Chapter Text
Prologue
WOMEN STEP UP With the rise in men needed overseas, farms and factories need workers…Jobs that usually go to men are opening up…Weapons manufacturing, farmhands, test pilots are needed…
Kit Kittredge, New York Times, 14 February 1941
ADD TO THE FORTY PERCENT As of today, 20 million Victory Gardens supply produce for our civilians…It is the hard work of Americans at home that feeds our boys overseas…Free up food for them: start your own Victory Garden today…
Kit Kittredge, New York Times, 10 April 1943
VICTORY IN EUROPE Nazi Germany has surrendered to the Allies…America arises victorious in Europe after four years of war…following the reclaiming of France, the Allies successfully marched East through the European mainland…Fighting still rages in the Pacific…
Kit Kittredge, New York Times, 9 May 1945
1. Meet Kit
How far I’ve fallen .
Ten years ago, Kit Kittredge had been in France, giving up-to-date reports on the American invasion of Normandy. She had been a field correspondent, stationed in Paris, sending jubilant letters to the Times every time the Allies won a battle. She had been…
Ow!
Someone had stepped on her toe.
No longer did Kit serve her country, bringing vital information to the public. Now she served a far more select group.
At present, Kit was being jostled by people on every side as she walked down Broadway, squinting in the afternoon sun as she read name after name of theater after theater. She had been assigned to write a review of Broadway’s newest show: The Pajama Game . She didn’t like the title; it reminded her of her childhood spent sewing sackcloth into pajamas. The Depression hadn’t been a good time for anyone, of course, and her family had had worse problems, but Kit had particularly hated sewing all those clothes. Amid all the boarders, chickens, and anxiety, that sewing had somehow been the worst.
Her dresses had always been shit, too.
She stumbled over someone’s shoe and almost didn’t catch herself before she completely ate shit on the pavement, skirt flying over head. She didn’t want to be too dramatic, but that would have made this the worst day of her life. As it was, she cursed her skirt and heels. Wearing overalls had been a staple of childhood that continued into the war when the men had better things to care about than what fabric women wore. Her boss at the Times required a knee length skirt at least. Good ol’ Springer.
Mr. Springer was also the man who relegated her to the Style pages in the paper.
“Now that our boys are home, everyone gets back to where they belong,” he had proclaimed.
Kit had barely restrained herself from telling him to fuck off. Ten years later, she was still in the Style section, barely ever writing anything other than bland advertisements for picnics and family events, and no matter how much she worked, she never seemed closer to a promotion.
Kit’s mood lightened a bit when she saw the sign ahead.
St. James Theatre
Presenting, for the first time:
The Pajama Game
May 13
Now she could focus on reviewing this new play, even if it did have a stupid title. And, at the very least, she could get out of the sun.
The inside of the theater was fairly nice, and certainly colorful. The posters for the show were bright red, but the walls were painted yellow, presumably to match the checked blue and pink floor. Kit had to admit, though the designer’s vision had been odd to say the least, they had gone all out. She appreciated that level of commitment.
Her first target was the reception desk. The man behind the desk - the ticketmaster, she presumed - stood up as she approached.
“Margaret Kittredge!” he announced.
“Hello,” she replied. Very eloquent . “I’m here to look around the theater before I review tonight’s performance.”
“Of course you are! Allow me to show you around,” he said, sweeping around the desk and placing his arm around her waist. She extricated herself awkwardly, then took a deep breath. Let’s get this over with , her brain decreed.
“So, what’s first?”
She was almost to her seat when the alarm rang. For a moment, she stood still in confusion, thrown back to a time of air raid drills, her brain screaming that the Communists must be coming, before realizing the alarm was for fire. It took her another moment of puzzling over why someone would ring the fire alarm when the show was about to start to realize that there must be a fire. Nearly half a minute after the alarm went off, Kit was running out of the building.
She exited the theater and abruptly ran into a wall. A wall? She had only been here for a few hours, but she was sure there wasn’t a wall directly in front of the door.
“Come on!” the wall yelled. “Get up!”
Oh.
The wall was a person.
A person who was currently extending a hand to her. She took it.
2. Meet Judith
Once they were safely outside, the woman turned to her. They stared at each other for a few seconds in silence before the other woman began to laugh.
“Are you stupid?” she asked, giggling through the words.
“Am I…” Kit replied, surprised at the woman’s words.
“Stupid! Why else were you just sitting there?” She seemed genuinely curious, if a little too giddy to be truly concerned, so Kit thought for a second before giving her answer.
“I thought you were a wall.”
The woman paused for a second before bursting out laughing. “As good a reason as any!” She quelled her laughter and extended her hand again, this time for Kit to shake.
“I’m Judith.”
“Kit.”
They shook hands.
The ticketmaster approached them after several minutes of what seemed like an intense conversation with the stage manager and sighed heavily.
“We are so sorry, Miss Kittredge, but we are going to have to postpone the preview show until tomorrow night. There was a small amount of fire damage to one of the set pieces.” Seeing their worried faces, he added hastily, “Very minor damage! But enough to require some repairs for safety. I hope you understand; we take the health of our actors very seriously.”
“Nice of him to say so,” Judith murmured into Kit’s ear, “seeing as I’m one of them!”
“Of course,” Kit told him, stifling a laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After he left, Kit turned to Judith, her good mood evaporating as she realized what would come next. I really like her , she thought, surprised. Judith made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t felt since the War.
Apparently Judith felt similarly, for no sooner had Kit opened her mouth to say goodbye did Judith blurt, “Come home with me!”
Kit’s heart skipped a beat.
One shocked pause and several irregular heartbeats later, Judith laughed again. “Sorry, that was so forward! I meant, would you like to come over to my apartment? To have dinner and…get to know each other.”
Heart no longer skipping beats, but still hammering, Kit tried to keep her face neutral.
“I would love to.”
Six o’clock saw the girls eating potatoes and green beans at Judith’s house. As far as Kit could tell, Judith cooked only for herself and only when she absolutely had to. Everything on Kit’s plate was boiled; perhaps Judith has never heard of butter?
“What…excellent boiled potatoes,” Kit said, fairly sure her face wouldn’t betray her lie.
Judith rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to lie, love, I know I’m a shit cook.” She hesitated slightly before leaning forward. “Believe me, you’re not going to be thinking about this food for long.”
She winked.
Did she really just wink at me? Kit wondered, before deciding that she had, and then deciding that this required a response. Unfortunately, her brain was currently telling her to say something along the lines of hnnnnggh! , which didn’t seem adequate.
“Uhhh…” she managed.
Judith smiled and began to clear away the dinner dishes. “Eloquent, aren’t you?” she teased.
“Sorry,” Kit mumbled, her face flushing. Gathering her plate and silverware, she brought them to the kitchen and placed them in the sink.
“Do you want me to do these-” she began, turning around, but stopped when she realized just how close she was to Judith.
Before she could collect her thoughts, Judith pulled something from one of the cabinets. For a moment, Kit couldn’t figure out what it was. It seemed to be a cut out piece of paper, but it was too wrinkled and thick. Suddenly, she saw what it was: a dried violet!
“I keep this on hand,” Judith said. “In case I see someone I’d like to give it too.”
The question was clear in the slight squint of her eyes, and Kit was more than willing to answer it. She reached out, taking the violet, and then leaned forward, closing the foot of space between them.
Judith’s lips met hers as the violet fell to the ground.
An hour later, Kit decided she really didn’t mind the food after all.