Yes/No (1943)
He kissed her like he was trying to breathe the very air out of her. At least that’s how she thought of it afterwards; in the moment, she couldn’t think sensibly at all. It had been a long time since she’d been kissed like that. If ever.
With reckless abandon, she thought, smiling to herself. He kisses me with reckless abandon.
Julie’s life had very little abandon in it, reckless or otherwise. The war was on, and everyone stayed buckled down. No room for frivolity. The news was grim, and the pleasant things in life were in short supply. Even the necessary things, such as meat, stockings, rubber. Fuel. Eligible young men.
Julie did without, uncomplainingly. She was a girl of nearly thirty, and had always been sensible, even before the war. When none of the boys she favored had proposed marriage after high school, she had enrolled in a business course at the junior college: typing, filing, shorthand. And when none of the boys in junior college had proposed either, she had taken a job with an insurance company.
All of the young men at her company had fiancées, and then wives. It was not very long before Julie stopped thinking about marriage and children. For herself, anyway. Her brother’s wife had given him two beautiful little darlings, and Julie was happy to be their doting aunt.
She took two small rooms downtown, closer to her job, when her parents had gently suggested that they were thinking of selling their big house and moving somewhere warmer, and didn’t she want to be with other young people anyway?
Then she surprised herself by actually enjoying her job. She had worked more than seven years for the same company, slowly rising from the typing pool, to junior supervisor, to becoming senior supervisor of all the office girls. The girls liked her, and recommended the company to their friends. In addition, she’d been there longer than many of the young salesmen and account managers. Mr. Robertson, president of the company, sometimes joked that she knew his job better than he did. “Julie, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, which made her proud, and a little sad.
When the war came, all of the young men enlisted, of course. The company tightened its belt, and the older men took on extra work. The need for insurance, alas, did not diminish during wartime; quite the opposite. A few of the younger office girls came to Julie, sounding her out about the idea of trying out sales. “Just for now, until the men come back, of course,” Ruby, their spokesman, had said. But the eager light in Ruby’s eyes spoke of a far greater ambition, and something else behind it.
Julie had tried to hide her shock. She didn’t like to say no, and she didn’t like to appear stodgy, like an old schoolmarm. But it was only common sense that the insurance-buying public would not have confidence in a girl salesman. Steelworkers and riveters were one thing; insurance was quite another. And Ruby would have known that, if she’d been only a little older. “I’m sorry,” Julie had said to her. “I cannot support that.”
Then Mr. Robertson happened upon Ruby and one of the married salesmen in the office late one evening, in a compromising position. Naturally, he fired her on the spot, and spoke very severely to the man.
The resultant exodus of office girls, supporters of the hapless Ruby, was no less disappointing for its having been anticipated. “It’s all right, Julie,” Mr. Robertson told her. “We’ll muddle through somehow.”
She worked longer hours, as did everyone else. There was really nothing else to do but work. And she took pride in her labors. It was an important service the company provided. Solace in times of trouble. A helping hand.
Mr. Robertson took on a new man early in 1943. He’d been honorably discharged from the army after being wounded in Europe. “I don’t know what’s the matter with him, though, he looks perfectly all right to me,” he told Julie.
“It’s wonderful that we’ll be getting more help,” she said, and she meant it.
Irving Brown did indeed appear healthy. He was missing no limbs; he didn’t even walk with a limp. He had no visible scars, two blue eyes, and a fine head of thick sandy-brown hair. Of course Julie could not ask him about his war experience. He would talk if he wanted to. Meanwhile, there was much to be done.
She had the charge of getting him settled in his office, explaining to him how the typing pool assignment system worked, introducing him around, scavenging for what little scraps of office provisions could be had. He was gracious and kind to her, thanking her for her help at every opportunity.
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Brown,” she said, at the end of the first week. “Really, there’s no need to keep thanking me.”
“Please, call me Irv,” he said, looking at her and smiling. She noticed then that his eyes were a rather striking shade of bright blue, then quickly looked away, chiding herself for such foolishness. She had already noticed the golden band he wore on his left hand, and she had seen the framed picture of his pretty little wife, which he had placed on the corner of his desk, beside his telephone.
Successful salesmen did not spend a lot of time in the office. After his first week, Irving Brown quickly settled into the regular routine of checking in at the beginning or end of a day, or sometimes traveling farther, staying away a few days at a time. Julie felt a small glimmer of what might have been relief when she saw him at the end of the second week and her gaze did not immediately dart to his lovely eyes. Good: she had no intention of becoming sweet on a married man. It was just the novelty of him, that was all. Nice young men were such a rarity these days.
And he was very young, she reminded herself. Not even twenty-five.
“I know you can help me,” he said to her, with his pleasant grin. It was noon on a Wednesday; she was startled to run into him in the hallway. Her jacket was over her shoulder and she clutched her handbag.
She quickly smiled back at him, regaining her equilibrium. “Of course, Mr. Brown. What do you need?” She started to turn, to put back her things; lunch could wait.
“No, don’t—you’re on your way out,” he said.
“Not a bit,” she said, not stopping.
He caught up with her and took her arm. “Julie—you see, what I want help with is, I’m starving, and I have no idea where to get a decent lunch around here.” He laughed at her expression and went on. “And it appears that great minds think alike: I was just going to ask you where to go, and you’re already on your way. So turn back around right this instant, and I’ll follow you.”
She studied him a moment, then shook her head. “Oh, no, Mr. Brown. It’s a terrible little place, you don’t want to eat there.”
He still held her arm, and was guiding her to the outer hallway, where he pressed the elevator button. “Please call me Irv, and I absolutely do want to eat at your terrible little place.”
She had no choice. They argued gently all the way down in the elevator, but she had clearly lost, and in a minute they were around the corner and had found seats side by side at “her” lunch counter. Gertie, the waitress, greeted them both warmly.
“This is Mr. Brown,” Julie told her. “He’s our new salesman.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Gertie said. “Coffee?”
Lunch passed pleasantly, whenever Julie forgot to be embarrassed about taking him to such a humble eatery. Because it didn’t matter in the least—clearly he didn’t mind. Probably he’d seen far worse in the army. She wondered again about his experience in the war, but did not ask. They talked only of the present, and the future.
He told her about his wife, Mary, the high school sweetheart who had waited for him to come home. They’d been married less than a year; Mary wanted to start a family right away, but Irv didn’t want to rush into things. He hoped they could wait a while, until he got a bit more established.
He also asked Julie about her life: her parents, her schooling, her work with the company. “But what do you do for fun?” he abruptly asked, as Julie was dabbing a stray fleck of mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth.
“Fun?” she asked. “What do you mean?”
He laughed again, and put a gentle hand on her arm, just for a moment. His bright blue eyes flashed, and she blushed. “Julie, Julie, Julie-a! Fun—a girl your age must have a fascinating life here in the big city. Do you go to movies, go on dates with attractive young suitors? Do they take you out to shows, to the opera, to museums? Do you knit or sew, or cook, or keep too many cats? Do you read great books, write poetry, go on long walks in the park? I know you don’t work all the time, though our dear Mr. Robertson wouldn’t mind if we all did.”
A girl your age. Julie wondered if he knew just how old she was. But she smiled and tried to match his teasing tone. “Why, Irv! Knitting, sewing, too many cats? I must seem quite the old maid to you.”
He paled, and his smile faltered just a bit. “Oh, no, no, not at all, Julia—Julie—can I call you Julia? It seems to fit you better than Julie. More…” then he broke off. “I’m sorry. I’m being foolish.”
“Julia’s fine,” she said. It was her formal name, though nobody used it. She liked how he said it, the extra syllable rolling off his tongue. You can call me anything you like.
They left the lunch counter soon thereafter, realizing that over an hour had gone by. She quickly got back to work, and he disappeared on his own errands.
After that, she didn’t see Irv for a few days. When she did, it was only in passing, and not at lunchtime. And then one Friday night she was working late. One of the newest girls had completely botched a typing job, and then collapsed into tears. Julie had been prepared to reprimand her when one of the other girls took her aside.
“It’s her William…” she whispered, eyes downcast. “He’s…she got the telegram this morning.”
“Oh my word,” Julie breathed. “Why didn’t she tell me? Why did she come in today?” Nobody would have expected the girl to work when her fiancé had been killed.
“She didn’t want you to feel sorry for her…she needs the money, too, I guess.”
“Oh my word,” Julie said again.
She sent the poor girl home, after sitting with her in the powder room for half an hour, letting her sob onto her shoulder. Then it was six o’clock, time for the rest of the girls to leave. Very little had been accomplished, so Julie stayed in the office to redo the typing job, and finish up everything else that had been left.
She was typing away when she caught sight of movement out of the corner of her eye. “Who’s there?” she called out, her fingers poised over the typewriter keys. She half-rose, peering down the hallway.
Irv appeared, grinning sheepishly, holding his briefcase. His light summer overcoat was draped over his arm. “Oh, it’s you!” he said. “I heard typing as I came in—lightning fast, too! I didn’t want to disturb the girl who was working late. I just needed to drop these papers off in my office.” He patted his briefcase. “I sold the Alberts.”
Julie got up and came over to him, smiling. “Congratulations! You’ve been working on them for some time!”
“Yes, they gave me quite a struggle. But in the final analysis, they were no match for me!” He was ebullient, rosy with his accomplishment. Or maybe it was just the heat of the day, which hadn’t yet receded into night.
“I’m so happy for you,” she said, and meant it. Then she glanced back at the typewriter.
“Oh, I don’t mean to keep you,” he said quickly. “I’ll just put these papers away and be out of your hair.”
“It’s no trouble at all!” she said. “But I know you’ll want to be getting home, Mary will be waiting.”
Irv shrugged. “She’s at her mother’s this weekend—I’m a bachelor. Alas.”
“Alas,” Julie echoed.
They stood facing one another in the darkened office for a moment too long. Julie then took a delicate step backwards. “So!”
“So,” he said. Then he turned and went down the hall to the salesmen’s office.
She sat back down at the typewriter and immediately began pounding away at the keys, as if she was trying to beat the very life out of them. Her breathing was shallow and hot at the top of her chest, and she could hardly see what she was typing. You are a fool, Julie Gibson, an absolute horrible fool, and you need to leave that man alone. He’s only being friendly.
“Hey, ease up, Julia-girl, you don’t want to hurt the poor thing.” She started; she hadn’t heard him come back, but there he was, standing in the doorway of the small room that made up the typing pool. His coat was now on, despite the heat.
“Oh!” she said, and blushed. Seemed like this man made her blush with easy regularity. Only because she was such a fool.
“It’s late,” he went on. “And I’ve got nobody to cook me dinner at home.” He made a big pretend frown. “Come out with me, we’ll get dinner and I’ll walk you home. You shouldn’t be working this late. Robertson’s a slave driver.”
“I—” She had started to say I shouldn’t, and then glanced down at what she had been typing. Pure gibberish. She was in no condition to do a decent job of it anyway. She might as well give up for the day; she could finish the job Monday morning. “All right,” she said, getting to her feet. She yanked out the ruined page, crumpled it, then covered the typewriter. “But—” And then she didn’t know how to say what she needed to say.
He looked at her, quizzically, his lovely eyes gentle and friendly. “But?”
She forced it out in a quick rush. “But you’re a married man, and I’m not—”
He interrupted her. “Julia, Julia, please. Of course not. Dinner. We’re colleagues, friends.”
Now she was embarrassed: what must he think of her? Desperate old maid… But then he smiled again, a look full of warm understanding. “It’s all right.” And he touched her arm again, still briefly, but with genuine caring underneath it, she felt. “You must be starving.”
They went to a restaurant which was much fancier than Julie could afford. Irv would not hear of letting her share in the cost. “We’re celebrating, come on! The Alberts account! Why, I could dine out here for a month on my commission!”
He ordered champagne, and insisted she order the lobster. And after her second glass of the bubbly elixir, she was relaxed and a little silly. “You’re such a breath of fresh air around here,” she said, meaning the company.
“Yes, not many young fellows around, I suppose,” he said, clearly meaning the city in general. Then she felt even sillier.
But the evening went well anyway, despite the occasional awkwardness. And she was surprised to find it was over when it was; and, further, that three hours had passed.
He walked her home, as promised. They paused at her doorstep, and she agonized. Did he expect her to invite him in? Because of course she couldn’t. Because of course she wouldn’t.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening, Julia,” he said, warmly.
“Oh no, thank you!” she said, a little too quickly.
He shook her hand and then vanished into the night.
It wasn’t quite a week later when he kissed her for the first time.
She knew she hadn’t been a fool, knew she hadn’t been imagining his regard for her, though she’d passed a bad enough night of it, after their dinner when he’d signed the Alberts. But this came about completely simply. It was another late night in the office. He came in and found her alone in the typing pool, as before.
“I thought I’d find you here,” he said, smiling. “You really shouldn’t work so hard.”
She smiled thinly back at him. “I suppose the work will just do itself, then, Mr. Brown?”
He feigned shock, standing over the typing desk. “Oh, ‘Mr. Brown’ it is now? Ah Julia, you break my heart.”
She grinned then, all peevishness gone. “Well, Irv, it’s true. Just look at all this.” She waved a hand, indicating the piles of typing, then got to her feet. She didn’t like him looming over her, standing while she was sitting. “And what else have I got to do with my time anyway?”
She hadn’t meant it to sound so pathetic—merely off-hand—but then he frowned and took a half step closer to her. “Oh, Julia.” He gently took her hand. Her heart leaped in her throat, but she didn’t take her hand back. “Julia.” She loved to hear him say it, low and soft. She closed her eyes, and that’s when he reached up and caressed the soft skin under her earlobe. Another thrill of pleasure wavered through her. She opened her eyes just as he leaned in for a kiss.
She lifted her face, ready for the soft, tentative kiss she’d thought was coming. Instead, he almost devoured her. He kissed her hungrily, his mouth open, his tongue greedily exploring her mouth, his gorgeous blue eyes tightly shut. She was astonished, taken completely aback…and she loved it.
After the shock of the first moment, she kissed him back equally hungrily. And she was indeed hungry: no one had kissed her in some time.
A minute or an eternity later, he pulled away, removing his hand from the small of her back where it had been clinging desperately. “Oh, Julia—really—” Now he blushed, and blinked those eyes at her.
Her hand fluttered to her throat. “Irv, I’m—”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He was already backing away from her. She reached out, her small hands ineffectually trying to keep him, to not let him go. But he again vanished into the night, his summer-weight overcoat fluttering behind him.
Despite her hesitations, her blushes, her unmarried situation, Julie was no inexperienced virgin. She’d had the usual everything-but fumblings with boys in high school, and she’d had a mature sexual affair with a man when she was in college. He had been one of her professors, so it could never lead to anything, of course. She had not been in love with him, but had welcomed the experience; he had ridded her of her virginity, and taught her a thing or two about men. And then only three years ago, she’d had a close friendship with a much older married man. Very, very close, and, naturally, absolutely discreet. She’d learned even more from him than she had from the professor. Ultimately, he’d developed a health condition, and drawn closer to his long-estranged wife. She hadn’t been in love with him either, but she was grateful for his regard, and for the good times they’d shared.
Which was why she was so surprised, and dismayed, and, well, she might as well face it, flummoxed at this situation with this very young man, Irving Brown. Because it was suddenly beginning to seem as though she’d developed rather strong feelings for him.
“And he’s not merely married, he’s a newlywed, too,” she chided herself, alone in her rooms, washing up after another cheese-and-crackers supper. “You are a tremendous fool, Julie Gibson. You need to stop this right now, and not another word about it.”
Girls who live alone do tend to develop the habit of talking to themselves. Julie knew that. It was all right; she only tried to be mindful not to let it happen when others were around.
Tremendous fool or not, she could not help but follow Irving Brown with her eyes whenever he was in the office. And it was not long before there was another late night alone together, and another terrible, wonderful kiss.
“We can’t do this,” she breathed, coming up for air, resting her head against his strong chest.
He stroked her hair, then kissed the top of her head. “It’s crazy.”
“I mean, Mary…” she tried.
“She’d die. She’d kill me.” He sighed into her hair. “But I just…I can’t stand it. I can’t stop thinking about you.” He kissed her earlobe, tenderly, with all the gentleness that his regular kisses lacked. “And I just wonder…” He didn’t finish the thought.
“She loves you.” It was said as a statement, but it was in fact a question. Why was a man who had been married less than a year kissing another girl? An old maid at that—nearly thirty, more than five years older than he?
“She loves me.” It was another statement, and an answer.
Julie tried not to sigh into his chest. Instead, she lifted her face for another kiss. Which he willingly gave, and then some.
“And I love her.” He suddenly pulled away again, holding Julie firmly by the forearms, holding her away from him, as if she were protesting, as if she were trying to fold back into his arms. Which, by now, she wasn’t. She was no fool, was Julie. Even if every fiber in her being was yearning to fall back into him, to be consumed completely, to give herself fully to him… She knew his moment of fleeing, perhaps even before he did.
After that, though, he’d kiss her whenever he got the chance. She manufactured reasons to stay late, and it seemed as though he did as well. Although he wouldn’t talk about it. She understood that. Talking about it made it real. Just doing it…it could always be an accident, a mishap, a chance circumstance…
She always kept half an ear alert for Mr. Robertson, for the footfall that would lead to their discovery, her ruin. Every day that it didn’t come, when she’d walk back home alone and safe, she’d give in to the terrible relief, and tell herself she had to stop. But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t give Irv up.
Her heart begged to talk of it with him. Sometimes he would allow a light banter, a flirtation. Julie, no good at flirtation, always overdid it, then retreated, blushing, furious at herself.
Then she went too far. “Because I’m in love with you,” she’d said, lightly, in response to nothing at all, just some random comment he’d made, about something he liked that now she liked too. She’d meant it but she hadn’t meant it, “in love with” being, in her mind, a slightly, but importantly, different thing from that which leads a person to say, “I love you.”
The moment the words left her lips, she knew it was a mistake. He drew back from her, shock and dismay in those bright blue eyes. “Julie, no,” he said.
He hadn’t said Julia. Her eyes widened, but then he kept talking as he backed away, towards the doorway.
“No, you can’t do that, you can’t be in love with me. It’s all well and good, the kissing, spending a few moments together at the end of the day—but if this is going to lead to love, I—I just can’t do it. I can’t.” He turned and started to flee.
“Irv, wait!” she called, starting after him.
He turned at the elevators, holding his hands out in front of him. “No, this has gone too far. It’s wrong. I’m a heel and I never should have started. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry!” she cried. “Stop, wait, I don’t—” She had started to say I don’t love you, but was afraid it was a naked lie.
He caught the hesitation, and he knew. The elevator arrived, and he stepped into it. “I’m sorry, Julie,” he said again as the door started to close. “I have to go home.”
He was a decent man, and they still had to work together. He did not avoid her, but he no longer found her alone at the end of the day. Julie nursed her heartache, worked even harder, and the pain eventually muted. Summer turned into autumn. Irv was perfectly friendly to her whenever he saw her, and she appreciated that. She was happy not to have ruined their friendship. He was indeed a nice man.
Sometimes the whole company would go out for a drink after work, celebrating a big sale, or someone’s birthday. Once or twice Irv even walked her home after one of these evenings, but he was a perfect gentleman, leaving her at her door without a hint of their previous passion. Julie was pleased to note that even her longing was fading into a dull memory.
It was after one of these company outings that he’d asked her—just making conversation, she’d thought—what plans she had for Thanksgiving. “Oh, nothing, really,” she’d said. Her parents had moved down south, too far to travel for the day; her brother and his family would be going to his wife’s people, as they generally did. “I’ll have a quiet dinner, enjoy the day off.” Actually, she’d been thinking she might go in to the office. It would be nice to get caught up.
Irv stopped on the street. “Julie! You can’t, that’s perfectly awful. You must come to our house. Mary’s cooking, we’re having some neighbors in, she’s so excited—her first big holiday meal. And she’s been wanting to meet you.”
Oh she has, has she? Julie thought, but she was deeply touched by the invitation all the same. “No, Irv, I couldn’t, but that’s so sweet of you.” She moved to take his arm again, but he wouldn’t keep on. People were walking around them, two stationary objects in the flood of pedestrians hurrying home through the autumn chill.
“No, I won’t take no for an answer,” he said, his mouth a stubborn line. But she could see he was trying not to grin. “I will stand here until you agree.” Then his eyes narrowed and he looked at her more closely. “Julie…you were going to go to work on Thanksgiving Day, weren’t you?”
She still could not lie to him. “Well, I don’t know, I…”
His fantastic laughter rang out on the street, startling the passers-by. “I thought so! No, that is simply impermissible. You are coming to our house for Thanksgiving, and I won’t hear anything more about it.”
“All right, Irv,” Julie smiled. Then he let her take his arm again, and he safely delivered her home.
She dressed and undressed several times Thanksgiving morning, struggling to find just the correct dress to wear to the Browns’. She wanted to look respectful—and respectable—but not overdo it. All her dresses were so dowdy! She sighed, standing in front of her hall mirror. Julie was not overly vain, but she did like to look nice. Thanksgiving was a festive holiday, a celebration; she couldn’t look dour. This navy blue was no good.
She went back to her closet. There was a red dress, but red was more Christmas. Brown was just depressing; black was formal, and funereal. Flowers were spring.
Finally, she settled on a sort of drab olive-green pleated skirt with a bright white blouse. She pinned her grandmother’s milk-glass broach to the front of the blouse, added a cardigan sweater in a lighter shade of green, and threw her camel overcoat on over the whole ensemble. It would have to suffice.
The streetcar ride out to the Browns’ house was long and slow, giving her plenty of time to work herself into a good state of nerves about meeting Mary. Which turned out to be completely unnecessary. The pretty young thing welcomed her warmly at the door, taking both of her hands in hers. “Julie, so nice to meet you! Irv has told me so much about you, how much you help him at the office.”
“Thank you, yes,” Julie said, a little flustered.
“Come on in! What can I get you to drink?”
Julie followed Mary into the warm living room and accepted a glass of punch. She met the friendly couple who lived down the street and also had no place to go for the holiday. “A bunch of strays, I’ve gathered!” Mary laughed, and then blushed, looking at Julie. “No offense.”
Julie laughed as well. “None taken. I’m happy to be included.”
All in all, it was a most pleasant afternoon. Mary was bright and charming, and utterly adorable. She showed Julie all around the house, including what was to be the baby’s room. Julie detected no sign of wistfulness in Mary’s voice while they were in the brightly painted nursery, just a proud determination. She found herself wondering yet again what Irv had been thinking, making time with Julie when he had such a sweet wife at home. And she was relieved to feel that her lovelorn state remained solidly in the background, muted and quiet, although she still enjoyed watching Irv’s wonderful eyes. They positively sparkled in the candlelight, and she drank them in when he caught her eye across the table. No harm in that.
“I’ll walk you to the corner,” Irv said, when it was time to go.
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Julie said. No need for him to go outside in the cold.
“No, it’s no trouble.” He was already grabbing his coat; Mary was washing up in the kitchen, and the neighbors had just left.
Outside, Irv walked close to Julie, close enough for their arms to brush, through the thickness of their coats. “It’s been hard,” he whispered.
Surprised, Julie turned and looked at him. He was staring at her intently; her heart gave a flutter. “Yes,” she said. It had been hard, for months and months it had been hard. All her feelings for him suddenly flared back, as if they’d never faded. “I thought…I thought you weren’t…”
“No,” he said. “I still want you.”
She treasured that tiny exchange all the way home on the streetcar, and all the rest of the evening, and night. The next day, very few people were in the office. She knew Irv wasn’t planning to come in, but she missed him all the same.
Her infatuation, or whatever it should be called, had come flooding back. With his simple admission, she realized that she had never gotten over him. She wanted him still. She wanted nothing else.
She veritably pined for him all weekend. Then on Monday, when she finally saw him again, it was almost torture not to be able to speak with him, to touch him. But it was the workday, everyone was in the office, they had to pretend not to feel.
He did stay late. The moment they were alone in the office, he swept her into his arms and kissed her like he wanted to breathe the very air out of her. Like he always had. And she never wanted to let him go.
He couldn’t stay late every day; perhaps twice a week was all he dared. Julie rode high on a wave of bliss at first, then found herself fidgety and mournful on the days he had to go home at the usual time, the days they could not exchange so much as a private glance. He was very good, very controlled. He never winked, or whispered, or even gave her long looks when anyone else was around. He was so perfect at hiding his regard for her, sometimes when a few days had gone by without a private moment, she began to doubt his feelings.
Until he could kiss her again, of course.
Then came another evening where the office went out for a drink. Julie carefully did not sit next to him at the lounge, but he was able to walk her home just the same. “Mary’s at her parents’ tonight,” he said to her, the moment they got outside.
“Oh my goodness,” Julie said. And then they were at her door. “Do you want to come in?”
He merely smiled, and so she let them both in.
He had never been inside her little home. She was very glad she’d not left stockings hanging over the sink to dry, or anything like that. Her apartment consisted of a small room that served as parlor, dining room, and kitchen. Then there was an even smaller bedroom behind, and a bathroom around a corner of hallway that she used as a closet. Perfectly adequate quarters for a single girl. But it seemed cramped and doll-like, with a man in it.
Julie, suddenly shy, watched him as he looked around the room, admiring photographs, the decorations she had. She had never had a man in here before. Her love affair with the married man had taken place entirely in hotel rooms, and once at his house when his wife was away. “Well, it’s home,” she said to Irv.
He turned back to her and smiled. “And the bedroom is here? I want to see everything.”
She followed him to the bedroom, more nervous than ever. Of course, he wouldn’t…but he might…but she would…would she? She stood behind him as he looked at her neatly made bed. Then he turned around and gently took her into his arms, kissing the top of her head and the side of her throat before taking her mouth in his and making her senses blur.
Soon they fell back onto the bed. Irv lay on top of Julie, kissing and kissing. Her hands started to wander to his shirt, to undress him, to feel his warm skin. He pulled away just as soon as she did that, his pretty eyes skittering away into the distance. She immediately backed off, taking her hands away from him, certain he was about to leave. But instead he leaned into her hungrily, kissing her all over again like a madman. She reached her arms up but then put them over her head: surrender. His eager hands wandered all over her then. But only as long as she did not reach for him.
He’ll only move forward if I don’t do anything, she realized. If she said Yes, he said No. And vice versa. She understood it all, thoroughly, finally, horribly, lying there on her own bed, being covered with his desperate kisses. She could never have him, she could never take him into her arms, because he would flee. She could only have him if she pretended not to want him. They could not talk of love, and she could not caress him. She could never see him unless he deemed it safe.
It was impossible.
He left nearly an hour later, without ever undoing her blouse, much less reaching below her waist. She was thrilled and deeply frustrated. So much time they’d had! But so hopeless.
The next week, he stayed later one evening and they kissed as before. But Christmas was drawing near, and times were more busy. They had less opportunity than ever to steal private moments, and Irv was away from the office more than usual, trying to close sales before the end of the year.
Mr. Robertson held a big party on Christmas Eve every year, shutting the company down at noon, bringing in eggnog, cunning little sandwiches, a big fine tree. Julie found herself looking forward to this party all out of proportion to the satisfaction it would be likely to give her. But surely she and Irv could at least whisper a few words to one another, over the punchbowl. Surely he’d be able to walk her home, perhaps even step inside for a bit. She wouldn’t be so nervous this time.
He was going to go on a holiday with Mary directly after Christmas. They’d be gone for two solid weeks. So Julie looked doubly forward to the party. Perhaps he’d tell her he would miss her. She thought she could be bold enough to tell him she’d miss him, anyway. He could make of that what he would. Missing wasn’t the same thing as loving.
Christmas Eve finally arrived. Julie felt like a little girl, anticipating gifts tied up with shiny bows under the tree. She had never known time to go so painstakingly slowly, but now, here it was!
She wore the red dress, the one she’d rejected for Thanksgiving. She thought it brought out her color nicely, and in any event, it was perfectly festive.
The party was joyous, loud, and frantically merry. As if the bleakness of wartime, and winter in the city, made it all the more imperative that the survivors enjoy themselves. But all Julie could do was wish it were over.
Finally, it was after five o’clock, and some of the girls had already slipped out, meeting their young men for dates, or going home to their parents. “Oh, I guess I should be getting along as well,” Julie said, to the group she was talking to. Irv hadn’t spoken one word to her at the party, though he smiled at her whenever she saw him. He was awfully good at hiding his feelings.
She went back into her office and gathered her coat and handbag. Then she returned to the front room and, trying to be subtle, caught Irv’s eye.
“Yes, look at the time,” he said.
He was standing in a group of the older salesmen. One of them now looked at his pocket watch. “Yes, indeed! Time to get home to the missus, eh?” He clapped Irv on the back. Julie watched in mounting horror as Irv did nothing to extricate himself from the inevitability that all these men would leave with him. He didn’t even meet her eye again, but grabbed his own overcoat as well, laughing with the men.
“Julie, we’ll walk you home,” he finally said, surrounded by five other men, who all agreed heartily.
She could do nothing but nod. The entire flock of them walked her down the street and left her at her front door, then continued on in an amiable ramble until they turned the corner and were gone. And now that was it: she wouldn’t see him again for two solid weeks. Why hadn’t he found a way to shake them? Didn’t he want to see her alone? Was it all over, yet again?
Julie let herself into her apartment, trying to swallowing the lump of pain in her throat. She took off her coat, hung it in the makeshift closet, and then sat down on her bed. She took a deep breath, let it out, then took another breath.
She looked around her quiet, tidy room. Everything was in order, nothing out of place. She glanced out into her other room, also tidy. On the kitchen table sat a bottle of imported red wine and two clean glasses. She quickly looked away from those.
She had to speak with him! She had to tell him she would miss him! She would catch him on the streetcar, catch him before he got home. And even if Mary saw—it didn’t matter! She had to see him, she had been waiting all week for this evening… She got up and grabbed her overcoat, then stopped herself at the front door. “No,” she said to herself, quietly. It did matter; she had as much to lose as he did, with this. One word to Mr. Robertson, and her career, her livelihood, it would all be gone.
She took another breath, hung her coat back up, then licked her lips. She had an unpleasant taste in her mouth, and idly thought back over what she’d eaten, wondering what it was. The eggnog had been sweet, and the red and green cookies too…
It’s bitter disappointment, she realized. I always thought that was just an expression, but it quite literally tastes bitter.
She got up to wash her face, and cleaned her teeth three times, but the taste remained. Then, although it was barely six o’clock, she undressed and put herself to bed.
When Irv returned from his vacation, things remained as they were before: back and forth between yes and no. Julie did not speak to him of her agony at Christmas. They established a routine of sorts, so that she knew which days he would plan to stay late. And as winter turned to spring, she began to feel perhaps a bit more calm in the situation. She would enjoy what she could of Irv’s company, knowing that he belonged to another.
One unseasonably warm March afternoon, Mary came into the office. Julie met her in the hallway. The young woman looked flushed, and a little out of sorts.
“Oh, Julie! The girl said I could come back. Irv’s not here?”
“No, I believe he’s out in the field today,” Julie said, as casually as she could. This was one of their prearranged days. “Would you like to come into my office?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
Julie led her into her office, pointed to a chair, and offered to take the coat that was draped over Mary’s arm.
“No, thank you,” Mary said. “I’ll only stay a moment—I’d hoped to catch Irv, is all. I have something very important to tell him.”
Julie sat behind her desk, steeling herself, trying to keep a bland, friendly look on her face. “Often he doesn’t return until after five or six, when he’s in the field,” she said. “But I’d be happy to tell him you stopped by.”
Mary fidgeted a moment, then broke into a mischievous grin. “Well, I suppose I can tell you. I’m simply bursting with it, it’s too wonderful. I’ve just been to my doctor downtown, you see. I’m expecting!”
Julie got to her feet immediately. “Mary, that’s wonderful!” Mary leapt up as well, and the two women hugged warmly.
“I’m so glad to be able to tell you, even if I missed Irv,” Mary said, pulling back and looking at Julie. Her eyes were shining, and now Julie could see that her flushed cheeks were simply the bloom of happiness. “You see, we were so worried. His injuries in the war…” Then the younger girl hesitated.
“Yes?” Julie encouraged her, leaning back against her desk. She knew nothing about his war experience.
“He was wounded…well, in the lower abdomen. The doctors weren’t sure we’d be able to have children. So this is really doubly wonderful.” She gave Julie a shy grin. “I know I shouldn’t have told you this, but you’ve been so nice to him, making him feel welcome here.”
“It’s been my pleasure,” Julie said.
“I do like you, Julie. I hope we can be friends.”
“I’d like that as well,” Julie said. “And I’m so happy for you.”
After Mary left, Julie quietly closed and locked her office door, then sat back down behind her desk with her head in her hands. She allowed herself one small cry, and then dried her tears and began to organize her thoughts.
It was over, and she knew it. This changed everything. She would stop kissing Irv, at once; she would stop everything she had been doing with him. She had allowed this impossible situation to go on far too long. Now that he was going to become a father, he would have greater responsibilities at home. Even if he didn’t suddenly acquire a stronger sense of remorse for his actions when Mary told him her news, once the baby came he would certainly be expected to return home at a decent hour every night. If Julie let this go on, she would begin to see less and less of him, and the pain would drag on. He’d keep trying to pull away, and not being able to.
Julie knew, as clearly as if she could see her future written in a big book laid out in front of her, that Irv would never be able to make a clean break. And yet that was the only way to handle this. She knew he would never have the courage or the strength to break off with her, and so it was entirely up to her. She had to be firm, and she had to leave no option for argument, for subtlety, for misinterpretation.
She would tell him tonight, when he got back to the office. She wouldn’t tell him why she was doing it; she wouldn’t dream of stealing Mary’s news. But she would make things perfectly clear. Why, when Mary later told him, he would likely feel a sense of relief. Everything would be tidy, settled.
Then she thought of his eyes, and how he would look at her when she told him. How she would want to melt into his arms. No matter how strong she planned to be, he could easily undermine her. She’d been weak before. She couldn’t afford to be weak again. The only thing for it was to not see him alone again. Not even this evening. Especially not this evening.
Julie carefully wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, then pulled out her compact mirror and fixed her face. She got up and unlocked her office door, but left it closed. Then she took a clean sheet of paper from her desk and began to write him a letter.