Playing for Julia (7 page)

He grins and shakes his head.  “No. Nashville was the next stop.  I went there after I was discharged and they wouldn’t give me the time of day.  ‘You’re too rock ‘n’ roll for us,’ they said.  So I got in my old Chevy and drove to L.A.  They said:  ‘You sure have a lot of country in you, but we like you anyway.’  John and I got together to start a band a few months later and I never looked back.”

He slides down so he is lying on the bed, his head on a pillow.  “
Lay down with me, beautiful Julia.”

I do a
nd he begins to unbutton my blouse.

Sunday evening and we are parked
on the street outside the cottage.

“Thank you for a lovely weekend,” I say
, and then kiss him lightly.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He runs his fingers into my hair and pulls my face to him and kisses me again, hungrily. Yes, yes.  I can feel myself melting inside as I yield to him. I slip my hands inside his jacket and around his sides.  Oh yes. Yes.  More.  Then he pulls away, holds my forehead against his and takes a deep breath.

“
Oh babygirl, we better stop or we’re going to get arrested for public indecency.” Then he smiles and lets go of me. “I’ve got a long drive.  I’d better go now.”

“Drive safely.” 
I open the car door and get out, carrying the big pink straw handbag I used as an overnight bag.

I
stand and watch him drive away, still glowing from the experience of this weekend.

Chapter Eleven

In the cottage I find Ali in the kitchen doing her ironing. ‘Whole Lotta Love’ from Led Zeppelin’s new album is playing on the radio.  No sign of Drew anywhere.

“Well, how was it?”

“Wonderful.  Romantic.  Carmel is a beautiful place.  No wonder it’s been an artists’ colony for so long.”

“You look happy.”

“I am,” I answer, but that’s all I’m going to say so I quickly ask:  “Why aren’t you out with Drew?”

“Drew is ancient history since Friday night.”

“What happened?”

Ali take
s a deep breath and shakes her head.

“
Julia, you will not believe this.  We were at a meeting where there was some man from back East. At first he talked about the marches across the country planned for October.  The idea is to mobilize the whole country—old people, students, office workers, factory workers—everyone. Show the government—the Pentagon—that the whole country is against the war.  Of course we all agreed. Then he went on to say that if the government won’t stop sending boys to Viet Nam the next step should be taking some kind of violent action. That it is the only way to get the establishment’s attention.  He didn’t say what violent action he had in mind specifically, but that was too much for me.” 

“Oh my god,” I gasp
, frowning.

Ali shakes her head as
if she still cannot believe it.

“
Marching in a demonstration is one thing, but I don’t want any part of any violence. There is enough violence and death in Saigon and Da Nang; we don’t need it here.  And to make it worse, Drew was just eating it up.  Agreeing with him. I couldn’t believe it.  Well, that was the end of Drew. It seems as if the antiwar movement is his whole life—that and his job.”

She shakes her head again
, this time sadly.  “Now that I know him better I’m surprised that he stopped to talk with me that day in Union Square. He is so involved with the antiwar people. Drew didn’t seem to be like the others—so many of those guys in the movement are obviously power hungry—but …anyway it was ‘Goodbye’.  Forever.”

“Did you ask him why he supported violent action?”

“I did and he simply repeated what that other man said: it’s the only way to get the government’s attention and make them stop killing our boys. He was so intense about it.  Then he said Nixon’s so-called ‘secret plan’ to get out of the war is a hoax.  He is right, but the whole thing was too much for me.  Anyway, I’m still against the war but no violence, no more Drew.” Then she sighs:  “The war was almost all he ever talked about.”

“That’s so odd.  Mr. Nice Guy Drew encouraging violence.”  I am puzzled by this.
“Did you actually tell him Goodbye?

“No
t exactly, but I don’t want to see him again.  He is so deep into it and it scares me now.  I told him I had plans for the rest of the weekend and I’ll just tell him I’m busy when he calls again. ‘If’ he calls again. He may have figured it out from my reaction to it all. I don’t want any big scene.”

Ali takes a big breath and sits up.  She
still looks puzzled and a bit sad.  “I don’t understand Drew—the whole situation at all—but there are other fish in the sea, I guess.  No more lawyers, though. Ever.”

I agree.

* * *

M
onday morning at
Voices
I feel as if I have just returned from a long vacation somewhere else—some other life—instead of two days in Carmel.  Dan comes breezing in, smiling and cheerful.  He looks like he had a good weekend, too.

About an hour later David walks into our office and drops a newspaper—or
is it a magazine—on Dan’s desk.

“Have you seen this?” David asks.

Dan shakes his head and opens the paper.

“I don’t know who’s
putting up the money for it. The editors are two women I think I heard of in New York.  I didn’t even know they were out here.”  David continues, and hands a copy to me.  “I wonder if it is self-financed.”

It
is a fashion magazine printed on newsprint, not glossy paper stock.  The masthead reads
Rags
. The photos are not from glamorous fashion salons of New York and Paris, but of young women here in San Francisco—photos of street fashion.  I turn the pages, looking at the photos and reading the captions beneath them. This is fabulous!

“What do you think of it?”  Dan asks me.

“This is amazing.  I love it.  I’ve never seen a magazine about street fashions before. Never. Ali is going to go crazy when she sees this.  She loves street fashion—well, she loves all fashion.”

“Look at page 7.”  David says to me
, a small smile on his face.

I turn to page 7.  There is a photo of Austen and me outside the Fillmore.  The caption under it reads:  The New Romantic Look.  Soft, drifting layers
and a long flowing skirt create a new romantic style called, in Los Angeles, the Ladies of Laurel Canyon look.  Here, seen on the girlfriend of rocker Austen Raneley.

I screw up my mouth.  I’m not sure I like this.

“I take it from that look on your face that you don’t like that photo.”  Dan observes.

“I don’t know…it feels like
someone has sneaked up on my life… I remember when the photo was taken. No one asked me, asked us...we were leaving the Fillmore, but…well, I guess it’s done now.  And the magazine is great.  May I keep this copy?  I want to show Ali.”

“
Of course,” David says. “Now you have your local women’s magazine, Julia.  Not women’s lib, but definitely targeted to young women.  Enjoy it.  I’m not sure how long it is going to last.  There are not many ads in it.  They are going to need a lot more if they want to continue publishing.”

That evening
, as expected, Ali goes crazy when she sees
Rags
.

“I love it, I love it,
I love it.  I should be working for
Rags
instead of writing want ads for people at the
Examiner.
”

I tell her to look at page 7.  She does
, reads the caption then looks at me.

“
‘Ladies of Laurel Canyon?’ I put together that outfit.  Me. That caption should read ‘Lady of the Richmond District’ in San Francisco.  This is so unfair.  Ohhhh…why am I stuck at the
Examiner
?”

“Because it is a steady job that provides a paycheck regularly,” I retort.  “David and Dan think it probably won’t survive very long.
  David said they don’t have nearly enough advertising to last.”

“How could it not survive?  It is wonderful.
Julia, they probably said that to you because they don’t want you to leave
Voices
and go over to
Rags
.  I know it’s going to be a success.  It has to be.  It’s fabulous.  I would love to work for them.”

I shake my head at her and go to the kitchen to fix dinner.

“How about dinner now?”  I ask, deciding that it’s time to change the subject, although I know I will hear about
Rags
all evening from her.

In the refrigerator I find
some hamburger and some left over boiled potatoes.  I put the frying pan on the stove; I can sauté hamburger patties and pan-fry the potatoes for us.  Ali pours two glasses of rosé wine and starts making a salad.

* * *

A
usten calls on Monday.

“Hi.  How are things going down there?”

“Better. We’re finally getting some tracks down. Tommy showed up on time for once.”

“That’s good.”

He is quiet for a moment.  “I miss you.  I want your warm little body in my bed, but I don’t think I will be able to come up there this weekend, Julia.  We’re planning to keep working straight through.”

“Okay.”  I answer
, hoping I am hiding my disappointment.  “I miss you, too.”

Oh no. This i
s it.  I am a one-weekend stand—maybe.  But would he have called at all, if I was going to be dropped? No. I don’t think so, but I can’t help it—I feel insecure.  Maybe Ali and Dan were right.  Maybe no woman in her right mind would do this. I just know that I miss him and want to be with him and be in his bed making love every night, every day—that I know for sure.

We
talk for a little while longer.

“Dream of me, baby.”

“I always do, Austen.  Dream of me.”

* * *

I don’t know who invented this new self-service salad bar idea, but he is a genius.  It is fast and healthy and showing up in cafés all around town.  Cathy and I take our trays to the table at the café around the corner from
Voices
.  We are both having the salad bar lunch today—mine with lots of cherry tomatoes and crunchy croutons. The salad, plus one roll, plus black coffee is a low calorie, low cost lunch—just what my budget allows.

“Something’s up,” Cathy tells me.  “I don’t know what it is, but there
have been meetings behind closed doors lately.  Have you heard anything?”

“No.  Nothing.”  I answer.  “Do you think
Voices
is in trouble financially?”

“I don’t
think so. Dale keeps telling me how many new advertisers he’s getting, how much more money he’s making.  And how wonderful he is.”

“Has he been hitting on you?”  I smile.
  Cathy has an angular face with high cheekbones and long dark brown hair that she usually pulls back in a ponytail. More often than not she wears black jeans and black knit tops along with big chunky bracelets.   She looks sort of arty and gives the impression of being very independent. It’s almost laughable to imagine her with roly-poly Dale in his bland gray businessman suits.

“The guy will not take no for an answer—but he’s going to have to.  I have no interest in him whatsoever,” she says.  “You’re lucky.  Everyone knows you’re dating Austen Raneley
—especially since that photo was published. That sets up a kind of do-not-touch wall around you at the office.”

Oh, I think, a
wall around me?  Do I want that? Maybe this is another side of being the rock ‘n’ roll girlfriend and I’m not sure that I like it.

“I don’t think many people saw that photo
.
Rags
’ circulation is small and they may not be around much longer,” I say, then change the topic.  “Cathy, I’ll ask Dan this afternoon and let you know if I find out anything.”

D
an tells me we will all find out on Friday at a meeting for everyone on staff.  Whatever it is, he doesn’t seem very enthusiastic about it.  I pass the word along to Cathy, who is busy editing the ever-expanding Weekly Events section.  It has become the most popular feature of
Voices
.  If it is not in the
Voices
’ Weekly Events, it is not really happening in San Francisco.

* * *

Austen calls again Tuesday night.  He can fly up on Saturday late afternoon.  Will I pick him up at the airport?  “Yes,” I answer.  Yes. Yes. Yes. A million times Yes.

* * *

On Friday morning it is standing room only as we all crowd into the small conference room. Dan, David and another man are standing at the front. The mystery man has bushy reddish-brown hair, a stocky build, is wearing jeans, a tan T-shirt and a brown tweed sports jacket with leather patches on the elbows. No beard; he is clean-shaven. I glance over at Cathy who raises one eyebrow, skeptically.  I think she knows who the other man is.

It is David who tells us.  “As you all know
Voices
is committed to providing a platform for the voices of a wide range of people in the city.  To further that ideal we have come up with the concept of Guest Editor.  Three times a year
Voices
will be edited by someone other than me for a week, someone who brings a different viewpoint, a different voice to our paper.”

Well, I think, that sounds interesting.  I wonder why Dan wasn’t very enthusiastic about this news.
  It might be a bit chaotic, I suppose, but it’s only for one week.

David continues:  “We’re launching the Guest Editor program as of today.  Many of you may already know Eric, who until recently was the editor of
Politics Monthly
.  He is our first Guest Editor and will probably bring a more political slant to
Voices
this week.”

The mystery man, Eric, steps forward and thanks David for the opportunity
.  He says he looks forward to working with all of us and tells us he will meet with us, as needed, during the week.

Meeting over.

Then Eric turns to Dan.  “Come in to my office and we’ll get started.”