“This is John. I’m down at the reception desk, so …”
“I understand. You have to be careful what you say. What do you want? I’m really busy.”
“I just want to apologize for not being a good friend, that’s all. I know you have a lot on your mind and I haven’t been very sensitive to that.”
The receptionist, a small, middle-aged black woman, smiled as she listened to what I was saying.
“It’s okay,” said Claire. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself. But thanks for caring. Will you come back to the house tonight?”
There was a plaintive quality to her voice that precluded me from saying no, though, in fact, I’d considered staying overnight at the Union. “Of course,” I said. “I’m going to the Union at nine, as soon as I get off work, but I can pick you up when your shift is over. We can take the bus home or walk.”
“That’d be nice. I’ll see you out in front at five after eleven. Thanks, John.”
During the last few hours of my shift at the liquor store, I spent more time stocking shelves than delivering. It felt good to hoist the big cases around and let my mind wander. Making up with Claire had freed me to ponder my success as a strike leader without feeling guilty. Perhaps she was right that I overestimated my accomplishments, but it made me feel good about myself.
Just after dark, I walked over to the university from work, still feeling high. But as I entered the campus next to the library, I saw something that caused my stomach to sink. One of the huge plate-glass windows on the first floor at the back of the building had been shattered. Pebbles of glass were scattered across the pavement, sparkling in the artificial light. A janitor stood inside the window, surveying the damage. When he saw me staring, he glared at me as if I’d personally done the damage. I tried to look sympathetic and innocent, but I felt guilty.
“Why you kids do this?” he said in heavily accented English. “You have good school. You destroy it. You have free country. You won’t fight for it. You all crazy.”
I hurried on. I passed another hall and saw “Hell no we won’t go!” painted on the brick in red paint. Then I saw more broken windows. I felt pursued by the destruction. I hurried into the Union, which showed no damage, and went right up to the ballroom. Carl was on the phone and he looked upset. As I came near, I could hear what he was saying.
“I told you, we had nothing to do with trashing those buildings.”
He listened for a moment.
“No, not even SDS. You don’t even know if they were strikers. As soon as we heard what was going on, we told the police. It looked to me like they were in no big hurry to do anything about it.”
Again, he paused.
“What I’m saying is that they could have been vandals taking advantage of the strike to go on a spree, or they could have been police plants meant to make us look bad.”
He listened again.
“I’m not paranoid. It’s been done elsewhere.”
As he listened the next time, he looked up and waved me to a chair beside him. I sat down.
“Yes, we want classes cancelled. We’ve been trying to convince you to do that since we started. But we think it’d be a mistake to do it right now, in response to vandalism. That would legitimize destructiveness.”
He rolled his eyes at me as he listened again.
“Of course I’m worried it would make us look bad. In fact, I suspect that’s what you’re trying to do. And you know you’ll look good with the parents if you discipline their bad children who broke things and wrote on the walls.”
He held the phone away from his ear. I heard the garbled sound of an angry voice on the other end, then a click. Carl brought the receiver back to his ear.
“Mr. Klein?” said Carl. “Mr. Klein?”
He put the receiver in its cradle.
“That was the chancellor’s man. He hung up on me. Guess he didn’t like me calling his bluff.”
“You really think the trashing was staged by the police?” I asked.
“Who knows. It might have been rogue strikers. I just wanted him to know the strike committee hadn’t authorized it.”
“When did it happen?”
“Just as it was getting dark.”
“How much damage was done? I saw three or four broken windows and some graffiti.”
“They’ve counted ten broken windows and three walls with graffiti.”
“Was anybody arrested?”
“No, and that’s what makes me suspicious. The vandals did pick a good time to go on their little spree, though. Evening classes were over, so there weren’t many people around to witness it. The police had their guard down, because they’ve been expecting this sort of thing to happen in the middle of the night.”
“What’s the chancellor going to do?”
“I think he’s going to use it as an excuse to close down the university for the rest of the semester. He’s been wanting to do it from the start—not because we wanted him to, but because he didn’t like the idea of anybody else in control of his campus. I think he’ll boot us out of the Union as soon as he does that.”
My throat went dry. I swallowed.
“Are we going to try to hold onto it?”
“Probably not. We don’t want to fight over a building. We can educate people about the war someplace else. We might do better to claim victory and announce that war education will continue at other locations—the Social Action Center, church basements—wherever we can do it. In fact, I’d better make some calls right now, so I can tell the committee what our alternatives are. We’re meeting at 11:00.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Not right now. Check in tomorrow morning.”
I wished Carl good luck and headed home, thinking I might ask Tony if I could use the car to pick up Claire. He was in the living room watching TV when I arrived.
“The chancellor was just on live,” he said. “He looked like quite the stern father. He’s ending classes for the semester, after tomorrow, since there are just a few weeks left. He said there’s no point in keeping the school open when strikers are disrupting classes and vandalizing buildings.”
“That bastard. He has no idea if strikers were responsible for the vandalism.”
“He also said we’d get incompletes for our classes and would have to make up the work by the end of the summer session—take home exams and that kind of shit.”
“I suppose that’s fair. This won’t get you in any trouble with draft board, will it?”
“One of the reporters asked if students with deferments would have trouble. He said no.”
“I hope he’s right.”
“You and me both.”
“By the way, Tony,” I said, trying to sound casual, “I’m going to meet Claire after work. Mind if I take the car and pick her up?”
He was engrossed in the TV again. I wondered if he was a little drunk.
“Fine. Why don’t you take her out for a drink. She’s been a little touchy lately. I think she needs to get out.”
Was he pushing me into her arms? I tried to sound casual when I answered him. “Sure. If she wants to.”
I got the extra set of keys from the hook in the kitchen. If I left right away, I would arrive early at the nursing home, but I was worried that, with a few beers in him, Tony might start asking embarrassing questions about Claire and me.
“See you later, Tony,” I said as I walked past the living room on my way out.
“No you won’t. I’m going to bed in a minute.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
I felt light-footed as I went down the front steps and into the night, like a teenager who’d just been given the car for a date. I fired up the old Chevy and clicked on the radio to find Jimi Hendrix wailing away on his guitar— music I’d first listened to in high school. I pictured Claire waiting for me in front of the nursing home—waiting for me—and a thrill ran through my body. I couldn’t believe we were lovers. It was almost too much. I backed out of the driveway
and unintentionally “patched out” when I accelerated.
I turned east at the next corner, deciding I’d kill time cruising along Lake Michigan. It was a beautiful spring night, almost summer-like. I smelled the odor of flowers in the air as I passed Lake Park on the wide road that curved around it and down to the lakefront. Hendrix gave way to Santana. I turned up it. The Latin beat pulsed through my blood as I drove. I found myself wishing for a joint, but it didn’t matter. I was high without it.
I drove past the parking lot at McKinley Beach, which was a popular “make out” spot. Cars lined the broad curve of the retaining wall along the back of it, windshields facing the water. I continued on past the illuminated tennis courts across from the marina, past the white clapboard Coast Guard station recently taken over by Native Americans intent on reclaiming tribal land, past the duck pond backed with weeping willows. I drove all the way downtown and started back up Lincoln Memorial Drive in the direction I’d come from. I took my time. Cars whizzed by me as I gazed off across the lake. Small, white-capped waves punctuated its broad surface.
When I arrived at the nursing home, I felt relaxed and happy. Claire sat on the wide front steps, smoking a cigarette. She had loosened her blonde hair, which fell down over the back of her white uniform, making her look angelic. Seeing her made me giddy. When she saw me pull up, she rose and came toward me. I leapt out, came around the car, and, with a great flourish, opened the passenger door for her.
“Your chariot, Madame,” I said.
She chuckled.
“What’s gotten into you?” she asked.
When she was in, I closed the door gently, kneeled down on the curb, and leaned against the window frame.
“What’s gotten into me, madame? The sky, the lake, the moon, the stars, and, most of all, your timeless beauty.”
“What have you been smoking?”
I put on a mock look of shock.
“Think you, madame, that only the evil weed can produce such effects? Fie on you! Insult not the beauty of my lady, which hath more power to affect the senses than the finest hashish in all the kingdoms of the East!”
She laughed. “You’re crazy—you know that, don’t you?”
“Crazy, indeed. Crazy with love for thy very own self. Kiss me, you fool!”
I closed my eyes and tilted my head.
“Not here, Romeo. Wait until we get back to the house. Is Tony there?”
“Yes, but he’s had a few beers and he said he was going to crash. I think he’ll sleep soundly.”
“Then maybe you’ll get a kiss, after all. Home, James!”
“What’er my lady wants.”
I rose, went around to the driver’s side, and I slid in beside her, realizing how few times I’d actually sat beside her in a car. I liked the way it felt.
We were home within a few minutes. Neither of us had spoken along the way, but that felt good, too. I liked the fact that I could just be with Claire. I pulled the car all the way up the driveway to the back of the house and turned off the engine. In the silence, a gentle breeze blew through the car, bearing the smell of damp earth and new leaves. Claire made no move to get out, nor did I. There was no place else on earth I wanted to be. Claire’s hand slid across the bench seat between us and engaged mine. Her palm was warm and dry. We sat holding hands for some time, still not speaking. Finally, without turning her head to me, she spoke.
“You may have that kiss, now, sir, if you so desire.”
I looked at her. She continued to stare straight ahead. With my free hand, I reached over to her chin and gently turned her face toward me. Her large, pale eyes looked vulnerable. Her breath was shallow. I slid my body over to hers, took her in my arms, and kissed her deeply. She kissed me back, tentatively at first, but then with growing desire. My hand went to her breasts. Her breath caught for a moment, but then she relaxed. I undid the big white buttons on the front of her uniform, unhooked her bra, which clasped in front, and put my hand inside it.
Our passion built by degrees as we undressed each other in that cramped space. There was barely room for Claire to lay back and open herself to me, but she did, and I entered her, driven equally by love and lust. Once I was inside her, being inside her was not enough. I wanted to become part of her. I wanted us to become one person. What would have seemed like furtive, guilty coupling to an outside observer was, in fact, the true consummation of our love. Perhaps arguing and making up had deepened our sense of commitment to one another. Perhaps the stars and planets were correctly aligned. Whatever the reason, our lovemaking in the front seat of that car took us to a place we hadn’t been before. She was mine, that night—for the first time—and I was hers. When we were finished, we lay there, naked and cramped, and cried together. We said nothing, but we both knew why we were crying. The future was suddenly wonderful and terrifying.
We slept together in my bed that night, and woke early to make love again, not parting until we heard Jonah knock on the locked door to Claire’s room and call out, “Mama?” She went into her room to let him in. She put on a nightgown and returned to my room, cigarettes in hand, Jonah trailing behind her.
“John?” he said when saw me in the bed. “Sweep?”
“Hey, little guy,” I said. “Yes, I’m still sleeping. Your Mama has made me very tired.”
I winked at Claire, who sat on the edge of the bed, lighting up a cigarette. She took a drag and held it out to me, but I declined.
“Smoke,” said Jonah.
He climbed up onto the bed and sat down on the pillow beside mine, the one Claire had been sleeping on. He looked at the two of us as if expecting us to do something. I grabbed him and lifted him over my head. He looked surprised but not displeased.
“Be careful, now, John,” said Claire.
“Boom,” said Jonah.
“Do you want to go boom?” I asked.
“Boom!” he said again.
I lowered him down toward my chest, then up again, three times, saying, “And a one, and a two, and a three.” With my arms extended, I dropped him onto the bed beside me, saying, “And a boom-de-eh!” He landed on his face and started giggling uncontrollably. It was a game my parents had played with me and all my siblings when we were little. It never failed to delight a child.
“Boom!” said Jonah with even greater enthusiasm as he crawled back into my arms. “Boom!”
So we “boomed” again—and again and again. It always amazed me how often small children could repeat a simple activity and not get bored with it. Claire watched us contentedly as she smoked her cigarette. Finally, I got bored with it and sent Jonah back into Claire’s room to jump on the bed, despite her half-hearted protests that he wasn’t supposed to do that.
With Jonah occupied, I was able to turn my attention back to her.
“Happy?” I said.
“Happy,” she said. “For the moment.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” I said.
“I don’t know. But let’s not worry about it. Let’s just enjoy being together.”
“I wish I could.”
“What, enjoy our being together?”
“No, of course not. I wish I could not worry about it. I wish I could forget that Tony is Jonah’s father and your husband—not to mention my friend—my former friend, once he finds out what’s going on here.”
Claire tapped the long ash of her cigarette into the palm of her hand. “We have to tell him, you know,” she said.
“I know. Should we do it together?”
She thought about this for a moment. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I think he’d feel like we were ganging up on him. I’ll tell him. It’s not like you and I are getting married or anything.”
I smiled. “Not yet.”
Claire smiled back at me. “Do you mean that?”
“I’m afraid to think about it.”
“Why?”
“It feels like there’s so little chance it could happen.”
“You never know.”
“You never do. Kiss me.”
She looked through the door to her room. Jonah was happily jumping on the bed. She leaned toward me, the arm with the cigarette extended out behind her for balance, and lay her lips on mine. She kissed me softly, at first, then pressed her lips into mine and darted her tongue into my mouth. I put my arms around her shoulders and pulled her down.
“Don’t,” she protested, but then she kissed me again, hard and long. “Let me up, now.”
I did. Jonah was standing in the doorway. He certainly had a knack for finding us in compromising positions.
“Come on, Jonah,” said Claire, standing up and trying to act casual, “let’s change your diaper and get you dressed.”
“Poopy?” he said.
“We’ll see,” said Claire.
The three of us ate breakfast together and I allowed myself to imagine we were a real family in our own home with no other emotional encumbrances. I felt calmer and more purposeful than I’d ever felt in my life. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life after college, but there, with Claire and Jonah, life took on shape and purpose. Whatever else might happen, loving them was surely something worth doing.
“We’re going over to Katie’s house this morning,” said Claire. “Want to come along?”
“I wish I could, but I promised Carl I’d check in at the Union this morning.”
“What’s left to do over there? You said the school was closing.”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. He was planning to set up classes on the war in various places around the East Side. I might be able to help him do that.”
“Will you teach one of them?”
“Me? I don’t know enough about the war. But I can help with coordination and publicity.”
“You’re pretty dedicated to this, aren’t you?”
There was a new respect in her voice, which touched me.
“I think it’s important—more important than most things.” I looked her in the eye. “Most things, but not all.”
“Well,” she said teasingly, “if I’m more important, why don’t you come with me to Katie’s?”
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