*
It was another week before George got a chance to tell Norine Latimer that their affair was over.
He was dreading it.
He had broken up with girls before, of course. After one or two dates it was easy: you just didn’t call. After a longer relationship, in his experience, the feeling was usually mutual: both of you knew that the thrill had gone. But Norine fell between the two extremes. He had been seeing her for only a couple of months, and they were getting on fine. He had been hoping that they would spend a night together soon. She would not be expecting the brush-off.
He met her for lunch. She asked to be taken to the restaurant in the basement of the White House, known as the mess, but women were not allowed in. George did not want to take her somewhere swanky such as the Jockey Club, for fear she would imagine he was about to propose. In the end they went to Old Ebbitt’s, a traditional politicians’ restaurant that had seen better days.
Norine looked more Arabic than African. She was dramatically handsome, with wavy black hair and olive skin and a curved nose. She wore a fluffy sweater that really did not suit her: George guessed she was trying not to intimidate her boss. Men were uncomfortable with authoritative-looking women in their offices.
‘I’m really sorry about cancelling last night,’ he said when they had ordered. ‘I was summoned to a meeting with the President.’
‘Well, I can’t compete with the President,’ she said.
That struck him as kind of a dumb thing to say. Of course she couldn’t compete with the President; no one could. But he did not want to get into that discussion. He went right to the point. ‘Something’s happened,’ he said. ‘Before I met you, there was another girl.’
‘I know,’ said Norine.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I like you, George,’ Norine said. ‘You’re smart and funny and kind. And you’re handsome, apart from that ear.’
‘But . . .’
‘But I can tell when a man is carrying a torch for someone else.’
‘You can?’
‘I guess it’s Maria,’ said Norine.
George was astonished. ‘How the heck did you know that?’
‘You’ve mentioned the name four or five times. And you’ve never talked about any other girl from your past. So it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she’s still important to you. But she’s in Chicago, so I thought maybe I could win you away from her.’ Norine suddenly looked sad.
George said: ‘She’s come to Washington.’
‘Smart girl.’
‘Not for me. For a job.’
‘Whichever, you’re dumping me for her.’
He could hardly say ‘Yes’ to that. But it was true, so he said nothing.
Their food came, but Norine did not pick up her fork. ‘I wish you well, George,’ she said. ‘Take care of yourself.’
It seemed very sudden. ‘Uh . . . you too.’
She stood up. ‘Goodbye.’
There was only one thing to say. ‘Goodbye, Norine.’
‘You can have my salad,’ she said, and she walked out.
George toyed with his food for a few minutes, feeling bad. Norine had been gracious, in her own way. She had made it easy for him. He hoped she was okay. She did not deserve to be hurt.
He went from the restaurant to the White House. He had to attend the President’s Committee on Equal Employment Opportunity, chaired by Vice-President Lyndon Johnson. George had formed an alliance with one of Johnson’s advisors, Skip Dickerson. But he had half an hour to spare before the meeting started, so he went to the press office in search of Maria.
Today she was wearing a polka-dot dress with a matching hairband. The band was probably holding in place a wig: Maria’s cute bob was definitely not natural.
When she asked him how he was, he did not know how to answer. He felt guilty about Norine; but now he could ask Maria out with a good conscience. ‘Pretty good, on balance,’ he said. ‘You?’
She lowered her voice. ‘Some days I just hate white people.’
‘What brought this on?’
‘You haven’t met my grandfather.’
‘Never met any of your family.’
‘Grandpa still preaches in Chicago now and again, but he spends most of his time in his home town, Golgotha, Alabama. Says he never really got used to the cold wind in the Midwest. But he’s still feisty. He put on his best suit and went down to the Golgotha courthouse to register to vote.’
‘What happened?’
‘They humiliated him.’ She shook her head. ‘You know their tricks. They give people a literacy test: you have to read part of the state constitution aloud, explain it, then write it down. The registrar picks which clause you have to read. He gives whites a simple sentence, like: “No person shall be imprisoned for debt”. But Negroes get a long, complicated paragraph that only a lawyer could understand. Then it’s up to the registrar to say whether you’re literate or not, and, of course, he always decides the whites are literate and the Negroes aren’t.’
‘Sons of bitches.’
‘That’s not all. Negroes who try to register get fired from their jobs, as a punishment, but they couldn’t do that to Grandpa because he’s retired. So, as he was leaving the courthouse, they arrested him for loitering. He spent the night in jail – no picnic when you’re eighty.’ There were tears in her eyes.
The story hardened George’s resolve. What did he have to complain about? So, some of the things he had to do made him want to wash his hands. Working for Bobby was still the most effective thing he could do for people like Grandpa Summers. One day those Southern racists would be smashed.
He looked at his watch. ‘I have a meeting with Lyndon.’
‘Tell him about my grandpa.’
‘Maybe I will.’ The time George spent with Maria always seemed too short. ‘I’m sorry to hurry away, but do you want to meet up after work?’ he said. ‘We could have drinks, maybe go for dinner somewhere?’
She smiled. ‘Thank you, George, but I have a date tonight.’
‘Oh.’ George was taken aback. Somehow it had not occurred to him that she might already be dating. ‘Uh, I have to go to Atlanta tomorrow, but I’ll be back in two or three days. Maybe at the weekend?’
‘No, thanks.’ She hesitated, then explained: ‘I’m kind of going steady.’
George was devastated – which was stupid: why would a girl as attractive as Maria not have a steady date? He had been a fool. He felt disoriented, as if he had lost his footing. He managed to say: ‘Lucky guy.’
She smiled. ‘It’s nice of you to say so.’
George wanted to know about the competition. ‘Who is he?’
‘You don’t know him.’
No, but I will as soon as I can learn his name. ‘Try me.’
She shook her head. ‘I prefer not to say.’
George was frustrated beyond measure. He had a rival and did not even know the man’s name. He wanted to press her, but he was wary of acting like a bully: girls hated that. ‘Okay,’ he said reluctantly. With massive insincerity he added: ‘Have a great evening.’
‘I sure will.’
They separated, Maria heading for the press office and George towards the Vice-President’s rooms.
George was heartsick. He liked Maria more than any girl he had ever met, and he had lost her to someone else.
He thought: I wonder who he is?