Strange Women, The (20 page)

She wanted to say; I made a fool of myself with Mack. I don't want to knuckle under to Kit. Jill, my darling, my love, you were right all along. Come with me, now, tonight, and the hell with everyone else.

But Jill was turning it over slowly in her hands. She said, "I—don't understand, Nora. From
Mack?"

Nora held herself from moving by the greatest effort of her life.

"He wouldn't offer it to your face. He was afraid you'd be angry. But he wanted to protect you, in case you had his baby and were afraid to tell him, or too proud. He knew you pretty well, Jill."

"Yes," Jill whispered, "He did."

And suddenly she clasped it to her heart, her gray eyes rainbowed with tears. "Oh, Nor, and I never knew! All the time, he was looking after me—after both of us. Mary was his baby, too. I never even thought of that, I never even realized that he'd—he'd lost his daughter too. Oh, Nor, I was so stubborn, and yet all the time he was taking care of me—" the wild joy in her voice brought them both up physically to their feet.

"Nora, Nora, what have I done to Mack? And yet he loves me, he wants me, he's waiting for me—oh, I won't make him wait, not another hour! I'll go to him, we can be married tonight—" she said, in a voice that trembled, "It isn't the money. I've got four times that much in a savings bank in Hartford. Money Daddy left me. I never even bothered to transfer it to a bank here. It's the—the fact that he wanted to take care of me.”

Nora ran her dry tongue over her lips. Unwittingly, she had weighted the scales indeed—but against herself. Jill could take that one step now; but she would take it to Mack.

“— oh how could I do that to Mack? When he loves me so much?"

When he loves me. Not, when I love him so much. Nora finally accepted; always, to Jill, who loved her would be more important than whom she loved. Those Jill had loved—her father, the detective her girlish fancy had loved, even Nora—had hurt and betrayed her. Jill would always feel happiest with those who were content to love her and demand little.

She loved Nora. Perhaps she would always love Nora. But even Nora would make demands on her. Mack would ask nothing but that she permit him to love her, keep her safe, make her happy. And she would be happy.

Jill flung herself on Nora, kissing her rapturously. Then she smiled through her tears. "I could almost hate you—letting me do this to Mack for so long!"

"Well," said Nora softly, "you know where he is.”

Jill clung to her. "Nora, Nora—if I go to Peru with Mack, I won't see you again for years and years—I hate to say goodbye—"

Nora made herself smile. She felt as if she had been through a major operation and was still mercifully in shock. "Don't be silly, sweetie, you're behaving like a schoolgirl with a crush. Give Mack my love."

So she was atoning to Mack for her weakness and folly. He would understand her emotional turmoil; he would understand, and forgive. Forgive Nora... and himself.

Jill let her go, but kept one of her hands. "Nora, wait, I want to say something. No—nothing you won't want to hear. Only that you're the finest woman I've ever known. I've been acting like a child, talking about independence and all that nonsense. I know now why Mack wanted me to know you." She raised Nora's hands to her lips and kissed them. "He knew I needed a—a big sister like you."

And suddenly Pammy's ghost was laid. Jill, appealing to Nora as a woman, put the last of her old doubts to flight. She knew and accepted what she was; as much of a woman as Pammy; as much of a woman as Jill. A woman to be desired, to yield; not to command, or seduce.

Guilt lay on her, and shame; but she could live with them, and transmute them into compassion for other women who had not yet learned to live with what they were.

She had set Jill free; and Jill had given her back the greatest gift of all; self-understanding, and self-acceptance.

She drew Jill to her for the last time, and kissed her on the wet eyes. "Goodbye, darling," she said gently, "be happy. Take good care of Mack for me."

She went to the door and down the stairs and as she stepped out into the gray street and the gray rain she saw a light go on in Jill's room upstairs, and a dark silhouette bend—over a suitcase? A telephone?

And Nora realized that for the first time in her adult life, she was crying. Not the strangled, shamed sobs of a man who is afraid of tears, but the flooding, relief-giving weeping of woman.

And for the first time since she had plunged out of her own apartment, she thought of Kit, and what he must be enduring, and how soon she could relieve his anxiety and his pain and his dread. Kit, who could comfort her for the child they were not to have. Still sobbing, still feeling the hot tears rolling unchecked down her face with the cold rain, Nora Ellersen thrust her hands sturdily into her empty pockets, turned her back on all the strange harbors, and set her steps toward home.

~ ~ ~

A new revolution was underway at the start of the 1940s in America—a paperback revolution that would change the way publishers would produce and distribute books and how people would purchase and read them.

In 1939 a new publishing company—Pocket Books—stormed onto the scene with the publication of its first paperbound book. These books were cheaply produced and, with a price of twenty-five cents on their light cardboard covers, affordable for the average American.

Prior to the introduction of the mass-market paperback, as it would come to be known, the literary landscape in America was quite different than what it is today. Reading was primarily a leisure-time pursuit of the wealthy and educated. Hardcover books were expensive and hard to find, so purchasing books was a luxury only the rich living in major metropolitan areas could afford. There simply weren’t many bookstores across the country, and only gift shops and stationary stores carried a few popular novels at a time.

The Pocket Books were priced to sell, however, and sell is what they did… in numbers never before seen. Availability also had a great effect on sales, in large part due to a bold and innovative distribution model that made Pocket Books available in drugstores, newsstands, bus and train stations, and cigar shops. The American public could not get enough of them, and before long the publishing industry began to take notice of Pocket Book’s astonishing success.

Traditional publishers, salivating at the opportunity to cash in on the phenomenal success of the new paperback revolution, soon launched their own paperback ventures. Pocket Books was joined by Avon in 1941, Popular Library in 1942, and Dell in 1943. The popular genres reflected the tastes of Americans during World War II—mysteries, thrillers, and “hardboiled detective” stories were all the rage.

Like many of the early paperback publishers, Dell relied on previously published material for its early books, releasing “complete and unabridged” reprints under different titles by established authors. Within a couple of years it was focused exclusively on mysteries, identifiable by the Dell logo on the cover—a small keyhole with an eye looking through it. Many of the Dell mysteries also featured a colored map on the back cover representing the various locations pertaining to the story’s crime. These “mapback” editions became extremely popular and by 1945, Dell was publishing four new books a month.

The new paperback industry was faced with some difficult challenges during World War II. In particular, the War Board’s Paper Limitation order placed serious restrictions and rations on the use of paper. Publishers began to worry whether they would have enough paper to satisfy both the civilian and military appetite for paperbacks. Manpower shortages and transportation difficulties were also proving to be difficult challenges. In response, some publishers—Pocket Books, for instance—reduced their publication schedules and reset their books in smaller type thereby reducing the number of pages per book. Others simply rejected longer books in favor of shorter ones.

In the end, World War II proved to be a boon to the emerging paperback industry. During the war, a landmark agreement was reached with the government in which paperbound books would be produced at a very low price for distribution to service men and women overseas. These books—Armed Services Editions, as they were called—were often passed from one soldier or sailor to another, being read and re-read over and over again until they literally fell apart. Their stories of home helped ease the soldier’s loneliness and homesickness, and they could be easily carried in uniform pockets and read anywhere—in fox holes, barracks, transport planes, etc. Of course, once the war was over millions of veterans returned home with an insatiable appetite for reading. They were hooked, and their passion for reading these books helped launch a period of unprecedented growth in the paperback industry.

The reading tastes of these veterans were directly reflected in the popularity of certain genres at the turn of the decade. In the mid- to late 1940s, mysteries, romance, thrillers, and hardboiled detective stories seemed to sell better. In the early 1950s new genres—science fiction, westerns, gay and lesbian, juvenile delinquent and “sleaze”, for instance—gained in popularity as readers were presented with stories never before seen in print. Publishers also came to realize that sex would sell books… lots of books. In a competitive frenzy for readers, they ditched their conservative and straightforward cover images for alluring covers that frequently featured a sexy woman in some form of undress, along with a suggestive tag line that promised stories of sex and violence within the covers. Before long, books with sensational covers had completely taken over the paperback racks and cash registers. To this day, the cover art of these vintage paperback books are just as sought after as the books themselves were sixty years ago.

Science fiction titles reflected the uncertain times during which they were written. The Cold War was just beginning, the threat of nuclear annihilation was on everyone’s mind, governments in Eastern Europe were falling to Communists, and Senator Joseph McCarthy was looking for “un-American activities” everywhere in the United States. Many science fiction stories in the early days of the paperback revolution were little more than soap operas or westerns set in space—good guys taking on bad guys while rescuing damsels in distress—that were short stories taken from the pulp magazines. In 1952, however, Ballantine Books changed all that by becoming the first paperback publisher to release novel-length science fiction stories that were sophisticated, intelligent and thematically serious. In 1953, Ballantine Book No. 41 was released—Ray Bradbury’s
Fahrenheit 451
—and the paperback’s science fiction genre launched like a rocket heading to Venus.

The popularity of this new genre wasn’t lost on new paperback publisher, Ace Books, which became known primarily for its publication of sci-fi titles. Not content with publishing one science fiction novel at a time, Ace came up with an interesting gimmick—the double novel. Priced at thirty-five cents, the “Ace Double” featured two paperback novels bound back-to-back with the back cover appearing upside-down in the racks. The stories contained within these “double” paperbacks were novellas or long short stories, rather than novels, but the reading public didn’t care—they loved getting two books for the price of one! The format also worked to the advantage of Ace Books, as they were able to combine the work of an unknown (and, therefore, less expensive) writer with that of a prominent and popular author. As a result, the careers of more than a few aspiring science fiction writers were launched via the innovative “Ace Double.”

Science fiction would not be the only genre with titles flying off the shelves in the early 1950s, however. And, it is unlikely that even Gold Medal Books knew, in 1950, just how successful its first lesbian-themed paperback original novel—
Women’s Barracks
—would be. Written by Tereska Torres, and based on her experiences in London with the French Resistance movement during World War II, the book was not intended to launch an entire lesbian genre—it was a story about women during wartime, some of whom happened to be romantically involved with other women. The story simply resonated with men and women alike—both straight and gay—and by the end of 1950 had sold more than a million copies for Gold Medal.

Women’s Barracks
also caught the attention of the government, unfortunately, and was singled out by the Gathings Committee as an example of how the paperback industry was subverting the morals of America. The threat of fines and incarceration made the paperback industry skittish about publishing anything that could be considered “indecent” and before long, a sort of self-censorship was in full swing. Many stories featuring characters that lived their lives outside the rules of the prevailing morality of the times soon became dark and punishing, as there could be no happy endings for those who defied convention. Still, the lesbian titles were enormously popular and soon paperback publishers—beginning with Gold Medal—realized sales would skyrocket if they moved from reprints to “paperback originals.”

This move toward of the publication of original fiction by paperback companies created an immediate and strong demand for writers and provided unprecedented opportunities for women writers in particular. While it is true that some of the lesbian titles during the 1950s were written by men using female pseudonyms, a good number were written by women, many of whom were lesbians themselves. And although they were still required to write within the prescribed moral guidelines set by their editors, quite a few were able to portray the lesbian lives of their characters with a significant degree of honesty and compassion.

For lesbians across the country, especially those living isolated lives in small towns, these books provided a sense of community they never knew existed… a connection to women who experienced the same longings, feelings and fears as they did—the powerful knowledge that they were not alone. With the birth of the lesbian-themed pulp novel, women who loved women could finally see themselves—their experiences and their lives—represented within the pages of a book. They finally had a literature they could call their own.