be something going on at her house back in the days before the Communist Party dealt the race issue out. But I decided against her. With all the pressure on me, I couldn't have listened to a Negro spouting the party line if my life had depended on it.
I was still scared to think about Alice. I wanted time to let it cool. If I thought about her now I'd hate her guts, I knew. I could understand how she'd gotten upset. After all, she wasn't used to the pressure we'd gotten last night-hard enough to beat her down. I could sympathize with her on that rap. But the breakout… I rubbed my hand down over my face… She'd known where she was going, had known what the play was from the first. I could overlook it happening once-happening accidentally. The white folks' pressure would make a monkey eat cayenne pepper-once.
I tried to shake it from my mind, looked about me. I'd gone out past Washington. I turned around, headed back downtown, decided to go to a show, get my mind clear of everything. I parked in the lot at Sixth and Hill, stopped a moment to look at the rows of white faces on the magazine covers at the book stand, thought sardonically: The white folks sure think they're beautiful, walked up to the drugstore at the corner for a pack of smokes. The little prim-mouth girl back of the counter let me stand there while she waited on all the white customers first. When she started to wait on another one who just came in I banged my hand down on the counter. 'Give me some cigarettes, goddamnit!' I said.
She jerked a look at me as if she thought I was raving crazy; everyone within earshot looked at me. I felt my face burning, my body trembling from the sudden fury.
'Never mind!' I said, wheeled outside, walked fast out Hill Street, bumping into people. There was nothing at Paramount that interested me-just a lot of white faces on the marquee billboards-nothing at Warner's. I turned down Seventh, stopped in front of Bullock's at the corner of Broadway, watched the people pass. The sidewalk was heavy with pedestrian traffic, mostly white, a sprinkling of Mexicans, here and there a coloured face. Every second man was in uniform; four out of five women were unescorted.
The servicemen were always hostile towards a Jodie, especially a black Jodie in his fine Jodie clothes. Two little Mexican slick chicks passed; I caught them looking at me and they turned up their noses and looked away disdainfully. I wasn't trying to flirt with them; I wasn't trying to flirt with anybody.
It beat me. I began to feel conspicuous, ill at ease, out of place. It was the white folks' world and they resented me just standing in it. I crossed the street and went into Loew's just to get out of sight. The seat I found was between two couples; on one side the man was next to me, on the other side the woman. The woman said something to the man with her and they got up and changed seats so the man sat next to me. It had never happened to me before. I began burning again but I tried to ignore it. I concentrated on the picture.
I never found out the name of the picture or what it was about. After about five minutes a big fat black Hollywood mammy came on the screen saying: 'Yassum' and 'Noam,' and grinning at her young white missy; and I got up and walked out.
I was down to a low ebb. I needed some help. I had to know that Negroes weren't the lowest people on the face of God's green earth. I had to talk it over with somebody, had to build myself back up. The sons of bitches were grinding me to the nub, to the white meatless bone.
I started hurrying back to the parking lot, got my car, and turned toward the West Side. In a way I still respected Alice; whatever else she might be, she'd still make the grade in the white folks' world. And I loved her too, I knew. I didn't know how I expected her to help me; what she could say or do. Maybe I wanted her to lean on me and tell me I was strong and that she belonged to me; or to hold my head against her breast and let me get it all straightened out. Or maybe I wanted to give her a chance to fall on her knees and ask for my forgiveness and tell me it was an accident and would never happen again. I didn't know.
All I knew was I needed help. Needed it the very worst way. Needed it then. Or I was gonna blow my simple top. And she was the only one I knew who could give it to me.
CHAPTER X
Dr. Harrison answered my ring. He was dressed in a brown flannel smoking jacket with a black velvet collar. He waved a soggy cigar butt in his left hand, stuck out his right.
'Hello, Robert, it's good to see you, boy.'
We shook hands; his felt dry, lifeless, and his mouth looked nasty. I said, 'It's good to see you, Doctor.'
He closed the door behind me and steered me into his study.
'You're just in time to join me in a nip.'
'Well, thanks,' I said. I always felt a sharp sense of embarrassment around him. I didn't like him, didn't respect him, didn't have anything to say to him, didn't like to listen to him. But he always cornered me off for a conversation and I didn't know how to get out of it short of blasting him one.
He went over to his bar. 'What'll it be, Scotch?'
'Scotch is fine,' I said. 'A little water.'
'A gentleman's drink,' he said, mixing it. 'Now I prefer rye.' Then he noticed I was standing and said: 'Sit down, sit down. As Bertha says, 'We're all coloured folks.' You know Bertha Gowing, head of the South Side Clinic?'
'No, I don't,' I said, taking the drink and sitting down.
'A fine person, charming personality, very capable, very capable,' he said, returning to his easy chair across from me. He waved at the Pittsburgh Courier on the floor. 'I was just reading about our fighter pilots in Italy; they're achieving a remarkable record.'
I said, 'That's right.'
'Makes the old man wish he was young again,' he went on. 'Think of it, the first time in the history of our nation that Negro boys have served as pilots. We can thank Roosevelt for that.'
'That's right,' I said. My mind was on Alice. I wondered how she was going to react to seeing me.
'The Nazi pilots say they'd rather engage any two white pilots than one of our Negro boys,' he said.
'Yeah, they're some tough customers,' I said.
'I was talking to Blakely the other day, and he said we should send them a cablegram saying, 'The eyes of the world are on you.' You know Blakely Moore, the young attorney who fought that restricted covenant case for the Du Barrys?'
'No, I don't,' I said.
'Bright young man,' he said. 'Has a wonderful future. I attended his birth.' He took a sip of rye. 'Well, how is your work progressing, Robert? I understand you have been made a supervisor.'
I stole a look at him, looked away. 'Well, not exactly a supervisor. I'm what they call a leaderman.'
'A leaderman, eh? I'm always intrigued by the titles applied to industrial workers. Now what is a leaderman?'
'I just have charge of a small crew of workers,' I said.
'But you're in authority?' he insisted.
'Well…' To hell with trying to explain it, I thought, and said, 'Yes.'
'That's what I like to see,' he said. 'Our Negro boys in authority. It proves that we can do it if we are given the Opportunity.'
A little bit of that went a long way. 'How's everything with you, Doctor?' I asked, changing the conversation. My vocal cords were getting tight.
'I keep pretty busy,' he chuckled. 'Walter and I were just talking the other day about the tremendous change that's taken place in Los Angeles-'
'Yes, it has,' I cut in rapidly. 'The city's really growing up.' If he asked me if I knew Walter Somebody-or-other I was subject to tell him to go to hell. 'Is Alice in?' I asked before he could get it out.
'I'll see,' he said, getting up. 'You know, this house is so arranged we can go for days without running into each other.' He went into the hallway and called, 'Alice!'
After a moment she replied from upstairs, 'Yes?'
'Robert is here.'
'Oh!' A pause. Then, 'Tell him to come right up.'
