Call Me Home

2

November 19, 1969

Lindsey sprinted across the parking lot, hammering on the trunk of the Buick Skylark as he reached it. The brakes slammed on and a head appeared through the driver's window.

"The hell is wrong with you?! I thought I'd hit someone!"

"You're supposed to be giving me a ride home, remember?"

There was a pause, and the front passenger door swung open.

"Thanks again for this," he said, barely shutting the door before she pulled off again. "Even if you forgot."

Brown eyes glanced at his reflection in the mirror and he grinned. She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I'm sorry - I've just...it slipped my mind, I wasn't thinking."

He looked over at her. As they passed under streetlights, her face was intermittently illuminated. Something was wrong. She was usually a bright ball of life, the only person he knew who could match his energy. Tonight, she looked tired and drawn. She was such a natural performer that on stage she had managed to mask it but he could see now that she just wasn't herself.

"What's going on? Steph -"

"How many times Lindsey, will you stop calling me Steph? Stevie."

"Everyone calls you Stevie."

"Right."

"I'm not everyone."

She rolled her eyes again but could make out her dimple as she smiled to herself.

"That's true. You certainly are not."

"So what is it? Boy trouble? Time of the month?"

"You know, Lindsey, girls have more things going on than preoccupation with the opposite sex and our menstrual cycles. It happens to be neither. I haven't even seen Bobby since September, he's doing a semester in New York and - and-" tears began to sting her eyes. "Look I'm fine ok? I just don't feel well. It's been a long week, I'm tired and I think I ate something off, I don't feel too good. I just need some rest. This year I'm thankful for thanksgiving itself so I at least get a break next week."

He could sense that something else was bothering her but experience had taught him to leave things be. He turned out of the window, watching the glittering water beneath them as they crossed the Oakland Bay Bridge.

They sat in silence the rest of the ride back to Lindsey's place. As she pulled up he turned to her again.

"I have something for you. It's not finished yet, it's in the apartment. Do you have time to take a look? It'll make you feel better, I promise."

She looked at him wearily but could see the good intention behind what he was trying to do, and turned the engine off.

♾

"How do you manage these stairs every day?"

"Ma'am, this is San Francisco."

"The walk up to my place is at least attractive. Not some dingy stairwell that smells like a urinal."

It was uninspiring, he had to admit. The apartment wasn't much better. It was a confirmed bachelor pad which he shared with two friends, both of whom had already gone home for thanksgiving. The place was littered with takeout boxes, bottles and ashtrays filled with roaches. Stevie tried not to touch anything. Or breathe too deeply. Had they ever even cracked a window?

"This way," he gestured, opening a door off from the main room. She hesitated, trying to peer past him.

"Is that - your bedroom?"