No Crystal Stair (36 page)

“I'm not agitating. And I'm with 'em on 'Nam. It's one mixed up hellhole that somebody ought to squash. But that's got nothing to do with the bookstore and—”

“Shut up,” the other man said again, and smiled at her. “Feel better?”

She nodded. The hot coffee did make her feel better.

“I'm Steve Pearson,” he said. “And this tub of lard,” he added, pointing to his friend, “is my scuba-diving buddy, Roy Jackson.” He gestured at her bandaged arm. “When you fainted and I saw all that blood, I panicked. But I didn't think you'd want to go to the clinic.”

“Oh, no.” A tremor of fear ran through her.

“So I called Roy. He was a medic in Vietnam.”

Roy grinned. “Yeah, I did my time in that goddamn place and now Uncle Sam's paying me off. Pre-med. And if you guys would just protest somewhere else and not bust up this fine insti—”

“Roy, why don't you get us some food?” Steve broke in. “Aren't you hungry?” he asked Maggie.

Surprisingly she was. Steve dug into his pocket and sent Roy for burgers, despite his protests. “Don't see why I have to be the errand boy when the whole damn campus is crawling with cops.”

While Roy was gone, Maggie managed to get a good look at the room. There were a half-dozen aquariums containing plants, as well as fish and other sea creatures. Shells, rocks, funnels, test tubes, measuring and monitoring devices. And that very strong smell. Formaldehyde.

Steve told her this was a marine-biology lab. He was doing graduate work at Scripps and was temporarily based at Berkeley for a special project on San Francisco Bay.

Roy returned with hamburgers, french fries and shakes, which the three hungrily devoured. He said cops were still patrolling the campus and she'd better stay put for a while.

“That butterfly bandage ought to hold if you don't mess with it,” he added in the voice of a professional, “take a couple of aspirins and call me in the morning.”

“Get out of here!” Steve ordered.

“Wait!” Maggie called. “Thank you, Roy. You've been a real lifesaver.”

“Piece of cake.”

After he left she turned to Steve. “It's really you I have to thank. For saving me from the police, for calling Roy and—”

“Piece of cake,” he mimicked.

She glanced toward the windows. The sky was darkening, threatening rain. And the campus was still teeming with police. “Is it all right if I stay here a little longer?” she asked hesitantly.

“Sure. Stick around. I'll enjoy the company.”

“But you were leaving when I burst in.”

“So, I've changed my mind,” he said, smiling. It was a sweet smile—warm, boyish and altogether genuine. She liked it. And she liked his manner. Casual, friendly, as if she really wasn't interfering with whatever he'd planned to do. She wondered was that was. “So you're at Scripps in La Jolla” she said. “Is that your home?”

“Not really. I'm from Boston.”

“So how come you don't sound like Ted Kennedy?”

“Aha! A linguist, are you?”

“Doesn't take a linguist to recognize a Boston accent—or to know that Roy comes from the Deep South. But you...” She studied him, attracted to his clean-shaven face, strong rugged features, the keen direct gaze of his blue eyes. He really was handsome. “You ... you have one of those all-around could-be-from-anywhere accents.”

He laughed. “You got it. That's me.”

“But I don't get it.”

“Boy from a broken home. Mom's married to a Boston lawyer, and that's where she lives when she's not traveling or wintering in Florida. My dad's usually in New York or San Francisco, but he has a little place in Monterey. I've been kicked around from one place to another since I was ten.”

She considered. “Broken home? A rather privileged one, I'd say.

“Yeah. You got anything against privileged white males?”

“Oh, course not,” she said, and wondered if she was lying.

“Good. How about a game of gin? You play?” he asked, producing a deck of cards.

“Sure.”

Seated on the old leather sofa, her feet curled under her, his jacket over her shoulders, the rain beating against the window, the hum of six aquariums, and a man laughing as he beat the socks off her in a card game, she felt a strange sense of contentment.

And joy.

O
nly Dena knew when Maggie, still wearing Steve's jacket, retuned to the dorm late that night. Only Dena, sworn to secrecy, was told where she'd been.

Dena herself was full of news. “I thought you were gone for sure. That cop almost had his hands on you. But that guy in the leather jacket tripped him. What's his name—Ken something? Anyway, he just stuck out his leg and that cop went down. When he got to his feet, Ken had disappeared. And so had you, thank goodness! Me? I was just standing on the science building steps watching the whole thing like I didn't know nothin' ‘bout it. I was way behind, you see, never got into the bookstore, for which, as my ma says, I wants to thank the man upstairs. When I heard the sirens I ran into the science building fast as I could, 'cause I know the shit was gonna fly! Ted and Lucille and Jake and some others got arrested, and Sue's collecting bail money. But the honkies are mad as hell, and some kids are likely to be expelled.”

Before she got out of bed the next morning Maggie was accosted by Sue. “Girl, where'd you go? The fucking pigs were all over the place.”

Maggie displayed her bandaged arm. “I got cut. Had to —”

“Hope you didn't go to the clinic!”

“I'm not crazy, Sue. I, um, had it taken care of. Privately.”

“Good. You got any cash? I mean real cash.” Sue knew Maggie was always good for a touch. She wasn't into drugs or even clothes, and hardly spent any of that hefty allowance she
received. “Ted and some of the others—”

“I heard.”Maggie gave her a good-sized check. There, but for the grace of God ...”

After lunch she went to the marine-biology lab to return Steve's jacket. She was surprised to encounter several people going in or out of the various rooms in the small one-story building. Last night, sitting in that room with Steve while the rain hammered the window, it was as if they were the only people in the entire world. She felt a peculiar sense of anticipation as she opened his door.

He wasn't there. A girl in a clean white smock stood by one of the aquariums and appeared to be feeding the fish. She turned and smiled. “Hi,” she said, giving Maggie a questioning look.

“I just wanted to return this. It's Steve's.”

“Oh. Just dump it over there.”The girl waved toward the sofa and returned to her task.

“Please tell...” Maggie hesitated. She'd already thanked him. What else was there to say? “Thank you,” she said, and the girl nodded.

Well, that was that, Maggie thought, and wondered why she felt so disappointed. He was nice and he'd done her a big favor, but... Marine biologist. White. This was a big campus. She'd probably never see him again.

She saw him two days later. She was coming down the library steps with a big group—Sue, Ted, Dena, Leland and others. They had just learned there were to be no reprisals. Word was the administration felt it unfair to punish only the few who'd been caught when so many others were involved. Professor Lamumba said the honkies didn't want to be accused of racism, since not one white student had been suspended when they'd held their not so peaceful anti-war march last month. Whatever the reason, they were off the hook with only a stern warning. The group was going to a coffee shop to celebrate.

Maggie was walking with Leland, a little ahead of the others, when she saw Steve coming up the walk.

“Let's hurry or all the booths will be taken,” she said, clutching Leland's arm and hurrying right past Steve as if she didn't see him. She fixed her eyes on Leland and began to talk like crazy, hardly aware of what she was saying. She thought she heard Steve call out, but she couldn't be sure. She hurried on, hoping he hadn't seen her.

Mostly she hoped he hadn't seen her see him.

It bothered her. If he knew she'd seen him... She sat with the others in the coffee-shop booth, not hearing anything that was said.

Late that afternoon she again made her way to the lab, this time knocking softly on his door.

“Come in.” His voice. She entered, feeling ashamed and uneasy. How could she explain? Thank goodness he was alone. He was wearing a white lab coat and peering at something through a microscope.

“Hello.”

He turned quickly, his face beaming. “Hi! I'm glad you came back. Sharon said you brought my jacket. Sorry I missed you. How's your arm?”

“Okay. It's fine.” Overwhelming relief. He didn't know she'd seen him.

“Good. I wanted to phone you but... Do you know that all you told me was that your name's Maggie? Not Jones or Brown or which dorm or anything.” He smiled. “Not much to go on when you want to call a girl for a date.”

“Oh.”Warm bubbles of delight. Apprehension?

“I thought I got lucky this morning when I spotted you at the library. But you were in a hurry and totally involved in your conversation. Anyway, you didn't see me and —”

“I saw you.” She couldn't lie to him.

He seemed stunned. “You saw me? But you didn't... speak.”

“I didn't think it was wise.”

“Oh?” He was plainly waiting for an explanation, which she found hard to give. How could she tell him that if he'd stopped to talk about her arm or the other night and maybe lingered, Sue and the others would have interrogated her and she didn't want to get into it with them.

She fumbled for the right words. Fraternizing with whites was strictly forbidden.

“It would've been... awkward.”

“Why?”

“It's... well, we blacks don't... oh, you know how things are with us.”

“No. How are they?”

That made her angry. “Prejudice! Discrimination! We've had to fight like mad for just a little bit of progress.”

“Right.”

“So we're still fighting.”

“And?”

“You...” She paused. “White people don't really understand the problem. It's up to us blacks. We have to stick together if we're going to put a stop to racism.”

“I see.” He smile was unamused. “How racist can you get? If you can't even speak to a white person?”

“It's not that! Oh, you don't understand.”

“Right. I don't. Just tell me one thing, will you?”

She waited, poised to defend the stand her group had taken.

“What's your last name?”

“Metcalf,” she said, thrown off balance.

“Maggie Metcalf. And where do you live, Maggie Metcalf?”

“Why?”

“So I'll know how to get in touch with you.”

“You didn't hear me, did you!”

“Sure. You said—”

“Then you didn't get it. It isn't... They . . . well, you're white. I can't date you. All hell would break loose if my friends found out.”

“Then we can't go public, can we?” This time his smile was real, and it reached out to her.

 

 

Enchantment. Maybe it was the secrecy of the courtship. Sneaking off in separate cars to meet someplace they weren't known. Coded messages over the dorm's public phone. Making plans that involved only the two of them.

Maybe it was the magic of San Francisco, just across the bay but a world away from Berkeley. They walked in Golden Gate Park and stopped for tea at the Japanese Tea Garden, once spent a whole day at the aquarium where she was fascinated by Steve's stories about the lives and habitats of sea urchins. They went to the latest plays and to the opera.

She took Steve home with her for Thanksgiving. Dena, too, because she'd already invited her, and Dena knew about Steve.

“What about your parents?” Dena asked. “Won't they object to your dating a white boy?”

“As many white friends as they have, I doubt they'd object. Anyway, they'll probably think he's one of those blacks who looks more white than black—like my cousins—and I don't think I'll tell them any different,” she said, and wondered why. Was she ashamed of Steve? Of dating a white guy?

Ann Elizabeth reacted just as Maggie knew she would. It was a lovely quiet weekend. No explosive arguments like they got into whenever she brought Ted and Sue. Steve golfed with Rob, and she and Dena went shopping with Mom. They sat around the fire at night, watching television, playing cards or Scrabble. A delightful weekend.

But just before they left, Rob took Maggie aside. “What's going on? You deserting us poor niggers?”

“Stop using that word! And what are you talking about?” she asked, although she knew.

He grinned. “Well, I thought I was giving one of our poor black but almost white brothers a treat. You understand—taking him out to this nice golf course where don't many of us go. We get to talking. New York, Monterey—winter golf in Florida, for Christ's sake! I get to thinking what is this? This cat's sure enough one of them. Way up the ladder, too! And I ask myself what's my little black power daughter pulling here? Has she deserted us for the big bad white establishment and—”

“Oh, Dad! I should have known you'd say something like that!” Now she knew why she hadn't mentioned Steve's race. “What's wrong with my having a white friend?”

“Absolutely nothing. In fact, I haven't had such a pleasant weekend with you since you entered Berkeley. Glad you're joining the big picture. Does this mean we won't have any more knock-down-drag-out black-only rhetoric from the great Professor Mumbo Jumbo?”

“Oh for goodness' sake! My dating... being friends with Steve has nothing to do with what we—Oh, stop laughing! There's no use talking to you, and I gotta go!” She stormed out to kiss her mother and join Steve and Dena for the ride back to Berkeley.

 

 

One week when Steve's dad was in town they had dinner with him at the Top of the Mark. He was an older handsomer version of his son. Steve will look like that, Maggie thought, when his sandy hair is tinged with gray. James Reginald Pearson, of Pearson Associates, was the epitome of a mover and shaker—dynamic, alert and affable to all of them. To Steve, Maggie and the young actress who was with him. He was particularly attentive to Maggie, however, often directing his conversation
toward her. When they parted he kissed her on the cheek, said she was “a stunning beauty,” and Steve “a lucky guy.”

She began to see Steve more frequently, at least four times a week. They talked and talked, lingering over candlelit dinners at quiet exclusive out-of-the restaurants. It wasn't enough.

“It seems so . . . unfinished,” Steve said. “I hate it every time I put you in that Volkswagen and you drive away from me.”

“Me, too,” Maggie admitted.

“How about Christmas? Couldn't we spend it together? Just the two of us. We could stay at my dad's little place in Monterey.”

She hesitated. Christmas was family time. They'd planned to go to Atlanta, visiting with her grandparents. But to be with Steve... alone together... just the two of them. Two whole weeks. No driving away in separate cars.

Explaining to her parents would be difficult. She decided to do it by phone and at the last minute.

“Mom, I'm calling to tell you I won't be home tomorrow.”

“But you have to be here then!” Ann Elizabeth, in the middle of a bridge game with Rob and Chuck and Cora Samples, had picked up the phone in the living room. “My daughter,” she said in apology to the others, and then to Maggie, “You know our flight's for six tomorrow morning. You have to be here to—”

“I'm not going.”

“What?”

“I'm going to Monterey. I've been invited to spend Christmas ...with friends.”

“What friends?”

“A friend, really. Steve.”

“Ste ...” Good Lord if Rob knew Maggie was going off with some guy, he'd blow his top! Ann Elizabeth shot a glance at him. He was deep in a discussion with Chuck about the last hand. “Listen, Maggie, we need to talk. I'll call you tonight.”

“You can't, Mom, I'll be gone. We're driving down and—”

“Wait. Let me get to another phone.” She told Rob she couldn't hear and to please hang up when she picked up the other phone. In Rob's den she listened for the click that shut off their voices before she spoke. “Maggie, isn't this a last-minute decision? One that you haven't thought through?”

“No. I thought about it. I just didn't tell you because I knew you'd try to stop me.” That was Maggie, honest to the bone. “And, Mom, I want to go.” A cry from the heart. Ann Elizabeth had met Steve just that one weekend. He seemed nice, but... “Oh, honey, you see Steve all the time. Your grandfather—”

“I don't see him all the time and we never... Oh, Mom, I'm sick of this sneaking off to San Francisco and sneaking back and—”

Ann Elizabeth's heart stood still. Sneaking off. “To motels?” she asked.

“No, Mom, not to motels. Just to talk, to be together.”

She felt awave of relief. But... “I don't understand. Sneaking?” Apprehension cut like a knife. “He... he's married?”

“Oh, no, Mom! You know I wouldn't go out with a married man. It's just... well, you know the crap I'd get if Sue and the rest of them knew I was dating a white guy.”

“Yes, I know but...

“Dad doesn't care.”

“He cares about you going off alone with some boy, black or white, and I don't like it, either! Maggie, listen to me, you—”

“ Ann Elizabeth!” Rob called. “Let's get on with this game. Talk to Maggie later.”

“Maggie, we need a chance to finish this conversation.”

“I have to go, Mom. I'll call you at Grandma's. Love you.” Maggie hung up.

Ann Elizabeth dialed the dorm.

“Maggie Metcalf? Oh, she left at noon.”

So she hadn't called from the dorm. She was already on her way. It was too late.

“Ann Elizabeth!”

She went back into the living room, picked up her cards. Why, in every major crisis of her life, was she in the middle of a bridge game? The talk flowed around her, but all she heard was Maggie.
I'm tired of sneaking.
All this fighting for integration and she had to sneak—