Ashes of Camelot

"I have always been attracted to my own kind, I did like boys but only because it was the way I was supposed to act. Deep down I longed for the company of women, I felt safe with women. I only married Henry to satisfy my mother but the marriage was a sham, we were never intimate with each other."

I went to bed with my head in a whirl and for the first time I actually questioned my own sexuality for although I talked about being married one day, deep down I had no real desire for marriage. I found the conversations of my peers claustrophobic whenever they talked about men and how to attract men, it was as if our only purpose in life was to attract men. I understood the need, life begins with the union of man and woman, but what if some of us did not possess that desire? I loved my work at the library and found I savored each moment as if storing up for myself memories that would sustain me when I too had to submit to marriage.

I came to no firm conclusions before sleep finally claimed me but I resolved to find out more about Michelle. I was attracted to her and not in a sexual way. She did not talk about attracting the eye of men although she was certainly polite enough to them. I wanted to be more like her and less like me and yet I found the idea of having sex with a woman somewhat alien.

In the morning I found a note on the kitchen table next to a book, Odd Girl Out, by A. Bannon.

Dear Ellen,

I have gone downtown, I read this book a few years ago but kept it hidden for obvious reasons. Please do not read this in public.

Love, Michelle.

The cover showed a woman massaging another woman lying on a bed, the implication was obvious but I found myself in a quandary. Michelle had exposed herself so frankly I felt both drawn and repelled by homosexuality. Now she had given me a book to read that was purported to portray lesbian love in a graphic and shocking way. Was it indeed possible to love a woman in the same way as a man?

It was set in a fictional university in a mid western town. The main character was a lot like me, Laura was shy but drawn to Beth. By the time Michelle returned from downtown I was halfway through the third chapter. I read sporadically over the weekend but by late Sunday afternoon I reached the climax and my heart cried out for more as Laura gets on the train but Beth rushes off to catch Charlie.

Thankfully it was only the first book but it whetted my appetite for more, something that amused Michelle as she dutifully handed over I Am A Woman where Laura arrives in Greenwich Village and falls in with Marcie and eventually Beebo. The ending stunned me when Beebo and Laura walk out of the apartment arm in arm and I was hooked.

Over the next few weeks I read the other three books, Women In The Shadows, Journey To A Woman and Beebo Brinker. Michelle seemed to retreat from me while I was swimming in this brave new world but sometimes I'd surface to ask her a question about one of the characters or comment on a particular scene.

When I finally finished the Bannon books our private little world was rocked by two events. The first was the announcement that President Kennedy and the First Lady would visit Texas as part of his reelection bid and the second was the arrival of Michelle's parents. I'd heard enough about them, Michelle was quite open about them but hearing about them and meeting them was quite an experience.

Her father on the surface was much as she described. Jack Gates was conservatively dressed and polite, in many ways he reminded me of my own father. He treated his wife, Danielle with respect but I sensed a tension between mother and daughter, something whirling beneath the surface that could not be articulated and yet it was there all the same. Danielle was fashionably dressed in a skirt suit made popular by Jackie Kennedy although by mid afternoon she'd discarded the jacket to reveal the white blouse and fanned herself frequently, complaining of the Texas heat. It's a common topic in Texas when the conversation dries up. About that time I decided to water the flowers in the garden, leaving Michelle alone with her parents.

Not long afterwards however, I overheard part of a conversation when her mother shouted.

"God has a special place in hell for your kind, I curse the day I brought you into this world."

I froze, unwilling to go on and heard Jack respond with a sharp, "Danielle, enough of that."

"And you, you are just the coward. How can you look on her without disappointment."

"She's my daughter, goddammit, yours too."

A loud crash startled me, the sound of breaking china and then I heard Michelle yelling.

"I've had enough of you, I can't help what I am. If you can't accept me then it is on your head not mine, my conscience is clean."

"You don't have a conscience," her mother yelled back, "otherwise you wouldn't be living in sin with that woman!"

A door slammed and I hurried around to the back door to find Michelle lighting a cigarette on the back porch. Our eyes met and I froze in fear, she looked so angry that I thought she'd start yelling at me but then she realized I must have heard something because she sighed and leaned on the railing as she apologized.

"I'm sorry, she is difficult."

Jack stepped outside a few moments later and he winced when he saw me. Father and daughter looked at each other and he squeezed her shoulder and murmured something in her ear.

She blushed and then nodded.

"You're right of course," she went back inside and he adjusted his tie as I joined him on the dilapidated couch.

"We are not living in any kind of sin," I finally spoke up.

In answer he looked at me and something akin to a smile nudged his lips.

"It wouldn't matter if you were."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm an old man," he smiled, "I know I don't look that old but believe me I'm sixty five years old and I've seen enough of the world to know that the world is not so neat. I was a naïve young man when our unit was sent to France. What I saw there changed me as it changed those of us who survived. It was a man made hell of monstrous proportions and we never even saw the worst of the fighting but it taught me the futility of pandering to lofty ideals when all about men are bayoneting each other for a piece of boggy French soil."

He fumbled for a cigarette as he continued.

"Oh they speak of it as a grand crusade to stop the marauding Hun but try telling that to young men forced to go over the top and run into the murderous onslaught of German machine gun nests. I came out of that war determined to ensure the peace would continue and joined the diplomatic corps," he lit a cigarette.

"I've traveled the world since then, the Middle East, Africa, Singapore and even a brief stint in Soviet Russia when Stalin signed the treaty with Hitler. I've seen a lot of the world and met many different people. Travel is good for you, it broadens your horizons," he flicked ash onto the porch and shifted position.

"And it's one of the reasons I always insisted on taking my family with me whenever I was posted to a new consulate. Michelle's outlook on life is very much a result of her upbringing, but her marriage to Henry was not my idea. I thought him a self centered little man, more at home with his fancy Cadillac and an Ivy League education," the back door creaked and he glanced up as Michelle stepped outside again.

"Henry is like a lot of his kind, he thinks women should be put under a glass and admired. Not a hair out of place and wearing clothes that flatter their figure. Occasionally they lift the glass and let her breathe. I have lived long enough to know that such a condition is an unfortunate consequence of our desire to control the world around us. It is only when we smash the glass that we find freedom," he put his hand inside his jacket pocket and removed two tickets.

"Kennedy is one man who speaks of peace with the Soviets and many criticize him for wanting to smash the glass but I can easily admire a man like Kennedy," he held the tickets out to Michelle and smiled.

"He is speaking at the Doris Miller Auditorium on the twenty second. These are for you and a partner but perhaps you might like to take your friend, Ellen unless," he looked at me, "or maybe you would rather she went with someone else."

"Thank you, sir, I would like to go." I exhaled slowly.

"Happiness is doing what makes you happy," he stared at his daughter, "be happy and try not to worry about your mother. She'll come around eventually but if she doesn't your happiness is more important to you than anything."

It was a generous gesture and one that moved Michelle because she wiped at her eyes and thanked him. Jack merely nodded and smiled mysteriously as he inquired about eating establishments in town and that night he and his wife went out for dinner with Michelle. I was invited but declined and had a night in. When she returned I had just finished another book and she perched on the couch as she regarded me with a serious look.

"You do not have to come," she began, "but it will be a good opportunity, we would be mingling with some very important people, the governor will be there too."

"And you would not go as a man?"

"Heavens no," she smiled, "that is the beauty of being a lesbian. I can be a woman who loves women but I am not a replacement for a man, I am a woman who loves women. If you try to come out of the closet you are reviled and persecuted but in the confines of the closet you can find happiness. My father always says if you can't smell them you can't tell them, I do not openly state my sexuality because it would hurt my father's reputation and he has always been the man I most admire. For many years I looked for my father in other men but found only a pale reflection."

"This does not mean we will sleep together?"

"Would you sleep with a man who took you out?"

"I have never slept with a man," I responded.

"You are a virgin?"

"I am," I winced.

"So we will go to this dinner and then go home," she looked past me, "you do not mind that?"

"No, I don't," I inclined my head, "we are two women out for the night. This does not mean what you might think."

"I wasn't thinking that at all," she replied.

However I was thinking that and I admit the Bannon novels had awakened some desire within me, a feeling that all was not right with the world. I was beginning to question my crush on George. He was interested, or so I thought but he was also interested in other women as well. Had I waited too long or was my desire for him simply a way of marking time? Either way I suspected I would know enough by the 22nd to come to my own decision and as the day drew nearer I began flirting with the possibility of sex outside of marriage.

Would it really be sex if it was with a woman? Would I be dishonoring a husband in the future if I'd been with a woman instead of a man? Logic told me otherwise but still I found myself wondering about the intricacies of such an encounter. We would never marry or even out ourselves, this would be our secret but it would change our living arrangements and I was not sure I could maintain the facade for a long period of time.

Nevertheless, a date was a date and that required a dress. Normally we both shopped together, ever since she'd taken the room Michelle had been my stylist. I trusted her opinion more than any other woman's because she was a seasoned world traveler and infinitely more sophisticated. The day we went dress shopping must have looked completely innocent to a casual observer but for me at least it felt surreal. I was going shopping for a dress with my date and vice versa. Hence, I had to help her choose a dress that was flattering to her figure. I remember the moment of hesitation when she twirled in front of me and asked my opinion.

"You look, nice, beautiful even."

"Why thank you ma'am," she curtsied.

That last week I had my hair done and brought a picture of Jackie Kennedy simply because Michelle admired her so much, which wasn't an unusual thing by any means, many women wanted to look like her even if they didn't vote Democrat. My new hairdo finally attracted the eye of George Steele, and all I could think of was Laura in Odd Girl Out when he ambushed me in the parking lot and asked if I'd like to go to a dance that Saturday night.

I thought about it and said I'd think about it but I'd let him know on Friday. I thought it was the only excuse I could make without making it look as if I was rejecting him.

November 22nd, a day that will live long in my memory and I am not alone there. It was the day Kennedy was cut down by an assassin's bullet in Dealey Plaza, Dallas. A faculty head came into the library and I remember staring at him and wondering what was wrong. Richard Johnson never cried, Michelle once jokingly told him if he cried he'd rust.

"The President's been shot in Dallas," he told me.

I laughed at first out of shock and then dropped the pile of books on the floor. I stood looking at the books thinking I should pick them up and then looked at Richard and realized the impact of what he'd just said. He was wiping his eyes and my hand flew to my throat. The image of my dress hanging in the closet at home popped into my mind and then left just as quickly.

"Shot, how bad?"

"They think it's in the head," he bent down and started picking up the books, "we have to assemble in the cafeteria now."

I found Michelle in the cafeteria and she put her arm around me as the principal held up his hands for silence and solemnly announced that Walter Cronkite had just informed the nation that the President had died. There was a stunned silence as we turned to the silvery circle representing our most tangible link to the outside world. Walter Cronkite was visibly upset and that upset me almost as much. It began to sink in then as the principal informed us that classes were suspended for the day but some of the teachers would remain behind to supervise children until they could be collected from school. Michelle was one of those who volunteered to stay behind. I went home and was still glued to the television when she came home.

Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested and I memorized his face, determined that I should never forget it although at the time there was still some doubt as to if he was the sole shooter. Over the last few hours there had been eyewitness accounts of shots being fired from the grassy knoll overlooking Dealey Plaza.

"So that's the man?" Michelle sat down next to me.

"I hope he fries."

"Assuming he's guilty then oui," she murmured, "they were saying there could be others out there now, his associates."

"I think it's the Reds," I dabbed at my eyes, "to pay us back for the quarantine."

"Perhaps," she lit a cigarette, "but doubtful, he spoke of détente with the Soviets, so why would the KGB assassinate the first President since Roosevelt to offer up an olive branch?"

"I don't know," I confessed, "but they tried to kill De Gaulle."

"The OAS were not communists, they were French Algerians," she drew on the cigarette.

"This is something else, they are trying to blame Castro but this is too big for Fidel Castro. I fear they will use this as an excuse to invade Cuba."

"Maybe they should," I sank back against the back of the couch.

"Come," Michelle put an arm around me, "my shoulders are waterproof."

A good thing because I shed more tears that night and when exhaustion finally claimed me I crawled into her bed not mine. There was no suggestiveness in her offer and nothing happened that night except for the novelty of sleeping totally naked. Michelle had always slept naked, something I found strangely exciting and odd, tonight she let me snuggle up to her and we talked some more until finally I fell asleep.

Despite the tragedy I slept soundly. I woke sometime in the middle of the night to find her with her back to me and acting more on instinct I curled myself against her back and put my arm around her. She grabbed my hand and put it on her breast, which at any other time would have raised the alarm but tonight it felt natural, as if this was the way it should have been. I woke the next morning to find her out of bed and heard a male voice in the living room. Thinking it was a neighbor or maybe her father I just lay in bed until he left and she came through with my dressing gown.

"Oh, you're awake," she tossed the garment on the bed, "that was George stopping by to see if you're all right," she sat on the bed and lit a cigarette.

"He also said he would be staying home tonight."

"So no dancing for me," I sat up slowly and reached for the garment.

"There is always time for dancing," she smiled impishly, "get dressed and we will see what this sad day brings. War has not been declared, the sun is shining and I am hungry."

It occurred to me as I stood under the shower that I hadn't eaten much last night although I wasn't really in the mood. Other things came back to me about last night as well. Michelle's outlook on the tragedy was far more logical than mine, in some ways it was almost mannish. She raised questions that the media are only now starting to ask. Why was he riding in an open limousine in a city known to be hostile to the Democrats? Why didn't someone scout out the route beforehand? She knew a great deal about government protocols thanks to her father's job and she smelled something rotten but nothing much was mentioned for the rest of the day.

We did go downtown in the morning but the streets were pretty quiet and most people were still in shock. It was only when we passed the store where I'd bought my dress that I remembered where we should have been last night and felt an overwhelming sadness and some degree of guilt. Was this God's way of punishing me? Were my desires wrong? It was crazy thinking but it consumed me for the better part of the day until I fell asleep on the couch and woke to realize she was no longer in the room. Michelle had been watching television but had turned it off and I looked at the screen and contemplated turning it back on but the thought of seeing yet more news about the assassination made me feel ill. I had to do something to break free of the thick heaviness enveloping me and so I started cooking. Michelle came through from the bedroom sometime later, she'd showered and changed into a white blouse and black trousers and she managed a smile.

"Are we expecting guests?"

"Just one," I looked at her, "and she's already here."

"Oh," she looked at the table. I'd put candles on the table and a fresh tablecloth.

"Put on some music, I need to feel something."

"Any preference?"

"Pick something out."

Her choice was an L.P she'd bought just two weeks ago when we were out dress shopping, Elvis Presley's, Something For Everybody. It was the start of an enchanted evening of flirting small talk over dinner. Our own music played in the background while outside the world tried to come to grips with the murder of a president. There will be some who will say we were selfish but one cannot cry forever and life goes on regardless. People are born, fall in love, start new jobs and perform many other duties despite national tragedies here or abroad. Tonight we were having a private romantic dinner and I had no idea what to expect next. Did we just have another wine and watch television or sit and listen to the radio or play discs all night? I felt very much like Laura as I got up to wash the dishes but Michelle laid her hand on my wrist.

"I will wash them tonight, you have done enough."

That left me free to choose records and Michelle had amassed an impressive collection in the short time she'd been living with me although her parents had brought some over a few weeks ago. Of course my first choice was Let's Dance by Chris Montez and then I stumbled across Locomotion, The Twist and some others. It livened up the evening until sometime around nine or so when she put on an L.P, the soundtrack to Breakfast At Tiffany's and held out her hand for the much slower Moon River.