Chapter Text
Chapter 1: December 1957– To Love and Be Loved
“To love and be loved
That's what life's all about
Keeps the stars coming out
What makes a sad heart sing, the birds take wing
To love and be loved
That's what living is for
Makes me want you the more, the more we cling
Let others race to the moon.
Through time and space to the moon
My goal is greater than this
To reach your lips to share your kiss
To stay in your arms
Is the dream I pursue
To be sheltered and safe from the storm
To be cozy and ever so warm
And for always to love
And be loved by you.”
“To Love and Be Loved”
–Music and lyrics by Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen
(Try Frank Sinatra’s or Jack Jones’ version)
Carol worshipped this woman, her woman– Therese Belivet. She had never held someone in such high esteem in her past relationships. It was still a strange and new sensation, and even after a few years, most days, Carol felt she did a poor job- an abysmal job, indeed- of expressing her loving sentiments appropriately to Therese. Carol loved her more than she thought she had ever been capable. She always said there was a mystery to Therese, and Carol relished a great mystery.
The more time they gained in their relationship, the more Carol discovered Therese’s personality quirks: her over-sensitivity, the endless hours of introspection, and her reservations about saying what was truly on her mind. Therese held a nervous energy in her body; at times, Carol believed she could almost feel a crackle in the air about her. She had a penchant for operating outside the boundaries of convention, too. Then, there was the stubborn streak! But Carol learned to love and appreciate every facet of her darling girl.
The two of them. It was such an odd pairing, really. Carol knew her closest friends except Jeanette Harrison, didn’t see the attraction beyond the physical. Abby seemed bewildered by it. Sure, Abby had grown quite fond of Therese, but initially, she doubted this was long-term. But Carol had righted that ship a few years back, set things straight with the woman who refused to heed warnings that their relationship was over, not to be rekindled. “Try not to provoke Therese or me, for that matter,” Carol insisted. “This is my choice- Therese. She’s what I’ve chosen, who I want. If we’re to remain best friends, can you grant me that, Abigail?”
Begrudgingly, with time, the three settled into an understanding of sorts– strained at moments but primarily companionable. Often, a mid-week phone call might happen in the vain of: “Hurry, Carol. Quick! Call Abby. I can get you both last-minute orchestra seats for Anastasia if you don’t mind being in different rows. I only apprenticed under Mr Edwards for the backdrops, but he was pleased. And we’ve worked so long and hard on them. You must be here to experience the play.” A breathy pause. “And I want you to see my artistry on this project.”
Carol knew Therese would be blushing on the other end of the phone wire each call. She was a humble young woman, slow to boast or brag. But Carol was enthralled by Therese’s fanciful nature. God knows, her imagination was overactive at times. And Therese did lean toward the dramatic. Her creations were impeccable, and she rapidly gained notice from several prominent head scenic designers.
But presently, the Madison Avenue couple were headed into a celebration this month. December! The anniversary of their initial encounter at Frankenberg’s Department Store, where Therese had been employed as a seasonal sales clerk. The toy counter of all places! A search for a doll:
“I wonder if you might help me find this doll for my daughter.”
“Bright Betsy. Oh, she cries. And wets herself.”
“So what did you want when you were that age?”
“A train set.”
That’s all it really took.
Then, a misplaced pair of gloves! To this day, years later, Carol debated if it had been a choice or destiny. Her destiny. Either way, the die was cast, and the gloves were left amidst bows, wrapping paper, and Madame Alexander dolls. For Carol, the gloves symbolized a fervent hope that the pretty shopgirl would return them; within Therese, a fire blazed, one that would consume her.
That evening in New Jersey, when she held the wrapped package the postal carrier delivered, somehow, instinctively, Carol knew it was from the petite woman with the hazel-doe eyes. Her insides quivered; she didn’t even know the young woman’s name. Yet! But the mysterious girl presented an opportunity to discover it.
A hasty and impetuous phone call to the toy department the following day! A scheduled lunch at Scotty’s! Carol had been enchanted from the moment of impact. Now, the sight of a fairy-like nymph peeking through the restaurant’s glass door awaiting her arrival– Truthfully? She was hopelessly further enchanted! But what in hell was she doing? She didn’t know, nor did she care. There was something indefinable between them; Carol could feel it, sense it. She was desperate to explore it.
But, then. Carol gingerly tested the waters at that meal. She was eager to begin the dance:
“So what kind of name is Belivet?” Carol pretended to inquire innocently.
“It's Czech. It's changed. Originally–”
“It's very original.” Smooth reply, Carol thought. Keep moving forward.
“Well–”
“And your first name?” This was said a tad too nervously, and Carol fought to calm herself.
“Therese.” It was uttered matter of factly, as if all of Therese’s life had purposefully led to this moment.
“Terez. Not Ter-eeza.” Carol’s eyes lit at the prize. Slowly and deliberately, she pronounced the name in the French fashion, “Therese Belivet. That's lovely.”
“And yours?”
“Carol.” Such a dull name in comparison, Carol inwardly bemoaned.
“Carol.” Therese enunciated it like tidings of joy, and Carol fell headlong into the notion that this girl held the key to her happiness… or at least a mild holiday distraction.
Therese had drawn out the name, loving the feel of it on her tongue. Carol– she enjoyed the sound of the word as it resounded in her ears. Carol– a hope, a longing, a prayer. Carol– a lifetime with this stranger flashed before Therese’s eyes. There would be nothing for her from this point forward except Carol. It captured the beauty of the world in two syllables– Carol.
Of course, Carol didn’t know the extent of Therese’s thoughts at the time. Those revelations were a slow rollout at Madison Avenue over their months, then years. The shy brunette would let escape dribs and drabs of remembrances of those early days– the lunch at Scotty’s, the visit to the New Jersey home Carol shared with Harge, and the impulsive road trip that ended disastrously. Carol always startled at a comment seemingly flying at her from far afield:
“Therese, I was thinking I would coddle us some eggs for–”
“I thought you were absolutely magnificent that day at Scotty’s,” Therese sheepishly admitted, locating a carton of eggs in the fridge. “Did I ever tell you that before, Carol?” She passed the eggs to the blonde, then turned to pour a second cup of coffee.
“No, I would have remembered.” Carol’s face brightened with a silly grin.
“Oh, I imagined I would have let go of that little hidden remembrance by now. You still are– magnificent, that is!”
And Therese smiled so sweetly, so innocently, her dimples deepening, that Carol had replaced two eggs back into the carton, “Forget this idea! I’m taking you to a late breakfast!”
That’s how their journey together evolved. Therese slowly learned to trust her heart and words, and Carol became more– what was the correct term?– flexible! Yes. Therese discharged secrets; Carol made room at #601, Madison Avenue, for Therese's growing accumulation of set designs. Where Carol had once been overly protective of her furnishings and space, now there was joy and wonder at all the budding stage designer’s models.
So, here they were now– light years from the beginning. Much had transpired between them since the surprise note from Carol to meet at the Ritz. There had been a rocky afternoon tea followed by an equally surprising appearance at the Plaza Hotel. A lovely reconciliation dinner date at the Oak Room sparked hope, and a honeymoon-like euphoria followed as the two readjusted to the notion that maybe a life together was possible. Both expressed regret and shed tears, and after a few stops and starts, Therese moved to #601, 500 Madison Avenue.
Within those first years, their life began in earnest. Therese had scored a decent position as a set designer at the Winter Garden Theatre for Peter Pan under the talented Peter Larkin. That was followed by a brief stint on Damn Yankees after scenic and costume designers William and Jean Eckart asked to borrow her talents to help with a thorny problem. Then, under the helm of set director Oliver Smith, My Fair Lady producers announced who’d been hired to create elaborate backdrops– and Therese Belivet made the cut!
As for Carol, the woman was deeply immersed in the world of furniture restoration and refurbishing. Her job at Petersen’s Furniture Shop had expanded and included more and more responsibilities, casting Carol in a new light– Buyer and Historical Consultant! Her professional card now listed Furniture Conservationist, Appraiser, and Antiques Designer. Trips were scheduled more frequently to the Hudson Valley and Saratoga County; she was in high demand as businesses and city centers rediscovered an interest in their link to their colonial past.
Only two events, one of which was ongoing, clouded their perpetual sunrise: limited supervised visitation with Rindy and the murder of Matouš Walenta in 1953. Unbelievably, the murder was easier to deal with than an uptight, unforgiving ex-husband who continually provoked Carol.
And that’s where December 1957 found them. They were wrestling with a dilemma that outweighed almost everything they had previously faced. But Carol was determined to procrastinate as long as possible.
“I’m taking you out tonight,” Carol called from the foyer. “Therese, you home, Darling?”
“Here, Carol. I’m in the kitchen deciding what we can cobble together for supper. How about–”
However, one look at Therese’s expression and posture, and Carol knew it would take expert dodging. Therese was hell-bent on discussing this drastic change in their lives.
“How about if I take you to dinner? Our favorite restaurant! We’ll dine early, then have time to–”
“– talk? You’ve been delaying this talk, Carol.”
“C’mon, Darling! I’ll drive the Packard. We may stop afterward for some Christmas merriment!” Carol’s eyes were positively twinkling with mischief.
“Alright, but you’ll have to eventually–”
Carol drowned out Therese’s concerns in the car, singing off-key, “Have yourself a merry little Christmas, Let your heart be light.” Carol urged, “Sing with me, Darling. You keep me in tune.”
“That would be nearly impossible,” Therese muttered under her breath.
“What, Darling? Did you say something?”
“Nothing. Keep singing.” Therese joined, trying to harmonize, “Next year all our troubles will be out of sight. Have yourself a merry little Christmas, Make the Yuletide gay. Next year all our troubles will be miles away.” Therese stopped, “Carol, that’s just it. Listen to the lyrics. The song seems to be forewarning us. Next year, this could all be behind us if you’d just–”
But they were now seated in their favorite restaurant. Then Carol wrested control of the conversation, hurrying over Therese’s objections. She was eager to set the tone, beginning their little game, their ritual when dining alone:
“So what kind of name is Belivet?” she challenged.
Therese knew her role. “It's Czech. It's changed. Originally–” she sing-songed through the routine.
“It's very original.”
“Well.”
“And your first name?”
“Therese.” It was a whispered breath, alluding to sex tonight if Carol played her cards right.
“Terez. Not Ter-eeza.” Slowly and deliberately, a touch dramatically, “Therese Belivet. That's lovely.”
“Okay, you’ve had your fun, my love. It’s time we sorted a few things that we’ve put off far too long.”
“Oh, and what would that be, Angel? The hunt for this year’s perfect Christmas tree? What shall it be this December? I think the living room can handle a balsam fur. But we could also–”
“Carol, we’ll get to the tree, but first we must–”
“I see. This talk must concern our annual tickets to the live production of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol at The Players Theatre near Bleecker Street. Abby and Marlene want to–”
Therese slowly shook her head. “Carol, it’s time we–”
“We missed being present for the unveiling of the Macy’s Christmas window displays. We could drop by tonight. That works out better for us– fewer people, better views. That’s one of the reasons I drove, so we could stop and see them. Or we might enjoy–”
“Carol–”
“– an early evening stroll through the decorated section of Central Park, stopping to buy those roasted chestnuts you love.” She saw Therese continually shaking her head no. “But you know you adore chestnuts from the vendor there.”
“I’m not certain we can put this off much–”
“I heard the Rockefeller tree is a white spruce like last year but taller. Sixty-seven feet. Imagine that.”
“Imagine that,” Therese echoed, a pout at Carol for her evasive tactics.
“It’s from Island Pond, Vermont, and… and… I’d like to spend a quiet evening sipping hot chocolate on a bench near the majestic fir. Maybe try a few careful laps on the ice rink in rental skates?”
“I know you’re scared, Carol. But we can’t keep avoiding the topic of–”
Suddenly, Carol seemed to crumple in her chair. “This idea we’ve circled has me frozen in place, Darling. I’m desperate for a life with Rindy, but if we upend our lives only to have Harge–”
“How are my two favorite customers? I see my waiter found you your favorite table, and–” Madame Wong had approached from the side so silently, so stealthily that both women were exaggeratedly startled. “Calm yourselves. My little Year of the Monkeys, you are generous, ingenious, confident, delicate in mind, and good at imitation but prone to being overly excitable!”
“Hello, Madame Wong. We thought we’d enjoy a relaxing evening at your Imperial Palace.” Carol was never so happy to have an interruption.
“May I suggest the Peking Duck for you, Carol. And Therese, for you, the Moo Shu Pork. And chow mein. My chef assures me it is even better than usual tonight.
“Madame Wong, you’re lovely as usual.” The brunette was eternally grateful for the role the proprietor played in rescuing her from Matouš Walenta’s suspected murderer four years ago. It didn’t matter that a far more nefarious and insidious plot was at the basis. Madame Wong had summoned her courage to protect the shaky, terrified Therese. It cemented their bond. Then Therese took pity on Carol, setting aside her nagging while they dined. There was time later to pursue the topic after dinner.
As they gathered their belongings after the scrumptious meal, Madame Wong magically reappeared. “You mustn’t forget your fortune cookies! Besides the impeccable texture, your fortunes could provide much-needed advice.” She withdrew two from a pocket. After studying them briefly, she placed one by Carol's sake cup, the other near Therese's Jasmine tea.
“These are always eerily accurate, Carol.” She read hers, taking great pleasure in proving a point, “‘Trust your instincts and push forward against those who seek to hesitate.’ Read yours.”
Carol scanned hers silently, choosing not to divulge. But Therese gestured a hurry-up motion with her hand. “Alright! If you insist, Confucius says, ‘Never give up on something that you can’t go a day without thinking about.’” She flipped the slip around to show Therese. “Satisfied?”
“I’m not sure Confucius said that, Carol. I believe it was Winston Churchill. Either way, the message is correct. Which brings me back to–”
“Time to search for our Christmas tree. Shake a leg, Slowpoke!”
Madame Wong gave a wry smile at the retreating figures. These Monkeys have lofty ideas and love adventure, so they are very suitable to the change they fear, she mused.
They strolled the haphazard aisles of the Christmas tree lot on Amsterdam and 75th Street, their favorite in all of the city. It had become their little ritual as they merged their lives. They spent an hour examining and appraising type after type, specimen after specimen, until they spied the perfect one! Therese held a memory of that stately impersonal tree from Carol’s New Jersey house with Harge. Each year, Therese was determined to return to Madison Avenue with the sweetest, homiest Christmas tree New York City had to offer.
Therese focused on her lover walking amidst the blue and Norwegian spruces, Douglas, Frazier, balsam firs, and white and Scottish pines. Carol’s elegant eyebrows were blond, curving around the bend of her forehead, captivating her. Therese thought her mouth was as wise as her eyes, and her voice was like her coat, rich and supple and somehow full of secrets. “Damn!” Therese muttered. She had forgotten her camera!
Carol fingered a tag, “What’s with the jump in prices since last season? Will you look at this,” she held the tag aloft so Therese could read it.
However, Therese was not to be deterred in her goal of a more enchanting, fairytale-ish tree for their home! It must be better than the last one. When they saw their tree off to the side, Therese splurged, spending $8.49 on the balsam fir, and arranged for delivery.
Later, with the hall porter’s help, the three of them wiggled and tugged the six-foot tree into the elevator. Inside their home, Carol and Therese collapsed into a fit of giggles once James was tipped and on his way. Therese unwrapped the collection of meticulously and carefully chosen blown glass ornaments of French horns and trumpets, all selected and bought their first Christmas together from Frankenberg’s Holiday Dreams Department. Bubble lights, a shiny silver star, and tinsel– almost complete.
“Our tree is exceptional, Angel! Everything is perfect!”
“You say that every year, Carol,” but Therese stretched on slippered feet to kiss the blonde. Then she dipped a hand into a second cardboard box and withdrew a tiny tissue-wrapped package. “Here. You do the honors. Maybe… maybe she’ll be with us to hang it next year.”
“I know it was rather silly when I bought it years ago, but I thought– ” Carol flashed the ornament, a frosted glass one with the name Rindy painted delicately. “She was four when I purchased it. A baby– my baby.”
Therese set down the Christmas stocking she held to wrap an arm around Carol. “I know, Sweetheart. So, maybe when she’s ten by next Christmas, she’ll hang it on the tree herself. She is a sweet child, Carol. I’m glad I’ve finally gotten to know her a bit between then and now. Help me with our more recent ornaments.” She handed them off, one by one, Carol’s height decorating the top branches; Therese’s more suitable to the mid to lower ones.”
“Your celluloid parrot on a ring, Therese. Don’t forget it! But I don’t see it in the box.”
“Oh,” Therese blushed. “I keep it in my jewelry box with my valuables– not that it’s worth anything.”
“But it is, Darling. No matter how small, a present from your father should be considered an irreplaceable treasure!"
They stood back, holding hands, gazing at their handiwork. “It’s lovely, Therese. Better even than last year’s blue spruce.”
“Now, may we discuss–”
“One more thing!” At Therese’s groan, Carol held her hands, palms facing her lover. “I promise. I want the finishing touch before we tire.”
“Alright. What’s left?”
“Your cityscape– the one for the mantle. You know how I love it! Let me grab the step ladder and hand it to you from the crawlspace.”
“Aren’t you tired of that yet, Carol? I made it when I had that makeshift studio in Phil’s apartment.”
“That’s why it’s precisely so important. It was the first time I truly recognized and understood your talent and passion, Angel.”
“Okay, but then we settle in for our discussion of the apartment. No more procrastinating!”
Carol crossed her heart with a flourish and a fingertip while Therese pulled the step stool from a closet. “Watch your footing.”
Moments later, the intricate scene of cardboard buildings, city sidewalks, and tiny people– all in 1:87th scale– was unwrapped and placed horizontally on the mantle. “It feels like Christmas on Madison Avenue, Love,” Carol grabbed Therese and twirled her. Let’s sit near the fire and discuss this dilemma, shall we.”
Yet as soon as Therese tossed pillows to the floor, the phone rang, the unexpected call making them jump. “Did you time that to stall our conversation, Carol?”
“No, Miss Smarty Pants! Answer that while I pour us a glass of wine. It’s probably only Abby or Marlene asking if we bought the tickets for A Christmas Carol.” She playfully swatted Therese’s ass as they passed.
There would have been a time when Therese never picked up the phone receiver; she had viewed Madison Avenue as Carol’s domain. A real fear existed that her living here would have jeopardized Carol’s reputation, further reducing her bid for regular visitation. But over the years, Therese had relaxed into the physical and emotional of all that #601 represented. Besides, her colleagues from the theatre often cohabitated with same-sex partners. Likewise, many of Carol’s co-workers and clients in the antiques business had similar persuasions. So, without an ounce of trepidation, Therese lifted the receiver, and an involuntary gasp escaped.
Hand on a bottle of red, Carol turned, eyebrows raised. Who? she mouthed.
Therese’s face drained, Harge! she mouthed back. “Yes, Mr Aird. Carol’s right here. Please hold a moment.” As she passed the receiver to her lover, Therese awkwardly slipped the bottle under an arm, balancing the two wine glasses in her hands. She overheard Carol’s effort to keep her voice neutral and calm.
“Hello, Harge. Is anything the matter? Is Rindy alright?”
Mumbling.
“I see. Oh, dear,” and Carol’s head shot over to Therese, engaging her attention.
Long-winded mumbling.
“Yes. Of course, Therese is spending Christmas here. I’ve explained, Harge. Therese has lived here for the past five years. I’m not putting here out on the street or in a hotel for Christmas!”
Mumbling. A hesitation. Further mumbling.
“Please don’t consider that, Harge.” Carol placed a hand over her heart as if it hurt.
Disgruntled mumbling.
“I realize your sister is responsible, but isn’t she expected in Florida at your mother and dad’s, too? I am fully capable of–” A slight rise in tone, and Therese winced.
Exasperated mumbling, then a smoothing over of the topic.
“Harge, try not to insult my intelligence and common sense. You’ve trusted me more and more with our daughter. This time will be no different. I promise you, Harge. What do you think I’m capable of doing? Returning our nine-year-old to you and Susan as a full-blown lesbian? Be reasonable!”
From a corner, Therese gestured to calm her voice.
Carol nodded as she listened to Harge. “Alright. Yes, yes, I will. I’ll keep that in mind. Don’t forget her medication. And Harge, thank you.”
When she depressed the receiver, Therese rushed to her. “What? What’s happened? It’s Rindy, correct? He’s allowing a Christmas visit! Supervised or unsupervised? Do I need to vacate the apartment? Just tell me, and I’ll figure out someplace to spend Christmas. Which day? How many hours?”
But Carol was still bewildered. It took her a full minute to pull her scattered thoughts together and answer. “Harge and Susan are headed to Florida for Christmas with their boys and Harge’s sister and husband to visit Jennifer and John Aird. But Rindy had an asthma attack the other night, and she’s fighting a bit of tonsillitis. Of course, Saint Doris, Harge’s sister, offered to stay behind with Rindy, but Jennifer wouldn’t hear of it. She wants them all there in Palm Beach.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t insist Rindy come, sick or not,” Therese quirked an eyebrow.
“Since Harge’s new wife has presented the Airds with two grandsons, Rindy has become passé! If she stays within their orbit much longer, I fear she’ll be perceived as damaged goods, much like her mother!” Carol sighed, slumping her shoulders. But then she perceptibly brightened, “Which means we have my daughter for the entire Christmas school break!” Then Carol searched Therese’s face. “Do you mind much? Be honest.”
“Carol, how can you ask that? I’m delighted. What a treat to have her for the holiday! It means she’ll be here to open presents instead of Harge tossing them in a garage closet where they’re conveniently forgotten.”
“Then we have to modify our plans! Things to rearrange. Food to buy!” Carol drained her wine glass and then looked around the room. “Maybe a few more decorations?”
“Carol, all in good time. Remember what Madame Wong told us? We are generous, ingenious, confident, delicate in mind, and good at imitation but prone to being overly excitable!” Therese remembered the fortune in her pocket. “But speaking of Madame Wong and her fortune cookies, I think–”
“Were we conversing about fortunes, Therese?” Carol steeled herself for what was to come.
“Not exactly. But are you ready to confront your real fear? We do need to discuss our plan– moving forward, selling Madison Avenue, and figuring out where we will live!”
Carol blinked rapidly, unsure what to say.
“But I have an idea if you’ll finally trust me, Carol.”