Rich White Americans

by Virginia Dale

  “Gimme that!” said another one of the officers.

  “Touch me and I’ll call my attorney,” I stiffened my spine and spoke with authority.

  “Leave her alone!” said another officer. “She’s got an attorney.” I’d said the magic word – attorney.

  I didn’t have one, but I had a feeling I might need one soon.

  The patrol car took off with Albert turning his head to mouth indiscernible words. “We’ve got to help him!” I turned to the others with an imploring look.

  “My father has an attorney,” said Jay Jay.

  “He said to call Adrianne,” said Kathy.

  “Let’s do everything we can to get him out tonight!” I put on the wig and started running for the studio. Suddenly, most of the conga line reappeared. “Let’s free Albert!” I yelled.

  “Free Albert!” They took up the chant.

  “Wear purple wigs!”

  “Wear purple wigs!”

  “Go to the police station and free Albert!” I shouted.

  “Go to the police station and free Albert,” they repeated. I almost laughed, in spite of myself.

  Jay Jay, Kathy, and I streaked down Telegraph Avenue to my apartment, where I immediately looked up Adrianne Koch’s number in my telephone book. I found it and called her.

  Kathy and Jay Jay ran upstairs to her studio. The other partygoers put a record on in Albert’s apartment and started dancing again. It was mayhem incorporated, but I was determined to get Albert out of jail.

  A drowsy Adrianne answered the phone. “Hullo?”

  “Adrianne, the police arrested Albert Curtis and have put him in jail!”

  “What!”

  “Could you help us get him out?”

  “Of course! Why did they put him in jail? This is outrageous!” Adrianne was fully awake and fuming. She’d save Albert.

  “We were dancing in a conga line down Telegraph Avenue; Albert was wearing a purple wig; the police came and arrested him for disorderly conduct or some made-up charge.”

  “I’ll meet you at the Berkeley Jail,” she said.

  I already knew where it was, from Ed’s overnight visit. I headed down there, yelling for everyone to follow me and FREE ALBERT!

  We arrived at midnight, yelling in unison, “Free Albert, free Albert!” This was turning into more than I’d bargained for, but I’d fight for my friends, no matter what.

  As many of us that could fit in entered the police station. The desk sergeant furrowed his thick brow. “What do you want?”

  “You’ve got to let Albert Curtis out of jail,” I said, the lavender wig blocking my vision somewhat. I adjusted it.

  “Take off that silly wig!” he said.

  “You sound just like my father,” I retorted, giving him my best rebellious daughter look.

  “We should book you, too.”

  “For wearing a wig?” I started laughing. When I laughed, I howled, a long, sustained high-pitched sound that drove even dogs crazy. The others mimicked me. The sergeant stood up and put his hand on his holster.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Adrianne. She’d already been talking to Albert. “Albert Curtis is an English professor at Berkeley. How dare you arrest him.”

  “He was disturbing the peace,” replied the sergeant.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” said Adrianne. She looked magnificent in her wild pink taffeta coat and mounds of Mexican jewelry.

  “And you’re the queen of Siam?”

  “I’m a history professor at Berkeley, and I protest this arrest.”

  She gave him a peremptory look that brooked no quarter.

  “Better make some calls,” said another officer.

  “Free Albert, free Albert,” chanted about twenty-five of the partygoers outside.

  The desk sergeant picked up the phone. He dialed a number. “Excuse me for calling so late, sir, but we have a lot of confusion at the police station tonight, on account of two people claiming to be Berkeley professors. Their names? Um…”

  “Let me talk to him,” said Adrianne. “Hello, this is Adrianne Koch. Oh, hello, Clark. I hope we didn’t wake you up.”

  “Give me that phone!” The sergeant grabbed it out of her hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kerr, but this woman in a crazy getup… She always dresses like that…? She’s a personal friend and history professor…? Please forgive me, sir. I’ll make sure everything’s all right. Don’t worry. Not a word to the press.”

  At that moment, a newspaper reporter with a flash bulb camera burst in. I’d just run into the cell portion of the jail, where I found Albert. He got our picture, wig and all.

  Between Adrianne Koch and Berkeley’s president, Clark Kerr, Albert left jail at approximately two in the morning. He walked between me and Adrianne. The others had already gone home.

  “I hope that picture doesn’t hit the papers,” remarked Adrianne. I pricked up my ears.

  “She’s wearing the wig,” said Albert, quite jovial for having undergone an arrest, but I guessed he was happy to be free. “Of course, I wear the mask.”

  “What mask?” I asked.

  “The mask of the happy black man.”

  “Aren’t you happy, Albert? Even though you were arrested, you’re loved, you have a screenplay contract with Alexia Roma…” I looked into his narrowing eyes, eyes that might hide secret pain, to see if he was listening.

  “How old are you?” Adrianne turned and addressed me, her mature face crinkled with wrinkles and a reassuring smile.

  “Twenty-one,” I said.

  Both Adrianne and Albert let out sighs of relief. I felt left out. I began to wonder if they hadn’t had some of the bubbly with the accompanying fling, before I came on the scene. I wondered if I’d interrupted an affair when I hit that guy in the nose, winning Albert’s admiration but not his heart… my mind wandered in several directions. I was more than confused; I was overwhelmed.

  When we got home, they went up his staircase together; I stayed behind to catch up on my sleep; at least, that’s the excuse I made up. I felt like the proverbial third wheel.

  “Come on, Inny,” entreated Albert. “We can celebrate my freedom with…”

  “I need to have some time to myself,” I insisted with exhaustion creeping over me.

  Adrianne gave me one of those knowing smiles and whisked Albert up the stairway.

  I opened my door and took off the wig and threw it on the floor. Then, I threw myself on my bed. What had I gotten into?

  Chapter 7

  I had an early morning rat psychology lecture the next morning. The phone rang before I could get out of bed.

  “Hullo,” I said, half-asleep.

  “Inny, this is your mother,” rang shrilly in my ear. I moved the receiver an inch or so away.

  “Um, hi, Mother.”

  “Your Aunt Beth called. She said you’re in the San Francisco Chronicle in a purple wig with a black man. You must come home immediately!” My mother gave orders and brooked no quarter.

  “What? Albert and I were in the newspapers?”

  “I’ve already bought you a plane ticket to LAX. I’ll pick you up at five o’clock. Then, you can find a job.”

  “I’m not leaving Berkeley, Mother. I happen to love it here. I wouldn’t care if my picture were in the paper with a serial murderer; I still wouldn’t leave. Albert Curtis is a famous English professor here. He is so far superior to your world that you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Your father will draw up papers to disown you.”

  “Fine. We hadn’t much in common to begin with.”

  “I told you to get married! How dare you embarrass us like this! Black people are not English teachers! They’re inferior and only know how to shine shoes.”

  I listened to her rattle off her list of prejudices against the black race. Then, I hung up on her. I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d heard this all my life, and Berkeley had freed me. I intended to remain a free woman, a free soul, a happy soul! I started
to laugh. Albert and I were famous! I decided I would throw on a dress and run upstairs to tell him before going to class.

  “Hullo,” I said as best I could manage. I hadn’t gotten enough sleep; my mind wasn’t clear. “Oh, good morning, Albert. How are you…? You’re in the San Francisco Chronicle. We’re in the San Francisco Chronicle. And me in the lavender wig.” Somehow, it seemed silly; I started to giggle. “No, I haven’t been drinking; it’s just so crazy; I can’t believe it. What should I do? Come talk to you? I have classes today… But I’ll come up anyway.”

  I threw the covers off and ran to the bathroom, where I washed my face with cold water. Then, I ran to the closet and put on the first skirt and blouse I came across.

  The phone rang again. I answered it.

  “Inny,” sniffed my mother, “how dare you hang up on your mother? I’m just trying to protect you!”

  “Mom, I’m twenty-one; I can take care of myself. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m sorry I hung up on you. I have to run now!”

  She was so controlling. I ran upstairs to see Albert. The door was already wide open; he was dressed for school, too, natty in his Brooks Brothers shirt and tie.

  “Just tell them it was innocent fun,” he said with a grin.

  “Who? My parents? They’re in Montecito and don’t believe in fun.”

  “Tell the press it was innocent fun.” Albert grinned at me.

  “The press? Why don’t I just hide from them? I’ve never been interviewed; it’ll come out all wrong.”

  Albert frowned. I’d never seen him so serious. From Alexia Roma to jail and back; it was too much for my young brain. I knew I didn’t want to talk to the press.

  “Maybe you can avoid them; Adrianne and I may be able to handle this.”

  “You and Adrianne?” I put my hands on my hips in indignation. “Have you been sleeping with her, too, Albert?”

  He drew me to him and kissed me. “You’re the only woman I love,” he said with a touch of melodrama.

  “Then don’t make me late to my rat psychology class! It’s at 9!”

  I gave him a quick kiss and ran down the stairs, toward campus. Once in my classroom, which had over two hundred students, plus the professor, who mimicked a rat on a hot iron grid that day, confirming my suspicion that he was crazy. More than a few students stared at me. I avoided their stares. When class was over, I ran to my next class, Adrianne Koch’s American history class. I wondered if she’d be there.

  Adrianne walked into the amphitheater-sized classroom with her usual flair and the magenta coat she’d worn last night. She hadn’t had time to change clothes. That didn’t stop her from breathing life into those old Puritans – Cotton Mather and Jonathon Edwards – quoting some of their favorite sayings, such as, ‘Dyed in the blood of the Lamb.’ She was superb; everyone loved her, including me. After class was over, I winked in her direction, turned my head, and ran for the exit. Not fast enough.

  Michael Schwartz, an old buddy from my freshman year, accosted me. “Your picture was in the papers today!” he said, grinning his head off.

  “So I’ve been told,” I answered, trying to outdistance him. No such luck.

  “I didn’t know you were an activist.”

  “Neither did I,” I replied, looking at him out of the corner of my eye, hoping no one else would notice me.

  “You and Adrianne Koch got Albert Curtis out of jail last night!” Michael raised an eyebrow; he acted as if he were impressed.

  “I just wanted to get my wig,” I tried to laugh it off.

  “Your wig… Oh, yes, you were wearing a purple wig!”

  “Lavender.”

  “Okay. Lavender. But you still sprung him with a bunch of other activists.”

  “What’s an activist?” I’d never heard the term in my heady years at Berkeley.

  “Someone who fights for other people’s rights.”

  “Oh. Of course. Well, yes, I guess I’m an activist, but it was inadvertent… I mean… Oh, Michael, they’d thrown Albert Curtis in jail for leading a conga line down Telegraph Avenue. I wanted to get him out.”

  Michael started to laugh at me. “A conga line?”

  Practically running, I replied, “You should’ve been there. Midterms start next week. I’ve got to study.”

  “Yeah. I’ve got to study for mine, too.”

  “Sorry to rush off, but this picture in the papers business has blindsided me.”

  “Good luck!”

  “Thanks!” I kept running until I got to the brick pathway that led to my studio. I unlocked the door and ran into my kitchen, fixed a ham sandwich, and opened my psychology book to Skinner’s rat experiment. I almost knew it by heart, but I was sure it would be on the exam, so I started memorizing it. I always memorized as much as I could for exams. My near-total-recall memory got me through exams at Berkeley. Meanwhile, I could hear Albert playing music upstairs.

  I crammed until 10. I heard Albert put on a Barbara Streisand album, ‘People Who Love People,’ one of his favorites.

  My phone rang. “Hey, Miss Inny, come on up and have some din dins,” said Albert. “I’ve made something just for you.”

  “I’ll be right up, but I have a mid-term tomorrow morning.”

  Albert laughed. “Do you want me to quiz you on it?”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why not? I’m a teacher.”

  “But you’re not a rat. This is on rat psychology.”

  We bantered back and forth about the psychology of rats and people. Then, I skimmed into a sleek sheath dress and ran upstairs to his place.

  He wore a sheer jersey that showed his muscular chest. I inhaled sharply. We smiled at each other; his perfect teeth highlighted his chiseled features. Albert shouldn’t wear a wig anymore, I decided. A hat would be perfect.

  “You’d look really good in a hat and coat over that jersey,” I said.

  “Do you think it would suit me?” he grinned.

  “Almost better than the wig, although I’ll have to think it over,” I smiled slyly into his beautiful, deep-set brown eyes. “What should I wear?”

  “Anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “Everything you wear suits you.”

  My heart beat faster. I wasn’t used to compliments. Getting them from Albert made me feel a bit faint after the events of last night. He went to the stove and stir fried some shrimp in a pan, like the most gourmet French chef. “I’ve fixed a little something to say thank you. You were my guardian angel last night.”

  “I love shrimp! I’ll always be your guardian angel if you’ll cook for me!”

  “Deal! And here’s some of the bubbly…” He popped a champagne cork. It arced high and hit the ceiling, making us laugh. After a few glasses, we were laughing even harder and I’d all but forgotten my exam.

  I slid my hand behind his neck. He leaned down to kiss me. Then I remembered.

  “Albert! I have a mid-term tomorrow!”

  He froze in mid-kiss, not quite reaching my lips. We were so close…

  “Oh, you tease! Go to bed and get an A! We can have our real celebration tomorrow night. Besides, I have something to tell you.”

  “Tell me now or I won’t be able to sleep!”

  “And you think I will be?” he motioned downward and I laughed. “It’s a surprise.” His smile dazzled me.

  “So we’re both teases. Can you save it for tomorrow night?” Albert rolled his eyes and acted like I was driving him crazy. “Whatever you say, Dahlink. You’d better get an A on your test.”

  I ran down the stairs wondering what he wanted to tell me. As I went into my studio, I glanced at Jerry’s empty one. I wondered how they were doing in India. After I got in bed, I tossed and turned. I couldn’t sleep with so much on my mind. I started mentally reviewing the Skinner rat experiment and fell asleep with rats jumping at pieces of cheese from their stands in experiment boxes, instead of counting sheep.

  I woke up at 7, jolted down some scrambled
eggs with toast and jam, pulled on a sweater and skirt, and bolted to campus.

  The test attendants were passing out the questions when I arrived with my blue book, the infamous blank pamphlet that we’d soon pour our knowledge onto as best we could. I didn’t recognize anyone; none of my friends were majoring in psychology. Berkeley’s classes were so large that you had to enroll with a friend to find a familiar face, as a rule. Two hundred perfect strangers bent over and started reading the exam questions, then answering them. This was an upper-division class, so most of us were seniors. We wrote for three hours. When the attendants signaled that the time was up, we stood up, stretched, and handed them our booklets.

  Bright noon sunshine hit me in the face as I wandered back to my studio. Some of the students went to the UCEN, the student cafeteria, but I was on a strict budget. My mother had already suggested that I marry, because they couldn’t afford to send me to college anymore. Marry? Marry whom? Berkeley cost one hundred and fifty dollars a year; it was almost free and I’d taken a part-time job selling records at the Robert E. Lee record store. It was hard to believe that someone would choose such a name, but that was the owner’s actual name. I didn’t have to work until the next day, so I inhaled and enjoyed the walk home. I wondered what Albert had in mind when he promised me a surprise. I’d already had a few of those.

  I fixed a ham sandwich for lunch and started studying for Adrianne’s history mid-term, which was on Friday. Cotton Mather, Jonathan Edwards, ‘Dyed in the blood of the Lamb’ kept repeating themselves, as well as scenes of men trying to ‘build a city on a hill,’ a perfect world, with no female input unless their wives managed to influence them. What strange forebears we had. Had it changed that much?

  After reading two chapters about Puritan history, I began to wonder what Albert had in store for me. Ours was not the usual love relationship; but love in any form is unique. I experienced a level of love and caring with Albert that gave me more self-confidence; he appreciated my intellectual acumen, and we were writing for Alexia Roma. That, thrown in with the rowdy party and resultant jailing of Albert, made for… what I hoped would be a fulfilling, even transformative, experience.

  My phone rang. It was Sally. She sounded like she was having a transformative experience; Jerry was forcing her to fly with him, even though she had a phobic fear of flying. Especially because she had a phobic fear of flying.