The room broke into laughter at the aside, and Lily laughed along nervously, even though she was afraid she didn’t get the joke. She had wanted so desperately to come here, but the reality of the Telegraph Club was not what she had imagined. In her imagination, Tommy Andrews had been a lone, pure figure who could be admired from a cool distance. She had not been this swaggering creature who sauntered over to strange women and kissed their hands, who strode back onstage and surveyed the room like a king looking over his realm. In her imagination, Tommy had been like a matinee idol—sweet-faced and tender. In reality, Tommy was a woman made of flesh and blood, and that frightened Lily most of all.
21
At the end of Tommy’s set, the audience loosened up, stood and stretched, moved toward the bar or away from it. Kath spotted several women deserting a table nearby. She quickly claimed it, and Lily followed.
Kath looked around excitedly and asked, “What did you think?”
“I’m not sure.” Lily heard the strained selfconsciousness in her voice and wished she had said something different.
Kath looked at her then—really looked at her—as if trying to decipher what was beneath Lily’s words. Lily awkwardly dropped her gaze, studying the scarred wooden surface of the table. The votive candle at the center flickered within its red glass cup, and Lily imagined she could feel the heat from it radiating out in invisible waves.
“If you want to leave, we can go,” Kath said.
Lily looked up at her friend in surprise. Kath had taken off her coat, and Lily noticed for the first time that Kath wore a collared shirt with its top button undone.
“I don’t want to leave,” Lily managed to say, and Kath nodded, and they sat there for a moment as the bustle around them went on: women carrying beers across the room; wineglasses ringing together; someone wondering loudly when Tommy’s next set would begin.
Two women suddenly appeared at their table, and one of them asked, “Are you using these two chairs? Do you mind if we take them?”
“No, go ahead,” Kath said, and the two women sat down, pulling their chairs back and away slightly to give them some room. One of the women was wearing a blazer and collared shirt, and her hair was cut boyishly short, but in a style that could be called feminine if she put on a dress. The other woman was wearing a blouse and a skirt, her hair waved and fastened with a silver barrette; she didn’t look much older than a high school senior.
Kath scooted her chair closer to Lily and asked, “Do you want something to drink?”
“We can’t,” Lily whispered, turning her head away from their tablemates.
“I’ll get you something. I mean, Elizabeth Flaherty will.” Kath grinned.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Lily said, worried.
“It’ll be fine,” Kath assured her. “I’ll be back in a minute. Tommy’s second set won’t start for a little while.”
And then Kath got up and left her there, sitting with the two strange women who had their backs half turned to her. Lily took a shallow breath, holding herself very still as if that might render her invisible. The women at her table were talking about a movie they’d seen recently; it sounded like a French film, and Lily wondered where they had seen it. They seemed quite absorbed in teasing out the nuances of the movie—it appeared to be about a schoolgirl—and though Lily didn’t allow herself to look in their direction, she listened quite attentively.
When Kath returned with two glasses of beer, the women made room for her to slide into her seat, and the one in the blazer took that as an excuse to say, “We haven’t seen you here before, have we? I’m Paula, and this is Claire.”
Kath introduced herself and shook Paula’s hand. “I’ve been here before with my friend Jean Warnock. Do you know her? She’s at Cal. This is my friend Lily.”
Paula and Claire extended their hands, and Lily shook them awkwardly, as if they were all men, while Claire said, “I don’t think I know Jean. What’s her major? I’m at Cal too.”
Lily took her glass of beer—it was cold and slippery—and lifted it to her lips so that she wouldn’t have to talk. It tasted frothy and a little like soapy water, but it was cold and went down more easily than she anticipated. Claire and Paula and Kath were all talking about Jean now, and Lily thought she had avoided their scrutiny until Claire said, “We don’t see many Orientals around here. Do you speak English?”
Lily blinked. “Of course I do.”