WHITE SUMMER (Chap. 5)

WHITE SUMMER (chap. 5)


The water, bracing, ratcheted across my skin like metal spikes. I was slathering shampoo through my hair when a stall door slammed shut and the shower next to me hissed to life.
"Jase, that you?"
I rinsed my hair and wiped my eyes. "Warlock?" How did he know it was me, my feet beneath the partition? Must be Warlock magic.
"You’ll be there at the rally, right?"
"Wouldn’t miss it. Say, how’s it hanging, man? You okay? You had some trip last night."
"Yeah, some parts were not altogether pleasant. Stupid me, I took two tabs."
"You dumb ass."
"Yeah. I admit it. Jase,--" I stood listening to the sound of the water surging over the tiles sluicing noisily to the drain. "I-I’m glad you were there. You’re a true guy."
"No sweat." I turned the shower off and shoved the plastic curtain aside.
"I guess you won’t want to trip with me now."
"Wow, I don’t know. The stuff scares me." I grabbed my towel and rubbed down.
"Hey, I took too heavy a dose. One tab gives you a beautiful trip. I promise. Anyone will tell you that."
"Sorry, it’s just not my thing." I wrapped the towel around my waist, picked up my kit and unlatched the shower stall door.
"You don’t know what you’re missing," his voice called out from the torrent.
I stood outside his stall, the steam billowing. "My loss, huh. Say, could you sell me a nickel bag?"
"Yeah, sure. When do you need it?"
"Whenever."
"I’ll have it by tonight. Hey, Jase!
"What?"
"You’re a real pussy, you know that?"
"Yeah, thanks. I’m a real disappointment. You should know." Silence. Just the sound of the water hashing over the tiles. I padded away regretting the words as soon as I had said them.
I dressed for class and snatched a notebook off my desk.
I was glad to be out walking, feeling I was moving in some positive direction, out in the surging world; new leaves, jade green, over-spreading red- twigged trees, tender spring stalks bent ground-ward heavy in bloom, the low walls of green shrubs hugging sidewalks wet after the early morning rain. Sprays of jeweled water glittered through the air as I dragged my fingers over the hedges on my way to Woodburn Hall for my lecture.
Thomas Hart Benton murals loom over the lecture hall in Woodburn 100, all Benton’s wavy figures swirling around, rendered with rubbery arms and legs; a ditch digger rubs elbows with a newspaper reporter at his typewriter; the fireman; a circus acrobat standing on a pony; the ringmaster; the white nurse tending to a little black baby in it’s crib; in the center over them both, a burning cross; hooded, white robed klansmen gesticulating; old glory held aloft . It was freaky enough to be an illustration to a Bob Dylan song, maybe, ‘Desolation Row’. I guess Indiana was like that and it took an outsider to show us the truth. I wondered how he got away with it. Benton must have been some sort of radical.
I sat near the rear of the auditorium in case I nodded off. It had happened before. My notes would start out concise and readable and then degenerate into a wiry tangle of ink, the line rapidly dropping off the page. But today, surprisingly, I remained awake, softly tapping my pencil against my thigh, listening and taking concise notes, even though the professor’s voice droned on sounding like a shaman performing some sort of obscure archaic ritual. I was thinking about what would come after.
The sun was blinding as I pushed open the weighty oak door rubbed and stained dark by generations of sweaty palms.
I veered from my path and cut through the hedge, crossing the Memorial Union parking lot. I needed something to eat. The Union building was such a midwestern castle all limestone blocks, towers and parapets, red tiled roof. How could you not be impressed. I spun through the revolving door and up the black marble stairs. The bust of Herman B. Wells that anchored the landing was even imposing, a great bulldog of a head but with a gentle cast of wisdom about it, like a big panda or an owl. The massive carved wood banisters, the dark patterned rugs, the heavy leather chairs, the hall with the paintings of muddy wheel-rutted lanes, overhanging trees, rivers, crisp blue skies, torn white clouds, it all flashed around me until I reached the snack machines in a line outside the brown ceramic tiled restrooms. I plugged a quarter and a dime in and watched a package of Twinkies tumble down. I’d eat them here so I could wash down the sweet cake with water from the fountain. I found a seat, an overstuffed dark leather chair in the lounge and swung my legs over the arm rest. Lounge? It was more like a Victorian study where Peter Cushing would retire to share brandy and cigars with Christopher Lee in all those Hammer films, until the mummy smashed through the leaded pane windows. I unwrapped my cake. A grad. student nearby looked up from the book he was reading, as if my crinkling cellophane disturbed him. I gave him the googly eye and stuffed a Twinkie in my mouth. He stuffed his nose back in his book. I finished off the other Twinkie in good order, hit the restroom and slugged down some water before I pushed through the Commons door and stood outside at the top of the stone stairway.
Dunn Meadow was awash in people; earnest grad. students there to listen to Gene McCarthy; under grads. ready to groove to the music and the day. Buttoned-down frat brothers weeded through the crowd looking to pick up hippie chicks. Sorority girls stood in little clusters hugging arm-loads of books to their breasts like babies. Pez colored frisbees sliced through the air and every breed of dog ran free stuffing their wet black noses into open palms and unguarded laps. The glue that bound us all to this green spot of earth was not a shared political philosophy but the solidarity we found in our own youth.
"Jason!" I scanned the carpet of moving people and culled the waving arm, the girl in the orange sleeveless blouse and dark blue shorts, Ingrid. I scissored my arms over my head and tripped down the stone steps making my way toward her, stepping over and around bodies rooted to the grass, some with arms linked and lips pressed together. Verlaine was with her, her crooked smile like a moon on the wane. They both hugged me, but there was the promise of more in Ingrid’s arms.
"Jason, your painting ! It is wonderful ! You will do some more, yes?"
"Yes. Ingrid, come on call me Jase."
"No, you are Jason."
"I love it, I love it!" Verlaine broke in, whacking me on the head with an orange frisbee. "Now you two get over there and we’ll toss a few," she laughed.
I threw my notebook down and lost my sandals.
We found a sparse section on the fringe of the gathering and triangulated ourselves, relaying the bright platter between us. Verlaine’s tosses were like band saws, low, fast, and hard, not a few stragglers ducked or got out of the way.
Ingrid’s suspended in the air and dropped softly to my outstretched hands.
I had to throw it like a discus, cocking it vertically behind my back before letting it go with a snap of the wrist, launching it into a smooth horizontal hover.
Ingrid was first to signal surrender and we trooped back to our spot, collapsing on the grass. Warlock’s band was busy setting up their gear on the rough pine planked stage on the other side of the Jordan River, the picturesque little stream that cut through the meadow.
Ingrid leaned back, legs pulled up, and lay her head, her luxurious dark hair, cradled in my lap as I sat cross-legged. She closed her eyes, I gently traced her eyebrows with the tip of my finger and meditated on her sublime face. Verlaine faded into the crowd with some murmured excuse.
"This is nice," she whispered.
"Oui," I answered.
She laughed softly.
"Your eyebrows are so delicate."
"Your touch also."
I held her face in my hands, leaning over I touched my lips to hers.
"More," the word her lips formed.
I kissed her again, my lower lip softly tugging at her upper lip as they parted.
A loud squeal escaped an amp on stage as Warlock plugged in.
Ingrid’s eyes snapped open and she immediately scrunched her lids to the sun and sat up, shaking her hair.
"Are they to play now?" She leaned into me, my nostrils filling with the sweet scent of her perfume mingled with perspiration, like violets in cedar.
"I think they’ll tune up first."
Verlaine bounced toward us through the crowd."I heard ! It won’t be long now."
"Hey, look over yonder at Warlock," I said. I’m sure amazement tinged my voice.
The girls followed my gaze to the stage.
"Who’s the girl," Verlaine asked.
"I didn’t know he had one," I responded.
She turned to me. "Maybe she’s a groupie."
"Yeah, that’s close. Not the way she’s dressed." The girl had on a yellow blouse and navy blue skirt and loafers. She hugged him and they kissed, then she hopped from the stage and went to sit in an aluminum lounge chair with candy-colored webbing. Another girl wearing sunglasses and shorts in a similar lounge chair sat beside her.
"Of course not Jase! She’s a sorority sister. What do you think!?"
"With Warlock!? That blows my mind."
"Why don’t you go up and ask him? There’s time."
"Yes, do," Ingrid added. "I am curious also to find out."
I stood and slapped the seat of my pants.
"We’ll be here," Verlaine said .
I stepped carefully along the rock strewn bank of the Jordan until my toes found a slab of moss green shale near the bank and I stepped on it, finding another mid-stream and an over-hanging branch like an elbow, I threaded my way across hand over hand .
In the shade on the other side, I paused ,Warlock’s back to me, he and the three other band members gathered together near the rear of the stage. I knew what was going down. They were getting dosed. If it wasn’t me, Warlock would share with someone else, his band. I grabbed the limb and retreated to the opposite bank.
"Hey, why didn’t you go up there," Verlaine grilled me.
"I didn’t want to break their concentration. They were going over set lists." I dropped down next to them.
"Bullshit," she answered.
I watched the band separate and go to their respective instruments. "It’s none of our business. He’d tell us if he wanted us to know."
"Aren’t you curious? I’ll go over and ask her."
I grabbed Verlaine by the ankle and pulled her back down. "Stay put. They’re about to play anyway."
Verlaine lobbed a pissed look my way as something popped off my head, a dandelion flopped into my lap, another, and another. It was a miracle. In high school I had read all about mysterious falls of objects from the sky in Charles Fort’s paranormal books. Up my eyes arced to sky, clouds, blonde hair cascading around Andmoreagain’s Chicklet white smile as she dropped blossoms on me from a bouquet brighter than butter bunched to her naked belly. Her head was garlanded in dandelions, green and yellow; her eyes iridescent blue, pupils big as black marbles.
"Hi, Jase," her voice sang .
"Hi, man." Wolfman’s head loomed into view, his cheeks newly darkened with stubble, his wild curls ringed as well in a crown of dandelions, their green stems braided together. "What’s happening, Verlaine, Ingrid?"
"Pull up a patch of ground and have a seat," Verlaine said, "we were just discussing your roommate’s new girlfriend."
"Whoa, that’s a new one on me. Where is she?"
"Over there in the lawn chair. You mean you didn’t know?"
Wolf and Andmoreagain folded down next to us. Andmoreagain wore a halter top and skirt fashioned of fringed leather and beads. I could feel Ingrid’s eyes go hard.
"No clue. She’s not bad. I wouldn’t kick her out of bed." Andmoreagain punched his shoulder hard. Ingrid called him a pig.
"Take it easy, you two! She’s sorority, right?"
"See," Verlaine retorted.
"You here to see that reactionary, McCarthy," Wolf asked.
"No. To hear your roommate’s band. What’s the matter with you?"
"Just messing with your mind, man." He shoved me as the opening chords of ‘Sargent Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’ ripped the air causing shouts and whoops to ripple through the gathering. I turned to Wolf to say something , when I spied Hunter in the crowd. I leaped up and waved my arms. He was with Joey. They circulated toward us.
"What is this," he shouted above the music as he took us all in, "a gathering of the tribes?"
"We saved you a berth," I shouted back, "sit down."
"Wolfman, who’s your significant other," Hunter yelled.
"Andmoreagain!"
"What? I didn’t catch it."
"Andmoreagain!"
"Ann Morgan, nice to meet you. This is Joey." He looked square at Wolfman. " I guess you two don’t need any introduction."
Wolfman’s jaw muscles writhed like baby snakes beneath his skin as he started to rise. I yanked his arm. "He’s just putting you on man, drop down and listen to the music."
‘Sargent Pepper’s’ segued into ‘With a Little Help from My Friends’, just like on the album, with Warlock singing Ringo’s lead. When he got to the part, ‘I get high with a little help from my friends,’ he leaped to the edge of the stage, lost his footing and tumbled off, hitting the rocky ground, his guitar plug popping out, abruptly cutting off the sound. Furious and embarrassed, he rolled over and hopped back on stage plugging his guitar back in, just in time to end the song in a flurry of notes.
Out of nowhere, Andmoreagain said, "Didja’ hear? Wolf is changing his major to Poli Sci. He’s gonna take on the fascist state from the inside. He’s not gonna let the university kick the Spectator out of it’s office. Too heavy, huh?"
"Ann," it was Joey, "what’s your major?"
"Heh, not Ann! No way Ann! It’s Andmoreagain!"
"Wow, that’s a really strange name. Is that your given name?"
"No. I took it. You know from that Love song. Dig, it was so cosmic, beautiful, you know what I mean?"
Joey shared a look with Hunter.
"Well what does it mean?"
"What do you want it to mean? It can be anything."
"Did you tell me what your major was?" Joey leaned forward her chin in her hand.
"I don’t have a major, major. I just kinda hang-out. You know? I study the I-Ching! You into that? It helps me with my poetry. I’m a poet! My stuff’s been published in the Spectator!"
"Wolfman, And Moreagain seems so right for you."
"Really?!" Andmoreagain brightened even more, if that was possible. "And I really dig Wolf, he’s a heavy dude."
Wolfman flipped Joey the bird and hinged his arm around Andmoreagain’s neck. Their lips and tongues met, opposite poles on the same magnet, irresistibly attracted, sliding together.
Hunter pulled Joey to him enfolding her in his arms. She leaned back resting her head on his shoulder, her long hair eclipsing his. He rested his hands on her thighs.
"Everyone, comfy," Verlaine remarked.
"High, people," Warlock shouted from the stage still tuning his guitar, "at least I hope you are. Wow, that first step is a lulu, huh? We’re ‘Orange Skies’ and we’re here to play for-- someone, I think it’s... Who is it?" He turned and looked at the other band members. The bass player said, McCarthy. "Oh, yeah, Gene McCarthy." There was a ripple of applause and shouts. " I hope you vote for him or do something fun for him or to him or something. Don’t just sit on your asses out there, you know."
Ingrid’s hand slipped down my back drawing up into a deliberate spider tapping it’s way around my waist to hook a finger through my belt loop. Her thumb slipped over the top of my jeans and pushed the fabric of my shirt up and began stroking my skin. I looked at her. She just smiled, her brown eyes glinting, sunlight on a deep lake.
Warlock plucked a few tentative notes on his white Stratocaster and the band launched into a loose, loopy version of the Love song, ‘Orange Skies’, poppy, and sunny and a groove for this beautiful day. The music pressed against us, warmed us and drew us closer.
The last note had not ceased vibrating as Seth the drummer laid a rhythmic tattoo on his cymbal and Warlock’s guitar chimed into the beginning of the Doors’, "I Looked at You". When Seth’s voice fought it’s way into the opening lyric, "I looked at you, you looked at me...". Verlaine and Ingrid leaped up, Ingrid hoisting me by the belt loops. Our fingers held fast like hinges, she snapped my arms up and down like a puppet as we twirled around, the sun chasing her eyes, her laughter like water pouring over me. She would not let go. She would not let me slip to the ground to just sit. Her firm grasp only loosened to let Verlaine join our dance. Her hand clasping mine as our laughter twined together, drowned out only by the booming lyrics ‘And we’re on our way, no we can’t turn back’.
Andmoreagain was right behind us, bobbing, all fringe and beads and bare skin, blonde hair slashing, Wolfman avidly dancing beside her. Joey and Hunter were last up, too cool in their attitude. Other clusters of dancers sprang up throughout the meadow like spring flowers bursting forth reaching for the glorious sun to the band’s insistent yowl, ‘It’s too late, too late, too late, too la-ate.’
The flurry of final chords slammed into us, we toppled to the cool grassy loam, Ingrid falling on me, pressed to me, her skin sun warm smelling of the breeze. Her hair held the scent of wood and grass. She pushed off me, her breath soft to my ear, something in French I couldn’t catch. I rolled over and sat up and glanced over at the shady patch. The girl who had gone up to Warlock and kissed him was gone, her friend too, lawn chairs, everything. Like they had never been there.
"Jase," it was Hunter, his hands clamped my shoulders, his mouth to my ear, "what’s your buddy, Warlock on? He’s flying without landing gear ."
I thought he was up on stage tuning his guitar, but now that I noticed, he was playing the same chord over and over again.
"Decide not to join him," Hunter asked. "My man, never let me down." He slapped my right shoulder and sat back down.
The bassist went over to him and said something that must have jogged his brain, because they fell right into, The Yardbirds, ‘For Your Love’, the organist leading the way.
Warlock and Seth’s drum work meshed again as they drove into the opening of, ‘Break on Through’. Seth propelled the song on his heaving vocals and I found myself on my feet again twirling around Ingrid’s orbit. Verlaine in her bib overalls, pant legs pushed up in fat rolls, stomped barefoot next to me, her laughter like sun showers. Wolfman was all legs and arms flailing as Andmoreagain’s blonde hair and leather fringe whipped around him. Hunter and Joey were cool, organized and taking it to the limit. ‘Ev-ry-body loves my baby, she gets, she gets, she gets h-i-i-igh’.
The music crashed into oblivion and gravity grabbed us by the ass once again. Without a pause, Warlock stepped forward fingering the first notes of, ‘Red Telephone’, his voice wavering, loose, ‘Sitt-ing on a hill-side watching all the pe-ople die, I’ll feel much better on the other side. I’ll thumb a ride’.
"Weird," Joey said. "Weird song. The McCarthy flacks will love this."
"Who cares, if they dig it or not," Wolfman barked .
"Maybe they’ll play ‘Louie, Louie’ next," Verlaine added helpfully.
Joey twisted up her mouth and looked back at Hunter, his hand under her blouse rubbing the small of her back .
"They need to play something heavy like Cream, right Jase?"
"It’s beyond that now." I turned to look at Hunter, his face open, ready for anything. "Got rid of your Buckingham albums yet?"
"Buddy, buddy, buddy." He lowered his head and shook it from side to side, something could have happened but it didn’t. His free hand clenched a fist of grass, ripped it out and tossed it aside.
‘I don’t know if I’m livin’ or if I’m supposed to be,’ Warlock continued singing, his feet rooted to the stage, his eyes faraway, ‘ sometimes my life is so eerie, and if you think I’m happy, paint me white.’ The organist added his own unsettling fills to the odd lyrics. It was a strange choice. As the song devolved into a chant for freedom, Warlock redeemed himself by launching into an up tempo Love song he had sung for me in his room.
‘What is happening and how have you been, gotta go but I’ll see you again...’
I laughed and careened into Ingrid. She caught me and pushed me over laughing as well.
‘Oh and the music is so loud...’
Our teeth clicked together as our lips met.
"He sang this when I answered his phone," I forced the words out laughing.
"What?" Ingrid’s face inches from mine, a vertical crease between her eyes, her dark hair tickling my cheeks.
‘Cross the street I’m at this laugh affair...’
"Nothing, just funny coincidence." I threw my arms around her and pulled her down on me.
‘When I leave now don’t you weep for me, I’ll be back, just save a seat for me...’
Warlock looked at us as he sang, his fingers dancing over the frets, strumming the guitar with a savage energy.
‘Let’s go paint everybody gray, yeah, gray’. The song ended in a fury of chords. Warlock raised his guitar over his head in triumph as shouts and applause rose from the meadow of people. We sat up whooping and screaming. Verlaine and Andmoreagain, were the loudest.
The band briefly left the stage but returned for an encore. They hopped behind their instruments. Warlock strapped on his guitar.
"We’ll play you one more, how’s that?"
Applause and shouts.
Warlock started aimlessly wandering the stage. He was unraveling again.
The organist jumped out from behind his keyboard and ushered him to the microphone, placed his hand on the mike stand.
"Now don’t forget to vote for that gray-haired guy. Not that other one with all the hair.
You know you are at a rally and that is important! To vote, people! That is if you are old enough or bold enough or... This is a new one we’ve been working on, a Yardbird’s tune. Right? Right. ‘White Summer’. Hope you dig it."
I leaned into Ingrid’s ear. "Warlock told me he wasn’t going to play this. It wasn’t ready." She nodded her head as the first chords sounded.
They were about a minute into the song when the power went off. For a few seconds they played on unamped. Confused, they looked at each other. Then a man in a black suit stepped on the stage waving his arms back and forth in front of him like wiper blades.
"No encores ! No encores ! Thirty minute set and off !"
Warlock turned volcanic. Screaming and sputtering his neck and cheeks red, inches from the man’s face, flecks of spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. The suit pushed him away. Warlock responded ramming his arms into the man’s chest twice knocking him back on his heels.
"I need to--" I jumped up. Verlaine’s hands shot out and hooked my bare heel and yanked . I fell back on my ass as she threw herself on top of me.
"You don’t need to do shit. His band members can handle him. They’ve been doing it all afternoon." As she said this, the three were peeling him away from the functionary, Warlock’s legs kicking as they hustled him off the stage.
"See, bright eyes." She looked down at me. "Jase, Warlock’s on more than acid to be this off. He’s probably doing speed as well. He doesn’t need you. You can’t do anything for him. Can you dig that?"
"No, no I can’t."
She sat up. "You need to get real."
Ingrid brushed the grass and dirt from my hair. She swung her sweet face in front of mine. "Let us get a Coca-Cola, Jason."
"Good deal you two," she said as we all stood up. " I don’t need to hang around and hear McCarthy’s tired stump speech." She brushed the dirt off the seat of her overalls.
"But I thought you were going to — oh, I get it."
Verlaine thumped my forehead with her palm . "God, you’re a fucking genius. You amaze me."
Laughter reigned around me. Ingrid hooked her thumb through my front belt loop and pulled me after her as Peter, Paul and Mary crossed the stage.
"Sorry, folks ! We’ve wiped their noses and gathered all their blocks together and sent the kid-dos home." We booed, but Peter, or was it Paul, ignored us. They both wore goatees. I never could tell them apart, who played the upright bass, who played the guitar. Whoever he was, he continued his monologue. "We all know the real reason we’ve gathered in this glorious place, in this great state; to help stop the war--", scattered applause.
Someone yelled, "Down in front!" We started moving toward the edges of the crowd.
"and to support a candidate who stands with us to stop this immoral war and bring our boys home, Eugene McCarthy!" Cheers and applause swept across the open space. "We need someone steady at the tiller of the ship of state," one of the goatees started plucking his bass, " to guide it to the shore of Peace and Freedom." Peter or was it Paul started fingering his guitar. "Here’s a song that says it all. We’ve changed the lyrics to fit the times."
Mary, big boned, pale, flicked her freshly ironed long blonde hair away from her face as she dipped to the microphone. "Eu-gene row the boat a-shore, Hal-le-lu-jah. Eu-gene row the boat a-shore, Hal-le-lu-u-jah."
Our pace quickened, trying to control ourselves. Andmoreagain’s laughter was first to spill, unrestrained, like a bag full of bells bouncing down an iron stairway. We all joined in, cats on piano keys stumbling into one another, our laughter, musical.
"I’m going back to the dorm," Verlaine said, slipping on her sandals on the sidewalk. "I’ll see you two later."
"Yeah, Jase , hang loose," Hunter said, "you too, Ingrid. It’s been real." He added. "You have that, ‘Special Offer’ I sent in the box tops for?"
"It’ll be in today," I answered.
"Great, super. We’re off then."
"Bye everyone," Joey said as they headed for Kirkwood.
"Vietnam’s river is deep and wide--" Peter, Paul, and Mary sang, their voices, sincere, distant, booming from the speakers.
"Man, it never ends," Wolfman intoned, his long fingers pressed into the flesh of Andmoreagain’s naked mid-riff, her arm hooked around his waist.
"They’re so square," she said to no one in particular, then looked at Wolfman, "Let’s go to my pad and get it on."
"Duty calls," he flashed us the peace sign and they walked away, two outlaw consorts.
My hand found the cool flesh of Ingrid’s hand and we proceeded up the limestone stairway to the Commons, halfway up I remembered my notebook.
"Stay here, I forgot my class notes!" I plummeted down the steps colliding into two people walking up, pushing off them with shouted apologies, I continued running. I hop-scotched over couples, finding our space now filled. The blue corner of my binder peeped out from under a blanket on which a girl and a guy sat. I tugged at it to their baleful stares.
"Excuse me, this is mine. I forgot it." The girl shifted her position and I slipped it out from under her. "Thanks," I hurriedly offered and once again bounded over the human obstacle course. Ingrid was waiting for me by the revolving doors.
"This is valuable," she asked.
"It is if I want to pass Anthropology," I answered
We pushed through the doorway..
Inside, I caught a lungful of air as we moved to the serving line.
"We just want a Coke," I said.
"We don’t have Coke, only Pepsi."
"No Coke? Why no Coke," Ingrid said. " It is all-American, yes? You should serve it."
"Well, we don’t. Do you want anything or not?"
"Yes, we’ll have a large Pepsi," I said.
"This I do not understand?"
"I’m thirsty. Coke, R.C., Double-Cola, Pepsi. It all tastes the same."
"This is not true, I think. Coca-Cola is number one in the world. You compromise too much."
"I’m a compromising kind of guy." I started to hand over three quarters to the cashier. Ingrid stopped me.
"How much?"
"Please, c’mon. It’s on me."
"No. I pay too."
"Oh, Jesus, let me see, uh, half of-- thirty five cents and we’ll call it even." She put the change into my hand and I paid the quizzical girl behind the cash register.
"This is good."
I pulled out two straws and held them up. "Right?"
"Yes!"
"Hey, over there. Remember?" I headed for the table we sat at that night we were all together and we were sopping wet from the fountain and my skin was wearing a fresh coat of paint.
"I loved to paint on you, Jason. You were fun. Did you enjoy?"
"I was a bit embarrassed I guess. But I liked your and Joey’s attention."
"Yes." She leaned over to take a sip and so did I. We both laughed.
"What time do you want me to pick you up tonight?" I touched her hand on the table.
"What time is the show?"
"It starts at 9:15. How about eight? Is that too early?"
"No. Fine. I will be ready." She reached in her purse and tapped out a Gitane and lit it.
" I am looking forward to this. You?" She placed her hand back on mine.
"Yeah, I am."
"Why?"
"I like being with you."
"Why?"
"You tell the truth."
"Is that all? This truth so important."
"I like your eyes. Your laugh. The touch of your skin." I pulled my hand from beneath hers and stroked the smooth hills of her knuckles, her delicate wrist.
"You like the truth? Is this the truth?"
"Yes."
She turned her head to the side and let out a thin stream of pale smoke, turned back and smiled at me. "You are sweet," is all she said.
We talked about the movie, ‘A Man and a Woman’, and the music at the rally and she critiqued my painting of Verlaine some more. She liked it, but we both agreed there were some weak spots in the execution. We didn’t leave until our straws fought over the last loud sputterings of drink.
The late afternoon sun in the sky banded our faces. We shaded our eyes with our hands. Eugene McCarthy was on stage now in the midst of his speech. We went over to have a look. Everything about him was gray, his hair, his suit, his speech.
"Three years ago we had 16,000 men in Vietnam, and we were told we were winning the war. Two years ago we had 100,000 men in Vietnam, and we were told we were winning the war. A year ago, we had 250,000 men in Vietnam, and we were told we were winning the war. Today we have 550,000 men in Vietnam with over 100,000 boys killed and wounded, and we’re told we’re winning the war. There’s got to be a better way than death, double talk and taxes."
Those gathered in Dunn Meadow cheered. The crowd was made up more of grad students and professors, some older townspeople . McCarthy up there on the stage just looked like another professor, earnestly and dully lecturing his students. I couldn’t see him as president of the United States.
"We French were smart. We got out. You do not understand." She lit another cigarette. " North and South Vietnam are one people. They are laced together such as a shoe."
"You think McCarthy will win the nomination from Kennedy or Humphrey?"
"It does not matter. Whom ever is elected will keep the war going. War is money. Those in power know this and will do little as possible. It is always so." The smoke curled from her lips. "Let us not talk about this. It is, what you say, ‘bummer’. Oui?"
"You’re right there. Let’s go back. I need to get ready for tonight."
"Jason, you be you. Okay."
Okay, whoever that is, I thought. Our arms entwined as we walked.