Chris (20 page)

Dizz focused. The look was full of hate. "What do you want from me?" she said.

"The truth," Chris said. "If you know how."

"All right," Dizz said. The deep voice was flat and dead. "I knew he'd be back yesterday. I'd promised to see him. He knew how upset I was after that weekend. He wanted a chance to make friends again." There was no expression in her eyes or on her face.

"And you spent another night with him, after the way you felt the other day?" Chris said wonderingly.

"Yes," Dizz said. "I thought I was in love with him. I even thought so after this weekend. I thought we could work out this sex problem"

Chris laughed. "Like we have," she said. "Anyway, are you?"

"What?"

"In love with him," Chris said.

"No," Dizz said.

“That's too bad," Chris said. She let go of Dizz's coat, pushing the girl away from her in disgust, and stood up.

"What do you mean?" Dizz said.

"Never mind," Chris said. She sat down in the chair. She sat back and crossed her legs, coldly self-possessed. "I'm curious," she said. "Why did you bother promising me you wouldn't see George again?"

"I wasn't sure I would."

"You're contradicting yourself, Dizz," Chris said. "You just said—"

"You were yelling at me," Dizz said. "What did you expect me to say?"

Chris shook her head. "No, Dizz," she said. "That won't do at all. You said that to make me get rid of Carol. It wasn't necessary. It will probably please you to know that she dumped me instead."

"Why?" Dizz said.

"Because she thought I was wrapped so tight around your finger that I'd never be able to break loose," Chris said. "And she was almost right."

For a moment Chris felt a wave of depression. She had lost Carol in vain. But maybe not in vain. Without Carol she would never have been able to free herself of Dizz.

Dizz looked at her sharply. "What's the matter with you?" she said.

"Absolutely nothing," Chris said.

Dizz moved to the edge of the bed and sat watching Chris closely.

"Dizz, my loyal spouse," Chris said mockingly, "tell me a couple of other things. Why did you talk me out of going to Tongariva?"

"Because you'd been hurt, of course."

"Don't lie to me, Dizz," Chris said quietly, "or I’ll break your goddamned neck. You didn't care enough about me to stay home and take care of me. Or even to ask how I felt."

Dizz knew better than to quibble with the anger on Chris' face. "Jonathan called and told me about the deal he'd made with you. I didn't want to go. I—I had to find out how I felt about George."

Chris nodded. "That sounds reasonable," she said. "I can go to hell so long as you find out about George. Or whatever else you've got a thing for at the moment."

Dizz started to protest.

"Ah ah ah," Chris said, raising a warning finger. "I haven't got time to listen this morning. I have to catch a plane. Now," she said, "just one more little thing. How much money have you got in the bank?"

"About a thousand," Dizz said.

"Good," Chris said. "That should hold you until you find a job. Or another sucker to support you."

"Chris," Dizz cried, "what are you saying?" She slid off the bed and fell on her knees at Chris' feet. "You promised me you wouldn't leave me."

"You should junk that word, kid," Chris said. "It's been kicked around till it's dirty."

"Chris, Chris," Dizz wept, the tears streaming down her face, "I love you."

Chris snorted. "You should have thought of that a long time ago. Before you went after George. Before you decided to give him what you could never give me. You don't know the meaning of love."

"Chris, why are you so angry with me?" Dizz said. Her eyes were miserable and her adorable mouth drawn in pain. The ridiculous smile was forlornly out of place.

"Angry?" Chris said. "I'm not angry, Dizz. Just sick. Sick in my heart and soul. And genuinely sorry." She stood up and stepped away from Dizz. "If I were only angry, I would beat you. To death, probably. But that wouldn't solve anything, now would it?"

Dizz grabbed Chris' leg. "Don't leave me, Chris. Don't leave me. I’ll kill myself if you do."

For one second Chris wavered. Then she smiled. She leaned over and lifted Dizz to her feet. She tilted the girl's face up and kissed her tenderly on the lips. "No," she said. "You won't kill yourself, Dizz. Even in my rashest moments, I wouldn't fall for that."

"Chris—"

“Tell you what you do," Chris said. "Just remind yourself that I'm off on a trip. You won't even miss me. I'm sure you never did before."

"But you won't be back?" Dizz said.

"No," Chris said, "I won't be back."

Chris walked out to the living room. Behind her she heard Dizz throw herself on the bed, sobbing bitterly. She closed her ears to the sound.

Chris looked at her watch. Five of eleven. There was still time.

She picked up the phone and dialed the museum. "Jonathan," she said. "Hold that car. I'll be there in ten minutes. Alone."

A new revolution was underway at the start of the 1940s in America—a paperback revolution that would change the way publishers would produce and distribute books and how people would purchase and read them.

In 1939 a new publishing company—Pocket Books—stormed onto the scene with the publication of its first paperbound book. These books were cheaply produced and, with a price of twenty-five cents on their light cardboard covers, affordable for the average American.

Prior to the introduction of the mass-market paperback, as it would come to be known, the literary landscape in America was quite different than what it is today. Reading was primarily a leisure-time pursuit of the wealthy and educated. Hardcover books were expensive and hard to find, so purchasing books was a luxury only the rich living in major metropolitan areas could afford. There simply weren’t many bookstores across the country, and only gift shops and stationary stores carried a few popular novels at a time.

The Pocket Books were priced to sell, however, and sell is what they did… in numbers never before seen. Availability also had a great effect on sales, in large part due to a bold and innovative distribution model that made Pocket Books available in drugstores, newsstands, bus and train stations, and cigar shops. The American public could not get enough of them, and before long the publishing industry began to take notice of Pocket Book’s astonishing success.

Traditional publishers, salivating at the opportunity to cash in on the phenomenal success of the new paperback revolution, soon launched their own paperback ventures. Pocket Books was joined by Avon in 1941, Popular Library in 1942, and Dell in 1943. The popular genres reflected the tastes of Americans during World War II—mysteries, thrillers, and “hardboiled detective” stories were all the rage.

Like many of the early paperback publishers, Dell relied on previously published material for its early books, releasing “complete and unabridged” reprints under different titles by established authors. Within a couple of years it was focused exclusively on mysteries, identifiable by the Dell logo on the cover—a small keyhole with an eye looking through it. Many of the Dell mysteries also featured a colored map on the back cover representing the various locations pertaining to the story’s crime. These “mapback” editions became extremely popular and by 1945, Dell was publishing four new books a month.

The new paperback industry was faced with some difficult challenges during World War II. In particular, the War Board’s Paper Limitation order placed serious restrictions and rations on the use of paper. Publishers began to worry whether they would have enough paper to satisfy both the civilian and military appetite for paperbacks. Manpower shortages and transportation difficulties were also proving to be difficult challenges. In response, some publishers—Pocket Books, for instance—reduced their publication schedules and reset their books in smaller type thereby reducing the number of pages per book. Others simply rejected longer books in favor of shorter ones.

In the end, World War II proved to be a boon to the emerging paperback industry. During the war, a landmark agreement was reached with the government in which paperbound books would be produced at a very low price for distribution to service men and women overseas. These books—Armed Services Editions, as they were called—were often passed from one soldier or sailor to another, being read and re-read over and over again until they literally fell apart. Their stories of home helped ease the soldier’s loneliness and homesickness, and they could be easily carried in uniform pockets and read anywhere—in fox holes, barracks, transport planes, etc. Of course, once the war was over millions of veterans returned home with an insatiable appetite for reading. They were hooked, and their passion for reading these books helped launch a period of unprecedented growth in the paperback industry.

The reading tastes of these veterans were directly reflected in the popularity of certain genres at the turn of the decade. In the mid- to late 1940s, mysteries, romance, thrillers, and hardboiled detective stories seemed to sell better. In the early 1950s new genres—science fiction, westerns, gay and lesbian, juvenile delinquent and “sleaze”, for instance—gained in popularity as readers were presented with stories never before seen in print. Publishers also came to realize that sex would sell books… lots of books. In a competitive frenzy for readers, they ditched their conservative and straightforward cover images for alluring covers that frequently featured a sexy woman in some form of undress, along with a suggestive tag line that promised stories of sex and violence within the covers. Before long, books with sensational covers had completely taken over the paperback racks and cash registers. To this day, the cover art of these vintage paperback books are just as sought after as the books themselves were sixty years ago.

Science fiction titles reflected the uncertain times during which they were written. The Cold War was just beginning, the threat of nuclear annihilation was on everyone’s mind, governments in Eastern Europe were falling to Communists, and Senator Joseph McCarthy was looking for “un-American activities” everywhere in the United States. Many science fiction stories in the early days of the paperback revolution were little more than soap operas or westerns set in space—good guys taking on bad guys while rescuing damsels in distress—that were short stories taken from the pulp magazines. In 1952, however, Ballantine Books changed all that by becoming the first paperback publisher to release novel-length science fiction stories that were sophisticated, intelligent and thematically serious. In 1953, Ballantine Book No. 41 was released—Ray Bradbury’s
Fahrenheit 451
—and the paperback’s science fiction genre launched like a rocket heading to Venus.

The popularity of this new genre wasn’t lost on new paperback publisher, Ace Books, which became known primarily for its publication of sci-fi titles. Not content with publishing one science fiction novel at a time, Ace came up with an interesting gimmick—the double novel. Priced at thirty-five cents, the “Ace Double” featured two paperback novels bound back-to-back with the back cover appearing upside-down in the racks. The stories contained within these “double” paperbacks were novellas or long short stories, rather than novels, but the reading public didn’t care—they loved getting two books for the price of one! The format also worked to the advantage of Ace Books, as they were able to combine the work of an unknown (and, therefore, less expensive) writer with that of a prominent and popular author. As a result, the careers of more than a few aspiring science fiction writers were launched via the innovative “Ace Double.”

Science fiction would not be the only genre with titles flying off the shelves in the early 1950s, however. And, it is unlikely that even Gold Medal Books knew, in 1950, just how successful its first lesbian-themed paperback original novel—
Women’s Barracks
—would be. Written by Tereska Torres, and based on her experiences in London with the French Resistance movement during World War II, the book was not intended to launch an entire lesbian genre—it was a story about women during wartime, some of whom happened to be romantically involved with other women. The story simply resonated with men and women alike—both straight and gay—and by the end of 1950 had sold more than a million copies for Gold Medal.

Women’s Barracks
also caught the attention of the government, unfortunately, and was singled out by the Gathings Committee as an example of how the paperback industry was subverting the morals of America. The threat of fines and incarceration made the paperback industry skittish about publishing anything that could be considered “indecent” and before long, a sort of self-censorship was in full swing. Many stories featuring characters that lived their lives outside the rules of the prevailing morality of the times soon became dark and punishing, as there could be no happy endings for those who defied convention. Still, the lesbian titles were enormously popular and soon paperback publishers—beginning with Gold Medal—realized sales would skyrocket if they moved from reprints to “paperback originals.”

This move toward of the publication of original fiction by paperback companies created an immediate and strong demand for writers and provided unprecedented opportunities for women writers in particular. While it is true that some of the lesbian titles during the 1950s were written by men using female pseudonyms, a good number were written by women, many of whom were lesbians themselves. And although they were still required to write within the prescribed moral guidelines set by their editors, quite a few were able to portray the lesbian lives of their characters with a significant degree of honesty and compassion.

For lesbians across the country, especially those living isolated lives in small towns, these books provided a sense of community they never knew existed… a connection to women who experienced the same longings, feelings and fears as they did—the powerful knowledge that they were not alone. With the birth of the lesbian-themed pulp novel, women who loved women could finally see themselves—their experiences and their lives—represented within the pages of a book. They finally had a literature they could call their own.