"All I'm saying is that no-good hussy had better stay away
from my husband or there’ll be hell to pay.”
Leta was outside the window of the kitchen, sipping lemonade
on a hot summer day, when she heard her sister-in-law Florence’s cousin make
that remark. The setting was an Independence Day gathering, 1934. She was 40 years
old and had been divorced from her fourth husband for nearly five years. That
marriage and the one prior to it were miserable, and she had no intention of
marrying again. Besides, she was having a terrific life, enjoying freedoms and
experiences that she never would have if she were a married woman with a home
and husband to manage.
All around her she watched women get old, not just older, but
old. Their bodies were frumpy, as was their dress. Most of them went through
life in faded cotton housedresses covered by aprons. They bundled their graying
hair up loosely on their heads, more to keep it out of the way than with care
in how it looked. They smelled of onions and ammonia. They didn’t so much
pursue life as exist within it, priding themselves on their housekeeping,
cooking and children. The only time they seemed energetic was in preparing and
serving food at church functions. When they relaxed, they did so, sitting on
couches and easy chairs and knitting, crocheting or sewing. In most of their
activities, they avoided the company of men, even their husbands.
Leta, however, enjoyed the company of men. Actually, she
preferred it. When two or more women were together, their conversations covered
such topics as bragging about their children, complaining about their husbands
and chattering about other couples. The gossip irritated Leta. So much of it
was based on superiority, envy or a combination of both; the women engaging in
the malicious conversations would either use someone else’s misfortune to
support their own better lives or proclaim their stronger virtue. Sometimes it
was just the appearance of misfortune that would send their tongues wagging,
which Leta found to be the harshest reaction of all. Men, on the other hand,
used conversation to share information. The comments were less judgmental, more
matter-of-fact. They laughed at humanity’s foibles, not its shortcomings. They
were more worldly and included politics and economics. They shared a beer or
belt of strong whiskey, smoked cigarettes or cigars and watched leaves rustle
in the trees. They cared little for personal appearance, but recognized what
was or wasn’t attractive. Physically, their bodies were more open and relaxed.
Overall, Leta found men far more engaging to spend her time with than women.
Likewise, they seemed to enjoy her company—in a multiple of
ways, including her demure smile, hearty laugh, attentiveness and figure. In a
group of them, she could always single out the one who was most in need of
female companionship, and while she never fully ignored any of them, she would
feature him with slight bits of attention.
First he participated in the group conversation, and then he
invariably found a way to speak to her alone. Sometimes they would find a place
for more intimacy. Sometimes he was married.
On this miserably hot August day, where the humidity made it
so that perspiration having nowhere else to go simply cling to the skin, she
sipped her lemonade and watched the children play. She had been in the kitchen
with her sister-in-law, but when that conversation paused, she left in search
of the men. There were four of them, and all intently examining the engine of
someone’s recently acquired used automobile. As this didn’t interest her, she
settled in the shade just outside of the kitchen, overhearing bits and pieces
of the women’s conversation through the open window. For a few minutes, she watched
the children throw cups of water at each other for relief. It was somewhat of a
delirious effort, noticeable by the more than usual amount of screaming and enthusiastic
participation of the older children, even the girls. Now they were all
collapsed under two trees. Leta envied them for their spirit and their ability
to just enjoy the moment.
Being called a “hussy” was not what she wanted to hear. It
startled her, and immediately, she wanted to charge into the kitchen to defend
herself. She knew the woman who made the remark, and the husband in question.
Neither was a very pleasant person. Neither seemed to care all that much about
the other, at least in public. They would either avoid each other or bicker
over the most inconsequential misunderstandings, like what time they should
leave or who did what and how at home. At home, behind closed doors, no one but
the two of them could say; however, Leta could not imagine that there was much
difference between their private and public lives.
She sipped her lemonade. She had no intention of endearing
herself to that man. Still, she felt some pride in the knowledge that if she
wanted to, she could. With a bit of distinct attentiveness, a smile here, a
touch there, she could get him to, at least for one long evening, leave his
obviously unpleasant life and give over to passion and fun with her. Almost any
man would do it.
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