*
That evening George took Maria Summers out to dinner for her twenty-ninth birthday.
He was worried about her. Maria had changed her job and moved to a different apartment, but she did not yet have a boyfriend. She socialized with girls from the State Department about once a week, and she went out with George now and again, but she had no romantic life. George feared she was still mourning. The assassination was almost two years ago, but a person could easily take longer than that to recover from the murder of her lover.
His affection for Maria was definitely not that of a brother. He found her sexy and alluring, and had done ever since that bus ride to Alabama. He felt about her the way he felt about Skip Dickerson’s wife, who was gorgeous and charming. Like his best friend’s wife, Maria was simply not available. If life had turned out differently, he felt sure he might be happily married to her. But he had Verena; and Maria wanted no one.
They went to the Jockey Club. Maria wore a grey wool dress, smart but plain. She had no jewellery on, and wore her glasses all the time. Her hairpiece was a little old-fashioned. She had a pretty face and a sexy mouth, and – more importantly – she had a warm heart: she could have found a man easily, if only she had tried. However, people were beginning to say that she was a career girl, a woman whose job was the most important thing in her life. George did not really think that could make her happy, and he fretted about her.
‘I just got a promotion,’ she said as they sat down at the restaurant table.
‘Congratulations!’ said George. ‘Let’s have champagne.’
‘Oh, no, thank you, I have to work tomorrow.’
‘It’s your birthday!’
‘All the same, I won’t. I might have a small brandy later, to help me sleep.’
George shrugged. ‘Well, I guess your seriousness explains your promotion. I know you’re intelligent, capable, and extremely well educated, but none of that counts, normally, if your skin is dark.’
‘Absolutely. It’s always been next to impossible for people of colour to get high posts in government.’
‘Well done for overcoming that prejudice. It’s quite an achievement.’
‘Things have changed since you left the Justice Department – and you know why? The government is trying to persuade Southern police forces to hire Negroes, but the Southerners say: “Look at your own staff – they’re all white!” So senior officials are under pressure. To prove they’re not prejudiced, they need to promote people of colour.’
‘They probably think one example is enough.’
Maria laughed. ‘Plenty.’
They ordered. George reflected that both he and Maria had succeeded in breaking the colour bar, but that did not show that it was not there. On the contrary, they were the exceptions that proved the rule.
Maria was thinking along the same lines. ‘Bobby Kennedy seems all right,’ she said.
‘When I first met him he regarded civil rights as a distraction from more important issues. But the great thing about Bobby is that he’ll see reason, and change his mind if necessary.’
‘How’s he doing?’
‘Early days yet,’ George said evasively. Bobby had been elected as the Senator from New York, and George was one of his close aides. George felt that Bobby was not adjusting well to his new role. He had been through so many changes – leading advisor to his brother the President, then sidelined by President Johnson, and now a junior Senator – that he was in danger of losing track of who he was.
‘He ought to speak out against the Vietnam War!’ Maria clearly felt passionately about this, and George sensed that she had been planning to lobby him. ‘President Kennedy was reducing our effort in Vietnam, and he refused again and again to send ground combat troops,’ she said. ‘But as soon as Johnson was elected he sent 3,500 Marines, and the Pentagon immediately asked for more. In June, they demanded another 175,000 troops – and General Westmoreland said it probably wouldn’t be enough! But Johnson just lies about it all the time.’
‘I know. And the bombing of the North was supposed to bring Ho Chi Minh to the negotiating table, but it just seems to have made the Communists more resolute.’
‘Which is exactly what was predicted when the Pentagon war-gamed it.’
‘Did they? I don’t think Bobby knows that.’ George would tell him tomorrow.
‘It’s not generally known, but they ran two war games on the effect of bombing North Vietnam. Both showed the same result: an increase in Vietcong attacks in the South.’
‘This is exactly the spiral of failure and escalation that Jack Kennedy feared.’
‘And my brother’s eldest boy is coming up to draft age.’ Maria’s face showed her fear for her nephew. ‘I don’t want Stevie to be killed! Why doesn’t Senator Kennedy speak out?’
‘He knows it will make him unpopular.’
Maria was not willing to accept that. ‘Will it? People don’t like this war.’
‘People don’t like politicians who undermine our troops by criticizing the war.’
‘He can’t let public opinion dictate to him.’
‘Men who ignore public opinion don’t remain in politics long, not in a democracy.’
Maria raised her voice in frustration. ‘So no one can ever oppose a war?’
‘Maybe that’s why we have so many of them.’
Their food came, and Maria changed the subject. ‘How is Verena?’
George felt he knew Maria well enough to be frank. ‘I adore her,’ he said. ‘She stays at my apartment every time she comes to town, which is about once a month. But she doesn’t seem to want to settle down.’
‘If she settled down with you, she’d have to live in Washington.’
‘Is that so bad?’
‘Her job is in Atlanta.’
George did not see the problem. ‘Most women live where their husband’s job is.’
‘Things are changing. If Negroes can be equal, why not women?’
‘Oh, come on!’ George said indignantly. ‘It’s not the same.’
‘It certainly is not. Sexism is worse. Half the human race are enslaved.’
‘Enslaved?’
‘Think how many housewives work hard all day for no pay! And in most parts of the world, a woman who leaves her husband is liable to be arrested and brought home by the police. Someone who works for nothing and can’t leave the job is called a slave, George.’
George was annoyed by this argument, the more so as Maria seemed to be winning it. But he saw an opportunity to bring up the subject that was really worrying him. He said: ‘Is this why you’re single?’
Maria looked uncomfortable. ‘Partly,’ she said, not meeting his eye.
‘When do you think you might start dating again?’
‘Soon, I guess.’
‘Don’t you want to?’
‘Yes, but I work hard, and don’t have much spare time.’
George did not buy this. ‘You think no one can ever live up to the man you lost.’
She did not deny it. ‘Am I wrong?’ she said.
‘I believe you could find someone who would be kinder to you than he was. Someone smart and sexy and also faithful.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Would you go out on a blind date?’
‘I might.’
‘Do you care if he’s black or white?’
‘Black. It’s too much trouble, dating white guys.’
‘Okay.’ George was thinking of Leopold Montgomery, the reporter. But he did not say so yet. ‘How was your steak?’
‘It melted in the mouth. Thank you for bringing me here. And for remembering my birthday.’
They ate dessert, then had brandy with coffee. ‘I have a white cousin,’ said George. ‘How about that? Dave Williams. I met him today.’
‘How come you haven’t seen him before?’
‘He’s a British pop singer, here on tour with his group, Plum Nellie.’
Maria had never heard of them. ‘Ten years ago I knew every act in the hit parade. Am I growing old?’
George smiled. ‘You’re twenty-nine today.’
‘Only a year off thirty! Where did the time go?’
‘Their big hit was called “I Miss Ya, Alicia”.’