'You mean--' I burst out laughing and people from several tables turned about to stare with disapproval. Finally I got it out: 'You mean when you go in with the white folks the people think you're white.'

There was pure murder in her eyes. 'You don't have to be uncouth.'

'On top of being black too, eh?' I added, chuckling. 'h.e.l.l, they probably think we're movie people anyway, or that you're white as it is. I'll tell them I'm an East Indian if you think that'll help. Next time I'll wear a turban.'

The nearby diners had quieted to listen. Alice got a strained smile on her face and began talking politics. But I wouldn't let her get away with it. 'What are you trying to do now, educate me?' I said.

Neither of us said another word; we were both relieved when it was over. The waiter brought me a slip of paper clipped to the bill face down on the tray. When I picked up the bill I read the two typed lines: _We served you this ti me but we do not want your patronage in the future_.

I started to get up and make my bid, to do my number for what it was worth. But when I looked at Alice I cooled. I could take it, I was just another n.i.g.g.e.r, I was going to lynch me a white boy and nothing they could do to me would make a whole lot of difference anyway--but she had position, family, responsibility.

The bill was twenty-seven dollars and seventy-three cents. I figured they'd padded it but I didn't beef. I simply borrowed the waiter's pencil and wrote: 'At your prices I cannot afford to eat at your joint often enough for you to worry about,' and put the note, three tens, and some change on the tray.

The waiter leaned over and said, 'If it will make you feel any better I'm going to quit. And you can read what I think about it in the _People's World_.'

I looked at him a moment and said, 'If you're thinking about how I feel, when you should have quit was before you brought the note.'

When I held Alice's wrap I could feel her body trembling. A tiny vein throbbed in her temple and nerve tension picked at her face. On the way out it was an effort to walk slowly; she pulled at me as if she wanted to run. We had to wait for the car. Pa.s.sing people looked at us curiously. I thought we should have waited inside, but it didn't make any difference now. When the car came Alice ran out to it and slipped beneath the wheel. I gave the doorman a five-dollar bill, his a.s.sistant a couple of ones.

The doorman fingered the five, hesitated for an instant, then said impa.s.sively, 'Thank you, sir, and good evening,' in his thick impersonal brogue. The a.s.sistant said nothing.

'You can always.tell a shipyard worker by the tips he gives,' Alice sneered when I got in beside her and dug off with a jerk.

'A fool to the bitter end,' I said, slumping down in the seat. 'I'm sorry you didn't like it.'

I didn't like Alice very much then, didn't even respect her.

'I did like it,' she snapped. 'Even with you acting boorish. The food was excellent.'

'Yes, the food was delicious,' I murmured.

She gave me a quick angry look and almost b.u.mped into a car ahead as it stopped for the light.

'But for thirty dollars,' I added, 'I could have bought a hunting licence, gone hunting and shot a couple of pheasants, bought a quart of liquor and got drunk and gone to bed with two country wh.o.r.es and had enough money left over to buy gasoline home.'

She said, 'You don't have to insult me any more, Bob. I don't intend to see you after this anyway.'

I took a deep, long breath, let it out. 'It had to end sometime,' I said. 'I suppose you knew I wasn't going back to college.'

After that she didn't say anything. She kept out Hill to Washington, turned west on Washington to Western. I thought she was going home, but at Western she turned north again to Sunset, jerking the big car from each stop, riding second to forty, forty-five, fifty, before shifting into high. She pushed in the traffic, shouldered in the lines, tipped b.u.mpers, dug up to sixty, sixty-five, seventy in the openings as if something was after her.

At Sunset she turned west, went out past the broadcasting studios, past Vine, turned left by the Garden of Allah into the winding Sunset Strip. At the bridle path she began tipping off her lid: seventy, eighty, back to seventy for a bend, up to ninety again. I thought she was trying to get up nerve to kill us both and I didn't give a d.a.m.n if she did.

At Sepulveda Boulevard she turned south to Santa Monica Boulevard, then west again toward the beach. It was early, not eleven o'clock, and there was plenty of traffic on the street. But she didn't even slow.

'I like to go places in a party,' she said suddenly. 'Then to the theatre and a night club afterward.'

'With the white folks,' I remarked.

'You go to h.e.l.l!' she flared, pushing back up to ninety.

CHAPTER VIII.

We got the ticket just as we were coming into Santa Monica. Two motor-cycle cops pulled up and flagged us down. They rolled to a stop in front of us, stormed back on foot, cursing.

'All right,' one said, pulling out his book. 'Start lying.'

Laughter came up inside of me. If they wait a couple of days they can get me for murder, I thought. 'The lady's going to have some babies,' I said.

The cop leaned over to see me better. 'A c.o.o.n,' he said. Then he looked at Alice again. 'Both c.o.o.ns.' Then on second thought he asked her, 'Are you white?'

'She's a c.o.o.n, too,' I answered for her.

'Well, we'll just run you in,' the cop said.

'That's fine,' I taunted. 'You on your puddle jumper and me in my Buick Roadmaster.'

The cop's mouth opened and his face got blood-red. The other cop started back toward me.

'Wait a minute,' Alice said. 'I don't like this, I don't like any of this.' The cold hard authority in her voice stopped the cop. 'I am a supervisor in the Los Angeles Department of Welfare,' she went on, enunciating each syllable with careful deliberation. 'My father's a prominent Los Angeles physician, a personal friend of the mayor's, and one of the civic leaders of our community. I don't like the way you have spoken to me, the words you have employed, nor the tone of your voice. If you cannot give me the respect that is due me I'll see to it that you are both discharged from the police force.'

Both the cops looked at her as if they didn't believe they were hearing right. I had to look at her too.

Finally one of them asked her, 'Your car?'

'Mine,' I said.

He gave me a long hard look. 'I suppose your pa is a senator,' he said.

I didn't say anything. The other one said to Alice, 'Lemme see your operator's licence.'

'I left it in another bag,' she said imperiously. 'Mr. Jones called to escort me to dinner and I didn't think I'd need it.'

The cop grinned evilly. 'Been to a gin party, eh?'

Alice turned a slow red. 'May I have your names and identifieation numbers?' she said.

The cop looked at the other cop, then said,'Okay, fall in behind me.' As an afterthought he added, 'And move over and let Rufus drive. You got your licence, haven't you, Rufus?'

I got out and walked around the car. He blocked my path. The other cop closed in beside me. I took a breath, let it out, said: 'Rufus isn't the name on it.'

'Lemme see it,' he said.

I let him see it. He spat, moved aside, and let me get into the car. They took us to the station in Santa Monica. I put up cash bail and the desk sergeant said, 'Now get back where you belong and stay there.'

We went out and got into the car and I drove down to the beach. I parked and we sat for a time looking out over the Pacific Ocean. There were two bright red spots in Alice's cheeks and she clenched and unclenched her hands.

'You could kill 'em, couldn't you?' I said. Suddenly I felt sorry for her. I put my arm about her shoulder and tried to pull her to me. 'Don't let it get you down, baby,' I said, trying to turn her face around to kiss her. 'You're not just finding out you're a n.i.g.g.e.r?'

She jerked away from me. 'I wish I was a man,' she said.

'If you were a man what would you do?' I asked.

Suddenly she began crying. 'I never had anybody talk to me like that,' she sobbed. 'People have always respected me. My father's known all over California.'

I reached for the key, kicked on the motor. 'Too bad they don't know me,' I said.

I turned the car and drove down to Venice, came back into Los Angeles on Venice Boulevard. By the time we reached the city Alice had stopped crying and repaired her make-up. I glanced at my watch. It was eleven-thirty.

'Shall I take you home?' I asked.

'No, let's go by some friends of mine,' she said. 'I want some excitement.' Her voice had a hard dry gaiety and her face kept breaking apart like gla.s.s.

I followed her directions, drove over to a little cottage on San Pedro, past Vernon. A short, dumpy, brown-skinned girl with slow-rolling eyes and a tiny pouting mouth let us in.

'Alice,' she greeted, then to the others in the room, 'Her Highness.'

A light-complexioned, simple-looking girl with a pretty face and dangling hair sat on the arm of an empty chair, the skirt of her loud print dress pulled high over her thighs. She looked at Alice and jerked her head disdainfully.

A slim, good-looking fellow about her colour with conked yellow hair and a hairline moustache sat on the middle of the davenport. He was dressed in tan slacks, tan and white sport shoes, and a cream-coloured rayon shirt. His face was greasy and his eyes were muddy from drinking. I followed Alice into the small, cramped room, wondering how she knew such people; they were more the kind of people I should know.

'Stella, Bob,' she said. I nodded to the dumpy girl.

Stella said, 'Bob, Chuck,' waving her finger.

The blond boy stuck up a sweaty languid hand. I dropped it as soon as possible.

'Bob, Dimples,' Stella went on.

I nodded to the long-haired girl. She didn't look at me; she was eyeing Alice with a petulant, jealous look. I flopped down on the chair beside her and looked at her smooth yellow thighs. 'Nice gams,' I commented. She stood up and let her dress fall.

A gallon bottle of wine and three dirty gla.s.ses sat among the littered ashtrays and half-emptied cigarette packages on the little c.o.c.ktail table in front of the davenport. Against the back wall was a Philco combination player with records stacked on its top. Beside this was a door leading into the bedroom. Across the room was another door into the kitchen, where Alice had gone with Stella. After a moment they came back with two clean gla.s.ses and Stella filled them with the cheap warm Tokay.

'Champagne?' I murmured facetiously. Stella rolled me a look, grinned, showing a gaping hole in the middle of her upper teeth.

She moved over to the player and said, 'We were just getting ready to play some jive.' She had a husky liquor voice with queer undertones and she wasn't even half pretty. But there was an animal sensuousness in her actions and she moved with a slow slinky grace. My gaze followed her on its own.

She put on Harry James's 'Cherry,' stacked several other records on the arm drops, and did a slow-motion boogie to the hot licking lilt of James's trumpet, rolling her body from b.r.e.a.s.t.s to knees in undulating waves. Near the end of the piece she broke the slow, smooth motion of her boogie and put frenzied jerks in it.

'Well, knock yourself out, girl,' Dimples muttered.

'G.o.dd.a.m.n, that knocks me out!' Stella said with feeling when the piece came to an end. Then she asked suddenly, 'Where you kids been, all sharpened up?'

Dimples said, 'Doesn't Alice look lovely?' in a saccharine voice.

'We had dinner and went for a drive,' Alice murmured affectedly.

I stuck a cigarette in my mouth and said, 'Alice had a wonderful time,' talking around it. I looked up just in time to catch her furious glance.

Stella looked curiously from one to the other of us. 'What happened?' she asked. 'Didn't they want to serve you?'

I didn't answer.

'Men are such boors,' Alice commented acidly.

Stella took her cue and dropped it. The box was playing 'All For You' by the King Cole Trio, and I closed my eyes to listen. '...life would be a symphony, waiting all for you. . .' It went off into an instrumental trio and I opened my eyes again. For an instant my vision was out of focus and I knew I was getting drunk. I got up to fill my gla.s.s again.

'Who wants some more wine?' I asked, then began filling everybody's gla.s.s without waiting for an answer. I quoted:

'_A Jug of Wine.. . and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness-- Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!_'

Stella gave me a quick darting look and stood up. 'I've got a pint of Sunnybrook stashed if you want some,' she said, looking at Alice.

'Fine,' I said, starting to get up. She stepped past me and put her arm about Alice's waist and they went into the kitchen. I looked at Dimples and said, 'Wanna dance?' The box was blaring Erskine Hawkins' 'Don't Cry, Baby.'

'Not with you,' she said in a harsh, sullen voice, looking sidewise into the darkened kitchen.

Things began getting a little blurred. It was hot and sticky in the room and my eyes began to burn. Stella and Alice returned from the kitchen.

'It's hot in here,' Stella said. 'Why don't you take off your coat, Bob?'

I slipped out of my coat. Alice and Stella were sitting side by side on the davenport, whispering. Dimples sat on the arm of the davenport watching them, her face a mask of sullen envy.

I got slowly to my feet. The room began spinning and my stomach peeled into my mouth. I caught it a couple of times, my mouth ballooning, then Chuck jumped up and helped me into the kitchen and I let it go into the sink. I stood there and retched for what seemed like an hour.

I knew what was going on and I wasn't having any of it. I felt shocked, sickened. I went back into the room and said to Alice, 'You can't do this to me.'

She gave me a look of raw hatred. I'd slapped her before I knew it. She half fell, caught herself, and went over and lay on the davenport, burrowing her face in her hands, and began crying as if her heart would break.

My mind went into a stupor when I tried to figure out why she should be mad at me. When I came out of it I noticed that she was crying. I felt like a dog. I lurched toward the davenport and stood over her. '1 didn't mean to make you cry,' I began.

She raised her head and looked at me and all the frustration in the world was bottled up in her eyes. 'Don't think you made me cry,' she said in a cold, level voice, s.p.a.cing the words apart. 'You can't make me cry. You never could make me cry. Every time I cry, I cry for many reasons.'

I stood there swaying drunkenly for a moment, trying to figure out what she meant, I gave it up.

Chuck stood up then and said, 'Take it easy, Jack.'