CHAPTER TWO
As the last rays of sun disappeared over the tops of the project houses, the streets came alive with teenagers hanging on street corners and radio music filling the air. George caught up with Frankie as he was leaving his house. They were both dressed in knit pullover shirts and tan pants. Sweet-smelling cologne drifted off of them into the evening air as they traveled up the street. They wanted to look good when they got to this party. They didn’t want to look like they came from the project.
They stepped into a small grocery store. Frankie picked up some gum while George walked back to the beer cooler and grabbed a quart of beer for them to drink on their way. The old man at the counter gave George the once-over before he took the money out of George’s hand, then handed him the beer in a paper bag. George and Frankie headed through the middle-class section of the neighborhood, taking swigs on the beer, keeping their thoughts to themselves. They passed a few people sitting on stoops who studied them suspiciously, as if they didn’t have the right to be there. The suspicious looks were really aimed at Frankie; the color of his skin created fear and hatred. The predominately white, middle class neighborhood hadn’t changed much in the last fifty years until the government built the housing projects in the Sixties. Most of the poor families were shipped in from other neighborhoods, and since many were black, racial tensions grew.
Frankie and George slipped through the middle-class section into the wealthy area which was both literally and figuratively on the other side of the tracks. Most of the people living in this upscale neighborhood were professionals who worked downtown. A few guys George had played football with in high school came from this upscale neighborhood. They were the sons of the rich and powerful and would let you know it every chance they got.
As they continued along toward the party, Frankie realized he had been on this street before. He must have been thirteen at the time when a police car had pulled up next to him, the cop asking him where he was going. Frankie could still see the angry look on the cop's face as he studied him. He told the cop that he was just walking, nothing more. That he was new to the area. The cop asked him where he lived, and when he told him that he lived in the project, the cop told him to get in the car. He drove him back to the other side of the tracks in silence. Nothing more was said, just for him to go home. It was at the moment Frankie understood just how much the color of his skin might determine where he could go and who he could be.
"This is it, my man!" George yelled, as they stopped in front of a large white house with music blaring from the backyard.
"Oh man, the Beach Boys," Frankie groaned, hearing the music coming from the backyard.
They crossed the lawn and went around to the back of the house where they found a crowd of white teenagers drinking and dancing. Frankie recognized a few of them from high school, though he hadn’t been friends with any of them.
George walked directly over to a wooden barrel where cans of beer were floating in ice. He grabbed two and handed one to Frankie.
"There's some sweethearts here, Frankie. We could get lucky tonight."
Frankie noticed a few of the local boys standing in a far corner of the yard watching him.
"I don't think I blend in that well around here."
George spotted a big, blond hair guy wearing a football jersey.
"Relax, have a beer, I got to talk to that guy." George walked over to the big guy with the large R on his football shirt in the corner and slapped him on the back.
Frankie stood alone, drinking his beer, when he spotted a very pretty girl dancing in the middle of the yard. She was spinning to the music, her head back, completely in her own world. She was wearing a soft flowing dress and had three red flowers tucked in her blond hair. Frankie could not take his eyes off of her. He didn’t want to stare, but he had never seen anyone like this girl, she danced like she was totally alone in the yard and was one with the music. She drifted toward him, the song carrying her along.
"You want to dance?"
Frankie looked at this amazing girl with sky blue eyes and light blond hair that fell around her face and shoulders.
"Oh, no thanks, I don’t really dance.”
She grabbed the beer out of his hand and set it down on a small table. She took his hand and pulled him towards the center of the yard.
“Come on, can’t you feel it all around you?”
Frankie suddenly felt himself in the arms of this white girl. He could sense the eyes of the crowd on them as he held her and wondered who she was.
"I'm Eva, I live here. I saw you and your friend come in.”
He couldn't get over the smell of her hair as it brushed against his face.
"I'm Frankie Johnson. My friend over there drinking all the beer is George Bannon. We decided to come; I mean George suggested we come because he knows…”
"I'm glad you’re here. These parties are always pretty boring; the same people from the same families, talking about which colleges they are going to in the fall.”
"Well, there's nothing wrong with college," Frankie said. He realized how stupid it sounded, even before he got all the words out.
"No, I guess not. But I’m going to San Francisco. Become part of the scene. It’s where everything is happening.”
The song ended. Eva took Frankie’s hand and lead him to a wrought-iron bench under a large maple tree; its leaves a rich purple.
"What do you mean by the scene?"
"The scene: love, music, Haight-Asbury, changing the world. That’s what’s going on out there. It’s the beginning of a brand new vibe.”
He wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but it sounded pretty good.
“Of course my father wants me to go to some boring college around here. He'll pay whatever it cost. Daddy’s like that."
"San Francisco could be pretty scary for a..."
"Girl?”
"I didn't mean it that way," Frankie said, trying to explain himself.
"I've been all over the world. Africa, Asia, I've even climbed mountains in the Himalayas."
"Something tells me you would do all right in San Francisco."
Eva sat silently next to Frankie, rocking to the music, her eyes closed, seemingly lost in another world. She suddenly opened her eyes.
"It's nice hanging out with you. I'm so tired of these boys around here.”
She studied Frankie, waiting for his response.
Frankie was feeling uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but notice that he was the only black person at the party, and that some of the local boys still had an interest in him.
"Well, thanks," is all Frankie could think to say, as he looked for George in the crowd.
"I mean it," Eva said, touching his arm with her hand.
"Times are changing, and we need to be a part of it. I mean life is about variety. Variety of all sorts of things: books, friends, dreams… lovers. Don’t you agree?”
All of Frankie’s instincts at that moment screamed at him to find George, but he could not tear himself away from this wild, hippy chick. He was enthralled by her but still, he couldn’t help but wonder what his older brother Joey would say if he saw him sitting with a white girl “talking the talk”’
Frankie touched Eva's hand softly.
"It's very nice meeting you, Eva. It really is."
It seemed as if she was about to lean over and give him a kiss when Frankie saw George coming towards them.
"There you are.”
George