Leigh

by Lyn Cote

  Frank sat hunched over on his cot, a pen in his hand and a pad of paper on his knee. I have to write her. I can’t just let her hear it from someone else.But why did he feel this way? Why did Leigh rate a separate letter, a separate announcement? After those few brief letters five years ago, he hadn’t written her—at least not only her, but her and her two friends. Why did Leigh linger in his mind—always a temptation?

  He recalled Leigh’s innocent beauty as she’d sat beside the reflecting pool in Washington, D.C., while Dr. King preached. Then he recalled her as she’d marched up the aisle at her graduation, her lovely, long blonde hair flowing from under her black mortarboard. Tightening his lips and his grip on his pen, he knew he had to explain this to her. He owed her that. He owed himself that.

  Dear Leigh,

  Where have the years gone? Doesn’t that make us feel old? You were sixteen and I was twenty-two when we met that evening at Ivy Manor. I still remember how lovely you looked in the twilight holding a willow whip in your hands.

  He ripped the page off the pad and crumpled it. I can’t tell her that, not with what I need to say to her.He’d made his decision, and it was a good one. These were just sweet memories of the past…

  Still wearing her cloying, blood-stained, dirt-smeared outfit, Leigh hobbled defiantly on her broken shoe through the line of police and into the lobby of the Conrad Hilton. In silence, she and Dane rode the elevator to her floor. Again, his presence filled her, driving out the residual fear. Dane stood by as she unlocked the door of her room. The hotel hallways held the sickly odor of tear gas from the night before. Still lightheaded, she led Dane inside. The room was empty of her roommates, whom she’d barely known; it looked as if they’d already checked out.

  Even hours after last night’s events, she felt flat, tired and weak from her slight concussion. Somehow she had to recover enough to start looking for Mary Beth. In spite of wanting to peel off her sticky clothes and throw them in the waste basket, Leigh plopped down on her freshly made bed. “This is a nightmare.”

  Dane made no reply, but crossed to the phone and picked it up, speaking to the hotel operator. “This is Agent Dane Hanley. I need to make a phone call to the FBI headquarters in D.C.”

  Leigh closed her eyes and lay back on the bed, wondering if he were going to report everything to her stepfather. As soon as she had the strength, she’d take a shower and change into clean clothes. She’d never felt this filthy in her life. It was as if she were wearing garbage.

  “Hi, this is Hanley. Is Gaston there?”

  Dane’s voice, so businesslike, steadied Leigh. She tried to think where Mary Beth might go. Maybe Leigh would find her somewhere in Old Town.

  Dane turned and offered Leigh the receiver. “Your dad.”

  With a sigh, Leigh put it to her ear. “Dad?”

  “Hi, honey. I hear you had an exciting evening. Are you planning on making a career in revolution?”

  In spite of her lingering weakness and tender head, Leigh smiled. Only her stepdad would tease her about being in a riot. How she loved this man. “Not really. No fringe benefits.” She grinned. “And I’m not much for being hit with billy clubs.”

  “If I had any way of finding out,” he said, suddenly sounding like an angry father, “who clubbed you—”

  “Cool it, Dad. I’m fine. Just feeling a little rough.” Her head was still tender where the billy club had struck her. She closed her eyes and turned on her side, longing for a tub of hot water and bubble bath. Dane sat down by her feet, making the bed dip and reminding her of his presence.

  “Leigh, here’s your mother.” Her dad’s tone begged her to be diplomatic.

  But Leigh didn’t feel diplomatic right now. Out of respect for her father and Grandma Chloe, she’d always tried to keep her dialogues with her mother polite, but detached. She’d had to maintain her distance because her mother always did. Her mother always seemed to sit on Mt. Olympus raining down her opinions from on high. Today Leigh couldn’t handle that. Right now I just don’t need her scolding me with, “I thought something like this would happen,” and telling me to come home.

  “I knew something like this would happen,” were her mother’s petulant first words. “What were you thinking, putting yourself in harm’s way?”

  Had her mother ever realized how predictable she was? Leigh tried to hold onto the ragged ends of her temper. “Mom, I was just getting into the limo headed for the Amphitheatre when everything came undone. It’s not my fault the police overreacted and started attacking unarmed citizens—”

  “I can’t believe that the police would attack without provocation,” her mother snapped.

  Right. Cops never do anything they’re not supposed to do. “Believe what you want, Mother. But I was there. I know what happened.”

  “Why can’t you just focus on finishing your degree and leave politics for the future?”

  “Because I can’t just sit on the sidelines.” Leigh sat up, making her head spin. Dane reached out and gripped her upper arm. “I’m going to be out in this world as a journalist. This is what I’ll be doing with my life. This is my time. I can’t hide from what’s happening all around me.” Like you do.

  They’d had this conversation more times than Leigh wanted to remember. And her mother never understood the insatiable restlessness that drove Leigh. How could she? Her mother’s generation had fought its war in the Pacific and in Europe. But Leigh’s generation was fighting its war in Viet Nam and in the dangerous streets of Watts, Detroit, Harlem, and now Chicago.

  Dane held on to her and she found herself leaning toward his strength—too weak to care how it looked.

  “No one can hide from life,” her mother said, “but do you have to be on the front lines?”

  “Yes, I do,” Leigh snapped. Pain spiked over her right temple. “I can’t just sit back and watch things happen. I want to report it, to witness it. And fortunately, I can.”

  Stiff silence.

  Leigh rested her palm on Dane’s knee, needing to strengthen the bond forming between them. She’d never played the damsel in distress before and she wasn’t “playing” it now. It was real, and Dane had come just in the nick of time.

  Her stepfather came back on the line. “Honey, we’ve been very worried,” his voice again entreated her for understanding. How could he know her so well and her mother not at all? “You can imagine how we felt when we saw you being clubbed and gassed on national TV.”

  “I didn’t exactly enjoy it.” I love you, Dad. “And believe me, I don’t plan on getting that close to a billy club anytime soon. Does Mom think I did it on purpose? I was just heading for the limo to go to the Amphitheatre and everything exploded around me.”

  “I’ve been in similar situations, sweetheart. We’re just glad that you’re safe and that Dane’s there with you. He’s a good man, one of the best, and you can trust him. He’ll bring you home. We’ll meet you at the airport—”

  A good man, one of the best.She turned her thoughts back to her dilemma. “Dad, I can’t leave Chicago until I find out what happened to Mary Beth. I’m the one who persuaded her to come. Did you see her on TV, too?”

  “No.”

  “I got clubbed while trying to get to her. A policeman had her by the hair and was dragging her while he beat her.” The gut-wrenching memory of witnessing physical violence made Leigh quiver sharply and draw a deep breath. She released it slowly. “That was why I got hurt. I was trying to get to her.” Leigh pressed her lips together to hold back the tears.

  “You’re safe now,” her stepfather murmured. “Now let me talk to Dane.”

  Leigh handed over the phone and then lay down on the bed again. She was glad when Dane stayed on the bed with her as he talked to her dad. Being forced to recall the events of last night had stirred the pot again. The concussion, the tear gas, and being the target of physical violence all rolled together and left her shaky and weak.

  It was one thing to see actors fighting in a movie, but it was so
much different when it took place in person. She’d never before witnessed physical violence or been near a riot. How did her friends do it—those who had quit school and were protesting the war full-time? Last night, the yippies had sounded exhilarated over the violence. Did a person ever really get accustomed to brutality?

  “Right, Ted,” Dane said into the receiver. “Yeah, I can do that. What if we don’t find her today?” He made sounds of assent and then handed Leigh the phone again.

  “Hi, Dad,” she muttered, trying to let her affection show in her softened tone.

  “Honey, Dane and I have talked. He will spend the day trying to find your friend. If you don’t find her, then we’ll talk about what to do next.”

  “Thank you, Daddy. I just couldn’t leave her. I mean, I needed Dane last night or I might still be in that awful holding cell.” Thank you for sending Dane, Daddy. “And sometimes I think Mary Beth has lost her mind or something. She…” Leigh didn’t want to say what she feared—that Mary Beth was doing more drugs instead of less.

  “You were in a holding cell?” Dad asked sharply.

  “Yes.”

  Her father swore under his breath. “Okay, honey, you let Dane investigate while you recover. I’ll contact Mary Beth’s parents and find out if they’ve heard from her. We’ll talk later.”

  After thanking him, Leigh hung up and looked at Dane with sudden determination that was quite at odds with how she was feeling. “I’m going with you—”

  “No, Ted wants you to lie down—”

  Pushing down every scrap of despair and pain that threatened to come bubbling up, Leigh stood up and headed for the bathroom door. “I need a shower, to change clothes and have breakfast. Why don’t you order room service for us?”

  “I’m going to head—”

  “If you aren’t here when I get out of the shower, I’ll start looking for Mary Beth on my own.” With the closet open behind her, she turned to face him, daring him.

  “You are a spoiled little brat,” he said, sounding half mad, but half amused.

  “Sticks and stones,” Leigh replied and then began gathering fresh clothing from hangers and her open suitcase. She needed him, but she didn’t have to admit it.

  “I’ll have to go down and order breakfast at the hotel restaurant,” Dane gave in with some grace. “I only get to use the phone for official Bureau business.”

  After a nod, Leigh went into the bathroom and locked the door…

  Frank started a fresh page.

  Dear Leigh,

  I appreciate that you and Mary Beth have continued to write me even though our stands about this war are in conflict. I think your point about a lack of will on the part of our leaders to win this war is completely valid. I’m sorry that Mary Beth thinks I’m the one moral man in an army of baby-killers. In every army, there are a few baby-killers as well as many heroes who would die rather than harm a civilian. We are handicapped by the nature of this war. We’refighting against guerrillas in the midst of people who are trying to make a living and simply stay alive. We aren’t fighting on distant battlefields. We’re fighting in their villages, cities, rice paddies. Civilian casualties make me heartsick.

  The wild card in all of this is of course Red China, who is backing the Viet Cong. I think this is what holds the brass back. You and 1 talked of nuclear way-years ago. No one wants to make the Chinese declare war. Wouldn’t that draw in their allies, the Soviets, and trigger an atomic war?”

  Why was he writing all of this? Was this what he had to tell Leigh before she found it out from someone else? She should hear it from me first.

  He started a new page.

  Leigh, there are things that have never been said between us that should have been said. Or at least, that is how I feel about it…

  After a nourishing breakfast, several cups of coffee, and two aspirin, and freshly showered and dressed in jeans, an NYU T-shirt, and sandals, Leigh walked beside Dane on the way to nearby Grant Park. Feeling wonderfully human again, she glanced around at the placid setting, contrasting it with last night’s carnage. The yellow barricades were back in place, and a few blue-uniformed cops lounged near them. She cringed at the sight of them and hated it. Would she ever see a cop again and not feel afraid?

  “Don’t you have Bureau stuff to do today?” she asked Dane, looking away, willing herself to look nonchalant.

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “Your stepfather is important enough to the Bureau that if he wants an agent to help his daughter look for her missing friend, then that becomes my assignment.”

  From behind her round, blue-tinted wire-rim sunglasses, Leigh considered this. She’d never thought about her stepfather’s career at the FBI except as his job. But that he was held in respect didn’t surprise her. And she was more than glad to have Dane at her side as they entered the ravaged park. Trash collected around the base of tree trunks and around overturned trash barrels. Transistor radios turned to WLS played loud rock and roll. “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band,” came from a nearby pup tent.

  “Do you know where Mary Beth and her old man”Dane mimicked, mocking her friend’s terminology, “were camping?”

  Ignoring the innuendo, Leigh nodded and led him to an area under tall oaks near the band shell. The bright summer day made the night before feel like an imagined nightmare. The sun warmed her back and neck. In the distance, gulls screeched and sunlight gleamed on the blue water of Lake Michigan. Nearer, Leigh averted her eyes from a nearly naked hippie, obviously passed out in front of a rude pup tent.

  Dane made a sound of disgust low in his throat. “How long has your friend been on drugs?”

  Leigh tingled with fear. If Dane told her stepfather this undeniable fact about Mary Beth, her mother would freak out and make her change roommates, maybe even schools. She almost opened her mouth to deny it. But then she decided Dane already knew too much for evasion. “She started smoking marijuana in our sophomore year. I tried to talk her out of it.” She frowned, still wondering what the attraction of marijuana had been to her friend. Was it just the allure of the forbidden? Or was she trying to shock her parents into noticing more than her grade-point average?

  “Does she drop acid?” Dane asked.

  I hope not. “I’m not sure.”

  “Do I need to tell you that stuff’s dangerous?”

  “ No.A girl in my psych class last year had a bad trip and her parents had to come and take her away. She kept having flashbacks…” Leigh shivered in spite of the summer heat.

  “Are you using?”

  Leigh nailed him with both eyes. “Are you kidding?”

  “Just checking,” he said, deadpan. “I didn’t think so.”

  Leigh punched him in the arm.

  He grinned. “Your stepfather thinks you have a good head on your shoulders. Told me so more than once.”

  The compliment warmed her and took the sting out of his insulting question.

  “It’s too bad your friend doesn’t have one, too.”

  Leigh looked over the array of tents, campers, and sleeping bags. A young female hippie was sitting under a tree near where Mary Beth and Chance’s tent should have been. “Let’s ask her if she’s seen Mary Beth.”

  Frank looked down at the second page he’d just written. For once, he’d poured out all he’d felt from the moment he’d met Leigh. All of it was true, but he realized that all of it was impossible for him to say to Leigh. Though they’d only been together a short while that August of 1963, he thought he had a pretty good bead on what she was, where she was coming from. Leigh Sinclair was—or was in the process of becoming—a woman of substance, one worthy of praise. A woman like his grandmother Minnie and her grandmother Chloe.

  He crumpled the second page, wrote a friendly ending to the first page, and signed it. Before he changed his mind, he sealed the letter and addressed it. The chips would just have to fall where they may. If this world were different, it might have worked out for them.

  But the world is the
way it is. Leigh will just have to find out the news from someone else.

  Later that afternoon, Dane and Leigh sat outside at one of a few tables in front of a pub in Old Town, on the near north side. Old Town was Chicago’s version of Greenwich Village. A miniskirted waitress delivered Leigh’s Coke with a twist of lime and Dane’s draft beer. Around them, heat radiated from the concrete, but the lake breeze was clean and refreshing. The waitress lingered a bit too long next to Dane, eyeing him. A lick of irritation went up Leigh’s spine. Did the woman have to be that obvious?

  “Do you have any more ideas of where your friend might be?” Dane nodded to dismiss the waitress and turned to Leigh.

  With her forefinger, Leigh stroked the condensation on the outside of her glass. She needed some caffeine. A grinding fatigue weighed her down. Along with overwhelming guilt. “I think I want to fly out to San Francisco.”

  “You believe she’s gone back to Berkeley with that guy?” Dane caught her reasoning without a missed beat. And it pleased Leigh.

  She nodded. “That’s what I think.”

  “Why do you have to go to California to find her? Doesn’t she have family?”

  Leigh made eye contact with Dane, noting that he was giving her his undivided attention. “Her parents won’t do anything.”

  “What do you mean?” His tone hardened.

  Leigh felt for the first time that he was turning his sympathy toward Mary Beth. Two girls in tight shorts walked past, paused, and gave Dane the eye. Leigh looked away, feeling the lick of irritation again. “Mary Beth’s parents have always been a puzzle to me.”

  Dane ignored the girls, and they walked away, giggling. “How so?”

  Her own mother drove Leigh nuts at times, but at least she acted like a mother who was interested in her daughter. How to explain Mary Beth’s parents to this hard man? “I know they love Mary Beth, so I would think that means they wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her. But they—”

  “But they—what?” he prompted.

  “But it’s like they don’t have any common sense. The only thing they have ever really been concerned with is whether or not Mary Beth gets top grades. That’s why they sent her to the private girl’s school where we met—because it was the best in the D.C. area. But they don’t seem to comprehend anything else that’s happening in her life.”