Rich White Americans

by Virginia Dale

  “Why don’t you come back here, Sally?”

  “He won’t let me,” she sniffled.

  “You’ve got to do what is best for you and to hell with him!”

  “I’m afraid of him.”

  “What can he do to you?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get back,” she sounded nervous.

  “When are you coming back?” I was concerned. I twisted the phone cord. India was so far away.

  “I don’t know. I have to go now.” She hung up the phone.

  I held an inert phone in the air, expecting Sally’s voice to come through it, for some reason. What on earth was he doing to her?

  I was in a pensive mood when Albert got back from campus.

  He whistled as he came down the brick walkway. I opened the slatted wooden blinds that covered my front window and waved. He waved back and motioned for me to come see him.

  Now he’ll tell me, I thought as I ran up to his studio.

  He stood at a cocky angle, grinning ear to ear. “Are you ready for the news?”

  “Yes!” I nearly shouted. What did he have in store for me?

  “You’re going to meet Alexia Roma!”

  It was really happening. I was really in the movie business. I put my arms in the air and started yelling, “Yay! I can’t wait! When? Will I have to miss any classes?”

  Albert extended his arm, gently wrapping it around my waist. “During Easter break, Silly! I can’t miss classes either. I have to teach them!” He kissed me on the forehead. “I’ve been invited to the Cannes Film Festival. You can attend as my assistant.”

  “Cannes? On the French Riviera?” I hardly knew what to think. “What should I wear? Will we go to nightclubs? Do I need party dresses? What’s she going to think of me?” It all came pouring out; I couldn’t contain my almost-exalted state of excitement.

  Albert started laughing and almost did a cartwheel then and there. He grabbed me and we hugged and kissed out of pure joy.

  “But first, we must meet them while they’re in Hollywood. It’s the chance of a lifetime!”

  “Are you going to drive or shall we fly? Do you want to stop by my parents’ house in Montecito…” An image of my mother chasing one of my dates out of the house flashed before my eyes. Albert was black; she’d have ten shit fits. I couldn’t inflict her on him.

  “I’d love to stop by your parents’ house in Montecito,” trilled Albert.

  That did it. I’d have to subject him to the Ku Klux Klan of Montecito: my parents. I slumped a bit at the thought, and he detected it. “What are your parents like? They wouldn’t object to…” he held his hand up, “…my beautiful pigmentation, would they?”

  “They’re racists, Albert! They’re awful! I can’t subject you to their petty cruelty.”

  “Jim Crowers, eh? Well, maybe we’ll bypass Montecito, though I hear it is lovely.”

  “It might be good for them to meet you. Put on your lavender wig and let’s have some laughs!”

  “Get out the bubbly! Let’s celebrate Alexia, a real woman!”

  “We’re going to have a real screenplay for her, too!”

  Albert ran to the refrigerator and got out some pink champagne. My racist parents seemed like paper tigers after the third glass. Running my hands over those beautiful chest muscles, his chiseled features, his warm love flowed over and over me until I woke up the next morning, still high as a kite. I had to run to my studio apartment for a quick shower and change of clothes. Maybe a pleated skirt and blouse today…

  As I ran into Adrianne Koch’s history class, Jay Jay appeared out of nowhere.

  “Hi!” he said.

  “I’m late to class,” I said.

  “Could I sit in with you?”

  “Sure. She’s a fantastic lecturer. She makes the crusty old Puritans come alive,” I grinned.

  Jay Jay grinned his dazzling smile; something in me melted. Albert ran weakly through an obscure corner of my mind and disappeared into the present, which consisted of me and Jay Jay finding seats in the large auditorium, not as large as some at Berkeley, but big enough for a hundred students. We enjoyed the anonymity of it, leaning towards one another so that our shoulders almost touched. As Adrianne brought Cotton Mather chasing Jonathon Edwards out of Massachusetts back to life, I found my mind wandering.

  Albert, run-ins with the police, the screenplay, Alexia Roma, and now Jay Jay. I was overwhelmed. “Would you like to stop for a coffee?” asked Jay Jay as we sauntered back to Sather Gate, Berkeley’s entrance from Bancroft Avenue and Telegraph Road.

  “Um, I have to study, but coffee might speed up the process,” I said. Jay Jay smiled as if the sun had just risen. He was so good-looking that I felt intimidated. I girded up my loins as we found a semi-secluded place to drink coffee.

  We chatted about our studies; Jay Jay was interested in physics and math; I loved psychology and the arts, but I loved the high of garnering new knowledge about almost any subject, so we discussed the Manhattan Project.

  “Edmund Teller was my physics professor for Physics 101,” I said. “He seemed like he was from another world. He just was like a big balloon-head, spouting words with a huge smile, but he didn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe bombing Hiroshima had something to do with that,” said Jay Jay.

  I studied his pensive countenance. “Developing the atomic bomb that killed hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians might have something to do with that. I’d have gone crazy.”

  Jay Jay grinned his huge grin at me. “Would you like to go to a radio station with me tonight?”

  “A radio station? I’d love to go; I’ve never been to one before, but I… I have to book for an exam.” In reality, I needed a good night’s sleep.

  “We can do it another time.”

  “It’s a date!” I smiled my own megawatt smile at Jay Jay. He seemed to appreciate it, because he took my hand and squeezed it.

  “I’ll give you a call later in the week.”

  “Don’t forget!” I grinned at him, wondering how on earth I could start dating Jay Jay when I was involved with Albert and… Then again, who could say no to Jay Jay? Not many, I would find out.

  When I got home, I could hear Albert listening to Barbara Streisand’s ‘People Who Need People’ album again. Perhaps he’s really lonely. Maybe that’s why he plays that song so often, I thought, idly. I sat down and read some chapters Adrianne had assigned in my history book, taking notes on the ins and outs of Puritanism. I wondered what the Native Americans must have thought.

  Then, I heard a knock on my door and Albert calling to me, “Say hey, Lady Day!” I ran to open the door and invite him in.

  “So now you see my cozy den of inequity,” I indicated my studio, which consisted of the kitchen and living room, with the bed tucked into a corner. It was smaller than Albert’s, but everything fit and it wasn’t too expensive, especially as Sally and I were still splitting the rent. Her clothes, those she hadn’t taken to India, still hung in my closet.

  “Fit for the Queen of Sheba,” quipped Albert. “You’re so… beautiful.”

  I blushed. “Oh, Albert. I look like any other girl on campus.”

  He grinned that contagious grin, and soon we romped up the stairs and were in his studio opening the bubbly. “How am I going to pass my exams if we keep this up?”

  “Famous screenplay writers don’t have to pass exams.” He gave me a sly wink.

  “So now I’m a famous screenplay writer? In that case, I want to make some suggestions.”

  “Such as?” Albert’s eyes opened wider.

  “She should have two men chasing after her, instead of a man and a woman.”

  “But that’s been done before,” Albert frowned. “I want something interesting, even shocking.”

  “It’s been done before because it works. That’s what people want to see. They’re not interested in seeing Marilyn Monroe compete with Cary Grant for the charms of Alexia Roma.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
/>   Albert gave me a penetrating look, part surprise, part admiration. “Let me think about this.” He poured me some more bubbly.

  “Maybe in the next script, but this is your first attempt; don’t get too adventurous.”

  “This is our first attempt,” said Albert, suddenly dead serious.

  “I’ve only made a few suggestions. How can you give me any writing credit?”

  “Okay. Let’s go get it, and I want you to go over it and rewrite anything that is dull or too avant garde for today’s public.”

  Albert got the script. I took it, skimming over the first few pages. “I have to study for my exam, Al. Can’t we do this tomorrow?”

  “Won’t you stay a bit longer?”

  I sat down, realizing Albert was lonely.

  “Do you need people, like in Barbara Streisand’s song?”

  He looked out the window, at the patio down below. A few moments passed.

  “I was kind of a lonely kid, but that’s all in the past.” He stood up and went to the refrigerator.

  “Bubbly time!” He started to grin. I grinned back, but a shadow fell over the thrall he usually held me in.

  “Not tonight, Albert. I really have to study, plus read the script. That’s a big order for me.”

  “Let’s go to Hollywood and talk to some moguls!” He grinned from ear to ear. He was irresistible.

  “That would be such fun! When will we have time?”

  “During Thanksgiving break, if you don’t have exams.”

  “Let me check my schedule. It should be fine.” Jay Jay’s bright smile flashed before my eyes. “Right now, I’m in over my head. And Thanksgiving is the day after tomorrow.”

  “You sweet thing, you,” smiled Albert, grinning like nobody’s business. “I just adore you.”

  “I… I love you, too, Albert.” This felt a bit forced, but I did love him. At least, I thought I did.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Why do you ask?” I was teetering.

  “Oh, sometimes I have bad luck with lovers.”

  I motioned toward myself. “But not me!” Then, I thought of Jay Jay and realized I couldn’t make too many promises. I was only twenty-one. I was… confused.

  “Not you!”

  We hugged and kissed in the French fashion, bussing each other on the cheek instead of kissing on the mouth, in order to say goodbye rather than hello.

  Chapter 8

  That evening, I sat down to write a letter to my parents, telling them I’d be stopping by with a friend, en route to Hollywood. I knew they hated Hollywood for making sensual movies. I felt apprehensive, but I had to prepare the way. We had decided to leave on November 23, a Saturday, so we could spend at least a few days in Hollywood. I couldn’t believe I’d be meeting someone as famous as Alexia Roma.

  After studying and having some dinner, I tapped on Albert’s door. He opened it and gave me a sly look. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  I laughed at his sally. “I wanted to ask you about Alexia. I should know more about her if I’m going to help you form Alexia’s character.”

  “Form Alexia’s character! She’s more likely to form yours. She’s very assertive. She’ll tell you what she wants.”

  “Still, I’m curious about her.”

  Albert and I sat on the sofa, facing each other. He began to tell me about Alexia and Alessandro. His demeanor was serious.

  “Alexia grew up in… shall I say… not the best of circumstances.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  “Her father was a married man who wouldn’t marry her mother or give her any money for the children. They were desperately poor.”

  “What a rat!”

  “Yes, he was a rat. But Alexia was so hot that she entered a beauty contest at age fourteen… An Italian producer saw her and immediately asked her to start acting in his movies.”

  “No kidding!”

  Albert grinned his wraparound grin, uncovering perfect teeth.

  He could’ve been a model. “With her incredible figure…” Albert made an hourglass shape with his hands, “…she was almost an overnight hit. She has a fun-loving, down-to-earth sensuality that the Italians loved.”

  “What about Americans?”

  “She’s taken on gritty roles here… Remember I told you she won an Oscar. She’s phenomenal. Some of the women have made nasty remarks about her voluptuous figure and sensuality, but she’s been a huge hit. I’m surprised you didn’t know about her before.”

  “I haven’t been going to a lot of movies lately. I’ve been studying!”

  “Berkeley is important to you, isn’t it?”

  “I want to stay here forever. I love Berkeley!”

  Albert broke out laughing. “You’re an original!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re so passionate; it’s not that common here.”

  “What about elsewhere?” I wondered if I would fit in better somewhere else.

  “All cultures are different.”

  “Do you mean I’m not a typical American?” I did want to fit in. My mother had always impressed on me the importance of fitting in, yet some people said I was too noisy, too talkative… even too happy.

  Albert giggled and reached towards me. A glimpse of his handsome profile and I was in his arms again, snuggling like a frisky kitten. I slid my hand under his shirt. He slid his under my blouse. We were a tangle of arms, legs, and clothes thrown on the floor within minutes.

  When I came up for air, I said, “Albert, I’m dying to meet Alexia!”

  He laughed. “She’ll love you. You’re two of a kind. You’re hot, too, kiddo! Wait till we get to Cannes.”

  “Me? Come on. I just want to graduate from Berkeley… and party forever.”

  We laughed at the absurdity of partying forever and took another dive under his bed covers. The next morning, I snuck out early and dressed for class, not without Maria Dolores spotting me and giving me a dirty look. I also checked my calendar and exam schedule. No exams the week of Thanksgiving. Lady Luck hadn’t failed me yet.

  I was in Adrianne Koch’s office with Albert the day luck failed John Fitzgerald Kennedy Jr., our valiant president, who’d faced off the Russians when they had tried to plant nuclear missiles on Cuba and fought to create the controversial Civil Rights Act law.

  I looked at the photograph of the Founding Fathers framed on her wall. Her office was filled with historic pictures, depicting great moments that had changed the world.

  “I love your class more than any I’ve ever taken,” I said with a hopeful smile. “I’d like to stay at Berkeley another year and change my major to history.” I’d had enough of rat psychology. I knew I wasn’t cut out to be a psychologist.

  She looked at me in surprise. “History is fascinating,” she said. Her phone rang. She picked it up almost midsentence.

  I’ll never forget her grand dame presence, with her flowing magenta coat and ringed fingers when she heard the news. “The President’s been shot,” she said. Another student and I exchanged shocked looks. I thought she must be talking about Clark Kerr, the president of Berkeley. When she told us it was President Kennedy, I felt like she’d announced my own father had been shot.

  Her phone continued to ring off the hook; the news of the tragedy spread like wildfire. I stood up. Adrianne Koch motioned us away. We nodded, our eyes misting over. I quietly left her office. I remembered my luncheon date at the UCEN as she shooed us out of her office, tears coming from her deep-set, penetrating eyes.

  “This… this isn’t possible!” I said.

  Someone took me by the arm and steered me out of Adrianne’s office, past Sproul Hall, and into the student union, the UCEN. By that time we’d learned that Kennedy had died of gunshot wounds to his head, the entire campus was silent. No one could speak. It was incomprehensible, as if Satan had appeared on Earth. In the UCEN, Albert waited for me. He ordered two sandwiches, which we ate in silence. No one said a word. Our world had ended a
s we knew it.

  Soon, there were pictures of Lyndon Johnson being sworn in with a stunned Jackie Kennedy standing behind him, her husband’s blood still smeared on her elegant pink suit. The whole nation came to a standstill.

  It was a horrible day in the history of the world. Democracy had taken a step backwards.

  We separated in the small hallway that separated our studio apartments. Albert kissed me on the cheek and said he’d like to get an early start the nest day.

  I went into my studio, where I packed quietly, trying to think of everything both Albert and I might need. I was taking the pill, so there was no need for condoms. Just my nicest skirts and Capri pants, the latest fad for women. We were starting to wear pants in public. I looked out the slatted wooden blinds of my studio and saw Maria Dolores head for Albert’s studio. My heart sank, because she was so talkative. I clicked my suitcase shut and headed up the stairs to Albert’s. I opened the door to find him and Maria having an animated conversation about Kennedy.

  “He was just an ordinary man,” she said.

  Albert stood up and started to fume. “How can you say that?”

  I smiled at Albert and said hello. I also mentioned we were leaving for Hollywood in the morning.

  “Albert’s studio needs to be cleaned.”

  “Not tonight,” I said.

  “What do you know, stupid American girl?” She almost snarled at me. I knew she adored Albert and talked obsessively about orgasms. I’d heard her ranting and raving before.

  “I’m not stupid, and I’d like you to leave, right this minute.” I put my suitcase down and shoved it to the side. “Why are you so insulting?” I walked past her and put my arms around Albert.

  “You little… Ah, the Americanas know nothing about love!” she wailed. Then she left.

  Albert looked at me for a long time. “I’m… I’m so sorry. She has no right…”

  “She’s a pathetic woman; she needs to see a shrink or something; ignore her.” I squeezed him tighter, held him closer. “She has a lot of nerve saying what she did. Kennedy was noble, brilliant, more than a president…”