She's Gone: A Novel (19 page)

Monday morning, Will was in the kitchen reading the paper. “Do you want to see some photos?” Jolie asked.

He followed her into the small darkroom. “Not bad,” he said. “We’ll run all of them this week with your name, J. Cassady, in the byline.”

She attempted a smile. “I like this one.” She pointed to the Sisters for Liberation photo.

He moved toward her and gave her a tender hug. “Are you still sad?”

She shrugged and tried to swallow the lump welling in her throat.

“I’ll walk you to the T.” Will stroked her cheek. “And after work, stop by the office. We’ll walk home together.”

She smiled. This was the Will she loved more than anything.

After work, Jolie stopped by the office. In the dining room-turned-workspace, a lively debate was underway. Will smiled at her and nodded to an empty chair. The usual group was there, Adam, Miles, and some student volunteers. Marlena and Coulter sat at the end of the table. They were discussing advertising in the
Central Underground Press
.

“The advertisements keep us in the black,” Will explained.

“It’s a sellout to corporate America,” Coulter said.

Will drummed his fingers on the table. “Oh, come on, man, all the big advertisers like the record companies pulled out of the free presses last year. That’s where the big money came from, full page ads. Now they won’t touch us.”

“Why’d they pull out?” a student asked.

“The FBI scared them off. Accused them of giving active aid to U.S. enemies,” Adam said.

Will smiled. “We are the force of evil.”

Jolie watched Coulter and Marlena. Did she see a subtle glance between them when the FBI was mentioned?

“We only accept ads from supporters of the movement,” Adam said. “Most advertisers sell the papers at their businesses. They boost our readership.”

“Vintage clothing stores, astrology readers, head shops, and rock concert promoters are hardly corporate America,” Miles said.

“We’re not giving up the ads,” Will said.

But Coulter wouldn’t let it go. “What about the personal ads? You’re not selling a revolution, you’re selling sex.” He grabbed a recent paper and turned to the last few pages.

“‘Groovy-looking guy with tight round buttocks will do erotic posing.’ And what about this one: ‘Jim’s rubs for men are sensational and groovy. Day and night service.’ Or ‘Tall, dark, handsome, 33-year-old white executive wishes to meet attractive female swinger—’”

Adam interrupted. “What are you, a prude or something?”

“Some buy the paper just to read the ads,” a student piped up. “You have to admit, they are amusing.”

“Sex? Is that what you’re promoting?” Coulter asked.

“It’s free speech, purely free speech. There’s no free country without a free press,” Will said. He stood up indicating the discussion was over. “Time to close her up.”

Everyone rose to leave. Jolie stayed seated, waiting for Will to put away any material left out. He only opened the office now if he or Adam were there. Strange people had turned up. He wasn’t as trusting as he had been two months earlier. Jolie’s stomach tightened as Marlena gave Will a prolonged hug before leaving with Coulter. Will and Jolie walked home hand in hand.

“Is Coulter trying to undermine the paper?” she asked.

“That’s a little radical. I think he’s a little uncomfortable with the love revolution.”

“He gives me the creeps.” Marlena, too, or was she jealous of her sophistication? Will was obviously attracted to her.

26

Sisters for Liberation

One morning, after Will left for the office, Jolie sat down at the kitchen table to write Nick a note to send with the two photos.

“Hey.” Daniel bounded in. “I have a whole week off before summer school starts. What have you been up to?”

She nodded toward the darkroom.

“Let me see.”

In the darkroom he turned on the light. “Wow, you’ve been busy.”

Jolie pointed to a small stack of eight-by-ten photos. “Those are my disasters.”

“That’s how you learn.”

“Expensive mistakes. The photo paper costs a fortune.”

She laid out a set of photos from Walden Pond. “I printed these with multiple exposures, but I can’t decide which are the best.”

They examined the prints.

“Light has form and meaning because of darkness, and darkness because of light,” he said.

“I think of the light as hope and innocence, and darkness as despair,” she said.

They agreed upon the best exposures. Jolie made notes and they walked back into the kitchen.

“Thanks. Do you want some tea?”

Daniel smiled and nodded.

“Are you Jewish?” Jolie asked.

“With a name like Daniel Shapiro?”

She looked at him, helpless. “No, seriously.”

“I’m Jewish, all right. Isn’t it obvious?”

“No. How do you learn those things?”

“You just grow up knowing or your parents teach you.”

She did have a lot to learn. “I want to invite my friend, Leah, over for dinner. Will you join us? She’s starting at Boston University this fall.”

“Let me guess…she can only date Jewish guys?”

They set a date for the upcoming Saturday night. Maybe Sam and Ginger could join them.

Glancing at the clock she realized she’d have to write the note to Nick later. It was time for work. She didn’t know what to say to him anyway. Carefully she tucked the photos away in the darkroom.

Friday morning before work, Jolie pulled together her favorite photos of protesters, the Public Garden and historic buildings. She placed them in a large envelope, and headed to the camera store. Niles, the clerk, was there as usual. She gave him the list of supplies she needed.

“I brought some photos for you to see,” she said.

“Hand them over.”

She hesitated and then laid the large envelope on the long glass counter. He removed the prints and spread them out. Standing back, he viewed the photos. He took his time. Jolie stood still in the long silence. She gulped. She’d get better. There was so much to learn.

Niles looked up from the photos. “You’ve got a good eye. The detail is incredible. It’s intimate.”

“Really? Wow, thanks.”

“Will you leave some with me to display in the store?”

Jolie looked around and didn’t see any other photos except Kodak advertisements.

“I want to add some life in here,” Niles explained. “I need some art. Something interesting to look at.”

“Okay.” She still had the negatives although no two prints were exposed exactly alike.

He picked out the ones he wanted to hang. “I can’t display politics here but people and architecture will work just fine.”

He assembled the items on her list and set them on the counter. “The same deal: the film’s on the store if you bring me more photos. I need something to look forward to in my week. Everyone takes the same old pictures. Yours are different.”

Jolie floated out of the store on a cloud. Her photos were going to be shown in Harvard Square. She couldn’t wait to tell Will and Daniel. And Nick. She needed to write to Nick.

1970, The Year of the Revolution
was the headline for
Central Underground Press
that first week in June. Will’s article expounded on the duties of a revolutionary: One must advance the revolution, not just talk about it. Ideological debate was out and the Socialist Revolution was in. His Socialist Manifesto had been reprinted as an insert. The article and manifesto were distributed nationally with one of Jolie’s photos. It was well received and the independent presses clamored for more.

Saturday morning, Will went into the office early. The agency was swamped. Jolie’s happiness about the whole day before her was tinged with guilt. Will wanted her to work at the office, but she’d begged off. She wanted to go to the library. The Women’s Liberation Movement meeting was that afternoon and that night Leah was coming for dinner. She hoped Will remembered about the dinner but she doubted he would. The Socialist Revolution had swallowed him up.

That afternoon Ginger pulled up in front of the apartment and honked. Jolie ran down the stairs and hopped into the sky blue VW Bug. “Leah is meeting us there,” Jolie said. As they drove off, Jolie raised her arm in the air. “Sisters unite.”

Ginger laughed and turned up Carole King on the radio. Jolie was happy for the ride. She wanted to get to know Ginger better. The past week Ginger had occasionally hung around the house with Sam. She always sat quietly in the living room sketching cartoons in her notebook. Going to Boston University would be less intimidating with Ginger. Crossing the bridge, the Charles River glistened below. Boats zigzagged through the water.

Ginger pulled into a large parking lot next to beautiful old buildings set along the river.

“This campus is huge,” Jolie said.

“There’s almost twenty thousand students.”

Twenty thousand? That was a small city. They walked ten minutes across campus, climbed the stairs of an old brick building, and found the meeting room. The room was half full. Some women looked like students and others were older. Leah stood across the room, and Jolie waved for her to join them. More women streamed into the room.

A petite woman in her thirties stood at the professors’ podium and welcomed everyone. She introduced herself as Elaine Wood. She had chin-length auburn hair parted off to the side and wore a white blouse and a black skirt.

“I want to start our meeting today with a proposal. A plea, really. Women have made some gains in the past few years but we’re losing ground. Our forums don’t have any structure. We’ve lost when we should have gained. Gaining and seizing power is critical to our situation. Women are the majority, fifty-one percent of the population—” she waited for applause to die down, “—but we have no power in any of the movements. Yes, there are women’s rights organizations in most cities but they are fractured and not connected. We need to build one organization to empower women with a united vision. We must take the offensive again and begin a united fight in what will be a long but worthwhile battle.” She paused again to wait out the applause.

Jolie looked around at the women. Marlena sat across the room, taking notes. She looked up and their eyes met. Marlena? Here? Maybe she had misread her or was she infiltrating the women’s movement too?

“What about the women’s subgroups in the other organizations?” someone asked.

“It’s just lip service. Name one thing that has been gained,” Elaine said.

“She’s right,” a woman said. “The men dominate the discussions. Our needs are diluted. Women are assigned to backstage and the kitchen.”

Jolie nodded. That hit a nerve. It sounded like the office.

“Should we remain splintered across the other organizations without a common strategy, or join the Women’s Liberation Movement?” Elaine asked.

“Join,” everyone cried. Applause thundered through the room.

They discussed the platform based on women’s needs. They would use the platform to recruit the support of all women. A platform with specific actions.

A current reverberated through the room. Jolie’s body pulsed with an adrenaline high. This is how Will must feel. She had supported some of his ideas but most seemed lofty and unattainable. Here, they talked of specific rights and needs of women. Their platform was tangible, and all women would benefit from equal rights, equal work, equal pay, equal education, funded childcare, maternity leave, accessible birth control, the right to abortion, and the right for women to control their own bodies. These specifics were never discussed in the caucuses of the Socialist Revolution or New Left. It was always vague ideology and not day-to-day reality.

Elaine talked about the need for leadership to gain the support from the other women’s groups. Jolie’s mind raced.
Central Underground
could help get their platform out to other free presses. She glanced at Marlena. She was still scribbling away in her notebook.

When the meeting ended, Ginger, Jolie, and Leah walked across campus to the parking lot, elated with the united power of sisterhood.

After they dropped off Leah, Ginger and Jolie continued to talk, invigorated by the meeting. They strategized on how to recruit sisters from the other movements. They would use their own power, their own style, to focus on their own issues. They’d get the word out nationally through the Central News Agency.

“Brace yourself,” Ginger said, “the split from the other movements will be hostile.”

“But it’s the right thing to do,” Jolie said. “We can’t wait for some far-fetched revolution to give us equal rights.”

“I agree, but women have been the glue in the other movements. Creating one Women’s Liberation Movement will piss them off.”

“Men will always control us unless we stand up.”

Ginger glanced at her and then back to the road. “And Will? How are you going to handle Will?”

Jolie grimaced. She hadn’t thought that far ahead.