Dirty Old Town

Well, he was yesterday, really, Louisa reminded herself, once again kicking herself for forgetting the records. He'd saved her from a crazy attacker, but then he'd refused to even let her thank him properly.

She was once again trying to make sense of her textbook when the only-just familiar voice appeared in the burst of chilly air as the door opened behind her. "It's because we've only got one woman in the Senate!" came the only-just familiar voice behind her. "Meg, don't you agree?"

"Course we do, but how do you think that'll change anytime soon?" Meg replied to him, and then she glanced down to see Louisa grinning up at her new friends and her idol. "Oh, hello!" she said as Louisa scampered to her feet. "You're a little early."

"Not at all!" Meg said, and she helped herself to a seat beside her while Terrence and Bridget slid in across from her. "Terry, you know Louisa."

"Of course," Terry said with a cordial smile and a nod.

"I never got to thank you properly for yesterday," Louisa said, encouraged in spite of herself by his slight friendliness.

"It was nothing," he said. "And I understand you're a fan of ours?"

"Of yours, Terry," Bridget needled. "She didn't even know we write for you."

"You don't write for me," Terry corrected. "You write for us. For yourselves, for all the downtrodden."

"I'm sorry I didn't recognize your names," Louisa said again. "I was just so..."

"Yes, we know, and it's fine," Meg said. "But never mind that now. What do you think of the chances of an equal rights amendment, Louisa? Do you agree with the New York Times, "'Motherhood Cannot Be Amended'?"

"Those fascists," Terry grumbled.

"Of course I don't agree." Louisa wasn't sure if she was feeling so free with her opinion because she was in her hero's presence or because one and all had convinced her that there was nothing to lose as far as impressing him was concerned -- or mightn't it be both? Whatever the case, once the ice was broken, she poured out all the feelings of righteous anger and cautious hope for a future of equality that reading Terry's columns had always filled her with. All the years of watching her parents favor her brothers, all the many times she'd wanted to shake some sense into her marriage-minded friends uptown, all the outrage she'd felt on Pam and Maxine's behalf at the way they had to keep their love a secret...it all came out in a rush.

When at last she'd stopped for a sip of coffee, Terry looked impressed but said nothing. Bridget and Meg looked nonplussed. "That explains why you were suspicious about us yesterday," Bridget said.

"Everyone thinks that about the two of you when they first meet you," Terry deadpanned, and Louisa was surprised to see the hint of a smile on his lips.

"Oh, please!" Meg said. "You never thought that, Terry...did you?"

"I never cared about that," he said. "In any case, we aren't here to gossip. Louisa, would you like your trial column to be about the love that dare not speak its name?"

"I don't think I'd better," Louisa said. "I don't really know what it's like myself."

"Don't let that stop you," Terry said. "If only the oppressed are ever allowed to speak up for themselves, it'll take a lot longer to get any justice in this world."

"Wow," Bridget said. "Louisa, I'm impressed."

"Impressed with what?" Louisa and Terry asked in unison.

"That you got Terry to admit there might ever be any justice out there," Bridget said with a laugh in her voice. "Sorry, Terry, but usually you're a lot more cynical than that."

"Yes, well, it is Christmas, isn't it?" Terry replied. "Oh, that reminds me, Louisa, I rescued your records outside the bookstore yesterday. And happy Hanukkah."

"You did?!" Louisa was elated. "Thank you! But how -"

"Come by my place when we're done and I'll return them," Terry interrupted. "But forget about that for now and let's get some work done, shall we?"

And so Louisa was left to wonder how Terry knew she was Jewish and what that had to do with the records. But she was too relieved to care. An hour later, she was officially tasked with a piece on Eisenhower's "Atoms for Peace" speech and news from the picket line outside -- Maxine and Pam could help with that, and surely would -- and Terry called the meeting to a close. "Want to come get your records, Louisa?" he asked.

"Thank you so much for rescuing those!" she said, amidst her fond farewells to Bridget and Meg, who both excused themselves with some excuse about an early dinner with some fellows they knew. "It absolutely broke my heart last night when I noticed I'd lost them. I even thought poor old Susan might have made off with them."

"They don't have a record player in that hell-hole where she stays," Terry said as he ushered her out into the snowy late afternoon. "The poor thing could use some simple pleasures like that, too."

"What a shame," Louisa said. "I don't suppose you know her real story?"

"Who's to say she really wasn't a queen in a former life?" Terry said as they made their way towards Sixth Avenue, Louisa having already guessed there was no use in asking just where they were going. "If there's one thing this life has taught me, it's that everything can change in the blink of an eye and your past feels like a different life afterwards."

"I almost wish I could say that," Louisa groused. "My past still feels all too real, just a girl from Crown Heights who couldn't wait to move across the river, and now here I almost am."

"Almost?"

"I've still got to convince my parents to let me stay over here when I graduate," she said. "I've been thinking of NYU Law, maybe, but I still can't quite wrap my mind around being a lady lawyer."

Terry stopped abruptly and turned on his heel. "Don't ever think that way, all right? If you want to go to law school, go to law school. Yeah, you're going to run into a lot of men telling you you don't belong there, and more women than you probably think, too, but that's just why you've got to do it. You owe it to everyone who comes after you to make the world a fairer place, and never let the squares tell you to sit down and shut up. Okay?"

"Oh...okay." Louisa wanted to kick herself -- hadn't she learned anything from reading his beloved columns? "Terry, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said, gesturing for her to turn right and walk up Sixth Avenue. "You're the one who's had to live with the man telling you what you can't do, who you can't be...it's perfectly understandable that you'd start to think it. But if you love my work so much, please learn from it and grab at any chance to make a difference, all right? If you can't do it for yourself, do it for all the other women out there who never got the chance to. Not to mention all your Jewish brothers and sisters who...well, you're old enough to remember what happened to them."

"Wow," Louisa said, lost in thought. "That's...I can't believe I never thought of that."

"I can," Terry said. "I used to be the type who didn't think about it either. And I'll never forgive myself."

"Isn't this the season of forgiveness?" Louisa offered.

"Forgiving others, sure. Myself? Forget it." Terry picked up his pace. "Come on, I don't want you catching cold in that drafty old dress of yours. It's only a few more blocks."

Louisa took the hint and said nothing for the rest of the walk. He guided her off to a side street and a block and a half up to a ratty looking brick building. "Sorry about the smell," he said as he opened the front door and she stepped into a dank stairwell. "My pad's on the top floor. I promise it smells nicer than this." And she detected the same hint of a smile through his still stony visage as he shut the door behind her.

"No problem!" Louisa said, grabbing hold of the ancient banister and shuffling up the stairs. "This is just the sort of place I want after next spring. I may never go north of Fourteenth Street again."

"We've all got to go up there sometime if we want to change things," Terry said. "Otherwise we're just preaching to the choir."

"Right, I hear you go up there to teach French?" She hoped at least that much wasn't taboo.

"Tu as fait tes devoirs," Terry quipped.

"Huh?"

"Sorry," Terry said. "I said, 'You've done your homework.' You didn't study French?"

"Spanish, my mother said that's the wave of the future," Louisa said.

"She's right," Terry agreed. "All the seasonal farm workers out west, if they ever put roots down, it's going to change everything. Organized labor, if they had any sense, they'd...ah, you don't want to talk politics now, do you?"

"Sounds like that's all you ever want to talk about, Terry." Louisa couldn't help smiling as she waited for him at the top of the stairs.

"More like I have to," Terry said. "It's my calling and my duty. But when I'm home, I'm off duty. It's the one time I can let my guard down. Even when I've got company." He unlocked the door and stepped aside for her. "Want some hot cocoa?"

"I'd love some." Louisa looked around the tiny, crowded but immaculate room. It was nothing like she'd imagined the way Terrence Wooler lived. A beautifully decorated Christmas tree stood majestically by the window. "Can I turn your tree lights on?" she asked.

"Please do," he said, pointing to the outlet where the cord from the lights lay unplugged. "You like Christmas decorations, do you?"

"Always loved it when my Catholic friends invited me over to trim the tree," she said as she plugged in the cord and basked in the rainbow of flashing colors against the slate-gray sky outside. "They always had this idea that just because we don't celebrate Christmas, we'd hate the trees or something. But I always enjoyed it. Oh!" She spun around to look at Terry, who was setting a pan of milk on the stove to heat. "That reminds me, how did you know I was Jewish?"

"And that reminds me, help yourself to your records," he said. "Under the tree." He pointed, and Louisa was delighted to find her carrying case, a bit scuffed but intact. She stooped down and heaved a sigh of relief at her unharmed 45s. "I'm sorry, Louisa, I shouldn't have opened your box, but I did. Johnny Ace, the Five Royales, the Orioles -- obviously you live near a Negro neighborhood if you were able to buy those, which means you're either Jewish or Italian, and you don't look Italian."

Louisa was impressed. "You've given that a lot of thought."

"Well, listen," Terry said, stepping into the living room, where he switched on a record player Louisa hadn't noticed until now. "I don't really share your taste in music -- maybe I'm a little too old for it, I don't know -- but I admire how so many white kids are falling in love with black music. It's a real meeting of the minds, you know? If that can help us rise up and murder Jim Crow, I'm all for it. So it's great to meet one of the kids who are helping that along."

"Kids?" Louisa planted her hands on her hips in mock offense. "I'm nearly twenty-two, you know."

"Then you're old enough to appreciate this," he said as the speakers crackled to life and a mournful trumpet blasted forth. He handed her the record jacket. "Peggy Lee. Black Coffee. You a fan?"

"A girl on my floor has this," Louisa said, looking over the sepia-toned photograph. "We're all kind of divided really, my music in one corner and hers in the other."

"Well, have a listen to some grown-up music, at least," he said, gesturing to the couch. "I'll get that cocoa as soon as it's hot."

As Louisa sat down, she chanced to notice a black and white photograph on the table with the record player. She had just enough time to see it was a woman about her age before Terry knocked it over while setting the record jacket back beside the record player. "Whoops," he said as it tumbled harmlessly onto the rug behind. "Happens all the time."

"Here, I'll get it," Louisa said, and she made to stand up.

"No, forget it!" Terry said, smiling through the unmistakable edge in his voice, which did make Louisa sit back down. "Really, it's nothing, and you're my guest." He shuffled off back to the kitchen. "It really is great to have some fresh blood at the paper, Louisa," he said over his shoulder.

"I thought you didn't want to talk politics?" she said.

"You're too right. I don't."

And through the remainder of "Black Coffee" and well into "I've Got You Under My Skin," he didn't say another word. Louisa followed his lead and enjoyed the music and the twinkling lights, still scarcely able to believe whose home she was in.

Terry's appearance with the two steaming mugs didn't snap Louisa out of her reverie so much as he joined her within it. "Careful," he said, setting one of them before her on the tiny end-table in front of the couch that passed for a coffee table.

Louisa picked it up. "Thank you, Terry."

He held out his mug and they clinked gently. "Happy Hanukkah, Louisa."

"Merry Christmas, Terry."

"It is so far," he said, settling himself at a respectful distance beside her on the couch. "I'm glad you came over. It gets lonely up here sometimes."

"Does it?"

"Of course it does. How could it not?"

"Well..." Louisa averted her gaze to the Christmas tree again, and opted to try to dodge the question. "Your place just looks so cheerful and Christmaslike. It's so cozy, too! Like I said, just the sort of place I want to have after I graduate."

"Do you want to live alone there?"

"Not forever," Louisa said. Then she laughed. "Do you know what Bridget and Meg told me about writing for the Observer?"

"That it was a good way to meet guys like me, only they might fall in love with you," Terry said.

"They told you, then."

"No. But I know those two. I've known them for a couple of years. But I mean, Louisa, doesn't your mother want you to marry a nice Jewish doctor?"

"Yes, but she also didn't want me to go to college in the first place!" Louisa declared triumphantly. "It was Father -- and yes, he is a doctor -- who pushed me to get into Barnard."

"Smart guy," Terry said. "My job would be a lot easier if more fathers were like that."

"I take it your own wasn't?"

"No, he wasn't. And that's all I've got to say about the man."

Louisa was surprised to get even that out of him, and didn't probe any further. "Yes, well, Father was -- is -- big on education for everyone. He favored my brothers in a lot of ways, but he always told me I was the smartest of the bunch. 'She may be a girl, but she's too smart to be just a girl!'" she mimicked

"Was he here before the thirties?" Terry asked.

"Yes," Louisa said. "But he had cousins and a brother still over there...none of them made it."

"Maybe that's why," Terry suggested.

"How do you figure?"

"If you don't get it, I don't think I can explain," he said with some finality. "In any case, Louisa, all I was getting at is, I get lonely sometimes just like anyone else does. So I'm glad you're here."

"Well, thank you!" Louisa couldn't hide her surprise. "I've got to confess, I was told never to expect anything like that out of you."

Terry chuckled. "They told you I'm some kind of iceman, didn't they?"

"Well...yes. Yes, they did."

"Yeah, okay, I guess I deserved that," he said. "So what's the latest rumor about me? Murdered my whole platoon in Korea, maybe? That one did the rounds last summer."

"No! Were you in Korea?"

"Bridget could've told you I wasn't," Terry chuckled. "I borrowed a pair of her panties to wear to my draft physical. It worked."

Louisa burst into laughter. "Wow. Desperate measures, huh? But no, they didn't say anything about Korea. They just said not to ask, actually."

"Good answer," Terry said. "Now, how about your own past? Brooklyn? All your life?"

"Except for summers in the Catskills, yes," Louisa said. "School paper, glee club, babysitting, all the usual stuff. Wanted to live over here as long as I can remember." She noticed the record was off to the dead wax. "Oh, better turn that over, huh?" She stood up.

"Oh, that's all right," Terry said. "Want to play your 45s instead?"

"No, you told me you didn't like them," Louisa said. "Besides, I did like this, except for that last song. I mean, 'My heart belongs to daddy?' Please. Much too cute! The rest isn't like that, is it?"

"Well, no, but, really, Louisa, we don't have to play it!"

"It's fine, Terry. I want to." And she set the needle back on the record. As she sat back down, she noticed Terry looked a little uncomfortable. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Huh? Nothing! No, it's fine. What were we talking about?"

"Avoiding your past by talking about mine," Louisa said with a grin.

Terry laughed. "You've got my number all right, my friend." He produced a deck of cards from somewhere on his side of the couch. "Rummy? Or a rundown of your entire childhood?"

"Why should I be the only one to share?" Louisa asked.

"Fair point." He dealt the cards.

They'd only gone through one hand before Terry jumped up. "I'd better wash these," he said, collecting up the now-empty mugs.

"Why right now?" Louisa asked.

Terry mumbled something in response, but she couldn't make out a word of it. Suspecting that was intentional, Louisa turned her attention back to the music. The current song sounded vaguely familiar, so she picked up the jacket to read the title. "Ah, the Apple Trees, When the World Was Young," she read out loud. "I know this from somewhere. It's a French song, isn't it?"

"Yeah," came a flat reply from the kitchen.

"No wonder you're a fan," Louisa said. When Terry didn't reply, she pondered the words. "'But where is the schoolgirl that used to be me?' I wonder how old you have to be to miss those days. I certainly don't! I hope when I get older I don't waste all my time remembering. Isn't it better to live for today?"

She hoped for an answer, but there was none -- only the running water, and what sounded almost like a sob behind it. Terry wasn't crying, was he? Louisa stood up and walked over to the kitchen to investigate.

When he spotted her, Terry whipped around and turned his face to the wall. "Go back to the couch," he whimpered.

"Terry? What's wrong?"

"Go back to the couch!"

"Okay," Louisa said. "But you know --"

"GO!" he snapped, still not looking back at her.

Louisa returned to the living room and, having guessed it was the song, she turned off the record player.

"Thank you," came Terry's voice a moment later, and she turned to see him looking contrite in the doorway. His eyes were dry, but red.

"I...I see why you didn't want me to play side two," Louisa confessed.

"I did try to be polite about it," Terry said, stepping up to the window and looking out at the street, where the early winter dusk was well on its way.

"I'm sorry," Louisa said, and gingerly she stood up and stepped up beside him in the window.

"No, my apologies to you," he said. "I've been awfully rude, and here you are a guest in my home."

"We don't have to talk about it, you know," Louisa said. She put an arm around his back, fully prepared for him to recoil from her.

To her pleasant surprise, he responded in kind. "Thank you. You're right, we don't. I guess I should, but..."

"Only if you want to, Terry."

He turned to face her, and she put both arms around him. "I'm happy to do the talking for now, Terry," she said, resting her head on his shoulder and welcoming the sensation of his chest against her breasts. "I don't have a lot to say about my past either, but I will say I feel like I owe a lot of my future to you, for letting me know there are people out there who are on my side if I want to be something besides a baby factory."

Terry laughed, and returned the hug. "You don't owe me anything, Louisa."

Louisa was lost in thought for a long moment. "You know, if you don't mind my saying so, you're right," she said. "I don't owe you anything. No matter how encouraging you are, I'm the one who still has to go out there and be a woman in a man's world, not to mention a Jewish woman."