in her eyes. "Isn't it so romantic?"
"To openly defile the house of the lord? I don't know what's so romantic about that."
"You were born, weren't you?" She retorted.
The judge gaped at her for a moment, before relaxing his face and shaking his head. "You become more and more like your mother every day, you know that? And for that, we're all in trouble." Then he reached over and patted her knee. "Come on downstairs, your mother saved you a plate. You must be hungry."
"Famished," she grinned.
As the pair left her bedroom and headed for the stairs, her father turned around and smirked at her wryly. "At least this time, while rummaging for food, you can sneak back up to your room safely without falling into any doors."
"I need to work on my balance," she murmured.
Her father chuckled heartily as she followed him down the stairs and her heart warmed. As hurt as she'd been at his words, she understood that she'd done wrong and she'd most certainly learned a lesson. She was happy to have cleared the air with her father, thrilled to be back in his good graces. She was dying to tell her mother the secret she'd just learned, but she chose to leave well enough alone. Instead, she followed her father into the kitchen just as her mother was pulling leftovers out of the oven.
"Oh, good, you're awake," her mother smiled at her. "You may have your dinner while your father and I have our pie and coffee. Did you enjoy your nap?"
"Yes, ma'am, thank you."
As her mother milled around and prepared Bessie's plate, Bessie wandered into the dining room and overheard her parents talking again. "Oh, Jim. You told her about your suspension, didn't you?"
"Had to fess up," he replied. "Never thought the story would come in handy one day, to tell the truth."
Bessie scowled into the kitchen. From that day forward, she vowed never to eavesdrop on her parents again.
________________________________________________
Millie missed Joey during her four days away in Oklahoma City. That was a notion that surprised her, but only just a little bit. Joey was different than most of the boys Millie went out with. Joey was an excellent listener, he was understanding, he was considerate...and there was something about those crystal clear blue eyes underneath his fiery red hair that Millie could gaze at for hours.
Except that...Joey didn't like girls.
Oh, never mind that. He was her boyfriend, wasn't he? He liked her well enough for that. And they kissed and they held hands sometimes, so that had to count for something, didn't it? Truth be told, however, it was the slowest relationship she had ever been in. Why, he hadn't even attempted to touch her knees!
But maybe she decided she liked it that way for a change. It was new and exciting and there was something a bit thrilling about helping Joey discover new things about himself.
That being said, Joey had really seemed to come into his own over the summer. He spoke a little surer, carried himself a little taller, even looked a little larger. In fact, Millie was sure the extra carpentry work he was picking up with his father was paying off each time that she took his arm. If she wasn't mistaken, Joey looked right dreamier upon her return than when she left town four days ago.
On a more somber note, he seemed to refuse to talk about the trip to the police station. She had convinced him to go and she was glad that he did, but she felt like she deserved a little more credit than she'd been given for helping take the weight off his shoulders.
As they sat in the diner over hamburgers and soda pops, the one thing he did reveal to her was that he managed to lay low while Millie was gone. "Well, I don't know what you expect to happen with me on your arm," she retorted. "Nobody's certainly going to be scared of little old me."
"That's not the point," he scowled. "The point is I feel...I don't know, I just feel...stronger with you around. I can't explain it, I just know I'm more comfortable with you."
"Oh, Joey," she replied softly with a smile as she reached across the table and rested her hand over his. "I'm so glad that you're comfortable with me."
His cheeks turned pink and a small, shy smile flashed across his lips. "Well...I just am. I feel like I can relax and be myself with you, you know?"
"Always," she smiled.
He cleared his throat with a smile and adjusted his weight on his side of their booth. "So. Tell me about your trip."
Millie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "I try to teach that girl, you know? Mentor her. Prepare her for her young adult life and what happens? Chocolate cake and near expulsion. You can't win with her!"
"You can't...you can't be expelled if you're not enrolled, though, right...?"
"Well, she's already as good as enrolled. They let her spend the night on campus to get a feel for it, so I stayed with her. Some of the football boys were back at the frat house and they were having a party, so we went. Leave it to Bessie to beeline for the cake. All that beer to go around and all she does it eat and chat--"
"Millie, that's what parties are."
"Anyway," she huffed. "We were out past curfew and I taught her how to sneak in. We were feet away from our door when she turned her ankle and fell into the resident headmistress's door--who happened to be there. Don't these people spend their summers at home anymore?"
"Ah," Joey nodded knowingly. "And the rest of the trip was terrible."
"Absolutely horrid. Uncle Jim and Bessie stopped speaking, our grandparents are taking their dinners with the help, it's just--this whole world is just going mad."
"Well. You're home now, so no need to stress about it anymore."
Finally, a smile spread across Millie's face. "You're right. You're absolutely right. Say, why don't we get out of here and go for a stroll by the river? I'm much overdue for a kiss, anyway."
"All right," Joey smiled, blushing once again. "I think I can accommodate that request."
"Ooh, have you been reading?" She teased playfully. "Your vocabulary is growing awfully sophisticated lately."
"Some. Maybe. Could just be all the excellent marks I earned in school. You know we artist types are brainy like that. Ask Bessie, she'll tell you."
"She's got the book smarts, all right, but the poor girl ain't got the sense God--"
"Shh," he chuckled. "Enough of that. Lets go for our stroll."
As Millie drove them to their destination in her car, the ride was silent, but comfortable. Like Joey, she supposed she was comfortable around him, too. And also like Joey, she felt like she could be herself with him. She could say anything and do anything with no risk of judgment. She didn't feel like she had to be "on" all the time, flipping her hair and batting her eyelashes. In fact, she realized that her wandering eye had slowed down significantly since she started spending time with Joey. Maybe this was it. Maybe she'd had her fun and she was ready to slow down. She sure couldn't think of a better person to slow down with. Why, maybe someday Joey might like to be married to her. She knew that children were likely not in the near, foreseeable future, but she'd be willing to be patient with him, one step at a time.
Millie was smiling to herself as she pulled into a dirt clearing that had turned itself into a sort of parking lot over time. Beyond them, the river glimmered in the moonlight beyond its embankment, and the night air brought a warm, pleasant breeze. The entire scene was serene and romantic.
"Oh, Joey," Millie smiled as he opened the driver side door for her. "It's such a lovely evening, isn't it?"
"It is," he agreed.
She hooked her arm through his as they made their way toward the river's edge. "I just love Tulsa," she stated dreamily. "Don't you?"
"Uh..." Joey chuckled and shook his head uncomfortably. "It, uh, it has its charms."
"Are you saying you don't love Tulsa? You've lived here all your life."
"I have," he agreed. "I mean, if we're talking in terms of geography and scenery, then, yes, I love it just fine. But society..."
"I know," she agreed gently. "Society is a bit closed-minded when it comes to people like us."
Joey looked down at her, the moonlight catching the amused gleam in his eye. "People like us?"
"Well, yes. I'm no prim and proper goody two shoes like my dear cousin, am I?"
"You're certainly not going to let society know that you aren't, though."
"Just like you're not going to let society know that you're...?"
"Hey," he said in a tone that bordered somewhere between amusement and defense. "I'm your boyfriend, aren't I? We kiss and we hold hands..."
"Correction. You haven't tried to hold my hand all night."
Keeping his face forward, he reached down and haughtily took her hand, holding it tightly in his using a little more force than Millie was used to from him. She didn't mind, though. It was warm and it was large and she didn't even mind the calluses he'd collected from the hard work he did every day. Millie smirked to herself and they continued their stroll in silence.
The river was a popular date spot, both during the day and at night, but nighttime was when it seemed to thrive with young people. Since the crash of the stock market in 1929, the river became more popular than ever, as it served as a free source of entertainment for young lovers and families alike. Tonight was no different. Several pairs of sweethearts strolled together, hand-in-hand, along the river's grassy embankment, just as Millie and Joey did. Several other pairs found grassy spots under trees or near bushes and necked--something that Millie, admittedly, wished she was doing, too. Sure, she wanted to slow down her usual dating routine, but she couldn't help that she liked to neck.
A few of the younger couples had stripped down to their skivvies and decided to go for a moonlight swim. Millie giggled as some of the water lightly splashed on her after the last jumper jumped in and Joey smiled and tightened his hand around hers and tugged her way from the waterfront. "Come on," he said. "Let's stay out of the line of fire, shall we?"
She allowed Joey to lead her away from the water and they headed for a thicket of trees under which the moonlight didn't touch the ground. Before they made it there, however, Millie did her own tug on Joey's hand and smiled up at him coyly. "Joey," she flirted as she swung his hand gently to and fro. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"
He smiled and she could see the blush in his cheeks even under the moonlight. His eyes glittered and he looked around nervously. "I was...I was getting there. You know, waiting for the right moment..."
"I think now is a perfect moment," she replied with a bat of an eyelash.
He swallowed and took a step forward, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "All right, then," he said quietly.
"And make it a good one!" She grinned playfully.
"Shh," he smiled again. "I can't do it if your gums are flappin'."
She grinned again before she finally puckered her lips and closed her eyes, tilting her head up expectantly.
Millie could feel the warmth of his skin coming closer to her face, feeling his breath against her lips. Her fingers and toes tingled with anticipation and he had finally managed to brush his soft lips over hers before the voice rang out. "Well, would you look a' there? The queer is kissing a girl. Look boys! Come have a look!"
Millie's eyes flew open and Joey was already turning around to see where it was coming from. She peeked her head around the tall frame of her boyfriend and she scowled when she recognized a couple of the football boys from the high school. She had a feeling in her gut that Billy Connors and Lawrence Baker weren't far behind.
She was right. Seconds later, five more boys came out of the shadows, followed by a sauntering Billy, flanked by Lawrence. Lawrence veered off to the side and rested his height against a thin tree trunk, leisurely pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and helped himself to a light. Taking a drag, he rested his hand in his pocket and locked his eyes on the scene.
Millie's eyes fell back on the remaining group who now stood opposite the couple. She pulled herself up alongside Joey now, grasping his hand tightly. "Good evening, boys," she said coolly. "Nice night for a stroll."
"Yeah," Joey added through clenched teeth. "So why ain't you guys strollin'?"
"'Cause we don't 'stroll' like queers do," one of the younger boys taunted.
"I ain't queer," Joey argued back, the tension rising in his throat.
"Sure you are," the boy continued. "Everybody knows you're queer. They say you can't cure queer, you know. Even with a hot little dame like Millie Jennings, here."
"You leave her alone," Joey threatened, letting go of Millie's hand and taking a step forward.
Except that now Millie's temper was growing hot. "Say, do you kiss your mama with that mouth, fella?"
"You leave my mama out of this," the boy replied, his own anger rising.
Millie smiled with contempt and shook her head. "Well, then. We are quite the mama's boy, aren't we? Why, I bet you've never even kissed a girl in your entire life, have you? Only your mama."
"That's not true--"
"But you know what? Joey's kissed me plenty. And he's held my hand." Then she lowered her voice. "And he's had his hands in places on my body that I bet you didn't even know girls had. So I don't know who you're standing here trying to call queer, little boy."
The last part wasn't technically true. But the little pea brain didn't need to know that.
A snort came from Lawrence's tree followed by a series of glares from his chums. Then Billy broke through the crowd of teens and approached the couple. "There, there, now," he said patronizingly. "We don't pick arguments with ladies present, do we, fellas? That's not very polite."
"Well, actually, that time with Bess--"
"Shut up!" Billy snapped, whipping his head around. "I said we don't pick fights with ladies present. Not ever again." Then he calmed himself and smiled at the couple once more. "And especially not with family members and friends of the lovely young Bessie Harlow. Isn't that right boys?"
Nothing but low murmurs amongst the group.
"But while we're on the subject of Miss Harlow," Billy continued, taking another step toward the couple. "I've had a little something on my mind for a few days that I just can't seem to shake. You see, I...I 'witnessed' something that bothered me a little bit. You know what that's like? Joey? To witness something bothersome?"
Millie slid her hand into Joey's and held onto it tightly.
Billy smiled sheepishly and shifted his weight from one foot to the next as he glanced at the ground. "Well, I guess judging by your silence, you don't seem to. See, when you witness something bothersome, it eats at you and it eats at you until you can't take it anymore and you finally have to...well, you just have to tell someone. You know?"
Joey's back stiffened and Millie's heart sank straight into her stomach. He knew. Billy knew.
"For instance," Billy continued. "I don't suppose you heard about my little trip to the police station, did you? Mine and my best pal, Larry, over there? If you didn't, Millie, here, can sure tell you. She was there. Along with that very lovely cousin of hers."
"You keep calling her lovely..." Millie observed.
Billy ignored her. "Anyhow, when it was all said and done and I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, I saw Miss Harlow walking down the sidewalk all by her lonesome. She looked so pretty in her dress that day and it isn't proper for a lady to walk down the street alone, don't you agree? Except that when I turned to catch up with her, another guy beat me to the punch. Another guy...at the police station. Oh!" Billy stopped to chuckle. "And you know what the kicker is? The guy had hair...red as fire." Then he reached up and flicked a finger at Joey's hair. "Just...like...yours." He stared Joey down for a moment before he stepped a couple steps backward and chuckled. "I mean, how many redheaded men do we have in Tulsa, anyway? What are the odds, right?"
Millie swallowed hard, her stomach suddenly beginning to churn uncomfortably. "Joey," she said quietly with a squeeze of his hand. "I think I'm ready for you to take me home now."
"Ah, come on," Billy taunted. "But you just got here!"
"And you," she said, shooting daggers at the tall, dark-haired boy. "You stay away from my cousin. She has a beau."
"Had," Billy murmured with a scoff.
"Has," Millie corrected. "And he's coming home soon and he's going to marry her and it would be in your best interest for you to leave well enough alone."
"Is that a threat, Millie?"
"Sure," she shot back. "It sure is."
Billy grinned menacingly. "Then I'll be anxiously awaiting the consequences."
"Joey, come on," Millie urged again.
"Watch your back, queer," Billy sneered darkly through his teeth.
Finally, Joey turned on his heel and practically dragged Millie behind him. The cat-calling from the small group of young men was obnoxious. "Whoooo, go get you some, queer! Millie'll make a man out of you once and for all!"
"I never slept with any of them," Millie said quietly, her voice shaking as she trotted behind Joey, her hand still locked in his.
"I know," he replied through a clenched jaw.
Finally, they stopped at her car and he opened the passenger side door and demanded that she get in. Then he demanded the keys. Then he took his liberties with the driver's seat and peeled away from the river, the tires kicking dirt and rocks behind them.
Joey was silent as he flew them down the dirt road and toward their respective homes. He grabbed her hand again and pressed it tightly against his thigh as he steered with his free hand. Millie wasn't sure what he was supposed to have meant by it, but she'd never seen this level of anger from him before and she didn't speak a word for fear of making it worse.
Much to her surprise, Joey tore the car through the clearing between Bessie's house and the entrance through the woods, stopping just feet from the abandoned barn that she'd attended so many sleepovers in. Millie was confused as she looked around. "Joey. Why--why are we here?"
"This is where I come to think," he breathed as he opened the car door.
When he came around and opened hers, she was still amidst her interrogation. "You come here to think? Does my uncle know it? They probably heard us come through here, you know."
"It's late, the house is dark."
Finally, she stopped him as she followed him into the barn and watched him pull on the light bulb string. "Okay, this has gone on long enough. You know those boys aren't nothing but a bunch of bullies, I don't know why you let them get to you like that."
"Because it's not just them!" He replied, exasperated, as he whipped around to look at her. "Okay? Every time one of them opens their mouths it's not just them. It's Tulsa, it's Oklahoma, it's my old man, it's--it's everyone. Face it, Millie, people like me have no place on this earth. No place!"
Her jaw dropped as her eyes widened with hurt. "But--but yes, you do. You do have a place on this earth or else you wouldn't be here at all."
Joey grew silent as he stared down at her. From underneath the dim light of the barn, he towered over her, a picture of confident dominance, something Millie had never seen in him before. His eyes darkened for a moment and the next thing she knew, he had her pinned up against the barn wall by the door, his tongue eagerly exploring the depths of her mouth.
Millie's breathing thickened due to the surprise. It took a moment for what was going on to register, but once it did, she found herself immediately enjoying it. Joey was a wonderful kisser and he never made bold advances like this, so she chose to revel in it instead of question it.
Except that Joey's bold advances didn't stop there. In no time at all, he was unbuttoning the front of her dress and jerking her sleeves off of her shoulders. His mouth opened across her skin, over her collar bone, and crossed to the other side, sending waves of pleasure pulsating through Millie's veins. And then, in what appeared to be an apparent act of lust, he bent down, jerked her dress up over her thighs and lifted her off the ground, her legs wrapping themselves around his thin waist.
With one hand, he reached down and unbuttoned his trousers, his fingers nimble and quick, and Millie didn't see a single glimpse of his flesh before he plunged himself deep inside her, causing her to gasp loudly in shock. He was so pleasantly satisfying that she didn't even care that his eyes remained squeezed shut and his head hanging in concentration. He barely made a sound as he savagely had his way with her, hammering her hard with every thrust.
Her arms hooked under his as her nails dug into his shoulders and she allowed her eyes to roll to the back of her head as her head collapsed against the wall behind her. "Oh, Joey," she breathed with ecstasy. "Don't stop. Please don't ever stop."
The act didn't last more than three or four minutes, but it was absolutely the most magnificent thing Millie had ever felt. She'd been with plenty of boys in plenty of different ways, but none of them had ever felt like Joey did. None of them had ever shown such desire, such hunger, such passion...she'd never felt more alive.
When her feet touched the ground, her knees trembled like jelly. She smiled dreamily and her lashes fluttered and before she could think, Joey had buttoned himself up and cupped her face in his hands. "I did it," he whispered, his forehead nearly touching hers. "I did it, I'm not queer. See?"
"You sure did," she agreed dreamily. "Joey, I think that was the best I've ever--"
But he had stalked off. Stormed around the barn in long strides, as if he were a bull ready for the red cape. He paused long enough to look up at the ceiling, pound his fists on his chest savagely, and let out a harrowing scream, startling Millie out of her wits. Quickly, she began returning her sleeves to her shoulders and buttoning up her dress.
With a smile, Joey dashed back toward her, his hands finding her waist again. "You see that, Millie? I'm not queer. I told you I wasn't queer!"
Looking at him, with the wild joy in the blue eyes that she loved to look into so much, the heavenly bliss she'd been feeling quickly turned into hurt and despair as she finally realized what had happened. His making love to her hadn't been about her or any attraction he might have had to her. He had done it for himself...with his eyes closed.
"Joey," she whispered. "I can't do this."
"What?" He breathed, his eyes darting into hers. "Can't do what?"
"You didn't do that because you wanted to. You did it to prove a point. And I don't want to be with someone who's only interested in being with me just to prove a point. I want someone to be with me who wants to be with me because I'm me. I think I deserve that much, don't you?"
Joey's jaw dropped as his breathing slowed, his natural color finally returning to his face. "But--but Millie. This is--this is what you wanted--"
"No. This is what you wanted. What I wanted was you, for everything that you already are. Not the person you're trying not to be."
And with that, the tears welled up in her throat and she turned around and bounded out of the barn, hopped into her car, and drove away. That was it, then. The boy she thought she might be able to fall for just...wasn't the one. Deep down she knew it. She'd always known it. Some people just couldn't be changed. But for a second she thought there was hope. That maybe he would look at her one day and realize that maybe she was the one for him. He might not have had much for money but she would have been happy with him. Which was something she hadn't understood during her breakup with Taylor. Perhaps Bessie was on the right track. Maybe it wasn't all about money. Maybe it really was about love.
Millie sighed. But what did it matter, anyway? She would still never be with Joey and Joey still didn't like girls. She wondered who he was picturing while he was making love to her. His old love from several years ago? His first? Who knew? She just knew it wasn't her and that was enough to let her know that hope was lost. She hated that it had gotten so late because she really wanted to talk to Bessie. Bessie might be young, but at least she understood that true love was never hopeless. And that was exactly what Millie needed to hear at that moment.
_________________________________________
New York City was exciting. It bustled to and fro all day long, all over the streets and the sidewalks. Sandwiched on the pavement were cars as far as the eye could see, buzzing about around large trucks and trolley cars. Horns blew all day, people called to each other from down the street, and everyone always seemed to be in a mad hurry to be somewhere.
Zac loved it...once upon a time.
Zac always got a thrill out of New York. It was his favorite place to travel and they'd traveled there frequently back in their hey day. He'd seen The Incredible Hansons in so many lights and on so many marquees that when he saw the latest one, he almost glanced at it in passing as if he were taking it for granted once again. Instead, he paused, shoved his hands in his pockets, and gazed up at the lighted billboard that hung outside the theatre for a moment. "Vaudeville Revisited, Starring The Incredible Hansons and Other Favorites. This Week Only."
Yes, that was correct. This week only. One week and then they would be on their way back home. One week. Seven days. He couldn't even drink that away fast enough if he'd wanted to.
No matter how much Zac was ready to go home, however, it was a bit heartwarming to see their name up there again. It had been several long years since they'd been on top of the world. Only a small, very brief part of him wished that it would be a long week so that they could revel in the old lifestyle just one last time.
Because this was the last time for Zac. After this week, no more.
The acts had been put up at the Plaza Hotel, a notion that still dizzied Zac to think about it. For all he knew, the only ones of Barney Harper's acts that were actually in the theatre show were themselves, Climbin' Claude, and the midget acrobats. He had no idea where the other acts were staying, probably in their trailers somewhere, and he immediately thought of Thelma Mae Little and he felt bad. He wondered if she lived in that trailer all year long. Maybe he would sacrifice a little of his own money to put her up in the hotel, at least for a night. The sweet lady deserved at least that much, didn't she?
Zac sighed as he looked around. No, New York just wasn't a thrill for him anymore. It wasn't a thrill because he couldn't share the lights and wonders of it with the girl he loved the most. She wouldn't squeeze his hand to the point of breaking bones, or gasp loudly every five seconds, or giggle with delight with every turn of her head. That was all he wanted, to show her the world. And to maybe be rewarded with a kiss or a smile. Was that really too much to ask?
His mood now in a dire state, he followed his brothers into the front doors of the theatre and immediately began to look around. They'd never played this one before, though it had supposedly become wildly popular over the years. It was a bit smaller than the ones they'd been used to, but it was decorated elegantly with red velveteen upholstery, gold-painted railings and balconies, and black, marble-esque flooring. Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceilings, comfortable viewing boxes hung over the sides of the auditorium, and the stage was grand and spacious. Zac pictured himself being comfortable there--for the week. Only for the week.
"Welcome to the Manhattan Royale!" A loud, boisterous voice bellowed over the group of acts that Zac and his brothers had lagged behind. Upon the sound of the man's voice and observation of his mannerisms, Zac decided that if anyone belonged in New York, maybe Joey Martin did. Because he would have bet good money that nobody looked twice at this guy as he walked down the street and, if they did, they certainly didn't care.
"We are so happy to have you all here!" He continued. "I'm Martin, but you can call me Marty--in fact, I encourage it! I'm going to give you a quick tour of the theatre so that you can get right to work in preparations for opening night tomorrow night." He clapped his hands together. "This way, please!"
"Do we really have to do this?" Zac murmured as the three of them fell into step with the rest of the crowd.
"Just give the poor guy a few minutes," Isaac murmured back. "It'll be painless, I'm sure."
Except that it wasn't. It was two agonizing hours of Marty's ramblings and his bad jokes and Zac was growing restless with every punch line. It was a theatre. They were all the same. All Zac needed to know was where the stage door was, where the dressing room was, and what kind of a stage they were working with. He couldn't have cared less about the history of the building or the balconies or the donated chandeliers.
Taylor, however, ate it up. He kept himself occupied by snapping photographs the entire time. Well. At least he was occupied. Zac envied him for that.
The longer they spent in the theatre, the longer it took for them to get out of it. He had yet to make his way to the Western Union office to telegram Bessie of his arrival in the city. He hadn't been able to telegram her in what felt like ages and he'd never prayed harder for a reply in his life. He needed a response like he needed air. He needed her words, he needed her presence, he needed her love. He was desperate. God, he was so desperate.
And so, once they were released from their theatrical prison, the brothers headed out the door onto the street, and Zac immediately began to survey his surroundings. He tuned Isaac out as he started rambling about the day's rehearsal schedule and about loading the props into the theatre, when Taylor's voice cut through with a dark, malignant tone. "Just can't stand it, can you?"
"Huh?" Zac replied.
"Already on the first train out of here, aren't you? We're about to play the biggest show of this entire tour and you can't even get your head out of the clouds long enough to give a shit about me or Ike or this act. Yanno, maybe we should just cut it down to Ike and I. We don't need you dragging it down."
Zac glared at Taylor, his brother now having his full attention. "Yeah? Then who's gonna throw your precious knives for you, huh? Who?"
"Ike."
Zac scoffed, amused. "Right. You know what, Tay? It's interesting how you stay on my back for sending telegrams and writing letters, but you're the one with the intended wife, not me. So not only are you a hypocrite, but you are absolutely green with envy that I'm already acting like ten times the husband that you aren't yet. Stop persecuting me for loving Bessie. I thought you'd be the first person to understand how I'm feeling. Unless...you don't actually love Aishe..."
Taylor's eyes darkened. "I'll kill you."
"You wouldn't lift a finger to harm this act and you know it," Zac spat back.
"That woman saved my life."
"Yeah? Then why doesn't she have any clue where the hell you are right now? I've offered to help you time and time again and you just keep biting my hand, it's like--it's like you almost want to forget about her. And vice versa. Is that it? You having second thoughts on your engagement?"
"No."
"Well, then? What?"
Taylor's nostrils flared and his fists balled up at his sides. "Because I have to make a future for us. I have to know that I can handle being away from her for long periods of time--"
"She's a fucking gypsy, Tay! Traveling is who she is!"
"She can't travel with her grandmother in the health she's in! Why the hell do you think she's been in Tulsa all these years? Her grandmother can't move! She has to care for her, this was--this was fucking fate, putting her in that camp, just for me, and now I have to make sure I can stand to be away from her so that I can provide for her family! Okay? You got it? She has to be able to depend on me and right now--" He paused to run a hand through his hair. "Right now I'm having trouble even depending on myself. I don't--I'm scared to go home and be nothing again. How could she be proud to marry someone like me?"
"Tay," Zac began gently.
But he was interrupted when a portly man in a hat and a handlebar mustache approached Taylor and pointed at his camera. "What kind of camera you got there, son?"
And with that, Taylor was lost in a different conversation.
Zac glanced at Isaac and Isaac flipped a quick nod in the opposite direction, signaling the go-ahead for Zac to run his errand. Happily, Zac strode swiftly down the street.
MY SWEET BESSIE
WE'VE FINALLY MADE IT TO NEW YORK CITY STOP THEY'RE PUTTING US IN THE PLAZA HOTEL STOP ONLY ONE MORE WEEK UNTIL I GET TO COME HOME TO YOU STOP WE'LL SEE EACH OTHER VERY SOON AND I'M COUNTING DOWN THE MINUTES STOP YOU'RE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AND I MISS YOU SO TERRIBLY STOP I'LL SEE YOU SOON MY LOVE STOP
FOREVER YOURS
ZAC
Zac didn't care how sappy and flowery his prose was or what the clerk thought as she typed out his message. By this time, he wasn't ashamed of anything anymore. He would profess his love for Bessie any shameless way he saw fit, whether he had to shout it from the rooftops or grovel at her feet in front of the entire city of Tulsa. It didn't matter. He was proud of her and he was lucky to be loved by her and he would never allow her to regret it.
A couple of hours later, the exhaustion was beginning to set in. That morning they'd packed, rode the ferry, fought the city streets with their trailer, toured the theatre, and now they were settling themselves into their room. Zac wanted to appreciate the luxury they were surrounded by, but his mind and his body just weren't allowing it. The four-poster beds and the sophisticated bathtub with golden claws were nothing to Zac. Not unless he was sharing the bath and the bed with Bessie. So he let his brothers have the two beds and he volunteered to sleep on the rollaway. It wasn't near as comfortable, but at least he could roll it into the other room of the suite and have some much-needed privacy.
Zac wanted nothing more than a nap. He wanted to kick off his shoes, stretch himself out over clean, fresh sheets, and sleep until it was time to drive home. Yes, he'd determined. This would be the roughest, longest week of the trip and the absence from Bessie was weighing down dangerously on his heart, compromising his ability to be himself in any capacity. Something had to give. Anything.
Unfortunately, there was no time for napping. Isaac had scheduled a tuxedo fitting for fresh coattails and gloves, vowing that they would leave both New York and Barney Harper as strong, sharp, successes.
Zac thought the fitting would never be over. They were poked, prodded, pulled, and tucked until they couldn't take anymore. It was the most happiness he'd seen out of Taylor for much of the month, however, and he couldn't help but to breathe comfortably at the temporary peace in the air. Once they'd finally made their purchases, Isaac the proud owner of a brand new top hat, they finally made their way back to the hotel.
At the hotel, the red carpet was practically rolled out for them. They never touched a door, a bellhop took their merchandise off their hands no sooner had they crossed the threshold, and as they passed the front desk, the concierge nearly climbed all over himself to get Zac's attention. "Mr. Hanson. Mr. Hanson!"
The three brothers turned around expectantly.
"Zac?" He asked.
"Yes?"
"There's a message here for you."
And now it was Zac's turn to nearly climb over the desk to get to it.
Appreciatively, he tipped the concierge handsomely and wasted no time ripping open the Western Union envelope. "To My Love," it began. Zac's heart soared.
TO MY LOVE
I MISS YOU JUST AS TERRIBLY STOP THE WEEK CAN'T BE OVER FAST ENOUGH STOP I WISH I COULD WRITE YOU MORE STOP I WISH I COULD HEAR YOUR VOICE STOP I DIDN'T WANT TO TELL YOU THIS BUT THE COLLEGE VISIT WAS HORRIBLE STOP I HAD CAKE AND CONVERSATION WITH A BOY AT A PARTY AND THEN I GOT CAUGHT SNEAKING BACK TO MY ROOM STOP I'M NOT SURE COLLEGE LIFE IS FOR ME STOP PLEASE BE SAFE AND KNOW THAT I'M PROUD OF YOU STOP I AM FOREVER YOURS PLEASE DON'T EVER FORGET THAT STOP NO MATTER WHAT STOP
YOURS ALWAYS
BESSIE
Zac's heart sank in an instant. He couldn't bring himself to focus on the "forever yours" parts, all he was able to get out of it was "I had cake and conversation with a boy at a party." It was inevitable, he knew. There would be other men. She would come in contact with many. She would socialize and be polite and be constantly in their presence. And he believed her wholeheartedly when she pledged her undying devotion to him, but it didn't make him any less angry about the situation. That should have been him, having cake and conversing with her. After all, she belonged to him, didn't she? No man ever needed take his place or even attempt to. Zac could be her man and he would be--just as soon as fifteen hundred miles didn't separate them. That would never happen again.
But it set the mood for the rest of his evening, anyway. Isaac and Taylor asked if he wanted to talk about it and he brushed them off. He was silent as they hung their new designer duds in their room, he was silent as they went back to the theatre and unloaded the props and practiced setting the stage, and he planned and he rehearsed with his brothers without any extra riff raff. The sooner Zac could crawl into his bed and into his own personal hell, the better.
He got his wish, finally. It was late, they'd gotten back to the hotel well past eleven o'clock, and Zac wasted no time shaking himself out of his clothes and turning down the rollaway that had been set up for him in the adjoining sitting room. "Goodnight," he murmured gruffly into the other room before clicking off the lamp and crawling into the fresh sheets of his bed in nothing but his underthings.
"Zac," Taylor called. "Do you not want to eat? Ike and I are heading out for a bite."
"I'm exhausted," Zac replied. "You guys go on without me. I gotta... Shit," he hissed. He hadn't written Bessie's letter today. "I gotta sleep," he finished.
"Want us to bring something back?"
"No, thank you."
Moments later the suite was silent and Zac was clicking his lamp back on, searching furiously through his luggage for his pen and stationary. Once equipped with the necessary materials, he pulled the chair up to the desk and began to write furiously.
**********
"Bessie! Bessie, who is that? Why are you holding his hand? Who is he?"
She shook her head and narrowed her eyes as she pulled the tall, dark-haired man closer to her.
"Bessie. It's me, it's Zac. Your one true love. Don't you recognize me? Don't you remember me?"
She shook her head again. "I'm sorry," her sweet voice replied regretfully. "I have no idea who you are."
Zac awoke in a cold sweat. He gasped for breath and looked around as the dim city lights streamed through the sheer curtains that covered the windows. His body trembled as he fought to regain the calm that he craved and he couldn't help the frightened whisper of, "Bessie," that escaped his lips.
He couldn't do this. He had to get out of there. Now.
Darting out of his bed, he fumbled around in the near pitch, throwing on his clothes and shoving a handful of money in his pocket, along with his room key. He had no idea where he was going and he didn't really care. He just knew he was going alone and that he would come back with a clean, clear mind.
The city hustled and bustled at all hours of the day, but after one in the morning there was a little less of it. Lights shined from all-night diners, bulbs flashed above the theatres, and neon bounced animatedly around advertisement after advertisement. People still walked the streets, headed this way and that, and Zac sauntered with his hands shoved in his pockets, meandering aimlessly with no real sense of purpose, only appreciating the night air around him.
As he walked, however, he realized that his mouth was parched and, given his current state of mind, there was only one way to quench his thirst--and in a city such as this one, such a quench would surely be easy to find. And so he began to slow his walking with each narrow alley he passed, praying for the next peddler to be available for the taking.
Finally, his prayers were answered. "Hey, buddy," a ragged voice whispered from behind. "Where you headed?"
Zac stopped in his tracks for a moment before he decided to go for broke and address the voice. He turned around and walked the few steps back to the man whose rags were still apparent in the shadows and peered into the dim light that shone on his dirt-covered face. "Nowhere in particular," Zac murmured.
"You looking for something?"
Zac's spine straightened. "I could be."
"Sounds like you might need to step into my office."
"Depends on what I'm looking for."
"Trust me."
Zac followed the man the few steps into the near pitch black alley and listened as he bent over and clinked a couple of glass bottles around. As the man gathered his merchandise, Zac asked, "What's this gonna cost me?"
"What's it worth to you?"
"Two dollars."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"All right, then. Another dollar and I'll tell you where the best place in town is."
"Who said I was looking for the best place in town?"
"You said you didn't know where you were headed. I just gave you your destination. We got a deal or what?"
The bum had a deal with the liquor and that was good enough for Zac. However, he was in desperate need of a distraction if he wanted to keep that godforsaken dream from creeping into his mind over and over again.
"All right," Zac replied, palming another bill into the bum's hand. "Where's the best place in town?"
"Forty-second Street. Smitty's Burlesque."
"Yeah, no. That's not what I'm after--"
"No. Don't go to the show." The man stepped closer to him and raised an eyebrow with a wry smile. "Ask for the back room. That's what you're after."
"The back room?"
"That's all you gotta tell 'em. Tell 'em you want the back room, you knock back that bottle of good, there, and you forget all your troubles for the night. This'll be the best three bucks you ever spent, I guaran-damn-tee it, fella."
Zac couldn't help but be reminded of what happened the last time he'd been tempted into a burlesque show. Glorious Greta had attempted to lure him into bed when all he'd wanted to do was congratulate her on a job well-done. He'd learned his lesson then. No more girlie shows.
But the bum intrigued him with this back room business. And so Zac found himself ambling down the street once more, in search of Forty-second Street.
It took him longer to get there than he felt like it should have, mostly of his own doing as he ducked into random alleyways to take swigs of the bottle he'd bought that turned out to be a smooth, sweet, satisfying brandy. He knew he must have smelled of it, as potent as it as, when he came to a tall building on the end of the street, never having seen or passed the elusive Smitty's Burlesque. A small sign, however, nearly out of view, directed him inside the building and several floors up.
He could hear the music before he entered the club, a loft with thick curtains draping the windows and closing them in. An elaborate stage was set up opposite a bar and tables and booths as far as the eye could see littered the floor space between the two destinations. Men filled the room in business suits and neckties and scantily-clad ladies made their rounds to flirt with them. Zac paid the price of admission, tried not to look interested in his surroundings, and murmured to the man behind the ticket counter, "I'm interested in the back room."
"The back room?" He clarified.
"That's what I said."
"There isn't much going on back there at the moment--"
"Even better."
"All right then. Right this way, I'll see what we can get started for you."
Zac kept his head ducked down as he crossed the wooden floor behind his guide. He didn't suspect anyone would recognize him, or even look at him twice, but he wasn't interested in running the risk. Instead, the man showed him through a closed door, down a small hallway, and into a dark room with a large projection screen at the front. There were roughly eight to ten rows of upholstered seating and maybe three or four men littered throughout.
"Well, then," the man said. "Looks we're just in time for the next one to start. Enjoy." And then the man closed the door and left Zac in the dark.
Zac knew exactly where he was and he was instantly annoyed at the old bum for making it sound more exciting than it was. The truth was, Zac had probably seen every single stag film that the twenties had to offer, and even a few into the new decade. He wasn't sure that this was exactly what he was looking for, he determined, as he looked around and swigged his illicit brandy, but as the music started and the words appeared in the screen, he decided he ought not to stand around like a dolt, at least, and chose to take a seat in the empty back row, more than half the distance away from the next voyeur.
The piano music was loud and bubbly and horribly degrading to Zac's ear, but he endured it anyway as he sat in his chair, nursing more of the brandy. On the screen, the words had disappeared, and the car drove into view, stopping onto the side of the road. Out of it, came two girls in coats and heels. One of them went around and popped the hood for inspection. Zac smirked at the screen. He could never see Bessie under the hood of a car. She was too dainty and too lovely and he would never allow her to find herself in such a situation in the first place.
The girl under the hood gave up and closed it and went to converse with her friend. It appeared that the two of them had no choice but to hitchhike. And so they began thumbing at passing cars. Except that none of them would stop. So desperate times called for desperate measures and one of them pulled her skirt up over her knee. Suddenly, Zac found himself paying attention.
The more cars that passed, the higher the skirts went. By the time there was a glimpse of the garter belt on one of their thighs, Zac's pants were tightening. The one girl had a body that was similar to Bessie's--tall, slender, graceful. And her hair fell to her shoulders similar to Bessie's, too. 'Oh, Bessie. I would stop the car for you. I'd whisk you away, never to return and you would belong to me forever.'
As the cars kept passing, the clothing began to shed. As the ladies stood in their slips, Zac's breathing quickened. As their jackets came off, Zac was already half drunk and shamelessly adjusting himself in his pants. By the time the ladies braziers were showing, Zac had unzipped and released himself into the darkness.
With his free arm draped over the back of the chair next to him, his hand clutching tightly to the brandy bottle, his other hand kept busy in his lap. As he stroked himself, he let his head fall back against the wall he sat against and he closed his eyes. Bessie filled his mind. "Oh, Bessie," he whispered. It had been so long since he'd felt her touch, kissed her body, defiled her nature. His body ached for her, his need more overwhelming than he'd realized it was. When he came home, he would make love to her forever, he would make love to her until he crippled her beautiful legs, parched her beautiful throat. She would call his name until she had no voice left and could only beg for more through body language. And he would give it to her. He would give her everything she wanted.
As he pleasured himself, a memory bombarded him, one that he knew would send him over the edge in mere seconds. He remembered the night in the trailer, after the gypsy party, where a very inebriated Bessie had her way with him...and the way her pretty mouth felt wrapped around him as she moaned with pleasure was enough to make his jaw currently fall slack and his speed to pick up as he worked on himself.
Oh, Bessie. Jesus, the way she rode him that night after she was finished on her knees, the way her small, perky breasts bounced in the moonlight, the way she nearly screamed with pleasure and called out those savage, vulgar words in her sweet voice. The way she cried out his name and declared how good he felt. Fuck, yes. He tightened his grip on himself and quickened his pace. It didn't take long, merely seconds, it felt like, to remember the way she felt when she'd finished on him, pulsating around him while the sweat poured sensually between her breasts. In the small, dark theatre, he finished in his hand, as if he had gone back in time and made love to his sweet girl once again and when he'd calmed himself, he opened his eyes and was assaulted with the rough reality of his surroundings--and the harsh reality of what he'd just done.
As he glanced down at the mess in his hand, he let out an agitated sigh. He'd found relief for two whole minutes until reality set in and he was now more miserable than ever. In the darkness, he was finally able to locate his handkerchief, clean off his hand, put himself back in his pants, and leave the theatre room in disgust for the nearest washroom. For two minutes, he'd had her again. He'd had his Bessie. But it hadn't been real. And now Zac wanted to put his fist through a wall.
In the washroom, the bright florescent lights blinded him as he cleaned himself up. He didn't dare look at himself in the mirror. It was bad enough that this was reality enough as it was. He couldn't look up at the reflection of the man who had just publicly degraded the love of his life. He'd disgraced her with his display. He'd shamed her, stomped on her honor--how could he have done such a thing in her name? He was disgusted with himself.
Storming through the club and down the stairs and onto the street, Zac took long, quick strides down the city street as he guzzled more and more brandy, getting drunker and drunker by the minute. He didn't care who saw him anymore. He almost wished he would get arrested for having liquor in the first place. He deserved the punishment anyway, for both breaking the law and being such a brute.
The more he walked, the more he drank, and the more his brain ran wild with desperation. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't take it. And when the rain began to pour down on top of him in torrents, he didn't care. He was soaked to the bone within seconds, but even the rain didn't keep the tears from burning down his cheeks. He needed her. He needed Bessie. He had to know that he wasn't losing his mind and that she still remembered him and that she still loved him. He had to know that Billy Connors hadn't won.
Elated, Zac nearly ran to the telephone booth once he caught sight of it. Closing himself into it as the rain beat down against the glass, he picked it up and dialed the operator, his hand clutched tightly around a mass of change that bulged in his pocket. It was late and the judge would be mad but Zac didn't care. He had to hear her voice, no matter the cost.
Once he heard a garbled female voice, he nearly shouted into the receiver, "Tulsa, Oklahoma. Judge Harlow's residence. Please hurry!"
"All right. Please deposit five cents."
Zac shoved the money into the machine.
"Thank you. Please wait while we connect you."
The connection took ages and Zac was growing increasingly impatient. He felt as if he'd spent fifteen minutes, easy, feeding nickels into the phone until, finally, his impatience got the better of him. "Look," he barked into the phone. "I only have so many damned nickels left and I have yet to be connected. What the hell else am I supposed to do?"
"Well, sir," the garbled voice replied. "You can call collect. We can charge it to the receiving party."
Oh, damn. And owe Judge Harlow money? After Zac left his daughter alone to go and make money? Wouldn't that beat all?
"Do it," he commanded.
"Very well, sir. Please wait while we connect you."
The connection felt as if it took hours. Except that he'd already waited hours. And he found himself dancing in place impatiently as he waited, the rain steadily beating down on the booth.
Finally, the operator came back on. "The party accepted your call. Thank you for your patience."
"Zachary?" Judge Harlow's voice came through.
Of course it was the judge.
His voice came through with more garbled static than the operator's had, but it was good enough for Zac. Pressing the receiver harder to his ear, he spit out quickly, "Judge Harlow! Sir, I'm so sorry for this, but I've spent up all my nickels trying to connect. I need to speak to Bessie, please. I'll pay you back double, triple, even--"
"Bessie is asleep, Zac."
"Please, sir. Please," he begged with desperation. "I know it's late, but please."
"All right," the judge conceded. "I'll have to put you on hold while I wake her. This is costing me a fortune, just to let you know."
"I know. I'm sorry. I'll pay every penny, every last penny."
"That, you will. Please hold."
Another wait. Zac ventured to guess that he'd been in that booth for half an hour, at least. It had to be nearing two or three in the morning. He felt horrible for waking Bessie at such an hour but he just knew that she would come running to the telephone as soon as her father told her he was on it. At least he hoped she did.
As he waited, he swigged more brandy. There was less than half the bottle left. He'd had that much already? It didn't matter. Now it was practically a celebration. He was about to speak to his love directly, to hear her after three and a half long weeks of agony and pain. He threw back another swig.
"Zac?"
Her voice was as garbled and static-filled as her father's, but it was every bit as sweet and comforting as it would have been if she were standing right next to him. "Bessie," he cried out desperately.
"Oh, Zac!"
"Bessie, baby." And then he broke down in the most horrible fit of gut-wrenching tears he had ever cried. He collapsed against the glass behind him and fell to the ground, his backside soaked with the rainwater that had flooded the bottom of the booth. "It's so good to finally hear your sweet voice."
"Zac. Are you all right? I'm worried about you."
"I'm horrible. I'm horrible and it's terrible and I miss you so much, baby. I never wanted you to know how bad it was for me, but I just can't take it anymore. I can't be without you, Bessie. Baby, please!"
He wiped his nose loudly, his entire body loose from the liquor, and he pressed the heel of his free hand to each of his eye sockets as he waited anxiously for her to respond.
"Oh, Zac. I miss you, too! I miss you more than anything--"
"Tell me you love me," he demanded pitifully. "Please, I beg of you, tell me you still love me. Tell me you haven't forgotten me. Please don't leave me, Bess, I'm begging you--"
"Zac, I do love you! I'd die for you, Zac, you know how I love you so! How could I ever forget you? You're my everything! I need you and I want you and I am so proud to be yours. You couldn't possibly know the ways that I miss you--"
"Don't leave me. Don't give up on me--"
"I would never. And why would I give up on you--?"
"Because I don't deserve you. I don't, baby, I don't. I'm going to give up this carnival, Bessie. For you, I'd give it all up. And I am. No more after this, I promise. I'm going to be yours, for always, I'll never leave you again--"
"Zac," she said hurriedly. "Zac, Daddy says this call is getting expensive--"
"I don't care, I'm paying for it--"
"This is what you love," her garbled, sweet voice repeated. "You love your act, you love putting on shows. And I'll support you every step of the way, no matter how near or how far. You are a wonderful man and a great talent. Don't deprive those people out there of the very best that you have to give. All right? You are great. And you get out there and you be strong and you give those people what they paid to see. Okay? I'm right here, cheering you on, every second of every day. Do you know why? Because you are my man. You're my love and I am so very proud of you. Do that for me, Zac. Okay? Put that bottle down--"
"How did you know that I'm drinking?"
"Because I know you. And because it's three in the morning and you're crying."
"I've cried a lot on this trip, Bessie."
"So have I."
"I never meant to hurt you," he said over the pounding rain. "I'm so sorry, Bessie. I'll never leave you again, you have my word."
"I'll never leave you, either, my love. Not even for school."
Suddenly, in his drunken, tear-filled stupor, Zac was struck dumb and his eyes widened. "What?"
"Too much to talk about, too little time. We have to hang up now, Zac. I can barely hear you and Daddy looks impatient."
"Bessie, please. Please, no. Talk to me forever, please don't leave me."
"You keep saying that. I'm never gonna let you go, Zac. Not even if you wanted me to. You got stuck with me with your first flower trick, I'm sorry to say."
Finally, Zac smiled into the wet darkness and he felt his tears threaten to dry up. "Bessie. Baby, I love you so much. I can't even tell you how much I miss you."
"I miss you, too. And I love you until forever ends. Do you hear me, Zac? Zac? Can you hear me?"
Suddenly, the connection began to grow worse and worse and Bessie was becoming more difficult to hear. He knew this was it, it was time to end the call. But he didn't want to. He wanted to stay in that wet phone booth and listen to her voice forever. Except that he couldn't. And he knew it.
"Bessie," he said. "I have to hang up now. I've cost your father too much money and the connection is bad. Please know that you're my one and only true love--for the rest of my life. And when I come home, I want to marry you."
"You want to what? Zac? Zac, I can barely hear you."
"I have to hang up!" He called louder. "I love you!"
"I love you, too, my prince," he finally heard her say. "Please be strong. Go and get some sleep. This time next week we'll be back in each other's arms. Until then, I'll dream of you. Goodnight, my love."
And then the call disconnected.
The floodgates opened again and Zac violently beat the phone's receiver against the glass around him. Finally, he dropped it, letting it hang there, the tears falling as he chugged back what was left of the brandy bottle. He'd heard what he needed to hear. He'd been reassured of what he needed reassurance for. But hearing her voice had only made it worse. He missed her now more than ever. And now he hated himself for realizing that he'd never apologized to her for disgracing her the way he did. 'Oh, Bessie. You're so much more to me than a random jerk-off in a dirty theatre, I swear it. I'm sorry.'
Standing proved to be futile, so he let himself fall back onto his seat. He didn't even care anymore. The only comfort he knew he had found was in this rain-filled phone booth that possessed his love's voice on the other end of the telephone that now hung freely by its cord. That was where she was, that was where she lived. That was the closest he had yet to find himself to his Bessie. And for that, he was content.
**********
Zac awoke to a string of sunlight and a pounding headache. It was too painful to move, but the curiosity of the warmth of the linens he found himself tangled in got the better of him and he couldn't help but lift his head. He was in his bed. In his rollaway in the sitting room. He wore a pair of shorts and a tight, white tank top that clearly didn't belong to him. Now that his eyes were open, sleep was all he wanted. Right after he whet his whistle and emptied his bladder.
"Tay," his parched tongue found itself calling out weakly. Why had he called for Taylor first? Taylor hated him right now. And how the hell had he gotten back, anyway? He didn't even remember leaving the telephone booth.
But he remembered Bessie. By the grace of God, he remembered the entire conversation with her, hard as it was to hear her between the rain and the terrible connection. She loved him and she never wanted to leave him. That was what he got out of it. That and how proud she was of him and how she told him that he needed to give his all this week. That he needed to give these people what they were paying for. And she was right. Dear, good, sweet Bessie--she had been so much stronger and so much more mature than Zac had been last night. Oh, how he needed her so. He knew that now more than ever.
But now Taylor walked cautiously into the room with a glass of water and a fist clenched shut. "Hey," he said gently. "You all right?"
"As all right as I can be, I guess," Zac grumbled as he sat up. Gratefully he accepted the water and the fistful of aspirin and tossed them back quickly. "How did I get here?"
"A man found you unconscious in the telephone booth when he tried to use it. He found your key with the hotel tag and the concierge called up for us to come downstairs and get you. He promised not to tell the police how swacked you were and wished you well. You were soaked to the bone, likely caught pneumonia, and we dried you and changed your clothes and put you to bed. Why haven't you vomited, yet?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Zac murmured. "Um, uh, thanks. Thanks for, uh...for helping me."
"What the hell were you doing in the telephone booth at three in the morning, anyway?"
"Phoning Bessie."
"Did you get her?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah? And?"
"And she still loves me."
"You doubted her?"
Zac sighed and lay back down on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. "I doubted myself. I'm not good enough for her, Tay. I never will be."
"You are or she wouldn't love you. Look, you have two choices here, Zac. You can either give in to the fact that you're not good enough and break up with her--or you can realize that her love for you is unconditional and you can stop being so damn melancholy all the time. It's depressing, honestly, it's dragging us all down."
Zac opened an eye and arched the brow skeptically. "Oh. I'm dragging us all down with my melancholy attitude. Might I remind you--?"
"You gonna be okay today?" Taylor interrupted. "It's our big night. Opening night. Word has it, tickets are selling out fast. We have to share rehearsal space today and tonight has to be the best ever."
"Yeah," Zac nodded, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I got it. I got it, I--I just need some time to get up. I gotta piss. And I should probably eat something--"
"I'll call you up some room service," Taylor replied, jumping up from the chair he was seated in. "We gotta get your strength up."
"Right," Zac grumbled. "Thanks."
As Taylor hurried for the door, Zac stopped him. "Tay?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. For, uh, being so difficult to deal with these past few weeks. Thank you for putting up with me."
Taylor shrugged a shoulder and he smiled. "We're brothers. It's what we do."
"Right," Zac muttered to himself once again as he collapsed his head back on his pillow. Tonight. Opening night. You're a wonderful man and a great talent, Bessie had said to him. You are great. Give these people what they're paying for.
She was strong and she was wise as she was beautiful. And she was right. Zac Hanson was one-third of The Incredible Hansons. And The Incredible Hansons were great, that was why they were headliners. The Incredible Hansons didn't half-ass anything, no matter how devastating their personal lives. They were professionals. They were showmen. They were incredible.
And with a newfound confidence and a lighter headache, Zac finally found himself ready to rejoin the brothers' act.
To My Sweet Girl,
Oh, Bess. I'm so incredibly unhappy.
I didn't want to write letters like this to you. I wanted to write you about all the fun we're having and the places we're seeing. I wanted you to live vicariously through me, to have something to look forward to when someday I can marry you and show you the world. I wanted my letters to be happy and lively. I didn't want you to worry an ounce about me.
But I don't think I can take it anymore, Bess. I feel like I've been away from you for an eternity. This act, this carnival thing, it just doesn't feel the same as it did before. It doesn't hold the same meaning anymore. Before, the three of us were just bachelors, wild and free and ready to take on whatever was thrown at us. We didn't care. We smoked, we drank, we partied, we put on shows. But none of that is appealing anymore. I was anxious to come on this tour so I could capture the essence of who I used to be again, a person that I'd missed for so long. But the truth is, I don't think the person that I used to be is the person that I was meant to be. And I think that when I met you, I finally learned the person I was MEANT to be. And I can't be that person if I'm fifteen hundred miles away from you.
The person I was meant to be in this life, Bessie, is YOURS. I was put on this earth to find you and love you and hold you and marry you and, well, while I can love you from anywhere on this entire planet, I can't very well do the other things. I can't hold you and I can't be there for you and I can't hear your sweet voice. I can't be your man from where I am and it's tearing me apart. I don't want to be here. I just don't want to be here anymore and I swear to you, Bessie, on everything that is holy, this is it. This is the end of my career. Because for you, Bessie, I know I'd give it all up. If you're not here by my side, it doesn't even matter. I will never, for the rest of my life, do another single thing without you. I can't bear it. My heart, my mind, body, and soul just can't take it.
And with that, I've been doing some thinking. When I come home, we're going to have a discussion. Because the only way I can see you going to school and following your dreams and for us not to have to go through this again is if I pick up and move to Oklahoma City. Now I know this may seem selfish, as we've discussed in the past that I am to stay in Tulsa and prepare a home for us for when you graduate but, baby, the truth is, home is wherever you are. I'm going to take care of you and I want to make you happy, but I really don't care where we live. Home is in each other's arms. And I know you, Bessie, I know without a shadow of a doubt that you agree with me. So we'll talk about it when I come home. I promise you, no matter what, we will never be apart again. I'm never gonna let you go.
Tomorrow morning we're about to board the ferry back to the main island of New York, so I suppose I should try to get some shut eye. What I want to do is drive straight out of New York as soon as the ferry docks, but I know my brothers would pound me before we even made it out of the city. My heart just isn't in it anymore and this week can't go by fast enough.
That's all for now, my love. I hope you're sleeping well tonight. I'll dream of you.
Your love forever,
Zac
The ride back to Tulsa was long and quiet. The judge had stopped several times for water breaks and to let Scout stretch, and one other time for lunch, but once they finally turned onto the country, dirt road that would take them home to their farmhouse, Bessie was elated. All she wanted to do was go upstairs and curl up in her bed for a long, quiet nap.
Bessie was exhausted. She was mentally exhausted, physically exhausted, and emotionally exhausted. She wished she could sleep the entire week away until Zac returned. She wanted to forget that her night at the college had ever happened. She wanted to forget having cake and enjoyable conversation with Robert Clayton and she wanted to forget her failed attempt at sneaking back into the dormitory. Mostly, she wanted to forget about college altogether. After all, if she wasn't going to college, there wouldn't have been a reason for her father to consider her a disappointment, would there?
That night after dinner, Bessie's grandmother had come to her room with a plate of blackberry cobbler and a glass of warm milk. There, Bessie had finally confessed her sins to her with shame and, to Bessie's surprise, the old woman had merely thrown her head back and laughed. "But, Grandmother. Aren't you disappointed in me?"
"Child," she'd said. "I committed far worse sins by sneaking around with your grandfather in church. At least you weren't in the lord's house like we were, be thankful for that!"
Bessie knew her grandmother had only been trying to make her feel better. And in some small way it was a comfort to know that her grandmother wasn't disappointed in her. However, her father still was and he was the one that Bessie had to see on a daily basis.
Once in her room back in Tulsa, she had deposited her unpacked suitcase by her wardrobe and stretched herself out on her bed. She didn't even have the energy to remove her shoes or her stockings and she found herself dozing off in no time at all. Her sleep was deep and it was dreamless and she had no idea how long she'd been out when she was awakened by the gentle shaking of her shoulder by her father's hand.
"Bess," he said softly as he shook her. "Bess, you missed supper."
She struggled to open her eyes, partially because she wanted to keep sleeping, but her heart sank in her chest as her eyes fell on the darkness beyond her window. She began to squint her eyes against the low lamplight by her bed, no doubt turned on by her father, and she sucked in a breath through her nose as she stretched out her body and rolled over, collapsing her arm over her chest and turning her head to look up at her father.
He reached over and rested the back of his hand against her forehead. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"
"I'm fine," she replied groggily as she sat up and smoothed out her dress. "I must have just been very tired."
"I see." Then he offered her a stack of envelopes. "Found a few letters for you in the mailbox."
She didn't grab at them with her normal voracity. What would have been the point? She didn't want to read them in front of her father, anyway, and he showed no signs of moving anytime soon. So she thanked him and she sat them on the table next to her bed.
"Bessie, I wanted to talk about, um..." The judge cleared his throat uncomfortably. "About what you overheard at your grandparents' house."
Finally, her face fell and her eyes landed on her hands as she fidgeted with them in her lap.
"I just want you to know that you're...you're not a disappointment to me," he said gently.
The tears welled up in her eyes at his words and she was powerless to hold them back. "But you said I was," she sniffed. "You said that you were ashamed to have me as a daughter."
"I was upset. I was reacting in the moment--"
"You had an hour and a half 'in the moment' on the ride back to Oklahoma City!" She argued. "You didn't say a word, you had time to think. And in an hour and a half you decided that I was a disgrace to the family!"
The judge took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and wiped his palms on his pants. "When I was at Yale, I was suspended for an entire semester. It was my senior year. I had to graduate an entire semester after the rest of my class to make up for it."
Bessie's eyes widened with shock as she wiped her eyes. "Really?"
"Yes," he nodded solemnly. "Really. But I suggest you keep it between us, I never told your mother about it. I was afraid she wouldn't marry me if she knew. I stayed at a friend's apartment nearby and wrote her letters filled with his school stories--not my own."
"So...an entire semester of your relationship with Mama was a lie?"
"No," he clarified. "Not the way I felt about her. Just...you know, things about my studies and such. I was so ashamed of myself, Bess. I just couldn't disappoint her."
"What did you do?"
The judge sighed. "Like I said, it was senior year. I felt like I'd been in school for my entire life and I was a young man. Sometimes a young man can be as educated as they come and still be merely a young man. School was wrapping up and it was close to graduation and a few of the fellas and I were looking to relieve some pent up tension. So...we chose to play a prank on the dean...and we all went in and ordered a fake skeleton and rigged it up above the dean's bed. A couple of us operated the pulleys and you could hear him wailing bloody murder and we had made it just to the edge of the yard, about to jump the hedges, when the porch lights came on and he caught us. So we were suspended. For being out past curfew, breaking and entering, you get the idea. Some of the same shenanigans that you got yourself into the other night."
Bessie's eyes darted around at the cover on her bed. "Well...then it wasn't very fair of you to say the things you said about me, was it?"
"No," he admitted. "It wasn't. But I want you to know that I only said them out of fear. I didn't expect that sort of thing out of you, I thought you were...better than I was when I was in school." He let out a breath. "Look. I can't stop you from any inevitable shenanigans you might find yourself getting into when you go off to school. I know that. But as a parent, you want more for your child. And sometimes we get angry and say things we don't mean when we feel like we've failed as a parent--or that maybe you've inherited one of our not-so-loveable qualities. Okay? But you are not a disgrace and I am not ashamed of you. I love you. Always know that."
"I love you, too, Daddy," she replied in a small voice. "You haven't failed as a parent. I couldn't have asked for better parents. And--and I know I wasn't very fair to you sometimes when we quarreled at the beginning of the summer and--well, sometimes even the children get angry and say things they don't mean to their parents."
"Ah, but you're not a child anymore."
"No. But I'll always be your little girl."
The judge smiled an nudged her jaw with his index knuckle. "That, you will be, my love. I apologize for saying the things that I said. Do you accept my apology?"
"Yes," she nodded. "And I apologize for misbehaving the way I did. It wasn't very ladylike, was it?"
"Well...maybe not in the grand scheme of things. But as far as ladies go, I have a feeling your mother's response to this whole ordeal would have been to make sure you don't get caught the next time."
Bessie laughed shyly, the crimson rising to her cheeks. "That sounds a lot like Grandmother's reaction."
"Oh, so you told her?" He smiled with amusement. "Doesn't surprise me that she'd say that. After all, the way she met my old dad was more or less an abomination."
"But look how long they've been married," she replied with stars in her eyes. "Isn't it so romantic?"
"To openly defile the house of the lord? I don't know what's so romantic about that."
"You were born, weren't you?" She retorted.
The judge gaped at her for a moment, before relaxing his face and shaking his head. "You become more and more like your mother every day, you know that? And for that, we're all in trouble." Then he reached over and patted her knee. "Come on downstairs, your mother saved you a plate. You must be hungry."
"Famished," she grinned.
As the pair left her bedroom and headed for the stairs, her father turned around and smirked at her wryly. "At least this time, while rummaging for food, you can sneak back up to your room safely without falling into any doors."
"I need to work on my balance," she murmured.
Her father chuckled heartily as she followed him down the stairs and her heart warmed. As hurt as she'd been at his words, she understood that she'd done wrong and she'd most certainly learned a lesson. She was happy to have cleared the air with her father, thrilled to be back in his good graces. She was dying to tell her mother the secret she'd just learned, but she chose to leave well enough alone. Instead, she followed her father into the kitchen just as her mother was pulling leftovers out of the oven.
"Oh, good, you're awake," her mother smiled at her. "You may have your dinner while your father and I have our pie and coffee. Did you enjoy your nap?"
"Yes, ma'am, thank you."
As her mother milled around and prepared Bessie's plate, Bessie wandered into the dining room and overheard her parents talking again. "Oh, Jim. You told her about your suspension, didn't you?"
"Had to fess up," he replied. "Never thought the story would come in handy one day, to tell the truth."
Bessie scowled into the kitchen. From that day forward, she vowed never to eavesdrop on her parents again.
________________________________________________
Millie missed Joey during her four days away in Oklahoma City. That was a notion that surprised her, but only just a little bit. Joey was different than most of the boys Millie went out with. Joey was an excellent listener, he was understanding, he was considerate...and there was something about those crystal clear blue eyes underneath his fiery red hair that Millie could gaze at for hours.
Except that...Joey didn't like girls.
Oh, never mind that. He was her boyfriend, wasn't he? He liked her well enough for that. And they kissed and they held hands sometimes, so that had to count for something, didn't it? Truth be told, however, it was the slowest relationship she had ever been in. Why, he hadn't even attempted to touch her knees!
But maybe she decided she liked it that way for a change. It was new and exciting and there was something a bit thrilling about helping Joey discover new things about himself.
That being said, Joey had really seemed to come into his own over the summer. He spoke a little surer, carried himself a little taller, even looked a little larger. In fact, Millie was sure the extra carpentry work he was picking up with his father was paying off each time that she took his arm. If she wasn't mistaken, Joey looked right dreamier upon her return than when she left town four days ago.
On a more somber note, he seemed to refuse to talk about the trip to the police station. She had convinced him to go and she was glad that he did, but she felt like she deserved a little more credit than she'd been given for helping take the weight off his shoulders.
As they sat in the diner over hamburgers and soda pops, the one thing he did reveal to her was that he managed to lay low while Millie was gone. "Well, I don't know what you expect to happen with me on your arm," she retorted. "Nobody's certainly going to be scared of little old me."
"That's not the point," he scowled. "The point is I feel...I don't know, I just feel...stronger with you around. I can't explain it, I just know I'm more comfortable with you."
"Oh, Joey," she replied softly with a smile as she reached across the table and rested her hand over his. "I'm so glad that you're comfortable with me."
His cheeks turned pink and a small, shy smile flashed across his lips. "Well...I just am. I feel like I can relax and be myself with you, you know?"
"Always," she smiled.
He cleared his throat with a smile and adjusted his weight on his side of their booth. "So. Tell me about your trip."
Millie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "I try to teach that girl, you know? Mentor her. Prepare her for her young adult life and what happens? Chocolate cake and near expulsion. You can't win with her!"
"You can't...you can't be expelled if you're not enrolled, though, right...?"
"Well, she's already as good as enrolled. They let her spend the night on campus to get a feel for it, so I stayed with her. Some of the football boys were back at the frat house and they were having a party, so we went. Leave it to Bessie to beeline for the cake. All that beer to go around and all she does it eat and chat--"
"Millie, that's what parties are."
"Anyway," she huffed. "We were out past curfew and I taught her how to sneak in. We were feet away from our door when she turned her ankle and fell into the resident headmistress's door--who happened to be there. Don't these people spend their summers at home anymore?"
"Ah," Joey nodded knowingly. "And the rest of the trip was terrible."
"Absolutely horrid. Uncle Jim and Bessie stopped speaking, our grandparents are taking their dinners with the help, it's just--this whole world is just going mad."
"Well. You're home now, so no need to stress about it anymore."
Finally, a smile spread across Millie's face. "You're right. You're absolutely right. Say, why don't we get out of here and go for a stroll by the river? I'm much overdue for a kiss, anyway."
"All right," Joey smiled, blushing once again. "I think I can accommodate that request."
"Ooh, have you been reading?" She teased playfully. "Your vocabulary is growing awfully sophisticated lately."
"Some. Maybe. Could just be all the excellent marks I earned in school. You know we artist types are brainy like that. Ask Bessie, she'll tell you."
"She's got the book smarts, all right, but the poor girl ain't got the sense God--"
"Shh," he chuckled. "Enough of that. Lets go for our stroll."
As Millie drove them to their destination in her car, the ride was silent, but comfortable. Like Joey, she supposed she was comfortable around him, too. And also like Joey, she felt like she could be herself with him. She could say anything and do anything with no risk of judgment. She didn't feel like she had to be "on" all the time, flipping her hair and batting her eyelashes. In fact, she realized that her wandering eye had slowed down significantly since she started spending time with Joey. Maybe this was it. Maybe she'd had her fun and she was ready to slow down. She sure couldn't think of a better person to slow down with. Why, maybe someday Joey might like to be married to her. She knew that children were likely not in the near, foreseeable future, but she'd be willing to be patient with him, one step at a time.
Millie was smiling to herself as she pulled into a dirt clearing that had turned itself into a sort of parking lot over time. Beyond them, the river glimmered in the moonlight beyond its embankment, and the night air brought a warm, pleasant breeze. The entire scene was serene and romantic.
"Oh, Joey," Millie smiled as he opened the driver side door for her. "It's such a lovely evening, isn't it?"
"It is," he agreed.
She hooked her arm through his as they made their way toward the river's edge. "I just love Tulsa," she stated dreamily. "Don't you?"
"Uh..." Joey chuckled and shook his head uncomfortably. "It, uh, it has its charms."
"Are you saying you don't love Tulsa? You've lived here all your life."
"I have," he agreed. "I mean, if we're talking in terms of geography and scenery, then, yes, I love it just fine. But society..."
"I know," she agreed gently. "Society is a bit closed-minded when it comes to people like us."
Joey looked down at her, the moonlight catching the amused gleam in his eye. "People like us?"
"Well, yes. I'm no prim and proper goody two shoes like my dear cousin, am I?"
"You're certainly not going to let society know that you aren't, though."
"Just like you're not going to let society know that you're...?"
"Hey," he said in a tone that bordered somewhere between amusement and defense. "I'm your boyfriend, aren't I? We kiss and we hold hands..."
"Correction. You haven't tried to hold my hand all night."
Keeping his face forward, he reached down and haughtily took her hand, holding it tightly in his using a little more force than Millie was used to from him. She didn't mind, though. It was warm and it was large and she didn't even mind the calluses he'd collected from the hard work he did every day. Millie smirked to herself and they continued their stroll in silence.
The river was a popular date spot, both during the day and at night, but nighttime was when it seemed to thrive with young people. Since the crash of the stock market in 1929, the river became more popular than ever, as it served as a free source of entertainment for young lovers and families alike. Tonight was no different. Several pairs of sweethearts strolled together, hand-in-hand, along the river's grassy embankment, just as Millie and Joey did. Several other pairs found grassy spots under trees or near bushes and necked--something that Millie, admittedly, wished she was doing, too. Sure, she wanted to slow down her usual dating routine, but she couldn't help that she liked to neck.
A few of the younger couples had stripped down to their skivvies and decided to go for a moonlight swim. Millie giggled as some of the water lightly splashed on her after the last jumper jumped in and Joey smiled and tightened his hand around hers and tugged her way from the waterfront. "Come on," he said. "Let's stay out of the line of fire, shall we?"
She allowed Joey to lead her away from the water and they headed for a thicket of trees under which the moonlight didn't touch the ground. Before they made it there, however, Millie did her own tug on Joey's hand and smiled up at him coyly. "Joey," she flirted as she swung his hand gently to and fro. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"
He smiled and she could see the blush in his cheeks even under the moonlight. His eyes glittered and he looked around nervously. "I was...I was getting there. You know, waiting for the right moment..."
"I think now is a perfect moment," she replied with a bat of an eyelash.
He swallowed and took a step forward, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "All right, then," he said quietly.
"And make it a good one!" She grinned playfully.
"Shh," he smiled again. "I can't do it if your gums are flappin'."
She grinned again before she finally puckered her lips and closed her eyes, tilting her head up expectantly.
Millie could feel the warmth of his skin coming closer to her face, feeling his breath against her lips. Her fingers and toes tingled with anticipation and he had finally managed to brush his soft lips over hers before the voice rang out. "Well, would you look a' there? The queer is kissing a girl. Look boys! Come have a look!"
Millie's eyes flew open and Joey was already turning around to see where it was coming from. She peeked her head around the tall frame of her boyfriend and she scowled when she recognized a couple of the football boys from the high school. She had a feeling in her gut that Billy Connors and Lawrence Baker weren't far behind.
She was right. Seconds later, five more boys came out of the shadows, followed by a sauntering Billy, flanked by Lawrence. Lawrence veered off to the side and rested his height against a thin tree trunk, leisurely pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and helped himself to a light. Taking a drag, he rested his hand in his pocket and locked his eyes on the scene.
Millie's eyes fell back on the remaining group who now stood opposite the couple. She pulled herself up alongside Joey now, grasping his hand tightly. "Good evening, boys," she said coolly. "Nice night for a stroll."
"Yeah," Joey added through clenched teeth. "So why ain't you guys strollin'?"
"'Cause we don't 'stroll' like queers do," one of the younger boys taunted.
"I ain't queer," Joey argued back, the tension rising in his throat.
"Sure you are," the boy continued. "Everybody knows you're queer. They say you can't cure queer, you know. Even with a hot little dame like Millie Jennings, here."
"You leave her alone," Joey threatened, letting go of Millie's hand and taking a step forward.
Except that now Millie's temper was growing hot. "Say, do you kiss your mama with that mouth, fella?"
"You leave my mama out of this," the boy replied, his own anger rising.
Millie smiled with contempt and shook her head. "Well, then. We are quite the mama's boy, aren't we? Why, I bet you've never even kissed a girl in your entire life, have you? Only your mama."
"That's not true--"
"But you know what? Joey's kissed me plenty. And he's held my hand." Then she lowered her voice. "And he's had his hands in places on my body that I bet you didn't even know girls had. So I don't know who you're standing here trying to call queer, little boy."
The last part wasn't technically true. But the little pea brain didn't need to know that.
A snort came from Lawrence's tree followed by a series of glares from his chums. Then Billy broke through the crowd of teens and approached the couple. "There, there, now," he said patronizingly. "We don't pick arguments with ladies present, do we, fellas? That's not very polite."
"Well, actually, that time with Bess--"
"Shut up!" Billy snapped, whipping his head around. "I said we don't pick fights with ladies present. Not ever again." Then he calmed himself and smiled at the couple once more. "And especially not with family members and friends of the lovely young Bessie Harlow. Isn't that right boys?"
Nothing but low murmurs amongst the group.
"But while we're on the subject of Miss Harlow," Billy continued, taking another step toward the couple. "I've had a little something on my mind for a few days that I just can't seem to shake. You see, I...I 'witnessed' something that bothered me a little bit. You know what that's like? Joey? To witness something bothersome?"
Millie slid her hand into Joey's and held onto it tightly.
Billy smiled sheepishly and shifted his weight from one foot to the next as he glanced at the ground. "Well, I guess judging by your silence, you don't seem to. See, when you witness something bothersome, it eats at you and it eats at you until you can't take it anymore and you finally have to...well, you just have to tell someone. You know?"
Joey's back stiffened and Millie's heart sank straight into her stomach. He knew. Billy knew.
"For instance," Billy continued. "I don't suppose you heard about my little trip to the police station, did you? Mine and my best pal, Larry, over there? If you didn't, Millie, here, can sure tell you. She was there. Along with that very lovely cousin of hers."
"You keep calling her lovely..." Millie observed.
Billy ignored her. "Anyhow, when it was all said and done and I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, I saw Miss Harlow walking down the sidewalk all by her lonesome. She looked so pretty in her dress that day and it isn't proper for a lady to walk down the street alone, don't you agree? Except that when I turned to catch up with her, another guy beat me to the punch. Another guy...at the police station. Oh!" Billy stopped to chuckle. "And you know what the kicker is? The guy had hair...red as fire." Then he reached up and flicked a finger at Joey's hair. "Just...like...yours." He stared Joey down for a moment before he stepped a couple steps backward and chuckled. "I mean, how many redheaded men do we have in Tulsa, anyway? What are the odds, right?"
Millie swallowed hard, her stomach suddenly beginning to churn uncomfortably. "Joey," she said quietly with a squeeze of his hand. "I think I'm ready for you to take me home now."
"Ah, come on," Billy taunted. "But you just got here!"
"And you," she said, shooting daggers at the tall, dark-haired boy. "You stay away from my cousin. She has a beau."
"Had," Billy murmured with a scoff.
"Has," Millie corrected. "And he's coming home soon and he's going to marry her and it would be in your best interest for you to leave well enough alone."
"Is that a threat, Millie?"
"Sure," she shot back. "It sure is."
Billy grinned menacingly. "Then I'll be anxiously awaiting the consequences."
"Joey, come on," Millie urged again.
"Watch your back, queer," Billy sneered darkly through his teeth.
Finally, Joey turned on his heel and practically dragged Millie behind him. The cat-calling from the small group of young men was obnoxious. "Whoooo, go get you some, queer! Millie'll make a man out of you once and for all!"
"I never slept with any of them," Millie said quietly, her voice shaking as she trotted behind Joey, her hand still locked in his.
"I know," he replied through a clenched jaw.
Finally, they stopped at her car and he opened the passenger side door and demanded that she get in. Then he demanded the keys. Then he took his liberties with the driver's seat and peeled away from the river, the tires kicking dirt and rocks behind them.
Joey was silent as he flew them down the dirt road and toward their respective homes. He grabbed her hand again and pressed it tightly against his thigh as he steered with his free hand. Millie wasn't sure what he was supposed to have meant by it, but she'd never seen this level of anger from him before and she didn't speak a word for fear of making it worse.
Much to her surprise, Joey tore the car through the clearing between Bessie's house and the entrance through the woods, stopping just feet from the abandoned barn that she'd attended so many sleepovers in. Millie was confused as she looked around. "Joey. Why--why are we here?"
"This is where I come to think," he breathed as he opened the car door.
When he came around and opened hers, she was still amidst her interrogation. "You come here to think? Does my uncle know it? They probably heard us come through here, you know."
"It's late, the house is dark."
Finally, she stopped him as she followed him into the barn and watched him pull on the light bulb string. "Okay, this has gone on long enough. You know those boys aren't nothing but a bunch of bullies, I don't know why you let them get to you like that."
"Because it's not just them!" He replied, exasperated, as he whipped around to look at her. "Okay? Every time one of them opens their mouths it's not just them. It's Tulsa, it's Oklahoma, it's my old man, it's--it's everyone. Face it, Millie, people like me have no place on this earth. No place!"
Her jaw dropped as her eyes widened with hurt. "But--but yes, you do. You do have a place on this earth or else you wouldn't be here at all."
Joey grew silent as he stared down at her. From underneath the dim light of the barn, he towered over her, a picture of confident dominance, something Millie had never seen in him before. His eyes darkened for a moment and the next thing she knew, he had her pinned up against the barn wall by the door, his tongue eagerly exploring the depths of her mouth.
Millie's breathing thickened due to the surprise. It took a moment for what was going on to register, but once it did, she found herself immediately enjoying it. Joey was a wonderful kisser and he never made bold advances like this, so she chose to revel in it instead of question it.
Except that Joey's bold advances didn't stop there. In no time at all, he was unbuttoning the front of her dress and jerking her sleeves off of her shoulders. His mouth opened across her skin, over her collar bone, and crossed to the other side, sending waves of pleasure pulsating through Millie's veins. And then, in what appeared to be an apparent act of lust, he bent down, jerked her dress up over her thighs and lifted her off the ground, her legs wrapping themselves around his thin waist.
With one hand, he reached down and unbuttoned his trousers, his fingers nimble and quick, and Millie didn't see a single glimpse of his flesh before he plunged himself deep inside her, causing her to gasp loudly in shock. He was so pleasantly satisfying that she didn't even care that his eyes remained squeezed shut and his head hanging in concentration. He barely made a sound as he savagely had his way with her, hammering her hard with every thrust.
Her arms hooked under his as her nails dug into his shoulders and she allowed her eyes to roll to the back of her head as her head collapsed against the wall behind her. "Oh, Joey," she breathed with ecstasy. "Don't stop. Please don't ever stop."
The act didn't last more than three or four minutes, but it was absolutely the most magnificent thing Millie had ever felt. She'd been with plenty of boys in plenty of different ways, but none of them had ever felt like Joey did. None of them had ever shown such desire, such hunger, such passion...she'd never felt more alive.
When her feet touched the ground, her knees trembled like jelly. She smiled dreamily and her lashes fluttered and before she could think, Joey had buttoned himself up and cupped her face in his hands. "I did it," he whispered, his forehead nearly touching hers. "I did it, I'm not queer. See?"
"You sure did," she agreed dreamily. "Joey, I think that was the best I've ever--"
But he had stalked off. Stormed around the barn in long strides, as if he were a bull ready for the red cape. He paused long enough to look up at the ceiling, pound his fists on his chest savagely, and let out a harrowing scream, startling Millie out of her wits. Quickly, she began returning her sleeves to her shoulders and buttoning up her dress.
With a smile, Joey dashed back toward her, his hands finding her waist again. "You see that, Millie? I'm not queer. I told you I wasn't queer!"
Looking at him, with the wild joy in the blue eyes that she loved to look into so much, the heavenly bliss she'd been feeling quickly turned into hurt and despair as she finally realized what had happened. His making love to her hadn't been about her or any attraction he might have had to her. He had done it for himself...with his eyes closed.
"Joey," she whispered. "I can't do this."
"What?" He breathed, his eyes darting into hers. "Can't do what?"
"You didn't do that because you wanted to. You did it to prove a point. And I don't want to be with someone who's only interested in being with me just to prove a point. I want someone to be with me who wants to be with me because I'm me. I think I deserve that much, don't you?"
Joey's jaw dropped as his breathing slowed, his natural color finally returning to his face. "But--but Millie. This is--this is what you wanted--"
"No. This is what you wanted. What I wanted was you, for everything that you already are. Not the person you're trying not to be."
And with that, the tears welled up in her throat and she turned around and bounded out of the barn, hopped into her car, and drove away. That was it, then. The boy she thought she might be able to fall for just...wasn't the one. Deep down she knew it. She'd always known it. Some people just couldn't be changed. But for a second she thought there was hope. That maybe he would look at her one day and realize that maybe she was the one for him. He might not have had much for money but she would have been happy with him. Which was something she hadn't understood during her breakup with Taylor. Perhaps Bessie was on the right track. Maybe it wasn't all about money. Maybe it really was about love.
Millie sighed. But what did it matter, anyway? She would still never be with Joey and Joey still didn't like girls. She wondered who he was picturing while he was making love to her. His old love from several years ago? His first? Who knew? She just knew it wasn't her and that was enough to let her know that hope was lost. She hated that it had gotten so late because she really wanted to talk to Bessie. Bessie might be young, but at least she understood that true love was never hopeless. And that was exactly what Millie needed to hear at that moment.
_________________________________________
New York City was exciting. It bustled to and fro all day long, all over the streets and the sidewalks. Sandwiched on the pavement were cars as far as the eye could see, buzzing about around large trucks and trolley cars. Horns blew all day, people called to each other from down the street, and everyone always seemed to be in a mad hurry to be somewhere.
Zac loved it...once upon a time.
Zac always got a thrill out of New York. It was his favorite place to travel and they'd traveled there frequently back in their hey day. He'd seen The Incredible Hansons in so many lights and on so many marquees that when he saw the latest one, he almost glanced at it in passing as if he were taking it for granted once again. Instead, he paused, shoved his hands in his pockets, and gazed up at the lighted billboard that hung outside the theatre for a moment. "Vaudeville Revisited, Starring The Incredible Hansons and Other Favorites. This Week Only."
Yes, that was correct. This week only. One week and then they would be on their way back home. One week. Seven days. He couldn't even drink that away fast enough if he'd wanted to.
No matter how much Zac was ready to go home, however, it was a bit heartwarming to see their name up there again. It had been several long years since they'd been on top of the world. Only a small, very brief part of him wished that it would be a long week so that they could revel in the old lifestyle just one last time.
Because this was the last time for Zac. After this week, no more.
The acts had been put up at the Plaza Hotel, a notion that still dizzied Zac to think about it. For all he knew, the only ones of Barney Harper's acts that were actually in the theatre show were themselves, Climbin' Claude, and the midget acrobats. He had no idea where the other acts were staying, probably in their trailers somewhere, and he immediately thought of Thelma Mae Little and he felt bad. He wondered if she lived in that trailer all year long. Maybe he would sacrifice a little of his own money to put her up in the hotel, at least for a night. The sweet lady deserved at least that much, didn't she?
Zac sighed as he looked around. No, New York just wasn't a thrill for him anymore. It wasn't a thrill because he couldn't share the lights and wonders of it with the girl he loved the most. She wouldn't squeeze his hand to the point of breaking bones, or gasp loudly every five seconds, or giggle with delight with every turn of her head. That was all he wanted, to show her the world. And to maybe be rewarded with a kiss or a smile. Was that really too much to ask?
His mood now in a dire state, he followed his brothers into the front doors of the theatre and immediately began to look around. They'd never played this one before, though it had supposedly become wildly popular over the years. It was a bit smaller than the ones they'd been used to, but it was decorated elegantly with red velveteen upholstery, gold-painted railings and balconies, and black, marble-esque flooring. Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceilings, comfortable viewing boxes hung over the sides of the auditorium, and the stage was grand and spacious. Zac pictured himself being comfortable there--for the week. Only for the week.
"Welcome to the Manhattan Royale!" A loud, boisterous voice bellowed over the group of acts that Zac and his brothers had lagged behind. Upon the sound of the man's voice and observation of his mannerisms, Zac decided that if anyone belonged in New York, maybe Joey Martin did. Because he would have bet good money that nobody looked twice at this guy as he walked down the street and, if they did, they certainly didn't care.
"We are so happy to have you all here!" He continued. "I'm Martin, but you can call me Marty--in fact, I encourage it! I'm going to give you a quick tour of the theatre so that you can get right to work in preparations for opening night tomorrow night." He clapped his hands together. "This way, please!"
"Do we really have to do this?" Zac murmured as the three of them fell into step with the rest of the crowd.
"Just give the poor guy a few minutes," Isaac murmured back. "It'll be painless, I'm sure."
Except that it wasn't. It was two agonizing hours of Marty's ramblings and his bad jokes and Zac was growing restless with every punch line. It was a theatre. They were all the same. All Zac needed to know was where the stage door was, where the dressing room was, and what kind of a stage they were working with. He couldn't have cared less about the history of the building or the balconies or the donated chandeliers.
Taylor, however, ate it up. He kept himself occupied by snapping photographs the entire time. Well. At least he was occupied. Zac envied him for that.
The longer they spent in the theatre, the longer it took for them to get out of it. He had yet to make his way to the Western Union office to telegram Bessie of his arrival in the city. He hadn't been able to telegram her in what felt like ages and he'd never prayed harder for a reply in his life. He needed a response like he needed air. He needed her words, he needed her presence, he needed her love. He was desperate. God, he was so desperate.
And so, once they were released from their theatrical prison, the brothers headed out the door onto the street, and Zac immediately began to survey his surroundings. He tuned Isaac out as he started rambling about the day's rehearsal schedule and about loading the props into the theatre, when Taylor's voice cut through with a dark, malignant tone. "Just can't stand it, can you?"
"Huh?" Zac replied.
"Already on the first train out of here, aren't you? We're about to play the biggest show of this entire tour and you can't even get your head out of the clouds long enough to give a shit about me or Ike or this act. Yanno, maybe we should just cut it down to Ike and I. We don't need you dragging it down."
Zac glared at Taylor, his brother now having his full attention. "Yeah? Then who's gonna throw your precious knives for you, huh? Who?"
"Ike."
Zac scoffed, amused. "Right. You know what, Tay? It's interesting how you stay on my back for sending telegrams and writing letters, but you're the one with the intended wife, not me. So not only are you a hypocrite, but you are absolutely green with envy that I'm already acting like ten times the husband that you aren't yet. Stop persecuting me for loving Bessie. I thought you'd be the first person to understand how I'm feeling. Unless...you don't actually love Aishe..."
Taylor's eyes darkened. "I'll kill you."
"You wouldn't lift a finger to harm this act and you know it," Zac spat back.
"That woman saved my life."
"Yeah? Then why doesn't she have any clue where the hell you are right now? I've offered to help you time and time again and you just keep biting my hand, it's like--it's like you almost want to forget about her. And vice versa. Is that it? You having second thoughts on your engagement?"
"No."
"Well, then? What?"
Taylor's nostrils flared and his fists balled up at his sides. "Because I have to make a future for us. I have to know that I can handle being away from her for long periods of time--"
"She's a fucking gypsy, Tay! Traveling is who she is!"
"She can't travel with her grandmother in the health she's in! Why the hell do you think she's been in Tulsa all these years? Her grandmother can't move! She has to care for her, this was--this was fucking fate, putting her in that camp, just for me, and now I have to make sure I can stand to be away from her so that I can provide for her family! Okay? You got it? She has to be able to depend on me and right now--" He paused to run a hand through his hair. "Right now I'm having trouble even depending on myself. I don't--I'm scared to go home and be nothing again. How could she be proud to marry someone like me?"
"Tay," Zac began gently.
But he was interrupted when a portly man in a hat and a handlebar mustache approached Taylor and pointed at his camera. "What kind of camera you got there, son?"
And with that, Taylor was lost in a different conversation.
Zac glanced at Isaac and Isaac flipped a quick nod in the opposite direction, signaling the go-ahead for Zac to run his errand. Happily, Zac strode swiftly down the street.
MY SWEET BESSIE
WE'VE FINALLY MADE IT TO NEW YORK CITY STOP THEY'RE PUTTING US IN THE PLAZA HOTEL STOP ONLY ONE MORE WEEK UNTIL I GET TO COME HOME TO YOU STOP WE'LL SEE EACH OTHER VERY SOON AND I'M COUNTING DOWN THE MINUTES STOP YOU'RE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AND I MISS YOU SO TERRIBLY STOP I'LL SEE YOU SOON MY LOVE STOP
FOREVER YOURS
ZAC
Zac didn't care how sappy and flowery his prose was or what the clerk thought as she typed out his message. By this time, he wasn't ashamed of anything anymore. He would profess his love for Bessie any shameless way he saw fit, whether he had to shout it from the rooftops or grovel at her feet in front of the entire city of Tulsa. It didn't matter. He was proud of her and he was lucky to be loved by her and he would never allow her to regret it.
A couple of hours later, the exhaustion was beginning to set in. That morning they'd packed, rode the ferry, fought the city streets with their trailer, toured the theatre, and now they were settling themselves into their room. Zac wanted to appreciate the luxury they were surrounded by, but his mind and his body just weren't allowing it. The four-poster beds and the sophisticated bathtub with golden claws were nothing to Zac. Not unless he was sharing the bath and the bed with Bessie. So he let his brothers have the two beds and he volunteered to sleep on the rollaway. It wasn't near as comfortable, but at least he could roll it into the other room of the suite and have some much-needed privacy.
Zac wanted nothing more than a nap. He wanted to kick off his shoes, stretch himself out over clean, fresh sheets, and sleep until it was time to drive home. Yes, he'd determined. This would be the roughest, longest week of the trip and the absence from Bessie was weighing down dangerously on his heart, compromising his ability to be himself in any capacity. Something had to give. Anything.
Unfortunately, there was no time for napping. Isaac had scheduled a tuxedo fitting for fresh coattails and gloves, vowing that they would leave both New York and Barney Harper as strong, sharp, successes.
Zac thought the fitting would never be over. They were poked, prodded, pulled, and tucked until they couldn't take anymore. It was the most happiness he'd seen out of Taylor for much of the month, however, and he couldn't help but to breathe comfortably at the temporary peace in the air. Once they'd finally made their purchases, Isaac the proud owner of a brand new top hat, they finally made their way back to the hotel.
At the hotel, the red carpet was practically rolled out for them. They never touched a door, a bellhop took their merchandise off their hands no sooner had they crossed the threshold, and as they passed the front desk, the concierge nearly climbed all over himself to get Zac's attention. "Mr. Hanson. Mr. Hanson!"
The three brothers turned around expectantly.
"Zac?" He asked.
"Yes?"
"There's a message here for you."
And now it was Zac's turn to nearly climb over the desk to get to it.
Appreciatively, he tipped the concierge handsomely and wasted no time ripping open the Western Union envelope. "To My Love," it began. Zac's heart soared.
TO MY LOVE
I MISS YOU JUST AS TERRIBLY STOP THE WEEK CAN'T BE OVER FAST ENOUGH STOP I WISH I COULD WRITE YOU MORE STOP I WISH I COULD HEAR YOUR VOICE STOP I DIDN'T WANT TO TELL YOU THIS BUT THE COLLEGE VISIT WAS HORRIBLE STOP I HAD CAKE AND CONVERSATION WITH A BOY AT A PARTY AND THEN I GOT CAUGHT SNEAKING BACK TO MY ROOM STOP I'M NOT SURE COLLEGE LIFE IS FOR ME STOP PLEASE BE SAFE AND KNOW THAT I'M PROUD OF YOU STOP I AM FOREVER YOURS PLEASE DON'T EVER FORGET THAT STOP NO MATTER WHAT STOP
YOURS ALWAYS
BESSIE
Zac's heart sank in an instant. He couldn't bring himself to focus on the "forever yours" parts, all he was able to get out of it was "I had cake and conversation with a boy at a party." It was inevitable, he knew. There would be other men. She would come in contact with many. She would socialize and be polite and be constantly in their presence. And he believed her wholeheartedly when she pledged her undying devotion to him, but it didn't make him any less angry about the situation. That should have been him, having cake and conversing with her. After all, she belonged to him, didn't she? No man ever needed take his place or even attempt to. Zac could be her man and he would be--just as soon as fifteen hundred miles didn't separate them. That would never happen again.
But it set the mood for the rest of his evening, anyway. Isaac and Taylor asked if he wanted to talk about it and he brushed them off. He was silent as they hung their new designer duds in their room, he was silent as they went back to the theatre and unloaded the props and practiced setting the stage, and he planned and he rehearsed with his brothers without any extra riff raff. The sooner Zac could crawl into his bed and into his own personal hell, the better.
He got his wish, finally. It was late, they'd gotten back to the hotel well past eleven o'clock, and Zac wasted no time shaking himself out of his clothes and turning down the rollaway that had been set up for him in the adjoining sitting room. "Goodnight," he murmured gruffly into the other room before clicking off the lamp and crawling into the fresh sheets of his bed in nothing but his underthings.
"Zac," Taylor called. "Do you not want to eat? Ike and I are heading out for a bite."
"I'm exhausted," Zac replied. "You guys go on without me. I gotta... Shit," he hissed. He hadn't written Bessie's letter today. "I gotta sleep," he finished.
"Want us to bring something back?"
"No, thank you."
Moments later the suite was silent and Zac was clicking his lamp back on, searching furiously through his luggage for his pen and stationary. Once equipped with the necessary materials, he pulled the chair up to the desk and began to write furiously.
**********
"Bessie! Bessie, who is that? Why are you holding his hand? Who is he?"
She shook her head and narrowed her eyes as she pulled the tall, dark-haired man closer to her.
"Bessie. It's me, it's Zac. Your one true love. Don't you recognize me? Don't you remember me?"
She shook her head again. "I'm sorry," her sweet voice replied regretfully. "I have no idea who you are."
Zac awoke in a cold sweat. He gasped for breath and looked around as the dim city lights streamed through the sheer curtains that covered the windows. His body trembled as he fought to regain the calm that he craved and he couldn't help the frightened whisper of, "Bessie," that escaped his lips.
He couldn't do this. He had to get out of there. Now.
Darting out of his bed, he fumbled around in the near pitch, throwing on his clothes and shoving a handful of money in his pocket, along with his room key. He had no idea where he was going and he didn't really care. He just knew he was going alone and that he would come back with a clean, clear mind.
The city hustled and bustled at all hours of the day, but after one in the morning there was a little less of it. Lights shined from all-night diners, bulbs flashed above the theatres, and neon bounced animatedly around advertisement after advertisement. People still walked the streets, headed this way and that, and Zac sauntered with his hands shoved in his pockets, meandering aimlessly with no real sense of purpose, only appreciating the night air around him.
As he walked, however, he realized that his mouth was parched and, given his current state of mind, there was only one way to quench his thirst--and in a city such as this one, such a quench would surely be easy to find. And so he began to slow his walking with each narrow alley he passed, praying for the next peddler to be available for the taking.
Finally, his prayers were answered. "Hey, buddy," a ragged voice whispered from behind. "Where you headed?"
Zac stopped in his tracks for a moment before he decided to go for broke and address the voice. He turned around and walked the few steps back to the man whose rags were still apparent in the shadows and peered into the dim light that shone on his dirt-covered face. "Nowhere in particular," Zac murmured.
"You looking for something?"
Zac's spine straightened. "I could be."
"Sounds like you might need to step into my office."
"Depends on what I'm looking for."
"Trust me."
Zac followed the man the few steps into the near pitch black alley and listened as he bent over and clinked a couple of glass bottles around. As the man gathered his merchandise, Zac asked, "What's this gonna cost me?"
"What's it worth to you?"
"Two dollars."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"All right, then. Another dollar and I'll tell you where the best place in town is."
"Who said I was looking for the best place in town?"
"You said you didn't know where you were headed. I just gave you your destination. We got a deal or what?"
The bum had a deal with the liquor and that was good enough for Zac. However, he was in desperate need of a distraction if he wanted to keep that godforsaken dream from creeping into his mind over and over again.
"All right," Zac replied, palming another bill into the bum's hand. "Where's the best place in town?"
"Forty-second Street. Smitty's Burlesque."
"Yeah, no. That's not what I'm after--"
"No. Don't go to the show." The man stepped closer to him and raised an eyebrow with a wry smile. "Ask for the back room. That's what you're after."
"The back room?"
"That's all you gotta tell 'em. Tell 'em you want the back room, you knock back that bottle of good, there, and you forget all your troubles for the night. This'll be the best three bucks you ever spent, I guaran-damn-tee it, fella."
Zac couldn't help but be reminded of what happened the last time he'd been tempted into a burlesque show. Glorious Greta had attempted to lure him into bed when all he'd wanted to do was congratulate her on a job well-done. He'd learned his lesson then. No more girlie shows.
But the bum intrigued him with this back room business. And so Zac found himself ambling down the street once more, in search of Forty-second Street.
It took him longer to get there than he felt like it should have, mostly of his own doing as he ducked into random alleyways to take swigs of the bottle he'd bought that turned out to be a smooth, sweet, satisfying brandy. He knew he must have smelled of it, as potent as it as, when he came to a tall building on the end of the street, never having seen or passed the elusive Smitty's Burlesque. A small sign, however, nearly out of view, directed him inside the building and several floors up.
He could hear the music before he entered the club, a loft with thick curtains draping the windows and closing them in. An elaborate stage was set up opposite a bar and tables and booths as far as the eye could see littered the floor space between the two destinations. Men filled the room in business suits and neckties and scantily-clad ladies made their rounds to flirt with them. Zac paid the price of admission, tried not to look interested in his surroundings, and murmured to the man behind the ticket counter, "I'm interested in the back room."
"The back room?" He clarified.
"That's what I said."
"There isn't much going on back there at the moment--"
"Even better."
"All right then. Right this way, I'll see what we can get started for you."
Zac kept his head ducked down as he crossed the wooden floor behind his guide. He didn't suspect anyone would recognize him, or even look at him twice, but he wasn't interested in running the risk. Instead, the man showed him through a closed door, down a small hallway, and into a dark room with a large projection screen at the front. There were roughly eight to ten rows of upholstered seating and maybe three or four men littered throughout.
"Well, then," the man said. "Looks we're just in time for the next one to start. Enjoy." And then the man closed the door and left Zac in the dark.
Zac knew exactly where he was and he was instantly annoyed at the old bum for making it sound more exciting than it was. The truth was, Zac had probably seen every single stag film that the twenties had to offer, and even a few into the new decade. He wasn't sure that this was exactly what he was looking for, he determined, as he looked around and swigged his illicit brandy, but as the music started and the words appeared in the screen, he decided he ought not to stand around like a dolt, at least, and chose to take a seat in the empty back row, more than half the distance away from the next voyeur.
The piano music was loud and bubbly and horribly degrading to Zac's ear, but he endured it anyway as he sat in his chair, nursing more of the brandy. On the screen, the words had disappeared, and the car drove into view, stopping onto the side of the road. Out of it, came two girls in coats and heels. One of them went around and popped the hood for inspection. Zac smirked at the screen. He could never see Bessie under the hood of a car. She was too dainty and too lovely and he would never allow her to find herself in such a situation in the first place.
The girl under the hood gave up and closed it and went to converse with her friend. It appeared that the two of them had no choice but to hitchhike. And so they began thumbing at passing cars. Except that none of them would stop. So desperate times called for desperate measures and one of them pulled her skirt up over her knee. Suddenly, Zac found himself paying attention.
The more cars that passed, the higher the skirts went. By the time there was a glimpse of the garter belt on one of their thighs, Zac's pants were tightening. The one girl had a body that was similar to Bessie's--tall, slender, graceful. And her hair fell to her shoulders similar to Bessie's, too. 'Oh, Bessie. I would stop the car for you. I'd whisk you away, never to return and you would belong to me forever.'
As the cars kept passing, the clothing began to shed. As the ladies stood in their slips, Zac's breathing quickened. As their jackets came off, Zac was already half drunk and shamelessly adjusting himself in his pants. By the time the ladies braziers were showing, Zac had unzipped and released himself into the darkness.
With his free arm draped over the back of the chair next to him, his hand clutching tightly to the brandy bottle, his other hand kept busy in his lap. As he stroked himself, he let his head fall back against the wall he sat against and he closed his eyes. Bessie filled his mind. "Oh, Bessie," he whispered. It had been so long since he'd felt her touch, kissed her body, defiled her nature. His body ached for her, his need more overwhelming than he'd realized it was. When he came home, he would make love to her forever, he would make love to her until he crippled her beautiful legs, parched her beautiful throat. She would call his name until she had no voice left and could only beg for more through body language. And he would give it to her. He would give her everything she wanted.
As he pleasured himself, a memory bombarded him, one that he knew would send him over the edge in mere seconds. He remembered the night in the trailer, after the gypsy party, where a very inebriated Bessie had her way with him...and the way her pretty mouth felt wrapped around him as she moaned with pleasure was enough to make his jaw currently fall slack and his speed to pick up as he worked on himself.
Oh, Bessie. Jesus, the way she rode him that night after she was finished on her knees, the way her small, perky breasts bounced in the moonlight, the way she nearly screamed with pleasure and called out those savage, vulgar words in her sweet voice. The way she cried out his name and declared how good he felt. Fuck, yes. He tightened his grip on himself and quickened his pace. It didn't take long, merely seconds, it felt like, to remember the way she felt when she'd finished on him, pulsating around him while the sweat poured sensually between her breasts. In the small, dark theatre, he finished in his hand, as if he had gone back in time and made love to his sweet girl once again and when he'd calmed himself, he opened his eyes and was assaulted with the rough reality of his surroundings--and the harsh reality of what he'd just done.
As he glanced down at the mess in his hand, he let out an agitated sigh. He'd found relief for two whole minutes until reality set in and he was now more miserable than ever. In the darkness, he was finally able to locate his handkerchief, clean off his hand, put himself back in his pants, and leave the theatre room in disgust for the nearest washroom. For two minutes, he'd had her again. He'd had his Bessie. But it hadn't been real. And now Zac wanted to put his fist through a wall.
In the washroom, the bright florescent lights blinded him as he cleaned himself up. He didn't dare look at himself in the mirror. It was bad enough that this was reality enough as it was. He couldn't look up at the reflection of the man who had just publicly degraded the love of his life. He'd disgraced her with his display. He'd shamed her, stomped on her honor--how could he have done such a thing in her name? He was disgusted with himself.
Storming through the club and down the stairs and onto the street, Zac took long, quick strides down the city street as he guzzled more and more brandy, getting drunker and drunker by the minute. He didn't care who saw him anymore. He almost wished he would get arrested for having liquor in the first place. He deserved the punishment anyway, for both breaking the law and being such a brute.
The more he walked, the more he drank, and the more his brain ran wild with desperation. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't take it. And when the rain began to pour down on top of him in torrents, he didn't care. He was soaked to the bone within seconds, but even the rain didn't keep the tears from burning down his cheeks. He needed her. He needed Bessie. He had to know that he wasn't losing his mind and that she still remembered him and that she still loved him. He had to know that Billy Connors hadn't won.
Elated, Zac nearly ran to the telephone booth once he caught sight of it. Closing himself into it as the rain beat down against the glass, he picked it up and dialed the operator, his hand clutched tightly around a mass of change that bulged in his pocket. It was late and the judge would be mad but Zac didn't care. He had to hear her voice, no matter the cost.
Once he heard a garbled female voice, he nearly shouted into the receiver, "Tulsa, Oklahoma. Judge Harlow's residence. Please hurry!"
"All right. Please deposit five cents."
Zac shoved the money into the machine.
"Thank you. Please wait while we connect you."
The connection took ages and Zac was growing increasingly impatient. He felt as if he'd spent fifteen minutes, easy, feeding nickels into the phone until, finally, his impatience got the better of him. "Look," he barked into the phone. "I only have so many damned nickels left and I have yet to be connected. What the hell else am I supposed to do?"
"Well, sir," the garbled voice replied. "You can call collect. We can charge it to the receiving party."
Oh, damn. And owe Judge Harlow money? After Zac left his daughter alone to go and make money? Wouldn't that beat all?
"Do it," he commanded.
"Very well, sir. Please wait while we connect you."
The connection felt as if it took hours. Except that he'd already waited hours. And he found himself dancing in place impatiently as he waited, the rain steadily beating down on the booth.
Finally, the operator came back on. "The party accepted your call. Thank you for your patience."
"Zachary?" Judge Harlow's voice came through.
Of course it was the judge.
His voice came through with more garbled static than the operator's had, but it was good enough for Zac. Pressing the receiver harder to his ear, he spit out quickly, "Judge Harlow! Sir, I'm so sorry for this, but I've spent up all my nickels trying to connect. I need to speak to Bessie, please. I'll pay you back double, triple, even--"
"Bessie is asleep, Zac."
"Please, sir. Please," he begged with desperation. "I know it's late, but please."
"All right," the judge conceded. "I'll have to put you on hold while I wake her. This is costing me a fortune, just to let you know."
"I know. I'm sorry. I'll pay every penny, every last penny."
"That, you will. Please hold."
Another wait. Zac ventured to guess that he'd been in that booth for half an hour, at least. It had to be nearing two or three in the morning. He felt horrible for waking Bessie at such an hour but he just knew that she would come running to the telephone as soon as her father told her he was on it. At least he hoped she did.
As he waited, he swigged more brandy. There was less than half the bottle left. He'd had that much already? It didn't matter. Now it was practically a celebration. He was about to speak to his love directly, to hear her after three and a half long weeks of agony and pain. He threw back another swig.
"Zac?"
Her voice was as garbled and static-filled as her father's, but it was every bit as sweet and comforting as it would have been if she were standing right next to him. "Bessie," he cried out desperately.
"Oh, Zac!"
"Bessie, baby." And then he broke down in the most horrible fit of gut-wrenching tears he had ever cried. He collapsed against the glass behind him and fell to the ground, his backside soaked with the rainwater that had flooded the bottom of the booth. "It's so good to finally hear your sweet voice."
"Zac. Are you all right? I'm worried about you."
"I'm horrible. I'm horrible and it's terrible and I miss you so much, baby. I never wanted you to know how bad it was for me, but I just can't take it anymore. I can't be without you, Bessie. Baby, please!"
He wiped his nose loudly, his entire body loose from the liquor, and he pressed the heel of his free hand to each of his eye sockets as he waited anxiously for her to respond.
"Oh, Zac. I miss you, too! I miss you more than anything--"
"Tell me you love me," he demanded pitifully. "Please, I beg of you, tell me you still love me. Tell me you haven't forgotten me. Please don't leave me, Bess, I'm begging you--"
"Zac, I do love you! I'd die for you, Zac, you know how I love you so! How could I ever forget you? You're my everything! I need you and I want you and I am so proud to be yours. You couldn't possibly know the ways that I miss you--"
"Don't leave me. Don't give up on me--"
"I would never. And why would I give up on you--?"
"Because I don't deserve you. I don't, baby, I don't. I'm going to give up this carnival, Bessie. For you, I'd give it all up. And I am. No more after this, I promise. I'm going to be yours, for always, I'll never leave you again--"
"Zac," she said hurriedly. "Zac, Daddy says this call is getting expensive--"
"I don't care, I'm paying for it--"
"This is what you love," her garbled, sweet voice repeated. "You love your act, you love putting on shows. And I'll support you every step of the way, no matter how near or how far. You are a wonderful man and a great talent. Don't deprive those people out there of the very best that you have to give. All right? You are great. And you get out there and you be strong and you give those people what they paid to see. Okay? I'm right here, cheering you on, every second of every day. Do you know why? Because you are my man. You're my love and I am so very proud of you. Do that for me, Zac. Okay? Put that bottle down--"
"How did you know that I'm drinking?"
"Because I know you. And because it's three in the morning and you're crying."
"I've cried a lot on this trip, Bessie."
"So have I."
"I never meant to hurt you," he said over the pounding rain. "I'm so sorry, Bessie. I'll never leave you again, you have my word."
"I'll never leave you, either, my love. Not even for school."
Suddenly, in his drunken, tear-filled stupor, Zac was struck dumb and his eyes widened. "What?"
"Too much to talk about, too little time. We have to hang up now, Zac. I can barely hear you and Daddy looks impatient."
"Bessie, please. Please, no. Talk to me forever, please don't leave me."
"You keep saying that. I'm never gonna let you go, Zac. Not even if you wanted me to. You got stuck with me with your first flower trick, I'm sorry to say."
Finally, Zac smiled into the wet darkness and he felt his tears threaten to dry up. "Bessie. Baby, I love you so much. I can't even tell you how much I miss you."
"I miss you, too. And I love you until forever ends. Do you hear me, Zac? Zac? Can you hear me?"
Suddenly, the connection began to grow worse and worse and Bessie was becoming more difficult to hear. He knew this was it, it was time to end the call. But he didn't want to. He wanted to stay in that wet phone booth and listen to her voice forever. Except that he couldn't. And he knew it.
"Bessie," he said. "I have to hang up now. I've cost your father too much money and the connection is bad. Please know that you're my one and only true love--for the rest of my life. And when I come home, I want to marry you."
"You want to what? Zac? Zac, I can barely hear you."
"I have to hang up!" He called louder. "I love you!"
"I love you, too, my prince," he finally heard her say. "Please be strong. Go and get some sleep. This time next week we'll be back in each other's arms. Until then, I'll dream of you. Goodnight, my love."
And then the call disconnected.
The floodgates opened again and Zac violently beat the phone's receiver against the glass around him. Finally, he dropped it, letting it hang there, the tears falling as he chugged back what was left of the brandy bottle. He'd heard what he needed to hear. He'd been reassured of what he needed reassurance for. But hearing her voice had only made it worse. He missed her now more than ever. And now he hated himself for realizing that he'd never apologized to her for disgracing her the way he did. 'Oh, Bessie. You're so much more to me than a random jerk-off in a dirty theatre, I swear it. I'm sorry.'
Standing proved to be futile, so he let himself fall back onto his seat. He didn't even care anymore. The only comfort he knew he had found was in this rain-filled phone booth that possessed his love's voice on the other end of the telephone that now hung freely by its cord. That was where she was, that was where she lived. That was the closest he had yet to find himself to his Bessie. And for that, he was content.
**********
Zac awoke to a string of sunlight and a pounding headache. It was too painful to move, but the curiosity of the warmth of the linens he found himself tangled in got the better of him and he couldn't help but lift his head. He was in his bed. In his rollaway in the sitting room. He wore a pair of shorts and a tight, white tank top that clearly didn't belong to him. Now that his eyes were open, sleep was all he wanted. Right after he whet his whistle and emptied his bladder.
"Tay," his parched tongue found itself calling out weakly. Why had he called for Taylor first? Taylor hated him right now. And how the hell had he gotten back, anyway? He didn't even remember leaving the telephone booth.
But he remembered Bessie. By the grace of God, he remembered the entire conversation with her, hard as it was to hear her between the rain and the terrible connection. She loved him and she never wanted to leave him. That was what he got out of it. That and how proud she was of him and how she told him that he needed to give his all this week. That he needed to give these people what they were paying for. And she was right. Dear, good, sweet Bessie--she had been so much stronger and so much more mature than Zac had been last night. Oh, how he needed her so. He knew that now more than ever.
But now Taylor walked cautiously into the room with a glass of water and a fist clenched shut. "Hey," he said gently. "You all right?"
"As all right as I can be, I guess," Zac grumbled as he sat up. Gratefully he accepted the water and the fistful of aspirin and tossed them back quickly. "How did I get here?"
"A man found you unconscious in the telephone booth when he tried to use it. He found your key with the hotel tag and the concierge called up for us to come downstairs and get you. He promised not to tell the police how swacked you were and wished you well. You were soaked to the bone, likely caught pneumonia, and we dried you and changed your clothes and put you to bed. Why haven't you vomited, yet?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Zac murmured. "Um, uh, thanks. Thanks for, uh...for helping me."
"What the hell were you doing in the telephone booth at three in the morning, anyway?"
"Phoning Bessie."
"Did you get her?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah? And?"
"And she still loves me."
"You doubted her?"
Zac sighed and lay back down on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. "I doubted myself. I'm not good enough for her, Tay. I never will be."
"You are or she wouldn't love you. Look, you have two choices here, Zac. You can either give in to the fact that you're not good enough and break up with her--or you can realize that her love for you is unconditional and you can stop being so damn melancholy all the time. It's depressing, honestly, it's dragging us all down."
Zac opened an eye and arched the brow skeptically. "Oh. I'm dragging us all down with my melancholy attitude. Might I remind you--?"
"You gonna be okay today?" Taylor interrupted. "It's our big night. Opening night. Word has it, tickets are selling out fast. We have to share rehearsal space today and tonight has to be the best ever."
"Yeah," Zac nodded, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I got it. I got it, I--I just need some time to get up. I gotta piss. And I should probably eat something--"
"I'll call you up some room service," Taylor replied, jumping up from the chair he was seated in. "We gotta get your strength up."
"Right," Zac grumbled. "Thanks."
As Taylor hurried for the door, Zac stopped him. "Tay?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. For, uh, being so difficult to deal with these past few weeks. Thank you for putting up with me."
Taylor shrugged a shoulder and he smiled. "We're brothers. It's what we do."
"Right," Zac muttered to himself once again as he collapsed his head back on his pillow. Tonight. Opening night. You're a wonderful man and a great talent, Bessie had said to him. You are great. Give these people what they're paying for.
She was strong and she was wise as she was beautiful. And she was right. Zac Hanson was one-third of The Incredible Hansons. And The Incredible Hansons were great, that was why they were headliners. The Incredible Hansons didn't half-ass anything, no matter how devastating their personal lives. They were professionals. They were showmen. They were incredible.
And with a newfound confidence and a lighter headache, Zac finally found himself ready to rejoin the brothers' act.