Native Affairs (49 page)

Her extreme unhappiness must have shown in her face, because his look suddenly softened. He almost smiled.

“Don’t look so tragic, paleface. Believe it or not, it’s not the first time I’ve been turned down. I think I’ll survive it.”

“I had a lovely time,” she said in a small voice.

His mouth twisted. “Ever the soul of graciousness,” he responded. “I think if you were about to be executed you’d be thanking the headsman for the use of his ax.” He inclined his head slightly. “Good night.”

Jennifer met his eyes quickly and then looked away. “Good night.”

She heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, followed by the roar of the car’s motor. Then all was silence.

The kettle began to whistle. She automatically shut it off, feeling more alone than she had for a long time.

Chapter 5

Weeks passed, during which Jennifer kept herself busy. This was not difficult, considering the volume of work she had to complete before the season began. When Lee did come into her mind, she dismissed him abruptly, refusing to entertain disturbing thoughts.

But she knew she would have to deal with her feelings on Labor Day, when she would see him again. His presence always brought everything she was trying to bury to the surface, so she began constructing an elaborate defense several days before they would have to meet. She would be polite, but distant. She would be friendly, but reserved. There was nothing to worry about; it was very simple. Right.

The holiday morning was warm and sunny, but without the crushing humidity Jennifer found so difficult to bear. She dressed in lightweight, dark blue slacks and a nautical top with a square collar and tie bib. When the limousine arrived to get her, her palms were wet and her mouth was dry. Calm down, she advised herself sternly, annoyed with her inability to control her autonomic responses.

When they got to Lee’s house, he was not outside, ready, as he had been the last time. Jennifer told the driver to wait and went up the steps to ring the bell.

Lee’s voice hailed her from the depths of the house, telling her to come in, the door was open.

Jennifer found him in the kitchen, leaning against the stainless steel sink, legs crossed at the ankles. He was sipping coffee from an earthenware mug. Bruce Springsteen sang throatily in the background.

“Hi,” he said. “Want some coffee? According to the timetable which management so thoughtfully provided, we’ve got a few minutes.” He gestured to another mug sitting on the counter.

His ability to dismiss their previous encounters and start afresh left her at a loss. Didn’t he remember what had happened the last time they saw each other? Jennifer certainly did.

But he regarded her impassively over the rim of the cup. “My instructions were to dress casually,” he added. He jerked a thumb at himself. “This is it.”

He was wearing white jeans and a blood red shirt. Jennifer had always envied people who were able to wear scarlet and carry it off. The same shade dulled Jennifer’s hair to insignificance and drained her skin to chalk white. His striking hair and eyes were needed to complement it. In that color, most people would look three days dead.

“Joined the navy?” he asked, indicating her outfit, smiling slightly.

Jennifer picked up the other mug and filled it from the pot on the stove. “Joined the palace guard?” she countered, pointing to his shirt.

He choked on his coffee, sputtering with laughter. He set the cup down and shook his head, regarding her with a grin. “Touché. You give back as good as you get, every time.”

She smiled back at him, caught in the spell once again. “Part of my charm,” she said negligently.

He sobered, watching her. “Yes, it is,” he said quietly.

Jennifer dropped her eyes, unsure of how to respond. He frequently turned the tables on her like this. Just when she was sure she was on safe ground, bantering, where she could hold her own with anybody, he would suddenly turn serious and leave her nonplussed. It made conversation with him a constant challenge.

“Want some cream?” he asked, going to the refrigerator.

“Thanks.”

He took a fresh pint from a shelf and pried the cap off with his teeth.

“Good heavens, Lee, your dentist would have a heart attack if he saw that,” she said.

“Nah,” he answered, adding a dollop to her cup, “these Indian choppers are indestructible. They may not be perfectly straight, we didn’t go in much for orthodontics on the reservation, but they’re strong as iron.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “Comes from chewing buffalo hides.”

He was teasing, as usual. “I may not be that well versed in the practices of your culture,” Jennifer said archly, “but even I know that only women did that work.”

Lee shrugged. “That was before the ERA hit the tribe. Now we all do it.”

Jennifer kept a straight face. “Sounds like a sensible plan.”

His eyes twinkled. “Actually, the Blackfeet were always a pretty liberated bunch. The teepee belonged to the wife, you know, and if she and her husband had a fight, she could throw him out and leave him homeless.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jennifer said, and did so.

“And,” Lee went on, “the wife kept her maiden name all her life. She was not regarded as her husband’s property, but his partner.”

Jennifer set down her cup and applauded.

He grinned. “I thought you’d like that.”

Jennifer looked at her watch. “Don’t you think we’d better get started?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, putting the cups in the sink. He walked around and switched off the stereo just as the record was going into the title cut, “Born to Run.”

“My theme song,” Lee said. He looked back at her. “In more ways than one.”

What exactly did that mean? He was talking on two levels, and Jennifer had a suspicion that the hidden meaning had something to do with her.

As they walked into the hall she pointed to one of the photographs on the mantelpiece. “Is that your father?”

Lee nodded.

“He must be very proud of you.”

Lee’s eyes became distant, focused elsewhere. “Yes, he is. I think he’s living his life over again, through me. The reservation mined him, took away his ambition, initiative, everything. He wanted to see that the same thing didn’t happen to me, so when sports gave me the chance to break free of that life, he made sure I took it.”

Jennifer was silent.

“Of course,” Lee continued, “getting off the reservation isn’t always the answer. Take my sister. Please.”

Jennifer waited for what was to come. The old joke was stated in a bitter tone that signified more.

“Her name,” Lee said, “is Spring Flower, except now she’s changed it to ‘Reur.’ She says it sounds more sophisticated, but what she really means is that it sounds French, which is okay, as opposed to Indian, which is not.”

His voice was filled with rancor. “She won a scholarship to college, like me, except once she got there she forgot where she came from. She hasn’t been back to see my parents in six years.”

Jennifer didn’t know what to say.

“She’s a research chemist for some big laboratory in New Jersey. It’s not that far from here, actually, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to go see her. She acts like she has no past, that her life began at eighteen when she left home. I’m sure none of the people she works with know about her background. She’s careful to conceal it That doesn’t explain her looks, though, so I understand the guy she’s engaged to tells everybody that her mother is Greek.”

Jennifer couldn’t imagine why he was telling her all this. Her innocent question about the picture had prompted this outpouring of personal information.

“Well,” Lee added, “I’m sure they’ll be very happy. The only successful marriages I’ve ever seen between Indians and non-Indians occur when the Indian is totally absorbed in WASP culture. And my sister is well on her way to becoming an imitation WASP. Something,” he said with precision, “that I will never be.”

Jennifer was sure of that. If the transformation hadn’t occurred by now, it never would.

“Your sister doesn’t mean to hurt anyone, Lee,” Jennifer said soothingly. “She’s probably just confused.”

“I’m not,” Lee said firmly. “I don’t know how people can just dismiss their heritage like that, no matter what it could gain them or how much they loved someone. I could never do it.”

Jennifer felt a chill. Was he trying to tell her something? But his expression was abstracted, as if he had forgotten she was there and he were talking to himself.

“Surely it doesn’t always have to be like that,” Jennifer said softly, “with one person selling out for the other. I’m certain that sometimes both people can accept what they are and love each other while still keeping their identities intact.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Lee answered.

Jennifer had nothing to add to that. After all, he was in a position to know.

He turned his head and seemed to remember the reason for her presence.

“Let’s go, counselor,” he said, sighing. “Our chariot awaits.”

* * * *

The parade route began at the Museum of Art and traveled through downtown Philadelphia, winding up at Independence Hall. Lee rode a float with several other athletes, including Joe Thornridge, while Jennifer used the interim time to advantage talking to the newspaper and television people about Lee’s visit to the children’s hospital, scheduled for that afternoon. It was a great human interest story, and Jennifer planned to get a lot of mileage out of it.

After the parade there was a short press conference, and Jennifer waited for Lee in the background. She was looking over her notes when she felt a touch on her shoulder and jumped.

“Hi,” Lee said.

She had been so absorbed that she hadn’t realized he was already finished.

“Don’t creep up on me like that,” she said breathlessly. “How’d it go?”

“Fine. I waved at everybody and looked appropriately macho. The crowd seemed suitably impressed.”

His tone was dry. Obviously, being on display was not his favorite thing.

“Well, you have a couple of hours before you’re due at the hospital,” Jennifer said. “The driver can take you home if you like.”

“Are you going home, too?” he quizzed.

“I guess so. I have to change.”

“All right. You can drop me off on the way.” He folded his arms and surveyed the impressive facade of Independence Hall over her shoulder. She turned to follow his gaze, taking in the colonial brick structure with the gleaming white bell tower.

“Look at this place,” he said. “You ever been inside?”

“I took the tour once, a while ago.”

“The walls speak to you, don’t they? You can almost imagine old Patrick Henry making that speech: ‘Give me liberty, or give me death.’ Great stuff. Them’s fightin’ words. Quite a phrase to echo down through the generations. You have to admire those people. They risked everything, and I mean everything, for what they thought was right I remember some history teacher talking about that comment John Hancock made when he signed the Declaration of Independence. You know, ‘I’ll write this big enough for King George to see without his glasses on.’”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, this teacher said that people repeat it today as though it were a joke or something, but they forget that Hancock thought he might have been signing his death warrant What courage that took. When I saw the original, preserved, the way they have it, there was John’s signature, three times as large as the others, and I couldn’t believe it You hear about something all your life, and it becomes almost a myth, as though it doesn’t really exist anywhere but in your mind. It was a kick to finally see the real thing.”

Jennifer stared at him. Here he was expressing admiration for the colonial patriots, the forerunners of those who had eventually enslaved his people.

He saw her look, and knew its meaning. He shrugged. “Great Britain was wrong,” he said. “It’s my country, too,” he added quietly. Then he cupped her chin in the palm of one large hand and turned her face up to his. “In fact, it was my country before it was yours.”

That was certainly true. She locked eyes with him for a few seconds, and then stepped back, saying briskly, “I’ll go inside and call Max to pick us up.”

Lee leaned gracefully against a lamppost and said, “I’ll be here.”

As Jennifer walked away she thought about what he had said Upon closer examination, his enthusiasm for the Founding Fathers was more understandable. She could see how their actions would appeal to his sense of style. He had a flair for the dramatic himself. She had seen him pause in the end zone after making a touchdown and hold the ball aloft, like a lady’s favor in a joust, to the vocal delight of the fans. Then he would bend from the waist in a sweeping, courtly bow. She had thought at first that the other players might resent these histrionics, and think him a hot dog, but he really wasn’t one, and they apparently knew it In interviews, he never failed to give credit to his defense people, the blockers and tackles who cleared the way for his flashy footwork, and he always praised Joe Thornridge for his magic arm.