City of Girls

“He never stops croaking on about his wife, though!” I said, between forkfuls.

“And how!” said Jennie. “He’s the worst for that!”

“He’s a drip,” said Gladys. “But he’s not a mean man, and that’s what matters.”

“But did it hurt?” asked Celia.

“You know something, it didn’t,” I said. “And I didn’t even need the towel!”

“You’re lucky,” said Celia. “You’re so lucky.”

“I can’t say it was fun,” I said. “But I can’t say it wasn’t fun, either. I’m just glad it’s over. I suppose there are worse ways to lose your virginity.”

“All the other ways are worse,” Jennie said. “Believe me. I’ve tried them all.”

“I’m so proud of you, Vivvie,” said Gladys. “Today you’re a woman.”

She raised her coffee cup to me in a toast, and I clinked it with my water glass. Never did an initiation ceremony feel so complete and satisfying as that moment when I was toasted by Gladys the dance captain.

“How much did he give you?” asked Jennie.

“Oh!” I said. “I’d almost forgotten!”

I reached into my purse and pulled out the envelope.

“You open it,” I said, handing it with shaky hands to Celia, who tore it right open, thumbed through the cash expertly, and announced: “Fifty dollars!”

“Fifty dollars!” shrieked Jennie. “He’s usually twenty!”

“What should we spend it on?” Gladys asked.

“We’ve got to do something special with it,” said Jennie—and I felt a rush of relief that the girls considered the money ours, not mine. It spread around the taint of misdoing, if that makes sense. It also added to the feeling of camaraderie.

“I want to go to Coney Island,” said Celia.

“We don’t have time,” said Gladys. “We need to be back at the Lily by four.”

“We’ve got time,” Celia said. “We’ll be quick. We’ll get hot dogs and look at the beach and come straight home. We’ll hire a taxi. We have money now, don’t we?”

—

So we drove out to Coney Island with the windows down, smoking and laughing and gossiping. It was the warmest day of summer so far. The sky was thrillingly bright. I was wedged in the backseat between Celia and Gladys, while Jennie chatted away with the driver up front—a driver who could not believe his luck at the assemblage of beauty that had just tumbled into his cab.

“What a bunch of figures on you gals!” he said, and Jennie said, “Now, don’t you get fresh, mister,” but I could tell that she liked it.

“Do you ever feel bad about Mrs. Kellogg?” I asked Gladys, feeling a small pang of concern about my deed that day. “I mean, for sleeping with her husband? Should I feel bad about it?”

“Well, you can’t have too much conscience about things!” said Gladys. “Or else you’ll never stop worrying!”

And that, I’m afraid, was the extent of our moral agonies. Subject closed.

“Next time I want it to be with someone else,” I said. “Do you think I could find somebody else?”

“Piece of cake,” said Celia.

Coney Island was all shiny and gaudy and fun. The boardwalk was overrun with loud families, and young couples, and sticky children who acted just as delirious as I felt. We looked at the signs for the freak shows. We ran down to the shore and put our feet in the water. We ate candied apples and lemon ices. We got our picture taken with a strongman. We bought stuffed animals and picture postcards and souvenir cosmetic mirrors. I bought Celia a cute little rattan handbag with seashells sewn on it, and I got sunglasses for the other girls, and I paid for a taxi ride all the way back to midtown—and there was still nine dollars left of Dr. Kellogg’s money.

“You got enough left over to buy yourself a steak dinner!” said Jennie.

—

We got back to the Lily Playhouse with barely enough time to make the early show. Olive was frantic with concern that the showgirls would miss the curtain, and she clucked about in circles, scolding everyone for their lack of promptitude. But the girls dove into their dressing rooms and came out only moments later, it seemed, simply secreting sequins and ostrich plumes and glamour.

My Aunt Peg was there, too, of course, and she asked me, somewhat distractedly, if I’d had a fun day.

“I sure did!” I said.

“Good,” she said. “You should have fun, you’re young.”

Celia gave my hand a squeeze just as she was about to go onstage. I grabbed her by the arm and leaned in closer toward her beauty.

“Celia!” I whispered, “I still can’t believe I lost my virginity today!”

“You’ll never miss it,” she said.

And do you know something?

She was absolutely right.

SEVEN

And so it began.

Now that I’d been initiated, I wanted to be around sex constantly—and everything about New York felt like sex to me. I had a lot of time to make up for, was how I saw it. I’d wasted all those years being bored and boring, and now I refused to be bored or boring ever again, not even for an hour!