Rich White Americans

by Virginia Dale

  “Brain damage?” Sally’s mother looked as if she had been hit by a truck.

  “This is Sally’s mother, Doctor…”

  “Doctor Elder.” He smiled a contrite little smile.

  “How could this happen to my daughter?” wailed Sally’s mother.

  “It’s the result of… of an illegal procedure with poor equipment…” He didn’t want to say a botched coat-hanger abortion.

  “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  Dr. Elder pulled himself upright to his full, trim height. He was tall and spare, with slightly graying hair. “I’m afraid that many children are afraid to tell their parents. Right now, we have to wait for her to regain consciousness.” He looked into Sally’s mother’s teary eyes with a glimmer of compassion. I began to like him much more.

  “When will she regain consciousness? Do you know?”

  “No one knows exactly. Her body has to recover from the trauma of the hemorrhage. I can’t predict anything for certain.”

  A nurse in traditional white nursing garb walked past us, guiding a gurney with a patient on it. We paused to let them pass. I glanced at the patient. She looked moribund.

  I wanted to go home. To Albert, and then to Montecito to celebrate Christmas with my family. I wanted something stable and strong that would see me through all these horrors: Jerry’s, Sally’s, and my racist family dead-set against my having anything to do with Albert Curtis. Maybe I would marry him. I just needed some time, some perspective to think about it. Marriage was more than I had bargained for, and Albert was twelve years older than me. I wanted to study, to do things, travel, get to know the world, work – spinning thoughts ran through my head. Yet I loved him. I was sure I did.

  We heard the doors banging open to the waiting room. Someone was entering in a wheelchair with a bunch of flowers hoisted high above him like a beacon in the night. As the person wheeled himself closer, I recognized Jerry with a bandaged shoulder and a dozen red roses in his other hand, wheeling towards us as if his life depended on it.

  I stared at him in disbelief. He wheeled directly in front of Sally’s mother, who looked equally surprised.

  “Where’s Sally?” His face broke into a smile, the first I’d ever seen on him. His hair had been cut and he looked almost presentable, minus the bandaged shoulder. He was in better shape than Sally.

  “She’s in the ICU,” responded her mother. “Who are you?”

  Jerry put the roses carefully across his lap, across the nice suit pants he was wearing. I’d never seen him dressed so well. He stuck out his hand and shook hands with Sally’s mother, saying, “I’m Sally’s fiancé. I want to marry her.”

  I did a double-take, looked for a chair, and sat down, or nearly fell down.

  “Sally’s still in the Intensive Care Unit,” said her mother, her anxious face trying to make sense of this newcomer brandishing roses and a marriage proposal.

  “We’ve got to get her out!” Jerry spun his wheelchair around to face me.

  “That’s up to the doctors,” I said, averting my eyes to avoid his. “You’re the reason she’s here.”

  “What?” exclaimed her mother.

  “Sally’s here because Jerry got her pregnant and paid for her to have an abortion in Tijuana,” I said with as much composure as I could muster. Apparently, it wasn’t enough. Her mother started to scream.

  “An abortion! In Mexico! And I thought you were such a nice girl, Inny,” her mother yelled at me, her face a purplish mass of pudding face wrinkles.

  Then, she turned to Jerry in his wheelchair. “You look like a decent fellow. You say you want to marry Sally? Why didn’t you marry her before this happened?”

  Jerry’s face blanched. It was the first time I’d seen him look nonplussed and halfway human. He lowered his head and said, “I wish I’d done that. I didn’t know how much I loved her until…”

  The nurse came out of the Intensive Care Unit. We walked and wheeled ourselves over to her with looks of hopeful expectation on our faces. She stood tall and imperious with her white nurse’s outfit and hat over a well-kept, dark-haired bun.

  “How’s my little girl?” asked Sally’s mother.

  The nurse managed to almost smile at her. At least she grimaced in a pleasant way. “She’s showing signs of improvement.”

  Jerry wheeled himself directly in front of her. “I must see her.”

  “Who are you?”

  Jerry pulled himself up as much as he could in his wheelchair and brandished the roses. “I’m her fiancé.”

  The nurse gave him a knowing look. “No one can see her for the time being. She’s still in critical condition.” She pushed her nurse’s cap back and adjusted her bun at the same time.

  Jerry thrust the roses into her hands. “Couldn’t you give her these roses? Tell her Jerry sent them and that I love her.” He gave her an imploring look. He almost looked sweet. I couldn’t believe I was watching the same man who’d locked her out in the hallway in the dead of winter.

  The nurse gave a curt little nod. “All right. If you insist,” she said. She took them and disappeared back into the Intensive Care Unit.

  Jerry put his head in his hands and began to cry. We all began to cry. A doctor in whites with an operating apron walked by and shook his head. I felt like I was going to burst with sorrow. This doctor who had seen so much pain, so much agony and death, had the compassion to let us know he understood our pain.

  Our emotions poured out in wet tears. When we finished crying and were merely sobbing, we stared into one another’s eyes and saw our common humanity. We all loved Sally. We were all connected and would stick together, even though Jerry had been horrible to her. He’d had a change of heart; there is always hope that love will triumph over hate and restore love. Sally’s mother sniffed and I held her close.

  A nurse came out of the double doors that led to the Intensive Care Unit.

  “She’s opened her eyes! We put the roses in her arms and she opened her eyes. She smelled them and tried to smile. We told her they were from Jerry. She stirred and looked at us. She looked happy. It’s a breakthrough! She’s regaining consciousness!” The nurse looked at us with wide brown eyes. She was black and wore her white nursing outfit with pride. I jumped up and hugged her.

  “Thank you! Thank you for all you’ve done for Sally!”

  “Oh, the doctors did it… And the roses!”

  “Could we see her now?”

  The nurse grinned and nodded her head.

  “And you were wonderful!” my smile enveloped the black nurse.

  She stepped back in surprise. “Why… why thank you! I don’t get compliments like that every day… especially from…” She stopped short, realizing what she was about to say.

  “…from white people? Don’t judge me by the color of my skin! I may be white, but I love people of color! My fiancé is black!” I said.

  “My, my,” she grinned. “You are something else. God bless!”

  “When can we see her?” asked Jerry, scooting his wheelchair next to her.

  “As soon as the doctors stabilize her vital signs.” The nurse wiped a tear from her eye. She was moved by our display of love. Love is the answer, I realized.

  “I must see her now!” bellowed Jerry. “I’m going to marry her!” He spun his wheelchair around in glee.

  “You should’ve done that before all this happened,” admonished the nurse, suddenly somber. “I see too many girls like her. Some of them don’t make it.” She stared into our startled eyes. “But I’m sure Sally will. The roses brought her around.”

  Jerry beamed at her. “I used to think black people were useless scum, but I was wrong. You’ve got the biggest hearts, and you’re helping save my lifeline, my fiancée!”

  The nurse took his hand. “We’re all in this together, little white brother. Ain’t nobody different, just some mean, some need to understand each other.” She wiped a tear away and beamed at him. I think he would have given her a dozen red roses if he’d
had them.

  A doctor in scrubs came out of the double doors, grinning from ear-to-ear. He announced, “Sally’s vital signs have stabilized. The worst is over. She’ll be all right.”

  Jerry wheeled his chair in happy circles. Sally’s mother and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you, doctor. I can’t tell you what this means to us.”

  “All in the line of duty,” he replied a bit more gruffly to hide his emotions.

  “When can we see her?”

  “We’re observing her closely. I think you could see her for a minute. The nurse escorted us to Sally’s room. We entered quietly, practically on tiptoe. Sally lay in bed holding the roses. She smiled a big, toothy grin that lit up the dim hospital room when she saw us. We crowded around her. Her too-long bangs were pinned back. I stared at her in admiration.”You pulled through. You were courageous! I’m proud of you."

  Sally’s face lit up. Her best friend had told her what she longed to hear. Jerry held her hand, staring into her eyes with love.

  “You helped me. I’m so grateful to be alive.”

  “Why don’t you get something to eat in the cafeteria?” suggested the nurse.

  We looked at her and then at each other.

  “I could use some food,” said Jerry.

  We nodded our consent. Jerry started to wheel his chair towards the hospital cafeteria. It squeaked as he turned, making lots of noise, but we didn’t care. We followed him. I turned and shook the doctor’s hand, thanking him profusely. The tension of all we’d been through got to me. Tears streamed down my cheeks. The doctor smiled and offered me a Kleenex. I blew my nose in it, which alleviated some of the tension, and we laughed in spite of ourselves.

  Chapter 17

  Returning to my snug little studio behind the large Victorian house on Parker Avenue, I felt joy surge in my heart just at the sight of it. I wondered if Albert was home. First, I had to pack to take the train home for Christmas. Thoughts of my mother attacking Albert, my father always hiding behind his Scientific American, streamed through my overtaxed mind. So much had happened. I needed a sanctuary. I needed to get away. I hoped my parents would provide that sanctuary, or at least the lovely trees and walks through meadows with ocean views that surrounded their house would. I’d find my own sanctuary. I also had essays to write for Adrianne Koch’s class. I’d chosen Ben Franklin, my favorite American.

  I unlocked my studio door to find a note under it. ‘We’ll be back,’ it said. Strange. Who would leave such a note under my door? Who was ‘we?’

  I ran to the closet where I kept my suitcase, pulled it down from the top shelf, and then ran to my dresser. I opened the top drawer, which contained my panties, slips, and pajamas. I started to stuff them in my suitcase, along with a pair of jeans and some dresses. I didn’t have a lot of clothes. I finished packing in ten minutes. That’s when the phone rang. It was Albert.

  “How’s Sally?” There was a note of anxiety in his voice.

  I slammed my suitcase shut and told him that she was fine, that her mother had arrived, and so had Jerry, with a dozen red roses and a marriage proposal.

  “What?” Albert’s voice hit a high C.

  I laughed. “She’s coming around. She’s going to be all right!”

  “That was a close call,” he said. “Would you like to come up for some bubbly?”

  “I’d love to, but I have to catch the train to go home for Christmas. I need some time out. Back at the crazy house… in Montecito… I’ll be up in a few minutes!”

  We laughed at my staccato sentence. I was talking like I’d been given a shot of vodka. “Here I come!” I announced to myself.

  I ran up the stairs to Albert’s sweet little studio. He opened the door and we hugged each other for a long time.

  “It’s been a bit much,” I gasped. “Sally and Jerry…”

  “Maybe you do need to go home. Will you be okay?” He looked at me to see if I’d wavered.

  “Sure. I’ll walk in the woods and cleanse myself. I’ll be fine. If my parents give me a bad time, I’ll ignore them. I’m good at that. Been doing it for years,” I giggled.

  He kissed me on the neck and down we went. No bubbly. Just loving. Afterwards, he asked me if I needed a ride to the train station.

  “I’d love a ride to the train station! I wish I could take you with me!”

  Albert stared into my deep blue eyes. “Maybe next year.”

  “Oh, Albert. My mother is so impossible. I don’t want to subject you to her.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m pretty tough. Now, go get your suitcase.”

  As I gave Albert a peck on his cheek before scooting down the wooden staircase to my studio, Andronicus parked his Ferrari outside the large Victorian house in front. He grunted with annoyance as he pulled the handbrake. He’d just driven over three hundred miles from Santa Barbara to even the score with Inny and shoot her black boyfriend. Maybe he’d shoot them both. He chuckled at the thought. His depravity amused him. That bitch deserves what she gets.

  He felt for his thirty-six caliber gun in the inside pocket of his jacket. He fondled it for a moment. He’d parked his car, one of his father’s older sports cars, a few spaces behind the entrance to the four studios behind the imposing house. When he got out, he saw two men in front of it. One of them was thin and wiry. The other looked misshapen. As Andronicus walked towards the brick pathway that led to the studios, he realized that the misshapen one was the man who’d beat him up the last time he was here.

  Andronicus stretched and laughed a wicked little laugh, feeling elated that he was about to even the score. The two men turned and watched him approach. They stared at him and he stared back. When he was close enough to assess them carefully, he stopped. “Where the hell did you come from?” growled Crutches.

  He moved towards Andronicus with difficulty, placing his metal rods on both sides of his bulky form as he pulled himself up to face him, nose to nose.

  “Get outta my way, fucker!” Andronicus said.

  “Wanna make me? What are you doing here anyway?” Crutches questioned.

  “I’m here to see Inny. Outta my way, Cripple!”

  Crutches hit Andronicus’ shoulder with one of his metallic rods. Andronicus yelled and jumped back.

  Ira threw himself into the fray, hitting Andronicus in the gut. Andronicus grabbed one of Crutches’ rods and started slashing both of them with it. The rod hit Ira in the head and Crutches on the back. He fell over without the support of his metallic rod. Ira clutched his head where the rod had hit him and groaned. He started to charge Andronicus but was too fast for Ira, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out his gun. He pointed it at them.

  Ira turned and ran as fast as he could, almost sure he’d be shot. He ducked behind a car and didn’t look up. Crutches struggled to his feet, limped over to Andronicus, and spat in his face.

  “Gimme my rod back!” His face contorted in fury. No one had ever had the audacity to take his crutch away.

  Andronicus laughed. “Sure. But first I’m gonna shoot you.”

  “Shoot her!” yelled Crutches as he hefted himself into a bush, trying to hide, realizing he was facing someone crazier than himself. He tottered and fell, hurting his leg. It bled as he struggled to slither away like a snake.

  “Shoot who?”

  “Shoot the bitch!” yelled Crutches as he tried to crawl behind the bush.

  The gate of the brick walkway swung open as Albert escorted me to his car. We laughed and held each other like two teenagers. He opened the passenger door for me. I slid in with my suitcase. I heard a scuffle and turned to see a heavyset fellow and another man in the bushes.

  “Albert, who are those men?”

  Albert turned and caught a glimpse of Andronicus’ face, frowning at him. He hustled me into his car, sensing trouble. He’d had enough of that.

  “Sure hope we can catch the train!” I giggled.

  “I’ll get you there in my speedy Eldorado,” said Albert, getting in and
slamming the door shut on the driver’s side and starting the ignition, all almost in one swift movement. He took off with a screech of tires, laying rubber.

  Andronicus stared in amazement after us in Albert’s pale blue Cadillac.

  “Fucking bitch!” yelled Crutches.

  “She’s my fucking bitch! And you screwed up my chance to get her boyfriend, once and for all.” Andronicus pointed his gun at Crutches and shot him, point blank. Crutches’ body went limp. Blood oozed from where the bullet had entered his head.

  Ira yelled, “You killed him, motherfucker!”

  “I’ll get you, too!”

  Andronicus turned and ran to where Ira cowered behind a car. He shot him in the stomach. Ira pitched forwards from where he’d been crouching. Andronicus ran to his car. He got in and jammed on the accelerator. It took off like a rocket, leaving a moaning Ira and a dying Crutches in its wake.

  “I’ll get her at the train station in San Francisco… The bitch… and the nigger… Both of ’em!”

  Maria Dolores looked through the front window of the house to watch Albert and Inny. She felt a pang of jealousy course through her head. She saw Albert’s Cadillac speed away, and, to her surprise, a red Ferrari took off behind it.

  Andronicus floored the accelerator as he turned onto Bay Bridge, the Bay’s vast expanse of tranquil beauty contrasting sharply with Andronicus’ bloodied face and turgid mind. Driving fast, just ahead of him, was Albert’s powder blue Cadillac.

  “Slow down, Albert!” I winced as he sped across the bridge.

  “We don’t want you to miss your train, Miss Inny,” teased Albert, unflappable as usual.

  I slid closer to him, putting my hand on his thigh. Albert giggled, “Don’t get too fresh, or we may end up in the Bay.” He caught his breath as Andronicus’ car passed him, going about ninety to a hundred miles an hour. “That guy’s a maniac! Driving to San Francisco just isn’t what it used to be.”

  “Nothing is what it used to be,” I whispered in his ear, removing my hand from his thigh. I searched my purse for money to pay for the train ticket.