D r. Morford and I—only now I was calling him Sam, at his insistence and he was calling me Miss Barnes, also his idea—met for lunch at Lindy’s on Broadway near Times Square with the dark, handsome Mack Tomás, an immigrant from Cuba. He had a slight Spanish accent, but his English was good. He worked for a nuclear research firm. Both men wore suits and ties. Sam wore a blue one and Mack wore a brown one. I wore a navy-blue satin day dress with a slight flair to the skirt. Mack brought a young woman with him who turned out to be his sister. The men were worried about my reputation. You know—a single woman having lunch with two men, but they didn’t want me bringing an escort to this secret meeting.
“This is my sister, Chevela,” Mack said. “She doesn’t approve of me or anything we’re going to talk about today, but she loves me, so she keeps my secrets. Don’t you, dear?
Chevela nodded as she reached into her large patent leather purse and took out a pack of Regalo cigarettes. Sam lit it for her.
Chevala was an attractive young woman who wore a black dress that clung to her breasts and hips. Her black hair was short and wavy, and her lips were painted a deep red. They matched her long red nails. She sat down while the rest of us were still standing to exchange hellos and other expected pleasantries. She dug deep into the breadbasket searching past the different types of bread, some falling onto the table as she continued her search. She finally found what appeared to be a favored bread stick on the very bottom. She pulled it out, held it to the light, studying it, then nodded. Ah, yes! The perfect breadstick . She took a large bite from it. I worried she would be a distraction from the purpose of our meeting and waste time. I couldn’t afford to waste, but all she did was chain smoke, dig in the breadbasket for more bread, send for breadbasket refills and gobble up bread throughout our meeting. It wasn’t long before we forgot about her.
“Well,” Sam began, “I’ve already told you, Miss Barnes, what we need is a place to meet where we won’t be disturbed or spied on. Mack,” Sam pointed to the gentleman seated across from me. “Miss Barnes has connections and knows of someone who can rent us a room in a theater. I don’t see the point of this additional meeting. We just need to get started. Why are we wasting time? Make the call, Miss Barnes.”
“I gather all this ‘wasted time’ has to do with me,” I said. “But I will be putting my name and reputation out into the world or at least out into New York City.”
“As will we all,” Sam said. “Remember, no one is hiding anymore.”
The waiter dropped our turkey sandwiches in front of us and ran to the next table. We were about to change the world.
“The meetings we were having on the lower eastside were supposed to be secret, but someone was talking.” Mack said. “One day when we showed up for our meeting at the loft, we found an anonymous letter that said they knew what we were and who and if we didn’t stop meeting, they were going to call the cops. A couple guys left that very evening and never came back, but a bunch of us sat around trying to figure out what to do. Then there was a knock at the door and a voice said, “Police.”
“Oh, my god,” I said.
“We froze, sitting there quiet as mice, waiting for the cops to bust the door down, but—nothing. I tiptoed to the door and held my ear against it. I didn’t hear anything. Finally, I got the guts to open it. No one was there. But that night right away we started talking about what to do. That’s when we decided the best way was to go public. If you’re not hiding anything then what can they uncover? So that’s what led us to meet with you this afternoon, Miss Barnes.”
“Public? Aren’t you scared?”
“Yes,” Mack said. “And relieved. No one can get anything on us; it’s already out in the open.”
“But your jobs, your living?”
“We’ve decided to cross that bridge when we get there. Are you worrying about yourself?”
“Yes.
“Have you ever read, “The Homosexual in America ?”
“No. I work in a club and… Well, I’ve heard of it, but…”
“You must read it. It has a little about lesbians too. It changed our lives.” Mack nodded at Sam, who sat smoking and listening intently. Mack’s face was lit with excitement as he leaned forward to not be overheard. The author of this book is Donald Webster Cory—That’s a pseudonym. He’d lose his job if his boss knew he wrote that book. I’m going to find him as soon as we get the New York Mattachine set up. He’ll be our first speaker.”
“Then you’re planning on speakers?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” Sam said, “But we want our meetings to be a place where guys can…”
“Guys?” I asked. “Then you’re planning an organization only for men, despite the one in L.A. having some very active women and One Magazine having some dedicated women writers. Then I guess you won’t be needing me.”
“Of course, we need you,” Sam said. “You’re finding a theater that’ll rent us the room.”
“Sam! That’s not the only reason,” Mack said. “Miss Barnes can help with recruiting gay girls. Miss Barnes, we want to have girls join us too. We just haven’t had time to think it all through. I hope you’ll help us.”
I looked at my watch. “I have a meeting to get to now, but I’ll be in touch with the name of the contact person for the space. And you’ll let me know when you plan to have your first meeting? I’d like to be involved with the planning.”
“Certainly. We want you to be involved.”
“Also, I have some gay girls who I know very much want to push this movement forward. I know they’ll want to attend the meetings.”
“Definitely.”
“Well, Mack, it’s been…” I rose to shake his hand.
The men rose. Mack took my hand, “Gonzalo.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name. Gonzalo. Gonzalo Segura. Most people call me Tony. Tony Segura. Mack is my cover name.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’d never met you so...” “It’s been a real pleasure Miss Barnes. May we call you Jody?”
“No. Al.”
“Al?”
“That’s my real name. Or Alice. Most people call me Al. Al Huffman. I had to check you out too.”
Tony laughed, “Of course.”
“So, Sam,” I said. “What’s your real name?”
“Sam,”
“Oh, Sam, how ordinary,” I teased him.