by June Ahern
“Please, dear. Let’s not talk anymore about it. It’s upsetting for the girls, especially since they know the O’Hara brothers,” Cathy said, refreshing his tea and laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Now you girls see why I said to keep away from those hoodlums hanging around that park. I know what them boys are up to,” Jimmy admonished his daughters.
Aye, that’s for sure. He does know what goes on, Cathy thought, thinking of her husband’s past reputation as a cad with the girls as well as a hotheaded rabble-rouser.
“Mom, can I wash the dishes later? I need to get some laundry done.” Annie looked pleadingly at her mother.
He droned on, “Bloody Valley’s becoming a haven for queers and killers and God knows what else.”
A sudden loud jangling from the telephone stationed in the hallway stopped Jimmy’s rant. Maggie made a mad dash to it. “Hello, MacDonalds’ resident,” she answered sweetly. A second later her toned changed to rudeness. “Oh, you. June, it’s for you.”
“Can I go, Daddy?” June asked tentatively. The girls weren’t supposed to leave the table at mealtime to talk on the phone.
Cathy answered, “Yes, go. You look like you’ve had enough.” She sat down next to Jimmy to eat breakfast.
“Hello,” June said, questionably, uncertain as to who would be calling her.
“It’s me,” Brian said in his crackling voice, which was changing from the high tone of boyhood to a deeper sound.
She could hear voices behind him. One was shouting loudly and another wailing.
“Guess you can hear Sadie yelling. And the crying one is Jeannie. Two of Sadie’s friends got beat up bad last Friday night,” Brian told her.
“Is that why Jeannie’s crying?”
“Nope. It’s ‘cuz Bernice said we gotta move outta here.” Brian waited for June to respond. She didn’t.
“Did you hear what I said? Move, like far away. She said to San Jose. I don’t even know where that is. Do you? Bernice said we’ll be safer there. Sadie’s pissed about some of Jeannie’s friends getting arrested. She wants to make sure the guys get prosecuted. And stuff like that.”
“Jeez, that’s not fair. I mean, you guys can’t leave. Why would anybody bother you guys?”
Mary came out of the kitchen and closed the door behind her. “What’s wrong?” she mouthed.
June cupped the phone. “Callaghans are moving,” she told her sister. To Brian she said, “Mary says, why?”
“You know, because Sadie and Bernice are, like, married. You know what I mean.” His voice became lower and she could hardly hear him.
June knew the women were very close and slept in the same room, but so did she and Mary. Although the way Brian said it gave her a new idea about the situation at the Callaghans.
“Brian, you can’t leave me. You’re my best friend. What’ll we do?” June whined pitifully.
“Can you come down here and bring your tarot cards?” he asked. “Sadie and Bernice really believe in you. They said so. Especially after you had that dream where your angel saved them.”
June thought about the vision she had shared with the Callaghans just last week. It was about Sadie and Bernice. She had clearly seen them walking arm-in-arm along Market Street near Castro Street. Suddenly, they were caught in a brutal downpour. The lights of the 8 Castro Street bus that would take them closer to home slowly drove toward them. As the women moved to flag the bus, several men emerged from the shadow of a building. They charged toward the women with bats raised high. The frightened women ran toward the slow-moving bus, screaming for it to stop. When the bus doors opened, June’s angel appeared in the doorway. She shot a blinding white light from her fingertips at the gang of men. They fell back and the women jumped on the bus. The last thing June had seen was Sadie’s face peering out of the bus window that was being pelted with heavy raindrops.
When June shared the vision, she had warned the women something bad would happen to them if they went out when the weather became rainy. Sadie had laughed and said Bernice’s new hairdo would probably flop. Bernice scolded her for laughing and assured June they would pay attention. Then, on Friday night it started to rain. They agreed that, because the rain was coming down so heavily, they would stay home instead of meeting friends at the Castro Theater. That night, two of their men friends had been beaten walking home from the movies.
“Sadie’s been calling you Saint June, the Catholic Goddess for odd fellows and social misfits,” Brian said laughing, half-heartedly.
June giggled.
“If you come down and do a reading, maybe they’ll stay in The Valley. You can sneak out, right?” Brian was pleading not asking.
June thought of the two women who had trusted in her psychic abilities. She also considered the importance of her friendship with the Callaghans. “I’ll be there soon,” she whispered into the phone.
* * * * *
Chapter 28
THE DEVIL PASSED THROUGH
1964
THE COLD SIDEWALK chilled June and Mary’s bums as they sat on the curb waiting for the 33 Ashbury bus. The day had been pleasantly warm for late March, until the sun dipped behind the trees in Golden Gate Park and the ocean fog spread a chill through the Panhandle and up to Haight Street.
Mary tucked the extra material from her bellbottom pants around her legs to keep the wind from shooting up them. June sat on her large black leather purse that held her schoolbooks. The short skirt of her Catholic school uniform (which, in the opinion of the nuns, was too short) did not protect her shivering white legs from the cold.
No matter how nippy the days could become, the two never let the capricious San Francisco weather discourage their trips to the Haight. It was a fun time there. They met up with the young, hip people moving into the area who were bringing a whole new scene to the city. The mood of the Haight-Ashbury was rebellious with long haired young men playing harmonicas and writing poetry and tough Harley-Davidson motorcyclists cruising the street, some with Hell’s Angels emblazed across the back of their leather jackets. The scene was a much-needed relief from the girls’ restricted life. At home the sisters didn’t talk openly about their jaunts, knowing the problems it would produce.
“Stop moving,” June said impatiently. Her fingers were getting colder by the minute. She wanted to finish painting a dark-blue crescent moon in the middle of Mary’s forehead. She recently read witches wore the symbol to stimulate clear visions during certain rituals.
The yellow daisies Mary painted on each of June’s cheeks were only inches from her eyes. She wanted to make them precisely as June had instructed her, including the large brown-gold centers.
Laughingly, Mary said, “I’d love to hear what St. Pius would say about you now, you evil witch. Too bad it wasn’t her that got thrown out instead of Noel.”
June wanted to lash out and condemn those she deemed culpable in Sister Noel’s transfer. But fear of exposing her own guilt for her role in the matter kept her silent. She reminisced how things would have been different if only she hadn’t pleaded with Sister Noel to let her class dance around the maypole. If only she hadn’t been so driven by self-righteousness and accused Maggie of vanity. If only she hadn’t been responsible for these things, she’d still have her loving mentor’s guidance. Ironically, in her moody anger, she silently relived the disappointment over and over again. Bile erupted from her stomach as she fought back words so bitter, they scorched her mouth, and her jaw muscles twitched. Still, she said nothing.
“You know you weren’t to blame. Right, sis?” Mary asked, concerned with the suddenness of her sister’s ashen pallor.
June shrugged hopelessly and then recovered. “Aye, right you are,” she said in her best Glaswegian burr, wanting to keep things light as Scots will often do in times of adversity.
They fell against each other, laughing and bantering such things as “Och, the cheek of you!” and “Wee bugger.” The Scottish saying that had Mary rolling in laughter was a request for a kiss.
June puckered up her lips and said, “Gie’s a wee kiss, will you no?” They leaned onto each other shoulder-to-shoulder until their laughter ebbed away and quietness settled between them.
A misty pale-gray fog drizzled around them, lightly wetting their faces. June began humming, ever so softly, “Over the Sea to Skye,” a favorite Scottish song her mother would sing to herself. Slowly, the humming drifted away and she felt as melancholy as the tune. She looked to the skies. There was no angel to be seen.
“Dig those two,” Mary said, nodding to the young couple bundled in matching Navy pea coats approaching them. Both had the latest hairstyle. They wore long bangs that almost entirely covered their eyes, a style they copied from the popular British group, The Beatles, who had made their American debut on “The Ed Sullivan Show” the previous January. Although dress and skirt hems were growing shorter each month, the girl’s dress was the shortest June had seen yet. Her white lacey leggings on her slender legs ended in stylish ankle boots. Tall and wafer thin with an air of confidence, she strode over to sit next to Mary.
“What’s happenin’?” the girl greeted her.
“Whadda ya want to be happenin’?” Mary asked.
“What’s up with her goodie, goodie Catholic girl uniform?” the girl snorted like a horse, tossing her long iron-straightened blonde hair at June.
“Whadda ya want? I don’t have all day,” Mary said roughly, knowing what they wanted. She was not one of Mary’s favorite customers. The girl complained too much about the quality of her products.
“Got some bennies?” the gangly guy asked.
The girl said quickly, “Weed, too.”
Mary opened her big suede handbag and delved deeply into it as she joked with the guy about his tattered jeans being so dirty they’d stand up by themselves. Finally, she handed him what he wanted with one hand and took his money with the other.
“Cool. Thanks. Hey Mar, I swear, ya shoulda come with us last night. Bob Dylan is so slick!” the guy exclaimed.
The girl rose from the pavement. “Shit. All this talk! It’s cold. Come on. Let’s go get high. Bring your friend, too.”
“Naw. I’m high already,” Mary said. Her dilated pupils conveyed the truth of her statement. “Besides, my little sister don’t do drugs. It interferes with her visions. She’s on a natural high,” she said proudly, putting her arm around June’s shoulders.
“Yeah, right! Like whadda ya vision about me?” the snooty girl said challengingly.
“It’s not real good when people are on drugs,” June said, rejecting the request. She was not about to share her precious energy with this haughty person.
“She can read your aura,” Mary said twirling her hair around her finger.
June knew her sister was leading the girl along, trying to get her to part with some more money.
“That’s bull!” the girl retorted putting her hands on her hips.
“You don’t even know what an aura is,” Mary taunted, keeping the girl’s interest.
The girl stood directly over June. “Yeah, do it then,” she said as the wind blew her short skirt even higher.
A flash of hot anger hit June’s stomach, stirring up the familiar feelings she had when ridiculed for her abilities. In the past she had been comforted with what Mrs. G and Sister Noel had told her. “People who scoff at your psychic gifts are actually afraid of them.”
Good, be afraid of me, she thought. She also surmised the girl shared Maggie’s egotistical belief her beauty allowed her privileged behavior. Slyly, June scrutinized her up and down. She felt assured she could put the arrogant girl in her place.
In a sweet voice, June said, “Okay, I’ll tell you this…maybe you should go to the clinic.”
The couple looked at each other astounded. “Shit!” they said in unison.
“Man, we just got tested for the clap,” the guy said.
Mary guffawed loudly. It was on the tip of her tongue to interest them in a reading, but the seer was not finished. She had another prediction and knew this one would hurt.
“When she gets pregnant,” June tossed her chin at the girl, “it won’t be his. It’ll be…” Her eyes drifted beyond the couple and upward to a gray sky. A fierce gush of wind ripped down the street, temporarily clearing away the fog. “…Roger. You know him, right?” Her eyes focused on the gaunt face of the guy.
“You bitch!” he yelled to the snooty girl. He walked briskly away down Ashbury Street with the girl chasing after him.
“Man, you blow my mind! That’s his best friend’s name. What a trip. Showed that skag, huh?” Mary laughed, enjoying her sister’s uncanny abilities.
It wasn’t showing off that brought a sense of satisfaction for June, but more of a need to be accepted for her abilities. Since she was a small child, her parents and the nuns had punished her for being unusual. Enduring this only made her cling to her visionary gifts.
Like a freight train coming through a tunnel, the deafening boom of a Harley startled the girls. The biker roared to a halt in front of the sisters. His thick brown hair laid straight back from riding against the wind. The jet-black sunglasses hiding his eyes reminded June of a fly. His Levi jeans, extended to the front pegs on the bike, tapered off at his sturdy, black steeled-toe boots, giving the illusion he was taller than he actually was. And with his black-leather jacket, he was the perfect image of the bad boy rebel, especially for a former Catholic school kid.
Eddie Gallagher sat on the rumbling black motorcycle, grinning widely as he stared down at the sisters.
“He’s hoping to impress us,” Mary giggled.
He does impress her, June thought, eyeing the two. She was reluctant to warm up to Eddie, whom she never really forgave for crumbling her tarot cards. More importantly, she blamed him for Mary’s drug addiction. At first her sister took the bennies to help her lose weight, only she never stopped taking them. Although June repeatedly praised her sister’s beauty, Mary’s self-image was stuck in their father’s taunts about her being “a sturdy boy.”
Switching off the engine, he pushed up his glasses over his hair, revealing his Mediterranean blue eyes fringed with black lashes. He curved his full lips into a lopsided half smile at Mary.
“Hey babe, how’s it goin’?” he said.
Grimacing, June thought how, even at eighteen-years-old, he hadn’t changed much from that boastful boy at Holy Savior School. June had heard he got kicked out of the boys’ Catholic high school in his junior year and never did get a diploma.
Mary’s tawny waist-length hair blew across her face as she looked up at him. Tipping her head to the side, she answered with a half-smile, “Copasetic. Dig your new pan head,” she said referring to the type of Harley-Davidson Eddie was riding.
Now who’s trying to impress? June thought.
“Yeah, ain’t it boss, man?” Eddie swung his long legs over the seat to squat on his haunches in front of Mary.
Flustered at his closeness, she immediately ducked her head and dug into her handbag, rummaging through it. June watched Eddie lick his lips nervously while resting his eyes on the swell of Mary’s full breasts rising and falling beneath her tight brown-leather jacket. He readjusted his position, causing him to tip forward, almost as though he were collapsing into her. His arousal from being so near to Mary was apparent.
Her hand shook as she pulled out a bunch of greenbacks. Like a bank teller she smoothed out the rumpled bills and carefully turned them all in the same direction as she tallied up a balance. Satisfied with the count, she glanced up and down the street before handing him the bills, keeping her eyes diverted from his face.
Accepting the wad of cash, his fingers lingered on her hand longer than necessary. “Good deal, Lucille,” he said in his rich baritone voice.
Their private dance of desire left June feeling like an interloper. Eddie was Mary’s connection for drugs to sell and indulge in, but the younger sister knew it was more than just that. Mary needed his attention, as meager as it was. June’s distast
e for Eddie spilled beyond the boundaries of her mind. The young man’s eyes twitched as he sensed her searing blue eyes boring into him. He pulled his sunglasses back down and stood up. Casually, he leaned against the seat of his bike, lit up a cigarette and blew a couple of smoke rings.
“Saw Maggie singing at some joint with that guy Jerry Garcia,” he said. “Man, can she fuckin’ groove.” His last comment was drawled out as long as his wide grin.
The very mention of Maggie’s name produced an ill effect. June watched Mary scrunch down, scowling. She knew her sister felt inadequate to Maggie’s female prowess. But it wasn’t jealous insecurity that grinded at June’s gut. For her, it was pure dislike. Maggie never apologized for her grievous betrayal of June’s secret.
Eyeing a beat cop walking their way, Eddie ground out his cigarette and swung a leg over the Harley. He nodded his head toward the cop. “Later,” he said to the girls before he roared away.
It took only a few strides for the big cop to come up to June and Mary. He tipped his cap with his nightstick. “Shouldn’t you girls be home?” he asked.
“Waiting for the bus to get home, Officer,” Mary answered politely.
He smiled and continued his beat, his nightstick swinging alongside his leg.
When the cop was a block away, Mary ordered June to “Go get me some Zig Zags.” She waved several bills in front of her face and nodded toward East Meets West, a head shop on the opposite side of the street. The sisters enjoyed shopping on Haight Street in these new kinds of boutiques, or hippy shops, as the adults called them. In them, they’d find hippy clothes and beaded earrings, candles and incense, drug paraphernalia, psychedelic merchandise and occult objects, and books.
Although June really didn’t want to support her sister getting high by buying the Zig Zag rolling papers, she understood Mary was hurting from Eddie’s comments about Maggie.
“More,” June said, gesturing for more money.
Her big sister’s mouth dropped in mock surprise.
June wasn’t put off. “For my stuff, too. You promised.”