Page 65 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"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. "Good-bye."

There was only one thing to say. "Good-bye, 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 advisers, 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 hair band. 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 hometown, 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."

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