October 28, 1915

(Hello Reader, the disadvantage of Julius writing this diary was it must contain his observations, thoughts, experiences and perhaps a pastiche of his current readings. As the narrator of this heartbreaking story, I saw the next scene. So, now for something completely different. I am going to give Julius’s technique a whirl. CE)

Angela called me and stated, “She’s doing it again.”

I softly hissed back, “Don’t you dare run away with Anthony du Bois.” Silence on the line. “Julius just arrived with supplies, and he can watch the baby. I’ll meet you at the bridge in fifteen minutes.”

When I arrived, she muttered “Cold.” Then buttoned her coat at the collar, pulled her scarf up to cover her blond bobbed hair, and we watched the river in the sparkling moonlight. “Is it moral loving a woman?” I could not answer her question. We looked up, saw Nellie standing in Brooklyn on the other side of the river and we walked halfway across the bridge. Nellie stiffened in the breeze, tightened her coat collar, and pulled her scarf over her short black hair. She saw and joined us waiting halfway across the bridge.

“Boldly standing in the middle,” she greeted us. “I like your bobbed blond hair, Angela. It’s audacious in a less than daring town.”

“Your dark curls have always been short.”

“It’s different for me. I’m like the slice of lime in a Gin Rickey, that gives it the flavor, but is nonetheless, thrown away at the end. I hope to see less disposable happiness in my future.”

“Tired of your feminine profiteering?” I asked.

“Yes, I need to be anonymous again and it’s too cold here now,” Nellie shivered.

Silent only a moment, Angela spoke, “I’m a pretentious woman and fear growing fat by bearing too many babies. I’m plagued by loving a woman, but my Victorian parents floated helpless in a colorless drudgery and broken atavistic hopes.”

“We are our ancestors.” Nellie replied. “For me, I would be better served as a night nurse for the blind, sucking out their goodwill, but sharing mine back. It would be a symbiotic relationship. I would make them feel better than well.”

We laughed and Angela giggled, “Do you find the color of your skin tragic?”

“No, of course not, but all beautiful things grow to a predictable height, then fade and reek of decaying memories. I’m older now and was a loving cup passed from man to man.”

“Kisses for me were like a public drinking glass, no mark of promiscuity was on me, but it left an indelible smudge for the man who dumped me,” Angela remembered.

Your narrator added, “Honor and respect are a myth for women, they guarantee bondage, not excitement. All women, not just pretty girls have had the experience of men trying.”

Nellie turned her gaze from the water and looked at Angela, “As long as it was pure physical attraction, I felt it wasn’t business, but a fond love.”

“Like your trying for Julius,” Angela replied and looked at me, “but Corina got him.”

“Well yes, I’m very fond of Julius,” she smiled at me, “but du Bois too.” Angela stiffened and returned her gaze to Nellie. “I can tell you are sweet on him also. What spooks me is living with a man. Sharing the intimacies over and over, everyday seems difficult.”

“I live with Maggie, and I wonder why sometimes.”

“I’m married to a man and will not share intimacies or live with him,” I declared.

“We are a trio of conflicts. I’m migrating to Puerto Rico like Julius’s colorful birds in four days. Will you both watch over our men until my return?”

I nodded in agreement.

“Of course,” Angela smiled. “Anything for my keen clandestine friend, Michelle Marte.”

“You know my Christian name. Du Bois shared the secret. He bizarrely appeared to me again, in this little Western town from the other side of the world. I will write to you both. When I return, it will not be for my current job here. The passing of the Prohibition Act will stop more than the consumption of alcohol. There will be many desperate, starving, soiled, if you will, women in Brooklyn. Not many can afford to leave like me.”

We looked east up the river at the snow-covered question mark in the dark forest of Storm Peak. Finally, Angela stated, “They’ll move a short distance for anonymity, then marry miners and cowboys.”

“The anxious find safety in servitude,” Nellie said. We paused a moment to digest her words. Then she turned to me, “The child has not been baptized. Sunday is the eve of All Saints Day, and we all need the blessings of our saints.”

An idea formed in my head, “I’ll donate to a church and arrange it. Nellie, will you sing and be the godmother at the ceremony?” My friends were shocked, “Sorry, Angela, next time, but you and Maggie are invited. JJ and Madame will attend too. Nellie, your answer?”

Slowly a smile of realization formed on her lips, “Indeed, it will be my pleasure. Adieu Angela, adieu Corina, until we meet at the church.”

“Excellent! Good night, Nellie. We look forward to it.”

And we walked back in darkness to our opposite worlds and lives.