Whore. He had heard the word before he even understood what it meant. Two years ago, he had finally gotten up the courage to ask his father about her. His father, by then very ill with cancer, had said he would tell him about her someday.
Someday...then it was too late. The only thing left to do was to find her himself, but he had no idea how to begin. He didn’t even know her name.
Finally, he found out about Sally Stanford. But when he went to the stone mansion on Pine Street he found it had been converted into apartments. He stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the windows. Even now, once in a while, he still walked by it.
His mother. Did she have blue eyes like his? Was she fat or thin? Where did she go? Why did she abandon him? He was filled with hate and an aching need to love her.
Tyler squinted up toward the sun. No point in dwelling on it, he thought, no point at all. He was alone, but he could take care of himself all right. He didn’t need Kellen. He didn’t need anyone.
Tyler looked up and down the street, searching for a familiar face. The parade trudged by, couples locked arm in arm, young men toting guitars and duffel bags, barefoot children, barking dogs. No one looked in Tyler’s direction.
Screw Kellen. Screw everyone.
He had a plan. In five years, when he was eighteen, he’d take off and really be free. He’d take some money and split. Get away and see the world. Maybe go off to India with Katz.
Tyler reached into his pocket and pulled out the poems. He looked at them for a moment then crumbled them into a wad and threw it into the gutter.
He could hear someone playing a tambourine. Up past Stanyan Street, on the edge of Golden Gate Park, he could see a crowd gathering. Something was going on. Something always happened in the Haight if you waited long enough.
He retrieved the joint from his pocket and lit it. After a few minutes, Tyler was feeling fine again.
“Hey, here it is!” he called out to a passing car, holding a copy of the Oracle aloft. He enjoyed the look the old lady in the Buick gave him. “Get your genuine hippie souvenir!”
Yes, he was feeling fine. And tonight, he’d be feeling even better. He’d meet Katz and his friends at the Fillmore. He’d open himself to the wholeness of being.
He tossed the Oracles into a trash bin and went off in the direction of the music.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The editors were gathered in a conference room for the final news meeting of the day. Stephen took his place at the table. Kellen wasn’t there, and he hid his disappointment by pretending to read the news budget.
“Okay, let’s get started,” said Ray, the managing editor. “International?”
A thin man in glasses cleared his throat. “Nasser’s still threatening Israel. The War Crimes tribunal in Stockholm has found the U.S. guilty of systematic bombing of Vietnam civilians. And Russia’s showing off a new atom smasher. Got good art on that.” He tossed a wire photo on the table, but no one bothered to pick it up.
“National and state?” Ray said, without looking up.
“We have that peace march in New York, seventy thousand people showed up,” another man said. “Pretty good story from our own guy, with wire art. And a good feature from the Oakland bureau about this new Black Panther party that’s forming.”
Ray looked at the photos and handed them to the news editor. “Hate to put New York on the front, but this might be it,” he said. “Unless local can save us.”
He looked up. “Who’s supposed to be here from city desk? Where’s Kellen?”
Blank faces and shrugs.
“Let’s skip to sports,” Ray said with a frown.
“We got the Giants at the Stick tonight, with a side bar on how the wind’s been causing more problems than usual. Also, a good featch on Mickey Mantle. He’s still looking for homer number five hundred. Oh yeah...Muhammad Ali was indicted today in Houston for draft evasion.”
“What are you guys doing with that?” Ray said. “Give it to the A section.”
Kellen came in, muttered an apology, and slid into her seat. “We’ll come back to local later,” Ray said, glancing at her. “Let’s go on to women’s.”
The young assistant from the women’s page looked up. “We have a profile of that woman Elvis married last week, Priscilla Beaulieu, with some nice photos.” She handed them around the table to a few lewd remarks. “And we have the Haight feature. But Kellen thinks it’s worth front page.”
All eyes turned to Kellen, and a few people looked determinedly bored. Many on the staff were getting tired of the Martian Chronicles, as the ongoing coverage of the Haight scene had come to be called. The paper had been covering the story sporadically since 1965, but finally Kellen convinced Ray it was necessary to create a small task force of reporters and editors to cover the phenomenon.
Ray gave Kellen her cue. “Okay, what’s new from the war zone? Gimme the news first, then the feature.”
Kellen glanced at her legal pad. “Muni is thinking about rerouting the buses near the Haight because of the traffic congestion. That old bar, the Golden Cask, just reopened as a pizza place called Lee, Sam and Dick, but the city’s upset about the sign because all you can see are the initials LSD.”
“Shit. That used to be a good bar,” the sports editor said.
“We have a bust of a methedrine lab in Pacific Heights,” Kellen went on. “Cops are worried about a new psychedelic called STP that’s supposed to keep you stoned for three days. Half of the psychiatric beds at General are already filled with toxic drug reaction cases.”
“Is that all?” Ray asked in a beleaguered voice.
“No, we’re getting about three hundred new arrivals every day, and the Juvenile Authority is thinking of turning the gym at Poly-Tech High into an emergency shelter for runaways. And it was just announced that San Francisco now has the highest rate of venereal disease in the country.” Kellen paused. “One last thing. The board of supervisors is meeting today to approve the mayor’s resolution to officially declare hippies unwelcome in San Francisco.”
“A little late, aren’t they?” someone muttered.
“The worst is yet to come,” Kellen said. “This week, we’ve got writers in town from the news magazines, Playboy, National Review, and the London Observer. That movie The Love-Ins is coming out soon, and Dick Clark’s due in to start filming The Love Children.” She paused for a breath. “And now the hippies have proclaimed this the Summer of Love. We may have about seventy-five thousand people living in the Haight by fall.”
Everyone fell quiet.
“Anything light?” Ray asked.
Kellen held out a photo. “Somebody painted this fire hydrant up on Nob Hill in psychedelic colors.”
“Send the photographer back to get it in color.”
“Can’t,” Kellen said. “Fire Department already repainted it white.”
“The Maginot Line holds,” someone said.
Ray sighed. “Okay, use it. And put it on the wire. We must feed the beast its daily meal of happy-hippie news. Speaking of which, what’s this feature you guys were talking about?”
“It’s the ‘I Was a Hippie’ series,” Kellen said. “The reporter lived there undercover for a month, but he came back the other day and said he didn’t want to write an expose. He’s turned into a sympathizer. But we’re working on him.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to ride out this wretched drama,” Ray said and turned to Stephen. “Any suggestions, boss?”
Stephen gave some opinions on story play, and the meeting was adjourned. Kellen and Stephen walked out together.
“‘I Was A Hippie’?” Stephen said, smiling. “Are the readers ready for that?”
“Clark wanted to do it. I told him he was too old.”
They went back to Stephen’s office. “Mind if I hide out here for a minute?” she asked, dropping into a chair.
“You seem to like being city editor,” Stephen said.
“I do,” Kellen said, looking out at the city room. �
��It’s going to be hard to go back upstairs.” She paused. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You taught me a lot.”
Stephen thought briefly about asking her to go to dinner. “Well, it was easy,” he said instead. “We have the same ideas about the Times. We work well together.”
She let the comment go. “Being publisher is another game.”
“You’ve made some good moves already. You stopped Ian from selling the Seattle paper. And you’ve kept him off my back about the suburban operation. I appreciate that.”
Kellen held Stephen’s eyes for a moment then rose. “I’ve got to get back to work. I have to go over the budget for the Seattle paper.”
“Want some help?” Stephen asked on impulse.
She smiled. “Come on upstairs at six. I’ll order in some Chinese.”
By eight, Kellen and Stephen had finished the budget work. Kellen leaned back in her chair and stretched. “Thank god, that’s done,” she said. “The cuts weren’t as bad as I thought they’d be.”
“You really should go up there yourself to give the staff a vote of confidence,” Stephen said. “Your father was very good about visiting the other newspapers in the chain. Ian’s never bothered. And it might help you pinpoint the problems there.”
She massaged her neck. “That’s a good idea. I’ll go as soon as someone invents a forty-eight-hour day.”
The phone rang. Kellen knew it was probably Garrett. He was still in London and usually called her between eight and nine. With a glance at Stephen, she answered the phone. She was surprised to hear Ian’s voice.
“I’ve been trying to find you,” he said. “Our little brother has gone and gotten himself in trouble.”
“Tyler? What’s wrong?”
“Who knows? Somebody called here about fifteen minutes ago and said Tyler was freaking out. That was the term he used, freaking out. Said somebody better come and get him.”
“Why didn’t you do anything?” Kellen asked.
“I’m getting ready to go out,” Ian said. “Besides, the kid’s a brat. He slums around with those degenerates and then expects us to come bail him out when he gets in trouble. This will teach him a lesson.”
“Where is he?”
“That Fillmore dump.”
Kellen hung up and turned to Stephen. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “Tyler’s in trouble.”
“I’ll drive you,” Stephen said.
At the Fillmore’s entrance, Kellen pushed her way through the line, Stephen close behind. Someone said that Tyler was upstairs in a bathroom. Kellen ran up the stairs and came to an abrupt stop at the door.
Tyler was crouched in the corner of a stall, his eyes wide with terror. He was muttering incoherently and swatting at his body frantically. A thin young man was trying to pull Tyler to his feet as a crowd watched in deadpan curiosity.
Suddenly, Tyler let out a scream. “They’re all over me! They’re all over me! Get them off!”
“What, man, what -—?” the thin young man asked.
“Katz! Help me! Spiders! All over me, get them off! Oh god, get them off!”
Suddenly a burly man pushed by them and went into the stall. “What’s going on?” he demanded. He stared at Tyler, now curled into a ball, whimpering. “Hey, he looks like he’s underage.”
“Oh no,” Katz said, “he’s eighteen. He’ll be fine.”
Kellen pushed forward, shoving them aside. She took Tyler by the arms. “Tyler, it’s me, Kellen. What’s wrong?”
When he didn’t answer, Kellen looked up at the young man. “What did he take?” she demanded.
“Some acid. But I don’t know how much —-”
“You gave him drugs? He’s thirteen!”
Kellen cradled Tyler in her arms. Suddenly, his head lolled to one side and his eyes rolled back in his head. Stephen knelt down to take Tyler’s pulse.
“Someone call an ambulance!” he shouted.
At the hospital, the hour slipped by but Tyler remained in a light coma. At dawn, Kellen was still sitting in his room staring at Tyler, Stephen at her side.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Stephen said finally. “It’s not your fault.”
Tears began to fall silently down her face. “I should have been there for him,” she whispered. “I should have been there, but I was too busy. Now it’s too late.”
Stephen stared at Kellen, puzzled. “The doctor says he’ll be okay. It’s not too late.” Then he understood suddenly that she had lapsed into thinking about her father’s death. He pulled Kellen into his arms. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly.
She looked back at Tyler. “I’ll take care of him,” she said. “I promise.”
Three days later, when Tyler came out of the coma, Kellen was still at his bedside. Slowly, his eyes focused on his surroundings and then on her. He looked lost.
“You’re in the hospital,” she said. “You took some drugs. You’ve been here three days.”
He turned his head away and shut his eyes. There was a long silence, broken by the clatter of a cart in the hall.
“What are you doing here?” Tyler said in a hoarse whisper.
“I’m here because I care about you, Tyler,” she said.
He wouldn’t look at her.
“You don’t believe me, I know,” she said. “I’ve never given you much reason to.” She reached out and took his limp hand. “I know how you feel, like we’re strangers almost. But we —-”
“Go away,” he whispered.
She waited, hoping he would turn to face her, but he didn’t. “You’re my brother,” she said. “You’re all I’ve got.” She paused. “Please, Tyler. I love you.”
Tyler squeezed his eyes shut.
“Please, give me a chance to prove it,” she said.
He still refused to turn away from the wall. But Kellen felt his fingers tighten slightly around her hand.
CHAPTER FIFTY
The overdose had frightened Tyler so much that he agreed to Kellen’s suggestion that he get counseling. And though after a month it was too early to tell if it was having a positive effect, Tyler at least had stopped hanging out in the Haight and his attendance at school had improved. But he remained wary of Kellen’s attempts at affection.
Tyler was so needy, Kellen often thought, as if he were emotionally starved. It was as if Adam’s heart had opened only for a brief time in response to Elizabeth’s light, and Kellen had basked in the reflected warmth. Tyler had not been so lucky.
The realization rekindled a protectiveness toward her half-brother that she had not felt since the day Adam first brought him home. But she also knew that she needed Tyler as much as he needed her. He was the only family she had now except for Ian. And it was suddenly very important that she not allow the fragile bond between them to break before it had a chance to grow strong.
About six weeks after Tyler came home from the hospital, Kellen decided to throw a small dinner party. The excuse was her birthday but it was really an attempt to make Tyler feel some sense of belonging.
During the party, Kellen watched Tyler carefully. There were encouraging signs, like when Tyler tried to talk to Stephen about rock ’n’ roll. That prompted Clark to jump up and raise his wine glass.
“A toast!” he said. “To tomorrow, the solstice. The beginning of the Summer of Love!”
Clark sat down to groans.
“I’m surrounded by Philistines,” he murmured. “A rhapsodic revolution is happening right here in our midst, and you all are turning a deaf ear.”
“We’re all too old,” Josh laughed.
Clark turned to Tyler. “Don’t listen to him. Of course, your sister used to be different. She was a real free spirit.”
“I haven’t changed,” Kellen said, smiling.
“Then prove it,” Clark said. “Let’s all go to the Solstice Celebration.”
“All right!” Tyler exclaimed.
Kellen looked quickly at Tyler. The last thing she wanted was a replay of the scene at
the Fillmore. Tyler had promised her he would never touch drugs again but the counselor had warned her that Tyler would try to test her authority. But he had also told her that she had to show Tyler that she trusted him.
“Okay,” she said, “but only if Stephen goes, too.”
“What? Not on your life.”
She touched his arm. “Come on, Stephen. It’ll be fun.”
He glanced at Tyler, understanding what she was doing. “All right,” he said, smiling slightly.
The room erupted in conversation. No one saw Ian and Lilith standing at the door. Finally, Kellen did. “Hello, Lilith, Ian,” she said. “We didn’t hear you come in. Why don’t you come in and have some cake? It’s my birthday.”
Lilith’s mouth was a thin line. Ian’s stony expression turned into an affected smile. “We can’t. I’m on my way to take Mother to the airport.”
Clark, feeling no pain, smiled broadly. “Well, maybe when you get back, Ian old boy, you can join our little party. We’re going down to the Haight and celebrate the Summer of Love. Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.”
Tyler laughed. Ian’s dark eyes surveyed the smiling faces. “No, thank you,” he said. “Good night, everyone.”
Ian and Lilith went to the foyer. The laughter in the dining room grew louder.
“Well, that was certainly a cozy scene,” Lilith said. “When did Kellen and Tyler become so buddy-buddy?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Ian said.
“Don’t you see what’s happening?”
“Let’s go, Mother. It’s a long drive, and I’m tired.”
Lilith touched Ian’s cheek. “My poor baby...he works so hard that he can’t see anything else going on around him.”
Ian pushed her hand away. “See what?”
“That Kellen and Tyler are forming an alliance. And eventually it could work against you. I mean, Tyler’s just a boy. He can’t do anything now. But when he’s twenty-one...”
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