Mona Lisa Life 2003 Right Back Where We Started From
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Mona Lisa Life: December '63 (Oh, What A Night) free porn video
(In 2005, Troy Xavier and I co-authored a story here called "Mona Lisa
Life," about two TG fiction fans being transported from the early 21st
century to the middle of the 20th century to assume the lives of two
small-town young women, who were raising two young daughters. There were
many generous reviews, and several requests for a sequel. Here's a long-
delayed response to those requests.)
Mona Lisa Life: December '63 (Oh, What a Night)
By Heather St. Claire
The wrapping paper and other debris burning in the fireplace of the
bungalow provided both heat and a soft glow that lit the room on this
magical night. It was Christmas, December 25, 1963.
Claire and Melissa snuggled close to each other and took occasional sips
from their wineglasses. They were both wearing long, warm nightgowns and
fuzzy slippers. Their girls had been in bed for a couple of hours; as
midnight approached, they were alone with each other and their thoughts.
"Ten years. Can you believe it's been ten years?" asked Melissa.
"It has gone by so quickly...too quickly," said Claire. "What I wouldn't
give to live it all again."
It had been a decade since Bob and Troy had been whisked back in time half
a century and stepped into the lives of these two small-town women. Their
fondest wish had come true, though in a time and place they couldn't have
ever imagined. One minute, they had been men living in the early years of
the 21st century; the next, they were inhabiting the lives of two women
from the Eisenhower era.
"Do you miss the modern world we left behind?" Melissa asked.
"Not really," said Claire. "It's all a matter of perspective. We can't get
instant pictures from our pocket telephones?who would believe such a thing
could ever be possible? But I think there's some delicious mystery and
anticipation that's going to be lost when we don't have to wait several
days for our local photo shop to process our film."
"I know I'm going to miss 30 cent a gallon gas when we reach the 21st
century a second time," Melissa observed.
"Who won't?" asked Claire. "Everyone who drives a car, male or female, is
going to miss cheap gas. But there are going to be some things about being
a woman in this era that I know I'm really going to be missing. Men always
opening doors for me, getting up to offer me a seat on the bus, treating
me like a lady." She had a dreamy, slightly faraway look in her eyes.
Melissa, ever the realist, had to point out the flip slide. "Some would
say it's a bit too much like being a bird in a gilded cage."
"Sometimes cages are nice," Claire responded. "They can be comfortable.
They can provide protection. Sometimes it's scary outside of the cage."
She looked pensive suddenly. "Sometimes, it does get tiring, being treated
as if you don't have a functioning brain. But you know men," she chuckled,
her mood quickly brightening.
"Well, whether we're birds or women, it's been an amazing adventure, and
that's putting it mildly, said Melissa. "Do you think we've been better
off or not, knowing what's coming in the world?"
"Oh, I suppose it's a mixed blessing, like a lot of things. On the plus
side, I am so glad I was able to reassure the girls so convincingly during
that whole awful mess with Cuba last year."
"They were so worried. But you told them not to worry, that nothing bad
would happen. You were so serene, so sure of yourself, I think they knew
it was something more than a mother's intuition."
"Maybe they did."
"But there's the flip side of future knowledge...knowing the bad things
that are coming and you're powerless to stop."
"Like last month."
"Yes, like last month."
There was a long moment of silence. Neither woman had to say more; they
both knew they were talking about the killing of President Kennedy. It was
especially painful for the two Catholic women because they had felt a
special identification with JFK, the first Catholic president. For Claire,
who had been just old enough to be aware of the assassination during her
boyhood, it seemed especially cruel to have to live through it twice.
The two women and their girls had spent the weekend together on the living
room couch, watching the sad drama play itself out on their black-and-
white television. Finally, on Monday, during the coverage of the funeral,
Claire's grief became too much for her when she saw Jacqueline Kennedy in
her black mourning dress and watched three-year-old John-John offer his
brave farewell salute to his father. She had broken down and had had to
spend the rest of the day in bed.
Finally, Claire spoke. "But like we said, there's the good side of knowing
what tomorrow will bring?or next month. I can't wait for the new year,
when we finally get to hear Beatles music again. I suppose I could have
tracked down imports, or the releases from Vee Jay, but you know how hard
that is in a little place like this. And anyway, the moment is finally
here. Ed Sullivan, here they come."
Melissa was reflective. "The world's starting to change, for the better,
and for worse. She looked thoughtfully at Claire's face, which was now
framed by a short bob instead of the long curls she had worn for most of
their decade together. "I never imagined you going for short hair," she
said with a wry smile.
Claire sighed. "I miss my long hair sometimes, too," she said. But ten
years of those foul-smelling home perms...ten years of sleeping with
curlers every night...I finally got tired of it."
"But you're never going to give up your girdles, I bet."
Claire smiled. "No, I'm a girdle gal forever, I think. I know that sounds
contradictory, but we're a mass of contradictions, aren't we? Two small-
town women who live in a little bungalow surrounded by a picket fence. Two
small-town women who love traditional ways and values....two small-town
women who used to be men, and are living as lesbians." She chuckled
softly.
"I suppose we are," Melissa agreed. "But I think our lives are going to be
changing whether we're ready for it or not."
Claire was silent for a long moment before exclaiming: "You know how mad I
am at Betty Friedan for publishing that damn book."
"The Feminine Mystique," Melissa said. Friedan's book, published earlier
in 1963, would be seen in coming years as the defining moment in the
launch of the women's movement.
"I really don't have an issue with a lot of what she said, and a lot of
what's to come," said Claire. "I think she's perfectly right to want young
women to know they have choices. I'm just unhappy that she left the
impression that those who embrace the traditional route?like me?are
somehow lacking in vision, ambition, desire, or have short-changed the
women of tomorrow. We've been pretty good role models for our own girls, I
think. Me, the stay-at-home mom, and you the working woman. That's
modeling a range of choices. Although it isn't fair that you've bumped up
against the glass ceiling at work. Even though I don't think that term is
going to be invented for a long time."
Melissa nodded. "Yes, I really should be manager, not senior teller," she
said. "I am running the place while Mr. Johnson goes to his Kiwanis
meetings, plays golf, and naps at his desk when he thinks no one is
looking."
Claire smiled a wry smile. "You have the responsibility?but not the
title."
"Or the pay," Melissa quickly added. "Even though President Kennedy signed
that pay equality bill earlier this year."
Claire just shook her head. "It's going to take a lot more than a law,
dear." Changing the subject, she declared: "We have been so blessed. We
have each other, and we have the girls. And they're fantastic
girls...well, young women now."
"And they've been such a joy to us," Melissa agreed. "No real problems at
all. I think the biggest fight we've ever had with them was last summer.
All their friends were slathering themselves with baby oil and laying
outdoors to get tans. They couldn't understand why we told them they
couldn't do that. They thought we were crazy, babbling about wrinkles and
skin cancer."
"Oh well, teens have to have something to rebel against." Claire took a
last sip from her wine glass and stood up to stir the dying embers of the
fire. She looked at Melissa. "I hope you're not ready for bed just yet,
love. I've got a big idea I want to run by you."
Melissa tried to stop from rolling her eyes but couldn't help herself. She
quickly forced a smile. "What is it, darling?"
Claire put on an air of mock indignation. "Now darling, this is a good
one! I hope you'll love it as much as I do. I think it's time we treated
ourselves to a real family vacation next summer."
Melissa nodded. "You know, that's not a bad idea. I think it's time. What
did you have in mind?"
"I think a big, cross country car trip. How about if we start by heading
down to Los Angeles and seeing Disneyland. I'd love to get into the House
of the Future! It was long gone by the time of my first visit."
"House of the Future?"
"It opened in 1957, and it's supposed to show what life will be like in
the nineteen-eighties. It's going to be torn down in 1967. I think you and
the girls will get a real kick out of it, but for different reasons. It's
made entirely of plastic, and it's got all kinds of cool futuristic
gadgets, like a microwave oven and a wall-mounted flat screen
TV...although the TV doesn't actually work. The girls will be getting a
more realistic glimpse of their future than they know."
"Sounds like lots of fun."
"And if we time it right, we can see the Beatles at the Hollywood Bowl!
The concert's going to be in late August. We'll just have to be on top of
it, because the tickets are going to sell out in 3 ? hours."
"You think the girls will want to go?"
Now Claire rolled her eyes and laughed. "Are you kidding me? Two teenaged
American girls in 1964? There's no way possible they're NOT going to come
down with a severe case of Beatlemania."
"I suppose you're right."
"Of course I am." Claire smiled a slightly too-self satisfied smile, but
Melissa let it pass. "And if we really want to get ambitious, we can drive
all the way across the country to the World's Fair in New York, or think
about flying. It's really going to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Some really uplifting things, like a chance to see the Pieta, which we're
never going to have again unless we make it to the Vatican."
"I want to, someday."
"So do I, but this is a lot closer. There's also going to be lots of
kitsch, like Guy Lombardo."
"You love Guy Lombardo."
Claire smiled. "Yes, I do, and you do, too. You know he's part of our New
Year's Eve tradition."
Melissa nodded. "We've been careful about our money and our lifestyle. My
salary and your Korean War widow's pension cover our basic needs nicely.
The stocks I've been buying for us?A.T. and T., General Motors, U.S.
Steel, I.B.M. and General Electric?are the solid rocks of the market and
will be our security for the future. We won't be doing anything with our
money that could attract attention until the late seventies, when I snap
up a bunch of Microsoft stock."
"Unless we follow my plan for 1969?you know, going to Las Vegas at the
beginning of the year to lay a big bet on the Mets to win the World
Series." Claire giggled.
This time Melissa made no effort to hide the roll of her eyes. "I. Don't.
Think. So," she said with exaggerated deliberateness. "But I think we can
make this trip happen. The wagon will be perfect for it."
That fall, the women had treated themselves to their first-ever new car, a
1964 Ford Country Squire Station Wagon. It had cost more than three
thousand dollars?almost half of Melissa's annual salary. Claire had wanted
to spend a few hundred more for a Mercury Colony Park wagon, but Melissa
had said buying a Ford was a move less likely to draw attention.
The months seemed to pass quickly. Before the family knew it, it was time
to prepare for their trip. Melissa had been able to arrange to take the
entire month of August off, giving them the time to drive to New York for
the fair, before doubling back to Los Angeles, including Disneyland and
the Beatles.
The girls had loved the sights of New York?the Fair, the Statue of
Liberty, the view from the top of the Empire State Building--but they were
distracted the whole time by one thought.
They were going to see the Beatles.
Claire had been right; the girls had come down with as extreme a case of
Beatlemania as could be imagined. They turned their bedroom into a shrine
to the band, covering the walls with pictures clipped from magazines, and
playing their copy of "Meet the Beatles" endlessly on their phonograph.
They argued endlessly over who was the dreamiest (that was the word then,
not sexiest) Beatle: fourteen-year-old Patricia adored John Lennon, while
sixteen-year-old Rose swore her eternal love for Paul McCartney.
"I'm going to marry Paul someday," Rose told her mother one day as she
hurried to her room.
Knowing that her daughter wasn't listening, Claire said softly. "Sorry,
dear. You need to brush up your photography skills and get a high-powered
lawyer father first."
The night of August 23rd 1964 finally arrived.
As they pulled into the parking lot, Claire took a glance at herself in
the rear-view mirror and was momentarily started by what she saw. The
short bob wrapped in a head scarf, the cat-eye glasses (she hadn't been
able to get used to hard contacts when her eyes had started going
bad?maybe she'd try again when soft contacts came on the market in a few
years), the nubby yellow shift dress, the flats on her feet?yes, at
thrity-five, she was the very picture of the 1964 middle-aged housewife
and mother. Which was exactly what she was. And she loved it, though part
of her still wanted to see herself as she had been right after her
transformation more than a decade earlier. But the salesclerks had been
calling her "ma'm" for few years now; it was nice to be able to recognize,
accept, and embrace the reality of the present.
Soon the foursome had located their seats and found themselves staring at
the famous amphitheater. The crowd, not surprisingly, was already going
wild. It was just about 9:30 p.m. when the four Beatles walked onstage.
They surveyed the scene from their vantage point, and seemed to be
reveling in the moment. John Lennon must have caught sight of the fans who
had gone to unusual lengths to secure a view of the band. He called out:
"Hello to you in the trees."
Claire looked at her daughters, and at the thousands of other teen girls
overrunning the historic venue. There were a scattering of other adults,
and more than a few teenage boys as well, but it was clear that the girls
were the dominant presence here. They were screaming and crying and
dancing, even though the music hadn't started yet; she didn't remember
whether some of them were going to faint, but it wouldn't have surprised
her to see that happen. Even though Claire loved the Beatles, she was glad
she wasn't going to lose control of herself the way these girls were.
After all, she was a mature lady.
Then a funny feeling overwhelmed her. It must have been something about
the music, the time, the place and the surging waves of estrogen washing
over it. Maybe it was the electricity of the opening chords of "Twist and
Shout." Before she knew it, her mouth was open, and she was screaming too.
And crying. And she didn't stop until the Beatles left the stage thirty-
five minutes later.
As they began walking toward the exit, Patricia looked squarely at Claire
and said, "Really, Mother. Sometimes you are such an embarrassment!"
Claire just smiled. She was happy to be the parent of two very typical
teenagers. Her attention was suddenly distracted by the sight of a crowd
surging toward a waiting limousine. "Ohh!" Rose cried. "Let's go over
there! Maybe we can get their autographs."
"No!" Claire cried. "Find the Dart! Find the Dodge Dart! That limo is a
decoy!"
Melissa and the girls looked at her strangely, but the truth quickly
dawned on Melissa. Claire was an expert on Beatles history, including all
the history that was yet to happen. "Trust your mother, girls!" she
shouted. They all took off in search of a Dodge Dart. Claire was grateful
for her decision to wear flats this evening.
"There it is!" Melissa cried.
Sure enough, it was a brand-new Dodge Dart sedan with the four Beatles
inside. The women could see them clearly. The Beatles seemed to hear their
screams; they all smiled and waved; Paul McCartney winked. But they were
about ten feet away when the car started up and pulled off into the night.
Rose wiped away a tear. "We were so close."
Melissa said, "At least we got a good look at them up-close. That's more
than most of this crowd can say."
Both girls looked at Claire with more than a bit of suspicion. "Mother?"
Patricia finally asked. "How do you know all these things? How can you
possibly know?"
Claire smiled and reached out to wrap her arms around the three women she
loved more than anyone else on earth. "Come on girls," she said. "You
should know about women's intuition by now." She chuckled. "I guess I've
honed it a little more finely than most."
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