Page 29 of Exquisite Things

We live in temporary and inconsistent cohabitation for a few months. Lily tells me often that she can’t very well have me

sleep on her couch forever. She asks me to leave. So I do. Then she sees me at the Blitz. Or wandering Covent Garden. And

she takes me in again. She hates to see me dirty. She makes me new clothes. Washes my grubby ones for me. I find some kids

to tutor in time. I try to give the majority of what I make to her. She refuses to take a cent. Says I’m just a kid. So I

hide the money for her in envelopes all over her apartment on the nights I’m lucky enough to sleep there. I hide one under

her pillow. One in her jar of oats. One in an Audre Lorde book. I think that’s a nice touch.

I refuse to take the money she tries to return.

I say she can just spend it on me if it makes her feel better.

That’s what she does. Buys me new shoes.

A beautiful leather journal. She forces me to write in it every day.

Says getting your thoughts out of your body is crucial to staying grounded.

She invests in a new pillow for me to sleep on when she notices me massaging my neck too often.

We watch every movie she owns on VHS countless times.

She takes me to the store to select new ones.

Each videotape will be a new shared memory.

A new set of inside jokes and scenes we’ll re-create together.

Her friends often join us for movie screenings. Lily is the only one with a television and a VHS machine. Archie lives in

a squat in Brixton. Azalea and Poppy live together a little farther up Lambeth. We love to imitate the voices of the movie

stars. We speak in screwball voices. Or like we’re in a film noir. We sing and dance like we’re in a musical.

We watch Mahogany so many times that I learn it by heart. It’s Lily’s favorite. Poppy’s too. Poppy loves Diana Ross the way Lily loves Donna.

When Lily tries to kick me out of her apartment, I use the same quote from the movie to change her mind. “Success is nothing

without someone you love to share it with.”

“But I hate you. You’re a nuisance!”

And yet she lets me stay.

And stay.

And stay.

Cordelia Biddlecombe pays us a visit on the afternoon of Valentine’s Day. It’s the first time she’s been to the apartment

since I started staying there. Lily is at the sewing machine working on lilac bridesmaids dresses. Asks me to open the door.

What I find is a bony blond woman in dazzling Paco Rabanne. Gold. Pleated. Expensive. “Who are you? Where’s Lily?”

“I’m here, Lady Cordelia!” Lily doesn’t stop working.

Cordelia lets herself in. It is her apartment after all. “Lily, I do wish you’d call me Biddie. We are friends, aren’t we?” Cordelia stares at the couch with her thin eyes. Turns to me. “Are you living here?” Turns to Lily. “Is he living here? Who is he?”

Lily stops sewing. Rises to face Cordelia. “His name is Bram. He is not living here.”

“It appears he is from the looks of it.” Cordelia places her hand on the corner of a wall. “The paint is chipped.”

Lily takes Cordelia’s hands in hers. “You seem worried about something. Is everything all right?”

“I’m not worried.” Cordelia’s voice trembles.

“The dresses will be ready in time, if that’s what you’re—”

“I told you I wasn’t worried.” Cordelia pulls her hands away. Anxiously flattens her hair. “It would be nice to have a couch

to sit on, but the couch is occupied by your friend who is not my tenant.”

“Biddie, you look beautiful today.” Lily smiles. I can tell she used Cordelia’s nickname to change the mood.

Cordelia smiles. Finally relaxes. “I have a date with a duke. He’s taking me to see Beatlemania in the West End. Listen...” Cordelia looks at me. Back at Lily. “Is it all right if we speak alone?”

Lily cocks her head toward the bedroom. I scram. Close the door. Lily puts on a record. Nina Simone sings about a wild wind.

I hold my ear to the door. I can’t hear every word. But I can hear enough. Lady Cordelia’s father is selling the apartment.

Covent Garden has become so seedy. He wants no part of it. It’s out of Cordelia’s hands. She’ll keep employing Lily, of course.

They can discuss new terms when Biddie is in more comfortable clothes. It really is out of her bony hands.

Lily calls a meeting to decide what to do. Azalea and Poppy arrive first. Then Archie. I clean the kitchen as they talk. I insist she lets me clean. She wants their advice on where to live. Archie suggests she join his squat.

Lily quickly shuts that down. “I’m not living with a bunch of men.”

Azalea says that she and Poppy already live in a cramped one bedroom. Lily is welcome to their couch. But they have no room

for her fabrics or a sewing machine.

Archie tries again to convince her to join the squat. “Everyone in the house is a queen. I promise you’ll love them.”

“I would like to be back in Brixton.” Lily’s voice is contemplative. “But I can’t be living in no squat. Not at my age. And

besides, there’s two of us now.”

“Oh, you mean...” Everyone’s eyes turn to me. I don’t dare look at them. I scrub the sink clean.

“I was thinking that Bram should live with me permanently.”

Poppy smiles. “He’s very lucky to have you.”

“I feel lucky to have him.” I can’t help but smile when I hear her say this.

Archie puts an arm around Lily. “You’re a born caretaker, Lily Summers. No other sponsor could’ve kept me sober this long.”

“Five years.” She says this with pride. “Not bad for someone who came into his first meeting looking like death was around

the corner.”

“I have an idea.” Poppy stands up as she speaks. Joins me in the kitchen. “Boy, stop cleaning. I haven’t even cooked yet.

Clean up when I’m done making you the best meal of your life.”

“What’s the idea?”

Poppy takes some chicken out of the fridge. Places it under hot water in the sink. “Some of the queers in Brixton have started

a housing co-op. The Lambeth Council is, believe it or not, working with them.”

Archie pipes in. “I hate it. They’re going to destroy the magic of Brixton. All the squats will soon disappear.”

Poppy shrugs. “Everything changes. But this could be right for Lily. They’re mostly single-family units, but there are some

family homes. They want people with ties to the community. That’s you, Lily. The whole neighborhood wants you back.” Poppy

throws the chicken into a pan. Begins to season it.

“I do miss Brixton.” Lily stands up. Grabs the pepper from Poppy’s hand before she can add too much spice. “You trying to

kill us with the pepper, girl.” Lily turns to me. “What do you think, kid?”

“I think...” I smile so big that I can feel my face expanding. “I think that a house is nothing without someone you love

to share it with.”

We move in on the first day of March. Thick flakes fall from the sky. London feels like a snow globe. Perfect and fragile.

Ideal weather for carrying boxes into our bright new home. Archie, Poppy, and Azalea help unpack along with one more of Lily’s

friends, an Indian drag queen named Blossom. Lily makes extravagant costumes for Blossom’s legendary shows. But today she’s

dressed in everyday clothes. The kind you wear only at home. Only in front of people you trust enough to see you in baggy

sweatpants. We organize the books together. Decide which blanket should go where. Re-create the Donna Summer shrine. Blast

the new Bad Girls album to make more mundane tasks—putting the plentiful beauty products away and making the beds—seem fun and glamorous. Donna

sings, love will always find you . Like she really means it.

Lily makes plans for the house. We’ll get a phone line.

Make it a helpline for queer people. We’ve been gifted a home.

We’ll need to give back. I tell her I’ll sit by that phone as long as she needs me to.

I’ll help. I’ll give. I’ll do anything for her.

For these walls that will keep us warm and dry.

It took me over a hundred years to find a place that feels—finally—like home.

I feel an ache for the old place as the days pass. We were always together because the flat was so cramped. Lily would be

working in the same living area I slept in. Always bumping into each other in the bathroom. The new house is bigger. Lily

disappears into her workroom for hours. Door closed. Singing as she creates. I’m afraid to disturb her process. We have our

own bathrooms. I miss brushing our teeth next to each other. Miss finding her long black hair in the shower. This new place

feels like home. It also feels empty with just the two of us. Could use more life in it. Barely anyone even calls the queer

helpline we’ve set up. Not that anyone would know about it. We put a sign on our front window: Queer Helpline. You’re Not Alone. Call between 5 and 7. Weekdays Only. We distribute some leaflets around town. I spend lonely hours alone by the phone. Waiting for it to ring. All I get is cranks.

Groups of boys huddled by the receiver together. They call me a sod. Then laugh. Call me a tosser. Laugh some more.

One slurring boy takes it further than the rest. Doesn’t hang up after he and his friends get their laughs. “You a pillow

biter, then?”

I decide to play along. To try to get the last laugh this time. “There’s other things I’d rather bite. Like your head off.”

“Which head?” Hysterical laughter from his end of the line. He must have at least four friends listening in. “Did the good

old MP bugger you too? Tell us the truth. Me nan’s from his district. She don’t deserve to be represented by a sodomite.”

“She doesn’t deserve a piece of shit grandson either. Such is life, my friend.” His friends clap in approval of my comeback. I know their kind of boys. They love nothing more than a fight.

He spits out one more bugger before hanging up.

I get my first genuine caller a week into March. Not an asshole trying to look cool for his friends. An actual human being

in need of help.