Rich White Americans

by Virginia Dale

  We all laughed. Passing out was not unusual in those heady days.

  Once there, we entered a sumptuous room decorated with palm tree fronds and branches, an island in the middle, and about a hundred students doing the twist in sarongs and other appropriate Hawaiian get up. So much for my magenta dress.

  We started dancing to Chubby Checkers, “Let’s do the twist like we did last summer, twist and twist and twist again…” rang out his melodious voice. Everyone twisted. Freddie and I twisted so long and hard that I began to feel like I had a stomachache, but it was transitory… like life. Freddie smiled into my deep blue eyes and I smiled back into his lighter blue eyes. Drunk as skunks, we made for the island in the middle. It had a moat around it with a wooden plank for crossing.

  Lynn walked gingerly over and beckoned for us to join her. I jumped on the board and swoosh, Freddie pulled the board up and down I went into the moat, not without cutting my leg, a superficial cut, it turned out. I still had some of my nine lives left.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “You pulled that board out from under me!”

  I looked up to see everyone laughing. Practical jokers.

  “My leg is bleeding!”

  Freddie, Charles and I looked at the minor injury and decided to dance some more. It was just a superficial cut. The throbbing beat of the twist had us in its thrall. Freddie and I twisted till we gasped. Then, Freddie took me by the hand. We ran up the stairs to the second floor, and before you could say Sigma Alpha Epsilon, he was on top of me. “Hey, wait!”

  “Wait?” He said. “What for? Come on, baby, let’s do the twist!” He put his hand on my breast; I felt a distinct tingle of pleasure, but this was premature.

  I screamed. He grabbed me again, but this time to get away from some voices headed in our direction. I sprinted to keep up with his long-legged, six-foot-two-inch frame, becoming less amused by his antics every time my foot hit a board and the slight gash in my leg throbbed.

  Every now and then, a girl comes to her senses.

  “Let’s go home,” I said. “I’ve had enough for one night.”

  “But you haven’t seen our apartment yet!” He gave me a frustrated look.

  He probably still wants to have sex, I thought.

  He pulled me through what seemed like a hundred college kids gyrating to Chubby Checkers’ twist music trying to find Charles and Lynn, who had also disappeared.

  “Just drop me at my place and you can find Charles and Lynn later,” I said.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “It’s just a slight cut, that’s all.”

  “Not the cut!”

  “What did you expect, Freddie?” I paused. “Maybe I’m just frigid.” I smiled to myself.

  “Do you need to see a doctor?”

  “I probably should get a tetanus shot.”

  “For your fucking frigidity!”

  “I’m not frigid! I’m just not fast! Just because I drink like a fish doesn’t mean I’m easy. Take me home!”

  Freddie scowled at me and mumbled something to the effect that I was a penis tease. Then, he ushered me out the entrance to the fraternity house and to his funky car. We drove home in silence. We did not, however, encounter silence when we arrived at my studio apartment. There sat Sally, wailing in the hallway, with Jerry about to hit her. I saw Albert open his door and peek out. I ran up to Jerry, who was holding a suitcase. Sally held another one.

  “I thought you’d gone to India!”

  “The job got postponed at the last minute,” said Sally.

  Jerry shoved her into the doorway. “Shut up!”

  “What are you doing to Sally?”

  “It’s none of your business!”

  Albert descended the stairs and said, “When it wakes me up, it’s my business! Treat the little lady with some respect!”

  “Shut up, nigger!” yelled Jerry.

  I slugged him as hard as I could, right in his bulbous nose. Blood trickled from it.

  He tried to hit me back, but Freddie interfered by slugging him again. Jerry fell back against the wall. Sally sniveled in the background. He got up and tried to run back into his studio, but Freddie and I grabbed him. Freddie towered over this cowering excuse for a man, who put his arms in front of his face and said, “Don’t hurt me!”

  “When are you going to stop hurting Sally?” said Albert.

  “Shut up, nigger!”

  I kicked Jerry in the leg closest to me. Albert grinned.

  “Apologize to Albert and Sally!” I said.

  “Fuck you!”

  Freddie grabbed him by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. “Fuck you!” he said.

  “I don’t have to apologize to anybody! I’m an engineer!”

  I grabbed him by his short, sand-colored hair. I pulled it as hard as I could. “Apologize or move out!” He started to snivel. “Only cowards hurt women and animals!” I yelled. I gave him another kick for good measure.

  Albert motioned for me to follow him upstairs to his studio. I nodded goodnight to Freddie and followed Albert.

  “Hey, where are you going?” said Freddie.

  Jerry slunk back into his studio; Sally followed him, probably to try to patch things up.

  “Come back here!” I said.

  Sally cast me a sorrowful look. “Jerry’s hurt. I have to help him.”

  “When has he helped you? He beats you and we know it,” I continued.

  Sally started to snivel. She was a lost cause. I turned towards Albert.

  “I’m going with Albert! We have a lot to talk about.” I looked at Freddie. I felt sorry for him. “I’m sorry about… I mean, I think you were brave to hit Jerry!”

  Freddie nodded, turned tail, and walked down the brick path. I liked him for hitting Jerry, but I didn’t want to sleep with him.

  Albert was waiting for me with a huge smile. He always emanated warmth around me. Did I have a magic elixir? No, Albert was naturally warm. “Where have you been all my life!” He practically yelled it.

  “We may have more in common than meets the eye,” I said as a warm sensation invaded my body. I started grinning with embarrassment, and so did he. He hugged me. He put on some soft romantic music. “Let’s dance.”

  We danced, forgetting about the crazy scene down below. I examined the nape of his manly neck. I couldn’t resist kissing it. Before I knew it, we wound our arms around each other, kissing each other on the face, neck, chest… Then, I took a step backwards.

  “Albert, I’m a woman!”

  “An amazing woman!”

  “You mean…”

  “Don’t listen to people. They say all kinds of nonsense about me.” He hesitated. “I might have tried alternative scenes.” He arched a brow. “I was young and impressionable. Would you care for some champagne?”

  Delighted by the turn of events, I hugged him. His muscles were hard. A shiver of excitement ran through my small frame. I could feel his hard pectorals.

  Albert went to his small refrigerator, and next to the milk was a bottle of pink champagne. He opened it and poured two glasses. He handed me one. I couldn’t stop smiling. We clicked glasses. “Here’s looking at you!” he said, mimicking the famous Bogart/Bacall line. I winked at him, trying to imitate Lauren Bacall.

  We drank and danced some slow, sexy numbers by Ray Charles. Entranced, I stared into his eyes, but I felt shy. Albert picked up on my pulchritude and said, “Would you like to take a bath?”

  “Together?”

  “Unless you prefer to bathe alone.” He smiled at my virginal attitude.

  “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

  I slid my dress off one of my shoulders. Albert kissed my shoulder, then my neck. I took a deep breath, feeling giddy, and kissed him on the lips. We couldn’t stop kissing. He put a finger under my bra strap and ran it down to my breast. I pulled him over to the sofa. That he was older than me made no difference. I wasn’t jail bait. I was a woman.

  By the morning, I had a new black boy
friend who wasn’t gay after all. He was also a Berkeley English professor, and I was twenty-one, an adult who made her own decisions.

  Albert got up first and started making eggs Benedict.

  “Are they named after Benedict Arnold?”

  Albert turned around. In a shrill voice, he said. “How can an egg be a traitor?”

  “Is it an illegitimate egg?” I ventured, running my hand down my bare body. I shivered from last night’s excitement. I think I’d had what they call an orgasm. Or an orgy!

  Albert stroked his chiseled, square-cut chin slowly with his hand. I admired his handsome, classic profile as I bantered with him.

  “Do chickens get married?”

  “I think they can if their parents give them permission.”

  We laughed. Then, he continued fixing breakfast. With his back turned to me, only the beautiful paisley print on his bathrobe showing, he said, “Would you like to co-author the screenplay I’m writing for Alexia?”

  “Co-author a screenplay?” I pulled back the covers and jumped out of bed. “I barely passed freshman English,” I said, grabbing my underwear.

  Albert turned around, spatula in hand, and went to his closet. He took out another bathrobe. “Here. Try this on for size.” As I put the large bathrobe on, he chattered on, “You could help me with her dialogue and some of her reactions…”

  “She adores Alessandro Rossi… She has a wonderful sense of irony, combined with humor and earthiness… I’d love to try. But I’d just be helping you; I wouldn’t qualify as a co-author.”

  “You never know,” said Albert with a ring of amusement in his voice.

  I hugged Albert as he served the eggs with champagne. Albert never did anything halfway. “Where’s the caviar?” I asked.

  He laughed and turned his profile for me to examine. He had a high brow, a long, rather beaked nose, and a good jawline. “Do I look Egyptian?”

  I grinned at him. “I haven’t met too many Egyptians; but if you want to look Egyptian, I’d say you resembled King Tut.”

  He laughed so hard he spilled his champagne. I tossed some of mine at him. We slurped the rest down and had some more. Soon, we piled back into his unmade bed. His black hand on my white breast excited me. His brilliance excited me. His black penis was more than I’d ever bargained for. Shit. I was in love.

  I felt like Gabriel had just opened the gates to heaven. I was smiling from ear to ear. Albert tried to be more serious, but we both, ended up getting out of bed and wolfing down our remaining eggs Benedict breakfast. The empty champagne bottle sparkled in the morning sunshine.

  I stood up and walked around to Albert’s chair. I began toying with his ear. The bed wasn’t far away. By afternoon, we were working on the screenplay and I’d talked to Alexia over the phone in Italy. Buon giorno, fabulous woman! I was in heaven! And not one angel – well, perhaps yes, there was a black angel sitting right next to me. Maybe I wasn’t such an atheist after all. Kick Freud in the balls!

  We heard some noise from Jerry’s studio. We exchanged looks.

  “They’re at it again,” Albert said.

  I jumped up and walked to Albert’s front door and opened it. From his landing, I could see them leaving for India again, vintage suitcases in hand. “Good luck!” I yelled, pen in hand.

  Sally waved. Jerry stared at me with a small, beady-eyed squint.

  “I’ll get you, you… you, nigger lover!”

  Albert stepped out just then. I put my arms around him and kissed him. “Thank God you’re not white, Albert!” I said.

  Jerry started to run up the stairs, but his suitcase opened and half his grungy underwear spilled out.

  “The taxi’s waiting, Jerry,” said Sally.

  They shoved the undies back in the suitcase, closed it, and ran off.

  Good riddance, I thought.

  “Shall we go for a stroll?” Albert was still holding a glass of champagne, debonair in his silk paisley bathrobe.

  “Where to?”

  “The UCEN? For coffee?”

  “I’ll run and get my things. Are you coming as you are?”

  “Oh, I forgot my lavender wig. I don’t want to frighten anyone.” Albert assumed his high-pitched voice full of irony. Laughing my head off, I ran downstairs to my studio, mine alone at this point. I grabbed a bright shirt-maker dress I’d concocted out of some material I bought in the drapery department. There were huge flowers on it. No one had anything nearly that bright in 1963, even at U.C. Berkeley. I felt like the belle of the ball. Not quite Scarlett O’Hara, but joyous and fulfilled in a way I’d never felt.

  Yet, violence had lifted its repellent head once again and taken a bite out of my joie de vivre. I determined to enjoy the magic of the moment as much as possible, but with an awareness that life wasn’t always perfect. I wondered why Albert had been with men. So much was happening all at once. I could hardly think straight.

  Chapter 6

  While daubing some Revlon Cool Coral lipstick on, the only makeup I ever wore, it occurred to me that Albert wasn’t my age. He must be older, even though he didn’t act old or stodgy in the least, but he had to have a doctorate to teach at Berkeley, which can take years to get, I’d heard. I put that thought in the back of my mind, hearing his footsteps descending the wooden staircase that led to his studio. He rapped lightly on my door, and I ran to greet him with a wraparound smile, my specialty. Despite an occasional quirk of fate or crazed state senator’s son, I had a happy disposition, just like my grandmother. The one who loved to sing on the bus and at children’s funerals, anywhere. The one who was my mother’s opposite. The one who loved me.

  Albert had something in his hand. He gave it to me.

  I looked at the cover with brads punched through it. “Venus’s Delight. What a terrific title,” I said.

  “I thought you might like to peruse it while we are having coffee at the UCEN,” said Albert. He was wearing khakis and a Brooks Brothers shirt; Albert had always been a snappy dresser. I smiled proudly at everyone as we walked towards Sather Gate, the gateway to the Berkeley campus. The new UCEN, or student cafeteria, was immediately to the left of it, so we didn’t have far to go.

  When we arrived at the modernistic UCEN, I saw Freddie and some of his friends sitting at a table. I waved as we walked past them.

  “There’s Fred and Chuck, my friends from last night.”

  “He has a strong right arm,” Albert observed.

  Freddie stood up and walked over to us. “You abandoned the Good Ship Lollipop last night,” he said.

  “Oh, I think I took a couple of trips to the candy shop,” I said, picking up on the refrain of the once popular Shirley Temple song.

  “Inny’s helping me write something,” said Albert.

  “More dusting articles for Good Housekeeping?”

  I put my chin up and said, “It’s a screenplay that Albert’s been commissioned to write for Alexia Roma.”

  Freddie scratched his head. “I don’t know any Alexias.”

  Albert and I exchanged amused looks.

  “Alexia Roma won an Oscar,” I said.

  Albert grinned to try to lighten things up.

  “Well! Is she from Africa? Is she a queen?” said Freddie.

  “She’s the queen of Italian cinema and fast becoming one here!” I said. Freddie’s remark annoyed me… Freddie suddenly looked very small and sounded petty. “And don’t be so sarcastic!”

  “Now, now, Miss Inny,” Chuck stood up and injected a conciliatory tone. “We’re just harmless SAE frat rats.”

  “Your moat wasn’t so harmless,” I said, pointing to the long scratch the board had left on my leg.

  “How did that happen?” said Albert.

  “At the SAE fraternity party last night,” I laughed. “Was that just last night? So much has happened!”

  Freddie arched an eyebrow.

  “Would you care to join us?” asked Albert.

  “I’m not into threesomes,” said Freddie.

 
; I gulped and tugged Albert by the arm. “Let’s just have some coffee.”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  We sat down, a bit ruffled by Freddie’s remarks.

  “Is he crazy?” I couldn’t believe Freddie could be so mean.

  “Oh, people say the silliest things when I’m around. It’s just because of my pigmentation.” Albert smiled a big, toothy Albert smile.

  “He’s jealous!” I insisted.

  Albert beamed at me. “Who wouldn’t be?”

  I blushed. “I’m not Alexia Roma…”

  “You’re beautiful!” He squeezed my hand; my heart skipped a beat. It felt so wonderful to have someone care about me.

  “I’ll make amends,” said Albert.

  He stood up and walked over to where Freddie was sitting with Chuck and some other friends.

  “I’m having an open bar party tonight, if you’d care to indulge.” He gave them his best, huge, infectious Albert Curtis grin.

  Freddie and Chuck exchanged looks with the rest of them. “A party? With free booze? Can we bring girls?”

  “It’s carte blanche… of course you can bring girls! What’s a party without girls?”

  “We’ll be there!”

  I blanched when I realized I’d be partying with Freddie and Charles AND Albert tonight.

  “Anyway, let’s look at Venus’s Delight.” I decided to change the subject, to get down to business.

  Here I was, with the most popular teacher on campus, whom I’d just turned, for heaven’s sake, and we had to bump into my date from last night. I guess I’d had several dates last night, come to think of it.

  Albert and I put our heads together over coffee and the script, talking and laughing our heads off. We were ON! Plus, there was another party in the offing. Life is a giggle, we said in those days. Berkeley’s tuition was seventy-five dollars a semester, there were twice as many boys as girls enrolled and President John F. Kennedy, Jr. had just invited Martin Luther King Jr. to the White House. Life was good; unless you were a member of the Bush family, which considered the Kennedys their rivals.

  I made a few suggestions about Alexia’s reactions in a scene or two, Albert took note of them, finished his coffee, and tucked the screenplay under his arm. He offered me his other arm, which I took. We headed back to our respective studio apartments, drawing the occasional stare. A middle-aged woman made a remark. “Haven’t you heard of miscegenation?”