by S. P. Perone
“Tony, if you feel this is wrong, why are you doing it?” Harry asked.
Shane paused for a few moments before answering. “The ironic thing is that Idon’t think this is wrong. And I can’t explain that to you without telling you things that I shouldn’t, and that you don’t want to know anyway. But, what I am concerned about is dragging Sarah and Bill into something that was never supposed to involve anyone but myself…and disrupting their lives, without even being able to tell them what they’re getting into.”
Shane stopped. And Harry’s deep brown eyes gazed at him with the heartfelt sympathy of someone realizing his dear friend was in a kind of pain for which he was helpless to prescribe an antidote.
For a long time there was silence. Then, Sarah spoke up. “Tony, please don’t feel guilty on my part…or Bill’s either,” she said. “Do you really think we’re walking into this completely blind? Bill and I have talked. We know whatclassified research means. And we know that Livermore Lab deals with national security. Of course, we’re going to be involved insecret work. But we know it must be very important and very urgent for you to draw us into it. So, please, please, don’t beat yourself up over this.”
As Tony looked admiringly over at Sarah, Harry thought he should add his two cents worth. “And, Tony, please don’t let me hear you giving Clarkson credit fordoing the right thing. Puhleez, don’t give him that kind of halo. That sonofabitch is only out to try and make himself look like a big shot…and to take you down a peg at the same time if he can. He couldn’t care less about the welfare of our precious research programs. He’s only promoting himself. Can’t you see that?”
Tony just stared blankly at Harry, not really understanding.
“Son,” Harry began in his most fatherly tone of voice, “you are the most politically naïve young man I’ve ever met. You need to talk to papa here if you want to survive among those sharks out there.”
“But, Harry,” Tony began, “I don’t have any political aspirations…”
“Son, you still don’t get it,” Harry interrupted. “To a guy like Clarkson, any successful young Turk in the university is a potential threat. And the only way he knows how to keep himself on top is to make those threats look bad. And that’s what he has planned for you.”
“The sad thing, Tony,” Harry continued, “is that you only care about your teaching and research, and you’re simple-minded enough to think you don’t need to have any political smarts to just do your own thing. Well, maybe now you can see that a jerk like Clarkson can take that away from you when you’re not looking.”
Tony sat there with a slightly bewildered look on his face. Harry had said his piece, and returned to enjoying his glass of wine. Luci and Sarah quietly focused on the blazing fire in the fireplace, and sipped on their wine also.
Finally, Tony took his feet off the table, placed them on the floor, and leaned forward on his elbows. Looking directly at the fire, and holding the glass of wine between his hands, he said, “Harry, you’re right, as usual. Clarkson is promoting Clarkson, at my expense. And I need to think about how to protect what it is I hold dear at this university. But, honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever become a political animal.I don’t know how to be anything but straightforward in my dealings with people. If I can’t survive at a university, using that approach, then…perhaps I don’t belong here.”
Before Harry could respond, Tony continued. “I have a job interview set up next week with a company in Albuquerque, called ‘CryptaGen’. I know their President and CEO, Larry Markson. He used to be Professor of Computer Science at the University of New Mexico, before he founded this company. It’s been very successful, and he’s been after me for the past couple years to join them. They would probably give me two or three times the salary I could make at the university.”
“I had intended to cancel the interview trip,” Tony continued. “I had never taken the job possibility seriously. But, now, I don’t know. I think I will go through with the interview. I can squeeze it in on my trip back here to meet my lectures next Thursday. I’ll only be away from Livermore for an extra half-day.”
Now they were all looking at him. Sarah and Luci were shocked and showed it. The patient expression on Harry’s face indicated he knew that Shane could not be serious. Nevertheless, he said, “Tony, buddy, we’ve been friends for the past six or eight years. I don’t know anyone who is more cut out to be a professor. The only thing you need is a couple lessons in political survival. And this ‘big guy’ is gonna teach you…and if you can’t learn, I’ll go in and take your place at those department meetings…no one will be able to tell, do you think?”
Everybody cracked up with Harry’s last statement…finally relieving the tension that had built up.
“God, I’d love to see you and Clarkson go head to head,” Tony said with a big grin. “He’d be so busy covering his own butt, he wouldn’t have time to dump on the rest of us. When can we make the switch?”
Harry laughed as he got up to retrieve the wine bottle from the kitchen. He poured until it was empty. He had selected a great bottle of Cabernet from Sterling Vineyards for this evening with Tony and Sarah, realizing they might not be able to get together again for quite a while.
The conversation turned to Tony’s “hustling” of the female grad student from Texas, each of them giving him a hard time over that incident. And then Luci picked on Harry for boring all the students with his knowledge of “ancient” musical history. “They just don’t care about the Beatles anymore, honey,” she had said, condensing a very complex issue into a few words.
Before Harry could launch into a defense of his musical passions, Tony started to get up, indicating that he and Sarah should be leaving, as they had to be ready for the San Francisco trip early next morning. Harry and Luci protested, offering to open up another, even better, bottle of wine. But Tony persisted, and shortly, after giving both Luci and Harry a hug, Tony and Sarah headed off to Tony’s house next door.
Sarah had decided to take a shower. After a long day outdoors at the football game and the subsequent social events, they were both feeling a little “gritty”. Tony brought Sarah upstairs and let her use the bathroom off of the master bedroom, while he used the shower in the large bathroom off of the basement rec. room. Making his way downstairs, he stopped to check the back and front doors. As he locked the front door, he looked out the small window at the top of the door and noticed a dark 4-door sedan across the street two doors down, that apparently had someone sitting in the driver’s seat. Thinking that was a little strange, he continued down to the basement to take his shower.
In a heavy terrycloth robe, Tony made his way back upstairs after his shower, pausing briefly to peer out the front door window again. The dark sedan was still there, but the driver was no longer in the car. Convinced that nothing suspicious was going on, he turned off most of the lights, and climbed up the stairs.
Sarah was seated on the queen-size oak bed, with the blankets pulled back, brushing her hair, using one of Tony’s over-size dress shirts as her “nightgown.” She had her luggage packed back at her apartment, but she had placed a few essential overnight items in her purse before meeting Tony for the game that morning. She hadn’t been sure she would spend the night, but as the day went on, she became more certain that it was the right thing to do. Tony had not asked her, but she knew he wanted her to be with him tonight. They would not have this opportunity again for a long time.
Tony turned off the overhead light, leaving just the soft glow of two small nightlights to illuminate the room. Moving around to the far side of the bed, he lay down on his left side next to her, and just watched as she continued to brush her hair. Slowly, he propped himself up and lifted her hair as he leaned forward to kiss the back of her neck. Realizing that continued brushing was going to be awkward, if not impossible, Sarah tossed the brush aside, put her hands down in her lap, and bowed her head forward, allowing Tony to continue his exploration of the back of her neck. Eager to hold
her in his arms, Tony reached around with his right hand and grasped her left shoulder twisting her around so that their lips could meet. As they explored one another gently with their lips, Sarah lay down and let Tony embrace her. Drawing her close, he discovered that she was trembling. Slowly, gently, he calmed her with his tender caresses. It was then that they began to make love…passionately and desperately…rediscovering the intimacy they had lost.
Collapsing together finally into a sweaty heap, spent and exhausted, still wrapped together, Tony and Sarah lay there for a long time, without a word. Slowly, they began to move and open their eyes. Gazing and smiling silently at one another, they knew each was thinking how foolish they had been to tear apart their relationship. They both knew in their hearts that they would not make that mistake again.
Eventually, they reached down and pulled the blankets over them, kissed, murmured their messages of love, and quickly fell asleep still clasped tightly together.
Down the street, a driver entered the dark 4-door sedan, started the engine, and slowly drove away, turning on the headlights as the car turned the corner.
PART II
California Dreamin’
Chapter 10
Warm San Franciscan Nights
It’s too bad Mark Twain didn’t hang around until October after the “coldest winter” he ever experienced, that summer long ago in San Francisco. Bay Area residents realize that the bone-chilling evening fog that cools the City on the Bay in July is but a distant memory during the lovely month of October. San Franciscans bask in the sunny days and warm evenings where light fall clothing replaces the heavy winter coats that are often seen during summer.
It was just such an evening when the StarSight project team gathered together in the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel, which occupies the prime real estate at the top of Nob Hill in San Francisco. This group of nine…the six academics joined by Barry Nagle’s wife, Renata, as well as the Senator and his wife, Ellen, was completely swallowed up by the beautifully restored plush lobby. With its white and gray marble floors, and alabaster walls and molding, it looked now as it had when designed by Julia Morgan after the 1906 earthquake.
They had just had a drink together in the ornate Laurel Court bar off the lobby. The Senator and Ellen were taking their leave so they could join the Mayor and her husband for dinner at their home. The rest of the group would find their way to dinner in the City. Because only the Nagles were San Francisco residents, they were asked to select the location for dinner…with the strong suggestion by Shane that it had to be an Italian seafood restaurant. The Nagles didn’t hesitate, but selected Scoma’s on Fisherman’s Wharf. They always entertained visitors at this well-known San Francisco landmark. It was right in the middle of the biggest tourist attraction in the city, but it managed to maintain a traditional wharf atmosphere and serve excellent Italian seafood dishes.
Tony was delighted. He had eaten there several times before, and he was looking forward to a delicious meal of their famouscioppino . This traditional Italian fisherman’s stew contained mostly crab, clams, mussels, and shrimp. The seafood was prepared in a heavy tomato broth, well seasoned with garlic, onion, basil, clam juice and other indefinable but stimulating ingredients and spices. It was served traditionally with toasted garlic bread made from sourdough slices. When with a large group, Shane preferred the “lazy man’s”cioppino , where the meats were separated from the shells for the diner’s convenience. Normally, however, he would order the regular dish, which contained crab bodies and claws, with the clams and mussels still in the open shells. The consumption of this seafood feast required the diner to use fingers to pull apart the crab shells and peel the shrimp, and normally resulted in a pretty messy experience. The restaurant provided bibs and wet towels to help keep the damage to a minimum. Shane didn’t mind getting himself messy, but his enthusiastic assault on the shellfish often contaminated other guests with spray from the broth. So, tonight, he would deny himself the pleasure of attacking the standardcioppino dinner.
Despite being a native Californian, Sarah had rarely visited San Francisco. Her parents were country folk, descended from Oklahoma farmers who had migrated to California during the great “dust bowls” of the 1930’s. They had 80 acres of vineyards on the outskirts of Modesto, and were not often interested in making the 60-or 70-mile drive to the City. Sarah’s visits had been limited to high school field trips and an occasional excursion with her parents. None of these visits had brought her to a restaurant as fine as Scoma’s.
Bill Campbell, having grown up in Iowa, attending Iowa State University, and then moving to Rockville, Illinois, for graduate work at Daniels, had never before been in California. In fact, his perspective of California having been colored by the comments of parents, relatives and friends from Iowa…none of whom had been to California either…was that this large western state was filled with “fruits and nuts.” This comment had usually been followed by the proclamation that “we’ll be better off when thebig one hits and California falls off into the ocean.”
Uncharacteristically for a well-educated young man, Bill was very apprehensive of spending time in California. He was certain that an earthquake would bring the stately Fairmont Hotel tumbling down, and his room on the 26thfloor would find itself in the center of Chinatown two blocks away. He suspected that homicidal psychopaths lurked around every corner; and that every friendly male was attempting to lure him into a homosexual life style. Shane had shared Bill’s revelation of paranoia with Harry Churchill, over a glass of wine, a few evenings ago back in Rockville, and they had enjoyed a good chuckle at Bill’s expense. Of course, Shane would not be so insensitive as to ridicule Campbell’s sadly mistaken concept of the atmosphere in California or San Francisco. He resolved simply to let Bill discover for himself what so many travelers ahead of him had: that San Francisco is one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and, for many, the most romantic.
Bill had begun to understand the magical appeal of San Francisco, first, when their flight had had to circle the city before landing because of air traffic backup; and then, when he had enjoyed the spectacular view from his hotel room just as the sun was setting over the pacific. The former experience provided a breathtaking panoramic view of the entire Bay Area, encompassing the lush green Golden Gate Park in the heart of the City; the five long bridges looking like the tendrils of a gigantic spider web, connecting the peninsular city with the North Bay and East Bay; the impressive vistas of Berkeley to the east and the Pacific Ocean to the west; the dozens of sailboats cruising the Bay waters; the occasional freighter or passenger ship being led to port by little tugboats with master pilots navigating the many hazards of the bay; and Alcatraz and the handful of other islands scattered about. The latter experience enabled him to take in the expansive skyline view, which included the Golden Gate Bridge, Sausalito and Tiburon across the bay; Fisherman’s Wharf; Coit Tower; the Transamerica Building; and the Bay Bridge.
Finally, when they had gathered together in the Laurel Court bar, Bill had met Anna Ling. They had found much to talk about. And, Bill found himself excited at the prospect of discovering California in the company of this attractive young lady.
Each of the project team from out of town had been assigned an individual room at the Fairmont. They were not all on the same floor. Tony’s room was on the 25th; Sarah’s was on the 23rd; and Sharon Carson’s, like Bill Campbell’s, was on the 26th; the Senator and his wife were housed in one of the Tower suites. The Senator and his wife had arrived on Saturday. Tony, Sarah, Bill, and Sharon had arrived in the mid-afternoon Sunday, checked in, and had met shortly after to begin exploring the local area around the hotel. Their walking tour encompassed the stately Grace Cathedral at the opposite end of the square atop of Nob Hill, the Mark Hopkins hotel across the street, and several blocks of Chinatown. The tour took them across one of the busiest cable car intersections in the city at the corner of Powell and California. Dozens of tourists were camped out there hoping to hitch a ride o
n one of these famous San Francisco relics.
Their walking tour through Chinatown, along Grant Avenue, took them to North Beach, which was the “Little Italy” of San Francisco. Tony was able to direct their attention to several of the delicacies prepared at numerous pastry shops within the region bounded by Grant and Stockton. He knew they would love thecannoli s, but these could be found in almost any city these days. So, instead, Shane had them sample the almond cookies and torts,tiramisu , and his favorite, the baked fig cookies covered with sweet glaze and colorful sprinkles. Even Sharon Carson, who was able to obtain an equally wonderful selection of Italian goodies in the North End of Boston, was impressed with the quality of the fig cookies they obtained at Stella’s Pastry Shop on Columbus. And, she had never had thesacrapantina , an Italian rum-cake specialty of Stella’s.
This evening, after leaving the Fairmont, they decided to take a cable car ride down to Fisherman’s Wharf. Because it was Sunday evening, with most of the day-tourists having left the City, they were able to get on a relatively uncrowded car of the Powell and Hyde Line. Tony, Sharon, and the Nagles sat down inside, while Anna, Sarah, and Bill sat on the wooden bench seats facing the outside of the car. The cable car operator…a big man with long muscular arms, a vest and black cap, dark skin and a black mustache…worked the huge levers, which alternately locked and disengaged the car from the vast underground cable, snaking its way up and down the many hills of the city. Another huge lever operated the wooden brake pads. The pungent smell of scorched wood that permeated the little car at the bottom of every hill alerted the unwary passengers that only the skill and strength of this colorful operator was preserving their safety. The repeated and spirited tugging of the leather cord attached to the large overhead bell generated a loud clanging, warning the many pedestrians to stand clear of this antiquated passenger vessel careening around each corner.
