When I was doing press for the first of the three Vera Kelly novels, an interviewer asked if I had ever been to Julius’, a storied (and claimant for the oldest) gay bar in New York. I said that I hadn’t. She seemed a little disappointed; I was a little disappointed in myself. I was writing a mid-century series with a gay protagonist, and Julius’ had been a beloved mainstay of mid-century gay life in the West Village. It was even the site of the ‘sip-in’, one of the earliest protests against anti-gay vice laws in the city. I made an intention to visit, and then, in the rush of my job and my book and other responsibilities large and small, I forgot about it.
One Friday afternoon that fall, I finished my day at the mental health clinic where I worked and cast about for something relaxing to do before getting on the train. I was in the first trimester of my first pregnancy, and I was exhausted and queasy all the time. In times past, I would have had a drink with co-workers to celebrate the end of the week, but that was obviously off the table. Instead, I wandered south from the clinic on West 15th Street alone, looking for a way to treat myself. It was a beautiful September day, and after walking for a while I was delighted to find myself in front of Van Leeuwen, one of my favourite ice cream shops. I sat in the window with a cone. Looking out across the street, I spotted Three Lives bookstore. Would they have my book on display inside? I could go check– but I quashed the thought. After all, my book had been out for months already; it was probably not on display, and why should I go ruin my own afternoon by finding out for sure? It was while this reasonable, mature thought was forming that I realized I was looking straight at Vera’s face. My book was propped in the window, staring right back at me.
The bookstore and the ice cream shop, facing each other on their respective corners, pried loose a memory. I had been here before, at this Van Leeuwen, across from a bookstore, one night when I was out with a friend at – Julius’. I turned my head and there the bar was, cattycorner across the street. I had been there years before and forgotten. Vera, the bar and me, sitting there, forgetting and remembering – it was as if I had run into my own character, having a night out, living her own life. As if she had managed to surprise me, even though I had invented her.