them away as if they were traitors, and that night he dreamed many dreams.
Chapter 4
Dear Diane and Alan ,
So how are things in D.C.? Is Alan still peddling nicotine to Congress while Diane makes up for his sins by teaching the youth of America to just say no? Dirty job, Alan. Way to go, Diane!
Consider this an invitation to the Twilight Zone. I've been getting nostalgic lately, missing a lot of people from school and all, and I thought it would be neat to do something about it. So I'm having a party at the apartment . . .
. . . that's right, Sharla — the apartment, site of uncounted late night political discussions, plots to overthrow the world, and Jesus, how many times did you call me a honky muthafuckah ? I hope that Cleveland is as dull as it used to be, and that you're continuing to imbue your students with those good, home cookin ', revolutionary ideals . . .
. . . So, if you can break away from your power lunches for a weekend, damn , but I'd love to see you again. To help make an offer you can't refuse, enclosed is a ticket from L.A. to Pittsburgh, leaving Saturday morning, going back Sunday afternoon, so I'd keep you away from your new bride for as short a time as possible. Curly, I'm sorry I can't invite her too, but since she wasn't part of the original mob of crazies, she'll have to swelter in the L.A. sun alone. I know making these reservations is forward of me, but if I didn't do it would you come? This way, you put me to the bother of canceling your ticket . . .
. . . and I know you wouldn't want to do that. So hop that plane, Eddie. You probably have to play the organ Sunday morning, but they even gave slaves a day off, right? . . .
. . . I really hope you'll come. If you've got any of those old funky clothes left (and they still fit), wear them. If not, let me know (and your sizes) and I'll furnish you with a wardrobe. Yes, dammit , I have thought of everything. So come, huh? It won't be the same without you . . .
. . . Please try to come . . .
. . . Please come . . .
. . . Please . . .
Woody had his replies by the end of April. He had invited eleven people, of whom seven agreed to come. Three others had commitments and sent their regrets, along with their unused tickets. The only news Woody had of the fourth was his returned letter marked, "Moved. Left no forwarding address."
The first to accept had been Sharla Jackson, who called him two days after he had mailed the invitations, and asked if the "honky muthafuckah flute player" was at home. He recognized the voice and the inflection immediately, laughed, and was delighted when she said she wouldn't miss it, even if her transportation was derived from "a running dog capitalist musician."
"God, it's great to hear your voice," Woody said. "Even if you do sound a little different."
"I don't sound as black as when I went to school, do I?" He heard her laugh gently. "Well, I'm a school teacher now, baby. Besides, a lot of that was put-on. After all, my dad was a doctor in Forest Hills."
"What? You used to tell us your dad was a janitor, and your mom was a cleaning woman."
"It made better PR, okay? You didn't suspect when my folks came to homecoming in that big old Buick Riviera?"
"Well, no, I mean . . ."
"You mean all blacks drove those great big cars, don't you?”
“You're still baiting me, Sharla ."
“Just you wait till the party, white boy."
Alan and Diane Franklin had been delighted at the prospect of the party, but insisted the only way they would come was if they could pay their own expenses. Woody refused, explaining that he had to pay for everyone so those who couldn't afford it wouldn't feel like charity cases, and the Franklins agreed.
The same day the Franklins called, Woody also heard from Eddie Phelps, the organist at the Fifth Presbyterian Church in Manhattan. He told Woody he had six weekends a year free, and this, God damn it, was going to be one of them.
The next letter Woody got was from Curly Rider in L.A.,
Chapter 4
Dear Diane and Alan ,
So how are things in D.C.? Is Alan still peddling nicotine to Congress while Diane makes up for his sins by teaching the youth of America to just say no? Dirty job, Alan. Way to go, Diane!
Consider this an invitation to the Twilight Zone. I've been getting nostalgic lately, missing a lot of people from school and all, and I thought it would be neat to do something about it. So I'm having a party at the apartment . . .
. . . that's right, Sharla — the apartment, site of uncounted late night political discussions, plots to overthrow the world, and Jesus, how many times did you call me a honky muthafuckah ? I hope that Cleveland is as dull as it used to be, and that you're continuing to imbue your students with those good, home cookin ', revolutionary ideals . . .
. . . So, if you can break away from your power lunches for a weekend, damn , but I'd love to see you again. To help make an offer you can't refuse, enclosed is a ticket from L.A. to Pittsburgh, leaving Saturday morning, going back Sunday afternoon, so I'd keep you away from your new bride for as short a time as possible. Curly, I'm sorry I can't invite her too, but since she wasn't part of the original mob of crazies, she'll have to swelter in the L.A. sun alone. I know making these reservations is forward of me, but if I didn't do it would you come? This way, you put me to the bother of canceling your ticket . . .
. . . and I know you wouldn't want to do that. So hop that plane, Eddie. You probably have to play the organ Sunday morning, but they even gave slaves a day off, right? . . .
. . . I really hope you'll come. If you've got any of those old funky clothes left (and they still fit), wear them. If not, let me know (and your sizes) and I'll furnish you with a wardrobe. Yes, dammit , I have thought of everything. So come, huh? It won't be the same without you . . .
. . . Please try to come . . .
. . . Please come . . .
. . . Please . . .
Woody had his replies by the end of April. He had invited eleven people, of whom seven agreed to come. Three others had commitments and sent their regrets, along with their unused tickets. The only news Woody had of the fourth was his returned letter marked, "Moved. Left no forwarding address."
The first to accept had been Sharla Jackson, who called him two days after he had mailed the invitations, and asked if the "honky muthafuckah flute player" was at home. He recognized the voice and the inflection immediately, laughed, and was delighted when she said she wouldn't miss it, even if her transportation was derived from "a running dog capitalist musician."
"God, it's great to hear your voice," Woody said. "Even if you do sound a little different."
"I don't sound as black as when I went to school, do I?" He heard her laugh gently. "Well, I'm a school teacher now, baby. Besides, a lot of that was put-on. After all, my dad was a doctor in Forest Hills."
"What? You used to tell us your dad was a janitor, and your mom was a cleaning woman."
"It made better PR, okay? You didn't suspect when my folks came to homecoming in that big old Buick Riviera?"
"Well, no, I mean . . ."
"You mean all blacks drove those great big cars, don't you?”
“You're still baiting me, Sharla ."
“Just you wait till the party, white boy."
Alan and Diane Franklin had been delighted at the prospect of the party, but insisted the only way they would come was if they could pay their own expenses. Woody refused, explaining that he had to pay for everyone so those who couldn't afford it wouldn't feel like charity cases, and the Franklins agreed.
The same day the Franklins called, Woody also heard from Eddie Phelps, the organist at the Fifth Presbyterian Church in Manhattan. He told Woody he had six weekends a year free, and this, God damn it, was going to be one of them.
The next letter Woody got was from Curly Rider in L.A.,
Similar Books
Suicide Run (The Infected Book 5)
Justin Gowland
Listening in the Dusk
Celia Fremlin
To Eternity
Daisy Banks
The Wolf Witch (The Keys Trilogy Book 1)
Anna Roberts
Invincible Summer
Alice Adams
Secret Hollows
Terri Reid
Lord Haversham Takes Command
Heidi Ashworth
The Changeover
Margaret Mahy
Cat of a Different Color: Halle Pumas, Book 3
Dana Marie Bell
The Prey
Allison Brennan