Page 29 of Summer of '69
Monday is picture-perfect—warm sun, low humidity, a silken blue sky, a delicious breeze off the water that Kirby enjoys through the open window of Mr. Ames’s pickup truck. Kirby had spent six precious dollars of her disposable income on taxis to and from work before Mr. Ames saved the day by offering to drive her back to Oak Bluffs in the mornings, since they kept the same schedule. Normally, both Kirby and Mr. Ames are too tired for conversation, but on Monday morning, Kirby is excited about the day ahead.
“I’m going to Inkwell Beach,” Kirby says to Mr. Ames. “Do you ever go there?”
“Used to when I was younger,” Mr. Ames says. “With my wife’s family.” He pauses. “You and your friends might like Katama or the state beach better.”
“I don’t really have any friends yet,” Kirby says. “I mean, I have one friend from college who’s working as a nanny out in Chilmark, and I’m becoming friendly with a girl who lives in the house with me.”
“So what’s the interest in Inkwell Beach?” Mr. Ames says. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I met a boy who invited me,” Kirby says. “Darren Frazier? He’s a lifeguard at Inkwell.”
“Yes, I know Darren,” Mr. Ames says. “My wife’s sister is married to Judge Frazier’s cousin.”
“Right on,” Kirby says. Darren is the son of Dr. Frazier, who may or may not know about Kirby’s unfortunate past,andof Judge Frazier, who may or may not have access to Kirby’s arrest record. Darren Frazier is the last boy in Massachusetts that Kirby should be interested in.
“Darren invited you to Inkwell?” Mr. Ames says.
Kirby nods.
“Well, okay, then,” Mr. Ames says. “Have fun.”
Kirby is too nervous to join the other girls for breakfast and she is too agitated to sleep or even nap. She heads straight up to her room and puts a record on her Silvertone—Stand!,by Sly and the Family Stone, the album she brought for her hopeful moods. She turns the music up as loud as she dares. (One of the Irish Ms—Michaela—came storming upstairs a few evenings earlier when Kirby was playing Crosby, Stills, and Nash, her introspective-mood album, and said in her thick Irish accent, “Teern et doone!” To which Kirby responded, “Sorry, I didn’t know you were fifty years old.”)
Kirby puts on her red bikini and over it an extra-long tie-dyed T-shirt that has a hand-painted peace sign on the front. She wore this T-shirt with jeans and a pair of fringed suede boots to the protest where Scottie arrested her. He had cherry-picked her out of that teeming crowd because she looked “so good in that top,” he’d said. Kirby ties a red bandanna over her hair—out of its bun for the first time in a week—and puts on her sunglasses. She’s ready to go.
She needs a sidekick, an Ethel to her Lucy. Rajani nannies all day during the week, so she isn’t an option. Kirby hurries down the stairs with her straw bag, which still contains sand from Madequecham Beach and a handful of shells that Jessie collected, and knocks on Patty’s door.
Patty is still in her pajamas; she’s eating a Payday bar.
“I got drunk last night,” she says. “With my brother’s friends. I let one of them, this rich kid from New York City named Luke, get to second base.”
“Second base, huh?” Kirby says. “You liked him, then?” She leans against the door frame and watches Patty blush. She misses having girlfriends, she realizes. In a dorm at an all-girls school, there was no shortage of gossip like this.
“He’s cute,” Patty says. “I couldn’t believe he was interested in me. But…he told me he likes full-figured girls with long hair he can pull.”
This makes Kirby laugh. “He probably just meant he likes beautiful girls like you.” She pokes Patty in the arm. “Come to the beach with me today, will you?”
“I need to go back to bed. I was up late and I work tonight,” Patty says. “But maybe I’ll meet you later. Where are you going?”
“Inkwell,” Kirby says.
Patty makes a sharp noise, a bark or a yelp. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Kirby says.
Patty lowers her voice. “That’s the Negro beach,” she says. “Inkwell,meaning ‘black’—get it?”
Kirby feels her stomach lurch. “I know,” she says. Suddenly, her cheeks are burning and she can’t decide if she wants to retreat or fight.Fight,she thinks. “I met someone who’s a lifeguard there. He invited me.”
Patty stares at Kirby for a second and Kirby wonders if her favorite of all the girls in this house, the one she pegged right away as a potential friend, is going to turn out to be a racist. She is suddenly sixteen years old again, sitting in her civics class and overhearing Steve Willard and Roger Donnelly call Miss Carpenter, who was Kirby’s favorite teacher, the N-word. Kirby had stood up and spit on Roger’s desk, which had caused a giant brouhaha—and Kirby was the one who had been kept after class. When Miss Carpenter asked what on earth would cause Kirby to do something so beneath her, Kirby refused to say. She didn’t have the heart to tell Miss Carpenter that she had been defending her. Miss Carpenter must have intuited this, however, because she said, “The best way to combat behavior or language that you find offensive is topeacefullyprotest. Do you understand me, Katharine?”
Kirby said shedidunderstand. She’d apologized and scrubbed Roger’s desk, and the next week, Miss Carpenter asked Kirby to march alongside her with Dr. King.
“I support the civil rights movement,” Patty says, and Kirby exhales in relief. “My sister Sara was one of Robert Kennedy’s Boiler Room Girls. But I still can’t go with you.”
“Why not?” Kirby says. She’s impressed that Patty’s sister worked for Bobby Kennedy, but if Patty believes Inkwell is an inferior beach because it’s frequented by Negroes, then she’s a racist.
“Because we don’t belong there,” Patty says. “They don’twantwhite people there.”
