An Independent Woman (25 page)

“Who is?”

“Barbara. She was in prison once. That's what unites us. We're a people of the prisons.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“The blacks. Me. My people. Freddie, do you ever use that pretty head of yours for anything but your fancy sailor cap?”

“There you go.”

“I apologize.”

“I graduated Princeton
summa cum laude.
”

“Freddie, darling, you're brilliant about everything that doesn't matter.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, about Barbara. Why did she go to prison?”

“Well, it's a bit complicated. She was involved in the Spanish Civil War in 1938, and she was part of a group that established a hospital in Toulouse for wounded and sick Spanish Republicans and their families. She raised a lot of money from people like my grandfather and others she knew, and then she was subpoenaed by the House Un-American Committee and told to give them the names of the contributors, and she refused. Contempt of Congress. They put her in jail for six months.”

“For being decent and honorable?”

“Decent and honorable don't pay off.”

“How did she get that way? Her family was so rich.”

“It's not being rich that corrupts me and makes me different from my aunt Barbara, it's having a father who left me more money than I ever needed—not Adam, who adopted me, but my biological father—what a disgusting term—Thomas. Lavette; and whenever my aunt Barbara has one of her numberless causes, marches, or campaigns, she comes to me and gets enough money to ease my conscience.”

Back at Sausalito Freddie tied up his boat while Judith furled and knotted the sail. The rubber dinghy took them to shore and, both of them starved now, they drove back to San Francisco and to Gino's, a small Italian restaurant. “My grandfather Dan Lavette used to eat here,” Freddie told her. “Now Gino's son runs the place. They make their own pasta, and it's the best. When I'm filled with life and energy, the way I am now, I always want pasta. It's genetic. I'm one-quarter Italian, you know.”

The younger Gino embraced Freddie. “Where have you been? I haven't seen you in months.” He stared admiringly at Judith and then stared questioningly at Freddie.

“I kidnapped him,” Judith said.

Bewildered, Gino led them to a table. “A bottle of Highgate red?” he asked.

“Absolutely. And linguine with clams and garlic and olive oil.”

“I'll have the same,” Judith agreed.

Each plate was enough for a family of three, and they ate and drank and ordered another bottle of wine and stuffed themselves with bread and pasta, and Judith declared that it was the best of everything; the best bread, the best wine.

“I feel human with you,” Freddie said. “I'm born again. I'm not a good Christian, so how about a born-again pagan? Will you have me?”

“I might.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Maybe. I'm ready to think about it.”

“Me, not the boat.”

She smiled. “I'm ready to think about it, Freddie. Of course, the boat comes with you. I'm a bit drunk, so when I sober up I may change my mind. Your face is red as a beet. You're blushing.”

“I'm sunburnt. I don't blush. My God, this is the first time you even bent a little. Judy, I loved you the first time I saw you.”

“Did you? You thought I was a classy hooker, and all you cared about was getting me into bed.”

“Is that so terrible?”

“Freddie, you're drunk, and how are you going to get us home?”

“Very carefully.”

“You know, sweet man,” she said, “I'm glad you took it to my mama and papa that night. Otherwise, if I simply told them I was in love with a white man, my papa might have put me over his knee and walloped me. You've lived an easy life, Freddie. Now the hard part begins.”

“Not so easy. I was at Princeton during the big civil rights drive of the sixties. A bunch of us went down to Mississippi to register black voters. A gang of rednecks caught us. They killed one of the kids and whipped and beat me half to death. I ended up in a hospital in Mississippi.”

“Freddie—Freddie, why didn't you ever tell me this?”

“Why should I? It was nothing to boast about. I'm here. I'm alive, and I'm all right.”

She had tears in her eyes. “Yes, you're here. Take me home, Freddie. I want to hold you in my arms. I want to make love.”

A
FEW DAYS AFTER THAT SATURDAY
, Barbara received a letter from May Ling. “My dear Aunt Barbara,” it began, “We're here in Paris…” Ruefully, Barbara reflected that she had agreed to put off their own journey until October, due to tasks Philip faced at the church. But at least May Ling was in Paris.

… and it's wonderful. Oh, if I could only speak French the way you do! My Spanish is good, but two years of high school French aren't enough to talk to a waiter; Harry says that we'll go on to Madrid and Barcelona, where I will at least have the power of speech. Harry speaks French like a native, and he appears to know everyone in Paris. Of course that's an exaggeration, but he has an office here and we've been to dinner three times at the homes of French people he knows. His firm has a small apartment on the Quai d'Orsay.

Harry was always so shy. I know I'm shy, but with me he was even worse, and he's like another person I never knew. He worships me, Barbara, and I don't know how to be worshiped. We had lunch yesterday at Le Moulin du Village—I had to ask Harry how to spell it—and I felt that I was in the most romantic place in the world, and the proprietor and the waiters made such a fuss over me. They thought I was from Java or some such place, and everyone has been wonderful to me, and when they see I don't understand their French, they say very flattering things that Harry translates later with great glee. I tell him I don't believe a word of it.

Wasn't the wedding simply wonderful? I will never forget it as long as I live, and when Daddy told me that Freddie paid for most of it, I sat down and cried. I never understood Freddie, and I guess he never understood me. Mother was very sweet to Harry the day we left. Harry said to her that he had no object in life more important than to make me happy, and Danny actually kissed him and Mother wept. But she's quite happy, because Daddy has a new nurse, and that frees Mother, who met a producer at the wedding—I don't remember his name, but I guess you invited him—and he knew about Mother's career, and he has a small role for her in his new picture, and I do hope she's not disappointed, but she was so happy.

Harry is the sweetest, most caring man, and I can't believe that he's the terror of prosecutors, as they make him out to be.

We also went up in the Eiffel Tower. I'll write again soon, probably from Spain. How's Philip—I don't mean as a husband, but how is he?

Love,

May Ling

“T
HANK GOD FOR SATURDAY
, and you don't have to work,” Judith said. “I wait all week for Saturday. I'm a born-again Baptist. Are you a Jew, Freddie?”

“I'm not a Jew. I'm nothing. You know that. I'm a heathen who worships a black goddess.”

“You shouldn't say that. It's blasphemy.”

“So be it. Adam decided to stop being Jewish today and declared it a workday. The harvest waits for no man's religion. If he could, he'd have my mother out there picking grapes. I told him I was going sailing, and he threw a fit. Don't think I don't sacrifice for you.”

She sat in the stern, the tiller under her arm, her head thrown back in sheer ecstasy—“Tell Adam that I passed up a job today for this. When the harvest's over, it's going to be every Saturday and Sunday. But after church on Sunday.”

“You go to church?”

“You know I do.”

“And you meant what you said about blasphemy?”

“Absolutely. I don't want to be worshiped. That's bullshit, and you know it is. I'm a God-fearing Baptist, and don't you ever forget that—and those four children you've scheduled for me are going to be baptized Baptists, not Episcopalian Catholics.”

“Whatever you say. And that means you're going to marry me?”

“That way I get the boat;”

“It's a deal,” Freddie said. “What did you think of the wedding?”

“I loved it. But you met my father. Either I get married in his church or I'm not married at all, and you'd better make it soon. I think I missed my period.”

“No. You're kidding?” he said incredulously.

“Maybe I am, maybe not. I've been late before, but not when I've been sleeping with someone every night.”

“Hallelujah!” Freddie exclaimed, leaping back to embrace her.

“Freddie, you'll swamp us!” She clung to the tiller as he embraced her and kissed her.

J
UDITH HAD A PHOTOGRAPHY SESSION
with Frank Halter, perhaps the best known of all fashion photographers, at ten o'clock in the morning. She called Obie Johnson, a cabdriver, to pick her up at nine. Judith liked to arrive early for photography sessions. She was meticulous about her work and had the reputation in the industry of being one of the easiest models to work with.

Judith did not own a car. The thought of driving in San Francisco daunted her, and she had two cabdrivers, both of them black, who were utterly devoted to her, and whom she would call a day in advance with her schedule. On this morning she wore the swimsuit she would be modeling under a sport skirt and pullover. She preferred to dress at home whenever it was possible. Simone Casis, her maid, a black woman, would come to her house from eight to twelve, dust, make the bed, and help her to dress if the costume was complicated. This morning it was a simple matter, and Simone walked to the door with her, carrying a cashmere sweater. The morning was chilly, and she was trying to convince Judith to take the sweater.

Outside, Obie Johnson, a burly black man, was standing beside his parked cab. He adored Judith and considered himself her bodyguard as well as her driver. Judith took the sweater from Simone and leaped into the cab, telling Obie, “I'm late, Obie, and Frank Halter gets snotty when I'm late.”

“Nobody gets snotty with you, Ms. Hope. Not when I'm driving.”

“Then take off.”

Obie was a better-than-good driver, but he adored Judith. He took a shortcut on Taylor, broke half a dozen traffic rules, and then swung left down Russian Hill toward the Embarcadero; and what happened was something that happens all too often in San Francisco. A truck cut him off, and for all that he stood on his brakes, he could not stop—and broadsided the truck.

F
REDDIE WAS IN HIS OFFICE
at Highgate when Ms. Gomez opened the door and said, “Mr. Lavette, there's a San Francisco police inspector on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, what have I done now?”

Ms. Gomez put the call through. Freddie picked up the phone and said, “Frederick Lavette.”

“Do you know a Judith Hope? This is Inspector Morrison.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I'm sorry to tell you this. She's been hurt.”

Freddie's throat choked up. He tried to speak, but the words would not come. Then he gasped, “How bad? Is she alive? What happened?”

“They've taken her to Mercy Hospital. That's all I can tell you now.”

Freddie put down the phone and left his office, telling Ms. Gomez, “I'll probably be gone all day. Judith's been hurt. They've taken her to Mercy Hospital.”

“That's your cousin Sam's hospital. Do you want me to call them?”

Freddie hesitated. “No, I'm going there.”

He was not a reckless driver, but now he broke all records between Highgate and San Francisco, the pain inside of him as great as if the hurt had been to him instead of Judith. He was not a person who prayed, but now he pleaded to a God he had never given much thought to, begging, “Please, please, let her be alive. I'll care for her, I'll be with her every minute of my life. Don't let her die. She's too good, too beautiful. I love her. I love her the way I've never been able to love another human being. Don't take her away.”

DR. SAM
LAVETTE COHEN, the son of Barbara's first marriage, had called Highgate a few minutes after Freddie left, and now he was waiting as Freddie drove into the parking lot at Mercy Hospital, where Sam was chief of surgery. He blocked Freddie's impulsive rush toward the entrance.

“How is she? Where is she?”

“She's in the operating room, and she'll be all right. She'll live, and she has one of the best teams in the City working on her. I'd be there now, but I wasn't on duty when she came in. So pull yourself together, Freddie. I told you she's not critical.”

“For God's sake, what happened?”

“She was in a car crash. She was riding in a cab. The driver was killed. Now I'm going to take you upstairs, and I want you to sit down and stay calm.”

“When can I see her?” Freddie begged.

“When she comes out of the operating room, she'll go into intensive care. I'm going to change and join the team. I know what you're feeling, but the only thing you can do is to stay calm and wait. I'll try to get you to her when she comes out.”

“But what happened? How badly was she injured?”

“Later. Now, I don't know. I only know that she'll live.”

A
FRANTIC ELOISE CALLED BARBARA
and told her that according to Ms. Gomez, Judith Hope had been injured, and that she had called Mercy Hospital and tried to reach Sam, but he was not to be found, and the hospital would release no information.

“But what happened?” Barbara asked. “How was she hurt?”

“That's it. I don't know and I can't find out, and according to Ms. Gomez, Freddie was terribly disturbed and took off like a gust of wind. Barbara, I've never seen anything like this in Freddie. Oh yes, there have been other women, but he is absolutely insane about Judith Hope. He talked with Adam and me last night. He is determined to marry her, and he wanted our agreement, which of course we gave. Adam feels that a few kids running around the place would be wonderful, and I agreed, because I can't think of a better place for a child to grow up than Highgate. Freddie said that at first she wouldn't even talk about children, but now that she agreed to marry him, she wants at least four kids—” Eloise had a tendency to go on and on with the telephone, and Barbara had to cut her short and promise that she would drive over to Mercy Hospital, and that she would call Eloise as soon as she found out what had happened to Judith.