NOTE: There is mature content in this chapter, but (as always) it is not written explicitly. Still, I must warn you that it is there.
Chapter Fourteen
The Fourth of July
"I saw a woman, just now, who looked just like Genevieve," said Miss Fleck breathlessly, turning from the window. It was breakfast, and Mr. Whittington was making ham and eggs while his guest reclined, surveying the street.
"Genevieve...?"
"Genevieve Pennysworth," clarified Miss Fleck, turning back to the window. "You know, Genny, from my story? The contortionist?"
Mr. Whittington remembered. "Ah. Did you?"
"I sure did." She walked to the table, still amazed. "Obviously not completely the same. The big hair is completely unfashionable now. This lady had it in a long tail down her back, with a flipped-brim hat. Genny wouldn't have the heart to cut her hair; it seems like that's exactly what she'd do. And the face! She had the same narrow face."
"You don't say."
Miss Fleck sighed. "It couldn't be her, though." She looked about distantly, her eyes dim. "I wonder where Genny is now. I'd love to see her again. I wonder what we'd say to each other."
The ham, browned and crisp, came flipping onto a platter, which was deftly deposited on the table. Miss Fleck took some and ate, her eyes still full of thoughts.
"She'd be 38 now," she mused on. "Me and Genny, in our thirties. Damn."
Mr. Whittington sat and listened politely, but it didn't take Miss Fleck long to realize that she was thinking aloud, and she snapped back to reality.
"Sorry, Jay. You're probably waiting for my bum ass to continue the story. I'll not keep you in suspense."
(Miss Fleck continues the story.)
I had never kissed a man -or anyone, for that matter- until Gangle kissed me in the tunnel, and it was really something. Can't say I was expecting it. One minute I was whimpering about his potential marriage, and then his lips were on mine, but I had scarcely recovered from the initial "well by golly, Gangle's kissing me" shock when he started panicking. According to him, he meant to kiss my forehead but sort of missed. I hope my lips don't look as flat as all that. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't panicking, too. In my day, kissing was a pretty big deal for an innocent virgin, freak or no freak, and to top it all off it was Gangle, my long-time friend, who was doing the kissing. And we were in a dark tunnel. And his chest was warm. It smelled like pine-trees and aftershave. And his touch was so gentle. And I remember thinking that the man's mouth, when not yapping in Italian, was awfully nice to kiss. Not that I had any other kisses with which to compare it, but, still...
At any rate, he panicked, I sort of panicked, and we climbed out of the tunnel in a panic. Once in the daylight, I looked at his nervous face and realized that my lipstick had smeared onto his mouth. Holy mackerel. I looked wildly around. If someone (Daddy, for instance) were to see myself and Gangle crawling out of a tunnel, with my lipstick all over him...! I wiped his mouth with my hanky, gave it to him, and took off. I didn't know what to feel.
Once in the safety of my Aviary, King Charles gave me an eerily suspicious twitch of his eyeball, but with no ability to furnish evidence of my infidelity the matter was quickly dropped. I collapsed onto my throne. What happened? I mentally retraced my actions. I found the trapdoor, I brought Gangle, we went into it, I confessed some of my fears about him potentially leaving, and he accidentally took me in his arms and kissed me, after which he panicked, I panicked, and now here I was, on my throne, heart pounding, trying to make sense of my first kiss as my birds squawked unmercifully in the background. It was amazing how a single little moment could shake the foundations of everything I thought was rock-solid. Does that make sense? I mean, I had three pretty firm foundations:
1. I'm in love with the mysterious Mr. Y. even if he's confusing and scares me a bit.
2. Gangle is the dearest friend I have, and I'd be miserable if he left.
3. Kisses are for people you love.
But now everything was all topsy-turvy! I looked beyond the glass walls of my Aviary and hoped Gangle wasn't coming. I was afraid to look at him. I had no reason to be afraid, but I was, and I couldn't decipher why. Was I afraid of how I'd feel? I imagined walking up to him and looking at him now. I'd be nervous. Not nervous in a bad way. Oh, what was I saying? More importantly, how was I going to be able to look at him later? I ultimately didn't have to look at him. Later that evening, Mr. Y summoned me to the Ayrie for the purpose of more singing.
My heart went wild when I got the message. He wanted to make more music with me! He liked my voice! I ran into my room, did my hair all nice, dove into my second-nicest dress, left Daddy with a note for Gangle, and went skipping off to the Ayrie as though I were on my way to an ice-cream social. In the back of my mind, however, I was genuinely sorry to leave my Italian pal lonely. I resolved to make it up to him tomorrow. I also resolved not to think about that kiss anymore. He said it was an accident. As for my feelings, why get all flustered over an accident? Least said, soonest mended.
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Mr. Y was at the piano when I arrived, as he usually was, and the sheet music for "Love Never Dies" was spread out. Outside the eye-shaped windows, it was black, with only a few twinkling lights to remind me that I had not ascended all the way into the heavens; the mortal world was yet below, close enough to reach. Gangle was alone. I wondered if perhaps he was looking up towards the Ayrie and thinking of me, too.
"Good evening, Miss Fleck," Mr. Y greeted. "I don't want to keep you up all night, so I'll cut directly to the chase. I would like you to be Christine Daae's understudy."
I remembered the woman's voice as I had heard it on the cylinder and felt hideously inadequate for such a task. My voice was pretty, but pretty enough to replace Ms. Daae? We're talking a voice pretty enough to make my Daddy sit and sniffle.
"You don't look particularly pleased," observed Mr. Y, his tone suggesting that an explanation was due.
"Oh, I am pleased, indeed," I hastened to explain. "But she's such a very good singer..."
"As are you." Mr. Y turned back to the piano. "Lets warm your voice up."
So that was that. I couldn't very well argue. We went through a series of basic scales for a while, and then some interesting ones that made me chirp out my highest notes. Then some flowing, operatic-type ones, and then some agile little jumps and leaps. I did my best, which seemed to please him.
"Very nice. Now, for the actual aria. You know how it goes, but..." Here he dug out a paper, on which the lyrics were written phonetically, with emphasis put on different vowels... "Follow this when pronouncing the words. I notice that you follow the actual vowels on high notes, which is squeezing your throat shut on them and producing a shrill sound, such as on 'fleeting'. Make the ee's into ih's; no one will be any the wiser."
Unlike my previous singing session with Mr. Y, this one was very practical. Line by line, he ripped that song apart. Breathe here, louder here, softer there, pronounce this differently, watch your dynamics there. But I was still thrilled. He was making me a better singer, and I got to spend all this wonderful, uninterrupted time with him, even though there was still, even then, this little nagging bit of regret for ditching poor Gangle, despite the fact that I couldn't help it.
At last, I was allowed to sing the whole song through with Mr. Y's piano. Once again our shared music combined into a beautiful melody, but with more confidence and technique on my part. I sounded good! He was right about my pinched high notes, and when I hit them this time, substituting a different vowel, they soared rather than shrieked, and made a rather marvelous sound as they echoed off the vaulted ceilings. From there, the song was easy. The piano slowed, I sung the last few words, and then the piano hummed into silence.
"Very nice, Miss Fleck," praised Mr. Y, not exactly smiling, but the tilt of his head and the sound of his voice made him look very satisfied indeed. "You have made a marked improvement. I am pleased. Provided you don't have any questions, you may go."
I hadn't any questions, so I started to leave.
"Ah! Wait a moment," he amended. "Before you go..."
He took a cream and brown-colored box, from which wax paper was poking out in a ruffle, and gave it to me. "These are for you, and for your father. I trust you like jelly-filled doughnuts?"
I nodded and accepted the box into my hands, touched and giddy. Mr. Y had been thinking of me. He was giving me a gift. I was so touched and happy that I scarcely knew how to begin thanking him, even if it was only a pretty box of doughnuts.
"You're very welcome, said Mr. Y," nodding politely, but when I tried to leave again, he suddenly thought of something more to say.
"Ah! My apologies. One more thing."
"Yes, sir?"
He cleared his throat and replied, "I'm noticing that you're beginning to look a little pale and nervous. You're eating sufficiently, are you not?"
That threw me off guard. "Er, yes, I think Im eating well."
"Dr. Gangle as well," continued Mr. Y. "I sometimes pass him, and whenever I do, the man looks downright hunted. The work you three do here at Phantasma is not overly strenuous, is it?"
"No, sir," I replied, seeing a look in my master's eyes that was unsettling. "You must imagine it. All three of us are very pleased with our work; indeed, we're grateful to have work at all, sir."
He nodded slowly, not looking convinced, but not seeming able to produce a reason for further inquiry. I noticed that there was a copy of The New York Times near his piano bench. It was open to the Personal Ads. It was the same page where my Phantom of the Opera advertisement had been placed. He had been reading that page.
And in the dim, illuminated darkness of the Ayrie, Mr. Y did not look very much like an angel of music. The sunlight did not wrap around him in glory, nor did it reflect off his windows and transform the air about him into fairy dust. Standing there, he seemed to be in severe conformity with the shadows, blending into the darkness as though his being were truly one, truly at home in it, and now he was looking at me with the searching intensity of a bloodhound and the ethereal separation of a phantom...
"Alright then," he said in a strange voice. "Goodnight, Miss Fleck. I will see you again."
I descended the Ayrie stairs in a sort of stumble, horrified out of my wits. As I flew down through the darkness, I began to suspect things that I had forbidden myself to feel, but I could not deny them. He had almost certainly seen the article and taken note of the names of the two authors, and just a few moments ago, he had questioned why me and Gangle were looking so nervous. Why would he care about such a thing if he wasn't the...
No! He couldn't be! I bit my lip against a moan of misery and stalwartly held it back. No, I had certainly made a mistake. I was tired and nervous. After all, I'd been kissed earlier. Mr. Y was just pleasantly asking after our welfare. He'd even given Daddy and me a present. In my usual irrational way, I was making a mountain out of a mole-hill, a tempest in a teapot...and all that sort of thing.
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Not having a free hand available for a more dignified entrance, I shoved the door of Fleck Manor open with my rear and sidled in, the box of doughnuts snuggled into my bosom.
"I'm back, Daddy!" I called, but I needn't have, for he was just nearby on the couch. "And Mr. Y got us a gift. Doughnuts with jelly inside! Dandy, hmm?"
"Oh, did he? That's nice."
Daddy's voice was bright in a phony sort of way, and when I put down the doughnuts I saw that his journal was out and his eyes looked a little puffy. The pen and ink were put away.
"You sound sad, Daddy. Are you feeling alright?"
I expected him to sigh, deny it, and wander off to bed, but he didn't. Instead, his eyes lowered and he took a noticeable swallow before replying, "No. I am not."
He still didn't look at me, even after I'd sat beside him. We sat in silence for some time, until I finally got nervous, but right before I was going to say something, he did.
"Today would have been twenty-three years."
Oh! How could I have forgotten? Today was Daddy and Mama's wedding anniversary, the third that Daddy was enduring as a widower. My heart broke. He'd been alone all this time, with nothing but his thoughts.
"Right around now," he said, looking at the front door, "We were getting back from the reception. Mama was on my back, so she opened the door, and I bonked it open with my head. Couldn't walk then. And Grandpa was sitting right where you're sitting with his pillow and blanket, ready to bunk with the neighbors, and he just looked at the sight we were making and laughed." His eyes scanned the room slowly, as if seeing it happen. "And your Mama kept saying her new name, over and over. Polly Fleck! Polly Fleck!"
I looked at my ring and Daddy's sad face, and felt myself getting teary, so I closed my eyes, but little hot pinpricks of tears squeezed past my eyelashes.
"Ah, what have I done?" mourned Daddy, wiping my tears with rough hands as gentle as a kitten's. "I'm sorry, Baby Fleck. You come dancing in with doughnuts, and I make you cry."
I pulled myself together. "I'm fine now. Don't worry, Daddy. We miss her every anniversary and holiday, but there's no place more wonderful than where Mama has gone now."
He smiled. "That is true. Every day's the Fourth of July for her now."
The Fourth of July! That jogged my memory. "Speaking of which, the Pennysworths are throwing that little party of theirs," I recalled. "You reminded me of it just now."
"Oh." Daddy sounded like I'd just reminded him of a dentist's appointment. "Ah, yes. That."
"You don't sound happy, Daddy."
"Well, you know how I feel about those people. Frankly, I...don't know. But, Ariel...!" He struggled for a moment, his tattoos bunched around his forehead, and then he blurted, "If they offer you any alcohol, you tell them no!The same goes for cigarettes. And if Genevieve starts harping on about her feminist mumbo-jumbo, smile and change the subject."
Daddy was just so charming when he did this. I laughed.
"Oh, Daddy, I'm not as bad as all that!"
"It's not you who's bad," he said grimly. "And another thing! Since you'll certainly be swimming, keep an eye out for strange men. Don't ever allow yourself to be alone anywhere. There are unreasonable fellows who will try to do all sorts of lascivious things to a girl in a bathing suit..."
"Daddy! There's no need to say anything more. I'll behave. Cross my heart and hope to fry. But aren't you coming?"
"Can't," he replied cheekily. "I'm having a seizure tomorrow."
"Daddy!"
He chuckled to himself for a moment, amused by his own joke, and then he said, much more seriously, "Flashing lights are bad for people with seizures. Doctor Lawrence prefers that I lay low. I won't be alone. Edna's coming over."
Daddy usually called Mrs. Beardsley "Edna", but this was the first time he'd mentioned her coming over without looking nervous, and I said so.
"She means well," he replied, "Even if she seems to be on a crusade to fatten me. She's a reasonable woman. I like her. Oh, and before I forget, Ariel, Gangle got your note." He frowned. "The man was acting downright strange tonight."
"Strange? In what way?"
"I don't know, exactly." Daddy looked at the door, as though trying to picture it. "I told him you were with Mr. Y, and he says what does he want with her? In a spiteful tone, just like that, as though you hadn't the right. Very bizarre. He apologized before I could say anything, but still. I've never known the man to be unreasonable like that."
Nor had I, to be honest. I'd always found Gangle to be quite understanding, but from what Daddy was describing, he actually sounded offended. Why? Why, indeed? I didn't ask to be called away by Mr. Y. Perhaps he was just grumpy about other things. I'd find out tomorrow.
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The next day was the Fourth of July! At breakfast, we were served the usual stuff, but we also had a huge tray of red, white, and blue cupcakes arranged into a big American flag that everybody just loved. It really got us all into the spirit. I took a red one, and so did Daddy.
"Mmm!" he said, savoring the icing. "Moments like this make me proud to be an American."
Damien and Genevieve insisted on taking the white "stars" out of the field of blue, which made someone complain that they were "spoiling the effect", to which they responded by telling the person to shove off and lighten up. Everyone else just grabbed the nearest cupcake and hurried to their seats.
"What'd you say, Gangle?" crowed Damien when the man entered the tent. "God Bless Italia?"
"Aw, don't tease the man," wheezed Mr. Geddes.
I licked the last of the red icing off my finger and took a shy look at my Signor. He looked a little off, like he was trying to get over being aggravated or something. He didn't answer back to Damien. He took a blue cupcake and sat across from me.
"No," he said calmly. "Today, it is God Bless America."
"Amen!" seconded Aggie around a mouthful of cake, which made Ann scold her.
Damien, who had been clearly hoping to egg Gangle on, sat down, disappointed.
Gangle didn't say good morning to me or Daddy, or even complain about the food. He just ate, his face hard, his demeanor distant, and his attitude formal, almost cold. He took his blue cupcake apart with his fork and joylessly ate.
Daddy seemed to notice his behavior, but didn't say anything. At a tap from Mr. Geddes, he got up and went to help the man on top of his newspaper booster-seat, and was promptly engaged in a conversation with Mrs. Beardsley.
"Good morning," I ventured cautiously.
Gangle didn't look at me. "Good morning." After a rather awkward silence passed, he added, rather coldly, "So, how did singing with Mr. Y go?"
"Very well," I replied, trying and failing to meet his eye. "He wants me to be Christine Daae's understudy. He's teaching me to sing."
He cut another piece, not looking up. "You must be very happy."
His behavior was really starting to hurt my feelings and infuriate me at the same time. Was he seriously taking offense to me singing with Mr. Y? Why?
I swallowed the tremble in my throat. "I didn't have a choice, you know. I actually wanted to refuse."
He looked up, and his face changed from coldness to a meek, ashamed softness, seemingly realizing his rudeness at last. He put down his fork and brought his hand to his face with a shivering breath.
"I not being nice to you, Signorina," he murmured in a suddenly weepy and heavily Italian voice. "I sorry. I having a bad time today."
I'd seen him get mad and yell, but never emotional like this, and this abrupt shift startled and hurt me so much that my eyes watered. I got up and quickly went over to him.
"A bad time?" I asked gently, taking his other hand. "What kind of a bad time?"
He wiped his eyes with a napkin. "Nothing you can help. Stupid things."
A stray tear that he'd missed remained quivering under his eye. The sight made my heart twist with a desperate, maternal desperation to set everything alright. I coaxed him up and out of the tent, to somewhere we could talk it over. Before we left, I caught a glimpse of Daddy, still chatting with Mrs. Beardsley.
Our place of refuge turned out to be a bench near the Crystal Fountains. All around us, Phantasma was aflutter with patriotic ribbons and hangings of stars and stripes. Once there and seated, my dear proud Gangle put away his napkin and tried to be as stoic as he could, which resulted in him having watery eyes but a stiff, frozen face. His rubber snakes looked as though they had more feeling. I went close to him, but that only seemed to make him more determined to keep a stiff upper lip.
He forced himself to talk calmly. "Sorry I was so depressing, Signorina, but I am just having some love issues. That's all. I need to work them out."
"Things aren't going so good with that Maria lady?"
He blinked and looked down. "It isn't that things aren't good. But I am having a hard time with my decision."
It turned out that poor Gangle was in agony over his indecision. He wasn't so sure that the lady was really the one for him. To make it even more confusing, he was factoring things like leaving Phantasma, and his friends, his brother, and where he'd live, and all that sort of thing.
"And you, Signorina," he added. "I must also think of you."
"Me?" I felt morally obligated to protest. "Oh, Gangle, don't let little old me get in the way of finding happiness! Listen, I know the whole idea of you getting married made me act like a whining ninny yesterday in...the tunnel, but..."
My eyes met his mellow brown ones for a shy little moment.
"Er, no!" I cried, fiddling with my hat. "I'm not trying to say that I wouldn't miss you, but I was...very...emotional yesterday, more than I ought to have been, which impaired my judgement..."
But I had already succeeded in steering the conversation back to yesterday's "tunnel episode". Gangle took my hands, the way he always did when he needed to ask something very serious.
"Signorina? I didn't upset you with that kiss, did I? I know what you wrote in your note, but did you really get upset?"
I looked at where my little hands were nestled in his, and my heart began to flutter. "I was surprised, but not upset," I said, and that was the truth. "Now, Gangle, I think I know how I can help you."
"Really? How?"
"I'll watch that Maria lady," I explained. "Just observe how she is. Sometimes we have a hard time knowing what's good for us, because we don't know ourselves like others do. I reckon I know you pretty well."
He blushed. "If you say so."
"I...do say so!" I replied, feeling shy again. "Anyhow, I'll observe her for a while, get an understanding of who she is, and I'll tell you if she's the girl for you. At least you'll have an outsider's opinion."
I said it like a professor describing the theory of evolution, but Gangle looked touched nevertheless.
"You are very sweet, Signorina," he told me, releasing my hands. "And if I could, somehow..." He hesitated for a moment, but went on... "I would make Mr. Y love you."
That really touched me. Almost without thinking, I fell forward and hugged him, fighting back sentimental tears, but the mention of Mr. Y filled me with knee-jerk terror. I remembered the way he looked at me in the darkness, as though he were staring a hole right through my mind, trying to see all my secrets. I was trying so hard to fight this mental image and replace it with the fantasies of angels and music, but it wouldn't go away. Every time I closed my eyes, it was there. Gangle hugged me back. Something about the strength of his arms made me want to tell him everything.
"Last night," I began, "Mr. Y..."
But I couldn't finish. The phantom was fake so long as it was in my mind. If I gave my fears a voice, it would be real.
"What about Mr. Y, Signorina?"
"He gave me and Daddy a box of doughnuts." That was a nice, safe reply. "Jelly-filled doughnuts."
Gangle snorted like it was the biggest joke on earth and rolled his eyes, unable to believe that any country but Italy could make decent food. "Jelly-filled doughnuts!" he crowed. "Questo รจ il tipico spazzatura americani. I should make you cantuccini, and give it to you with coffee. You would like that better. But, ah, why did he give you doughnuts?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. He just did. C'mon, let's go back to breakfast before Daddy panics."
We did.
"Thank you, Signorina," said Gangle on the way back, "For helping me. And now, I do it right."
I blinked in confusion. "Do it right?"
And all at once I felt his hands on my shoulders and his lips kissing my forehead. Then he smiled down at me and said, "There. I did it right."
I was too flustered to say anything, and off he swept back into the dining tent, leaving me to awkwardly touch my forehead and reflect on what a very proficient kisser he was. Then I was embarrassed and went in as well. We both sat down and started eating, and Daddy finished his conversation and joined us. He never knew that we'd left in the first place.
"She's a yapper, that Edna," he said with an indulgent smile, but when he looked at me concern swept over his face."Why, Ariel, you're blushing. Is something wrong?"
True to his word, my cheeks were flaming hot when I touched them. I looked at my breakfast, heart fluttering.
"Er, no, nothing's wrong."
But I kept feeling the sensation of Gangle's lips on my forehead for the rest of the meal.
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The Pennysworth Fourth-of-July celebration began promptly at dusk, along with the first fireworks, and those beaches were mobbed. Nevertheless, people kept their distance from us freaks. Genny and Damien had erected a big circle of torches to act as our party area, and inside were chairs, towels, and big tables full of food: little hot-dogs, hot potato salad, corn on the cob, finger sandwiches, pickles, fried chicken (provided by Aggie-Ann), grilled zucchini, and gleaming glass bottles of Coca-Cola. Also included were "forbidden items", namely, the things Daddy had forbidden me to have: beer, cigarettes, and cigars.
We freaks looked funny in real life, but we looked downright hilarious in bathing suits. When Gangle's brother, Giovanni, arrived with that Maria lady, they just couldn't get enough of us. They, of course, looked handsome and beautiful, respectively. Aggie-Ann departed from their usual religious routine and decided to scare people by covering themselves with sand, greeting folks while pretending to be two separate sisters, and then leaping up to reveal that they were conjoined. Off the person would run, shrieking, leaving Aggie to laugh, "Lawd, Ah 'pologize!" Then they'd do it again.
The mellow, twinkly stars were mingling with the flaming sparks of their more flamboyant cousins, the fireworks, when I strolled out of the dressing tent in my bathing suit and fiddled with my cap. This was "my day", remember, and so my bathing suit bore little resemblance to what I see girls flitting about in today. Mine was a navy blue sailor-looking number, with sleeves, a kilted skirt, and black stockings. If you waded any deeper than mid-thigh, the sheer suction of the water soaking into the fabric would drag you, screaming, to the bottom of the ocean.
Anyway, out I came and Genevieve screamed in delight, already dressed in her bathing suit. "Ariel! I declare! You may be the loveliest sight I've seen yet!"
"Bathing Beauty," sang Gangle cheekily, "Take a look at yoooou!"
Nearby, Damien was piling finger foods onto a plate, the glowing embers of his cigarette sprinkling everywhere. "Do not sing that godawful song!" he yelled. "I just got it out of my head! Here, have some snacks! Genny, get me a beer!"
"What do I look like? The hired help?" roared Genny in return. "Get it yourself! Come, Ariel, let's drown each other in the ocean!"
I couldn't wear my leg brace in the sea, so Genny had to help me hobble along, with the added help of Gangle.
"Very careful! Ariel's leg can only support her a very small bit!"
"I know, Italian, I know. There's a brain under this hair, I swear."
The moonlight and fireworks made the ocean glow in a marvelous tapestry of colors and sparkles, and in the midst of this were a great many people, splashing and scattering it all about. Very carefully, Genny and Gangle lugged my helpless butt into the water, until I was up to my waist and could hop around with help, aided by the buoyancy of the water. My bad leg felt weightless.
"She okay, Greg?" called Maria, who didn't need the baby treatment and came splashing in like a movie star, Giovanni at her side.
"Just fine!" Gangle called back. "I will come in a minute!"
I was having fun, bouncing around in the sea. I was content with the few activities I could do. Better to play it safe, than risk drowning! Reasonable, as Daddy would say!
Genny didn't seem to agree. "Say, Ariel, you must be awfully bored, just bouncing like that," she mused aloud. "Hey, Gangle! How about you pick her up, take her in deeper?"
Take me in deeper? I looked at the dark, deep sea and panicked. "Er, I don't..."
"Ah, sure I can!" replied Gangle. "Put your arm around my neck, Signorina."
"Like this, Ariel," said Genny, taking my arm and doing it for me as I hyperventilated, and before I could protest I was out of the water, my suit dripping, and Gangle was holding me against his chest. I did not dare remove my arm from his neck.
Genny's narrow face illuminated with genuine glee. She shook the drops from her giant head of hair and laughed. "Very nice! C'mon, let's go deeper! Isn't this fun, Ariel?"
"Don't drop me," I begged Gangle, unable to concentrate on anything but the deep, terrifying waves. "You understand? Don't drop me."
I was so close to him that I could feel his chuckle against my chest. "I won't drop you."
Boy, was I scared, and of course everybody thought that it was just hilarious.
"Ay, ay, Greg!" laughed Maria, arms akimbo."You going to kill her?"
For added fun, Giovanni went just below the surface of the water and gargled like he was drowing.
Gangle's grip on me tightened. "Don't worry, Signorina," he whispered. "They are big teasers. Always have been. But I will not drop you. You are safe with me."
And in that moment, as I huddled, dripping and nervous against the comforting bigness of his chest (I'll be winning the Pulitzer prize for poetry any day now), smelling his masculine smell, I believed it. I really did feel safe. I pressed even closer and relaxed, finally able to really enjoy the beauty of the stars and fireworks over the sea. The water around us was warm and dark. We were enclosed in a Fourth of July Fairyland, me and Gangle. I gave the water a little kick.
"It's so beautiful out tonight," I said.
"Beautiful, yes, yes. You okay, Signorina?"
"I'm okay." I poked his nose and pointed at the stars. "It's like we're watching them as always, just from the..."
Just then, Genny splashed wildly back, yelling, "Hey! Hey! Watch out for the...!"
The next word would have been "wave". One minute I was waxing poetic over the stars, hugging Gangle's neck, and then an explosion of water and seaweed and God knows what blasted through every orifice in my face. I felt myself being lifted up by an Almighty force, and I landed, screaming like a banshee, over Gangle's shoulder, my bosom squashed on his shouder. He didn't let go, though. I know I sure didn't. He quickly scooped me up, one arm across my back and the other across my rear. Boy, was I scared. I hope I didn't hurt the man's eardrums that badly.
"That was unexpected!" coughed Gangle. "Okay, Signorina?"
I did not release my death grip from his neck. "Yes. Now take me back to shore. Now."
And he did, a chorus of laughter hot on our heels. Apparently a lot of people, by some sadistic stroke of Fate, happened to see the spectacle we'd made of ourselves. Gangle's two pals were almost beside themselves with hilarity, snorting and gagging, and Genny pretended to get hit by a wave the whole way back. I didn't care. All I wanted was the dry earth. I clung to Gangle like a wet leaf, nothing between him and I but two thin layers of wet fabric, until at last I was safe, and he lowered me onto a towel.
"I was getting itchy for a smoke anyway," said Genny with a shrug. "I'll get you some snacks, Ariel."
Off she went, leaving Gangle to toss another towel around me. Getting doused with a wave had messed his hair and covered his voice trumpet in little beads of water.
"I have to play with Maria now, okay, Signorina? I'll come back in a bit."
And play they did. I watched them as I reclined on the sand. Giovanni playfully bonked his head, and then that Maria lady splashed him. Never one to tolerate insolence, Gangle responded with splashes of his own, and the whole thing erupted into a splashing battle that went on until all three of them could splash no more. Then they waded around. Gangle looked up at the beautiful night sky, and taking Maria's hand, he tried to show her the stars, but she only took that opportunity to splash him again.
Watching them made me mad. It seemed that all Giovanni and Maria wanted to do was splash around, with no appreciation for the scene. I had a half mind to go back into the sea and give Maria a few splashes of my own. I had no idea what Gangle saw in her. All beauty and not enough reasonability. No appreciation for higher things! I bet she never read a single line of Poe.
"Hey, Ariel, what's wrong?" asked Genny, returning and giving me a plate of finger sandwiches and potato crisps. "You've got a face that could curdle cream."
I told her it was nothing. She settled beside me with her beer and took a long swig.
"This is one hell of a Fourth of July," she sighed. "I declare I can't remember the last time I've enjoyed myself so much. And I'm so glad..." Here she smooched my cheek..."That you came, Ariel."
I smooched her back. "I'm glad I came too."
She tossed her arm around me and clucked and cooed for a bit, then seemed to think of something and roared for Damien to set up a fire for making S'mores. She managed to bully him quite adeptly into making a pit, filling it with wood, and igniting a torch that he stuck down his throat (this always made me cringe), enabling him to breathe fire onto what soon became a blazing campfire.
By the time marshmallows, chocolate, and grahams were distributed, Gangle and his pals came ambling over, intrigued by the mouthwatering smell of our gooey S'mores.
Gangle and Maria sat together on the other side of the fire, exhausted but smiling. Giovanni tossed them towels.
"Ah, Signorina!" cried Gangle, wrapped up like a wet cannoli, "Maria beat me up."
"Si!" added Giovanni. "Beat him like a bowl of eggs!"
Which made Maria stop in the middle of patting her gorgeous hair and giggle. I pulled my cap on tighter, hating her guts.
"Ay, ay, you not so good with fighting, Greg," the lady replied cheekily. "Every time, I beat you."
Gangle poked her nose. "That's because you give me no time to recover! Tu sei una donna ridicola! When will you learn to play fair?"
Maria poked him back and quoted. "Said the raven, Nevermore!"
I almost leapt from my seat in indignation. It took every ounce of fortitude that I was mistress of to prevent me from roaring the correct quotation in her face, while simultaneously shaking her coffee-tanned shoulders. Any idiot off the street could tell you it was "Quoth the raven, Nevermore". I couldn't even look in her direction for the rest of our S'more time. One can scarcely be expected to respect a woman who quotes Poe incorrectly. She flung her arm around Gangle, and this boiling rage bubbled in my heart.
"Ariel," whispered Genny. "I'm itching to let off some steam. Come with me; let's have a look a the sights."
Her offer couldn't have come at a better time. I bid my campfire mates adieu, took Genny's arm, and off we went along the shoreline, dodging waves and letting the cool, smoke-scented breeze refresh us. Holidays always have an element of fun and shared excitement to them that links humanity better than any method I know. It cheers your heart, enjoying the old traditions, teaching them to others, sharing the fun and food. That's how I felt as Genny and I went along, watching folks making sandcastles and eating hot-dogs, and whenever we encountered a fellow freak we slapped hands.
"We'll get a fantastic view of the sky," said Genny as we approached the piers, "If we sneak inside one of those old bathing machines."
"Are we allowed?"
"Hell if I know."
Like old relics, the bathing machines sat sturdy and useless, their faded wheels and chipped paint-jobs telling a story of days gone by. Daddy told me that when they were in use, back in his day, they'd be rolled into the sea, one after another, until the shoreline looked like the lost city of Atlantis. It wasn't considered very nice for men and ladies to swim near each other, so people used bathing machines for privacy. Mr. Geddes secretly told me that once, Daddy covered himself in rags and lay in the corner of a bathing machine that Mama was going to use, disguising himself as a pile of towels. Once the machine was out at sea and the coast was clear, out came Daddy, and with no one around, my parents engaged in scandalous behavior, such as rubbing ankles and splashing water on each other. Those Victorians.
"Come in!" laughed Genny, crawling inside. "Follow me! Hopefully we won't encounter any Victorian ghosts."
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Soaking wet and giggling like ninnies, we crawled up into the dark, musty-smelling interior of the bathing machine. Genny kicked the back door open, giving us a fine view of the sea. It was glorious, watching the fluorescent embers of the fireworks reflecting off the water. It seemed that the whole world was nothing but cool water and those splendid lights.
"How marvelous," I sighed. "Isn't this the best Fourth of July celebration ever, Genny? Just look at the colors sparkling on the sea. Beautiful!"
And it was. In the distance we heard the excited cries of the beach-goers as we watched the firework embers fall into the sea. There was a smoky, crisp smell in the air. There was nowhere I'd rather be in the world than there at Coney Island, celebrating at the shore.
"I think," Genny said at length, drawing close to me, "That you are more beautiful than the sea."
Me? I was more beautiful than the sea? I had not expected that, but the comment touched me nevertheless, and I told her so. It was so nice of her. Still, at the same, this sort of adoration was making me feel a little uneasy...
"It's true," she insisted softly. She grabbed my hands and looked into my eyes. "You are not much like other girls, Ariel. You are different..." Here she fondly ruffled my hair-"But so, so beautiful."
For a long moment we sat there in the darkness looking at each other, and then I noticed her face tilting towards me, her eyes silently asking me to move closer, and when I did the world was suddenly hazy. I forgot where I was. There was a strange magnetism that was bringing our faces together. Her cheek brushed against mine.
"Ariel," she murmured, "I love you."
Our mouths met, warm and soft, and in the damp darkness of that bathing machine I received my second kiss in a way I sure never imagined. It was really something. I can't describe it. Genny cradled me in the crook of her arm so we could kiss even more intensely, and through our bathing suits I could feel the bouncy softness of her chest. This was madness! What was I doing?
"Genny!" I gasped. "Why...what...is this about?"
And she was pleased to tell me. Turns out Genny was a lesbian, which completely explained her issues with men and filled in a great many blanks, but you've got to understand my mindset. Back in the day, I had absolutely no idea that anything sexual could happen between two women. Never even flitted across my mind. So I was pretty darn bewildered when Genny told me that she was in love with me -really in love in with me- and had been for a reasonably long time.
I was confused, but it felt good to be loved. That place in my heart, that strange longing I had been feeling for months...was this it? Here it was, flaring up again. I didn't know what to do. Laugh, cry, scream? What would Daddy...what would Mama think of me now? Genevieve stared down at me, looking straight into my eyes as if she were reading my mind.
"You're trembling, Ariel," she observed gently. "Are you alright?"
Something about the genuine sympathy in her voice made me want to break down and tell her everything, but all I could manage was a weak moan.
"I don't know, Genny. I don't know anything anymore. I don't know myself." I was going to cry if this kept up. "I feel so...I don't even know how I feel. Strange, I suppose..."
Her face softened with a sort of bittersweet sympathy. "Well, I guess strange girls like us need to stick together. I'm glad I found you."
Our lips met again, but this time we lingered, luxuriously taking our time. My nerves began to tingle like static. My mind was reeling over the wild, taboo nature of our behavior. I felt as though there was a bird trapped in my ribcage, inflicting beautful, obscene injury upon my heart in its attempt to get out. I grabbed Genny desperately, unsure of whether to hold on or run for it.
"Genny," I gasped, "You're making feel me so..." But what she was making me feel I didn't know.
"Mmm," she purred knowingly, tracing my belly with her fingers. "I know. But never mind." And then in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, "Lie back."
For the sake of delicacy, I must not describe outright what happened between the two of us next; however, because these are "modern times", I am content to illustrate it metaphorically.
I had once heard marital relations compared to someone opening a shut door and walking through it. I forget where; it must have been a book. Anyhow, that's not what Genny did.
Rather then bursting through my door like a brash young man might, she was quite circumspect, and contented herself with ringing the doorbell. Sitting frigidly in the house, I was bemused by this visitor and her insistent, vigorous ringing, but at length I grew curious from all the ringing, then warm, and all at once my heart changed; I wanted desperately to let her in. On and on she rang and rang, and all the while my soul within me was aflame. I begged her to come inside. Pleaded. Screamed. And then...with a final saucy jingle of the bell, the door was flung open, and I fell moaning and gasping into her arms, where she held me until every last shudder was gone.
And I do hope you understood that, for that is absolutely all the explanation you are going to get.
Lying back against Genny, I felt initiated into a strange new world. Outside, the fireworks were still exploding. People were laughing. The breeze whispered across my legs.
"How did you like that, little Miss Fleck?" she finally asked me, stroking my belly. "A lot better than pointing your heels at the ceiling and thinking of England, hmm?"
How did I like it? Holy Mackerel, I didn't imagine that anything could feel as good as that! Did that happen to everyone? But I didn't say what I felt, for I was too numb with shock at what I had allowed Genny to do to me, the places I had permitted her to explore! It had been like the continuation and conclusion of what I'd felt when I'd been dreaming of Mr. Y, and I'd given myself an experimental touch.
"Genny," I eventually managed to sputter."Genny, what have we just...done?"
The gentleness in Genny's voice and eyes made her seem like a completely different person. "Loved each other," she replied, but eventually she caught on to my confusion and was blunter. "I played around with you, and you came, cutie. By golly, you're innocent. I love it! But, Ariel..." Here her eyes watered, and her countenance wobbled with emotion. "You're not scared or upset, are you? Please, don't be. I love you."
I kissed poor Genny and told her that I loved her, too. What can I say? I was emotional and still giddy from the rush of physical pleasure I'd just enjoyed. I didn't even know who I was anymore. In hindsight, my behavior makes no sense. When you're "in the moment", you do and say the damndest things. Am I right?
"Oh, Ariel," breathed Genny, hugging me, tears in her eyes. "Ariel, my little love. I'm so lucky."
)
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)
After a few more minutes of kisses and the like, I hurried out of that bathing machine and went straight home. Didn't say goodnight to anyone or anything. Just grabbed my clothes and went right home. Off I went like a malformed automaton, my mind numb, my limbs jerky, and my thoughts recycling the same theme over and over. All around me, fireworks were exploding, trumpets were honking, and noisemakers were spinning in the smoky summer air, and I passed through it all like a ghost. It was as though Genny had brought me to life, and then slain me.
When I entered Fleck Manor, Daddy and Mrs. Beardsley looked up from where they sat, together, on the parlor couch. There were photographs spread out across their laps, and saucers of crumbs and drops of tea sat neglected on the table. They seemed quite happy.
"Well, hello, Ariel!" greeted Mrs. Beardsley. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
She couldn't realize the irony of my reply. "Yes, ma'am."
She smiled and kept shuffling through pictures, but Daddy, like most daddies, had this supernatural ability to detect that something was not right with me. He put down the pictures he was holding and looked at me, his tattoos assuming a serious, concerned, "Daddy" sort of expression that made me feel as though I were getting an x-ray.
"Did something go wrong, Ariel?" he asked slowly.
"Oh no, not at all," I lied. "But I, ah, got sea water in my hair and need to take a bath. What are you and Mrs. Beardsley looking at?"
"Looking at photos from the old days!" The lady was pleased to inform me, piling some up and showing me. "These are some of mine. Now, who do you suppose that pretty lady is?"
The lady, a much younger Mrs. Beardsley, was wearing a plaid daydress and sitting in a chair next to a table, and next to the table was a man, the late Mr. Beardsley. There was a painted backdrop behind them. The next photo was Mrs. Beardsley when she was my age. I looked at the photo of the young lady with the coiled braids, and then at her identical but older counterpart, who was grinning at me.
"Little did I know I'd one day turn into a bearded old hag!" she chuckled, taking the pictures back.
"You are not a hag, Edna," chided Daddy softly, "And I will not hear you say so, either."
I used this opportunity to grab my pajamas and hustle off to have a bath. Once enveloped in the steaming water, I let myself float and contemplate the last few hours. The place where I'd been touched felt both sore and enlarged, as if to remind me that it had all really happened. Boy, did I feel the loss of Mama in that moment. I felt it bad. My situation would have certainly confused her, but she was a comforting presence.
My prized emerald ring was precious to me, but I had received it at a bitter cost.
(Miss Fleck stops here for now.)
"On and on," sighed Miss Fleck, "I keep tainting your notions of Edwardian women, Jay. I'm such an animal."
But Mr. Whittington had a more pressing question. "Ariel," he asked timidly. "If it isn't too presumptious, are you actually...?"
"No, no, definitely no!" Miss Fleck chuckled, shaking her bobbed head. "Which really threw a monkey wrench into things, let me tell you. But that's for another time."
Notes from Authoress:
1. If I don't update again before Christmas, then MERRY CHRISTMAS!
2. Thanks for reading this latest, eyebrow-raising installment of "City of Wonders".
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