“Where’ve you been?” Alex asked, pacing the floor impatiently.
“I’ve been waiting here for hours.”
“We went to the beach for sunrise,” Richard answered. “It’s Marcie’s first trip.”
“Yeah?” Alex glanced at Marcie. “Well, I don’t like having to wait for you when we’re in the middle of a deal.”
Richard was still too filled with the music from the concert, his union with Marcie, and the beauty of the morning to pay much attention to Alex’s peevishness.
“What’s up?” he asked. “Did you talk to Carl?”
“Ron and Carl got ripped off last night.”
Richard’s eyes cleared. Alex had his full attention now. “How?”
“I think they were both too stoned to know what was going on. They tasted some of the same tabs you did last night. These dudes came in, handed them a package, grabbed the money, and flew out the front door. When Carl got around to opening the package, he found four thousand saccharine tablets instead of the tabs he’d expected.”
“I thought they were Angels? Angels are reliable.”
Alex shook his head. “Ex-Angels. They’d been kicked out of the club sometime back.”
“How’s Carl taking it?”
“How do you think? He’s wiped out. Lost almost three grand.”
Richard walked to the window, looked out, and thought how fast things could change. “Bummer. What’s he going to do now?”
“Go back to Minneapolis to get some capital together.”
“Did he tell you who he’s copping from?”
“No, and I don’t think he’s going to either. Not if he’s coming back.”
“Maybe we can pay him for the connection. I’d still like to get some of those tabs you gave me. It might be the best I’ve ever had. I’m sure that acid’s floating around.” He held up the few tabs left in the baggie: biconvex white tablets, smooth, powerful.
Behind him, the door opened and Kathy walked in with a tired smile. “Morning, everyone. Oh,” she mumbled, looking at the bag Richard held, “more of them.”
She threw her jacket next to her suitcase propped against the wall.
“What do you mean, ‘more of them’?” Richard asked.
“This guy named Kevin has hundreds of those at his flat.” She yawned.
“Kevin! I’ve been trying to meet him for weeks!” Richard cried. “And now we know how to get hold of him!”
The look Alex gave him insisted that they talk.
“Marcie,” Richard asked, watching Alex’s face, “could you and Kathy get some breakfast together?”
The girls were barely through the hallway door, moving toward the kitchen, when Alex muttered, “The chick probably doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“What if she does?” Richard grinned. “And if she’s right, we’ll give her a percentage for the connection.”
“Why?” Alex’s voice was frustrated. “Just give her a lid and a few tabs. She’ll be satisfied. That’s a night’s party.”
“With you? Huh, Alex? I thought you and Honey were an item last night,” Richard goaded him.
“Well, she is asleep on my bed,” he mumbled.
Laughing, Richard repeated, “‘Hundreds,’ she said.” He sat down on the floor mattress, took a tin from his pocket, opened it, and started rolling a joint. “You know what this means? We may have cut out not one, but two middlemen with this piece of good fortune. If the price is low enough, we’ll be able to offer a better price to our regular customers. It could mean we’ll pick up a whole new segment of the market.”
“It just blows my mind,” Alex grumbled. “Here we are, working our asses off, and along comes this chick, and in less than twenty-four hours, she has free tickets to a concert, parties all night with Felix Ringer, and makes the connection we’ve been seeking for months!”
“Have you ever stopped to realize, Alex, how many of our connections were introduced to us by women? Think about it. Mary Ann introduced us to our hash connection. And Sonia told us where to get good quality grass.”
“Yeah, but we never had to pay them. They did it out of friendship.”
“Wrong, friend. I paid them a percentage every time.”
“Jesus, why’d you do that?”
“Because it was the right thing to do. We benefited by it, didn’t we? And if you keep your friends happy, they keep on being your friends. They continue buying from you and turning you on to other people. That’s simple good business.”
He picked up Marcie’s suitcase and guitar. “Want to have some breakfast?”
“Where are you going with those things?” Alex asked, eying them suspiciously.
“I’m putting them in my room. Marcie’s moving in—permanently.”
“Jesus Christ! You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Sorry, Alex, but it means you don’t get your turn with this one. I mean it. This is different. I want her to be my old lady.”
“I’m not paying for her keep.”
“No, you’re not. It’ll come out of my half. I can take care of an old lady now.”
“Suddenly, I’m not hungry,” Alex told him coldly. “I’m going to find out if there’s any more news about that rip off. I’ll talk to you later.”
In the kitchen, Marcie was looking through the refrigerator and cupboards, slowly, trying to keep it all together. But the oranges were so round and … well … orange … and the overhead light hit them in such a way that they rather sparkled …
“Boy, you are really out of it,” Kathy told her. “What are you stoned on?”
“LSD. Richard and I dropped together last night.”
Kathy stopped, shocked. “Were you scared?”
“Oh, no. It’s not at all what Life magazine tries to make it out to be. But … I don’t really know how to describe it. It’s … it’s like seeing God face to face … or meeting yourself for the first time. And so sexual, but … but not having to do with sex. As if this great part of me, the part between my legs, was opened up for the first time, like some passageway, and I was at the center of it. The Mother of all things. Caring, really caring about everything! You have to try it! I mean it! It’s probably the most important thing you’ll ever do!”
“How was it with you and Richard?” Kathy asked, taking the eggs from her.
Marcie looked off into swirls still floating through the air. “Oh, Kathy, last night, when I looked into his eyes, the light shining in them became a million sparkles of color. And looking past the light show, I saw his soul. A goodness in all he does. With him I can explore the solar system and the galaxies beyond and never be afraid. I love him!” she cried. “I never knew such feeling existed!”
“Marcie,” Kathy’s voice held a hint of longing, “I’m so happy for you.”
“What about Felix?” Marcie asked, remembering the concert. “He was outrageous!”
“After the concert, we went from one house to another, meeting people. Getting high.”
“Are you in love?”
Kathy took a joint from her pocket, lit it. “I like him a lot. But … I don’t know, Marcie.” She sighed. “Truth is, I’m still thinking a good bit about Jim. Love? I don’t think I know what that is anymore. This morning, Felix wanted me to stay, but I couldn’t. All I feel is dead tired. My teeth hurt. Every muscle aches. I’m kind of edgy.”
“Take some acid with him. Get off the surface of things.”
“Maybe it’s just because I’m tired. We’ve been traveling for days.”
“Good morning, ladies.” Richard entered the kitchen with a flourish. “Let’s have some music.”
He opened the bedroom door and put down Marcie’s things. The radio was already tuned to KMPX, San Francisco’s underground radio station. Turning up the volume so they would hear it in the kitchen, he laughed when he heard the DJ’s voice. “Ah! Tom Donahue walks on the airwaves. The Pied Piper has come for your daughters,” and he grabbed Marcie with familiarity. “Kathy, you mentioned you saw hundreds of white tabs last night. At Kevin’s.”
“I saw a lot of things in the different houses we visited. Grass. Hash. Acid. Speed. People having a good time, playing music. What’s speed anyway? Is it like coke?”
“Speed’s an amphetamine. Some of it comes in tabs. Some of it’s a powder, a white crystal. It speeds up your body, reduces your appetite, and helps you eat out the insides of your mouth and grind down your teeth. People shoot the powder like heroin. It’s bad news. I know. I only had to try it once. What did you think of Kevin?”
“He’s cool. I’m meeting his lady this afternoon at the Drogstore.”
“I’d really like an introduction.”
“I was going to invite Marcie. Why don’t you come along?”
The Drogstore Cafe, at the corner of Haight and Masonic, was always crowded, and today was no exception. Richard found a corner table and had just moved a fourth chair to it when Debbie came through the door, long red skirt swirling about her legs, brown sandals finding their way to the table.
“Hi,” she said, sliding in next to Kathy, the thick smell of patchouli coming into the corner with her.
Debbie was of medium height, about five feet four, with long brown hair, and brown eyes that were filled with sparkle. The denim jacket she wore was a collage of bright, embroidered symbols across the yoke, a sun, a moon, a scale, the astrological symbol for Libra, flowers—all beautifully entwined.
“Debbie, this is my friend, Marcie. And this is Richard, her old man.”
“Old man? Didn’t you just get here yesterday?”
Marcie giggled and looked dreamily at Richard. “A lifetime ago.”
Debbie giggled with her. “So it’s that way, huh? I’ve lived a few lifetimes myself.”
“Something to drink, anyone—sodas?” Marcie asked.
“Thank you, but not for me,” Debbie said. “I’d rather have juice. Soda’s not really good for your body. We’re into organic food. And we’re vegetarians.”
Richard passed a twenty-dollar bill to Marcie. “Juice then,” she agreed. “I’ll be right back.”
Debbie turned to Richard and gently asked, “Know anyone named Alex?”
It’s the softness, he thought, remembering his earlier conversation with Alex about the women friends who’d turned them on to good connections. That’s how they know so much. Every man is a threat to me, to Alex, to other men we know. But we trust our women to be around all our secrets.
“Alex is the male half of my partnership,” he told her.
“Is there a female half?”
Richard looked toward where Marcie was collecting drinks. “Actually, there are two women in my life. Marcie … and my business.”
Debbie smiled without answering, and in the way her gaze shifted to the floor, Richard could see she understood the truth of what he was telling her—dealing was an intimate courtship—the pursuing, wooing, and time-consuming stroking, the sweat of paranoia and the lustful excitement in the moment of transaction, erotic power in the forbidden act, the sweet smell of money in the calm aftermath.
“How’d you get out to California, Debbie?” Kathy asked.
“I came out from Boston last summer to visit a girlfriend I’d met at school. One night, we went to a lecture Tim Leary was supposed to give at the Longshoreman’s Hall. Man, what a scene! Ken Kesey was there with the Merry Pranksters giving out ice cream cones laced with LSD. Talk about crazy! None of us knew we were getting dosed!”
“Here we go,” Marcie said, putting down a tray. “Did I hear you mention Ken Kesey?”
“Yes,” Debbie said, the voice gentle, still smiling. “LSD-laced ice cream cones. I wound up sitting in a circle, holding hands with about three hundred others, chanting om. The person next to me turned out to be Kevin. We’ve been best friends ever since. Divine intervention, Kevin calls it.”
“What about school? Isn’t that important to you?” Kathy asked.
Debbie laughed gaily. “Take some acid and then tell me if you think school’s really important. Besides, I have a small business. Designing clothes and sewing embroidery. I smoke, and the patterns just come right out of my needle.”
Marcie was picking up snatches of conversations at other tables—prices, quantities, and the availability of one product or another. Every few minutes, a man or woman would jump up from one table and run across the room to another with a new price.
“All they’re missing is the board with rotating prices,” she whispered to Richard.
He nodded. “They call this the West Coast Dope Exchange. People from all over the world come here to cop.”
“Hey!” someone called loudly at the door of the restaurant, drawing everyone’s attention. A man stood there wearing an army surplus jacket and hiking boots. He held up a small square package wrapped in neon green plastic. “I have to leave town today. I’ve got one kilo left in my stash. Thirty-five dollars,” he called into the shocked silence. “If anyone’s interested, I’ll be outside around the corner.”
The Drogstore’s patrons broke into applause.
Richard recognized Kevin immediately. He’d seen him on the street many times, wearing a denim jacket with an outrageous embroidered scene on the back—a large peace symbol and a dove entwined with a Cannabis plant. Circling his wrists were two bracelets of heavy silver inlaid with turquoise and coral. Around his neck, he wore a large turquoise stone on a silver chain, the stone a vibrant blue with a matrix of reddish brown copper. Richard had the feeling that Kevin probably got lost in that matrix a good bit while tripping.
Kevin was somewhat older than either he or Alex, and the brown hair he wore to the middle of his back suggested he’d been in the scene for a while. No, Kevin was not an adventurer who’d come into the Haight for the Summer of Love, but a longtime resident, a painter who was clearly part of the artist community, one of the founding fathers who had made the Haight the center of a new renaissance—of innovations in art, light and music, clothing, and underground newspapers—all speaking to new ways of seeing the world. Richard looked around the front room, stunned at the color bouncing off the walls—bright canvases, random political posters, and the new psychedelic newspaper art. Not only did Kevin have style, Richard mused, regarding his vibrant and innovative paintings, Kevin most assuredly had vision.
“Kevin, you remember Kathy from last night,” Debbie told him. “She came over with Felix.”
“Yeah. How you doin’, Kathy?” But his gaze was intent on Richard.
“And this is Marcie and Richard, her good friends. Richard and his partner, Alex, have been around for a while.”
“Richard,” Kevin mused. “Yeah. Sit down. I’ll roll a joint.” Kevin opened a wooden box that sat on the low table in the front room and began crushing a handful of marijuana leaves. Gallantly, he turned to Marcie. “What flavor rolling papers? I’ve got banana and chocolate.”
Marcie giggled and looked at Richard. “Banana?” she asked.
Sitting comfortably in a circle on the floor, everyone’s eyes turned to Kevin’s fingers, watching as he finished his rolling job by licking the edge of the cigarette paper.
“So,” he said, bringing a lighter to the tip of the cigarette, “what’s going on?”
“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while,” Richard told him, taking the offering from his hand. “You’ve got a good reputation on the street. And these days, you’ve got to know who you’re dealing with. Last night, a couple of friends of ours got ripped off for their entire wad—thought they were dealing with some Angels. As it turns out, these guys were kicked out of the club some time back.”
“No shit,” Kevin said. “Thanks for the warnin’.”
“Alex and I are interested in some white tabs. I took one last night. Outrageous stuff. Might be the best I’ve ever had.”
Kevin nodded. “They’re calling it White Lightning. You’re right. It’s good L. It’s comin’ out of Owsley’s lab.”
“I’m interested in buying. You got a price?”
The joint had circled the group, and Kevin touched it with a dab of saliva to even out the burn. As he passed it on to Richard again, they looked directly into each other’s eyes. An important moment, because Richard wanted Kevin to trust him, to see he was no one to fear, he wasn’t hiding anything, and he wasn’t a narc.
“A dollar a hit,” Kevin finally said. “Ninety cents for lots of a thousand or more. They’re runnin’ between 200 and 250 mics.”
Richard tried not to show his excitement. He’d been paying $1.50 a tab. “Will you save me a thousand hits?” he asked. “I’ll eat one tomorrow.”
“Do you always try what you buy?” Kevin asked.
“Always. That way, I know exactly what I’m selling. If it grunges through my body, I can work through it, because I know acid. But I’d never pass it on. You have anything else I might be interested in?”
“As a matter of fact,” Kevin said, passing the joint along, “I know this dude in Berkeley who has some hash comin’ in soon. Good price. Probably about $1,200 a pound. If you want, I could save you five pounds to sell.”
“Sell? Shit, man, I could smoke five pounds myself.”
Kevin laughed, visibly loosening up. “Tell you what, when that hash comes in, we’ll see who can smoke who under the table. Listen, why don’t you come with us to the Straight Theater this evening? This friend of mine’s got some reg weed. I could get you some after the show. Not bad stuff—a little seedy maybe. Come on back to the bedroom and I’ll give you a sample.”