Summer of Love, a Time Travel (31 page)

“Penny
Lane!” Susan shrieks.

Nance
Payne hops out of the van.

“Starbright!”
she screams.

She
flings her arms around Susan. They hug, jump up and down, dance, rock back and
forth, pull each other’s hair, pound each other’s shoulders. Susan smooches
Nance’s cheek. Nance plants a kiss right on Susan’s mouth.

Nance,
oh Nance!

Nance
the elf at seven on her bike with training wheels and red-white-and-blue
streamers for the Fourth of July. Bell and Payne, they landed in the back of
the first and third rows, cribbed answers and passed notes back and forth
declaring their love. Nance the daredevil at eight, stealing Milk Duds when they
went to see
The Time Machine
at the Cedar Center Theater. Nance the
explorer at nine, digging a tunnel through the snowdrift that a plow left
behind, wiggling through like a fearless mole. Nance the madcap at eleven, climbing
the old oak tree in Cheryl Long’s front yard, the first to jump from the big
branch fifteen feet up, laughing when she broke her ankle and Susan had to
half-carry her home. Nance the rebel at thirteen, showing up at Cheryl’s
birthday party dressed all in black,
Let’s Boogie Boogie
tucked under
her arm. Nance the hip chick, cajoling a joint out of her cousin Don. And Nance
the whirling dervish in Daddy’s recreation room, twirling and bobbing to
Rubber
Soul
blasting on the stereo, shimmying her skinny hips like a belly dancer.

“Star
light, star bright,” Susan sings, “first star I see tonight--”

“Wish
I may, wish I might,” Nance sings, “have the wish I wish--”

“Toooo-night,”
they sing together.

Like
Jiminy Cricket in
Pinocchio.
They scream and shriek and laugh and hug
again.

“You
grew your hair, Starbright,” Nance says.

“You
cut your hair, Penny Lane,” Susan says.

Nance
wipes tears off Susan’s cheeks.

And
then she winks.

Susan
knows exactly what the wink means. It means they do not blow each other’s
cover, even now, standing in the Haight-Ashbury during the Summer of Love, two
thousand miles and two thousand lifetimes away from Cleveland. Without
hesitation, they use the street names Nance chose for them. They’re playing the
game, just like they always have.

Susan
sees how proud Nance is that she’s playing the game. Like the time they took
the Rapid Transit downtown. They’d just seen
A Hard Day’s Night
and
drifted into a long, loud conversation in thick British accents that were completely
phony. Pretty soon they’d fooled a proper old lady in the next seat. Stewdents
abroohd, ohff to discovah Amudica. They charmed that sweet lady into taking
them to high tea at Stouffer’s Restaurant where the desserts are so good. And not
once did they blow each other’s cover. They screamed about it for weeks. “Nawncee.”
“Yes, Suzahnah.” “May I have anothah crrrumpet?” “Of cawse, my dahling.”

Oh,
dig it, it was so cool, pretending to be someone else with a different life. An
exciting life in a faraway place. Since they were little kids wishing on the
first star of the evening, they both understood this: the most exciting game in
life is to reinvent yourself.

“Like
wow,” Nance says, checking her out. A blush of pleasure blooms in Susan’s
cheeks. “You look groovy, sweetheart.” She pronounces it
shweethaut.
“Get-ting rah-thah slim, ahn’t we?”

“Gosh,
Penny Lane,” Susan says. “You’re Twiggier than ever.”

It’s
true. Nance has always had a tight athletic body, though she gorged on burgers
and ice cream. Never once did Nance ridicule Susan for developing breasts and
hips. Nance sided with her when Susan’s mother forced her on the hard-boiled
egg diet. Nance has always stood up for Susan against the whole world.

Nance
hooks her arm through Susan’s and takes her to the new crowd of
caterpillar-eyed girls. “This is Starbright, my best friend in the whole world.
She is one of the smartest chicks I know. Plus, she’s an Artist.” Nance adds
doubtfully, “You
do
still draw, don’t you, Starbright?”

“On
the sidewalk along Oak Street,” Susan says proudly, pleased Nance remembers her
silly sketches with Prismacolor pencils knickknacked from Mr. G’s art supply store.
“Plus I drew the Isis in the Mystic Eye.”

“The
big chick on the wall of the witch shop?” one of the caterpillar-eyed girls
exclaims. “That is so far out!”

“That’s
my Starbright,” Nance says authoritatively. “She’s always been brilliant. Plus,
her family’s rich.”

Suddenly
everyone is looking at Susan, including Stan the Man.

Rich.
Nance knows very well Susan’s family isn’t rich. Susan’s family is disgustingly
middle-class. Over the years, Susan has told Nance all about Daddy, the way he
moans over the bills, doles out allowances to Susan and her mother, groans over
how much gas his Cadillac guzzles. Her family certainly isn’t rich compared to
their new neighbors. Susan feels ashamed at how poor she is. She longs for the
old neighborhood, where girlfriends like Nance didn’t put her down for being a lowly
dentist’s daughter.

For
a weird moment though—one of those over-under-sideways-down insights she keeps
stumbling on during the Summer of Love—Susan suddenly sees herself through
society’s eyes. Her father is a professional with his own practice, while
Nance’s stepfather works in some office doing who knows what for someone else who
yells in his face. Susan’s parents left the cookie-cutter developments of Euclid
Heights for the tree-lined avenues of Shaker Heights, only slightly less
prefab, perhaps, but enormously more prestigious.

How
easy for Susan to be self-denigrating, to put down her father’s hard-won
victories from the other side of privilege. Her forced separation from Nance stings
anew. Yet, right or wrong, she can suddenly see why. Her father is ambitious.
His ambition extends to his daughter. By comparison—and who doesn’t
compare?—Nance’s stepfather is not as successful as Susan’s father. And his
lack of success extends to his daughter.

Gross.
But she can see why.

No
wonder she and Nance wanted to run away as fast as they could. What do their
fathers have to do with them?

They
drift away from the caterpillar-eyed girls, Nance’s arm crooked around Susan’s
neck in a hammerlock reminiscent of Professor Zoom’s. They sit together on the
grass fronting Fell Street.

“When
did you get here?”

“In
time for the Celebration of the Summer Solstice. Got your postcard.”

“My
parents looking for me?”

“Oh,
sure. They came to our new house.” Whoops. That’s a sore spot, that Susan moved
away to a new house. “I didn’t tell them anything, Penny Lane,” she says in a
rush, “I swear.”

“You
didn’t tell them where I went?” Suddenly, Nance isn’t smiling. Her face grows
somber. Susan sees lines etched in Nance’s forehead, lines she never noticed
before.

“I
didn’t talk to them, actually. You know Daddy. He kind of kept me away from
them.”

“I
knew I could depend on you.” She sucks in her breath. “So you got that dumb
postcard, huh?”

“Sure!
Oh, I loved it! That’s what brought me here.”

“No!
Really?”

Susan
giggles, confiding like they used to. “I hid it, but Mom found it. She and
Daddy got so pissed! Daddy made me burn it. ‘That little tramp, that no-good
so-and-so,’” Susan says in a deep voice, mimicking her father. “‘I never want
you talking to her again.’ Can you believe it?”

“Your
father called me a tramp?”

“And
then he said I was stupid when I told him you’re my best friend.”

“Your
father called me a no-good so-and-so?” Nance stares off into space the way Cyn
does.

“Oh,
Penny Lane,” Susan says. “You know what a jerk Daddy is. He’s the one who’s
stupid.”

“Yeah.”
Nance chews on her thumbnail. She won’t look at Susan.

Susan
knows she has done something, said something terribly, irretrievably wrong. But
she isn’t sure exactly what. Or how to undo it.

A
cop car slides past the corner of Divisadero and Fell Street.

“Where
are you crashing?” Nance says, glancing warily about.

“With
the lady who owns the Mystic Eye.”

“Ruby
A. Maverick?”

“Yes!
She’s really cool.”

“Isn’t
that just like you, Starbright. Nothing but the best.”

Nance
stands and brushes off her jeans. Stan the Man strides up and circles his arm
around Nance’s shoulders. Nance glances up at him with a sensual grin.

Susan
turns away, trying to control the trembling of her lip.

Suddenly
Chi is there. He helps her to her feet and circles his arm around
her
shoulder, then embraces her with both arms. Wow!

“Is
this your old man?” Nance says. She gives Chi such a lustful glance that Stan
frowns, competitive male malice in his eye. Nance wrenches away from Stan’s
proprietary embrace.

“This
is Chiron Cat’s Eye in Draco,” Susan says, savoring the taste of his exotic
name.

“Far
out, Starbright.” Nance wiggles her hips, blinking up at Chi. She smiles at Susan
with approval. “He’s a fine one.”

That
Nance, she’s so silly. She’s treating Susan’s man the way the guys on Haight
Street treat other guys’ ladies. No wonder people have always thought Nance is
crazy. She’s always carried on her very own personal revolution.

The
cop car cruises up Baker Street.

They
all scatter like criminals. The band’s entourage piles into the van.

“I’ll
call you at the Mystic Eye,” Nance shouts out the window as the van pulls away.

“Call
me! Call me! Call me, Penny Lane!”

Susan
starts to dart into the park again, but Chi catches her, slows her to a walk,
and circles his arm around her shoulder. Together they calmly walk down Fell
Street, staring straight ahead.

The
cop car passes.

Now
Susan sees the squat man in the stovepipe hat with his psychedelic reptile
friend. They’re walking toward her and Chi, deep in conversation.

The
dealers! Stovepipe and the Lizard!

Chi
spots them at once.

Neither
he nor Ruby ever questioned her about the confrontation in front of the
Fillmore Auditorium. She never offered an explanation. It’s too embarrassing.

The
dealers look up and see them. Their eyes light with a cold gleam of
recognition.

“You
know those men,” Chi says, “don’t you.”

“He
made me!” Susan cries.

A
bus pulls up to a stop ten feet in front of them.

“Got
the fare?” Chi says. He’s got a dime and a nickel in his hand.

They
run and jump aboard the bus like it’s a getaway car in
Bonnie and Clyde.
It’s strange and exciting to feel like an outlaw jumping on a bus with Chi.

Except
for the hammering of her heart.

11

Sunshine Superman

Chi
hustles Starbright down the aisle. The doors flip shut, then flip open again.

Stovepipe
and the Lizard climb up the steps as the bus takes off, lurching down Fell
Street. The driver detains them while Stovepipe searches his pockets for the
fare.

The
bus is packed with sleepy-eyed commuters taking up all the seats and standing
in the aisle. Chi guides Starbright past them, steering her by her elbow. A grizzled
geezer in a shabby raincoat leers at her. “Hippie whore,” the geezer says and
spits on the blue velvet jacket Ruby gave her. She whirls, eyes wide, mouth
gaping. Chi navigates her around him. “Pig,” he snarls at the geezer. “Hippie
scum,” the geezer snarls back.

Chi
pulls the bell-cord. The bus careens into the next stop. The back doors flip
open. Chi pushes Starbright down the steps, clatters after her, and catches her
before she pitches onto the sidewalk.

“God,
Chi!” she yells.

“Sorry!
You okay?” At her nod, he circles his arm around her.

The
doors close, and the bus lumbers away. Then stops half a block down. The doors
flip open, and Stovepipe and the Lizard stumble out, get their bearings, look
up and down the street. The Lizard points at them.

An
eastbound bus pulls up to the stop across the street. Chi seizes Starbright’s
hand, and they sprint. Chi hears the dealers’ boot heels ringing on the
pavement.

“Go,
go, go!” He practically tosses her up the steps, dashes up himself.

The
bus takes off downtown. Starbright falls against him. He reaches for the
handrail and steadies them both. She digs deep in her purse for more dimes,
drops them in the change box with trembling hands.

He
guides her to a back seat. They’re both breathing hard and shaking when they
collapse on the seat. He doesn’t even think to take out a prophylak as he pulls
her against his chest.