“David, you know I’m not gonna really bring out the violins for you.” I popped open the cold can. “There are too many sistahs sitting home alone on Saturday nights.”
David pulled an album from the rack. “This is in your honor, Stevie.”
David played Santana’s Black Magic Woman on the stereo.
“Whoopey do do,” I answered sarcastically, between sips.
David turned on his red lava lamp. “How’s this for atmosphere?”
My eyes were drawn to the flow of the red mixture inside the lamp. A person could be hypnotized by it.
“Stevie, didn’t you ever cross over in your four years at college?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I went on a few dates with a couple of white dudes.” I remembered Jeremy on the school newspaper. He was a stone hippie, love beads and the whole bit. We’d seen Easy Rider at the Student Union together. Afterward we’d hugged. I liked Jeremy, but he wasn’t big on soap and water. He was overdrawn at the funk bank. So, I’d turned my attention toward a brother named Skylar.
“Did you ever kiss one?”
I remembered Daniel, this white dude I’d gone to dinner with while traveling with the debate team. Outside my hotel room, Daniel had pressed me against the wall and forced his tongue inside my mouth. I had to fight to get away from him. Daniel hadn’t kissed me, he’d attacked me.
“No,” I answered. Then I remembered my French kiss with Celeste. But that didn’t count because she wasn’t a man.
“Would you ever be involved with a white dude?”
“I don’t know, it would all depend on how I felt.”
“I heard that. Let’s get high with my bong. I’ve got some dynamite weed, Jamaican.”
My eyebrows shot up. “David, you get high down here?”
He nodded, producing a wide glass tube.
“Mama and Daddy would kill you if they knew.”
“Look, Mama and Dad have their own problems. They’re tired and worn out. All they want is a little peace these days. They don’t look for things to get upset about. Hey, as long as I burn some incense and stuff some towels underneath the door, everything is cool.”
“You don’t think they suspect?”
“Sometimes people see what they want to see.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” I agreed. “You know, bro, I don’t want to end up like them.”
“I don’t want to end up miserable either.”
“I appreciate all the sacrifices they’ve made. But it’s like I never remember them ever being happy,” I added.
David sighed as he went to fill the bong with water.
4
The night before our trip, I was almost too excited to fall asleep. Sharlinda, Today, and I had looked over the brochures and finally agreed on a small, romantic-looking hotel that was supposed to be a stone’s throw away from Nob Hill. I was enchanted by the fog, cable cars, steep hills, and Victorian houses that I read about in my tour guide. I imagined San Francisco to be more like a foreign city than an American one.
Sharlinda, Today, and I cheered as our 747 took off under partly cloudy skies. I said a prayer as we rose high above Chicago. I was nervous. I’d only flown a few times with the debate team. And we’d encountered turbulence on our trip to D.C. last year. I didn’t even mind that Sharlinda had talked us into letting her have the window. I was sitting on the aisle, but that was OK. I’d get to see plenty, once I got to San Francisco.
We’d already planned a deluxe bus tour tomorrow that would include Chinatown, Twin Peaks, Golden Gate Park, Fisherman’s Wharf, you name it. Sharlinda wanted to go to Alcatraz Island and see the prison where Al Capone and the Bird Man of Alcatraz had served time. But Today and I thought it would be too depressing. I said I’d rather see the giant redwoods, and Today was more interested in walking across the Golden Gate Bridge. Too bad we weren’t rich, ’cause then we could go down the coast to Monterey and Carmel. I’d wanted to go there ever since I’d seen the Clint Eastwood movie Play Misty for Me. I also wished we could afford to go wine tasting in the Napa Valley. I had champagne tastes; too bad I was on a beer budget.
“Honey, you need to put your seat in its upright position for landing.” The stewardess’ soft, husky, southern accent interrupted my thoughts. I looked into the face of a sistah. It was nice to see a black stewardess in the friendly skies. Her rich color reminded me of the inside of a chocolate truffle. Celeste had given me one from her box of Valentine’s candy last February.
“Sorry,” I said, “I forgot.” I felt embarrassed that I might have made this sistah’s job more difficult. But I didn’t regret the opportunity to look into her soft brown eyes.
“You don’t have to be sorry.” She patted my shoulder reassuringly. “It’s my job to keep you safe.” I moved my chair up, but I hated to see the stewardess go. In those few seconds, she really made me feel taken care of. I caught myself checking out her sleek figure as she moved gracefully down the aisle.
“Look at the sunset. It’s beautiful,” Sharlinda exclaimed as our plane descended over the San Francisco Bay Area.
“Yeah, it’s gorgeous,” I agreed, craning my neck to see the hills and water and sky tinged in shades of orange.
“Enjoy your stay in San Francisco.” A blonde stewardess smiled at the front of the plane as we exited. I thanked her, but I was disappointed not to be able to say good-bye to the sistah.
Suddenly, I heard her velvety voice. “Is the Bay Area your home, or are you visiting?”
“We’re on vacation.”
“Well, have fun.”
“Thank you,” I smiled.
“Stevie, you haven’t heard a thing I’ve said, have you?”
“Huh?” I asked Today.
“I was asking you what I should wear Saturday night. Remember, we’re going out with my cousin Brian and two of his friends.”
I felt ashamed that I had been grinning up in the stewardess’ face when Today was nice enough to have set up a hot date for me.
“I’ll help you pick out something to wear when we get to the hotel,” I promised.
“What about you, Stevie?” Sharlinda asked as we walked through the terminal. “What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. But I realized that I hadn’t even given it a minute’s thought.
The hotel was a disappointment. It was old and plain. The creaky elevator took forever to get from the first floor to the third, and the hallways were a dingy yellow.
“It sho’ ain’t the Ritz,” Sharlinda said as we walked into a nondescript room with gold draperies and brown plaid bedspreads that looked straight out of the fifties. The canvas cot could’ve come from an army surplus store.
I plopped into a chair. “Well, how much time did you plan to spend in the hotel room anyway? I mean, I came to see San Francisco.”
Today and Sharlinda each sat on a bed. Surely they didn’t think I was going to sleep on the cot for a week. I looked around the room at the small dresser and chest of drawers. I hoped there would be enough space for all of our stuff. It was suddenly important to me to stake out my territory.
“Let’s see if we even have a view.” Today sighed, jumped up and peeked through the draperies.
“Well? So, do we?” Sharlinda asked while I counted the drawers in the dresser.
“Yeah,” Today answered. “We have a view of the side of a tall building.”
“I want a damn refund!” Sharlinda shouted. “Everybody is supposed to have a damn view in this town. Today, how did your aunt steer us to this dump?”
“Remember we’re on a tight budget,” I said, not wanting Today to feel bad about her aunt. We were already here; we might as well make the best of it.
“Yeah, it was this place or the YWCA. At least here, we have a private bathroom,” Today reminded Sharlinda.
“Yeah, but how can we go back and hold our heads up if we didn’t even have a view. What are we going to tell people in our postcards?” Sharlinda wanted to know.
> “I don’t know about y’all, but when Miss Thing finishes describing this place, folks will swear we were at the Mark Hopkins, up on Nob Hill, honey,” Today laughed.
“Well, I just hope this bad boy don’t have no roaches. Then I can share your fantasy,” Sharlinda smiled.
“We’re taking turns sleeping on the cot. So don’t you all get too comfortable,” I warned, getting up to unpack.
The Deluxe City Bus Tour had kicked my behind. We’d gone some of everywhere: Chinatown, Golden Gate Park, and Twin Peaks. The next day we rode a ferryboat over to Sausalito and bought souvenirs. On Thursday, Today visited with her aunt over in Oakland. Sharlinda and I rode the cable cars out to Fisherman’s Wharf. And today we took a bus tour over to Muir Woods in Marin County. The giant redwood trees were spectacular. It had been an exciting week. Tomorrow we were hooking up with Today’s cousin Brian and two of his friends for a night on the town. Come Sunday, we’d fly home.
I knew that Today was self-conscious about the ten pounds she wanted to lose. But in my opinion, wearing a tight skirt that looked like it had been painted on drew even more attention to her weight. The bottom line was, we were all in competition. Sharlinda had lost weight recently, but she piled on the makeup, partly to cover up her zits and also, I suspected, because she was nervous. At one time, Sharlinda’s light complexion would’ve given her an edge over Today and me. But this was 1975, and there was no guarantee that every brother would prefer Sharlinda’s pale complexion to our brown ones.
The room smelled like fried hair. Today was straightening her naps in the bathroom mirror with a hot comb. She didn’t travel anywhere without it. Sharlinda had fine, limp hair that she swore she couldn’t do anything with. She’d recently traded her natural in for a perm.
“Stevie, you think they’ll like naturals?” Today yelled from the bathroom.
I continued to pick out my Afro in the dresser mirror.
“How would I know? I’ve never met them. Brian is your cousin.”
“But I haven’t seen my cousin since I was ten.”
“The natural’s not as popular as it used to be,” Sharlinda cut in.
“So?”
“So, some people say the Afro’s on its way out.”
“Stevie, you’re welcome to use my straightening comb and curling iron if you want to be on the safe side,” Today offered.
I stared in the round mirror above the dresser. I was proud of my recently sculpted ’fro. Too bad if they didn’t like it. I had no intention of straightening my hair just to please some man I’d never even met.
“No thanks. I’ll take my chances.”
“You’re brave. Most women aren’t willing to sacrifice style just to make a political statement anymore,” Today said.
“Maybe I’m just not most women,” I said as the phone rang. “Besides, I don’t feel like I’m sacrificing anything.”
“Today, it’s for you,” Sharlinda announced.
“Who is it?”
“Who may I tell her is calling?” Sharlinda sounded like a secretary.
“Oh, hi, Brian this is Sharlinda,” she said in a breathy voice.
“Give me the phone, Miss Thing,” Today said, grabbing the telephone.
Sharlinda headed toward the bathroom. She began rubbing acne medication on her face. I would just wait and put my eye shadow and lipstick on when she was finished. I wasn’t big on makeup. I didn’t wear much and I didn’t wear it often. And I could apply it in two minutes flat.
I opened a drawer and pulled out my blue and white striped top. I decided to wear it with my new white pants.
“Bad news,” Today reported, hanging up the phone.
I turned away from the dresser, and Sharlinda walked into the bedroom with zit medication all over her face.
“What is it?” she asked.
Today plopped down on the bed. “Brian’s friend Rodney can’t make it.”
“That’s too bad. Wasn’t he the one you said would be perfect for Stevie?” Sharlinda asked.
“I said, we’d just see who naturally gravitated to who.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We said we’d just let the chips fall where they may.”
“Well, my mistake. So, what are we going to do now?”
“I don’t know,” Today sighed. “I mean we could all go and just see what happens. See which one of you my cousin falls for. Of course, I’ve got first dibs on Kyle. I mean you two can fight over Brian.”
“Well, Stevie, you want to flip a coin or draw straws?”
Suddenly, I remembered the stewardess. Maybe it was time to put myself in a situation where I could check out my feelings toward women. With a few phone calls, I could probably find a women’s bar. This was my chance. I was away from home and no one would ever have to know. My heart raced at the thought of entering such a forbidden world.
“No, Sharlinda, you and Today go ’head on.”
“Stevie, we wouldn’t feel right about us going out to dinner and partying while you’re cooped up in this room. Right, Sharlinda?”
“Well, I would feel better if she at least had a view.”
“Who says I’ll be cooped up anywhere?”
“Well, where would you go?”
“She could take the Chinatown at Night tour,” Sharlinda suggested.
“Look, I have the tour guide. I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about me.”
“Stevie, are you sure? I mean, won’t you be lonely?”
“Or scared?” Today cut in.
“I’ll be fine. It will be an adventure.”
“But won’t you be scared out there alone?”
“Look, Today, you’re forgetting that I’m a sistah from the South Side of Chicago. Now, if I can’t handle San Francisco, then I oughta quit. Don’t you think?”
“Hey, I heard that,” Today agreed.
“‘Miss Thing,’ I owe you one,” Sharlinda winked.
“That’s fine by me. You can start by taking my turn on the cot tonight.”
Sharlinda and Today had finally gone. I could hear my heart beating fast. I felt relieved to be alone with my plan. I thumbed through the People’s Yellow Pages, a progressive, nationwide reference book I’d had sense enough to bring along with me. The San Francisco Women’s Switchboard … hmmmm … the book said that they dealt with lesbian issues. What should I do, just call and ask where the women’s bars were? I supposed that would qualify as a lesbian issue. A bar—I wished there was some alternative to a bar. I wasn’t much of a drinker, although I’d probably need a few drinks in a lesbian bar.
I really wanted to talk to somebody, not just sit around some dive. Maybe I should go to a shrink instead. But why should I have to go seek psychiatric help? I was one of the sanest people I knew, sort of. And besides, talk was cheap. No, it wasn’t, not that kind of talk. Anyway, I was ready for some action, sort of. I reached for the phone and dialed the number of the San Francisco Women’s Switchboard.
“What kind of scene are you into?” The woman who’d answered the phone asked cheerfully.
I hesitated. How did I know? I’d never even been inside of a lesbian bar before.
“There are several women’s bars here in the city.”
“Oh, well, I guess I’d like to go to the best one, then.”
“That’s probably a matter of opinion. You see, it depends on what you’re looking for. Some women like Maude’s in the Haight, ’cause it’s a friendly neighborhood place. But, if you wanna dance; you might prefer Peg’s Place or A Little More.”
“This is my first time. You see, I’m just visiting San Francisco. I’ve never been to one of those kinds of places before, anywhere. So, I’d like to go where I’d feel the most comfortable.”
“I see. Well, it’s not all that easy going into any bar alone. But it’s a lot easier than in a straight bar. Actually, I’m straight,” the woman whispered.
“Oh, wow, you could’ve fooled me.”
“Well, I wasn’t trying to fool you.”
> “I just meant that you sounded like you had a lot of firsthand experience, that’s all.”
“Well, most of my friends are lesbians, and I do go to women’s bars and dances. You see, I love to dance and I hate being hassled by men.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling relieved that you could go to a lesbian bar and not necessarily be a lesbian.
“In fact,” the woman continued, “I’m going to a women’s dance tonight.”
“Oh, is it open to the public?”
“Sure. I didn’t mention it before because it’s in Berkeley.”
“Berkeley, is that far?”
“Not really, I live in Berkeley. I take BART and it’s not a bad commute. It’s only about a half-hour ride.”
“That’s nothing. It takes longer than that for me to get from my house to downtown Chicago.”
“Sounds like you might be game, then.”
“Yeah, actually a dance sounds better than a bar.”
“I can give you directions. But you have to remember to get into the BART system by the stroke of midnight.”
“Or I’ll turn into a pumpkin?”
“Or you’ll have to take a cab back, which costs about twenty-five bucks. Unless of course you get lucky and meet someone tonight and get picked up by her.”
“I’ll manage to get into the BART system on time or else spring for a cab. I don’t think I’m ready to go home with anyone just yet. It’ll be a big deal for me even to get up enough nerve to go inside the place, believe me.”
“Well, good luck, here are the directions.”
Taking BART was an experience in itself. I’d read in the newspaper last year about the Bay Area’s new transit system. Yet I was startled when the shiny silver train with blue trim sneaked up on me. Its sleek design reminded me more of something out of The Jetsons than Chicago’s creaky old el trains. BART even put the newer trains that ran along the Dan Ryan Expressway to shame. BART was computerized; machines gave you your ticket to get in and out of the system. The ride was amazingly quiet; the cars spacious and almost squeaky clean.
I liked what I saw as I walked along the streets of Berkeley: Comfortable-looking houses, quaint shops, harmless-looking hippies. If I got lost, it wouldn’t be hard to walk up to one of the several smiling people strolling with backpacks and ask them for directions.
Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice Page 5
