Rich White Americans

by Virginia Dale

  Andronicus wore a sports jacket that covered some of his heavy build and already-bulging stomach. His reddish hair was slicked back, though an unruly curl or two, along with his thick features, gave him a raffish look. When Mrs. Johnson walked up to him, a dainty clutch purse in hand, he appraised her admiringly. Now he knew where Inny got her looks from. He appraised her with expertise. This woman was truly beautiful, even better-looking than her daughter. He grinned his fleshiest grin.

  “Hello, Mrs. Johnson,” he said. They hadn’t seen each other since he’d picked Inny up the night he’d attempted to rape her, but he remembered her mother as a nice-looking woman. Today, she was so ravishing that he had to catch his breath.

  “Oh, hello, Andronicus,” she said. “It was so nice of you to invite me here.”

  “Think nothing of it. Let’s sit down, shall we?”

  He nodded to the maître d’, who seated them near the bay window that had a dazzling view of the ocean, across a large expanse of perfectly kept green lawn with two beautiful eucalyptus trees.

  The waiter came and took their order. Mrs. Johnson had scanned the menu, at a loss, but finally decided on clam chowder soup and a sandwich. Andronicus ordered steak and hors d’oeuvres.

  Mrs. Johnson blushed at his audacity and her own, sitting in the finest restaurant in Montecito with… with an audacious plan.

  They exchanged pleasantries until Andronicus asked, “Did you say Inny was dating a black man?”

  Mrs. Johnson turned a deep crimson. “Yes. She says she loves him. I’m afraid they might even…”

  “How distasteful,” said Andronicus.

  “I’m glad you understand. Miscegenation is a crime in Virginia, where we come from.”

  “What did you say? Mis…?”

  “When you marry someone of a different race… It’s illegal in Virginia.”

  “Now I get you,” said Andronicus, thinking of his Jewish roots with annoyance.

  “It must be stopped.”

  “Who is the man involved?”

  “His name is Albert Curtis. He works at Berkeley, where Inny goes to college.” Mrs. Johnson choked a bit on her sandwich and took a hasty drink of water. “She says he teaches English, but I’m sure he’s a janitor.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Andronicus, wondering why she’d asked him, of all people, to do such a thing.

  He smiled at her and put his hand in the air. The waiter appeared instantly. “Wine, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the waiter, a distinguished older man. He gave Mrs. Johnson a quick look and smiled.

  Andronicus and Inny’s mother discussed the finesse of what she had in mind. He sympathized with her predicament and wondered if… After all, her daughter had scratched his bare back till it bled on that horrible evening. Not to mention that she ran away into the arms of another man after denying his advances. Not to mention that he still wanted to fuck her and had been stalking her the rest of the summer.

  Mrs. Johnson drank some more wine, and began to get tipsy. She smiled at Andronicus and dropped her linen napkin. A waiter rushed to pick it up. She had already bent down to retrieve it; her dress had a loose cowl; it revealed a generous bosom.

  Andronicus smiled, “You’re a very attractive woman, Mrs. Johnson. Could I call you by your first name? Iris? You must have been a raving beauty when you were Inny’s age. I’m sure you were much prettier than she is.”

  “You may call me Iris.”

  Mrs. Johnson tittered at the compliment. She was thrilled to be recognized for her beauty and to hear that she might have been prettier than her daughter. Andronicus grew tired of just eating. He called for the check. When it came, he looked at Mrs. Johnson. She looked at him in surprise. Then, she fished through her purse for what little cash she had. He took her hand. "Don’t worry about it.

  My father has an account here."

  Mrs. Johnson smiled and arched an imperceptible eyebrow. This was more like it.

  “Would you like to walk on the beach?”

  “Oh, I never walk on the beach.” She had turned a bright red from the wine. “But, today I’ll make an exception.” She smiled like the cat who’d swallowed the canary. “But I don’t want to get sand in my shoes.”

  “You can take them off,” Andronicus assured her.

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that,” she laughed, a bit tipsy from the wine. Like her daughter, alcohol affected her almost immediately.

  The sand was soft and Mrs. Johnson wasn’t used to walking in it, so she tottered a bit and almost fell; Andronicus caught her. As he straightened her up, his lips brushed her cheek.

  They would talk later.

  That evening, Mrs. Johnson hummed a little song as she prepared dinner for her husband and younger daughter, who had just turned fifteen. Her cheeks were still a bit flushed from the excitement of the afternoon. Mr. Johnson complimented her on her unusually high spirits at dinner, although he pushed the hamburger patty and baked potato around his plate, sick of the same dinner, night after night.

  “Craig, why aren’t you eating?”

  “Oh, I was thinking of something else,” he said, eyes lowered.

  Kendra, their younger daughter, smiled at her father. She was his favorite and basked in his admiration. “I got straight As again, Daddy.”

  “You’re the smart one in the family,” he remarked, his eyes resting for a moment on his daughter’s shapely breasts, whose outline showed through her sweater set.

  Mrs. Johnson cleared her throat. “If only Inny could be so well-behaved,” she rued.

  Kendra gloated over her mother’s remark in silence as she poured more ketchup on her hamburger patty. She raised her head and threw her shoulders back, making her breasts more noticeable than ever. Mr. Johnson looked at them and then choked down a forkful of hamburger patty.

  They continued to eat the humble fare, relatively content in the knowledge that they lived in the best neighborhood in Santa Barbara.

  “He’s the best I could do,” she’d often said to Inny. “I should’ve married Pat Buchler. He made a fortune in real estate.”

  Chapter 10

  As we approached the outskirts of Los Angles, I prepared to observe the women I would meet closely, in hopes of learning from them. I had never learned about love except from my grandmother. Everyone took advantage of her generosity and made fun of her high spirits, not to mention her lack of inhibitions. She sang on the bus and sang and played the old piano in her living room whenever she had a spare moment. I loved her and considered her my soul mother. I’d spent the first three years of my life in her home, while my father was on a destroyer fighting on the Pacific Front during World War II. He returned at the end of the war, in 1945, when I was three years old. In the meantime, my grandmother, who adored her first grandchild and all children, for that matter, had helped my mother raise me. I continually thanked the good Lord for her presence in my young life.

  We approached the city limits of Los Angeles. The bitter taste of the encounter with my parents still palpably disgusted us, me more than Albert, perhaps. He could write them off as bitter white people, whereas they had openly rejected me, their daughter. I couldn’t change that. Yet they were my parents. I knew I was supposed to love them.

  Palm trees lined a beautiful street full of elegant mansions like beacons to paradise. I sat up and stared at the beauty of Beverly Hills, a suburb of Hollywood, in silent admiration. I’d never seen it before and was astonished by the lavish beauty of the rolling grounds that led to each separate mansion. Then, Albert stopped the car in front of one of them. He got out a map, checked an address, and with a sweep of his hand announced, “Voila, the home of Alexia Roma and Alessandro Rossi.”

  I took a deep breath. “It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen such a lovely home, even in Montecito.”

  “Actually, they’re just renting while Alessandro prepares to shoot Venus’s Delight.” Albert opened the car door and walked around to let me out with a proud little strut. He
was having fun.

  “Are they waiting for us?” I couldn’t believe this was real.

  “Of course. They need the script; Alexia is dying to read it.” Albert cocked his head and preened a bit like a peacock. I had to laugh.

  “So let’s go!” I jumped out and ran to the front door with Albert right behind me, carrying the script. I rang the doorbell, expecting a maid to answer, or a butler. Instead, Alexia Roma appeared, wearing a dress that could only be described as molded to her voluptuous figure.

  “Alberto,” she squealed, and hugged him in delight. “You’ve brought my script and… a friend!”

  “Don’t you remember my mentioning that I had engaged another writer to help me with the more… shall we say, delicate female parts?”

  “Ciao, yes I remember!” She hugged me and bussed me on the cheek, French style, or maybe it was Italian style.

  I grinned a huge smile at her and put my hand out. “I’m Inny Johnson,” I said. “I’m so excited about working with you!”

  “Have you seen my movies?” Alexia motioned for us to come in and showed us to the living room with a grandiose sweep of her hand. She was taller than me by a couple of inches, and she was so beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I had only seen her in her Oscar-winning performance. I looked at Albert for a hint, but he was already busy shaking hands with Alessandro, her producer and husband-to-be.

  “You were magnificent! I’ve never seen such acting. The Americans just don’t have that feel for…” I groped for the right words.

  “Passion? Earthiness?” said Alexia, helpfully.

  “Yes, we’re too controlled and… we lack the vitality that comes so naturally to Italians!”

  Alexia beamed. I’d said the right thing. She took me by the hand and guided me to the living room. Alexia sat down on a velvet, Empire-style French sofa. I followed suit.

  “Of course,” she crossed one of her shapely legs over the other, adjusting her skirt, “we plan to go to Mexico to look for locations for the shoot. We hope you can come!”

  “I’d love to, but I have to take exams at Berkeley at the end of the Thanksgiving vacation…” I hoped I hadn’t said the wrong thing. I’d never talked to a movie star before.

  “It won’t take but a few days. I’m sure you’ll love Mexico.”

  “I’ve been to Tijuana, but I’d love to see the rest of Mexico,” I enthused. “Where were you thinking of going?”

  “Alessandro and I would like to visit Acapulco. I’ve always wanted to see those cliff divers. I admire their daring.”

  “They’re so famous. I’d love to watch them, too.”

  “I know we’re discussing Albert’s screenplay, but maybe you could both come. We could combine business with pleasure.” Alexia smiled her dazzling smile and her eyes sparkled with irresistible charm. I’d never seen anyone with such impish, lovely eyes. Plus, they were green.

  “I’m helping Albert with some of it.” I lowered my voice. “I don’t know if he’s mentioned it to you yet…”

  “Yes, I’m very happy to have a woman give her viewpoint.” She winked at me. “After all, we do think differently than men, don’t we?”

  “I haven’t thought about it very much, but I think I could make your lines more feminine and… I’d like Albert to change the love interest in the script… with your permission.”

  She looked at me with frank admiration. “How would you change it?”

  “I think you should have two men adoring you, not a man and a woman. It seems more…”

  “Natural?” said Alexia. She winked at me again. Everything seemed to amuse her; she was so easy to please. I’d had no idea she’d be so engaging.

  “Yes! Especially for today’s audience. We have to consider them, since they buy the tickets.”

  “Don’t worry. Alessandro always thinks of everything. He’s a genius. Your script is in good hands.”

  “The best,” I agreed.

  Albert and Alessandro entered the room, talking and making gestures. They’d been having an in-depth discussion about the film.

  “Let’s go out on the town! Let’s go to Hollywood Boulevard!” I entreated. I jumped up, smoothed my skirt and walked over to Albert. He kissed me on the cheek.

  Alexia and Alessandro exchanged looks tinged with a bit of remorse.

  “Not tonight,” Albert said.

  “We’re keeping a low profile, because of… his wife, not that she objects. It’s the Church,” whispered Alexia.

  “Oh! I didn’t know.”

  “We had to have their marriage annulled in Mexico, last year, because the Church wouldn’t grant Alessandro a divorce. It’s unacceptable in Italy. They won’t accept the annulment.” Alexia lowered her beautiful almond-shaped eyes in chagrin.

  “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.” I was out of my league talking about annulments and marriages.

  I must have turned a bit red, because Alexia said, “It’s so embarrassing. We have to be careful not to have our picture taken together; we’re still trying to obtain an Italian divorce for him, so we can marry, and of course…” Now it was Alexia’s turn to blush.

  “Of course, I want to have children.”

  “I’m sure you will, someday. Just relax, and it will happen like magic. That’s what I’ve heard anyway.” I tried to look encouraging. Here, my friends at Berkeley were having abortions and this magnificent woman was dying to get pregnant. It was too ironic.

  “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m hoping… it will happen soon,” she said.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t know anyone to tell! My friends are just students.” We laughed at my lack of worldliness.

  “I’m hungry. Can we have din dins?” I asked.

  “By all means,” said Albert with a cavalier sweep of his arm, gesturing toward the door to the dining room.

  We walked into a magnificent Italian Renaissance dining room with Alexia and Alessandro, both of whom looked relaxed yet so elegant. Alessandro wore evening clothes, and Alexia… Alexia looked like God had made a dress especially for her. Its light golden color enhanced the color of her hair, and her figure was always a source of amazement. Shall we say she was God’s gift to men? And always full of energy and thrilled with her life. Her only sore point was that she wanted to have a child with Alessandro, legally.

  That the Church wouldn’t grant him a divorce was the biggest sticking point. Alexia remained optimistic in the face of everything. After all, she had eaten bread and beans for dinner most of her childhood, and now she was a movie star.

  “I hope you like spaghetti,” said Alexia.

  I had to laugh. It was the last thing I thought we’d eat in such an elegant setting. But I loved spaghetti and said so.

  “We love spaghetti… and champagne. Do you have Korbel?” Albert smiled broadly, knowing that they must have champagne.

  Alexia nodded her head with a big smile. We sat back in our chairs and prepared for an enjoyable evening. We ate spaghetti the traditional Italian way, with spoons to twirl it around in, although mine fell all over my plate. Alessandro laughed at my ineptitude.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Only Italians eat it this way. Eat like an American.”

  I had just managed to plunge a huge forkful into my mouth.

  “I…” I couldn’t talk.

  Everyone found my awkward attempts at eating spaghetti charming; they loved me; I was in heaven, and Albert looked like he was having the time of his life.

  “Do you mean you’re the first black English professor at Berkeley?” Alessandro asked.

  “And I’ll soon be one of the first black screenwriters in Hollywood,” responded Albert, tilting his head and then raising it slightly higher than before. “There have been others, but they haven’t written for mainstream films.”

  “You have a right to be proud!” said Alessandro. “America needs more people of color in film.”

  “The whole world needs them,” said Alexia, a bit slyly, as her skin
color had been a source of talk in Hollywood. “They thought I should be darker,” she laughed. “They’d never seen an Italian like me before. I am not what they call lily white…”

  “You don’t have to explain,” I said. “My parents have drummed the color code into me all my life.”

  “Which is why you’re with Albert?”

  I paused to reflect. “Yes!” I said with enthusiasm. Albert smiled wryly.

  * * * *

  Alexia didn’t appear for breakfast the next morning.

  “She’s not… not feeling so well,” said Alessandro. He looked upset.

  “What could be the matter?” I turned a concerned face to his.

  “You know how much she wants to have a baby…”

  “Oh!” said Albert. “Do you mean she has morning sickness?”

  “It’s possible. She had a very unfortunate miscarriage a couple of years ago. This is so important to us. I’m afraid we must fly back to Italy to see her gynecologist. He thinks she needs more rest.” Alessandro looked down. Then, he smiled at us, beseeching us to understand.

  “I’d hate for her to have another miscarriage,” I said.

  Albert kicked me under the table. “What if she is just under the weather?”

  “No, she says she recognizes the signs. I’ve already booked a flight. We’ll leave this afternoon. I’m so sorry we can’t discuss your script, Albert, but she can read it after she recovers.”

  Flustered as all got out, and disappointed, Albert said, “Whatever is best for Alexia. I hope she’s right and conceives this time. An Italian woman needs a child… to feel fulfilled.”

  “I knew you’d understand, dear Albert,” said Alessandro. “I’ve felt such a strong bond between us ever since we met in Cannes. Send the script to our room and we’ll read it more thoroughly. It has promise. We were also looking forward to collaborating with you and Inny.” He smiled warmly at me. I smiled back, delighted that he’d mentioned my name. He was a darling man, half Alexia’s size and almost twice her age, but it didn’t matter. They were truly in love.