What a Trip, page 15
“Tired, lassie?” Reuben asked.
“A little. I feel like I need to do something to get the blood flowing in my legs again.”
“How ‘bout we get off Sixth Avenue and run down one of the side streets? That should loosen you up.”
Turning right on Thirty-Eighth Street, they broke into a run that took them to Seventh Avenue, where they were bombarded with another wave of humanity. Winded but rejuvenated, they joined the throng making its way to Penn Station.
The final event of the day at Penn Station was a memorial service and reading of the names of Americans who had died in the war. The group was small and lacked the fanfare of the day’s earlier events. Without street vendors, loud protesters, and television cameras, the service left a sobering effect on those in attendance. They left in silence.
It had been a long, tiring day. No songs were sung on the ride home. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cans of soda were passed around. Enthusiasm was replaced by exhaustion. Fiona leaned her head on Reuben’s shoulder and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew, they were back on campus.
“I can’t wait to read tomorrow’s papers,” Reuben said as they exited the bus. “Sleep tight, my friend. Thanks for our talk. I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner.”
“G’night, Reuben. Sleep well.”
Almost as an afterthought, he planted a gentle kiss on her cheek.
I guess that’s progress. She dragged herself into the elevator, rode to her dorm room, and collapsed on the bed.
Chapter 30
The New York Times reported more than a quarter million protesters had gathered in both Washington, DC, and New York City. An estimated two million marched in other cities and colleges, participating in what was the largest and most influential moratorium to date.
“We can’t stop now,” Reuben said at dinner the next day. “We’ve gotta show Nixon we mean business. He promised a gradual troop withdrawal and hasn’t kept his word. I wish I was working in journalism. I’d write some kick-ass articles.”
“If you were out of school, you’d be drafted. You’re making a difference the best way you can right now,” Fiona said.
“You’re right, I guess. Listen, I want to thank you for letting me open up to you yesterday,” Reuben went on. “I’ve been carrying that shit around with me for months. You’re so easy to talk to, and you’ve been such a good friend. I feel like I’m ready to move on.”
“Move on?” she asked.
“I was thinking maybe we could go on a real date one night.” “I’d like that.”
“I’ve gotta go home this weekend. How ’bout we plan something after that.”
“Definitely.” Fiona felt the heat rise in her cheeks.
Even though she wished their date could be sooner, she was glad for the delay. It would give her a chance to go home and take two more baths with Harry’s magic oil.
“You must have a lot going on at school these days, FiFi,” her dad said at dinner the following Friday evening. “I miss your weekly visits. I noticed Jack hasn’t been coming around. Did something happen with you two?”
“He’s in Virginia with his grandmother,” Fiona said, hoping to end the conversation.
“No more college?”
“He’s joining the navy,” Fiona replied.
“Tell you the truth, honey, I never thought he was college material,” her dad confessed.
“Guess you were right, Dad.”
“You can do a lot better. You’re too young to get serious about a boy, right, Helen?” Mr. O’Brien turned to his wife.
“I never trusted that boy, but it’s good to know he’s serving our country,” her mom said.
“He’s a heck of a lot better than those hippies we saw on the news the other day. Imagine, disrespecting our armed forces and our president. I never thought I’d live to see so many long-haired bums,” her dad said, taking the last bite of his meatloaf.
“They’re not all bums, Dad. They’re standing up for free speech and for a war that they believe is wrong.”
“What about you, Fiona? Are you against the war?” her mom asked.
“I’m against all war and all killing.” Fiona was doing her best to be diplomatic and avoid an argument.
“You’re entitled to your opinion, miss, but do not, I repeat, do not get involved with those no-good drug addicts.” Mrs. O’Brien stood, grabbed the empty dinner plates, and strode into the kitchen. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and, in a pleasant voice, said, “Anybody for dessert? I bought a lemon meringue pie.”
“No thanks, Mom.” Fiona echoed her mom’s cheery tone. “I’m gonna take a bath and meet Melissa.”
Fiona filled the tub to the brim, aware that her parents would reprimand her for wasting water if they knew. Before stepping in, she piled her auburn curls on top of her head and carefully added ten drops of Harry’s bath oil. She thought about painting a picture of herself in the tub and sending it to Lou. He could use it as an advertisement and pay her in merchandise. She smiled as she sank into her bath and fantasized about her upcoming date with Reuben.
Melissa was in an upbeat mood when Fiona arrived at her apartment. Melissa’s mother, Mrs. Patten, soon to be Mrs. Giovanni, was out for the evening.
“I think Harry’s spell is working,” Melissa announced. “I feel more relaxed. I’m not thinking so much about Mickey and wishing things were different. And guess what? I joined a yoga class!”
“I didn’t know they had yoga classes in town,” Fiona said as she lit a Kool.
“Remember Peach telling us about that Indian yogi, Swami Satchidananda at Woodstock? I guess he started a whole new thing, and now his disciples are teaching yoga classes all over the place. I went to the community college for a Tuesday morning class so I could meet people before I start school in January. They have a Saturday morning class too. You should go with me tomorrow.”
“I’m there,” Fiona said. “Any cool guys in the class?”
“Well, there’s this one dude who’s kinda cute. I’ve been checking him out, but I don’t think he’s noticed me yet.”
“Have you taken the baths and used the oils?” Fiona asked.
“Not yet. I only did the ritual. I thought doing it all at once might be too much. There’s only one thing that’s got me freaked out.”
I knew it. Should I even ask? Fiona waited for her friend to continue.
“Remember that asshole from the party? The one that watched us fooling around?”
Fiona had done her best to put the events of that night out of her mind. “Yeah, Mr. Creepo. What about him?”
“He’s in the yoga class. I thought I was going to die when I saw him, but I think he was probably too wasted that night to remember me. I’m afraid if I use Harry’s oils, he might get turned on and realize who I am,” Melissa said.
“Well, you’re either gonna use the oils or quit the class. What do you know about him?”
“That’s it. I’m worried he might be in school with me in January.”
“It was dark in that hallway. We could see his face, but I bet you anything he wasn’t looking at our faces,” Fiona rationalized. “You’ve gotta decide if you’re ready to meet Mr. Wonderful right now or just be happy Denise’s curse is broken.”
The doorbell rang, interrupting their decision-making process. Peach joined them. It was time to unveil Fiona’s surprise.
“Check it out, ladies. Courvoisier cognac. It’s been in the back of my parents’ liquor cabinet forever. They’ll never know it’s gone.” Fiona pulled the small bottle of liquid gold from her purse, dusted it off, and passed it to her friends. Melissa tuned the radio to a progressive rock show on WNEW-FM.
Fiona regaled her friends with a detailed narrative of her experiences at the New York moratorium and how proud she was to have participated in such an important event. “You guys agree that we need to do everything we can to stop the war, right?”
Even though she verbally agreed, Fiona sensed Melissa was more interested in fighting curses and evil demons than fighting for peace and justice. Peach was on board.
“Remember I told you I had vacation time coming next month?” Peach began. “Looks like my plans have changed. Read this.” She passed a flyer to Fiona with the headline “Act to End the War in Vietnam,” under which was a hand displaying the peace sign and the words “Join Us in Washington on November 15.”
Fiona learned that the Vietnam Moratorium Committee, sponsors of the October fifteenth protest, had planned a second round of antiwar moratoriums around the world. The rally would be scheduled on November fifteenth, the day after a March Against Death, where people were asked to parade down Pennsylvania Avenue carrying signs with the names of dead American soldiers and the names of destroyed Vietnamese towns.
“Another rally!” Fiona exclaimed. “Maybe Nixon won’t ignore us this time. I wish I could go.”
“I’m goin’,” Peach announced. “My vacation starts November tenth, so I’m gonna drive to Virginia, chill for a coupla days, then head to DC.”
“Where are you gonna stay?” Fiona asked.
“I bought a tent, a sleeping bag, and some camping shit, so I figure I’ll find someplace to crash. I can’t be the only one there for the duration. Maybe we could meet there, Fee.”
“How am I supposed to do that? I’d like to go with Reuben, but neither of us has a car. Maybe we could hitch a ride with somebody from school,” Fiona said.
“We’ve got a month to figure it out, so don’t give up yet. What about you, Lissie? Are you in?” Peach asked.
Melissa was lost in a daydream, watching wisps of cigarette smoke drift toward the ceiling, mouthing the words to the Beatles’ “Norwegian Wood” playing on the radio.
Peach shrugged her shoulders as if to say, What else is new?
Fiona joined Melissa at the Saturday morning yoga class. They grabbed mats and set up in the back corner of the room. As the session was about to begin, Mr. Creepo from the farmhouse party arrived and took a spot in front of them.
Fiona thought she would be sick.
The teacher, an older wiry man with unruly white hair and beard, instructed the students to move into downward-facing dog. “Come to hands and knees on your mat with your knees directly below your hips. Extend your hands ahead of your shoulders. Inhale, and as you exhale, lift your knees away from the floor and your hips toward the ceiling. Focus your gaze at your thighs or, if possible, at your navel.”
As Fiona moved into the pose, she glanced in front of her and noticed Mr. Creepo’s face staring at her from between his legs. She was sure he recognized her. She coughed to get Melissa’s attention, then tilted her head toward Mr. Creepo. Melissa’s expression mimicked Fiona’s emotional state. It would be a very long class.
Fiona was grateful for savasana, a relaxation pose signaling the end of class. As the group gathered up their belongings, their nemesis joined them.
“Do I know you chicks from somewhere?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. I’m just here for the weekend,” Fiona said.
“That red hair of yours. I know I’ve seen it before.”
“Excuse me, we’ve gotta go.” Fiona hid her face with her hair, making her words unintelligible.
“Ralph’s the name. Maybe I’ll see ya again.”
“Okay, bye.” Fiona nudged Melissa with her knee, and the two hurried out of the classroom. “Sorry, Lissie, you’re on your own. No more yoga for me. If he sees us together again, he’s gonna put two and two together.”
The girls left in the Corvair, lit a joint, forgot their worries, and in a few minutes were laughing hysterically.
Fiona took a third bath for good luck before returning to school on Sunday afternoon, hoping the magical powers of Harry’s bath oil would hold until her dinner date with Reuben the following Friday evening.
Chapter 31
For dinner, Reuben suggested The Chalet, a restaurant offering an inexpensive all-you-can-eat buffet between five and seven o’clock on Friday evenings.
Fiona’s last class on Friday ended at two o’clock, which gave her several hours to fix her hair and makeup and choose her wardrobe. After showering, she considered putting a few drops of bath oil in her hair but held back, afraid of unleashing too much sexuality and frightening Reuben.
She wrapped her hair around large rollers to soften her curls and then sat under the hairdryer provided in the dormitory bathroom. As she waited for her hair to dry, she carefully applied her makeup—just a touch of light foundation and blush, a thin line of forest-green liner to accentuate her eyes, and plenty of mascara to darken her pale lashes. She thought of her face as a canvas, an artistic endeavor. Smiling in the mirror, she gave her creation the seal of approval.
Now to choose her outfit. Every dress she owned fell high on her thigh, drawing attention to her thin but firm legs. She chose a dark green V-neck cable-knit dress that accentuated her breasts. She paired it with fishnet stockings and a pair of brown suede lace-up boots.
She secured her hair behind her ears with tiny silver clips that complemented her favorite hoop earrings. A dab of lip gloss and the final touch—two drops of Harry’s essential oil between her breasts.
Her heart pounded, her stomach churned, and her shoulders tightened. She gave herself a pep talk. Get a grip. It’s only dinner. No guarantee we’ll do anything else tonight, but I’m glad I’m wearing my best bra and panties—just in case.
She took one last look in the mirror and shut her door.
She took slow, calming breaths as she rode the elevator to the lobby, where she would meet Reuben at five o’clock. The women’s dorms had recently eased their curfew restrictions. Rather than requiring female students to be in their rooms by midnight, the rules now allowed them the freedom to stay out all night, provided they indicated their status on the sign-out sheet. Hopeful she would be so fortunate, Fiona checked the “return by noon” box, took a seat, and waited for Reuben.
Promptly at five, Reuben arrived wearing his fringed brown suede jacket, slightly flared brown corduroy slacks, and Frye boots. His hair was neatly tied back in a ponytail, which accentuated his cheekbones. Fiona smiled and stood. She was relieved he hadn’t worn a suit.
“I dig your outfit. You look really cool!” Reuben said, giving Fiona a peck on the cheek.
“You too, Reuben. Love the jacket.”
“Thanks. Let’s split.”
A ten-minute ride on the campus bus took them from the Student Union building to the center of town.
“I’ve only been downtown a couple of times. Last year, I mostly stayed on campus during the week and went home on weekends,” Fiona said.
“There’s not much to see. If you look down that street there”—Reuben pointed to his left—“you’ll see the Powder Puff, home of yours truly. Come on. Here’s our stop.”
The Chalet imagined itself to be an Alpine retreat. The restaurant, which had seen better days, catered to college students and local families on a budget. Faux gabled windows were framed by dark wooden beams. Private booths with red vinyl seats lined the walls; tables for four were scattered throughout the center. They sat in a booth for two, far enough away from the buffet for privacy.
“There’s no way we can score drinks in this place. They’re on the lookout for college students like us,” Reuben apologized.
“I’d never be able to pass for twenty-one anyway. I wish the drinking age was eighteen like it is in New York.” She would have given anything for a drink or a joint to calm her nerves.
“Why is it that we’re old enough to be sent to Vietnam but not old enough to vote or order a glass of wine?” Reuben shook his head and stared at the ceiling.
They ordered Cokes from the waitress and made their way to the buffet, a meat lover’s paradise. Hot and cold slices of roast beef and ham, beef stroganoff, ground beef and macaroni, cheap cuts of steak, and plenty of mystery meat—more meat than Fiona had ever seen in one place.
“I know how you feel about meat, but they do have lots of vegetables and salads,” Reuben said, handing her a plate.
Back at their booth, Reuben asked, “I think I know the answer, but I want to be sure. You’re not dating anybody, are you?” “No,” she replied simply.
“But were you?”
A piece of scalloped potato lodged itself halfway down her throat. She coughed. “Well, I sort of was, but it’s over.”
“Was it serious? I told you my story, but you never told me anything.”
Fiona stared at her plate. It was now or never. “I was seeing this guy from high school, Jack. We started going out last spring and broke up right around the time school started. The whole thing was a big mistake.”
“Couldn’t be as big a mistake as my fucked-up relationship. What happened?”
She took a breath, then began. “I kinda knew it wasn’t gonna last. He was a real get-over with other people, but I didn’t think he’d pull any crap with me. I was so wrong. He called me at the dorm to break up. Didn’t even have the nerve to do it in person.”
“I wish my breakup had happened over the phone. I could’ve avoided the scars. It always looks better from the other side, doesn’t it?”
“I guess so. When I look back, I should’ve seen it coming, but I didn’t. Here’s the worst part—he’s joining the navy. He knew how I felt about the war, and he still enlisted. I’m really better off without him.” There was no way she’d tell Reuben about Jack getting married.
Reuben reached across the table and held Fiona’s hand. “A guy like that’s always gonna bring you down. I’m sorry you had to get hurt, but if it hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here today.”
I don’t deserve to be with Reuben. Wait till he gets to know me; he’ll dump me too. Fiona tried pushing her thoughts aside. It was too late.
“What’s on your mind? You’re a million miles away,” Reuben said, squeezing her hand.
“Sorry. I was just thinking how nice you are,” she said.
