GINNY BATES: THE BAKELITE PHONE

Here's another installment of my Great American Lesbian Novel (in progress), Ginny Bates. If you are new to reading GB, go to the section in the right-hand column labeled Ginny Bates to read background and find out how to catch up.

2018

Charlie was robust and peaceful, but he needed something in his hands to be truly content. For Hanukkah Carly had given Myra a trio of “desk toys”, a small flat glass case on a pivot with a miniature slow-breaking wave of blue liquid inside; a set of six silver balls suspended by black strings in a row, which when pulled back singly, in twos or threes would smack back and forth in matching sets, demonstrating transference of energy; and a Plexiglas case inset with hundreds of dull pins in which one could push the shape of a hand, a face, or any other object. This latter toy kept Charlie captivated. Myra would sit at her desk with him tied in a sling in her lap, able to focus on her writing without interruption from him.

The interruptions came from Leah, who was reluctant to give up her place in Myra's lap. Every so often during play downstairs with Ginny, Leah would trundle over to the stairs and yell up “Gramma? Gramma!”

Myra would walk over and reply, “I'm here.” Leah would say “I need to see you.” Myra sent the elevator down, with the button set to return because Leah was too short to reach any of the buttons. A minute later, Leah would arrive joyously and ask “Read me something?”

She'd be given one of Myra's thighs to perch on, coexisting graciously with Charlie, as Myra pulled out a poetry book and selected a poem. Like all of the children, Leah was especially fond of “The Highwayman”. Ginny had pointed out that when Myra read the part where Bess found the trigger of the musket with her bound hands and stopped struggling, sitting upright at attention -- “The trigger at least was hers” -- Leah would get a deathly serious expression on her face, her back stiff, her forefinger curled as if cradling the trigger. Ginny said Gillam had done exactly the same thing as a toddler when Myra read him that poem.


Myra's memoir, Hand to Hand, was published in mid February. Allie's book Erasure came out five days after Myra's. They persuaded their agents to collaborate on a joined book tour for seven of Myra's 12 readings, beginning in Seattle and traveling down to Portland, SF and LA, then flying together to Atlanta, DC, Boston, and New York. Ginny and Edwina joined them on the East Coast. Myra and Ginny continued on alone to Chicago, Minneapolis, Kansas City, Denver, and Vancouver before returning home to grandchildren suffering an outbreak of ringworm and early spring colds.

MOMA had made an exchange with Ginny for the rights to use "Hettie" on Myra's book cover. In return, they wanted to license the image for reproduction on Flashbags.

"Those wonderful bags Liza sells?" asked Myra.

"She's a retailer for them, but it's not her company, it's a big national business now" said Ginny. "We'll get a tiny percentage of what MOMA gets."

"I think you should do it" said Margie. "In fact, I think you should contract with Flashbags directly for some of your other paintings. You two have no idea how much impact you have out there, how much the public is hungry for pictures and information about our tight little family here."

"Just because they're hungry, doesn't mean we should give it to them" objected Myra. "I mean, the fawning adoration I get at my blog is plain weird. People act like I can do no wrong, that everything I think and say is brilliant. I'll agree I'm smarter than the average bear, but there's an intimacy and longing to their assumptions about me, it's creepy."

"Like men ogling you on the street" agreed Ginny.

"So keep giving them real information" said Margie. "And make some money from it. I think you should offer "Myra With Hands On Fire", and one of Mom's self-portraits -- "

"No naked ones" said Myra.

Margie snorted. "Okay for display in your own windows, but not to sell as art? Whatever. Plus the ones of me and Gillam as kids. You could use the money for the educational trusts of the next generation." She knew that would make them pause.

"I get requests all the time for something of Daddy's" mused Ginny. "I could let them use the skimmers drawing, and give that money to Nate and Noah for their kids."

"Anything with a gecko in it would go over big, too. And the new Skene book, that map you've drawn, Mom? Release it in advance of the book and it'll generate sales back and forth" said Margie, who knew her market.

In April, for Heroic Quest Day Myra taught the story of Harriet Tubman and got permission from Jane to use their pool as the Ohio River. The children escaped from plantations all over Myra's yard. At one point, Margie's gate rattled and swung open, with Moon and Gidge racing gladly toward the children. Mimi and David ran screaming to hide, while Leah, taking her turn as Harriet, stood her ground but clung to Myra's knee with her fist.

Margie, following the dogs, said “What on earth?”

“They think you're the paddyrollers, hunting them down to return them to bondage” explained Myra.

“Oh” said Margie. “Nay, sistren and brethren, I am Marjorie Morningstar, a Quaker conductor on the underground railroad, here to help you. My companions here, uh, Obadiah and Charity, mean to throw off the scent and cover your escape.” She played for a few minutes before going on her walk.

Eventually the band made their way through the Cumberland Gap (Jane and Gillam's gate) into the Mountains of Kentuck. Ginny had Charlie in a sling, and when they got to Ohio, she magically appeared on the other side as an abolitionist receiving them in the dead of night. Myra helped the older children into an inflatable raft, giving them each an oar and telling them the dangers they had to dodge in the treacherous river. She let them do their own paddling, as best they could, and surreptitiously used her oar to drag down their crossing. By the time they reached Ginny, all three children were flushed and sweaty.

When Myra clambered, none too gracefully, from the raft, she was on her knees. She bent over to kiss the ground and say “Free at last, free at last, great god almighty, free at last.” To her complete surprise, she burst into tears.

Leah leaned over her back and began crying also. Mimi dropped to her knees to kiss the ground beside Myra, and David said “Godamighty.” They rested a while before Harriet returned south of the Mason-Dixon to bring more people to freedom.

On the following Dance Day, Ginny created a new dance, a kind of conga line to the tune of “Harriet Tubman” where each new pilgrim grabbed the hand of whoever was at the end as they sang “Come on up, I got a lifeline, come on up to this train of mine.” The children brought it to the next singing potluck and the whole family snaked through the house, traveling together to liberation.

By this time, Jane was five months pregnant. Her due date was in August, which made Myra giddy with the prospect of a Leo grandchild. Gillam reported, with a furious expression, that one of Jane's brothers had asked them if they were trying to be a Quiverfull family.

Birthday season was about to commence. Myra and Ginny decided to add on another festivity, a celebration of their 32nd anniversary. On Saturday in late April, Ginny was halfway through a painting while Myra began calling people to issue invitations for their party.

One call was cut short. Myra looked at her beloved Bakelite phone, puzzled and upset. She called out to Ginny.

"Gin? Ginny!"

Ginny stepped into the doorway, a small frown on her face. She had on a T-shirt because it was an unusually chilly day.

"I just had the weirdest call with Patty. I invited her to our dinner, and she said 'I never want to lay eyes on Ginny Bates again.' I thought she was joking, but her voice was strange, and hostile. I asked what on earth she was talking about, and she said to ask you. She said she needed to call Carly, and she hung up on me. Did you two have a fight?"

Ginny froze, completely motionless, for a long minute. Myra saw all the color drain from her face.

"Ginny, are you okay?"

Ginny walked over to Myra's daybed and sat down on the edge of it, not looking at Myra. She lay her brush on the floor without any sort of protection, something Myra had never seen her do. Her hands were trembling.

"My god, Ginny, what is wrong?" Myra scooted her chair toward Ginny.

Ginny finally raised her eyes and looked at Myra. Myra didn't recognize her eyes. Ginny said in a hollow voice "I have to tell you something."

"You're scaring the shit out of me, Ginny."

"I love you, Myra. Please -- please don't forget that." Ginny put one hand up to her forehead, then laid it back in her lap. "I had a sexual encounter with Pat Prewitt."

Myra gave a single laugh, but cut it off. "You -- what, sex? You and Pat?" Her stomach dropped out from under her. After a few seconds she said "Before she got together with Patty? Why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

Ginny didn't appear to be breathing. She said "Not then......In 2004."

Myra stopped breathing, too. "No. No, that's not possible. We were a couple then."

Ginny just looked at Myra, not speaking.

"You cheated on me? With Pat?"

At that moment, the Bakelite right beside Myra's elbow rang loudly. She glanced at it involuntarily; the caller ID showed Gillam's name. She looked back at Ginny, letting the phone ring.

"Tell me this is not true. Please, Ginny. Please."

"It's true, Myra. I've...I guess Patty just found out. Myra, I didn't mean it, it had nothing to do with how I love you -- "

"You cheated on me? And you never told me, all this time, what, fourteen years it's been? You had an affair and lied all this time?"

"Not an affair. It was just one time."

Myra stood up. Ginny was suddenly afraid.

"Get out" said Myra. "Get out of my sight."

Ginny stood up and said "Myra, talk to me -- "

"I said Get out." Myra's voice was vicious.

Ginny moved into the entryway, but kept facing Myra. "Myra, oh my god, please don't shut -- "

The phone rang again. Myra wheeled and grabbed up the entire phone, jerking it savagely from the wall. She pivoted violently, raising her arm and throwing the phone as hard as she could. It sailed by Ginny's face, missing by only a few inches, and hit the glass wall over the stairwell with resounding force. The thick window shattered outward, huge jagged pieces of glass arcing out and down into the yard, following the phone's trajectory. Another spray of glass and smaller shards came inward from the edges, scattering across Ginny's daybed and the stairs.

"Get out, get out, get out!" screamed Myra, her face scarlet.

Ginny turned and walked toward the head of the stairs. She stepped on a shard of glass that tore into her instep, but she didn't notice. She walked slowly, numbly down the stairs, leaving a bloody right footprint on every other tread. She went to the back door and walked out barefoot into the side yard. Just as she reached the phone, lying on the grass near the fishpond, the side gate opened and Margie said "Hey, Mom, I heard something -- "

Margie looked upward, at the gaping hole where the glass wall panel used to be. She pushed Moon and Gidge back into her yard, closing the gate against them. Then she looked at Ginny and her expressionless face the color of raw canvas. "What happened?"

Ginny picked up the phone and began winding the cord around it mechanically. "Myra threw the phone at me. I just told her that I had a sexual encounter with Pat when you were fifteen."

"Mom..." said Margie. "Mama -- you did? Are you -- come on, Mama, let's get you in the house."

Margie began leading Ginny by the arm. At the back door, she saw the blood on the steps and stopped Ginny, had her lift her foot. She pulled the glass out of Ginny's sole and then led her inside to the dining table.

"Sit here. I'm getting the first aid kit."

She came back with the kit and a wet washcloth which she used to gently wash Ginny's foot. Ginny was motionless and silent. Margie cleaned out the wound with hydrogen peroxide and wasn't sure if Ginny should have stitches or not. Finally she put a thick gauze bandage over the hole and taped it down. She kissed Ginny's forehead, noting that her skin was icy cold. She pulled two aspirin out of the first aid kit and went into the kitchen for a glass of water.

As she was at the tap, Myra came down the front stairs. She paused when she saw Margie, then Ginny sitting beyond her at the table. Ginny looked at her and said "I told her."

"Well aren't you the picture of honesty, fourteen fucking years too late" said Myra. The tone of her voice shocked Margie mute. Margie took the water to Ginny, who set it on the table without drinking. Her gaze was fixed on Myra. Her expression was haunted.

Myra walked into the kitchen to the corner of the counter where her car keys and billfold lay. As she picked these up, Ginny got to her feet suddenly and limped to end of the kitchen, where Myra would have to brush past her to get out. "Where are you going?" said Ginny urgently.

"None of your fucking business" said Myra. "You have no connection to my life any more."

Margie didn't know what to do. A flicker of motion in the back yard drew her attention, and she turned to see Gillam walking toward the back door. She went to meet him. As she opened the door, he was staring down at the bloody footsteps on the entry.

"What's happened here?" he said. "Nobody picked up the phone -- "

Margie took his arm and leaned into him. "Something terrible. Mama -- Ginny had an affair with Pat Prewitt when we were teenagers, and Myra just found out about it. Myra broke the glass wall upstairs throwing something at Ginny. She's leaving her, Gillam. They're breaking up. We have to stop them."

He could barely take this in. As he stared at her, they heard Myra's shout from the kitchen "Get out of my fucking way, you cunt!" Shock rang through his system. Margie said "We have to do something."

"What? What do we do?" he said, watching Ginny stand immobile, an unbelievably desperate expression on her face.

"We have to not leave them alone with this" said Margie, turning toward the kitchen. Then she said "Do you have your cell? Call Allie. Tell her it's an emergency."


© 2008 Maggie Jochild.

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