Rich White Americans
Page 4
At about nine o’clock, Jim said, “Let’s go back.”
A bit soused, we opened the door to our cute Berkeley cottage; it had plenty of ivy climbing its exterior; the perfect weeklong getaway before college.
Jim and I undressed in our sparsely furnished bedroom, rather chastely, our backs to one another. His long, lean body hulked over me as I put on a nightgown.
“I, um…” I was tongue-tied for once. I thought of my grandmother’s letter and felt ashamed. He reached for me as we stood next to the bed, and we embraced, exchanging a long, passionate kiss. He said I love you. Down we went and made love, or should I say almost made love. He couldn’t get a full erection. The Pullman Freight heir might have trouble producing heirs! I’d imagined every scenario but this. Not quite twenty-one and fairly clueless about sex, we kissed goodnight and slept. At least he slept. I laid awake and wondered how messed up he might be with a famous, brilliant father whom he told me had had three wives. His mother was the last. My parents were the opposite; I think they had both been virgins, or nearly so, when they married right after the attack on Pearl Harbor and Daddy had to join the fleets on the Pacific Front. Yet, they treated me like an outsider, not to mention that my mother thought nothing of smacking me from time to time. I had remained a virgin until my sophomore year, thanks to her constant reminders that ‘men only want one thing from a woman.’ At least Jim seemed proud of his father and close enough to invite a girlfriend to dinner. Envy seeped into my veins.
The week passed with more unsuccessful attempts at love making. I tried to figure him out; perhaps it was the alcohol, but what had led to that? Too much money and alcohol; an absentee mother didn’t help, I concluded. I tried to make up for embarrassing moments with long kisses that I hoped would tell him I cared about him.
Annie and I got along well; we enjoyed playing practical jokes on Bruce to pay him back for his immature pranks. One time, we put his cut-off jeans in the oven to dry. We returned to a smoking house; the pants had caught fire. We developed a good-natured raillery with him and Jim. It was sort of like boys against girls, back in grammar school.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” I chanted. Annie took up the refrain. We were undeterred. What’s a little fire when your parents are on the Forbes richest people list?
Meanwhile, I looked for a place to stay and found an apartment with Janey, a stunning blonde, Ed Morales’ pregnant girlfriend. I’d met Ed at a party the year before; he was majoring in criminology. We were all seniors at Berkeley.
Janey told me she was going to terminate the pregnancy, which was not far advanced, with shots that a doctor interested in keeping the unwanted children’s population down agreed to give. I’d have to spend the night at Sally Zimmerman’s, another sorority sister who’d dropped out, flunked out of Berkeley, to be exact, and was living with an older man; he must have been twenty-nine, which seemed much older to us. He was also a horse’s ass and chose Sally for her vulnerability. Sally was a bit homely with short cropped hair and features that didn’t quite fit her longish face, so she was deemed homely, but no woman should allow herself to be judged by her looks.
I packed my suitcase back at Jim’s and our so-called love nest. He watched me, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. We both felt awkward; our attempt at an affair hadn’t gone as well as we’d hoped. I looked up and mentioned that I should pick up the keys at the flat I’d sublet to four girls over the summer. Mary Jane, Lynne, and I had signed a year-long lease, so we’d found summer renters to pay for the months we were back home. Actually, Mary Lou had flunked out and Lynne had gotten engaged to a handsome fellow from South Africa. Jim pricked up his ears. “Are the girls you sublet to still there?”
“Yes, but they said I could pick up the keys and return them to the landlady. They’re about to leave.”
“Can I come with you?” He gave me a petulant puppy-dog look that made me smile. What a sweet boy. My mother was probably right. He’d even invited me to tour Europe with him the next summer. I didn’t want to, so I just said a polite ‘sure’ and figured I’d tell him I couldn’t go later in the year. Off we drove to Parker Avenue, to the upstairs flat my friends and I had had shared in my junior year. They’d hosted quite a few memorable parties. Someone had even given Mary Jane an entire case of Chivas Regal Scotch, which I was told was the best. We had to leave at the end of the school year. As we’d signed a contract for a year, we were lucky to have found three other girls who wanted to rent it for the summer.
When Jim and I arrived, no one was home, so I was left to search for the keys on my own. Jim followed me, staring at the interior of the flat.
“What a nice ashtray,” he said, admiring a rather attractive receptacle for cigarette ashes.
“Yes,” I mumbled while looking for the keys. Jim pocketed the ashtray. Flabbergasted, I watched as he started taking vitamins and other various items from the apartment. “Those belong to the girls who sublet this apartment,” I protested, turning and facing him with my arms folded across my chest.
He smiled a huge, ingratiating smile. “I don’t think they’ll miss them.”
“Put them back!”
“Oh, come on, it’s just a few vitamins and little things.” He pouted, sitting down on the living room sofa. I couldn’t believe my ears. Here, was one of the richest young men in the world committing petty theft, stuffing everything in sight into his bulging pockets.
“Put them back this instant or I’ll do it myself!” I stepped closer to him.
He stepped back. “Inny, this is just sport. We do it at stores in Santa Barbara all the time.”
“Why? You’ve got enough money to buy ten times those things.”
“Oh, people who didn’t grow up in Montecito don’t understand,” moped Jim.
“No, we don’t. It’s called stealing. Have you ever read the Bible? ‘Thou shalt not steal?’”
“I thought you weren’t religious.” Jim’s face reddened as he spoke. I guess I’d hit a nerve.
“There’s a big difference between believing in a big, whey-faced god up in the sky and having decent morals. Now, give everything back.” I held out my hands so he could put them in them. Out came the ashtray. The vitamins followed, along with the other small things he’d stolen. I put them back as best I could.
“Say, Inny,” said Jim.
“What?”
“You know that trip to Europe I was talking about?” He turned his back to me.
“What about it?”
“Do you think it’s such a swell idea after all?”
“No.”
“Some kind of tramp you turned out to be!” He turned around; his face was beet red.
“Just call me Charlie Chaplin,” I smiled slyly.
“You think you’re funny.”
“I know I’m honest. I like to help poor people, just like your father, who would be ashamed to call you his son, if he knew.”
He raised his hand. I stared him down and said, “Hit me and I’ll call the police.” I took a step or two backwards, just in case.
“It says, ‘Thou shalt not steal’ in the Ten Commandments!” I repeated myself out of shock.
“You’re a fine one to preach. You don’t even believe in God.” Jim’s face kept getting redder as he spoke. That insult had gotten his blood flowing at last.
“I believe in morality. I don’t steal or lie or cheat! You’re the son of one of the world’s richest men, and you thank him by guzzling so much booze you can hardly make love and you steal!”
“Wha… what do you mean… I can hardly make… love?”
I tried to conjure some sympathy for him, even though he’d almost hit me. After all, we’d just spent a week together.
“Jim, you’re a sweet guy, but let’s face it, you’re all mixed up. You haven’t been able to make love to me once because of all that vodka you drink every night.”
“That’s…” His face contorted from its normally placid, happy-go-lucky expression to a puckered bab
y face. He turned away from me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but… you almost hit me in the face! Any man who hits a woman is… is not exactly a gentleman.” I felt my heart racing in my chest. I didn’t know how he’d take my outburst, but he had it coming. Thoughts raced through my confused mind.
He put his face in his hands and started to cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“We had a good time, but you have to admit…” I ran my fingers though his hair to try to solace him.
“Admit what?” he blubbered.
I pulled him to his feet. “That you drink way too much. Come on, let’s get in the car. It’s time to go back. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
I steered him down the stairway to the street, and we got in the car. I drove as he started to cry harder. “I’ve never had a mother,” he sobbed. “She left because… I don’t know why she left, but I missed her.”
“Don’t you ever see her?”
“Not since she remarried. I mean, I only see her on certain holidays; it’s not like she cares.”
“I care. I care enough to tell you the truth after you all but whammed me in the face.”
That did it. He became inconsolable. He was a puddle of tears by the time I pulled up to our former love nest. I felt like a wrung-out dishrag after what he’d put me through.
When I finally got back into our bedroom in the cottage, I found my suitcases and called a taxi. I picked them up and started lugging them to the sidewalk. Annie appeared out of nowhere. “Jim seems upset. What happened?” she asked.
I sniffled a little bit. “We had a fight.” I turned my head so she wouldn’t see how upset I was.
“Do you need a ride?” She had some car keys in her hand.
“As a matter of fact…”
We walked to Jim’s car; he’d given her his car keys. She drove me to Janey’s and my new apartment in silence.
“He seemed like such a nice boy,” I sniffed and wiped my nose. There were tears in my eyes. I felt sad that my knight in shining armor had dissolved into a puddle of tears. He’d even raised his hand against me. I couldn’t believe he was the one who had opened the door to a sanctuary the night Andronicus tried to rape me.
“Don’t they all,” replied Annie with an air of sophistication that astonished me. She was from an ultra-wealthy family, too.
“Why does he drink so much?” I ventured.
Annie sighed, “It seems like they all do in Montecito.”
I looked into her eyes, trying to see the depths of her knowledge. “He tried to steal some vitamins and stuff at my old apartment – from girls he’d never met. Why would the heir to such a huge fortune do that?”
“Jim is especially insecure, because his mother was the third wife,” explained Annie. She gave me a knowing look. “It’s his way of paying his father back for divorcing her, or vice-versa.”
My eyes widened. I couldn’t believe my ears. “Do you mean, they drink and steal BECAUSE they’re rich?”
“Not exactly,” continued Annie. “They may seem rich to you, but they compete with each other in weird ways.”
“I’ll say!”
“They might be practicing for future theft on a bigger scale.” She winked at me. “They don’t want to feel guilty about it.” My mind reeled at the implications of what she’d just said.
She pulled up to my new place of residence, helped me with my suitcase, and murmured something to the effect that she was sorry things hadn’t turned out better. I agreed. I was still stunned from Jim’s complete breakdown.
Later on, I reflected. My ardor for Jim had cooled; no, it had vanished with our last unsuccessful coitus, followed by a cigarette and cocktail and the petty theft in my sublet apartment. I wasn’t in love with him. I never planned on seeing him again, and I’m sure he felt the same. I was sorry about his rich-boy complex, but that didn’t make up for the stealing. Meanwhile, I unpacked my suitcase at lovely, blond Janey’s apartment while packing a smaller overnight bag, preparing to spend a night away so she could have the shot that would start her menstrual period.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said as I wished her luck. Her parents weren’t rich. This was the poor-but-ambitious woman’s way out of having a child she couldn’t afford.
“I hope you’ll be okay,” I said with an air of sympathy. I smiled warmly into her eyes. Feeling sorry for her and her predicament, I breathed a sigh of relief that I’d started taking the pill after I lost my virginity last year.
Off to Sally’s I went. She had rented a charming studio apartment across the hallway from her boyfriend, Jerry. He was there when I arrived.
Sally introduced us. Instead of smiling and offering his hand, he took a short glance at me and turned away. Sally was used to his rudeness, so she thought nothing of it.
“Ahem,” I said. “You could at least say hello.”
He stood up, not a very tall man, a bit stout with a rough complexion, and said a reluctant hello. I hunched my shoulders in bewilderment. Why couldn’t he act friendly?
“Inny’s just here for one night,” Sally said.
“Sure. You usually sleep at my place anyway.”
Sally nodded and started to get her pajamas and bed things together. “I hoped we could talk for a while,” I said.
“Tomorrow, after Jerry goes to work,” murmured Sally.
Just then, I heard someone coming down the brick pathway that led to the four studio apartments behind the large Berkeley house; it turned out to be the very popular Albert Curtis, the first African-American English professor at Berkeley, one of my favorite people. He loved to throw parties and wear lavender wigs; he made fun of his skin color, as the TV ads promised, ‘Softer, whiter, more beautiful hands’ to sell hand lotion. He made everyone laugh and love him. Did I say he was gay? Everyone told me he was. It was such a shame, because he possessed the kind of beauty you couldn’t take your eyes off of, with his chiseled features and brilliant smile. Albert was wonderful in so many ways, and after Sally and I celebrated our twenty-first birthdays on September 15, he would end up my neighbor as my living situation was going to change. His nattily dressed, slender silhouette and fun-loving attitude had made him a popular and well-known figure on campus.
I ran out to greet him as Jerry and Sally made their bedtime arrangements. Jerry glared at Albert as he walked by.
“He’s a friendly sort,” I said to Albert with a wry smile.
“It takes all kinds,” said Albert. I realized he must receive the cold shoulder from jerks just like Jerry altogether too often. Once was too much.
“What’s Sally doing with him?”
“There’s no accounting for taste,” said Albert. “I’ve got papers to correct, or I’d stop and talk.”
“I’ll take a rain check!”
He smiled his warm, broad smile and I felt cleansed from Jerry’s bad treatment. I slept soundly in Sally’s bed that night.
Janey had her drug-induced abortion and we were settling in. It was time to celebrate my twenty-first birthday, a big one in Berkeley, where the bartenders offered you free drinks. Ed, a handsome, muscular Latino who was a criminology major, offered to drive us around while Janey went to the opera, something I hadn’t yet grown to love. Sally came with me for the free drinks. Jerry was out of town, so she was free.
We were pretty tipsy by the time Ed decided to drive us home. The lovely trees formed a leafy canopy as he drove across campus. He encountered a roadblock consisting of metal posts stuck in the ground to block the road for a Peter, Paul, and Mary concert. Ed dutifully pulled a couple of them up as the trio sang, “If I had a hammer, I’d hammer for justice…”
Ed got back in the car just as the police came up and asked to see his driver’s license. He showed it to them.
“Get out of the car,” said a burly Berkeley policeman.
“I don’t have to,” replied Ed. “It’s my constitutional right to remain in the car. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Sally and I exchanged stunned looks as they continued to pummel Ed. “Let’s call the police!” I said.
We ran to a nearby kiosk and called the local police. “Six Berkeley policemen are beating our friend. They ripped him out of the car…”
A thick-set policeman grabbed the phone from me and hung up.
“You can’t do that!”
“Why not? It’s the truth!”
“Get back in the car, young lady!”
Sally and I exchanged looks. We saw he didn’t have much of a choice, so we got back in. They’d already cuffed Ed. Stone sober, I drove home.
We visited Ed in jail the next day; he was black and blue from the beating. “But he didn’t do anything wrong!” Sally and I protested. “One of the policemen yanked him out of the car…”
The sergeant gave me a stern look. “It’s time for you to go.”
“It’s the truth!”
“Do as you’re told!”
Tail between our legs, Sally and I left the jail.
Ed got out of jail the next day and decided to move in with Janey, his girlfriend and my roommate. I jumped at the chance to share the rent with Sally for the studio next to Jerry’s and downstairs from Albert Curtis.’ I loved the authentic woodwork on the walls and ceilings, plus I’d have a place of my own for just half price, as Sally would pay half the rent and leave most of her clothes in the closet, so it wouldn’t look like she was living with Jerry when her parents came to visit.
A charmed year was off and running, except that Sally and I soon received telegrams from Dean McGruder, telling us to meet him in his office at separate times.
“It’s about Ed,” Sally told me as she changed clothes.
“He didn’t do anything!” I replied. “Removing a post to drive us home isn’t a crime. They could’ve given him a ticket, but instead they beat him to a pulp!”