guess that’s why I liked going over to Susan’s place so much because there was sure a lot to eat there. Mrs Warwick even made her own bread. More than once Susan and I would demolish a whole loaf straight out of the oven. It was heaven and the best part was that Mrs Warwick didn’t mind one bit. She liked me maybe because I was polite and helpful; always minding my ps and qs so I would be invited back.
It was always hard to say goodbye at the end of summer. I hated it, blubbering like a baby every time; Susan too. We missed each other terribly but we wrote letters back and forth and at Christmas Susan would telephone. Not at my place, we didn’t have a phone but our neighbor did. It was always great to hear her voice, and her laughter.
By the time we were thirteen the main topic of conversation was boys and, well ... sex. Susan’s mother had given her a book. It was full of words like love, respect, unwanted pregnancies and VD. What we really wanted was a “how to” book but of course there was no such animal then and even if there were, I doubt whether we could have handled it. When one of the older boys told us what the word fucking meant both Susan and I were disgusted and said so simultaneously – yuck!
‘Lizzie, do you really think my parents did something like that?’
‘You’re here aren’t you?’
‘Yuck.’
‘I’ve got a confession to make Sue.’
Susan’s eyes sparkled in anticipation, ‘Yeah, what?’
‘I’ve told you my sister Debbie works at the bank, right?’ Susan nodded. ‘Well, sometimes I would wander down and, if she had cashed up to the penny, she could leave a little early and we’d go and get an ice cream or a coke or something. It was Easter time and … and I went to the bank just like always but the front door was locked and Debbie wasn’t behind the counter. She was in her boss’s office. I went around to the side of the building. The window was open just enough for me to hear her and him, moaning and groaning. I stood on a concrete block I found and peeked in.’
‘What did you see?’
‘The bank manager was fucking my sister up against the desk.’
‘Oh gosh, you actually saw them right in the middle of doing it?’
‘Yeah, butt crack and all.’
‘Did you … did you see … you know, his thing?’
‘No. His shirt was in the way.’
‘Did they see you?’
‘I didn’t think so, but … I was standing in front of the bank not knowing what to do or where to go when she grabbed me by the arm.’
‘Lizzie, we’ve got to talk.’
‘I remember how casual she was about it all. To her it was no big deal so I figured she had done it lots. Anyhow, when I asked her why, she told me that she had to or she’d lose her job.’
‘Lizzie, there are a dozen girls out there who would take my place just like that.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘If I lose my job, I lose my apartment and there’s no way I’m going back home, ever.’
‘So he’s making you do this or else? Jeez Deb, that’s not fair.’
‘Yeah well, when you get a little older you’ll find out that there’s a lot out there in the real world that isn’t fair. Get a good education Lizzie and when you do, get the hell out of this tin-pot town.’
2
It was 1969, the summer I turned sixteen and for the first time I was going to visit Susan in the U.S. For some reason the Warwicks decided not to take the cottage that summer so, as Susan put it, the mountain came to Mohammed; whatever that means.
We had a great time together and, as always, her parents were terrific. They trusted us totally and we never betrayed that trust, except … One day we took the bus into Boston, just the two of us. That bus trip would turn out to be a major turning point in my young life although I didn’t know it then.
Just after finishing lunch at a posh little sidewalk cafe, Susan made a telephone call.
‘I’ve just called my sister Barbara. She’s home and she’s invited us over. Come on, it’s not far; we can walk it.’
I had already noticed admiring glances earlier but as we crossed the Boston Common there were more; lots more. Maybe Susan and I asked for it because we were wearing mini-skirts, tight-fitting blouses and stiletto heels; around my neck, a brightly colored silk scarf. That was one of the first things I learned about men. They like women who wear scarves; why I don’t know. Gold bangles clattered on our wrists and matching hoop earrings dangled either side of my face, tickling me. We thought we were the “cat’s whiskers” and I guess, thinking back, we were.
Oh, to be sixteen again, and innocent.
It took every cent of my babysitting money but I managed to chemically eradicate the strawberry out of my hair which was long. Usually I wore it in either a ponytail or pigtails but today it hung loose and free down my back almost to my waist; a beautiful pearl blonde color. Fair hair, blue eyes, pale skin; my parents got all that right at least. When I entered puberty my freckles disappeared. What a relief that was!
Barbara Warwick’s apartment was just one street back from the Common. It was beautiful but more than that, it was elegant. For a sixteen year old this was absolute heaven. Shag pile carpets, glass top tables, a chandelier in the entrance hall and another over the dining room table, crystal lamps and a bed that was huge. The color scheme was white on white with splashes of color in the wall paintings, the throw pillows and the silk flower arrangements. I wondered about keeping it clean. Barbara must have picked up on that because she told us that she had a housekeeper who came in twice a week and did everything including the washing and the ironing.
When I asked Barbara what she did for a living, she smiled then quickly changed the subject. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to talk about it. That would come later.
Barbara suited the apartment because she was beautiful and elegant too. Just like her sister, she had long black hair and amazing blue eyes. When she opened the door she was dressed in a white silk negligee. Quite a bit of skin was showing and all of it was pale and flawless. She reminded me of Elizabeth Taylor, only taller.
Susan and I stayed for about an hour. Barbara was going out soon so she had to get ready and we had a bus to catch back to Concord.
*****
I returned to Huntsville a week before school started. I was miserable. Everything around me was depressing; everything and everyone. The day school started, I left town with all my worldly possessions stuffed in one small suitcase. I should have said goodbye but I didn’t possibly because I stole the money for the bus ticket from my brother Tom’s secret stash. He was saving up to buy a motorbike. As far as he knew, he had nearly enough.
‘Sorry Tom, I promise,
