“Yes, it is,” said Reverend Golightly. “Would you pass the potatoes over this way, please.”
“It all goes to undermine real achievement,” Ward said. “Robert gets in by his hard work and good grades and then they just let anybody in.” He looked at me. “What do you say about this, Not Sidney? About affirmative action?”
I sipped my water and felt remarkably not nervous. “How do you know that their grades are not as good or better than Robert’s?” I asked.
Silence fell on the table like a bad simile. Even Violet stopped making noise in the kitchen. The only sound was the smacking of Jeffrey’s greasy lips.
I looked at Robert’s wide-open face. “What’s your GPA, Robert?”
He reddened. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he said.
“It might,” I said. “How do you know that affirmative action didn’t get you into the college? No, really, what are your grades like?”
“My father went to Dartmouth,” he said.
Maggie gave me an angry look.
Ward’s eyes darted about. “Not Sidney has a point. But this is a Thanksgiving dinner, so let’s eat and enjoy ourselves.”
“I’d still like to know what Robert’s grades were like in high school,” I said. “I don’t understand why he’s afraid to tell me. I guess I’d also like to know if anyone at this table has benefited from affirmative action or something like it. Where did you go to law school, Mr. Larkin?”
“Yale.”
“How many black students were there at the time?”
“There were three of us,” he proudly said.
“And you three had better grades than all the rest of the black students who wanted to go to Yale?”
Ward was angry, nervous, and, I think, afraid of me.
“My mother never went to college,” I said. “She couldn’t get in. But she invested well and now I’m worth scads of money. My mother studied in her kitchen. I wonder what she could have become if she had gone to college.”
“I’m sure your mother was a very special woman,” Ruby said, perhaps sarcastically, I wasn’t sure.
“My point is, she didn’t want to be white. More importantly, she didn’t want to be not black. I’m sorry,” I said. I looked at all of them, especially Maggie. “You were kind enough to invite me here. I don’t know why, but thank you, anyway. You people almost had me hating you because of the color of your skin, but I’ve caught myself. You should know that from the guest room a person can hear every word spoken in the study, and I heard you mention my unfortunate darkness.”
They turned red, sort of.
“I know that you love the fact that I’m rich. In fact, Maggie didn’t know that, but Ward and Ruby did.” Using their first names shocked them slightly more. “So, I don’t hate you because you’re light. I dislike you because your help has yet to sit down and enjoy any of her own cooking. I like Jeffrey here because he knows how to enjoy carnal pleasure without broadcasting it. I like Agnes because she has no qualms about performing oral sex on a dark-skinned member for the mere purpose of undermining the confidence of her sister.”
“You bitch!” Maggie said and threw a handful of green beans at Agnes.
“Young man, I think that’s enough!” Ward said, becoming again the man of the house.
“I suppose you’re right, Mr. Larkin,” I said. “I’ll go pack.” I rose and left the table.
No one came into my room while I collected my stuff and pushed it into my little duffel. I in fact didn’t know where anyone was as I walked down the stairs and through the far side of the kitchen; everything was so quiet.
Violet was standing near the stove. She handed me a paper sack and said, “You might get hungry later.”
“Thank you,” I said.
CHAPTER 5
Some part of me (whether generous or not, I don’t know) tried to convince the rest of me that there was something to be learned from the color-challenged Larkins, or at least that some perverse fun had been had. But the rest of me was not accepting it, and so the flight back on the evening puddle jumper was nothing more than sad and tedious, though welcomed. I felt some vague regret as I considered that Maggie might actually have held a few sincere feelings for me, but now I would never know. There was never any future, I thought, and I laughed at the thought because, of course, there had been no suggestion of a so-called future. Still, I was sorry, if at the same time mildly satisfied, that I had caused them more family turmoil than was normally theirs. I certainly had not contributed significantly to the intense family sickness.
Off the airplane in Atlanta I was met by a rather animated and giggly Podgy Patel. I was more than a bit surprised by his presence and so I asked, “How the hell did you know to be here?”
“It is very simple,” he said in his singsong accent. “I make it a habit to track your credit-card transactions.”
“I’d like you to break that habit.”
“As you wish. But who would have picked you up?”
“A taxi,” I said. “A bus.”
“Now, you are just being silly.”
“Why are you so giddy, Podgy?”
“Oh, for good reason, very good reason. Our network is a big success, a major success. We are making money foot over fist.”
“Great, more money.”
“I detect sarcasm. Am I to understand that you want no more money?”
“Does it really make a difference?”
“All the difference in the world,” he said.
We were walking through the parking garage. I turned to him and looked at his smiling face. “Really, Podgy, it’s just that I feel I have too much money.”
“You are not very American,” he said.
“I suppose not.”
“Then perhaps you should give some of your money away. You should give much away and not much would be different, as you say. It is actually a very lucrative practice. It is a wonderful write-off, charity.”
I watched as he unlocked the car doors. “Thanks, Podgy. I believe that’s a really good idea.”
“You will find, however, that it is harder to give away money that one might imagine. Very much harder than it seems.” He started the car. “Shall I drive you to your dorm at the college?”
“Please.”
As we drove through a pleasantly deserted Atlanta I considered my previous venture with philanthropy, my gifts to the college. They had not been donated in the spirit of giving, however, since they were more payoffs or bribes, and they had gotten me no more than a college admission I didn’t really want and a standing invitation to diddle the very sad Gladys Feet. I had spread no joy to anyone and certainly had been left with none. I was headed back to campus to pack up and leave and where I was going was anybody’s and especially my guess. But first I would call Professor Everett to see if he could offer any good argument for my staying put. Why I held his opinion in any regard was beyond me, but I did.
Everett answered, sounding tired but awake. I put the question to him with no warning. “Why should I remain in college?”
“You’ve got me,” he said without a pause.
“That’s the best you can do?” I said.
“How much money do you have?”
“More than I know what to do with,” I said, honestly.
Everett sighed. I could hear him lighting his cigar. “I suppose you could remain in school for the sex. I hear there’s a lot of it. Or not.”
“What about an education?”
“Hell, you can read. You know where the library is.”
“You’re a professor,” I said.
“If you say so.”
“If you were me,” I said, “would you stay in school?”
He said nothing.