Pagodaville, page 2
Jeanie left Lorna’s lips long enough to say, “You take my breath away.”
In the months that followed, their need for each other bordered on desperation. If Jeanie was traveling with her family, Lorna could barely contain herself to stay present. If Lorna was traveling away from town, she could scarcely go one day without finding an out-of-the way phone booth to call Jeanie.
It was painful at times for Lorna to be separated from the energy they created together, hard to transition between the fragile, unadulterated love they shared to the stark reality of her life at home and at school.
***
Lorna’s phone rang, bringing her back to the present.
“Lorna Hughes,” she answered.
“Hey. Where ya been?”
Lorna immediately regretted answering the phone. It was Sally, a recent ex that just wouldn’t give up. “Oh, hey Sal. I’m kinda busy right now, is this something that can wait?”
Sal hesitated, her voice taking on a slightly wounded tone. “Oh, well, I was just wondering if you weren’t busy...”
Lorna closed her eyes. She didn’t even want to explain. “Sal, listen. Let me call you, okay?”
“Oh, okay. I was just—"
“I’ve got to head out now. I’ll call you, okay?”
Lorna pressed a button on her phone console to disconnect the call. She knew she was being a bitch, but she had no patience for clingy women.
Sal, like the others before her, never measured up to Lorna’s expectations.
Growing Up
Lorna struggled with two personas when she was younger.
The first, and most clearly defined, was the family standard: Get it done efficiently, quickly, and with gusto, show happiness even if you don’t feel it, and never let ‘em see you sweat.
Dinner conversations were more like board meetings, with each sibling reporting on school activities and accolades.
Lorna used her youngest-child status to her advantage. She observed and listened carefully to how her brothers handled their responses, then simply followed suit. Their hard work provided a smooth transition for her to present as the well-adjusted daughter.
Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays at the Hughes mansion were usually big to-do’s with hired servers, caterers, and an elite guest list.
The house was appointed by a designer named Lyman Belt.
While most people called people like Lyman a fag or queer or light-in-the-loafers, Lorna admired him because he was so self-assured despite his outwardly feminine mannerisms and vocal inflection.
Her mother accepted his ‘happy’ personality as “Whimsical yet very professional! It’s what makes him so grand!”
Lyman was impeccably groomed and all business. He knew how to work the elite set, to appeal to the wives and convince them they absolutely needed his services. Word traveled fast in the upper echelon. Lyman was a household name, a precious commodity of which every woman had to have in her cadre of society circle professionals.
Lorna enjoyed watching Lyman work his magic. From her perch on the upper staircase, she’d marvel as he flitted from one end of the vast first floor rooms to the other, his arms full of fabric, plants, or pictures.
She’d giggle behind a cupped hand to her mouth as her zaftig mother tried to keep pace with him, clacking along in her house mules, her lounging attire flowing dramatically behind her, taking notes and calling out approvals or asking questions in his wake.
Lorna loved that Lyman could commandeer Esther in her own house!
Lorna’s brothers sometimes joined her on the stairs to watch the transformation before an event, the three of them having spaz attacks when Norman or Gail would imitate Lyman’s voice with exaggerated emphasis.
“Let’s not dilly dally! The seat-covers have to go! Honestly, Esther, can we say housedress?!” This being said after just a few months of one of Lyman’s trendy refits of a particular piece of furniture that was no longer in style.
Into her teens Lorna had the outward appearance of being the girl with everything: Looks, vitality, vivaciousness, brains, a family who was known throughout the city, money, and a wry sense of humor. Boys stood in line to date her. She was intrigued by, but not terribly excited by, the boys, regardless of how cute or popular they were. She liked the convenience of dating, though. It kept an even keel at home on par with all the expectations.
Make-out parties were all the rage. Lorna actually liked watching other girls kiss their boyfriends, imagining herself in place of the boy. She had many girl-crushes but never let on, always observing from a safe distance. Once, while she was kissing Eric Michaels, she looked over his shoulder to watch her current crush, Anne McKay, kiss her boyfriend with passion. When Lorna closed her eyes, it was Anne McKay she was kissing instead of Eric Michaels.
Of course, Eric thought she was totally into him.
Not so much though when he asked her to go upstairs to an empty bedroom and she refused.
But behind the well-rehearsed facade that was her life when around others, she searched for answers as to why she felt a deep, blurry-edged prickling surround her heart at the end of the day.
Thus, the second, more elusive persona.
Lorna enjoyed doing things with her friends well enough, but she flourished best when she was alone. One of her favorite forms of escape was going to the movies. In the low light of the theater when the light from the screen came on, she would allow herself complete immersion and surrender to the illuminated screen.
The Cedar-Lee, in Cleveland Heights, was her movie house of choice. The titles ranged from old black and white classics, foreign films, to independent work that the major theaters did not show. The place was dark, a bit dank and musty, decorated with heavy red brogue curtains, black painted walls with what looked like eighteenth-century gaslight wall sconces. The seats were slightly padded and not very comfortable, but the concession stand offered hot tea and coffee, fresh items from Hough’s Bakery down the street, and the best popcorn she ever ate.
Since Lorna’s mother rarely inquired as to her whereabouts from junior high school on up, her freedom was unlimited—as long as she continued to present herself as the well- adjusted daughter.
Always, the well- adjusted daughter.
***
Lorna slipped off her shoes, stretched out her stockinged feet on the radiator grill under the window, feeling a calm emptiness. The air-conditioning felt good on her toes, her headache beginning to retreat. Lightening cracked through the clouds, she heard and felt the rumble of the resultant thunder.
Her phone rang again. “Really? Don’t you ever give up?”
This time she allowed the message machine pick up but when she heard the voice, she grabbed the receiver. It was Avril Klane, her closest friend from their college days.
She smiled when she answered. “Thank God it’s you.” Lorna stretched the black curly cord around her fingers and swiveled her chair again to face the world fifteen stories below.
“What gives? I tried you at home a million times. Who were expecting, anyhow?” Avril said.
“Sal. She already called once.”
“Oh gawd, she’s such a noodge!”
Lorna sighed. “I was just sitting up here watching the storms over the Lake.”
Avril’s voice softened. “How are you holding up, hon?”
“Well, Ellis was…you know, Ellis.” Lorna felt another sob form in the back of her throat. It released quietly.
“Oh. I know sweetie. I’m so sorry.” Avril’s voice was soothing and gentle.
Lorna grabbed more tissue from her desk. “I’ve been crying on and off now for…”
Avril attempted an assuage. “Did the meeting go okay? Did your mother behave?” Then added for good measure, “Did Edgar Seaver pass gas?”
Lorna laughed out the rest of her cry. Avril always had good timing.
“Mother was her usual self. Prim and proper, nodding at all the right places, pen in hand. As for Edgar, well, he’s just gross, period. I’m sure he slipped a few squeakers in during one of his many hacking fits.” She blew her nose again. “Yeah, it went fine. I’m still in shock at how much he left all of us.
“Oh?”
“For me, about eight-hundred thousand in cash and assets.”
“Holy crap, Lorn! What are you going to do with all that?”
“I don’t know yet.”
***
Early Summer, 1960’s, Cleveland, Ohio
Lorna took a wrong turn while driving towards the Hughes Building downtown to pick something up at her father’s office, and ended up on Coventry Road—a long street in a funky neighborhood where head shops, record stores, off-beat clothing, book sellers and an old ratty-looking restaurant called Tommy’s-On-Coventry, attracted an array of people Lorna was not used to seeing in such quantity. They were called the Free Thinkers, or Bohemians.
Lorna’s mother insisted they were all “Quite questionable in their intentions” and “Not very conscious of their hygiene”.
Lorna had no clue how her mother knew all this, but her mother was very well connected and knew almost everyone.
But Lorna was immediately enthralled by the gritty, down-to-earth look of the area. She walked up and down the street slowly, marveling in the different types of people milling about or sharing park benches or grassy areas under trees. They were plainly dressed—their style of clothing so different from her spit-shined collegiate mode and penny loafers with dimes in them—and seemed to embrace their environment.
An artist worked with an easel and canvas—her paints and rags spread out around her on cardboard boxes—attempting to capture the scene of people reading, or talking, or daydreaming.
A street performer played a beat-up guitar and sang about how the government was going to—
Kill us all
One by one
In our sleep
So, beware
—in his gruff but in-tune voice reaching out around him. Each time someone tossed nickels or dimes into his open guitar case he smiled and offered a quiet ‘thank you’ between his lyrics.
Lorna noticed a group of women who were gathered around a blanket in a clearing, tossing a ball back and forth between them. They weren’t dressed like the other women she observed—who wore light-fabric skirts and flowing tops with threadbare scarves and funky hats over their long hair—most of the girls that were gathered in the clearing wore t-shirts and cut off shorts or jeans. They looked more like guys. Even their haircuts were short and parted on one side or the other. Some even had a cigarette behind her ear or were smoking. Two of the women had their arms around each other and when they leaned-in to kiss one another, Lorna could not stop staring.
Two women kissing.
In broad daylight.
Without anyone around them saying anything.
Or seeming to care.
Lorna felt a pulse quicken in her chest, intrigue urging her to watch the group more intently. There was an ease with which these women communicated with each other. They laughed, touched one another openly, and shared raucous conversation.
She left the area that day quite pleased that she had taken a wrong turn in her journey towards downtown.
Coventry quickly became Lorna’s tether to her inner-self. She sought out the culture the area had to offer.
Dobama! the community arts theater, hosted several plays a year with local and global talent. She started volunteering at the theater when she was a sophomore in high school. On Friday and Saturday nights she would show the patrons to their seats, hand them a program, the crisp pages smelling of freshly printed glossy paper, then sit in the back row to lose herself in the magic on the stage.
She also ventured to the Cleveland Museum of Art, down the road from the Coventry area near University Circle, where she rambled along from gallery to gallery finding artists that piqued her interest.
On one particular weekend there was a photography show. The work of Berenice Abbott. The show was a collection of Abbott’s work for the WPA depicting her vision of New York City.
Lorna spent the entire day there studying each photograph, feeling herself transformed into the compositions. She was intrigued by the grayscale contrast, and how Abbott captured everything from aerial views, to street scenes, to people going about their business in the big city. She went back two more times to study the work.
It wasn’t long after the show that Lorna ended up downtown at Fields Camera to buy her first Nikon.
When she learned how to use it, understood the basics regarding light, aperture, film speed, and composition, she carried the camera with her wherever she went, snapping off black and white shots of everything from urban grit to nature. She found she had a good eye for small details. Like a rusty bolt on a busted-up piece of wood in a huge abandoned warehouse, or doors. She loved to photograph doors. Details. She found so much texture and activity in the small details.
On Sundays, she might drive down to the waterfront in Cleveland’s Flats area, where blocks of industry surrounded by old warehouses, trains, tracks, and street grime inspired her inquisitive eye.
Or to sit and absorb the quiet, the lack of bustle.
On one such Sunday she found an old cafe with rickety tables on a cement-heaved patio. She ordered a Coca-Cola. The day was hot and humid, and the fizzy, richly flavored ice-cold Coke from the thick green glass was the perfect elixir for her parched throat. While sitting at the rusted table she watched a train rumble through a trestle. She began to count cars, losing track after fifty, or seventy, she wasn’t sure. The back and forth cadence of the steel wheels on the track, groaning along the ties, comforted her and made her feel completely independent of her life at home.
Her Sunday forays were her saving grace.
***
Avril interrupted her thoughts bringing her back to the present. “Why don’t you come for dinner? Saul went camping with his pals. The kids haven’t seen you in a few weeks. Come on! We can order pizza and while the kids get sugar-blasted from too much Coca-Cola. We can sip wine and get slowly smashed! Whaddya say?”
“You’re on. What can I bring?”
“Just your lovely self. Oh, hmmm. And maybe ten-grand?” Avril laughed, Lorna laughed.
They hung up.
Lorna replaced the receiver, stood up, straightened-out her skirt and blouse, and felt ready to go back out into the world.
The weather had significantly brightened so she decided to take the transit back to Shaker Square instead of a taxi. The walk to her apartment was just a few blocks from the Square. She picked up a few bottles of wine for dinner and some Halvah for the kids from Binky’s Deli.
When she arrived back at her apartment, she turned off the air-conditioner and opened all the windows and slider to her patio. The humidity had dropped, and the air came in fresh and heady with summer blooms. Although the heaviness of her recent loss still surrounded her heart, she felt better than she had felt for several days.
As she undressed and prepared for a shower, Avril’s question regarding what she was going to do with her inheritance brought her back to a plan she hatched shortly before her father passed.
1960’s, Cleveland, Ohio
As Lorna spent more time in the Coventry area, she listened carefully to the conversations that took place around her, and read articles in the underground newspapers that littered the tables and floor of Tommy’s. She began to understand the plight of the underprivileged through the various groups that supported them. She quickly learned first-hand about racial discrimination and the precariously balanced tightrope of the sexual revolution—people getting beaten and arrested for being different. It made her think of Lyman Belt and the women in the park. It made her angry that the mainstream seemed to be careless about these other groups of people. She vowed that at some point in her life she would advocate for them. She didn’t know how, but she felt she would.
Lorna’s parents made philanthropic donations to politicians, her father explaining that the tax write-off was enormous and good for business. She understood it to a point; however, when she suggested to her mother to explore social groups who really needed the money, Esther claimed that the money was best placed in the political arena.
Why? Because some of the best who’s-who parties were thrown for politicians. Ellis Hughes was considering a run for Governor of Ohio.
When it came time for college, Lorna attended Case Western Reserve in undergraduate studies then on to the law school.
When she graduated Summa Cum Laude from Case Western Reserve School of Law, she knew she was on the right track financially to live her own life, support her own desires, and break free from her parents’ tunneled vision about the complexities of life beyond their tight circle of reference.
In retrospect, her love relationship with Jeanie only solidified the need for more concentration regarding the homosexual lifestyle and how its presence in everyday life was so under-considered, hidden away and kept quiet.
But during their relationship, Lorna and Jeanie kept their unadulterated love from everyone except their close circle of friends.
They feared scrutiny which would inevitably disturb the fragile balance of what they shared
Lorna was able to live a double life in order to keep Jeanie close to her heart. She knew her other friends would not understand their connection or would ridicule or drop her because of it.
It was so secret, so naively pure.
All Lorna wanted to feel was the safety of Jeanie’s heart holding her own.
***
Lorna usually shared her brainstorms with Avril with spritely conversations bringing variables, red herrings, and insights, to light.
