he’s up to.”
“Is he a honkey?
“He’s white. But give him a break. I haven’t even met the guy yet.”
“OK, I just don’t want anyone messing with my brother.”
“I love you too, Sis. And now I’ve got to take care of business.”
“Have some monkey bread and jam, before you leave. I just made it; it’s Momma’s recipe.”
“I knew there was something smelling awfully good. OK, I give in.”
“I hope you ain’t on a diet, ‘cause it’s rich.”
“Mostly butter and cream, as I recall.”
“The lightest and fluffiest biscuits ever. But after this batch my diet starts.”
“Again?”
“Now, you shut up and eat, Ozay Broussard!”
“You ever hear from Evette Nevelle?”
“Heard she joined the Panthers. Became part of the Party leadership. They sent her to Japan a few years ago.”
“Really? I’m surprised, her parents were Communist Party members—they’re generally opposed to the Panthers.”
“Well, the story is that the ‘pussy power’ stance of the Party got her knocked up. You know that the Panther men expect Party women to give it up, when ever they want it. Well, when she found out that her lover had other kids from other Panther women, she packed her bags.”
“Did she have the baby?” Ozay asked, stuffing another jam-covered piece of monkey bread in his mouth.
“Ran into her at the Fairfax Farmers Market not too long ago, and she had a three-year-old. A little boy. Cutest little thing.”
“So where’s Jared and Mike, out with their dad?”
“I don’t know what it is, Ozay, but lately Raymond has been seeing the boys on a regular basis and taking them to fun places. It must be because of his new job as a truck driver for Raytheon Steel. You know what a job can do for a man’s self-esteem. If he keeps it up, I just might consider taking his po’ ass back.”
Ozay asked his sister if he could use their phone. He checked his motel for calls. There was a call from Paul. Ozay called him, got the information he needed and proceeded to call Marina with the news. Reluctantly, Marina woke and answered the phone.
“Marina, it’s Ozay. Sorry to wake you, but we need to talk and I don’t want to talk on the phone. I’ll be right over, OK?”
“Sure, Ozay, sure! Come on over.”
“Clari, Granma, I hate to say it but something urgent has come up and I gotta jam.”
“You just got here, O.B.”
“Lawd,” Granma Rena bellowed, “you young folks don’t stay still fa nothin’.”
“I swear,” Ozay promised. “I’ll bring the kids next time.”
Ozay cruised parts of Hollywood Boulevard and the Sunset Strip, to see the major changes that accommodated the new music of the sixties and seventies: soul, rock and a flourishing disco scene where black musicians were finally making money outside the ghetto.
Marina liked living well, and still had the house she had when she was married to Lenny. Though he hadn’t been to the Hollywood Hills house in years, the directions were crystal clear in his mind. Winding Laurel Canyon at the top crossed Mulholland Drive where Ozay turned, and in a few blocks he swung down a cul-de-sac driveway—just long enough for two small cars, wide enough for only one. Ozay recognized the distinct, hand-carved seven-by-five foot wooden door—fifties modern, with a low-pitched shed roof, a three-story cliffhanger. He got out of the car. The door, only a step up and two paces away, was open.
A Lester Young saxophone solo greeted his ears as he walked into the softly lit interior and saw Marina’s fit body silhouetted against the last evening light, standing in front of a wall of glass. The view of Hollywood lights below was spectacular with the 300-foot drop off her deck. He remembered that the height used to terrify him. Even now, he deliberately stayed on the other side of the room.
Flashes of their past passion here in this same room stormed into his head and between his legs. It was deja vu, and he thought that Marina, standing there silently, might be contemplating the same memories.
“You know Ozay…” Marina said, turning, and slowly walking toward him. “I was mad about you. You were so young, good looking, and naïve. I thought I found that spark—rather, a fire—that I didn’t have any more with Lenny. We couldn’t have kids, and when I got checked out and was found to be capable, Lenny went into denial and refused to see a doctor. I still loved him, but from then on we became sexually distant.” Marina was facing Ozay, looking at him.
Ozay recalled the time fifteen years ago when they were both standing there, drawn together by their passion and their different worlds. He looked into her eyes and he saw sadness and a longing that he knew was not for him.
“Lenny still means a lot to me. The thought of something happening to him…” She began to cry and leaned on Ozay’s chest for support.
For a moment, Ozay’s emotions were confused, but he realized that it was best to give her the support she needed now and quiet his own emerging fire.
“I understand,” Ozay whispered, giving her the time she needed, while stroking her hair. A few moments later Ozay said, “I’ve got a lead on a former Weatherman in Eureka. I asked Paul for one more favor—for him to meet with Jeremy White Cloud, a Union guy. There may be something there we can use.”
“Let’s go,” she replied, in a somewhat shaky voice. “I’ll get ready and get us on a plane.”
By noon the following day they were off, flying from LA to make a connecting flight in SF that would take them to Redding. From there they caught a small propjet to Humboldt County—lumber and salmon country. Ozay and Marina landed in Eureka and took a taxi to the Charter House Bed and Breakfast Hotel. They had to find Joe Bates first, to help them locate Kennedy. Since there was not a large selection of lawyers in Eureka, Bates was easy to find. His law office was in his home, just a few blocks from the Charter House. As they walked up the steps, Ozay and Marina could see inside through a large bay window. “Joe Bates Attorney at Law” was painted across the window, and they could see Bates sitting at his desk, typing and chewing on a small stogie. With graying hair just around his ears and wearing a vest, he looked like an old country lawyer. He had been expecting them.
After introductions they got down to business.
“Lincoln Kennedy came up here a few years ago,” Joe Bates began, “and is living somewhere up the Mad River from Arcata. I see him in town picking up supplies, but not much else. Saw him in a bar once last month with Jeffery Tool, a local Indian radical, but that wasn’t unusual. Jeff is pretty well known in town. He’s pretty active politically around here. Someone else you should go see is Michael Sawtooth Bragg, a gadfly type, got his fingers in everything. He should be at the Eagle Feather Chronicle’s office. He’s the editor. It’s a radical Indian newspaper. They have an office over in Old Town. Sawtooth and his staff have been spearheading the battle to get the California courts to acknowledge their claim to 3.5 million acres in the Siskiyou-Trinity mountains, and particularly the Trinity River headlands, lands that were taken from the Yurok, Hupa, and Karuk over 100 years ago.”
Marina pulled out a photo of Lenny James and asked Joe Bates if he had seen the man.
“Can’t say that I have,” Joe answered, as he handed the photo back.
“He would have a British accent and may be in the company of blacks,” Ozay commented.
“He would have stood out like a sore thumb. There are so few blacks here there would have been talk. Even you two might become the subject of rumor and who knows what.”