Wheels (26 page)

"That's what I tell him
.”

After a moment, Barbara replaced the cloth on
the easel and turned out the light. They went back into the living room.
"What Barbara means," Brett said, pouring more Dom Perignon, "is that I've
sold my soul for a mess of pottage
.”

He glanced around the apartment. "Or
maybe a pot of messuage
.”

"Brett might have managed to do designing and fine art," Barbara told
Wingate, "if he hadn't been so darned successful at designing. Now, all
he has time to do where painting's concerned is to dabble occasionally.
With his talent, it's a tragedy
.”

Brett grinned. "Barbara has never seen the high beam--that designing a car
is every bit as creative as painting. Or that cars are my thing," He
remembered what he had told the two students only a few weeks ago: You
breathe, eat, sleep cars . . . wake up in the night, it's cars you think
about . . . like a religion. Well, he still felt that way himself, didn't
he? Maybe not with the same intensity as when he first came to Detroit.
But did anyone really keep that up? There were days when he looked at
others working with him, wondering. Also, if he were honest, there were
other reasons why cars should stay his "thing
.”

Like what you could do
with fifty thousand dollars a year, to say nothing of the fact that he was
only twenty-six and much bigger loot would come in a few years more. He
asked Barbara lightly, "Would you still breeze in to cook dinner if I
lived in a garret and smelled of turpentine
.”

She looked at him directly. "You know I would
.”

While they talked of other things, Brett decided: He would finish the
canvas, which he hadn't touched in weeks. The reason he had stayed away
from it was simple. Once he started painting, it absorbed him totally and
there was just so much total absorption which any life could stand.
Over dinner, which tasted as good as it had smelled, Brett steered the
conversation to what Leonard Wingate had told him in the bar downtown.
Barbara, after hearing of the cheating and victimization of hard core
workers, was shocked and even angrier than Brett.
She asked the question which Brett DeLosanto hadn't. "What color are
t
h
ey-the instructor and the secretary who took the cheeks
.”

Wingate raised his eyebrows. "Does it make a difference
.”

"Listen," Brett said. "You know damn well it does
.”

Wingate answered tersely, "They're white. What else
.”

"They could have been black
.”

It was Barbara, thoughtfully.
"Yes, but the odds are against it
.”

Wingate hesitated. "Look, I'm a guest
here . .
.”

Brett waved a hand. "Forget it I"
There was a silence between them, then the gray-haired Negro said, "I like
to make certain things clear, even among friends. So don't let this
uniform fool you: the Oxford suit, a college diploma, the job I have. Oh,
sure, I'm the real front office nigger, the one they point to when they
say: You see, a black man can go high. Well, it's true for me, because I
was one of the few with a daddy who could pay for a real education, which
is the only way a black man climbs. So I've climbed, and maybe I'll make
it to the top and be a company director yet. I'm still young enough, and
I'll admit I'd like it; so would the company. I know one thing. If there's
a choice between me and a white man, and providing I can cut the mustard,
I'll get the job. That's the way the dice are rolling, baby; they're
weighted my way because the p.r. department and some others would just
love to shout: Look at us
!
We've got a board room black
!
"
Leonard Wingate sipped his coffee, which Barbara had served.
'Well, as I said, don't let the f
ac
ade fool you. I'm still a member of
my race
.”

Abruptly he put the cup down. Across the dining table his eyes
glared at Brett and Barbara. "When something happens like it did today,
I don't just get angry. I burn and loathe and hate-everything that's
white
.”

The glare faded. Wingate raised his coffee cup again, though his hand
was shaking.
After a moment he said, "James Baldwin wrote this: 'Negroes in this
country are treated as none of you would dream of treating a dog or a
cat.' And it's true-in Detroit, just as other places. And for all that's
happened in the past few years, nothing's really changed in most white
people's attitudes, below the surface. Even the little that's being done
to ease white consciences-like hard core hiring, which that white pair
tried to screw, and did-is only surface scratching. Schools, housing,
medicine, hospitals, are so bad here it's unbelievable -unless you're
black; then you believe it because you know, the hard way. But one day,
if the auto industry intends to survive in this town-because the auto
industry is Detroit-it will have to come to grips with improving the
black life of the community, because no one else is going to do it, or
has the resources or the brains to
.”

He added, "Just the same, I don't
believe they will
.”

"Then there's nothing," Barbara said. "Nothing to hope for
.”

There was
emotion in her voice.
"No harm in hoping," Leonard Wingate answered. He added mockingly, "Hope
don't cost none. But no good fooling yourself either
.”

Barbara said slowly, "Thank you for being honest, for telling it like
it is. Not everyone does that, as I've reason to know
.”

"Tell. him," Brett urged. "Tell him about your new assignment
.”

"I've been given a job to do," Barbara told Wingate. "By the advertising
agency I work for, acting for the company. It's to make a film. An
honest film about Detroit-the inner city
.”

She was aware of the other's instant interest.
"I first heard about it," Barbara explained, six weeks ago
.”

She described her briefing in New York by Keith Yates-Brown.
It had been the day after the abortive "rustle pile" session at which
the OJL agency's initial ideas for Orion advertising had been routinely
presented and, just as routinely, brushed aside.
As the creative director, Teddy Osch, predicted (luring their
martini-weighted luncheon, Keith Yates-Brown, the account supervisor,
had sent for Barbara next day.
In his handsome office on the agency's top floor, Yates-Brown had
seemed morose in contrast with his genial, showman's manner of the day
before. He looked grayer and older, too, and several times in the later
stages of their conversation turned toward his office window, looking
across the Manhattan skyline toward Long Island Sound, as if a portion
of his mind was far away. Perhaps, Barbara thought, the strain of
permanent affability with clients required a surly counterbalance now
and then.
There had certainly been nothing friendly about Yates-Brown's opening
remark af ter they exchanged "good mornings
.”

"You were snooty with the client yesterday," he told Barbara. "I didn't
like it, and you should know better
.”

She said nothing. She supposed Yates-Brown was referring to her pointed
questioning of the company advertising manager: Was there nothing you
liked? Absolutely nothing at all? Well, she still believed it justified
and wasn't going to grovel now. But neither would she antagonize
Yates-Brown needlessly until she heard about her new assignment.
"One of the early things you're supposed to learn here," the account
supervisor persisted, "is to show restraint sometimes, and swallow
hard
.”

"Okay, Keith," Barbara said, "I'm swallowing now
.”

He had had the grace to smile, then returned to coolness.
"What you're being given to do requires restraint; also sound judgment,
and, naturally, imagination. I suggested you for the assignment,
believing you to possess those qualities. I still do, despite yesterday,
which I prefer to think of as a momentary lapse
.”

Oh, God
!
, Barbara wanted to exclaim. Stop making like you're in a
pulpit, and get onl But she had the sense not to say it.
"The project is one which has the personal interest of the client's
chairman of the board
.”

Keith Yates-Brown mouthed "chairman of the
board" with awe and reverence. Barbara was surprised he hadn't stood,
saluting, while he said it.
"As a result," the account chief continued, "you will have the
responsibility
a large responsibility affecting all of us at OJL-of
reporting, on occasions, to the chairman personally
.”

Well, Barbara could appreciate his feelings there. Reporting directly
to the chairman about anything was a large responsibility, though it
didn't frighten her. But since the chairman-if he chose to exercise
it-had a life and death power over which advertising agency the company
used, Barbara could picture Keith Yates-Brown and others hovering
nervously in the wings.
"rhe project," Yates-Brown added, "is to make a film
.”

He had gone on, filling in details as far as they were known. The film
would be about Detroit: the inner city and its people, their problems
-racial and otherwise-their way of life, points of view, their needs.
It was to be a factual, honest documentary. In no way would it be
company or industry propaganda; the company's name would
appear only once-on the credits as sponsor. Objective would be to point up
urban problems, the need to reactivate the city's role in national life,
with Detroit the prime example. The film's first use would be for
educational and civic groups and schools across the nation. It would
probably be shown on television. If good enough, it might go into movie
houses.
The budget would be generous. It would allow a regular film-making
organization to be used, but the OJL agency would select the film maker
and retain control. A top-flight director could be hired, and a script
writer, if needed, though Barbarain view of her copywriter's
experience-might choose to write the script herself.
Barbara would represent the agency and be in over-all charge.
With a sense of rising excitement as YatesBrown spoke, Barbara remembered
Teddy Osch's words of yesterday at lunch. The creative director had said:
All I can tell you is, I wish it were me instead of you. Now she knew why.
Not only was the assignment a substantial compliment to her
professionally, it also represented a strong creative challenge which she
welcomed. Barbara found herself looking appreciatively-and certainly more
tolerantly -on Keith Yates-Brown.
Even the account supervisor's next words diminished her appreciation only
slightly.
"You'll work out of the Detroit office as usual," he had said, "but we
shall want to be informed here of everything that's going on, and I mean
everything. Another thing to bear in mind is what we spoke of
earlier-restraint. It's to be an honest film, but don't get carried away.
I do not believe we want, or the chairman of the board will want, too much
of-shall we say? -a Socialist point of view
.”

Well, she had let that one go, realizing there
would be plenty of ideas, as well as points of view, she would have to
fight for eventually, without wasting time on abstract arguments now.
A week later, after other activities she was involved in bad been
reassigned, Barbara began work on the project, tentatively titled: Auto
City. Across Brett DeLosanto's dining table, Barbara told Leonard Wingate,
"Some of the early things have been done, including choosing a
production company and a director. Of course, there'll be more planning
before filming can begin, but we hope to start in February or March
.”