“Well. . . yes. But why did you stop?”
Joan sighed. “Because I was scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of me. Winsome darling—I’ve done many hard things in my life. Such as waiting in a landing boat, bobbing around and seasick and stinking with fear . . . then dropping off into four feet of water with machine guns raking us and killing my buddies on both sides. But this is the hardest thing I’ve ever tried. Being a woman. I have to think about it every instant—do consciously the things you do automatically. Goodness, today I came within a split second of walking into a men’s toilet instead of the ladies’ powder room. And now you. Darling, can you guess what a temptation you are to me? Can you realize that old Johann is looking at your winsome loveliness out of Joan’s eyes?
Winnie, there hasn’t been a moment but what I’ve wanted to touch you. Hold you in my lap. Kiss you. Make love-to you. If I were a man . . . I’d be trying my damnedest to crowd Bob out. Or at least make room for me.”
“Joan.”
“Yes, dear?”
“There’s room for you.”
Joan found that she was trembling. “Darling! Please! Can’t we wait? You have Bob…and I have still to learn to be a woman.” She started to cry.
And found Winifred’s arms around tier. “Stop it, dear. Please stop. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll help, of course I’ll help. We’ll wait. Years if you need that long. Until you’re calmed down and sure of yourself—and want me. But Winnie isn’t trying to seduce her Joanie. Oh, it can be sweet, truly it can. But you’re right and I do have Bob and my nerves aren’t frayed the way yours must be. Someday you’ll fall in love with a man, and may forget all about me. Wanting to touch me, I mean—and that’s all right, as long as I can love you and be your friend.”
Joan dashed away a tear, and sniffed. “Thank you, Winnie. I’ve made a fool of myself again.”
“No, you haven’t. I just have trouble remembering, sometimes. Do you want a tranquilizer?”
“No. I’m all right now.”
“Would you rather I didn’t touch you?”
“No. I want you to kiss me, Winnie. Hard. Best you ever have. Then put on the green gee-string dress and let us look at it. Then we’ll eat. And then grab some soapsuds and make me smell better for our prayer meeting with Jake—I need those prayers tonight; they’re the right tranquilizer. Put it on, dear. But kiss me first.”
Winnie kissed her—started to hold back, then flared like a prairie fire and did make it “best she ever had.”
(Break, twin, before the house burns down. That’s the fanciest tap dancing since Bojangles died.) (What do you
know about Bojangles? You can’t know about him.) (Ever hear of classic films, Boss? Now see to it that Bob marries her; you owe her that, for the hurdles you mike her jump.)
(How can I when I don’t know who he is?) (You can find out. Cheat. O’Neil knows. After you know who he is, find out what he wants; he’ll geek. Men! Boss, I love you, but sometimes I’m not sure why.)
After Winnie modeled the emerald dress, she fetched in their trays from Joan’s upstairs lounge while Joan opened the last package. It contained her present for Jake. “Winnie, tell me what you think of this.”
It was a necklace rich and simple—a heavy gold chain with tripled linkage, supporting a large gold ankh, a crux ansata. Winifred took it in her hands. “It’s lovely,” she said slowly. “But it’s not a woman’s necklace, you know. Or did you?”
“It’s a man’s necklace. A present for Jake.”
Winifred frowned slightly. “Joan, you do want me to help you learn how to behave as a woman.”
“You know I do.”
“Yes, I know. When I see that you are about to make a mistake, I must tell you.”
“You don’t think Jake will like this?”
“I don’t know. He may not know what it means. And you may not know. This cross with a loop is called an ‘ankh’—and it’s what my grandaddy would have called a ‘heathen symbol.’ It means—well, it means most of the things our meditation prayer means, life and goodness and love and so forth. But specifically it means sex, it’s an ancient Egyptian symbol for the generative forces, both male and female. It’s no accident that the loop looks something like a vulva and that the rest of the design could be interpreted as a male symbol. The way it’s used now—among people my age, people the, age you have become—is…well, a wife could give it to her husband, or a husband could give a smaller one to his wife. Or they might not be married—but it always means sexual love—flatly and no nonsense about it. If that’s not what you mean, Joan, if you just want to give him a nice necklace, take it back and exchange it for another that isn’t so specific in its symbolism. Any necklace means love—but perhaps you want one that a daughter could give her father.”