Robin Talley - Pulp - the must read inspiring LGBT novel from the award winning author Robin Talley

Janet blushed at the thought, as she did every time. Though she knew well enough that within the book’s pages the girls did kiss, and even more besides.

Janet had only glanced around the bus station for a tiny moment before she slipped the book under her blouse. It still mortified her to remember. The price on the cover was thirty-five cents, and Janet had had two dollars in her purse, but she couldn’t imagine showing her purchase to that smirking boy behind the cash register.

That novel was the only thing Janet had ever stolen in her life. She’d read it straight through that first night, and she’d stared at the cover in secret every day since.

Yellow letters above the drawing screamed the book’s title, A Love So Strange . Smaller black text below read, “A world spoken of only in whispers, where women enjoy twisted passions. Betty knew it was wrong...but she was powerless against her unnatural attractions.”

At the bottom, in the smallest type on the cover, was the author’s name, Dolores Wood.

Janet had read each of those words more times than she could count. Still, whenever she gazed at that cover, her eyes were pulled to the illustration. To the girls’ eyes where they met across the room. To the shapes of their bodies in their skimpy clothes.

Janet pressed one finger into the dip in her lower lip. Her breathing had grown heavier.

She’d never imagined there was a word for the strange feelings she’d had so many nights, alone in her bed, in the dark silence of her room.

Lesbian .

The word made her shudder. But it sent a tiny shiver down her spine, too.

Janet had never understood, not until she turned the thin brown pages of Dolores Wood’s novel, that other girls might feel the way she did. That a world existed outside the one she’d always known.

It had never occurred to her that life could be different from what had already been set out for her. Ill-fitting uniforms and nickel-sized tips at the Soda Shoppe. Her parents pausing in the dining room to listen as Janet made phone calls in the kitchen. Solemn history and mathematics lessons taught by stern-faced nuns. Then, someday, an equally solemn wedding to a faceless man, and a future spent baking solemn casseroles for solemn, faceless children.

Janet had never thought books like A Love So Strange could be written, let alone published and sold—and right in the middle of a public bus station, too. She’d never imagined some girls might actually do the sorts of things Janet had only furtively imagined in those brief, solitary moments between waking and sleeping.

Reading A Love So Strange had made Janet remember some things differently, too.

The way she and Marie had talked and laughed while they’d practiced their cheers. The way they’d touched, lying side by side on Marie’s back porch while her parents were out on warm summer afternoons.

The way Janet would trail her fingers along Marie’s bare arm after she’d pointed out some item in a magazine. The way Marie would smile and wait several moments before she drew her hand away.

When Janet thought of kissing a girl, the way girls kissed other girls in the pages of Dolores Wood’s book, she always thought of kissing Marie. When she thought back to Marie’s smiles on those lazy afternoons, she wondered if Marie might feel the same way, too.

If Janet could only show that book to Marie, it could change everything.

Still, she should never have sent the letter.

She’d been so foolish, to dream of writing a book of her own. To scrawl out that letter with all her silly, immature questions for Mrs. Wood. To address it to the publisher listed on the book’s cover and drop the envelope into the mailbox, as though it were as simple a matter as sending in for a catalog.

Downstairs, she heard the front door open, then close again. “Janet! Come back down!”

At the sound of her mother’s voice Janet scrambled to her feet, shoving the book back into its hiding place. She winced as she felt the cover bend. “Coming, ma’am!”

Only then did Janet remember she’d said she had to work tonight. Mom would wonder why she hadn’t already changed into her uniform. She tried to think of another lie—she’d checked her schedule upstairs and realized she wasn’t working that night after all; there, that one was simple enough—but all thoughts of lies and excuses left Janet’s mind when she reached the bottom of the staircase and saw Marie in the foyer, smiling at her now-apronless mother and fiddling with the strap of her purse.

A delicious thrill ran through Janet all the way to her toes. She wished she’d thought to reapply her lipstick.

Marie looked as she always had, with each dark curl in place, her glasses polished to a gleam. Yet she looked older than usual, too, somehow. Her suit was neat, the skirt perfectly tailored where its hem fell around her calves. The jacket was a matching blue flannel, and the string of pearls her parents had given her for her eighteenth birthday was wound around her neck.

Janet had never seen her friend look so much like a real grown-up. A lovely grown-up, at that.

“There you are, Janet.” Mom turned from Marie with a lingering smile of her own. Janet’s mother had always been fond of Marie. She talked about her using words like stable and settled . Especially when she sought to admonish Janet.

Janet ignored her and bounced toward Marie. “I’m so glad you came! I have so much to tell you.”

“It’s been ages, hasn’t it?” Marie’s smile was wide enough to match Janet’s own. “I’m terribly sorry I missed your call this morning. I was at an interview.”

“An interview.” Janet’s eyes drifted down to Marie’s neat suit. She flushed. “Of course.”

“I’ve been so nervous.” Marie smiled, and fumbled again with her purse. “It’s wonderful to see you, though.”

“Marie has the most exciting news.” Mom held out a hand, ushering them into the living room. She didn’t approve of dawdling in the foyer. “I’ll bring you girls some refreshments.”

Mom left for the kitchen, where she could still overhear every word they said. Even so, as Janet and Marie took seats on the sofa, Janet leaned in close and said, “I was just looking at our photo from the cheerleading squad last year. I remember that as if it was yesterday.”

“Do you?” Marie smiled. She looked even more sophisticated from this distance. “It seems like a hundred years ago to me.”

Janet’s smile began to fade.

“There we are.” Mom set down a tray of chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of milk, sitting primly in the armchair opposite the cold brick fireplace. “Now, Marie, I simply can’t wait one moment longer to hear what Janet thinks of your news.”

“Well, then, what’s your news, Marie?” Janet wished Dad were here, so they could smile together at this ostentatious etiquette. Mom treated every visitor like President Eisenhower.

Laughter sparkled behind Marie’s eyes, too, but, ever demure, she didn’t let it reach her lips. “I’ve been offered a job, just today. I’m going to be a typist at the Department of State!”

“Marie!” Janet clapped her hands. “That’s marvelous! That’s the kind of job we all dreamed of having, do you remember?”

“Of course.”

Any sort of government work had seemed glamorous to the girls of St. Paul’s Academy. Their mothers had all gone to work as “government girls” during the war, of course, but they’d retired once the men came home. These days only the most elite girls, those capable of passing stringent tests and maintaining the highest personal decorum, were hired to work as government secretaries and typists. Janet’s own distant ambition, of studying journalism in college and working for a newspaper or magazine someday, was far less exciting.