She's Gone: A Novel (31 page)

Saturday was Jolie’s birthday. She hadn’t told anyone and didn’t want to a make a big deal of it. Ginger stopped by to pick her up to go to the Women’s Liberation meeting. Jolie and Ginger carried stacks of posters down to Ginger’s VW Bug. As they drove through Central Square the colorful strike posters were plastered everywhere.

“You’ve been busy,” Ginger said.

Jolie nodded and smiled.

Sarah and Leah met them at the meeting room on the BU campus. They set the posters on the front table and by the door. Elaine’s face lit up when she saw the colorful design. Jolie showed her the Pussy Power version, and she howled with laughter. At the end of the meeting, the posters disappeared with the women. Soon they would be on telephone poles and storefront windows all over Boston and Cambridge.

After the meeting Leah, Sarah, Ginger, and Jolie walked to the parking lot. “What’s up Jolie? You’re quiet today,” Leah said.

Should she tell them or just let it go by? “Nothing.”

“Ah, come on. Something’s on your mind,” Ginger said.

“Well, okay. It’s my birthday,” Jolie said.

They encircled her in a happy birthday hug.

“What’s Will doing for you?” Ginger asked.

“I think he forgot.”

“No, he wouldn’t do that,” Leah said. “Would he?”

“We have to take you shopping,” Sarah said. “There is a cool district near here called Allston with vintage stores galore. I read the advertisements in
Central Underground Press
.”

Jolie smiled, Sarah was reading the free press.

“I’ll drive,” Ginger said.

They piled into Ginger’s VW Bug and rolled down the street. In Allston, they walked past funky art galleries and cafes, and discreetly taped and tacked up posters. On the corner, two black guys with frothy afros sang. Their vocals burst forth like rolling thunder as they clapped the percussion.

In a vintage store, they looked through the racks of clothes and accessories, caressing the soft fabric and rich detailing. Leah sauntered over to Jolie, holding a black silk-and-satin cocktail dress with sequins and beads dripping from the bodice.

“This is you. I’ll buy it for you for your birthday.”

“It’s beautiful, but where would I wear it?”

“Have Will take you out.”

Sarah and Ginger joined them, admiring the exquisite detail of the beadwork.

“Oh, he’ll think it’s bourgeois,” Jolie said.

“He thinks everything and everybody is bourgeois,” Ginger said, laughing.

“Try it on,” Leah said.

Jolie stood looking at the dress.

“Please?” Leah said.

Jolie reluctantly took it into the dressing room. She slipped the soft silky dress over her head and pulled it down around her body. It fit perfectly. She opened the dressing room curtain. Her friends cooed at the sight of her.

“It was meant for you,” Leah said.

“You’re positively smashing,” Ginger said, in a put-on British accent.

They shopped in more stores and everyone found something unique. Jolie found a black velvet choker with crystal beads that she bought to go with the dress.

It was mid-afternoon when Ginger dropped Jolie off at the house. “I’m coming by later to see Sam. Wear your dress tonight,” Ginger called as she drove off.

In the house she found a note from Will on the kitchen table.
Tied up at the office until about 6. 7 p.m. meeting tonight at the house.

She groaned; not another meeting at the house. He did forget her birthday. Well, she was not cooking for them tonight. She had three hours before he got back. Locking the house, she walked down the street and turned onto the stone path to the temple. In the lobby she taped a poster for the strike in the window and went into a meditation room where a small group had assembled. She sat on a mat and closed her eyes.

“Breath in the light and bring your mind home,” the monk said. “The core of your being is the only safe place to call home.”

She breathed in. It was her birthday. The day she was born. Unsettling thoughts and feelings rose and fell with her breath like the swell of the ocean.

When Jolie got back to the house, no one was home. She ran a bath and added ylang ylang flower oil to arouse the senses. She slid into the foaming water, breathing the scent from faraway lands. A sense of inner peace filled her. When the water grew cool she got out and slipped on her new beaded dress and knee-high soft suede moccasins. She combed out her hair and tied the black velvet beaded choker around her forehead. Looking in the mirror she debated whether to change. Would Will like it?

She could hear voices down the hall. In the kitchen, Will and Charlie stood by the counter, opening bottles of beer. On the kitchen table was a wrapped present. He had remembered. They hadn’t heard her come into the room and when they turned, they both stopped and stared at her. She scanned Will’s face. Did he not like the dress? She held her breath.

Charlie gave a soft wolf whistle.

“Watch it buddy,” Will said. “She’s mine, all mine.” Will went to her and gave her a kiss. “Happy Birthday, Little Wing. You look stunning.” He nodded to the present on the table. “Open it.”

Jolie carefully unwrapped the paper, revealing a plain brown box. She opened it slowly to find three wrapped objects inside. She opened the large one first. Her eyes grew wide. Elated, she held up a 35 mm Nikon camera. And she thought he’d forgotten her birthday.

“Wow, thank you.”

Enthused, she opened the other packages. One was a wide angle lens and the other a telephoto lens. She smiled joyfully.

“You’re back in business,” Will said.

“With a Nikon no less,” Jolie said.

“Your new camera for the cause. But no more off-the-wall projects,” Will said.

Ignoring the comment, she attached the telephoto lens. At the window, she focused on a woman walking down the street. She seemed so close in the lens.

“You could spy on somebody with this lens.”

Ginger and Sam arrived with a birthday cake. Adam showed up later with pizzas and red wine. Daniel, Leah, and Sarah walked in sometime later. The party moved into the dining room and living room. Will played guitar. At some point, Charlie followed Jolie into the kitchen.

“I’ve been meditating, but my mind wanders or I fall asleep,” Charlie said.

“Well, that’s a start. At least you’re not thinking about Vietnam.”

He grinned. “You’re always so positive. By the way, you look unbelievable tonight.”

“Thank you.” Jolie put on water for tea. “I’ve been going to the Buddhist temple around the corner. Promise you won’t tell Will, though.”

“Why don’t you want him to know?” He leaned against the counter next to her.

“He thinks it’s a cult, and I’ll get sucked in.”

“Is it?”

“No. It is spiritual, though.”

“I could use some of that.”

“Come with me sometime and check it out.”

He glanced into the living room at Will. “Maybe.”

Jolie followed his gaze. Will had captivated all the girls with the song he played.

“Has Marlena been around?” Jolie said.

“No, I haven’t seen her for weeks.”

“Can I ask you something?” Jolie said.

“Anything,” Charlie said.

“Did Will sleep with her?”

He shifted his weight. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” He paused. “I sure didn’t. She’s sort of fake or something.”

She poured boiling water into a pot of bergamot tea, and they carried the teapot and cups into the living room where the others sat listening to music.

She sat back and sipped the fragrant tea, alone in her thoughts. She was sixteen today. What was her family doing? At least they knew she was safe. She had tried to give them some peace of mind. The vision of her father sitting in the dark flashed through her thoughts. She set down her tea and slipped out of the room, not wanting anyone to see her tears.

39

A Band of Braless Bubbleheads

On August 26, women around the country united for marches, protests, and strikes. The Boston Women’s Strike was scheduled for five p.m. Jolie and Leah left work early. They told Frank they weren’t feeling well, and it must be highly contagious because they were both sick. They hopped in Leah’s car and drove to her apartment. Leah parked, and they walked toward the bandstand on the Common.

“Wow, look at the crowd,” Jolie said. She had never seen so many women in one place before. If only Will were here to see, maybe he’d take them seriously. Hundreds of women had descended upon the Common. Cameramen and reporters cowered on the sidelines, intimidated by the swell of women.

Elaine introduced the speakers as they took the stage. Curious bystanders watched from the edge of the crowd. The throng of women responded to the speeches with cheers and chants. After the last speech, women and girls linked arms and marched around the Common. Jolie, Leah, Sarah, and Ginger marched in silent solidarity. Women carried signs and banners: Women Demand Equality; Don’t Iron while the Strike is Hot; End Human Sacrifice—Don’t Get Married
.
A group of women marched in academic gowns with a banner reading VERITAS, Harvard University’s motto, the Goddess of Truth. Jolie photographed everything.

At the house that night, Ginger and Jolie watched the news with Sam and Will. The news man uttered condescending remarks describing the events around the country. He likened it to an infectious disease and claimed the women of the movement were nothing more than a “band of braless bubbleheads”.

“We’ll show him what a band of women can do,” Jolie said.

“We’ll boycott their TV stations and not buy the products they advertise,” Ginger said.

“Right on,” Sam said.

Will shook his head, and got up and left the room with his guitar. Jolie and Ginger exchanged a look. Jolie shrugged and turned back to the TV. The convergence of women in Boston and New York and around the country was overwhelming. Women in Paris and Amsterdam had also taken to the streets.

Jolie spent the weekend printing photos from the Women’s Strike. On Sunday, Ginger stopped by with two draft articles. One highlighted the strike; the second article’s headline read
:
Women Unite: Boycott These Products
.
We Will Not Be Degraded.
Underneath was a long list of household products that were advertised on the major networks. Together, Jolie and Ginger edited the articles and picked out the photos, focusing on the banners, signs, and massive crowd.

“I’ll bring both articles to the office and get them sent to all of the other underground presses to run,” Jolie said. “We’ll show them what an infectious disease can do.”

When Ginger left, Jolie packed up the photos and articles and walked to the office. The day was warm, and the breeze carried the faint scent of honeysuckle. She felt so alive. As she approached the office, refrains from Crosby, Stills and Nash’s “Ohio” spilled out of the open windows. Adam, Charlie, and a black guy with a huge afro worked in the living room, laying out the next issue. Will talked on the phone in the dining room area and never looked up. She strode over to the guys and set down the packet with the photos and articles.

“Jolie girl,” Adam said.

Jolie put her hands together in a prayer position on her heart, bowed her head once, and smiled.

The black guy held out his hand. “I’m T.J.”

She shook his hand. “I’m Jolie.”

“Don’t I know. Your name comes up a lot around here.”

“Did you call the
Globe
?” Charlie asked.

“The
Globe
?” she said.

“
The Boston Globe
. They called Will and wanted to run some of the student photos.”

“They did? They do?” Why hadn’t Will told her? “I haven’t heard about it.” She looked at Will who was still on the phone.

“I’ll find the message for you.” Charlie walked over to the desk where Will sat with his feet up and rifled through a stack of messages. He returned and handed her a paper with a name and phone number.

“Thanks. I’ll have Daniel call them.” She glanced at the paper and slipped it into her back pocket. She looked at Adam. “I’ve got two articles for you to run and lots of photos.”

“I don’t know if we have room this week,” Adam said.

Her mouth opened slightly to speak but nothing came out. Didn’t have room? He could make more room. He could add as many pages as he wanted. She searched his face and saw the sparkle in his eye. She grinned. He always knew how to get a rise out of her. Proudly, she unveiled the photos and the two articles and set them on the long table. Adam, Charlie, and T.J. scanned them.

“A boycott? A lot of good that will do,” T.J. said.

“Fifty-one percent of the population are women and we do eighty-five percent of the shopping,” Jolie said.

“The chicks that read this paper hardly buy anything,” Adam said.

“We’ve got to start somewhere. Women talk to women, daughters talk to mothers. It’s a sacred sisterhood.”

Charlie smiled at her. “Sounds like a cult.”

Adam flipped through the photos of the strike. Will came over to see what they were looking at. He picked up the two articles and scanned them. She knew they were good.

“Jesus, Jolie. First you spent all that time on the student photos, and then on that strike, and now a boycott?” He flipped the articles back onto the table.

Pain flashed through her. She was aware that all eyes were on her. Charlie shot her a glance and their eyes met.

“You’re just wasting your time,” Will said. “The Socialist Movement is far more important.”

Her throat constricted and she could hardly find her voice. She straightened the articles on the table. “I’m not wasting my time. We have momentum. Look at this crowd.” More women had turned out for the strike than any of the Socialist Movement protests. She handed the articles and photos to Adam.

Adam held them up.

“Man, look at all of those women,” T.J. said, whistling softly.

“These are good photos,” Charlie said.

At least Charlie and Adam were on her side. The phone rang, and someone called out for Will. He went to take the call. She looked at Adam. “Can you run these this week?”

“Of course I’ll run them.”

Charlie moved toward Jolie and gave her a quick hug. “We’re with you.”

“Can you send these articles and photos out to all the subscribers?” Jolie said.

“Consider it done,” Charlie said.

Jolie glanced over her shoulder at Will as she slipped out the door. His back was toward her, and he was in an intense discussion with someone on the other end of the line. She didn’t like conflict between them. Her chest and stomach felt crushed by a weight. Her earlier enthusiasm was squashed. He always made her causes seem trivial. The strike had been a success. They’d drawn a huge crowd, and she had helped make it happen. Will should be proud of her.

Without thinking, she changed her route and walked up the stone path to the temple. Alone in a meditation room she sat on a mat. The room was cool, sheltered from the outside heat. With closed eyes she considered Will’s hurtful comment. She was not wasting her time. The monk’s words from a previous meditation session came to her: Nothing is permanent, actions have consequences, change is possible. Change was possible. She focused on her breathing and tried to slow the torrent of mental noise. Why hadn’t Will told her about the message from the
Globe
? Did it get buried in the pile of other messages? She exhaled and let go of the tension. The sapphire-blue hole slowly appeared through the tunnel of darkness.