George hurried out. Nelly was an attractive woman with a kind heart. Why had Greg not married her? Perhaps it suited him to be a bachelor.
George’s taxi driver said: ‘You work in the White House?’
‘I work for Bobby Kennedy. I’m a lawyer.’
‘No kidding!’ The driver did not trouble to hide his surprise that a Negro should be a lawyer with a high-powered job. ‘You tell Bobby we ought to bomb Cuba to dust. That’s what we ought to do. Bomb them to goddamn dust.’
‘Do you know how big Cuba is, end to end?’ George said.
‘What is this, a quiz show?’ the driver said resentfully.
George shrugged and said no more. Nowadays he avoided political discussions with outsiders. They usually had easy answers: send all the Mexicans home, put Hell’s Angels in the army, castrate the queers. The greater their ignorance, the stronger their opinions.
Georgetown was only a few minutes away, but the journey seemed long. George imagined Maria collapsed on the floor, or lying in bed on the edge of death, or in a coma.
The address Nelly had given George turned out to be a gracious old house divided into studio apartments. Maria did not answer her downstairs doorbell, but a black girl who looked like a student let George in and pointed out Maria’s room.
Maria came to the door in a bathrobe. She certainly looked sick. Her face was bloodless and her expression dejected. She did not say, ‘Come in,’ but she walked away leaving the door open, and he entered. At least she was ambulatory, he thought with relief: he had feared worse.
It was a tiny place, one room with a kitchenette. He guessed she shared the bathroom down the hall.
He looked hard at her. It pained him to see her this way, not just sick, but miserable. He longed to take her in his arms, but he knew that would be unwelcome. ‘Maria, what’s the matter?’ he said. ‘You look terrible!’
‘Just feminine problems, that’s all.’
That phrase was normally code for a menstrual period, but he was pretty sure this was something else.
‘Let me make you a cup of coffee – or maybe tea?’ He took off his coat.
‘No, thanks,’ she said.
He decided to make it anyway, just to show her that he cared. But then he glanced at the chair she was about to sit on, and saw that the seat was stained with blood.
She noticed it at the same time, blushed, and said: ‘Oh, hell.’
George knew a little about women’s bodies. Several possibilities passed through his mind. He said: ‘Maria, have you suffered a miscarriage?’
‘No,’ she said tonelessly. She hesitated.
George waited patiently.
At last Maria said: ‘An abortion.’
‘You poor thing.’ He grabbed a towel from the kitchenette, folded it, and placed it on the bloodstain. ‘Sit on this, for now,’ he said. ‘Rest.’ He looked at the shelf over the refrigerator and saw a packet of jasmine tea. Figuring that must be what she liked, he put water on to heat. He said no more until he had made the tea.
Abortion law varied from state to state. George knew that in DC it was legal for the purpose of protecting the health of the mother. Many doctors interpreted this liberally, to include the woman’s health and general wellbeing. In practice, anyone who had the money could find a doctor willing to perform an abortion.
Although she had said she did not want tea, she took a cup.
He sat opposite her with a cup for himself. ‘Your secret lover,’ he said. ‘I guess he’s the father.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you for the tea. I presume World War Three hasn’t started yet, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’
‘The Soviets turned their ships back, so the danger of a showdown at sea has receded. But the Cubans still have nukes, aimed at us.’
Maria seemed too depressed to care.
George said: ‘He wouldn’t marry you.’
‘No.’
‘Because he’s already married?’
She did not answer.
‘So he found you a doctor and paid the bill.’
She nodded.
George thought that was a despicable way to behave, but if he said so she would probably throw him out for insulting the man she loved. Trying to control his anger, George said: ‘Where is he now?’
‘He’ll call.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Soon, probably.’
George decided not to ask any more questions. It would be unkind to interrogate her. And she did not need to be told how foolish she had been. What did she need? He decided to ask. ‘Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?’
She started to cry. Between sobs she said: ‘I hardly know you! How come you’re my only real friend in the whole city?’
He knew the answer to that question. She had a secret that she would not share. That made it difficult for others to be close to her.
She said: ‘Lucky for me you’re so kind.’
Her gratitude embarrassed him. ‘Does it hurt?’ he said.
‘Yes, it hurts like hell.’
‘Should I call a doctor?’
‘It’s not that bad. They told me to expect this.’
‘Do you have any aspirin?’
‘No.’
‘Why don’t I step out and get you some?’
‘Would you? I hate to ask a man to run errands.’
‘It’s okay, this is an emergency.’
‘There’s a drugstore right on the corner of the block.’
George put down his cup and shrugged on his coat.
Maria said: ‘Could I ask you an even bigger favour?’
‘Sure.’
‘I need sanitary napkins. Do you think you could buy a box?’
He hesitated. A man buying sanitary napkins?
She said: ‘No, it’s too much to ask, forget it.’
‘Hell, what are they going to do, arrest me?’
‘The brand name is Kotex.’
George nodded. ‘I’ll be right back.’
His bravado did not last long. When he reached the drugstore, he felt stricken with embarrassment. He told himself to shape up. So, it was uncomfortable. Men his age were risking their lives in the jungles of Vietnam. How bad could this be?
The store had three self-service aisles and a counter. Aspirin was not displayed on the open shelves, but sold from the counter.
To George’s dismay, feminine sanitary products were the same.
He picked up a cardboard container with six bottles of Coke. She was bleeding, so she needed fluids. But he could not postpone the moment of mortification for long.
He went up to the counter.
The pharmacist was a middle-aged white woman. Just my luck, he thought.
He put the Cokes on the counter and said: ‘I need some aspirin, please.’
‘What size? We have small, medium and large bottles.’
George was thrown. What if she asked him what size sanitary towels he wanted? ‘Uh, large, I guess,’ he said.
The pharmacist put a large bottle of aspirin on the counter. ‘Anything else?’
A young woman shopper came and stood behind him, holding a wire basket containing cosmetics. She was obviously going to hear everything.
‘Anything else?’ the pharmacist repeated.
Come on, George, be a man, he thought. ‘I need a box of sanitary napkins,’ he said. ‘Kotex.’
The young woman behind him stifled a giggle.
The pharmacist looked at him over her spectacles. ‘Young man, are you doing this for a bet?’
‘No, mam!’ he said indignantly. ‘They are for a lady who is too sick to come to the store.’
She looked him up and down, taking in the dark-grey suit, the white shirt, the plain tie, and the folded white handkerchief in the breast pocket of the jacket. He was glad he did not look like a student involved in a jape. ‘All right, I believe you,’ she said. She reached below the counter and picked up a box.
George stared at it in horror. The word ‘Kotex’ was printed on the side in large letters. Was he going to have to carry that out in the street?
The pharmacist read his mind. ‘I guess you’d like me to wrap this for you.’
‘Yes, please.’
With quick, practised movements she wrapped the box in brown paper, then she put it in a bag with the aspirin.
George paid.
The pharmacist gave him a hard look, then seemed to relent. ‘I’m sorry I doubted you,’ she said. ‘You must be a good friend to some girl.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, and he hurried out.
Despite the October cold, he was perspiring.
He returned to Maria’s place. She took three aspirins then went along the corridor to the bathroom, clutching the wrapped box.
George put the Cokes in the refrigerator then looked around. He saw a shelf of law books over a small desk with framed photographs. A family group showed her parents, he presumed, and an elderly clergyman who must be her distinguished grandfather. Another showed Maria in graduation robes. There was also a picture of President Kennedy. She had a television set, a radio and a record player. He looked through her discs. She liked the latest pop music, he saw: the Crystals; Little Eva; Booker T and the MGs. On the table beside her bed was the novel Ship of Fools.
While she was out, the phone rang.
George picked it up. ‘This is Maria’s phone.’
A man’s voice said: ‘May I speak with Maria, please?’
The voice was vaguely familiar, but George could not place it. ‘She stepped out,’ he said. ‘Who is— wait a minute, she just walked in.’
Maria snatched the phone from him. ‘Hello? Oh, hi . . . He’s a friend, he brought me some aspirins . . . Oh, not too bad, I’ll get by . . .’
George said: ‘I’ll step outside, give you some privacy.’
He strongly disapproved of Maria’s lover. Even if the jerk was married, he should have been here. He had made her pregnant, so he should have taken care of her after the abortion.
That voice . . . George had heard it before. Had he actually met Maria’s lover? It would not be surprising, if the man was a work colleague, as George’s mother surmised. But the voice on the phone was not Pierre Salinger’s.
The girl who had let him in now walked by, on her way out again. She grinned at him standing outside the door like a naughty boy. ‘Have you been misbehaving in class?’ she said.
‘No such luck,’ said George.
She laughed and walked on.
Maria opened the door and he went back inside. ‘I really have to get back to work,’ he said.
‘I know. You came to visit me in the middle of the Cuba crisis. I’ll never forget that.’ She was visibly happier now that she had talked to her man.
Suddenly George had a flash of realization. ‘That voice!’ he said. ‘On the phone.’
‘You recognized it?’
He was astonished. ‘Are you having an affair with Dave Powers?’
To George’s consternation, Maria laughed out loud. ‘Please!’ she said.
He saw right away how unlikely it was. Dave, the President’s personal assistant, was a homely-looking man of about fifty who still wore a hat. He was not likely to win the heart of a beautiful and lively young woman.
A moment later, George realized who Maria was having an affair with.
‘Oh, my God,’ he said, staring. He was astonished at what he had just figured out.
Maria said nothing.
‘You’re sleeping with President Kennedy,’ George said in amazement.
‘Please don’t tell!’ she begged. ‘If you do, he’ll leave me. Promise, please!’
‘I promise,’ said George.