Bobby's Girl

by Catrin Collier

  ‘I’ve no idea. She never said a word to me about it before she mentioned it just now.’

  ‘Do you want first shower?’

  ‘Yes, and while you’re showering, I’ll use the mirror above the desk to put on my warpaint.’ She kissed him again before leaving the bed. She suddenly realised how easily she and Bobby had slipped into domesticity after only one night together. There was none of the constraints and tensions she’d experienced in her relationship with Rich. But neither were there any promises or plans for the future beyond Camp Resonance.

  She remembered Kate’s advice. It was the Sixties. The modern age. Women were liberated. No more dependent on men than men were dependent on women. Footloose and fancy-free to live for the day because tomorrow will take care of itself – provided there wasn’t a nuclear holocaust.

  She had to rid herself of Rich’s way of thinking. The more she mulled over their relationship the more she realised just how much time they’d spent planning a future that would never happen.

  Showered, dried, deodorant and perfume applied, she wrapped herself in a towel and returned to the bedroom. Bobby was still in bed but he’d switched on the television and was watching the news. Bobby Kennedy was on screen addressing a rally.

  ‘My namesake and our next president on the campaign trail.’ Bobby adjusted the pillow beneath his head to a more comfortable position.

  ‘You think Bobby Kennedy will win?’ She sat on the end of the bed and unzipped her bag.

  ‘He has a good chance.’

  ‘Because of his brother?’

  ‘Do you ask the same question about John F. Kennedy in the UK that we do in the States?’

  ‘Where were you when John F. Kennedy was shot?’ she guessed.

  ‘I was playing basketball in school when a guy burst in with the news. That was the end of the game and everything for the day. None of us wanted to believe it.’

  ‘I was clearing out my wardrobe. My younger brother, Evan, shouted upstairs that Bonanza had been cancelled because the president had been shot. Like you, I didn’t want to believe it. Even when I watched the news broadcasts I still had difficulty believing it. After the Cuban crisis and President Kennedy’s “Ich bin ein Berliner” speech, I felt with him gone, the world would never be the same again.’

  ‘I thought that too for a long time. But,’ Bobby looked at the screen, ‘with another Kennedy in the White House, Camelot could rise again.’ He flung back the bedclothes and walked naked into the bathroom. He stopped by the door. ‘You have finished?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  He looked at her as she rummaged through her case. ‘No miniskirts, pretty dresses or jewellery for Harlem; jeans and a loose cotton shirt. It’s hot out there in every sense of the word.’

  * * *

  It was Sandy, not Bobby, who took charge of the expedition and it was Sandy’s idea to travel by bus.

  ‘That car of yours is a magnet for thieves, Bobby. We wouldn’t be able to stop anywhere.’

  ‘We won’t be stopping for long or walking any distance if we go by bus,’ Bobby warned. He turned to Kate. ‘Just why do you want to go up there?’

  ‘Because we’ve heard so much about New York and Harlem in Britain. It’s supposed to be dangerous.’

  ‘And instead of taking someone’s word for it you want to see it for yourself?’ Bobby questioned in amusement.

  ‘I can’t imagine people carrying weapons on the streets and on the subway.’

  ‘They do.’ Bobby led the way to the stop outside the hotel. ‘And forget the subway. That’s out of bounds. The streets are bad enough. You want to see a shooting or a knifing?’

  ‘Of course not. But like Penny I’m a social studies student—’

  ‘I thought you were art?’ Bobby frowned at her.

  ‘Kate and I are both studying two main subjects,’ she explained. ‘I want to see what conditions are like there. From what little I’ve seen of America and the people I’ve met I can’t believe you’re an uncaring society.’

  ‘We’re not.’ Sandy jumped to the defence of his country.

  ‘But although I’ve only been here one night I’ve noticed homeless people living on the streets,’ Kate continued. ‘And I’ve read articles that say New Yorkers will step over people who are ill and, in extreme cases, even corpses rather than lose time notifying the authorities. They walk on knowing the city will clear away the bodies along with the rubbish in the morning.’

  ‘And bury them in unmarked pits on Hart Island,’ Sandy murmured.

  ‘What?’ Penny couldn’t believe what Sandy had said.

  ‘It’s an island off New York. They don’t run ferries there but they do ship over all the unclaimed bodies. They’re dropped into mass graves.’

  ‘Why so shocked, Penny?’ Kate asked. ‘There are unmarked graves in Glyntaff cemetery where they buried people from the workhouse, along with those whose families couldn’t afford a funeral.’

  ‘That was years ago.’

  ‘Not that many years,’ Kate retorted.

  ‘Can’t keep bodies hanging around—’

  ‘That’s enough, Sandy.’ Bobby saw Penny was upset. ‘Every society has its alcoholics and addicts who refuse to be helped. Here’s the bus. I suggest we sit close to the door and keep our heads down.’

  They sat on bench seats opposite one another, Bobby and her one side, facing Kate and Sandy on the other. As the bus headed north, more and more white faces left and more and more dark ones boarded.

  She and Kate stared mesmerised out of the windows. The city was so different from any they had seen in Britain and, in her case, Europe.

  She had to concede her uncle had been right. At ground level it was very different from the clean clear vista of gleaming skyscrapers she’d seen on so many films and photographs. The billboards her Uncle Haydn had mentioned blocked every vacant lot from view. The streets were littered with rubbish and the deeper they headed into Harlem the more unfamiliar the sights and sounds.

  Snatches of jazz and pop music emanated from tenement blocks and fire escapes. Doors hung off hinges and a third of the windows were either broken or boarded over. Signs to ‘Beauty Parlours’ were pinned above impossibly glamorous posters of models promising ‘hair straightening’ and ‘skin lightening’. Wig shops sported hairpieces of improbable colours and shapes. And overlaying everything was a heavy odour of chicken, potatoes and stale frying fats.

  ‘You white folk come slumming?’

  ‘No, man.’ Sandy had given the others a warning look before answering the teenage boy who’d pushed his face dangerously close to Bobby’s. His meaning was obvious. Brown skin wasn’t the same as black but it was better than white in Harlem. He pointed to Penny and Kate. ‘English cousins want to meet family.’

  Penny took Sandy’s cue and held out her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’ She felt even the queen would have been proud of her cut-glass ‘BBC’ accent.

  ‘Hey, dude. That right. White English cousins for Harlem folk.’ The boy shook her hand, watched her through the next three stops and flicked a finger salute at her when he left the bus.

  ‘Can we go back to the hotel now?’ Sandy asked Kate. No one else had spoken to them but they were collecting stares from their fellow passengers.

  Kate nodded.

  They climbed off at the next stop. Bobby hailed a taxi and had it waiting at the kerbside before Kate and Sandy’s feet touched the sidewalk.

  ‘Of course I expected poverty,’ Kate protested in answer to Sandy’s question. ‘What I didn’t expect was kids wandering around in rags without proper shoes, and buildings without doors and windows marooned in a sea of rubbish.’

  ‘It’s called trash here. Pass the salt, please?’ Bobby held out his hand. The four of them were eating burgers, fries and salad in a fast-food restaurant around the corner from the hotel.

  Bobby had wanted to treat them to silver service dinner in the hotel, but she and Kate wouldn’t hear of it. They both knew �
� Haydn’s mad money aside, which they were keeping for emergencies – finances would be tight until they received their first pay cheques. They were determined to pay their own way and keep themselves until it was time to fly home. As Kate had put it, ‘Our budget doesn’t stretch to linen tablecloths and silverware.’

  ‘The scrap metal and rubbish is down to tenants stripping their apartments of anything they can sell,’ Sandy explained.

  ‘People must be destitute to tear their homes apart.’

  ‘As they’re rented they don’t regard them as “homes”, only a temporary place to doss before moving on.’ Bobby sprinkled salt on his fries.

  ‘What I can’t understand is why you two are so accepting,’ Kate raged. ‘You’ve seen much more than us. When we were driving here from the airport we passed dozens of posters of slums and cute American Black children looking plaintive under the slogan “Give a Damn”. You said you’d lived in New York. Both of you …’

  ‘Not for a long time. And we do “give a damn”,’ Bobby said quietly.

  ‘We’re little more than kids ourselves,’ Sandy reminded her. ‘This country’s not perfect. It needs to change but we’ve come a long way since black people were enslaved.’

  ‘And you’ve a long way to go,’ Kate snapped.

  ‘Have you seen the slums in London, Kate?’ Bobby asked.

  ‘Not close up. But I lived in one in Pontypridd until it was pulled down and we were rehoused on a council estate when I was eleven years old.’

  ‘What’s a council estate?’ Bobby asked.

  ‘Houses built by the council and rented out to poor people who can’t afford to buy their own,’ Kate replied.

  ‘Social housing,’ Sandy murmured.

  ‘You have a problem with that?’ Ever sensitive about her background, Kate stared belligerently at him.

  ‘Hey, my mother is his grandmother’s housekeeper. All I’ve ever had to call home are rooms in servants’ quarters.’

  ‘That’s only true in New York,’ Bobby interposed. ‘You and your mother have the use of a guest house in most of my grandmother’s houses.’

  ‘Your grandmother has more than one house?’ Kate asked.

  ‘She has so many I’ve lost count.’ Sandy opened his burger and spread a thick layer of mustard over the meat.

  ‘Some were rented,’ Bobby demurred.

  ‘But she does have more than one house?’ Kate checked.

  Sensing Bobby didn’t want to talk about his grandmother – or her wealth – and knowing how Kate loved a political argument Penny changed the subject. ‘Given your benefit of two years’ lectures in social studies, Kate, how would you reform Harlem?’

  Kate plunged headlong into designing a strategy. ‘The first thing is to improve the housing stock and rebuild the entire area. Put in parks and public spaces people can take ownership of and pride in …’

  As Sandy argued with Kate that more public spaces would only mean more places for drug dealers and prostitutes to ply their trade, Penny exchanged glances with Bobby. There was gratitude and another expression in his eyes. Something she couldn’t quite decipher.

  ‘Quite the firebrand, your Kate,’ Bobby commented when they returned to his room.

  ‘That’s amusing coming from the man who was arrested by the Metropolitan Police for protesting in Grosvenor Square.’

  ‘I’m young, idealistic, and want to change the world.’

  ‘According to my father it needs changing, but not too quickly or we’ll destroy the good along with the bad.’

  ‘He has a point.’ Bobby looked at his watch. ‘Ten minutes before Sandy and I have to pick up the Bishop. That trip to Harlem and the meal took longer than I intended. See you tomorrow?’

  ‘You’ll be picking us up from the train station?’

  ‘If I can wangle it but I might not be able to. You going to the orientation party?’

  ‘I told Kate and Anne I would.’

  Bobby rammed his laundry bag into his rucksack and fastened it. ‘See you tomorrow, my sweet Penny.’ He kissed her and opened the door. ‘I’ll dream of you tonight. I just have one problem to solve before tomorrow evening.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How to move your tent and bed as close as I can to mine in Resonance, without anyone suspecting my motive. Keep cool, until tomorrow.’ He walked down the corridor. Remembering Sandy’s visit the day before, she locked the door, flung herself on the bed and breathed in Bobby’s pine scent.

  Ridiculous. He hadn’t even left the building and she was already missing him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The following morning she dressed with care in a new lime-green Mary Quant mini-skirted suit she’d bought with the money her uncle had given her. The fitted zipped jacket had a ‘stand-up’ Chairman Mao collar. Given the heat and humidity, she slipped on a sleeveless white polo neck beneath it. White tights, patent green bar shoes with chunky heels, and chunky green and red plastic earrings; rings and bracelet completed her outfit.

  She was brushing her hair when Kate knocked on the door.

  ‘Nice suit, hate the hair. You look like one of the models in the Pre-Raphaelite paintings of damsels at death’s door.’ Kate hauled her bag into the room and dropped it beside the bed.

  ‘Wish it was tight curly like yours instead of wavy. Then I could cut it short and it would always look tidy.’

  ‘Tidy and boring.’

  ‘I’d settle for boring and neat right now. Nice suit to you too,’ she complimented. Kate was wearing a similar Quant suit to hers in cut. But the fabric was patterned. White daisies on a blue background.

  ‘This is hopeless.’ She exchanged the brush for a comb. ‘I need an iron.’

  Kate opened the wardrobe. ‘Can’t see one. There’s a note in the hotel information folder that says you can get one if you ring housekeeping. Anne almost did until she realised she was running late. She told me to say goodbye to you.’

  ‘She went to Scarsdale?’ she guessed.

  ‘She wanted a job. I offered it to her. Mrs “Scarsdale” is picking her up at the train station. Be interesting to see how she gets on. I promised to phone her if there’s one we can use in the camp.’

  ‘Do me a favour, ring housekeeping for that iron.’ She struggled to run a comb through her tangled hair.

  ‘There’s no point in ironing your hair. It’ll be wavy again the moment you step outside. It’s the humidity. Tie it back or go for the Pre-Raphaelite look.’

  ‘More like the “dragged through a bramble hedge backwards” look.’ She tugged at a knot and ripped a clump of hair out by the roots.

  ‘There’s always your hat. I intend to wear mine.’ Kate indicated the straw hat she’d dumped on top of her bag and haggis.

  ‘I’ll dig mine out when I’ve finished combing this mess.’

  ‘Just as well we don’t have to be at the station for two hours.’ Kate lay back on the bed. ‘Looking forward to seeing Bobby again?’

  ‘Looking forward to seeing Sandy?’ She turned the question back on Kate.

  ‘He’s rather dishy. Pity I won’t be in the same area of the camp as you three.’

  ‘According to Bobby you’ll only be across the lake.’ She continued to wrestle with her hair.

  ‘You suggesting I swim across every time I feel like a kiss and cuddle – or …’ she lifted her eyebrows suggestively ‘… something more?’

  ‘Depends on how much you want the something more.’

  ‘So what’s with you and Bobby? Making plans for an engagement yet?’ Kate fished.

  ‘Don’t be silly, we’ve only just met.’

  ‘Met again. Sandy told me Bobby paid a detective to find out when you’d be arriving in the States.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. Bobby didn’t even know my second name.’

  ‘But he did know you were Penelope, you were a student at Swansea College and you were coming over on an exchange. Must have been love at first sight. Or,’ Kate raised her eyebrows, ‘lust.’<
br />
  She couldn’t help smiling but she could hold her tongue.

  ‘Lust, then. But it could turn into more. Bobby’s returning to Oxford next term.’

  ‘Oxford is a hundred and fifty miles from Swansea and we’ve barely talked about summer camp, let alone next term.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to a rich boyfriend for a summer. But yet again I’ve drawn the short straw. You get the prince, I get the serving boy.’

  ‘Bobby’s grandmother might be rich but Bobby isn’t. He’s a student …’

  ‘A student with a trust fund. Sandy told me his grandmother’s as rich as Croesus. Bobby has an enormous monthly allowance.’

  ‘Really?’ She was sceptical.

  ‘Really,’ Kate confirmed.

  ‘If he’s that rich, maybe he’ll pay for Sandy to go to Oxford next term with him. That way you and Sandy will also be in the same country.’

  ‘Sandy’s already received his draft papers. He’s going to Vietnam.’

  She left the comb stuck in her hair and looked at Kate.

  ‘Like thousands of others he has no choice.’ Kate shrugged but it was obvious she was upset.

  ‘When did Sandy tell you this?’

  ‘When we were waiting for you and Bobby before going to Harlem yesterday.’

  ‘If Bobby’s grandmother is rich enough to pull strings and she’s done it for Bobby, surely she can do it for Sandy?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Sandy says he feels he should take his chances along with everyone else who’s been drafted. His mother came to America from Mexico as an illegal immigrant when she was twelve. He says he feels obligated to pay something back for the life the country’s given them.’ Kate left the bed and went to the window.

  ‘You like Sandy, don’t you?’ she ventured.

  ‘I’ve always been careful to lock my heart away from boys. At most this will be a summer romance. Nothing more.’

  ‘A summer romance – nothing more.’ Kate was wise beyond her years. It was a sensible attitude and one she knew she should apply to her and Bobby.